#the lovely ladies from the village made them the shirts and they couldn’t refuse

[lavaflowe]

One of my favorite chapters, makes me laugh everytime

Like imagine drinking from this random river gets you pregnant and then you have to drink this other water to get rid of it and THEN you have the worst bowel movement of your LIFE and you’re never the same

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

[ms-indifferwnt]

“I’m Cold”

“I’m cold"

“And?”

“Can’t you give me your jacket or something?”

“Can’t you accept my proposal and marry me already?”

In which Prince Donghyuck’s parents are forcing him to get married and he decided to propose to the first girl he sees to shut his parents up

Genre: Prince!Lee Donghyuck x Maid!Reader, Angst, Fluff, Arranged Marriage (kinda), Slowburn

Warnings: Curse words, Suggestive (I’ll add more if there are)

Notes: Chapter 7 of Im Cold. Tell me your thoughts, appreciate it if you guys leave likes and commentssss

WORD COUNT:  3.1k

Prev / Chapter 7 / Next

Donghyuck ran to the tea room where the other princes were sitting and enjoying themselves, drinking coffee and tea, telling each other jokes and teasing each other

"Have you seen Y/n?" he asks opening the doors with a loud thud, his dress shoes clicking against the marble floor, his sudden entrance catching everyone's attention "I went to her room to wake her up but she wasn't there"

Doyoung was there serving coffee to Prince Lucas who spoke up "The ladies went to the garden at midnight"

Donghyuck not even batting an eyelash he turns on his heal and walks in the direction of the garden, with the rest of the Princes right behind him, once he arrived at the garden he let out a breath of relief once he saw you, laughing along with the rest of the girls and when he approached all of them bowed and Y/n stood up, and Donghyuck had a clear view of her legs, and her short shorts that was being covered by the oversize shirt that had a name 'Hendery' he read, his face scrunching, who was Hendery? Why did you have his shirt but then you smiled at him, any thought before that abandoned

"Are you ok?" You asked and tilted your head and a happy Lucas hugged Donghyuck from behind and Donghyuck had to pry him off "Let me go"

"I thought lover boy wanted a hug" He teases and then pinches his cheeks

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jaemin sits beside his Fiance "Forgive us for barging in on your girl time ladies," He bows appreciatively to Doyoung who handed him coffee "Prince Donghyuck panicked when he couldn't find Lady Y/n, even though he knows that you girls like staying in the garden to talk"

Dongyuck blinked and then blushed a deep shade of red in realization, this little meeting was completely forgotten by him when he couldn't find you, as everybody snickered and teased him even more, his eyes trailing to you who was shushing them and stopping them from saying anymore. His eyes moved lower on your form, landing on your bare thigh and e quickly looks up, his heart skipping a beat, he looked directly into your eyes "Are you ok with what your wearing?"

He blinks "What?" and you laugh your oversized shirt and changing into a pair of loose fitting shirt and shorts reaching your thigh, neither of you were surrounded by the Prince's and there Fiance's, both of you were in your room and helping wear something more relaxing and free, He remembers what's going on now, why did he have to think about that now? "Do I really have to wear this?"

"Yes" you quickly answered "You are not wearing your expensive suits, your highness" you said looking up at him from your position in dusting his shoulders, before you pull away, pink dusting your cheeks. Donghyuck has actually noticed that any form of physical contact from anyone would get you to glow a shade of pink. and he did not like it. He woke up from his thoughts once he sees you accidentally hit your hand against the lock of the jewelry box, making you yelp and he rolls his eyes, you were cutely helpless, he has been a witness of how clumsy you could be and he always wondered how you lived this long as a maid in the palace, you were massaging your hand in an attempt to soothe the sting

"I don't see the difference" He replies and grabs your hand, checking and helping you massage your finger "They're just clothes"

"Expensive clothes" You shot back and he smiles, he adores moments like this proof of how much you've gotten close  to him that you've learned to treat him like a friend. "You said you wanted to experience my usual routine, so no expensive clothes" you pulled your hand away and he nods

"Ok" He relents and takes the jacket you offered him "I am in your hands today"

The smile that greeted him made Donghyuck blind, it was dazzling, you really look beautiful when you smile, he wanted to take a photo of you like that a memento to keep. "Don't worry your highness"

"You're telling me you go out for chores with money that is given to you," He looks at the money your placing in your wallet "And you don't get snacks I'm between?"

You laugh, shaking your head "We get snacks, when we're not working" You said walking passed the garage and Donghyuck grimaces as he points at his car "No car" you pointed

He looks at you weirdly "Surely you're kidding"

You pursed your lips

"How do we get there then?"

"Commute"

"This is a joke"

You laugh "You've ever been on public transport before my Prince?"

He shakes head "Not when you got a car at you beck and call," He huffs "Can't we just take my baby?" You looked at him "Yes, Yes I know naming my car baby is not ok,"

"Well, I think its cute in that context" You cut him off and pushed him passed the garage and out of the palace

He blushes and clears his throat "Aww Y/n" He calls and puffs his cheeks as some of the maids watched the interaction and he holds your hand "My Love, You will pay for not letting me ride my baby, going to take you shopping 'till your legs hurt"

You scrunched your nose and locked your hands making him look at you "Lets go, Whiny Prince"

"Please treat us normally" You smiled at the flustered shop owner who has been bowing a full ninety degree to you and the Prince and you shook your hand  "I just wanted to show the prince around"

He look as at the prince who smiles and nods and heled him straiten up "Please right now We are a customer" He takes a step back to adjust the bags he took from you even though you had pointed out you could carry them but he has refused  to hand it to you  "We are in your hands" he bows and you follow suit, the flustered shop owner hurriedly assisted you both to not bow in front of him and leads you around his shop

Eventually he relaxed and despite having both the Prince and his Fiancé in his shop, you were tasked to find some silk and cloth that The Queen might like for her new dress and you checked to see if the material was of good quality for the queen's dress

Donghyuck on the other hand wasn't paying attention to anything but you, the dress maker is known in the village for being favored by his mother so its no surprise when he spots some of the dresses his mother had bought already in boxes, but of course his mother likes hand crafting majority of her clothes which is why you were here checking the fabric. The shop owner placed coffee on the table, "Please have some coffee" The owner says and Donghyuck takes a cup

"I'm sorry but Y/n doesn't drink-" he starts knowing you don't like the taste of coffee but he was cut off with you taking a sip before bowing politely at the owner thanking him for the drink, he looks at you and raises an eyebrow as you take another sip and when the dress maker looked away you made a face and put the cup down "You hate coffee" he notes

"Yeah" you agreed and took the cup again but not making a move to drink "He made it for us, it would be rude of me to decline" You smiles and Donghyuck stopped breathing at the sight as you tucked a strand of hair but to no avail it was to short to be tucked properly and Donghyuck had to remind himself to breathe

You stood up once they called you, your coffee unfinished, done with the orders the boxes all placed in a bag and you bowed giving them the money and they bowed back thankful to have met you and the prince Donghyuck takes the bag full of cloth and the other one is his mother's dresses from you "Your highness" You tried to take it from him again but he raises an eyebrow "No, you will not carry all of these," You grabbed the others, the bag of cloths for rags and the other bag that is full off broom's and dusters "The dresses are more heavy than this I'll carry this"

"Y/n"

"Donghyuck" You replied as well and he sighs "You're the Prince, if you want to help then carry those"

He nods "If you get tired we're taking a break ok?"

