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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 2 years

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A Recipe for Disaster (Chap. 11/FINAL!)

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | AO3

hooo boy, here's the end!! sorry about the wait, i really said 'here have two chapters back to back' last time then took forever to get this one out.

there were really only a few snapshots i wanted to capture post-movie but for some reason had a hard time putting it all together, but here it is!!! i hope you all love, and thank you for reading!!

Hopper, Dustin, and Wayne had pulled Steve into Wayne’s office a couple days after the wedding; They all explained to each other their sides of the mystery of one Edmund Muñoz.

Steve explained the whole foot-stomping thing: “At the ball, he told me his name was ‘Eddie. Just Eddie.’ and I accidentally stepped on his foot. He told me I could step on his foot anytime, so that’s what I did when he arrived at the palace.” to the delight of the other three.

Wayne talks a little about how Eddie’d been raised. “I tried my damndest to get him out from under the thumb of that father of his, but even after he grew up, it was like his father could do no wrong.”

“I wish I knew he was your nephew sooner…he could’ve been like a big brother….”

“I wanted to introduce you both as soon as I married your mom, son, but my brother wasn’t having it.” Wayne shakes his head in exasperation.

“That man is the absolute worst.” Hopper gripes, face dark. “Steve, the incident at the review of the guard was the Viscount. The stable boy they had walking beside Sandy was paid off by him in order to scare her with a fake snake. I called that bastard out on it directly after.”

“Eddie came t’talk to me about it the next day, too. He told me he was through dealing with his father then, and apologized for not getting his head outta his ass sooner.”

“And it was the Viscount who called the media and told them they’d be at the lake?” Dustin asks, mostly just to confirm.

“Yep.” Hopper nods solemnly. “Speaking of which…really Steve? You’re smarter than that.”

Steve’s face is on fire. “He’s charming and drop-dead gorgeous. Sue me.”

---

In the months between his almost wedding and his upcoming coronation, Steve doesn’t see hide nor hair of Eddie.

Chrissy told him, the next time he saw her, that he’d been laying low while The Court of Public Opinion™ ran its course and he was out of the forefront of their minds.

“I’m only supposed to tell you that he’s laying low.” She had said. “But I am also going to tell you that he does not. Stop. Talking. About. You. It’s frankly ridiculous.”

His face turned red at that, and Chrissy moved to follow Robin (now officially her girlfriend, good job Robin) when Steve stopped her “Tell him I’m thinking about him, too?”

She nods, but says “That’s disgusting.” in a completely flat voice, this time actually walking away.

“Not in that way!” he called after her. Well. Not always like that.

In the end, The Court had decided they liked him; his intrusion of the wedding being seen as swoon-worthy to the masses, but some still hesitant about him trying to usurp the throne from the long standing Renaldi family.

Now, two months to the day from Joyce and Hopper’s wedding, it’s Steve’s coronation day.

He will be King of a whole-ass country later today.

He’s sitting on the edge of the throne, feet flat on the floor, elbows on his knees, and his chin resting on his folded hands. He looks over to his side where Concrete had made himself comfy on a frankly ridiculous sized bed for one (admittedly large) cat. “What do you think, Lord Concrete, d’ya think I’ll make a good King?” Steve asks aloud, mostly just glad that his cat was in his presence for once.

“Indeed you will.”

Steve snaps his head to his right and sits up straight as the source of the voice rounds the column next to him.

“Eddie.” Steve breathes. His arms and legs threaten to hurl him forward to the other man, but he manages to stay seated.

“If I might be so bold, I would like an audience with His Royal Highness?”

Steve fights back a grin, plays along, gesturing to the space in front of him.

“And what is your dilemma young man?” Dustin would be proud of his own perfectly crafted haughty voice.

Eddie smiles, his eyes twinkling. “You are, in fact.” Eddie sinks to one knee, bracing his arms on his upright one. “I am in love with the King to be, and I am inquiring as to if he loves me too.”

Steve's brain shoots into the stratosphere. Love. Love? He loves him? Eddie loves him?

He manages to come back down in about a second and a half, “Do you have a chicken for my table?” Steve muses.

Eddie looks surprised at that, but smiles quickly. “Uh, no. My kitchen was fresh out of chickens.”

“Oh, well..” Steve sits back on the throne, pretending to weigh his options.

It takes about another second and a half and he’s hurtling forward, Eddie rising to his feet to meet him. Both of them lose their breath when their chests collide.

“You love me.” Steve whispers, still disbelieving, into Eddie’s neck.

“I love you, Steve.” Eddie whispers back.

Steve pulls back just far enough to see the other man’s face, “Kiss me.”

Eddie beams. That same smile from their night at the lake. “You got it, sweetheart.”

He does. The same sparks and fireworks that were present in their first ‘barely a kiss’ crackle and shine brighter now. Eddie’s mouth is soft against his, and they both sigh when their tongues meet.

Eddie’s arms tighten around his waist and suddenly he’s being lifted, their lips separating in laughter as Eddie spins them both in a circle before he’s set on his feet again.

“I love you too, Eddie.”

---

Eddie’s heart is beating a mile a minute.

No, faster than a mile a minute.

He can’t believe he’s here. After all the bullshit he’s done in his life, he, Edmund Muñoz, is attending the coronation of the Crown Prince of Genovia.

Okay, being here, he can believe; he’s a respected member of this society, and probably would’ve been invited anyway, but he’s here and counted amongst the most valued friends and family of said Prince. His boyfriend.

He takes in the people around the room: Jim Hopper, former head of palace security is standing at the bottom of one of the ballroom’s staircases, not for work, but because his wife, the current Queen, will be entering on that side and he will be there to greet her.

The Crown Prince’s right hand lesbian man is standing at the bottom of the other staircase on Eddie’s left, his childhood best friend on her other side because they’re dating now (and are Genovia’s hottest couple “Suck on that, Eduardo!”).

The Prince’s ex-fiance would be at the side of her new beau if he wasn’t the head of the palace’s photography/PR division and running round shooting everything, and if she didn’t also already have her hands full writing down every single thing in front of her, now that she was the one leading the Palace’s press releases.

There was a gaggle of seven seemingly mis-matched teenagers standing front and center of the rest of the stuffy other dignitaries that were invited, as Prince Stephan’s personal guests.

Michael, crown prince of his own country and almost brother-in-law to the King-to-be, is hand in hand with his boyfriend Will, one half of the formerly mentioned Jim Hopper’s Wonder Twins. His sister Ellie has one hand locked with the Prime Minister’s son, Dustin, and the other is hooked onto the elbow of her best friend and up-and-coming chef extraordinaire, Maxine (“Mark my words Maxine, you are going to be bigger than Fieri.” “Call me Maxine again and your next batch of brownies will be laced with asbestos…but thank you, Eddie.”). Max, who in turn has her other pinkie hooked onto young Lord Lucas Sinclair’s. Then finally, Lucas’ sister Erica is pretending not to care about the event happening around her (but even Eddie can tell she’s excited).

The Party. Their Family. This weird gaggle of royals and non-royals all brought together by Steve in some way or another.

Eddie’s pulled out of his thoughts about his new family with the loud battering of a drumline drumroll starting up. The band members positioned on either staircase start playing, and there they are.

Queen Joyce looks regal, as always, this time with the addition of the Genovian crown jewels on her head. She’s in a beautiful maroon colored dress and cape that she swishes out of the way when she turns to step down the stairs.

But Steve, his Steve. He’s gorgeous in an ivory pear tree suit and maroon, fur lined, cape. Despite how nervous he must be, he doesn’t look it. He looks confident, radiant as he strides down the steps.

“He looks extraordinary.” Eddie says to no one.

“They both do.” comes a blubbering voice from slightly behind him; turning to look, it’s Murray, sobbing. Eddie smirks and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the prince.

He reaches the bottom of the steps, and Eddie’s fingers twitch, itching to reach out for him, to grab his hand. Instead, he smiles crookedly at his boyfriend in the fleeting glance he gets before he has to step by as rehearsed.

Steve steps up to the throne and gathers the cape from behind him to turn and sit in front of his people.

Once he’s seated properly, the archbishop starts in on his scripted spiel, and while speaking, moves to Joyce, standing at Steve’s side, and gingerly lifts the Genovian crown jewels from her majesty’s head, and places it atop Steve’s.

Another person in ceremonial garb brings in the orb and scepter then, laid carefully on a large ceremonial pillow. They kneel on the step in front of Steve, who reaches forward and lifts both easily.

The speech ends with two very important questions. “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Genovia, according to the statutes in Parliament agreed on, and the respective laws and customs of the same? Will you, in your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all judgements?”

“I solemnly promise so to do” Steve’s voice does not waver.

The archbishop moves aside, and Steve turns his head first to Joyce, then to him. Eddie tries beaming a message into the other man’s brain when Steve’s brilliant hazel eyes lock with his chocolate brown. “I love you, you look amazing, you are perfect, you’ve got this, I love you so damn much.”

Eddie can feel what Steve tells him in return. “I love you too, Eddie. I can’t wait to kiss you stupid.” and seals it with a wink

Okay, maybe that’s just what Eddie wants to hear.

Steve stands and the band starts up once more, playing the Genovian national anthem. And even though he knew it was coming, Eddie had to fight back a laugh at it being Wayne who’s leading the gathered guests in singing.

They all sing, and in the last lines, Eddie watches Steve take a few steadying breaths.

The last note of the anthem ends, and immediately the majordomo bangs his staff twice. “Presenting his Royal Majesty, Stephan Artur Renaldi the Third, King of Genovia.”

That evening, after dark, Steve and the rest of his family retreat to the palace grounds to make the coronation official.

“You’ve got this, sunshine.” Eddie encourages, giving his side a squeeze with the arm he has hooked around Steve’s waist before he moves to stand beside Wayne and Dustin.

Steve accepts the bow from his trainer, this time tipped with a flammable end.