You smile and he was relieved you looked to serious he though he has upset you "You'll be surprised" you said taking another bad that Donghyuck was adamant in not letting you carry, scurrying to the door before he could say anything

He walked in front of you making sure you won't be able to get out using the door and you huff as he grabs the bag "I don't think so" He says and flashes you a smile "Where to next?"

You scrunched your nose the way you do which is almost the equivalent of a roll of an eye and Donghyuck knows you've developed that habit when the Royals would annoy you and instead of rolling your eyes you'd scrunch your nose. Donghyuck is absolutely smitten with this habit of yours, when he discovered it when he forced you to go ice skating with him and he laughs at you while you kept falling, he watched you scrunch your nose and he didn't even realize he pinched it "Love," he remembers his words "You are absolutely adorable"

"Did you hear me?" You asked with a tilt of your head and he nods making you scrunch your nose again "What did I say?" He blinks then his cheeks painted red, making you laugh "To the market but first lets leave this to Daeshim" You nodded your head in the direction of a man waiting by a car "He'll take these to the palace while we're at the market"

Donghyuck separates from her for a minute once something catches his eyes, smiling at the maiden who was manning the shop he bows appreciatively as he sees what he spotted and bought it

He returns to you and he sees that man from a while ago, you didn't even notice his disappearance, from a far he could already say that Daeshim seems like a nice guy, he seemed decent enough and he was familiar Donghyuck could tell they would get along not until the boy ran up to you and gave gave you hug that made you slightly lift off the ground and made you squeak, He and Donghyuck will not get along now

"Y/n Look at you!" He exclaims and spins you around making you laugh "You look so pretty," He finally puts you down once he catches the glare the Prince sends his way, He bows and playfully elbows your side "Fiancé huh?" you just laugh "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I should've?"

"If I was getting married wouldn't you want to know too?"

You grinned "No not really" You teased and he smiles finding your answer amusing but he pretended to get angry and swiped the bags from you

"Rude. Don't talk to me" He says and placed the bags in the car that was waiting, you just laughed and moved to assist Donghyuck in placing the bags inside since he didn't let Daeshim take it

"Who's going to assist me today?" You asked once Donghyuck closes the door and Daeshim points at himself, Donghyuck did not like that

"My brother will be taking the goods to the palace and I was tasked to guide the Prince and Hi Fiancé around the market"

"Your brother?" You asked right before Donghyuck could say something snarky, waving to the slightly younger boy behind the wheel "We haven't met yet, I'm Y/n and this is Prince Donghyuck"

He bows "Its an honor to meet the both of you, My name is Yejun" He smiles and looks at you "Hyung  talks a lot about you Noona"

You looked at Daeshim "He does? Like what?"

Daeshim hits the car to get your attention "and that's enough. Go on Yejun, Drive"

Yejun laughs and waves, bowing at you and The Prince before entering the car and starting its engine "Noona," He calls to get your attention, it did "Hyung says you're really pretty" He says before driving off

Donghuck was sure now. He resents Daeshim.

Daeshim and you were walking on ahead side by side, Daeshim's cart behind him with Donghyuck slightly in front, He had taken it upon himself to be quiet and listen in on your conversation, it was rude he knows that but he was angry and he could care less

"Wait" You called out to the both of them as you smiled at a stand owner, raising your hand to shake hers, she smiles at you as you started buying vegetables from her stand, giving her money before you spin to pace it in Daeshim's cart only to be stopped by Donghyuck grabbing it too "I'll put it in Daeshim's cart"

"I'll carry it" He says superiorly, his voice dripping with both anger and authority as if he'll punish you if you make a wrong move, your lips locked, staring at his face as if that will give you an answer on why he was angry but then Daeshim opens his mouth to at least try and get the Prince to place them on his cart, which is his job "And You," The Prince looks at Daeshim "Not a word out of you" You looked at him more intently and he looks back at you tugging on the bag of vegetables "Give" He commanded and you froze, letting him take it

He walks ahead and you and Daeshim stared at the Princes back before you followed after him to lead him to the next shop on the list, you were afraid of Donghyuck when he is angry and he knows this, you left quite a huge gap in between the both of you and he sighs, he was being petty and now he was being even more petty in hopes that you'll speak to him and coax him into not being mad anymore

You went ahead and turned to stare at him "Why are you angry?" You asked, despite being afraid of getting yelled at you wanted to know what could've triggered such a sudden reaction "Was it because of me? Tell me?"

Yes. Its because of you, I don't want you close to anyone else, I don't understand why I'm like this or why I'm angry over something so minor or why he absolutely loathes the man following behind the both of you. But that anger disappeared once he meets your eyes, you were afraid, and he can see how your trying your best to not cower under his eyes. He didn't like seeing you like this, he didn't like seeing you were afraid, especially cause of him. He pats his pocket retrieving the item he had bough, the hair clip that was in a shape of a ribbon and moved to clip that hair you were trying to tuck away last time, "You smile cause you know you'll get attention" He answers, it was the truth, your smile being the thing that plague his thoughts and your wonderful laugh was music to his ears, how he loves your smile and laugh, he loves coaxing that out of you but this time it was directed at someone else and not him

You tilted your head at his words, flinching when he clips your hair "Thank you" you whispered before trying to understand or think of a possible scenario that actually lead to his words trying to figure out the scenario "What?" You asked confused and looked at him "You're not making any sense"

He looks to the side not giving that shadow of a smile, that you have recently grown fond of and you resisted the urge to frown "I know" he answers and moves to take a step out of your way and moved on ahead, he hated how his feeling were in valid, they were nothing and they are only making it hard especially with the thought of the deal almost coming to an end, by the end of the weak you will no longer be his, and all his problems will be solved, no more parents forcing him to date, no more girls trying to cling, no more, he stops, no more you, he will be happy after al of this right? Of course he will. Just a couple of days, he thinks Just a little more and 2 weeks are up

"I'm sorry" You spoke and he looks at you "I-I don't know what I did" You answered and almost everybody looks at the scene unfold before them, how The Prince and his Fiancé seem to be in a fight, Neither of you cared at least not at the moment, Donghyuck could see the glistening in your eyes, you were upset and it was starting to frustrate you to the point your tears won't be in check, he knows that expression, he caused that expression. The ache in his heart returned at the sight and he watches you as your hand clings on to the necklace he bought you "I'm sorry, please-" you licked your lips to ground your tears as they threaten to spill "Please don't look at me like I hurt you not when I don't even know what I did" You hang your head

Donghyuck didn't know his expression gave away that much and he looked away, taking a deep breath as he walks back to you to drop the bags on Daeshim's cart and reached down to grab the list "Lets finish this up and head back to the palace" He says and moves to walk ahead again, leaving you and Daeshim behind

I’m Cold Taglist:

@staysstrays @tyongf-sunflower99 @jackyeongljin @rebel-lious-alien  @ingridraft @daydreamiies @channiespup @jaeshark @itlittlefangirl

If you wanna be added, leave a comment♡♡

[maggiec70]

Fun in the Country

My version of Joachim and his BFF, Jean-Boy, at the spa in Bareges and then adjourning to one of J-B's little country properties for more typical Gascon amusements. As always, these shenanigans are seen through the viewpoint of the former Milanese contessa/current aide-de-camp. She disapproves.

Joachim Murat sent Jean a note a few days later. I’m leaving Madrid tomorrow. We should meet at Barèges. It’s a decent spa and not far from you.”

“Why would you want to visit with Prince Murat?” Mariana asked when Jean showed her the note. “You’re always scrapping about something.”

“Not always. Besides, Joachim is entertaining, even when he doesn’t mean to be.”

Mariana resigned herself to a two-day ride to the Pyrenean spa and then days of constant Gascon bragging from two masters of the genre. As rowdy as it promised to be, she hoped the change of scenery would sweep away the last of her anger. Jean had done what she insisted. He’d waved the required documents conferring the majority of his country properties to Jean-Claude under the nose of an elderly black-clad lawyer who creaked each time he moved.

“Give me an official copy,” she’d ordered the lawyer, her peremptory tone causing his furry white eyebrows to rise as his brass-rimmed spectacles slid down his nose. He should have been used to her by then, after her questions directed at him like an artillery assault had determined—finally—that he had the requisite legal acumen and ethics for the task.

“Why did you want a copy?” Jean had asked her when the lawyer scurried away, portfolio clutched tightly beneath one arm. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That’s not the problem. You won’t be here when those documents become an issue. I don’t trust anyone but myself to handle this matter properly.” And if she weren’t around, she would entrust it to one of the phalanx of attorneys who managed her affairs. After all this time with her, they were eminently trustworthy and as ruthless as the Sforzas.

Now, comfortably settled in Barèges, almost everyone drank gallons of rough red wine and told amazingly obscene stories that made Mariana cringe in embarrassment. Neither Jean nor Murat went anywhere near the spa until two days later, complaining of headaches, and by then, she hoped they would both drown. She left whenever she could to explore the neat, tiny village tucked away in a hollow of the hulking, snow-covered Pyrenees, wondering if the change of scene was worth much. She was still angry, but not for the same reasons.

“I don’t know Jean anymore. What’s come over him?” she asked Joseph one evening during a long and raucous meal.

“Given the right circumstances, men revert to a certain type. Be patient—it’ll pass.”

“I can’t imagine you behaving in such a fashion.”

“I have, but you’ve never seen it. You’ll feel better if you ignore it all.”

She couldn’t ignore anything and cringed when Jean suggested they abandon the spa for one of his country properties. “Plenty of room, much more than here. Nobody to disturb us unless we invite them,” he explained, definitely listing to one side.

Murat agreed at once. “Excellent idea, as long as there’s plenty to drink. If you know some lovely ladies to make the time pass pleasantly, be sure to invite them.”

“I’ve got enough Armagnac to put you on your imperial backside every night. As for ladies, I’ll send for as many as you like,” Jean promised in a haze of Bordeaux-inspired grandiloquence. Although the rest of their aides grinned at the prospect, Mariana was livid.

That night she sat rigidly upright in bed, every nerve quivering with anger, while Jean undressed. He wobbled as he tried to get his boots off, and she snickered at him. She hoped he would fall on his face and lie on the rough-planked floor until morning.

“What’s the matter with you?” He tossed the boots aside and fumbled with the buttons on his coat.

“How can you take Prince Murat to that refurbished abbey you bought? How can you promise to amuse him for however long he wishes and send spurious billets-doux to all the women in the countryside? Besides,” she snorted, growing angrier as she spoke, “who’d write them? I expect you’ll ask me since you can’t string three coherent words together. You do know what this makes you?”

Jean did not bother to put on his nightshirt and crawled in bed naked, collapsing against the pillows, one arm flung across his face. “I’m sure you’ll explain. My head’s splitting, so don’t take too long.”

“You’ll be an imperial procurer, in the basest sense of the phrase.”

“Humph!”

“While the prince amuses himself with whichever ladies are besotted enough to accept your invitations, you doubtless expect me to entertain you.”

“You do it anyway.”

Mariana knew neither her anger nor her disapproval would matter in the morning. Leaning over, she blew out the candles. Jean was instantly asleep, snoring gently.

“Merde alors!” She threw a pillow at him, but he never moved.

The following day, not very early, they exchanged pleasant Barèges for the rather outré former abbey of Bouillas near Lectoure. “Surely the monks had better taste than this,” Mariana said after she’d struggled with an ancient, stout wooden door and opened it onto a riotous jumble of gothic, rococo, and Louis Quinze furnishings in the refectory. “If the bedchambers are like this, I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Yes, you will,” Jean replied and led her upstairs.

“It looks like a cheap bordello,” Mariana hissed at him after half a dozen young ladies arrived, as promised, the next evening, “and now it smells like one. I hope the ghosts of the poor, dispersed monks haunt you.”

He grinned at her over the nearly bare shoulder of a blonde in a primrose satin gown determined to charm him, one way or another. Stifling an impulse to slap them both, Mariana stalked out of the refectory and up the stairs.

She sat on the bed in their chamber, full of the most opulently overdone furnishings imaginable. There was scarcely enough room to walk from the door to the bed to the clothes-press to the recessed windows with their thick, wavy glass without bumping into a piece of furniture or a low stool or tripping on the layers of Turkey carpets covering the dark wooden floor. She ignored the assaults on her senses, balled her hands into fists, and swore that this nonsense would end in the next hour or she’d pack up and leave. The muscles in her neck and shoulders tight from anger, she didn’t care what Murat or Joseph or Marcellin or anyone else did where she could see or hear them. But she refused to spend another moment watching overdressed, painted, and perfumed women fawn over Jean. “I’ll put them in their places,” she muttered, sliding off the bed, “and if it causes an uproar, as well as the end of my military career, so be it.”

Mariana yanked off her boots and tossed them in the corner. She stripped off sash, coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, throwing them across a chair. With an impatient jerk, she removed her shirt and untied the bands across her breasts, shook her hair free of its heavy braid, and ran her fingers through it, coaxing it into its usual waves and curls. After rummaging through her trunk and Jean’s, she deliberately omitted her lace-trimmed drawers and pulled on a clean pair of tight doeskin breeches, silk stockings, and flat-heeled shoes. She took one of his shirts, the cotton batiste so soft it clung to her skin. She thought about dipping the shirt in cold water and then putting it on, as Thérèse Tallien had done with her muslin gowns during the wilder days of the Directory. Instead, she left the laces undone and tied her sash low on her hips, the heavy fringed ends swinging gracefully as she walked. She found her emerald and diamond earrings tied in the corner of a handkerchief and put them on, pleased with the way they sparkled and swayed, unconcerned with the incongruity of fine jewelry and her motley attire. Creeping down the hall and into a chamber occupied by one of the female guests, she splashed herself with perfume from a cut crystal bottle. “About what I expected,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the heavy scent of ambergris.

Mariana descended the stairs, hoping the worn treads wouldn’t creak. No one noticed her until she had sauntered halfway across the room and shoved the primrose-clad woman’s soft, bejeweled hand from Jean’s arm.

“This one belongs to me,” she said, ignoring the woman’s stunned expression and the sudden quiet in the room. Mariana perched on Jean’s knee, buried her hands in his hair, and kissed him until she ran out of breath.

“You’ve been a fool, keeping this beautiful creature hidden from the world,” Murat said. “Ma foi, I think you’ve outdone Masséna. Where’d you find her?”

“It’s a very long story,” Jean said. “I can’t tell you right now.”