“The ceremonial shooting of the flaming arrow through the coronation ring.” the majordomo bellows once Steve’s arrow is lit.

He takes a deep breath, focusing on the tower and ring in front of him, and Eddie’s words filter through his mind as he takes aim.

“Use your mouth as an anchor.”

Steve touches his fingertips to the corner of his mouth.

“Lower this elbow..”

He feels the ghost of Eddie’s fingers dragging down his arm as he does.

“..and relax this hand.”

At least now he can hold Eddie’s hand whenever he wants to. ‘Yep, still corny.’ he thinks to himself.

“Then…release.”

The arrow flies, and the ring erupts in flame.

Steve smiles in surprise and turns toward Eddie, only the find the other man already heading to him, scooping him into his arms.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you, Stevie.”

Steve relaxes into Eddie’s arms and breathes a sigh of relief, taking in the sounds of his family cheering around him.

—-

One year after his coronation, under what they are now calling their tree on the palace grounds, site of multiple picnics, long nights, and slow dances.

It’s during one of those slow dances that Eddie pauses, says he needs to say something.

As soon as he starts talking, Steve knows what’s coming, and his eyes burn with unshed tears immediately.

“One year ago, I brought you here; one year ago I knew I wanted to be with you until the end of my days. I may have fallen for you when we first danced together at the ball, I may have loved you every day since, but it was that night that I knew my life would never be even a fraction of what it could, without you in it.” Eddie sinks to one knee, much like he did the day of Steve’s coronation, this time, he had a small box in his hand “I am so in love with you, Stevie, will you marry me?”

Eddie opens the box and Steve's laugh comes out a sob. It’s his grandmother's ring, the one he’d proposed to Nancy with.

“Joyce was in on this, wasn’t she?” Steve is surprised his voice is as clear as it is, his throat tight with emotion.

Eddie grins up at him, mischievous as always.

Steve sinks down to Eddie’s level, the other man’s unoccupied hand coming up to help brace him on instinct. Kneeling in front of his fiancé, Steve says “Of course I'll marry you.”

Eddie’s face flashes briefly to relief, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it reaction, then he’s snapping the box closed and diving forward to capture Steve's lips with his.

“Mph!” Steve is struggling to kiss him, fighting back elated smile after smile, when Eddie lowers the two of them down to the ground below

While Steve is definitely not opposed to the feeling of Eddie atop him, he’s got other plans.

Steve flips the two of them over easily, straddling and pressing his hips into Eddie's in 0.5 seconds flat.

He lays himself down along Eddie’s torso and latches onto his neck. Between sucking kisses into Eddie’s throat that will ensure he’ll be wearing his hair down until they fade completely, and Eddie’s flustered gasps at his ministrations, Steve says “Nuh uh, I want my ring first, Muñoz.” before setting in on attacking his lips.

Eddie smiles beneath him and shifts, reaching down to his pocket again. He produces the box, managing to get his hands between them enough to open it to Steve.

Steve smiles, and sits up onto his heels, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto his finger. Eddie follows him up and locks his arms around him.

Steve drapes one arm over Eddie’s shoulder automatically, attention still on his left hand. He’s struck by the realization that his grandmother’s ring on his third finger now sits comfortably beside the only other he’d been wearing, his grandfather's signet ring on his middle.

“It really is beautiful.”

Eddie’s is pressing his own kisses to Steve’s face and collarbone. “Only on you, sweetheart.” he purrs.

“You think it’d look better if it was the only thing I was wearing?” he asks nonchalantly, still looking at the diamond on his finger, and reveling in how quickly Eddie freezes beneath him.

In the next second, Steve’s laughing at how quickly Eddie’s got them both up and is nearly sprinting them back to their horses.

Their wedding a year later, of course, was a huge to-do and Steve goes all in with planning. Starting later that same night (early morning?) that Eddie proposed.

---

For a good month after his appearance in the independence day parade, Martín had all manner of inquiries about his adoption. Inquiries that the team that worked there took with extra caution. Luckily they did, because about 80% of those just wanted to be the ones to adopt Prince Steve’s favorite, and the other 20% (sadly) just were not good fits for him.

After that, the inquiries stopped. Until Steve decides to foster him, applying to adopt him fully on his own not even a month later.

The adoption is made official the day after Steve and Eddie get married, making him every bit their son, and therefore every bit the new heir apparent to the throne of Genovia. The now-six-year-old Martin absolutely adores ALL his Aunts and Uncles, but if you ask him, his Aunt Max is his most favorite (a fact that both makes Max want to cry, and also scream in joy from the palace roof).

---

There had been quite a few public visitations since Steve had become King (at the first of which, he’d grinned as he announced: “There better not be any chickens in those baskets.”), now that they are married, Eddie would be joining him at the next one.

It was at this first visitation together, between one citizen taking their leave and the next taking their place, that Steve leaned over to Eddie at his side.

“We’re two for three, my love.”

His husband makes a noise like the breath had been punched from his lungs at that, his face morphing into a glowing smile, turning to Steve. “We are, aren’t we?”

Steve reaches for Eddie, who takes his hand immediately, turning it over and pressing a kiss to the back. “It’s better than I imagined.”

---

After 20 years of marriage, and 22 years on the throne, the official portrait of King Stephan Artur Renaldi III and his Prince Consort Edmund Théo Renaldi (“No way are you calling me King anything, Stevie, I stand by what I said at Jopper’s wedding.”) is commissioned.

Crown Prince of Genovia, Martín Tomás Renaldi (who has grown to be quite the looker, unsurprisingly taking every bit after his father) is included for one copy of the painting, for Steve to keep in his personal study, but the official painting that’ll be hung beside Joyce and Bob is only he and Eddie. Eddie is standing behind Steve, a ringed hand on his shoulder, and Steve’s arm is curled up at the elbow to thread their fingers together.

They are both a bit older, only a few streaks of gray to their hair, but soon, the portrait is finished.

They’re in attendance when it’s hung in the throne room, much to the confusion of the palace staff tasked with hanging it.

“That’s it.” Steve says when the staff takes their leave.

“Hm? What’s ‘it’, sunshine?”

Steve grins “That’s all three.”

Okay, last couple notes:

I had Steve change the name he'd be known as when he became King, not for his ass of a father, but the grandfather he never knew

With the naming conventions of the British Monarchy as a guide though, I think he'd officially be King Stephan II since his father never became King, our Steve is only the second Stephan to take the Thone, but the Third of that name in actuality (does that make sense?? lmao).

Of course Eddie would drop Muñoz ASAP, and THANK YOU @henderdads with helping me decide on his middle name!!!!

Martín Renaldi?? Crown Prince of Genovia???? skldfaslkdfjsalk

And finally, again tagging @henderdads because this whole re-write/AU wouldn't exist without her encouragement on my original post (where it was originally Mia!Eddie and Nicholas!Steve), and would be seriously lacking in other places without her input!!! Cass, ILYSM!!!

Last round of tags!! @sadcanadianwinter @hopefulslothcollecter @steveshairychest @sidebarre @resident-gay-bitch @kaspurrcat @melkene @livewondrousss @steddieasitgoes @mightbeasleep @princessstevemunson @totallybitchin @potentialheartofdarkness @spectrum-spectre @munsonfamilyband @knitsforthetrail

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mannatea · 1 year

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Predictably asking for Symphonia for the fandom meme!

I stan. 🙏

the first character i ever fell in love with: Raine. Even as a teenager she was my favorite and I loved her immediately.

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not: I actually think I used to really like Zelos and found him hilarious when I was a teenager myself, and now I'm like 😨 about half of what he does and says. Yikes, bro. It actually makes me wonder how differently he would be written if the game was coming out for the first time now, because a lot of the stuff in the game just would NEVER fly these days.

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not: Ah. Behold, my personal cringe: I used to ship Kratos/Raine. It didn't last very long because my fellow shippers in 2004 made me abandon ship entirely & do a heelturn toward my current OTP out of pure spite. If I'm being honest I was only shipping it because they were the only two adults in the party for a while, anyway, so it wasn't a serious attachment. 🙄 But like, it should be noted that this happened while I was in the middle of writing a love triangle fic. (My other personal cringe, shh.)

my ultimate favorite character™: RAINE, MY BELOVED. 🤍 I literally love every single thing about her.

prettiest character: You thought I was going to say Raine didn't you? WRONG. It's Yuan, actually. Look at him.

my most hated character: RODYLE. He's just so hateful.

my OTP: Regal/Raine. I will die on this hill, actually. (And have been quietly since late 2004.) This is the only ship I just won't compromise on. What can I say about it? Their dynamic just hits on a lot of notes that work exceedingly well for me personally. I won't write a manifesto here (you may thank me for holding back for your benefit) but I love both of them so much and think their personalities balance one another out incredibly well, which is a lot of fun to write.

my NOTP: Basically any Raine ship that isn't my OTP is a NOTP for me, though I do have two in particular I would consider NOTPs. IYKYK.

favorite episode skit: The My Sister skit. IT GETS ME EVERY TIME.

saddest death: Marble. SHE'S AN OLD WOMAN. PLEASE.

favorite season side plot/scene: Virginia, honestly. It messes me up every time. The doll haunts me to this day. Also, that they so INTENTIONALLY made Raine look exactly like her. Poor Raine just can't escape. And the trauma?? AHHHH.

least favorite season side plot/scene: That buffoonish Peeping Tom thing at the hot springs. I wanted more meaningful conversation with my girls and I had to deal with that instead. NO WAIT I HATE THE SCENE IN SYBAK LOOKING FOR THE LITTLE BOY'S MOM SO MUCH MORE. ZELOS'S BOOTSTRAPS SPEECH WAS THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF READING, not because it wasn't 100% in character for him (HILARIOUSLY IT IS VERY IN CHARACTER 🤣) but because I feel like nobody else in the scene was written in a believable way—not Regal, not Colette, and not Lloyd. WTF WAS THAT SCENE?

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate am lukewarm about: Hate is a strong word here so I toned it down. I feel very lukewarm about Kratos. In fact, I'd go so far as to say his potential was a bit wasted just because they didn't bother to do enough with him.

my ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave well-liked’ fave: This is a hard one, because the trash characters are still trash to me. I'll maybe go with Kate or George for this. They both did terrible things but I still find them interesting and compelling as characters.

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Colette, always. Also? Presea.

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: I don't have one because you'll never see me shipping something like this. It's not my cuppa.

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: This is a hard one. Maybe Genis/Presea for this? I think they are good for one another but they're both too young BY A LOT to really be thinking that deeply about things. However, their respect for one another and their compassion/understanding of what the other has been through could lead to something nice later in life. I'm not over those adorable skits where Genis asks for advice from others on what present to get for her and they all collectively give him the worst advice imaginable and he ends up buying her a whetstone because he KNOWS HER AS A PERSON and she LOVES THE GIFT. This is what peak performance looks like in a person, actually.

Thanks! ♥

#meme response #i saved you guys from a manifesto. i almost did it. but then i was like...no... think of my mutuals

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youareinbarbados · 2 years

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"How do I build Faith ?"

You call Bob the Builder, OBVIOUSLY. What a DUMB *and* STUPID question. He can build *ANYTHING*. Have you not seen the show ?

***

Ok, so that was a joke. But hear me out.

***

First off, we have to be very careful not to conflate "FAITH" with "HOPE".

The distinguishing element between the two is "Time". How ? "Hope" implies a temporal separation. It implies that the fulfillment IS COMING.

"FAITH", on the other hand, "knows" that it's ALREADY HERE. There is a breathtaking difference between the two that it would behoove one to appreciate. *Hope* has a bunch of implications, like "fear", "uncertainty", and even implies a *lack* of faith. Bringing your ideals to objectivity is built on certainty. It's the dynamo that powers the whole mechanism. So we don't want to *hope*. We want to *know*. Knowing powers *Faith*.

>*And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.* (Mathew 17:20) (KJV)

So now we got dat mustard-seed faith.💥💥 💯🔥🔥💯💯 It's good. But we want something a little more grounded. We want that sturdy faith that lets us sleep well at night. So we have to build it. Why ?

Because *Faith without works, is dead.*

So now we have to get on our #sigma #boss-babe #grindset and wake up at 3:58 in the morning and do squats before even brushing teeth, and eat shit for 10 years every day , no friends, no weekends while blasting stoic-youtube.

That was also a joke. No. We don't have to do that.

"Works" and "Acts" are synonymous. We build faith by doing what Neville tells us to do. "Live in the end." Act, FROM. How do we do that ? By doing what we'd do if our wish were objectified this second.

My first post here was riddled with a bunch of examples of questions one would ask to stay in their Fulfilled state. ANYTHING you do that implies fulfillment is a "work". ANYTH💦ING. *Wipes spit* sorry

Want $200,000 ? Google an interest yielding account until you're sure what bank you're going to use. Want a Tesla ? Find electric charging stations or a nice tarp to cover it for when it rains. Want a nice apartment ? Start picking posters. Faith is built by acts that imply possession. There's this idea that if you're down to your last dime, you need to spend it, to show how strong your faith is. NO. RELAX. OK. DONT DO THAT. Neville still had to serve in the military for a while even after his SATS put him back home in NYC. Be smart, folks.

Anything you do from premises of fulfilment is a *work*. The worst thing we do is we do what were called to do, but then sit there and wait for it. This Almost always fails because of the "Amazon effect." The second you click order, you're at your window WAITING for the DHL asshole. (Those ppl work hard..be nice. Tip well. I'm jk ok) You order an ipad ? Don't wait for it. Start looking for a nice case. A screen protector. An apple pencil, because you know you want to mess around doodling with PROCREATE™.

Like my first post, these acts feed faith INDIRECTLY. You don't have to affirm of your ACTING. Some people can affirm and be fine. Someone need movement. Do works that imply fulfillment. This will further vitalize your sense of knowing, passively.

The last thing you want to do is wait and think. These two are the twin-destroyers of Faith. Think and Do from. It's the little things that add up.

This is third rant this week, and I'm gonna take a break and drink some water that I didn't drink today. That's not good when you're 35+. Please Hydrate. 🌊

#nevillegoddard #neville #neville goddard #manifestation #manifesting

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volterran-wine · 3 years

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Lionheart || Felix (HC)

Requested by Anonymous: "Hey gorgeous! I just wanted to ask if your headcanon requests were back open. If they are, could you possibly do one about Felix? I don't have any particular topic in mind, so I guess you can do with it what you will. I just love the Deadly Daddy™. Thank you, m'goddess! 💞 - 🪱"

Greetings dear Worm!Anon, good to see you have crawled your way to my blog. I decided to write some headcanons about how Felix is in fact not as terrifying as he might appear, and how he feels about some of the negative aspects of his job. I hope these headcanons about our Deadly Daddy™ is to your liking. 🖤

!Warnings! Mentions of Felix' time as a gladiator, which very much was a form of slavery; so if you are sensitive to any topics that can be related back to that - Be warned.

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.

Felix is one of the oldest coven members to remain within The Volturi today, besides the royals only him and Chelsea were turned before the infamous year 0. Because of that Felix has seen both the good, bad and the ugly when it comes to The Volturi's mission and purpose. Even when it comes to humans he feels like he has seen the worst of what this world can offer, but Felix is ever hopeful for a better future; it's the only thing he can do. No matter how much strife and adversity he has gone through, he has always done it painting his own code of honour.

He grew up in one of the most turbulent times imaginable; the multiple civil wars and unrests that followed the end of the roman republic, Julius Caesar's dictatorship and assassination, the following war that was fought to avenge Ceasar's death and finally the last battle between Octavian and Cleopatra with Mark Antony at her side, all before Felix was 23 years old and already a gladiator that was meant to entertain the masses with brutal combat.

As I have mentioned Felix was put into a gladiator school by his family, he was exceptionally tall and with the right training he ended up as one of the most intimidating looking guys out there. His legacy as a gladiator was secured when he outlived the normal life expectancy, most gladiators died between 19 and 25; Felix was now 30 and quite tired of the life he was leading.

One of Felix's clear memories from his human life was how he would have a fellow gladiator hold on to his thigh as they prepared for death, the crowd screaming "Lugula!" (Kill Him) as he readied himself to drive a sword through the other mans neck. Just waiting for the decision to be made for him by an 'Editor', Felix remembers feeling he was not born for this type of violence, this so called "entertainment". He was very relieved when he got out.

When Caius and Aro found him he was hesitant, but the promises of freedom was too great; and at the end of the day Felix found more purpose leading the covens fighters alongside Caius than he ever had in the arena's.

He has been known as "The Executioner" since The Volturi officially tore down The Romanians, infamously among the few vampires who lived to tell the tale. Many would speak of how he had been the one to conduct all the beheadings as his kings demanded it. Through the ages he has been feared as one of The Volturi's strongest and most calculated fighters, if you go hand to hand with Felix you will lose your life in the process.

What I am trying to convey is that Felix is a man whose life has been marred by great violence, most of it out of his control. And while people may call him a violent brute if they do not know him, they don't see the Felix who is exceptionally honourable and a safe place to go to for his fellow coven members.

Felix may just be the least judgemental vampire out there, and will sit down and have an indepth talk with any recruit he gets paired with as a mentor; because he knows how much baggage a vampire can hold on to for hundreds of years from their human lives. Many people tend to forget that a lot of vampires did not see their turning as something positive, most vampires did not have the choice. Felix is one of the few people in Volterra who did.

There is no maliciousness within Felix, he will always strive to do the right thing, and that has even got him into certain spats with Caius whom he respects greatly; but his general has always told him to be honest so he will make damn sure even his general isn't an exception to the rule.

He is exceptionally brave and has on multiple occasions thrown himself between a coven member and certain death in order to protect them. His bravery and warm heart has made sure that he has a stellar reputation among The Volturi; Afton affectionately (or jokingly if you asked Afton) calls him 'Lord Lionheart'

Felix is in fact the best person to come to for advice or just comfort, he has seen so much of life; both mortal and immortal. He will not judge or ridicule, the only goal is to make sure that the people around him feel taken care of an seen.

#Felix Volturi #Felix Volturi Headcanon #Twilight #Felix is Husband Material

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the-lady-amphitrite · 2 years

Text

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 3

the winds of change

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader

word count: 7,511

summary: you share with Loki an experience to not be forgotten and forge friendships that will last a lifetime

in this chapter: more time skips, some lore, some light flirting, Thor showing up at The Worst Time™, very brief and mild violence in the form of someone being thrown to the ground after being rude

author notes: this chapter is sponsored by me watching several episodes of vox machina because my brain couldn't handle more music, and my local coffee shop supplying me with many london fogs

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

“You need to hold still, little starlight,” your uncle, Sveinn, orders. He’s tugging on the bottom strap for the breast collar of the saddle you’re wearing, each adjustment to the straps causing you to lean into him.

You rumble out an apology and do your best to stop leaning forward as he finishes tightening the straps.

You and Loki arrived in your family’s suite of the palace over half an hour ago, racing hand-in-hand to the pavilion on the far side where you knew you would find your mother and your uncle waiting, Frigga trailing several steps behind you both.

The pavilion itself is enormous, completely open on one side with a few drapes in (what you assume to be) your father’s colour and depicting (what you know to be) his symbol dispersed between a few of the columns that line the side open to the realm beyond. With three wildly different seating arrangements spread around the entire space and plenty of space between each, this is where your aerial lessons begin each day.

Once you’d found where they were sitting, you and the princess begged for your mother to let you take Loki flying, but it wasn’t until Frigga said that she was fine with Loki being on dragonback that your mother finally conceded.