Mariana enjoyed watching him squirm, although not from the prince’s comments. “What’s the matter, mon cher? Are your breeches too tight?” She nipped at his ear. “You probably shouldn’t stand up.”

“The hell I won’t!” Jean pushed her off his knee, stood abruptly, and grasped her wrist so tightly that she winced. He strode from the room, pulling her along to the sound of Murat’s approving whistle.

...and you can imagine the rest if you like. I remember laughing the entire time I spent writing the entire scene, pleased that I'd pretty well nailed it. Nothing like real historical people having sex, is there?

[arcturusreads]

Hi i dont know if your still accepting prompts but I didn’t want to forget the idea lol no pressure though take your time with this one: Hayes bringing Meredith to Ireland to meet his family and to spend time together just the two of them

Tell Ma I'm Coming Home - Merhayes

I've been shockingly bad at writing lately so I'm sorry that this took so long but I hope this is okay x

“You know, it’s a well-known fact that I don’t do very well when it comes to meeting parents.”

After a 13-hour flight that included a stopover, Cormac had yet to persuade Meredith that his family were going to love her. He’d spoken to both his parents in length about Meredith, mainly due to his Ma’s probing. Initially, they had both just been grateful that Cormac had been willing to open up his heart again. There was never a concern as to how he would handle becoming a single father to two teenage boys. The worry had laid in the thoughts that their only son wouldn’t find someone to share his life with. That his grief over losing Abigail would be all-consuming, not allowing him to understand that he could be happy again.

So, when Cormac had finally told them that he was seeing someone, neither of them could care less who it was at first. Their excitement was purely because their son had eventually understood that finding love again didn’t mean that his love for Abigail would ever diminish and that he deserved to be happy. Over the past few months, they’d gotten to know more about the girl that Cormac had fallen for. She sounded headstrong, confident, stubborn. Everything that Cormac needed.

“Mer, I promise you that I’m not throwing you into the lion’s den. I wouldn’t ever do that to you. So, please trust me when I say that they already love you.”

The two of them were trundling up a stone strewn path. After getting a bus and a taxi from the airport, Cormac had told the taxi driver to drop them off in the middle of a small village, telling Meredith that the walk to his parent's house out on the fields was definitely worth it. After ten minutes she was yet to believe that. It might have been a bit better had they not been dragging their suitcases behind them. Cormac had offered multiple times to take hers but Meredith had stubbornly refused. She could carry her own bags.

When the house eventually came into sight Meredith stopped in her tracks. Her mouth dry. Realising she wasn’t following him anymore, Cormac turned around and walked back to his girlfriend. Placing a hand on her hack, he kissed her cheek.

“Come on, I promise you, my family are just as crazy as yours are.”

He gently pushed her forward with him, knowing that she wouldn’t be willing to move otherwise. It was odd for him to see Meredith like this. The woman that he had fallen in love with was so confident in her work, so headstrong in her life that it was peculiar to see her this anxious about something that he hadn’t thought was that big of a deal.

From outside the door, the pair could already hear booming laughter from inside. The sound of his father’s laughter made an unconscious smile appear on Cormac face. It didn’t matter how long he spent in America, this was always going to feel like home to him. One hand still on Meredith’s back, Cormac opened the door with the other ushering Meredith in first, who hesitantly walked in.

Cormac brought both the bags in, giving her a grin before yelling out, “Ma, Da! We’re here!”

A woman in her mid-30s came rushing out of the living room, her blonde hair falling out of a bun.

“Cormac!” She flung her arms around his neck, making him stagger back a little before he steadying himself and returned the hug,

“Trying to kill me, are ya, Niamh?”

She pulled away, slapping his arm. “Well, maybe if you visited more often then I wouldn’t find the need to.” She stuck her tongue out at him whilst Cormac just rolled his eyes.

Not entirely sure what to do or say, Meredith, stood off awkwardly to the side. She didn’t want to interrupt Cormac’s time with his family. He’d spoken in length to her about his sister Niamh. Whilst the age gap between them was quite large, he had always been close to his sister. Always let her tag along when he would be going to play football with his friends, would spend the entire weekend with her when she was able to convince their parents to let her visit him in uni.

Niamh nudged her brother, nodding over at Meredith so she could be introduced.

“You know you could just introduce yourself. I feel like you might just be old enough now.”

That earned him another punch in the arm. Winching, and rubbing the injury, Cormac decided not to risk any more teasing. “Niamh, this is my girl, Meredith. Meredith, this is my entirely annoying,” he flinched as Niamh went to punch him again, “but extremely talented, baby sister Niamh.”

Grinning Niamh pushed her brother out of the way and went to hug Meredith. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Eventually and awkwardly, Meredith hugged her back. This was definitely a warmer reception than she had had with Derek’s sisters.

“I thought he was going to hide you from us forever. You must be exhausted, come into the living room, Da’s already in there and Ma just ran out for some milk.”

Meredith found herself being dragged off to the living room and when she turned back to her boyfriend, she found him with a huge grin and knowing look on his face. He’d had no doubt that this was going to be the reception she got from his family.

Cormac hadn’t even managed to step foot into the living room before Niamh had begun introductions.

“Da, this is Cormac’s girlfriend, Meredith.”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, Meredith.” Standing up from a worn-out armchair, Cormac’s father was dressed in a white shirt and a pair of grey trousers.

Meredith took his outstretched hand to shake, “Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr Hayes.”

He gave a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, you don’t need to call me, Mr Hayes. Rory will do just fine. Come on, take a seat, Ava won’t be too long now.”

As Meredith took a seat next to Niamh on an empty sofa, Rory welcomed his son home. The two shared a long, tight hug. It was clear to see that Rory had missed having Cormac around. The space between visits had been far too long and Rory had left it up to his wife to badger their son to come and visit them but he had missed Cormac more than anyone. Watching the Six Nation hadn’t quite been the same since his son had left.

When the two of them had finally let go of each other Cormac gave a pointed look to Niamh, the same one he had given her when they were kids as he wanted her to move but she wasn’t six years old anymore and happy to listen to her brother.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You two have been dating for months which means that you’ve had her to yourself for months. So, I’m pretty sure you can survive not sitting next to Meredith while Da and I get to know her.”

Cormac looked over at Meredith, hoping that she might support him but instead his girlfriend just smirked at him. “You heard her. There are plenty of seats in this room.”

Shaking his head, Cormac took a seat on the other armchair in the room whilst his father laughed at him. Inside though, he was pleased that Meredith felt comfortable enough to not need him next to her, that she was happy to sit next to his sister. The next ten minutes were spent with Cormac mostly on the outskirts of the conversation as Rory, Niamh and Meredith all got to know each other. Meredith found herself quickly at ease with the pair much to her surprise. That ease soon faded away when she heard the voice of Ava Hayes as she entered the house. This had been the member of the Hayes’ family that Meredith had been most worried to meet.

Cormac had told Meredith of the close relationship that he had with his mother. She had always been his number one supporter: his toughest critic yet his biggest cheerleader. It was Ava whom Cormac had leant on for support when Abigail was first diagnosed, always at the end of the phone whenever he needed her. Whilst she hadn’t agreed with Cormac’s rash move to Switzerland, she had still gone to visit him and the boys after a few months to make sure that they were settled properly.

“Cormac!” A lady of around five feet bustled through the door in a floral white summer dress and coral cardigan, her brunette hair going white at the roots hung around her shoulders.