Your mother had consulted your uncle on if they had an actual saddle that was properly sized for Loki (rather than the usual unmoulded leather that stood in for a saddle during your drills) before she disappeared for several minutes and returned with one she believed would work.

Before your mother let your uncle strap the saddle on, Kára made sure she went over the basics of the saddle — the girth, the stirrups, the horn, the leg straps — with you both. Even though the saddle is similar to the ones used for horses, there are enough differences that are unique to it. Only once that was covered did she hand the bundle of leather over to Sveinn so he could strap it onto your back.

“This will be the first time she’s carried anyone. Normally we wait until a dragonling is fifteen, as you know, but since the princess is still young, I think this will work out fine,” Kára tells Frigga and Loki, the three of them over on the lounge chairs sitting as they watch.

You stare down at your uncle silently, listening to what Kára is saying and watching her out of one eye. Her hands are in a tight ball in her lap, her face unwilling to give away anything else.

Sveinn’s dark eyes are trained on the saddle strap he’s buckling and adjusting, but you know he’s listening just like you are since he can’t see your mother at that moment. He’s left his long, flat-grey hair loose today instead of binding it up into several braids like he usually does. How your mother always does.

They’ve told you before what it represents among the Drekasál. How it’s the sign of a Himingarpr, a sky-warrior. A Drekasál who goes to war when called, much as an Einheri or a Valkyrja.

His beard is still bound into a braid though, the end of it resting against the collar of his tunic.

“It will be more than fine, Kára. I have faith in your teaching skills, and your daughter’s own abilities,” Frigga reassures her, putting a hand on Kára’s shoulder and giving her a charming smile. “It’s not all that different from riding a warhorse.” A pause, then, “Well, aside from the fact you’re in the air and spinning around.”

There’s another pause. From the corner of your eye, you can see a flash of something on Loki’s face, but when you turn your gaze to her she just appears to be listening to Kára.

“All set over here, my soul,” Sveinn tells your mother as he stands up, dusting his hands across his trousers. The term of endearment for one's soulmate is one you often hear between your mother and uncle. He might not be your uncle by blood, but the bond between them and the relationship they’ve built? He’s family.

You stand and move over to the chairs, conscious of where your paws and tail are as you move between a pair of divans.

Loki perks up when you draw close and hops out of her seat to meet you. There’s a sensation of a hand brushing against your mind, the mind-link quickly snapping in place. You can speak and be understood just fine in this form, but the mind-link will make it easier to communicate with her while flying.

Are you ready for this? You ask as she brushes her hand against the saddle. Even though she’s tall for an Asgardian her age, she’s still shorter than you in your dragon form, her shoulders only coming up to your withers.

She looks up at you with a smirk. I’m ready.

At the sound of your mother saying your name, your head snaps up and your entire body straightens up, waiting for her instructions.

“The All-Mother and I will wait up here while you fly, and Sveinn will be flying with you. Your Highness, if you would please mount up, same as a warhorse.” At Kára’s words, Loki steps into the stirrup on your left and gracefully swings her leg over, planting it lightly in the right one. Once she’s settled, your uncle shows her how to buckle the extra leg straps that will keep her in the saddle should you perform any hard banks or spins mid-flight. Completely secured into the saddle, she then grabs on to the horn at the front.

“Ready,” Loki tells everyone. Sveinn and Kára nod at one another, and then Sveinn shifts into his own dragon form.

He towers over you, a staggering twenty-seven hands high. He’s not the largest of the Drekasál — even amongst those still living — but he’s still much larger than you are. His pale scales gleam a light grey to you, near-white in the shine of the sun. Your mother has called him golden-scaled, saying he resembles the colour of the palace when the sun is high in the sky.

It’s a complete contrast to her own dark scales, something she once called “indigo”. To you, she just appears to have dark, cold-grey scales. Her dark scales and slightly smaller form make it easy for you to tell her apart from your uncle when they’re both teaching you in their dragon forms.

“Approach the edge of the pavilion, but do not jump off yet,” Sveinn orders. You follow along behind him to the edge, tail whipping slowly and your front talons grip the edge of the scarred stone as you look out over the shining city. Sveinn turns to you and you look up at him, waiting. “This will be different from flying with just a saddle. You know what to do. Trust that.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Then fly.” There’s a light tap on your back leg from your uncle’s tail, your signal to jump off. You hesitate for just a moment, long enough that you know both Kára and Sveinn notice, but then you push off the edge and free fall down the side of the palace.

Within seconds there’s a foreign sense of dread creeping along the back of your mind. It takes you a moment to remember that while you've taken this descent hundreds of times, Loki has never done this before. She’d probably assumed you would jump into the air, not free fall down the side of the palace. Even as she quiets her own emotions you can still feel the echoes of them as they’re muffled.

In a snap decision to soothe the fear of your friend, you tell her, Hold on tight. I’m going to level out.

Your wings snap open, pulling you away from the palace as you glide out high over the city. Loki’s own whispered emotions linger in the mind-link for long moments as you glide over and between various buildings, tangled and too faint for you to understand.

In a moment of curiosity, you try to reach a hand along the mind-link to brush against Loki’s mind. A feeling akin to relief washes over you when you realise you can, and you brush your hand against her mental-self’s cheek to soothe her as she had you earlier.

Muted and muffled as her emotions are, you’re not certain of her reaction so you turn your full attention to your flight.

The silence up here is only broken by the sound of wingbeats from you and your uncle who trails behind and above you. Below, you can see the everyday hustle and bustle of Asgard.

Some Asgardians are walking, some are horse riding, and some are in skiffs on the various rivers, but very few are paying any attention to the two dragons that soar above them. There are a dozen Drekasál still in the realm; between the others and the drills your instructors run you through most days, seeing a dragon flying about isn’t too unusual.

Some Asgardians — those who are on street levels high enough — realise you’re carrying someone on your back, stopping and pointing as you fly by. Others — those who are on lower street levels — look up, as if they’re expecting to see you do some of your drills. Yet you just continue to perform soft banks around buildings as you give Loki time to settle into being so high up.

You know everyone looking up knows who you are because of your scales. You’re not just the only blue dragonling in the Realm of Asgard, you’re the only blue Drekasál in the entire realm. Knowing who you are means they know you’re too young to be carrying an adult Æsir.

You spot a skiff rising up — likely to look at who’s on your back — but Sveinn dips down closer and lets his teeth flash. The skiff dives back down into the mass of others along the river. Sveinn stays low for a bit, likely warning off anyone with his presence alone before he rises back up and trails behind once more.

You’ve just banked around the outer towers of the city to head out towards the Rainbow Bridge when Loki finally speaks.

Is it always this quiet up here?

Sometimes some of the skiffs like to race us. Amusement rings with your words, and there’s an echo of laughter from Loki’s side.

Those who challenge a dragon are fools.

The eye-roll she makes is loud enough for you to hear. A laugh rumbles through you as you ask, Oh, are they? So should I be counting you among them?

Not if I turn into one myself, Loki replies smugly.

You’d seen a few examples of her shapeshifting ability over your years spent in lessons, but nothing that had said she would be able to shift into a dragon. To be able to do so she would have to be one of the few natural-born shapeshifters in the Nine. Most shapeshifters use a magical item, but the natural-born ones rarely need such an item.

Can you do that? You ask, looking over your shoulder at her in wonder.

She shrugs, turning her head away to look down at the city below. I haven’t tried, but why couldn’t I? How different could it be from changing to any other form the first time?

You don’t know how to answer that, don’t know just yet how to process that the Princess of Asgard is one of the natural-born shapeshifters, so you look ahead once more.

You’re approaching the Sea of Asgard now, the vast body of water that separates Himinbjǫrg and its all-seeing, all-hearing guardian from the rest of Asgard. You listen to see if your uncle objects to your current route, but when you just hear his wingbeats, you glide down to the underside of the Rainbow Bridge.

Weaving between the gleaming piles, you drift lower and lower until you can relax an arm and let your talons skim the top of the churning waters. Sveinn stays above the bridge itself, visible only when you leave the shade of the bridge.

As you close in on the end, you ask, Are you ready for something faster?

If you only go this fast, I’d rather ride a warhorse.

You let out a low rumble of half-amusement and half-insult, and then dart out and up from beneath the bridge. Rocketing past Sveinn as you ascend, you hear a startled gasp that turns into laughter from Loki. Letting out a roar, you level out and speed for the mountains at the far side of the sea as fast as your wings can carry you.

As you near the mountains, Sveinn’s wingbeats become louder. You know he’s catching up, but for some reason, you feel like you don’t want him to catch up. The desire is impulsive, but unshakeable, so you give in; you know just how to throw him off.

He’s done it to you before, after all.

You bank hard around the curve of the first mountains, the air rushing off your wings making the snow decorating their tops whirl up into a storm with how close you skim to them. You do the same thing around a second and then a third mountaintop, the storm of snow off each one larger than the last.

You bank hard once more, turning completely around the top of a mountain and glide back toward the city. With the fading sound of Sveinn’s wingbeats you know you’ve thrown him off — but only for a few moments. Your eyes scan the streets rapidly, looking for one of the rivers that feed into the sea.

Sveinn’s wingbeats become louder again just as you spot one, a bridge spanning it at the very edge that spills into the sea. No skiffs travel along it as far as you can see, so it’s one of the ones assigned to your drills. Perfect.

Hold on, princess! You fold your wings in, turning into a steep dive not too dissimilar from your drop off the palace at the beginning. Instead of fear this time, you can hear the delighted screaming-laughter from Loki.

If your dragon form could smile, you would be grinning at her reaction.

You shoot beneath the bridge, wingbeats a thunderous cacophony resounding off the walls and mixing with the roar of rushing water.

Down here, there’s not enough room for a dragon of Sveinn’s size to follow.

When you exit the other side you can still hear him, but when you glance up you don’t see him. All you see as you rush along this river are the criss-cross of streets above, the walls of the various buildings, and the Asgardians who are stopping to watch you as you rush by below.