Cormac immediately got up from his seat and wrapped his mother in a hug. “Ma, I’ve missed you.” He kissed her cheek as they pulled away.

Ava smacked his arm making her son wince, “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you just came to visit more often.”

As he opened his mouth to reply, his mother quickly waved him off. “Don’t bother with the excuses. It’s Meredith that I’m more excited to see.”

“Thank, Ma.”

Ava ignored her son’s sarcastic drawl and turned to look at Meredith who’d gotten up from the sofa. Much like her daughter, Ava pulled Meredith into a hug.

“it’s so lovely to finally meet you, Meredith. Cormac won’t stop going on about you whenever he calls.”

Meredith gave a nervous smile, a slight blush crawling up her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you too but I definitely wouldn’t believe everything he says about me.”

“Nonsense. You’re the woman who’s finally managed to put a smile on my son’s face again. I’ll forever be grateful to you because of that.” Ava’s eyes began to well up with tears.

Meredith took one of her hands and gave it a squeeze. “You raised an amazing man and he’s done a lot more for me than I have for him.”

Ava quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen. “Oh, don’t praise him too much, it’ll just go to his head.”

“Oh, trust me, there’s no risk of that.”

“It’s true, that’s probably the first compliment she’s given me in the past three months.”

Meredith just rolled her eyes at him in response, “There’s just not a lot to compliment and that’s not my fault.

Ava couldn’t help but chuckle at their interaction. She felt fully at peace now having met Meredith. She’d never doubted her son’s judgment but having finally met Meredith, Ava knew that her son was in good hands, and she couldn’t be happier. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t spoken to her son’s girlfriend for very long, Ava just had a good feeling about her. Not only that but she had seen the way that Meredith and Cormac kept glancing at each other, she could sense the lightness in her son’s stature that she feared had disappeared forever and the woman standing in front of her had been willing to take a 13-hour flight to meet her boyfriend’s family for the first time. If Cormac ever let go of Meredith, Ava was going to give him hell, but she was pretty sure that this was Cormac’s second chance love and she didn’t know anyone that deserved it more.

[babybottlepop96]

Always: Shikamaru x Reader

Warnings: death, sadness, fluffy shit.

A/N: this one is about 2.2k words, it kinda got away from me lol enjoy and request!

Being Naruto Uzumaki's fraternal twin sister had its perks. I mean, the excessive amount of friends, ramen 24/7, always having a best friend that would be there for me and have my back no matter what but would also put me in my place if he had too. Being born five minutes after the infamous jinjuriki he was also so protective. Threatening any guy that would just have the nerve to flirt with me, the sister of the future Hokage.

We only had each other for so long, sure, our relationship took a bad turn for a while. While he was usually ignored and looked at as a monster, I didn't get the kind of treatment. Being the "normal" one of the twins, I was treated with more respect because I didn't have a tailed beast to host. I always felt awful for that and no matter how many times I stood up for my brother, he refused to accept my sympathy. The Chunin Exams came and went when he finally came to me after a few weeks of ignoring me. It was after Saskue had left and he was a mess. He cried into my shoulder and told me he was sorry. I just held him close and told him that I was never mad at him. I could never bead at him for how he felt about everything. It was unfair to him to be treated that badly, unfair that he had no say in being a host and I told him that he was so strong and had such a kind heart and people would eventually see that. I mean, they had to right? He was going to be the future Hokage.

When he left for those years with Jiryia, it was hard. It was like half of me was missing and I felt kind of lost without him. While he was out training, I had passed the Chunin and the Jonin exams. I was so proud of myself, but it would've felt even better if my twin was with me. 

When he came home, I wasn't there to greet him. I was on business with the Kazekage. Gaara became a close friend, he accepted my friendship because he felt like he could trust me. He became like a little brother. And then everything happened with the Akatsuki and I ended up losing an arm trying to save a few children from a clay bomb. I laid in one of the beds while everyone was trying to get Gaara back and I felt like I failed. I was a fucking Jonin for kage sake and I couldn't protect or retrieve Gaara. It hit me hard.

When Temari, Sakura, Kakashi and Naruto arrived, they went straight to Kankauro. That poor boy was in such pain from the poison, it hurt my heart when I heard him scream from the extraction. I was so focused on not paying attention I hadn't realized Naruto had made his way over to me and held my left hand. Once I felt his hand touch mine, my eyes flew open and he had tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, (y/n)! I should've been here to protect you! I failed and I'm so sorry you got hurt." He his head dropped to the side of the bed and cried.

"Hey, hey it's okay Naruto. This shit happens you know that. And it is not your fault, okay? You had to go and train. This was just a mission that turned wrong. But you're here now! And I just know you're going to go after Gaara and bring him home. And I'll be rooting for your success.. believe it!" I smiled, small tear trails staining my own cheeks. He looked at me and gave a small smile.