Following the various twists of the river, you head back towards the palace.

You sail under another bridge, emerging out over one of the river pools, a roaring waterfall on the other side. You rocket up the waterfall without slowing down your mad dash, coming above the lower streets of Asgard before levelling out. The path to the palace is clear, and you dart over buildings and across the Rainbow Bridge.

Swinging your head back and forth, you realise you don’t see Sveinn anywhere. You must have lost him at some point while you were racing along the river. A sense of smugness begins to fill you. It’s almost foreign, almost like—

Your head whips around to look at Loki. There’s a self-satisfied smirk on her face that matches the smug feeling that’s echoing down the mind-link. You throw a barb of irritation at her as you realise the desire to outrun your uncle had come from her and hadn’t been born out of your own impulses.

Oh, don’t look so sour, Firefly! We had fun losing him, didn’t we?

That’s not the point, Loki! You used your powers on me. Frigga would —

My mother doesn’t need to know everything I do, Loki snaps, a scowl forming on her face. Your irritation runs higher in turn and her expression changes to an almost-pained look before she looks away. Tentatively, she says, Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted us to have a little fun, but I won’t do it again. You have my word.

You turn your head back around, quiet for a few moments as you try to sort through how you feel about what had just happened.

There’s a sudden absence of Loki’s feelings being echoed to you; she’s cut the mind-link. You can’t help but assume it’s because you didn’t answer her, and despair washes through you. You hadn’t meant to hurt her with your anger, but the last whisper of her emotions had been hurt.

Out loud you call back, “I don’t need your word, Loki. I trust you. I’m sorry I got angry.”

Instead of saying anything back, Loki is silent. Not sure what to make of her silence, or what to say to break it, you remain silent too. You bank around the right side of the palace, ascending and aiming for your family’s pavilion on the upper-left side.

When it comes into view, you see Sveinn and Kára — both in their Æsir form — standing near the edge of the pavilion. For a brief moment, you want to do nothing more than fly away. Avoid whatever conversation is about to happen because of your disappearing act.

You’d run off with the Asgardian princess, after all. Something you’re rather certain you weren’t supposed to do.

You can’t remember if one of them had said that you had to remain with Sveinn the entire flight. It was implied that you should since he came along though. Right?

Kára and Sveinn step aside as you land on the pavilion, your head down as you walk further in so Loki can easily dismount.

“How was it?” Frigga asks, standing up from the couch she was lounging on.

Loki’s words are stuffed with unbridled mirth. “It was amazing, Mamma!”

She launches into her own retelling of the adventure she’d taken with you as she unbuckles herself and steps out of the saddle.

When she climbs down you use your nose to help keep her from stumbling. She smiles, pausing her story and pressing her forehead to yours for a second before returning to regaling her mother with what had happened. Frigga takes her daughter by the hand, smiling down at her as they walk out. Before they leave, you hear Loki ask if she can do this again, and Frigga telling her that it’s a discussion for tomorrow.

Once the doors to the pavilion close, you stiffen. Alone with your family at last, you curl in on yourself.

“I see the princess had a good time,” Kára says lightly as she walks to your side and begins unbuckling the saddle. You make a sound of agreement. “Did you have a good time, my star?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

Kára finishes with that side and stops in front of you, tilting your chin up so you look at her. “Talk to me, little starlight. What’s wrong?”

You look over at Sveinn and then back at her. You see her slowly put together the pieces as you repeat the movement a few times. Your mother laughs.

“We were actually worrying recently that you were a little too passive for a Drekasál. Your uncle had already made a habit of giving his instructors the slip during drill training by your age.” She grins over at your uncle who comes over to help finish taking the saddle off.

“Don’t let her fool you, your mother would shift back to an Æsir mid-flight and scare her instructor when she would suddenly disappear out of the sky!” The weight of the saddle slides off your back and you shake your body, settling the scales that had been trapped beneath it.

“Hey!” your mother laughs out. “It was good practice. For me and for the other dragonlings of my conflagration.”

After listening to their laughter you look at each with one eye, softly asking, “So…I’m not in trouble for running off with the princess?”

“Of course not. You had a little adventure on your own and then you came home. Besides, I would hardly call flying around the city running off.” Your mother smiles up at you, reaching up and scratching the underside of your chin. A low rumble of contentment emits from your chest, your eyes falling half-shut for a few moments.

When the sensation disappears, you return to your Æsir form, staring up at both members of your family who look down at you with gentle love. Your mother scoops you up and settles you on her hip, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“What would you say to us bothering your babba, little starlight?” Your uncle asks.

Your face immediately lights up and you turn to look at your mother with wide eyes. Placing your tiny hands on her cheeks, you pout at your mother as you plead with her, “Please, Mamma. I miss him. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“You know, I think he could use an interruption.” Your mother winks at you, beginning the trek to her heartmate’s office. “I’m sure Babba will be thrilled to see his favourite dragonling in all the realms.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

After that afternoon, Loki often frequents your aerial lessons with your mother and uncle. Sometimes your father shows up too, giving tips to your friend since he’s often dragonback during battles.

It’s only a couple of weeks after that first flight that you’re running drills with Loki, something you hadn’t considered until Týr had suggested it one afternoon as Loki was mounting up. Of course, if the princess was going to learn how to fly dragonback into battle, then so would her older brothers Baldr and Thor.

You smile as you wander the streets of Asgard with your mother, out shopping for birthday presents for your father on this beautiful, chilly winter day. His birthday is soon, and you can’t help remembering how much things have changed in the last two years because of his suggestion.

You had met Thor not long after you’d begun your seiðr lessons. Soon after that, you began seeing more of him when your other lessons with the court children near your own age started. Between your currently shared arithmetic, history, linguistics, and weapons and tactics lessons, you see the younger prince often. The addition of him to your aerial lessons meant that (aside from Loki) you saw him more than any of the others.

Baldr, though, is a different story.

The Crown Prince is older than his siblings by a few years, just old enough that his lessons are with a different group of court children.

Like Thor, his skills in seiðr are minimal, limited to whatever his future godhood might be (something to do with light, perhaps), so he’s not in your seiðr lessons either. The aerial lessons are the only time you see this prince outside of the dining hall.

It’s also the only time you see the Drekasál that joins your lessons as his companion — a small and nearly black-scaled drekakona of Asgard known as Ásta.

You’d learnt quickly that both princes dote on and adore their little sister. Their doting had quickly extended to you as well because she called you her friend at the beginning of their first aerial lesson.

You’d never been doted on by anyone outside of your small family before, but you enjoy how both princes indulge Loki’s tendency for small bits of mischief on them. Small illusions and harmless spells are smiled at and laughed at by the brothers.

You grow fond of both her brothers because of those moments. You might have known Thor before, but you’d never really spent much time with him outside of lessons.

And now you’ve somehow befriended all three of the royal children, so now you often find yourself tagging or being dragged along with them on various adventures through the city and palace. You certainly don’t mind, even if you catch the occasional look between your parents and uncle that say they might care that you spend so much time with the royal children.

But it’s nice. It’s different from when you have to spend time with your cousin. He’s often more interested in learning to fight with his battle-axe or recounting tales of various heroes of Asgard (which always ends up with him proclaiming himself the Lion of Asgard, a soon-to-be warrior and hero of the realm).

And while Loki’s brothers like to tell the tales of the heroes of Asgard too, it’s rarely a topic that’s carried for long.

“What about this store?” Your mother asks, breaking you out of your wayward thoughts as she stops you at a glass-front shop. Despite having wandered through half the city’s shops so far, you’ve yet to pick out a present for him. Nothing you’d seen in any of them had really felt right to gift him.

What can someone gift to Týr Hymisson — General of Asgard’s armies and close friend of All-Father Odin — that he does not already have? What could you, a child who has not yet seen fifteen years, give him?

Looking up at the shop’s signs, your face lights up as you spot one that mentions the shop carries magical items.

“Can we look at those, Mamma?” You look up at your mother, pointing at the sign and bouncing. As soon as she says yes, you drag her as fast as you can into the store.

In here the air is warm compared to the nipping chill outside. You do not pause as you begin to hunt for the magical items. Your mother calls out a greeting to the shopkeeper who waves and greets you both from behind her counter.

You quickly begin to glance over several of the items once you find them. Each item has a little card attached to it, a list of items within and the spell (or spells) on it. As your mother takes them off the shelf you tell her about what each of them can do based on the little descriptions.

You find it amusing to see her reactions to a few of them, especially for the raven quill that writes with one’s own blood. Blood magic can be dangerous, but you can’t help but be at least a little interested in how some of it works.

One of the last items your mother takes off the shelf is a small orb with a raging storm inside. You’re both fascinated by how the storm is trapped within the thick glass as you read the card describing it. “It says someone who could wield atmokinetic abilities made it. And it’s not something that you can use, just looks pretty.”

“I wonder which sky god created it,” your mother muses, setting it back on the shelf. Her gaze shifts to something higher on the shelves, pulling it off and handing you the card as she opens the box.

“It’s a crow quill, spelled to always return to its box at the end of the day. It has uru nibs so they never wear down and can use magical inks without potentially damaging the quill’s spell.” You peer in the box, staring at the assortment of differently sized bright silver uru nibs and the long dark feather that lays below them in the pale-grey setting. There’s an ink bottle in the box as well, but when you lift it out you’re not certain what colour it is since it’s so dark. “Colour?”

Your mother glances at it, turning it so the light from outside strikes against the bottle. “Dark red, like a sweetberry.”

“Does Babba like that?”

“I think he would. It’d be a nice break from all the blacks and browns he uses.” You make a noise, unsure if you want to get another colour. Your mother brushes a soft hand against the shoulder of your dress, a smile on her face when you look up at her. “If you want to get him this, we can also get him some other inks. Would you like that, little star?”

You nod your head, and she guides you to the counter.

A quick inquiry as your mother is paying for the quill box lets you know that a shop just down the street sells a wide selection of high-quality inks, both magical and non-magical alike. You and your mother thank the shopkeeper and step back out into the chill just as a familiar laugh races towards you both.

It’s Thor, and there’s someone chasing after him that you don’t recognise. Thor shouts your name as the two boys run by, waving without stopping. The dark-haired boy sounds annoyed when he yells Thor’s name, but there’s a grin on Thor’s face as they keep running down the street.

You turn to your mother, wide-eyed and pleading. “Mamma?”

“Yes yes, you can go, my star. Make sure you make it back for dinner, okay? I’ll be out here shopping for a few more hours if you need me.” She gives you a swift kiss on your cheek that you return before racing off after the boys, yelling for them to wait up for you.

You catch up to them a few streets later, where the boys have collapsed on and beside some dark barrels resting against a tall, grey-stoned wall. You look at Thor, long teen limbs splayed out on the cobblestone of the deserted street and panting with a grin on his face as he greets you. The boy sitting on one of the barrels, elbows resting on his knees, looks up at you with a tight smile and familiar dark eyes.

“Don’t make me chase you so far next time. Why were you running Thor? What did you do?” You ask, hands on your hips and looking back down at the pale-haired prince.

“Ate Loki’s sweetberry tart,” Thor replies, pointing up at the boy on the barrel. You sigh at Thor, a fondly exasperated smile on your face. Despite all the changing he’s done physically in the last couple of years — a deeper voice, a growth spurt that briefly shot him into gangly limbs, muscles that are filling out said limbs thanks to his training — he’s still the same boy you met all those years ago at heart.

“Was it worth being chased halfway across Asgard?”

“He went north along the Rainbow Bridge first, before we came out this way,” Loki tells you, glaring down at his brother. “I should have made him run into a wall.”

“A wall wouldn’t have stopped me!” Thor protests, rolling over and sitting up. He flexes his arms, his grin wide. “I am Thor, God of Thunder! Walls cannot stop me!”

You and Loki both glance at each other. Look back at the godling between you. And then you both start laughing at his declaration.

His recent godnaming by the Weavers of Fate had declared him the God of Lightning and Thunder. Yet, for whatever reason, Thor had shortened it down to just God of Thunder, instead of God of Lightning.

“Your greatest downfall will come from your sweet tooth, Thor.” You sit down on the barrel beside Loki’s. “At least you didn’t fall into one of the rivers this time.”

Thor’s arms fall, a grimace on his face. “Yes, at least I did not do that this time. Baldr hates it when we leave only one of the sweet buns for him.” Thor looks at you, a crooked smile on his face now. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with brothers, Firefly.”

Firefly.

It’d started as a simple, offhand joke a couple of years ago by Loki. You’d been trying to transmogrify a pile of feathers into a fire flower you were studying, but somehow they’d become a small army of fireflies. And then those fireflies had decided that they would call your shoulders their new resting place until Loki had helped you change them back so you could try again. She’d joked back then that they probably thought you were one of them, and the nickname had stuck.

Even though they don’t know why it started, Thor and Baldr started using it for you almost immediately the first time they saw you responding to Loki calling you Firefly.

“Baldr might as well be,” you tell him with a smirk. “He’d probably say I’m as annoying to have around as a sister.”

“You’re better than another sibling.” Loki knocks his shoulder gently against yours with a smile. You return the gesture with a gentle knock of your own, smiling at his words as warmth fills your chest and radiates into your arms and clasped hands.

“Thanks, you too,” you reply softly, your gaze on your hands since you can’t seem to look up at the face of your best friend. You feel a little too warm, especially where Loki’s shoulder had knocked against yours. Like you’ve sat a little too close to a fire for just a little too long.

Thor chooses that moment to stand up and look down the street, away from both you and Loki. He says over his shoulder, “Look, there’s a bakery just down the way! I will go see what they have. Would either of you like something besides tarts?”

After a brief debate over what Thor should buy, the thunder godling leaves to go see if the bakery has sweet buns (for him and Baldr) and tarts (for you and Loki). Silence looms in the space between you and Loki now that Thor’s gone. Neither of you takes the opportunity to start up a conversation, so you take the chance to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

You take in this form, admiring how much he still looks like him, even with all the minute differences. The sharper jaw and cheekbones countered with the nose you’ve seen a million times. Dark hair that you’re used to seeing in a braid that hangs over Loki’s shoulder is now barely brushing past his jawline. Lips that are thinner than what you’re used to, but still curled into that familiar smile. Dark-coloured eyes that—

That are staring right at you.

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d gone from staring at him out of the corner of your eye to just full-on staring. You freeze, unsure of what to say but then blurt out, “You look nice like this.”

Loki’s lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “I look nice?”

The low rumbling baritone of his words makes you stutter at first. “Y-yeah. I mean, you’ve always looked really nice! And now you look a little different. It’s a good different. You look like you, just… different.”

“What about me is so different, my brave Firefly?”

There’s a strange sensation that breaks out in your chest, almost as if your heart is flipping and beating harder when it shouldn’t. You’re not sure how you’re confident enough to do it (though perhaps being called his brave Firefly has a part in it), but you reach up and brush the fingertips of one hand against his cheek.

With a soft smile, you tell him, “Your jawline and cheeks. They look sharper now, but the shape of your face is the same.” You poke gently against his nose. “This is exactly the same though. So are the shape and I assume colour of your eyes.” Your hand fiddles with some loose strands of his hair. “Your hair is a lot shorter. It’s still soft though, and I would wager also the same colour.”

When your eyes flicker to his mouth you pull away slowly, your gaze moving back up to be arrested by the look on his face.

“You look nice in both your forms too.” You swear that his whispered words cast a holding spell, suspending you both in this moment. You’re not sure at all what the look on your best friend’s face is. It’s mesmerising, captivating in a spell-like way. Yet you’re entirely certain no seiðr has been cast on you, that this moment is something… else.

“Brother! Firefly! I have returned with a bounty of treats for us to share!”

Both of your heads snap away from one another. You hadn’t realised that you’d started to lean back in until Thor practically threw a bucket of ice water over your heads.

Your tongue is tied in knots, unable to form words for several moments. Loki merely smiles at his brother and thanks him as he takes one of the bags his brother is holding, completely unaffected by whatever had just happened unlike you. Regaining your tongue, you thank your friend for the treats as he hands one of the other bags over to you.

You refuse to look at Loki as you dig through the bag, still trying to process what had (almost?) happened before Thor returned as you take out your first tart. More importantly, what had almost happened between you and Loki? What would have happened if Thor hadn’t shown up at that moment?

You bite into your tart, casting aside your questions in favour of enjoying it. The burst of a mildly sweet flavour has your shoulders drop, recognising the taste of the strawberry pear fruit inside.

The three of you move on to talk about nothing and anything as you each enjoy your own treat. You and Loki don’t talk about what might have happened, and Thor doesn’t act as if he’d interrupted anything. In a way, it’s almost like you imagined the moment.

And yet, when you and Loki do look at each other you swear you can see the embers of the look he had earlier still flickering in his eyes. Enchanting, whispering to you to lure you back in and discover what it is that you’re seeing.

You quickly resolve to look at him as little as possible as the three of you continue to talk. Not that that does much for the way your mind replays both the earlier moment and each of the subsequent looks he’s given you.

At some point, you can hear the rowdy sound of other Asgardian youths as they come down the street. It’s not the first group to pass this way, and so none of you does more than glance at them as they approach.

The three of you are laughing over a shared memory when one of the boys first speaks.

“Oi, what do the three of you have there?” The largest boy in the group asks, stepping forward. He’s tall, likely taller than Thor if the prince were to stand up. The most notable feature to you is his warm-grey hair that hangs down to his shoulder, and even that isn’t an uncommon feature here on Asgard.

You all look between each other before Thor addresses the boy. “Just some tarts for us and my brother back home.”

“Who’s tarts?”

“I believe her name was Gertha. She owns the bakery just down the road.” Thor points down the road with his thumb, a wide and friendly smile on his face.

The sudden sneer on the boy’s face is all it takes for your own smile to slip away and coldly tell them, “I suggest you move along and stop bothering us.”

You had hoped that your words would make him leave. Instead, he looks at both brothers with outright disdain on his face and dripping from his voice as he says, “What, are the two of you such weaklings you need the protection of a girl?”

All three of you stand up, each of you insulted by this boy’s words while his friends make various noises and gestures behind him. Hot anger boils in your blood as you step forward with your teeth bared.

No one insults your friends like that. Especially not to your face.

Loki’s hand comes around your front and snakes across your waist, pulling you back behind the brothers. “He’s not worth the effort, Firefly.” Loki’s words are as brittle as thin ice.

The taste of hot iron in your mouth sharpens instead of dulling. His cold tone is one you recognise, and you hate that you do.

“You’re right. He’s not worth the effort of my fist.” You twist your hand, pulling on seiðr threads and making it influence the world around you. The cobblestone beneath the boy’s heels jerks upward, sending him crashing into the pavement.

There’s a sudden murmuring from the other boys, but then your mouth tugs up into a smirk as a familiar wave of magic comes hurtling down the street from your left. You grin with your teeth on display as the boy on the ground stands up, knowing what is about to happen.

His lip is split, and there’s a bit of blood coming from a cut along his eyebrow. The snarl on his face would concern you if you didn’t know, but—

“What is going on here,” your mother snarls, storming up the street. The kiss of her magic — unbound but not a power that can snag on anything as it whips about — has Loki tensed up, shoulder’s tight even though he knows your mother.

After all, a Drekasál’s temper can be unpredictable for most. Especially when it comes to protecting who they claim as theirs.

And your mother’s temper is very well known among Asgardians.

You step around Loki’s arm, staring down at the boys as their faces all change into ones of fear and recognition at the sight of who’s arrived. And you tell her, “He insulted the princes, Mamma. We were doing nothing but sitting here and minding our own.”