After everything that happened at the sand and Gaara's return home, no longer a host for the one tail, things seemed to go somewhat better. I got a fake arm that works well with my chakra and I had been training non stop with all my friends. But I mostly spent time with one particular ninja the most. A cute, lazy Pineapple haired Nara. You see, Shikamaru and I had been close and dating for about a year at this point. We never particularly told anyone, but people seemed to know. Well, all except Naruto. He was so oblivious to it all, he didn't realize how close Shika and I were until Pein attacked the Hidden Leaf. So, that's where I'll begin this little tale.

~~~~~~~

"Shit shit shit!" I was running around trying to get civilians to safety, grabbing children and pushing other civilians towards the Hokage head mountain. A building was starting to crumble and fire and explosions were coming from everywhere it seemed. Once I felt like I got everyone I could I ran back to where the main event was happening. Thankfully Naruto wasn't here, I wouldn't even begin to imagine what they would do if they had captured him. I mean, they killed Gaara, but Lady Chio had that special secret jutsu that she took to the grave. I couldn't bear to lose my brother. 

To fight was lasting so long, there was no way to tell when it would all be over. I was separated from Choji, Ino and Shikamaru when everything began. The three started fighting while I helped get the civilians to safety, but I knew they had to be around here. Alive. They just had to be. Things were seemingly going fine until I heard a small child scream. I snapped my head to the sound so fast I swore I got whiplash. A small girl was cowering against a wooden wall, the enemy heading toward her. I ran as fast as I could and snatched the girl away. I tossed her to the side gently and told her to run. She just looked at me, her big brown eyes filled with tears and a worried look on her face. "It's okay, you go to the mountains and find your family. Okay? Go!" She nodded and took off. I fought off the enemy for as long as I could. My chakra was running extremely low, so low that I wasn't able to dodge the wooden spear that came hurtling towards me. It went straight through my chest, pinning against the wooden wall behind me. I coughed up blood and my vision started to go a bit fuzzy.

"Your time is now over. You were a decent Shinoni, but you were still weak." The enemy spat out. I didn't say anything as I clutched the wooden spear that pinned me to the wall, trying to take in air. It felt like I was drowning, I could feel my lungs filling with blood and tears start to run down my face. I would never see my friends again, see my brothers happy go lucky smile while down bowl after bowl of ramen. I would never be able to Shika that I loved him. Everything was fading to black, my head dropped and my arms went limp by my side.

I woke up in a dark place, no longer in pain. I was dead. "Hello little one." A voice spoke and I looked around to see a small light. I ran towards it, hoping maybe I'd wake up for real and I was alive and well. That this was just a sick dream or a gentusu. But what I saw when I reached the light was unbelievable. I saw the fourth Hokage with a woman with red hair. 

"Welcome, (y/n)." The woman came over to me and gave me a hug. "I'm your mom." She whispered in my ear and turned to the man. "And that's your dad." To say I was crying was an understatement. There was a river flow of salty tears streaming down my face as I hugged them both. 

NARUTO'S POV

I ran back towards the village at full speed, I just had to get back. I had to protect my friends and mentors. I had to protect (y/n). I saw the massive crater when I returned to what was supposed to be my village. Injured and dead ninja and civilians alike were being gathered in a clearing. I ran ahead, I had to find them, I had to find everyone. I spotted Sakura first and ran towards her, "Sakura!" She turned her head, tears running down her face and I stopped in front of her. "Where is everyone?" She pointed to our group of friends, everyone is there except for Kakashi-Sensei and my sister. "S-Sakura? Where… where is Kakashi and (y/n)?" She sobbed louder which caused all of our friends to look over. I walked towards them and the moment I spotted Shikamaru on the ground holding someone, sobbing, I froze. I knelt down and looked over him. He was holding my sister, cradling her head in his lap. Her body was paler than normal against the red stain on her shirt. I didn't move, I didn't cry, I just stared, not convinced that she was actually gone. After a few moments I got up and made my way towards the true enemy.

"N-Naruto? Where are you going?" Sakura asked me, her voice meek and breaking.

"To end this."

SHIKAMARU'S POV

The enemy had retreated for a bit, allowing us to gather our injured and deceased. I was frantically looking for (y/n) I had to make sure she was okay. "(Y/n)!!" I heard Ino yell from behind me. I ran towards her voice as fast as I could. Once I reached her, my blood ran cold. There she was, the one that I truly cared about and loved, pinned against a wall, spear straight through the chest. I tentatively reached out and touched her and my instantly moved back as I felt her cold, stiff, lifeless body. I stood frozen. The rationalist inside me was gone and I then pulled the spear from her form and caught her in my arms and she limply fell. The cry that ripped from my throat was inhuman, angry and broken. I fell to the ground holding her close to my chest. "W-wake up, please!" I cried even harder knowing it was useless. She was already gone. Passed onto the afterlife while I was here to deal with the heartbreak. The pain. I knew this love thing was a drag, but I endured it for her. She made my days brighter, the sun burn hotter, she made everyday so much better. 

"Sh-Shika? W-we should get her to the others." Ino whispered, scared her own voice would break, as she gently put a hand on my shoulder. All I could manage was a small nod and tried to suppress my cries. I carried her to where everyone was putting the deceased and all our friends stood there with wide eyes and I carried their closest friend in my arms. Everyone was shocked, too stunned to say anything as I put (y/n) on the ground. But I still cradle her head in my lap, I couldn't let her go just yet. The tears still slipping down my cheeks were enough for everyone to know this was real. When Naruto showed up I sobbed, he was just in shock as the rest of us. When he left to go confront the real Pein, none of us stopped him. If anyone could end this. He could.

YOUR POV

Talking to my parents had been the most calming time of my life. Well, afterlife. They told me stories about what it was like before they died, how Kakashi was like another son to him. How they never wanted Naruto to host the nine tails. I told them how life was growing up, how I was dating Shikamaru and my dad gave me a whole lecture on safe sex, even though I was dead and I wouldn't have to worry about any of that. Well, until I started to glow. "Looks like you still have a full life to live my sweet." My mother smiled and I looked at them with a smile and tears in my eyes.

"I love you both." I said as I faded back into the darkness. This time though, when I opened my eyes I saw a face I never thought I'd be able to see again. "Shika?" His eyes snapped open and he stared down at me, his eyes wide and mouth open. He stared at me for a moment, not believing what he was seeing. His dead girlfriend, breathing. Alive.he held me so close to his chest and sobbed even louder. Ino and Choji were all giving him sad looks until they saw my arms wrap around his neck and held him closer.

"OH SHIT!" Choji yelled as the other dead bodies were coming back from death. I sat up slowly and grabbed Shikamaru's face and kissed him. I kissed him like it would be the last time I ever would. 

"I… I thought I lost you for good this time." He spoke softly.

"I will always come back for you." I smiled at him, tear glazed eyes staring into his own. "Always." We kissed again, pulling each other close. We stayed like that for a moment until we heard a certain obnoxious blonde yelling at us.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?! SHIKAMARU THAT'S MY SISTER! WHEN THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?!" Causing everyone to let out a laugh. Resting his forehead on mine Shikamaru spoke quietly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Shika. I love you too."

[mca-attack21]

Surprise

This is part one of a three part of a King Arthur x Reader imagine mini-series based on the BBC’s Merlin. You can check out my Masterlist here. Enjoy!

You were brought out of your slumber by Arthur who kissed you and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you finally rolled over to face him smiling. He was kneeling beside your shared bed and looked like a child on Christmas morning, like he didn’t have a care in the world, genuinely happy. 

“What’s gotten into you?” you asked with a laugh.

“I have a surprise for you, come on,” he said all but pulling you out of the bed and towards the door. 

“Arthur, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” he asked looking around.

“I need to get dressed.”

“Oh right, of course. You do that, and I will make sure everything is prepared. Meet me in the throne room when you are ready,” he replied heading out the door.

“Arthur,” you called after him.

“Yes?” 

“I love you,” you said striding over to kiss him. 

“I love you too,” he muttered as your lips fell apart.

He then proceeded to exit the room and one of the servants came in to help you dress for the day. You were quick to make it down to the throne room where Arthur greeted you. He offered you his arm and led you out to the courtyard where Merlin was waiting with two horses.