The boy you injured blanches at your words, eyes darting from you to your mother as she stares all of them down. You know the shape her eyes have taken, becoming an imitation of the ones in her dragon form.

A warning of the dragon that lurks beneath to those who would dare cross her in this moment. It’s a warning that all Drekasál can give, even if they don’t always do so.

The boy you threw to the cobblestones ducks his head, voice wavering as he says, “I’m sorry, Raven-Feeder. We meant no offence—”

“And yet offence was had if your face is any indication,” Kára interrupts, her tone as sharp as her talons as she gestures to his face. The boy reaches up, cupping his hand to hide the cut on his forehead behind his palm. Your mother is silent for a moment as she glares at each of them. “An apology, from each of you to my daughter and the princes.”

Each of the boys nearly trips over their own feet to apologise before they hurry off.

With them gone, you see the shoulders of each prince relax, a sigh of relief escaping your lungs.

Your mother turns, putting both of her hands on your cheeks as she tilts your face around with a worried frown.

“I’m fine, Mamma.” You put your hands over hers, smiling up at her. “No punches were thrown. I just used seiðr to move cobblestones and make him fall on his face.”

“You would have, if I hadn’t shown up.”

“Of course. Loki and Thor are my friends and those boys insulted them.”

“They insulted you as well, little Firefly,” Thor interjects. It takes you a moment, but you faintly recall how Thor had moved to throw the first punch after the boy had gotten up. Your mother showing up is the only reason that it hadn’t broken out into a fight.

You shrug, pulling out of your mother's hands. “He called me a girl. He wasn’t wrong.”

“You’re training to be a seiðkona. You’re more than just some girl.” Loki’s jaw twitches, a familiar tic of his irritation that you’ve seen several times over the years.

“Aye, my brother is right. You might have even been a valkyrja-in-training for all they knew with that left hook of yours.” You can’t help but laugh at Thor’s words.

“Remind me to show them next time,” you tell him, playfully swinging your left fist at his shoulder. He ducks away, a grin on his face. The matching eye-rolls from both your mother and Loki send you and Thor into a fit of giggles.

“Well I think that has been enough excitement for today. Come along, little starlight. Dinner still awaits us.” Your mother bows her head at both of the princes and then turns away. You pull Thor into a quick hug, telling him you’ll see him tomorrow in class.

Loki’s hug lingers longer, and you plant a quick kiss on his cheek before saying you’ll see him tomorrow. Bright and early as you do most days.

With a smile at both princes, you bound off after your mother, eager to return home to your family.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona

Find the lore notes for this chapter here!

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #a fairytale beginning #the prince and his dragon #of fire and of ice #amphi writes

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avrilmaria · 2 years

Text

Happy birthday @purrincess-chat! May you always be the unhinged savage queen you are!

Today the stars aligned to make this the last Ladrien Wednesday before Ladrien June, and because of that, and because you've been in a mood™, my gift for you is 3.4k of Ladrien hurt/comfort with Adrien pov. Hope you like it 😘

The song I recommend to hear while reading this (since is the one I listened nonstop while writing) is Dreamcatcher, Siyeon & Dami - Shadow, especially the slow version.

Also on AO3

The moon above the city

Today is Adrien's birthday. Today is Adrien's happiest day.

Adrien woke the day of his birthday brimming with hope. Yesterday his father and he spent a good time reminiscing about Adrien's mother. It was a coincidence that he found an old music sheet on top of Natalie's desk, that he tried to play said song on his piano and subsequently got caught by Gabriel, explaining in his usual detached way that it was one of Emilie's favorite songs. A miniscule uplift at the corner of his lips, a soft yet distant look in his eyes lost in a happier past; in those scarce minutes Adrien could see the father he remembered before the disappearance of his mother.

"Surely," he thought. "Today father will spend a bit of time with me! He might even give me a gift!" With those thoughts lingering in his mind, he walked towards the dining room with a big smile on his face.

Adrien's wish turned true, for his father was sitting at the end of the long table, waiting for him. Not a second later a plate of food was put in front of them, nothing special and a bit boring in Adrien's opinion. Nathalie bid him good day before returning to her work, Adrien made sure to reply in kindness, perhaps a bit more peppy than usual.

"Good morning, father". A big grin adorned his face.

"You are late, Adrien", said Gabriel, impassive as always. It put a pause on Adrien's good humor for a moment but oh well, that's his father alright, distant as always. "I expect you to behave accordingly for the rest of your schedule"

"Do you remember what day it is today, father?" He asked as soon as he saw Gabriel getting up to return to his studio. His good humor was beginning to crumble, yet a sliver of hope still remained in his heart.

"October 19th, the day of your shooting for the upcoming partnership with that juvenile magazine". Gabriel's exit left a deafening silence inside the huge room. Adrien really should have known better than to hope. His meal felt more miserable than usual.

***

"Happy birthday bro!" Nino shouted as soon as he saw Adrien entering the school, wrapping him in a warm and tight hug.

Nino insisted on giving his gift first. It was a USB titled 'Adrien's anime remix' with a pretty green bow. "I made a mix of your favorite anime songs, only the best for my bro!" Nino showed him a big smile and a thumbs up.

"Hope you like it, birthday boy," said Alya with a devilish grin. Her gift was a small notebook of very few pages that may or may not be a fanfic about him and Ladybug. Adrien, flustered, looked at Alya questioning, her only reply was a wink.

Lastly Marinette gave him a colorful paper bag with a slight tremble and heavy blush. Inside was an oversized black hoodie with his favorite magical girls embroidered all over the garment. Those characters were the protagonists of the last anime they all watched together in Marinette's bedroom, where he confessed how much the story meant to him. "I hope it gives you as much comfort as them. Happy birthday, Adrien."

Adrien briefly hugged each friend for their thoughtful gifts, yet lingered with Marinette's, even though she seemed seconds away from passing out.

"Yes," Adrien thought. "Today is a good day."

***

Today is Adrien's birthday. Today is Adrien's worst day.

It started inocuos enough. Just the usual Hackmoth's villain of the week, highly vindictive in all of his extravagant and poorly designed self. On a positive note, it did give Adrien a respite from his terribly dull photoshoot.

"All the words that you ignore and bury deep inside your mind, I will make you listen, for I am the Phantom Lord!" The villain said, dressed in what could only be described as a phantom of the opera look alike, made unconventional in all the wrong ways. At least the black smoke coming from his hand gave him a mystifying look.

It should have been routine for Adrien, and it was, right until Phantom Lord managed to make him hide before his transformation ran out time. Sneaky thing he was, making Chat Noir waste his cataclysm with all those pesky illusions. Not a good situation, but he managed worse, Adrien told himself, and then Mr dark-and-brooding somehow found him. Now, Adrien is very loved by many, perhaps too much sometimes, but the absolute hatred of this villain towards him felt very uncalled for, he didn't even know him!

Phantom Lord pointed his hand very dramatically towards Adrien, shadows already forming at his fingertips. Adrien was fully ready to run like a gazelle to the nearest secluded spot to transform again into Chat Noir. But then, just like an angel descending from heaven, Ladybug caught Adrien in her strong capable arms mid flight towards the next tall building. Adrien thanked his stars for finding himself flushed to the superheroine's body, clinging to each other so he wouldn't fall. Being a damsel in distress never felt better in Adrien's opinion.

Soon they were to land on top of a rooftop but as soon as they touched it, the whole building disappeared. Completely caught off guard, Ladybug aimed for the closest flat surface, making them stumble on each other with their rough landing.

A black mist slowly surrounded them until everything went dark.

Nothingness all around, no light, no sound. His frantic heartbeat echoed endlessly. Adrien took a shuddering breath, the uneasiness in his chest clawed cold and deep inside his bones. His eyes felt uncomfortably warm, a dark and lonely room came to his mind. He waited with one last breath stuck in his throat, and then they came, the whispers. The voice that spoke was one Adrien knew all too well, accusatory and self-deprecating, his own voice.

Do you really think your stupid sacrifices can save anyone? You're just a hindrance, Ladybug is so tired of your recklessness. Do you even think before jumping into danger? When will you learn?

"That's a lie, I'm a huge help to Ladybug, she depends on me," he said aloud, hoping it would silence the voice.

What a failure you are. Such a coward. You're useless.

"I don't know what you're talking about." With shaking hands, bathed with his first tear, Adrien covered his ears.

You don't belong out there, Adrien, go back to your room.

Oh, how many times has he heard those same words coming from his own father? So many that his own mind conjured the rest of Gabriel's patronizing words. 'It's dangerous outside, it's safe here inside. I know what's best for you, Adrien, and that's final'.

Yes, go back to your room. Mother is gone because of you.

"That's not true!" He shouted to the void, loud and broken.

Father hates you, it's your fault mother left.

"It's not true." Adrien sat his trembling body on the floor, even though it still felt like nothing.

Ladybug will never love you, she doesn't know you, she doesn't care. Useless, just a pretty face.

"No, I'm Ladybug's partner. She depends on me, Paris depends on me." Adrien brought his knees to his chest.

No one really knows you, nobody cares, no one will ever care, just a pretty face.

Tears resonated in the silence like water drops, a sad raining interrupted by a single pathetic whimper.

You're weak, useless, just a pretty face. It doesn't matter how much you try, nobody cares.

Adrien hid his face in his knees, full of guilt and shame. There was only darkness around him, yet it felt too hard to look at.

It doesn't matter how many skills you learn, you're empty inside, just the shell of a person, just a pretty face.

Adrien covered his head with his arms, making himself smaller. A sobbing little thing he was, nothing new. All those words, things he already told himself many times inside his big and lonely room. No one heard back then, no one will hear him now either.

"I'm a failure, I'm worthless." Words he thought countless times, but that voice, it wasn't Adrien's voice. A high pitch voice, watery and full of fear, is one he only heard a handful of times. He'll recognize that lovely voice anywhere.

"I should give up," the voice said, all too clear, all too broken. Adrien focused on her voice, trying to see where it came from. The fog dissipated just enough for him to see Ladybug, curled and sobbing, not unlike himself.

Adrien crawled to her, through the rising volume of those cruel whispers. When he reached Ladybug, he put his hands on her shoulders, begging for her attention, trying to reach her over her fast panicked breath until her eyes met his. With shaking hands he cupped Ladybug's beautiful face, with a face wet with his own tears he mirrored her, and with a raw and scratchy voice he told her the words he always wished someone would say to him. "You're not alone, I'll always be there for you, let's try together."

Ah, there it is, that spark in Ladybug's gorgeous blue eyes. A gasp left her trembling lips. She looked at Adrien as if finally seeing him and put her hands over his, still shaking, still soft and so very warm on her face.

"Adrien," she called him oh so happily. Ladybug grabbed a fistful of his shirt, tightly, as if he was her most precious anchor inside her sadness. Adrien rested his forehead on hers, and then they breathed with their eyes closed, together and encompassingly. "I can do it."

When the dark mist started to dissipate, they found Phantom Lord waiting close by, he seemed surprised to see them well. Without a second to waste, Ladybug grabbed Adrien between her arms again and fled as fast and far away as possible.

This time they landed softly atop a restaurant's rooftop, only flowers, chairs and tables on sight. As soon as Ladybug deemed Adrien safe, she turned her back with her yo-yo ready, a practiced motion no doubt. Ladybug paused, and then lowered her arm. She turned to look at Adrien intensely, her pretty blue eyes full of raw emotion. She looked at the floor for a moment, her lips forming a small smile. Ladybug took a deep breath as if to gain more courage and then embraced Adrien, tightly.

"Thank you, Adrien," she whispered in his ear, softly, like a precious secret. They left a breath in unison, finding warmth where they only felt cold before. One last squeeze and a parting smile, and then she was gone, golden rays of sun framing her body against the pale blue sky.

Adrien closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing his mind to remember the heroine's comforting scent. It always reminded him of all kinds of fresh baked bread and sweet filled pastries. Adrien chuckled, thinking that Ladybug must have quite the sweet tooth.

When Adrien opened his eyes again, it was to the feeling of Plagg's paw on his cheek. Indeed, Adrien was not alone, not anymore. "Claws out!" Barely a few seconds later he received a message from Ladybug, asking if he was alright, if the mist got to him, and if he felt good enough to fight, she had a plan waiting for his most devoted partner.

***

It all ended with one of Ladybug's impressive and overcomplicated plans, as always. They fist bumped, she called Miraculous Ladybug and then they parted ways. It was a routine that Chat Noir has done millions of times, and yet he still feels hollow, the whispers lingered inside his mind.

He came back where the fight ended, where Gorilla was waiting for him with the car, ready to take him home. Ladybug was still swarmed by people when he arrived. Their eyes met over the crowd, and for a brief terrifying moment he saw a reflection of himself in her eyes. The uncomfortable warmth returned to his face, suffocating him with every breath.There was a crack on his perfect mask. At that moment Adrien knew that this time, no matter how much he tried to hide his feelings behind a pleasant smile, he couldn't pretend that everything was fine.

He averted his eyes, how shameful that she would see him like this. Ladybug called to him, almost desperately, while she tried to reach him. When the crowd finally noticed Adrien, they swarmed him like vultures with loud voices and invasive questions. He felt numb when Gorilla's muscular arm wrapped around his shoulders, ushering inside the car.

Adrien could feel his bodyguard's worried glances through the rear view mirror for the whole trip back to the mansion. Gorilla accompanied him the entire journey back to his bedroom, his large frame dwarfing Adrien. Once they reached the door, Gorilla put his large hand on Adrien's left shoulder, making him timidly meet the burly man's kind eyes. Then he patted his small shoulder in an attempt to give the boy some comfort. Tears welled in Adrien's eyes again, he buried his face on his muscular chest, hands barely reaching his back. Gorilla returned the hug, hiding Adrien from the world between his big arms, if only for a moment.

***

Adrien sat on his bed, facing the open window. Briefly he wished the sky to not be so clear, but to be dark and unrelenting, to match the storm inside his chest. Instead there he was, quiet and tired in his big lonely room. He looked at the presents his friends gave him, trying desperately to remember that he wasn't alone any more, that there were people that cared for him.

A shadow between the buildings caught Adrien's attention, it was the silhouette of his favorite superheroine getting closer by the second. Ladybug launched herself into his room with poorly concealed urgency, almost stumbling.

"Adrien," she called him, slightly breathless, her beautiful eyes searching his face.

Adrien felt like a deer in headlights, gaping at the frantic way in which she entered his bedroom. "Ladybug! What a surprise to see you! Did you need something?" Adrien tried his best to seem as nonchalant as possible, nothing like the nervous mess he actually felt like.

Ladybug's face softened at seeing his poor performance. "I was worried about you." She pressed softly her knuckle against his reddened lower eyelid, brushing off a cold tear. Her touch was so gentle that Adrien felt like breaking inside all over again.

"I'm fine," he croaked. Ladybug's sad eyes told him how unconvinced she was, still, she didn't comment on it.

"I also have something to tell you," Adrien sighed in relief, grateful for what she left unsaid. "Happy birthday, Adrien."

"Did you come all this way to wish me a happy birthday? I'm touched." Adrien's hands trembled as much as his voice, his heart beating incredibly fast. His crush remembered his birthday! Oh, Adrien could faint from so much happiness after such a tiring day.

Ladybug looked at the floor, a rosy tint adorning her cheeks. "You are important to me, Adrien," she said earnestly. The smile she gave him was shy and full of love. "Is there something you want to do today? I'll be happy to go anywhere with you."

Adrien felt his heart triple in size. A blushing Ladybug in his room? What a dream! But then he remembered what happened inside the black mist, how they clinged to each other, seeking comfort amidst their broken pieces. This time Adrien felt at peace, basking in the warmth of her words.

"Then, would you like to hang out with me on top of the Eiffel Tower tonight? Just the two of us."

***

True to her word, Ladybug picked him up later that day,including several blankets and a basket full of pastries waiting for them at the tower.

Adrien tenderly caressed the front of his new favorite hoodie with a smile. He noticed Ladybug's intense gaze on the garment, so he told her: "My friend Marinette made it for me, she's the best." To which Ladybug responded with a nod and a deep red blush covering her entire face.

A serene moment under a full moon, with only the muted cacophony of the busy Parisian life and a soft, gentle breeze as their companion. Adrien started to shiver, he really didn't think it would be so cold, he usually came as Chat Noir after all. Ladybug put one of the many blankets over his body, then quickly removed her hands as if embarrassed.

"I want to thank you, Adrien, for being there for me today," a sigh pared with a tender smile and a far away look. "And always."

"I only did what anyone would do. After all, who doesn't want to help their favorite hero?" he said with a flirtatious tone.

"No, you don't understand, I," she paused as if conflicted to tell more. "You saw how I was inside Phantom Lord's mist. The truth is, it's not easy being in my position, sometimes the pressure gets to me, sometimes I doubt".

"Ladybug," Adrien interrupted, hand raised to her at hearing her frantic rant to the moon.

"Sometimes I think to myself 'this is it, this is the time I fail', and it eats at me inside every single time." Ladybug looked at him, pleading he would understand. "If it weren't for Chat Noir or you, I don't know what I would do."

"The rest of Paris has your back too, don't they cheer you up too when you're down?" He asked with a gentle tone. As much as Adrien was loving Ladybug's appreciation for him, he needed her to understand she was loved by many people too.

"Yes, of course, but Chat Noir is my partner, he always has my back and you." She laughs softly. "It's like you have a talent for seeing me at my worst. Are you not disappointed when you see me like that? I'm supposed to be Paris' hero, but sometimes I feel like the hero of no one"

"It's tough when people put you on a pedestal," Adrien agreed before grabbing her shoulders, making her see the conviction in his eyes. "I will never be disappointed in you. You're the most amazing person I know, Paris is lucky to have you as its protector."

She left a shuddering breath, the tension leaving her body after her outburst and Adrien's kind words. "And you are the best, Adrien. Paris is also lucky to have you." She smiled at him, big and honest.

Adrien brought his hands to his lap, a deep blush covering his face. "Well, I mean, I kinda understand, a bit, you know, with my job," he stopped after realizing what a stuttering mess he was at the moment.

"Because you're a very famous model for a very famous brand?" Ladybug asked playfully, amused by the flustered boy, even though the red on her face matched his. "You are right though, it's hard when people put you so high and they don't even know you. It's like you stop being a person, like you're only the idea they have of you."

Adrien nodded once before turning to look at her completely. "You know, I'm always surrounded by people but I'm never allowed to get close to anyone." He averted his eyes for a moment, a soft bite to his lower lip and then a whisper. "It's lonely." A heavy sigh left his reddened lips before he looked at her full of determination. "But with you, Ladybug, I feel less alone." His voice quivered but he smiles, big and slightly lopsided, while his eyes are full of unshed tears that shine under the moonlight.

"Adrien," she said softly, with unshed tears of her own.

"When you asked me what I wanted as a gift," Adrien averted his eyes for a moment, bashful and vulnerable. "Well, I just wanted an opportunity to let you see what you mean to me, in my life". He looks back at her, earnest and open, dewy green eyes and a slightly crooked smile.

"You are not alone, Adrien". She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to her. He rested his head on her shoulder and hid his face on her neck, silently sobbing. "Never again". She vowed to the moon while pressing his small frame to her, using her own body as another blanket to comfort him. Ladybug kissed the top of his head, soft and reverent, full of promises she will make sure to fulfill.

Perhaps one day, together, they will take their broken pieces and make them whole again. For now, they will hold each other tightly under the full moon on a starless night.

#My Writing #Did I hurt my feelings writings this? Maybe

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