“Good morning Y/n,” Merlin greeted you.

“Good morning Merlin,” you returned.

“That will be all Merlin, enjoy your day off,” Arthur spoke.

“I will Sire,” Merlin curtseyed causing both you and Arthur to laugh.

Arthur helped you onto your horse before mounting his own. 

“So, where exactly is it that we are going?” you asked.

“You will just have to wait and see,” he gleamed, “that is at least if you can catch me,” he said before racing off.

 “Oh, it’s like that is it,” you followed after him. This reminded you of the rides the two of you used to go on while you were courting. It didn’t take you long to figure out exactly where he was leading you, and you took a short-cut. 

When he did slow down to make sure you were still behind him, he was caught off-guard to see that there was no sign of you. He was on top of a hill that allowed him to see the majority of the path. Had something happened? Where were you? Maybe he shouldn’t have left you. Just as he was about to head back he heard a horse neigh in front of him.

“Are you coming or what?” you ask the King who looks at you in disbelief.

“How did you possibly get ahead of me?”

“You know a woman can never reveal her secrets,” you joke. 

“Is that so,” he rolled his eyes in amusement.

The two of you rode a bit further before you arrived at your destination. “I’ve missed this Arthur,” you spoke as he helped you off of your horse.

“Me too, we ought to make it more of a habit,” he replied smiling.

“That we should, though I do have to ask, what brought this about?”

“The kingdom is at peace, the villages prosper, it seemed like as good of a day as any for a day off.”

“Sounds smart, so it was Merlin’s idea?” you joked. 

“Oh, you will pay for that one.”

You tried your best to dart away from him, but your efforts were fruitless as he caught you and began to tickle you from behind. 

“Okay, okay, I surrender. Please,” you laughed.

“That’s better,” Arthur replied turning you to face him and taking the opportunity to kiss you in a way that he reserved for privacy. “Now then, Merlin has packed us a proper picnic.” 

As you laid the blanket out, Arthur was rummaging through the food and realized that Merlin had forgotten to fill the water canisters. You offered to do it as Arthur set out the food. You made your way down to the water basking in the perfectness of this day. The immense joy you felt was cut short as you heard voices the closer you got to Arthur. He was caught by two men, backed against a tree. 

You had managed to sneak around to the horses and retrieve Arthur’s sword. And slipped behind the guy furthest from Arthur. Arthur briefly made eye contact with you and you could tell he was preparing himself for the fight.

“If you are going to kill me I would at least like to know why,” Arthur spoke. 

“The Lady Morgana had sent us to Camelot with instructions to kill the King. Imagine our luck when we find him alone and unarmed in the middle of the woods,” the man smeared.

“That is where you are wrong, he is not alone,” you spoke catching both men off guard and taking the opportunity to knock the one closest to you out and toss Arthur his sword. He immediately began to duke it out with the remaining man. You watched as Arthur easily gained the upper hand and incapacitated his new-found enemy. He turned back to make sure that you were alright, a look of relief shared between the two of you.

As soon as it had come, the relief left your face as you saw a third man who had launched his dagger towards Arthur. 

“Arthur look out!,” you yelled as you tackled him to the ground. He was quick to make his way to his feet and take the intruder out. 

“Come on Y/n, we need to get out of here before more of Morgana’s men come looking for us,” he said as he sheathed his sword. 

“Arthur,” you called, voice low.

He turned around immediately and felt his stomach drop. You were still on the ground. The dagger that was meant for him stuck in your side, blood already seeping through your shirt. He fought back his emotion as his went to your side. He was debating whether or not he should remove it. “This is why I never take you out,” he tried to joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you smiled painfully.

“Not to worry, I will allow you to make it up to me later. But first, we have to get back to the castle,” he replied, “Do you think you can ride?” he asked. But even as the words left his mouth he knew the answer. The rate at which the energy and color was leaving you was alarming.

“Nevermind that, we will ride together. I am going to remove the dagger and wrap your wound. Then before you know it, we will be back in the castle,” he said more to himself than to you.

The amount of pain that you felt as he withdrew the dagger was unlike anything you had felt before. Your cries of pain brought tears to the young king’s eyes as he quickly tore his shirt to wrap tightly around you. 

“I liked that shirt.”

“I’ll get Merlin to mend it then,” Arthur returned. He then lifted you up and carried you over to the horse. He was debating the best route to take knowing that there would most likely be more of Morgana’s men. With the way he was positioned, it would be impossible to go beyond a trot without jostling you too much and causing you additional pain.

As you were riding, it was beginning to become more and more of a struggle for you to stay awake. Arthur noticing this decided it was best to keep you talking. 

“You know, this is still not the worst date that I’ve been on,”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, though at least in the other ones I actually got to eat the food,” he tried to joke. Your soft laughs turned into coughs. Which brought concern to Arthur. “Just take it easy Y/n, we will be there soon.”

“Arthur I-”

“Shh, just save your strength.”

“No, I need to say this just in case,” 

“Y/n please, you are going to be fine. There is no need for dramatics,” he tried to hide his concern. 

“Well then I won’t tell you that I love you,” you struggled.

“And I won’t tell you that I love you too,” he replied. 

It was minutes later that your body went completely slack against his. “Y/n? Y/n, hold on,” he said as he had to shift in order not to lose balance or hold of you. He brought the horse to a stop long enough to check that you were still breathing. He then began to direct the horse faster until he made it into the courtyard. 

He was immediately greeted by the knight’s who were not expecting him back for some time. Upon seeing him they questioned what had happened and if he were okay. But he ignored them and lifted you up, carrying you straight to Gaius’ chambers. 

The old man was startled when the door was kicked open. His eyes went wide as he saw the king carrying you in. “Merlin!” he yelled before quickly clearing off his table. Arthur laid you down, taking in the sight of you for the first time since he had helped you on the horse.

“What happened?” Merlin asked 

“We were attacked by some of Morgana’s men. She pushed me out of the way of a dagger. I tried to stop the bleeding,” Arthur answered. 

“How long has she been unconscious, Sire?” Gaius asked. 

“Not long, since the edge of the woods at most,” Arthur answered, “Is she going to be okay Gaius?”

“I will do everything that I can, I promise, but please give me some space,” Gaius said. 

Arthur agreed reluctantly before leaving the room. Once he closed the door he was met with Leon and Gwaine, who asked him what had happened. He explained and sent out patrols to scour the area and return with your horse. He then sunk down in the hallway, refusing to leave until he had a better sense of your condition. 

Meanwhile Gaius had managed to stop your bleeding. He had been able to determine that beyond the fact that the wound was deep and you had lost a considerable amount of blood, that you should be fine. He gave you a potion to help speed up your recovery and sent Merlin to fetch Arthur, so that you could be taken up to your chambers.

As soon as he opened the door he couldn’t say he was entirely surprised to see that Arthur had never really left.

“How is she?” 

“Gaius stopped the bleeding and gave her something to help her recover from the blood loss, she should be awake by morning,” Merlin explained. 

As Arthur entered he was taken aback by how still you were. You looked small, helpless, something that he’d never really seen before. 

“You can take her back to your chambers, Sire, I will come check on her before dinner,” Gaius informed.

Arthur carried you up and laid you carefully in your bed covering you up and taking a seat by your side. He hadn’t even noticed that Merlin had followed him.

“Arthur, we should get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out some fresh clothes.

“Hmm?” 

“I said that we should get you cleaned up. You know, so when Y/n wakes she won’t be frightened,” Merlin joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I suppose you’re right,” Arthur agreed, hesitant to take his eyes off of you. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merlin spoke.

“She saved my life.”

“And she is going to be fine,” Merlin reminded. 

“I just don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to her.”

“Hopefully the day that you would find out will never come.” 

Merlin helped Arthur into his fresh clothes. “Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps some food?” 

“No, that will be all Merlin, thank you.” 

“Wow, a day off and a ‘thank you’ in the same day, Gwaine is right, Y/n is making you soft.” 

This caused Arthur to chuckle as he returned to his seat at your side. He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest and paused for a moment to brush some of your hair out of your face. He wished to remain there, but Merlin came in telling him that the knights had returned. Arthur left as Merlin promised to take his place and inform him if there was any change. 

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, angst, character death

Words: 2582

Disclaimer: This Spanish was used with google translate and these gifs don’t belong to me!

Translations: I must be in heaven because I see an angel - debro estar en el porque veo un angel.

You have always been one of the bravest men I know - siempro has sido uno de los hombres mas valientes que conozco.

A/N: I would like to formally apologise for this chapter, please don’t hate me! There will only be a few more chapters left I think! I’ve changed a couple of things to make it fit into the story better, please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged, I love you all! xxx

Chapter Fifteen - A Little Fall of Rain

Sirius grinned as he wrapped his arms around his little girl as he helped her hold the reins of the horse properly, delighting in her little giggles. The village was as quaint and beautiful as Sirius remembered and the villagers seemed to be even nicer. Glancing over at his wife, he noticed that Y/N was in her element as she helped Johnathan sit upright at the front of her horse. Her beautiful face gleamed with happiness as the townspeople called out to her, blowing kisses and showering her with pink petals.

She looked every inch the Princess as the flower petals got caught in her shiny hair. The twins giggled as they reached their little hands into the air, trying to catch some of the falling petals.

“Do you like being back in France, my darling?” Sirius asked with a grin as they passed the gorgeous little chapel.

Y/N sighed wistfully as she gazed over at him, a small smile playing around the edge of her lips, “it’s better than I could have ever imagined.”

They had been back to France since their wedding but it had only been when Sophia had moved to French court, where they had spent their visits. The Duke and the Duchess hadn’t stayed at their beautiful chateau since they had got married, so they took the opportunity to ride through the little villages that lay in the shadow of the chateau.

Sirius grinned at her answer as a petal stuck to his lip; he chuckled as he blew it off, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” she fixed him with a teasing grin; “I love you too.”

Sirius laughed as he glanced back at Andromeda who was grinning at a handsome French boy frim where she sat on her horse, making Sirius roll his eyes. Andromeda was Y/N’s new lady in waiting and she was Sirius’ cousin which seemed to be the best option. Y/N really liked her, maybe too much since she had asked Andromeda to tell her embarrassing stories about Sirius from when he was growing up. Andromeda was someone that Y/N wouldn’t be suspicious of. It was the best solution for everyone.

As the small party made its way out of the village they bid goodbye to the kind townspeople, Y/N blew them kisses and Sirius waved at them before they finally crossed the grey stone bridge that had been built over the rushing stream. When they reached the gorgeous chateau nestled in the hills, the twins gasped and pointed at it while Y/N sighed happily.

“It’s so beautiful,” Andromeda breathed as they rode through the portcullis.

“I’m so happy that we did this,” Y/N beamed and reached across to take Sirius’ hand, Sirius grinned and kissed her fingers as he nodded.

Lily and James had offered Sirius and Y/N some time off, Lily had assured Y/N that she would be fine with her other ladies to help her. Sirius had accepted the time off before his wife could refuse. It was admirable that Y/N was so attentive in her duties to the Queen but it was clear that they both needed some time off. Before they had set off for France, the King and Queen had asked Sirius and Y/N to be the godparents to their unborn child which Y/N was very excited about.

The servants of the chateau were very happy to see that their Master had returned to them alive and well, they had no doubt heard about the troubles that were happening in England. Once everybody had settled and unpacked their luggage, summer wine and cakes were served in one of the beautiful gardens.

Sirius and his family sat among the gorgeous roses as the twins played in the gently flowing stream. Sirius loved to hear them play together, he was determined that they would grow up as best friends, unlike him and Regulus. Andromeda smiled as she lay beneath one of the trees with her eyes closed.

“I love it here; I can see why you two wanted to come back so much.”

Y/N sighed wistfully as she nodded, her head tucked against Sirius’ chest as she traced circles over his warm skin, “it will be even harder to leave but we all needed a break,” she rubbed her temples and Sirius pulled her closer, stroking through her hair gently with his long fingers.

“Okay, new rule, let’s not talk about court while we’re here,” Y/N grinned and nodded, leaning up to sweetly kiss his cheek. Sirius turned his head so she kissed his lips at the last moment, making her giggle into the kiss.

Andromeda sat up, looking over at Sirius and Y/N with a sly smile on her face, “so, when are you two going to have another baby?”

Sirius rolled his eyes while Y/N gasped happily as she took his hand. Everybody had been asking them that lately and it was starting to annoy Sirius but Y/N loved it.

“I would really love another child as soon as possible but Sirius doesn’t think so,” she pouted up at him.

Sirius sighed as he pressed a kiss against her forehead, “I just think that we should wait a little bit longer, the twins are only two and soon enough we’ll have our hands full with the Royal Prince or Princess,” he laughed while Andromeda nodded understandingly, “we’re being safe,” Sirius nudged Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk before he took her hands in his own, “I promise that we will have more children.

Y/N gave him a beautiful grin as she kissed his lips, giggling when the soaking wet twins jumped into her arms so they could dry off in the sun.

The merriment of spending a week in France, where they did nothing but lounge around in the sun was over too soon. Y/N and Sirius had filled their nights with love making and had spent half of the morning sleeping in. Sirius knew that Y/N was especially sad to leave France; it was hard for her to hold back her tears as they rode away from the chateau. Sirius promised that they would be back soon.

Once Sirius and Y/N were back at English court – where thankfully the weather was as warm as it was in France – they got right down to business. They were trying to locate the missing prisoners who had branded themselves as Death Eaters, followers of Voldemort who was now much more than a fable. Sirius thought that there was a traitor at court.

The whole court was in attendance in the stuffy Throne Room when the door burst open and a bleeding man stumbled through it, “Sirius,” he mumbled weakly as he fell to the floor and Sirius realised with a jolt that it was Regulus.

“Regulus!” Y/N gasped as Sirius ran over to his little brother, Sirius teared up when he saw just how much Regulus was bleeding, his shirt was soaked red and he was extremely pale, shivering in Sirius’ arms.

“Get a doctor!” he looked behind him to see everyone standing with their mouths agape, Remus was the first one to shake himself out of it and he hurried to find a doctor while James dismissed the court.

“No,” Regulus said weakly as he choked on the blood that was filling his mouth, “I’ll be dead before a doctor can get here, you were right, you were always right. I nearly got away,” he winced and spluttered.

Sirius shook his head as tears spilled down his cheeks and it felt like a dagger to the heart to see his baby brother die in his arms, “you’re not going to die, I won’t let you die.”

Regulus chuckled weakly, “you’re such a good brother, always looking after me, if only mother could have seen how amazing you are. Sirius, I’m scared, I don’t want to die alone,” Regulus’ eyes were round and scared. Sirius hadn’t seen him look like that since he was a little boy when he used to sleep in Sirius’ room after a bad dream.

Sirius shook his head as he sniffled, “there’s nothing to be scared of, and you won’t be alone. I’ll stay with you,” he held Regulus close to his chest.

Regulus glanced over at Y/N and gave her a cheeky smile, “debro estar en el porque veo un angel.”

Y/N sniffed as she gave him a watery smile, “siempro has sido uno de los hombres mas valientes que conozco.”

Regulus smiled and looked back at Sirius, “I’m not going to say goodbye because I’ll see you again.”

Sirius nodded, “I’ll see you again,” there was a ghost of a smile on Regulus’ face as his breathing slowed and eventually came to a stop. Sirius sobbed as he brought his brother’s limp lifeless body close to his chest, it felt like a part of his heart had died alongside Regulus, his baby brother.

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Sirius’ profile looked sad and tense and you knew the reason why, Regulus’ funeral had been beautiful but it was something that should never have happened. You were so heartbroken so you knew that Sirius must be feeling even worse, after his baby brother had died in his arms. He’d been a hero and he’d died a hero’s death, he had tried to thwart Voldemort and for that he would be forever honoured.

You knew that Sirius was also worried because an old sorcerer who had been banished by James’ father had contacted the King, telling him that he had news of a prophecy that affected James, Lily and their unborn child. James didn’t much believe in prophecies but he decided that it couldn’t hurt to listen, his benevolent nature had allowed the sorcerer to return to court, but only if his information was good. James had sent for you, Sirius, Remus and Peter to hear the prophecy, you were the ones that he trusted without question.

Your husband stopped outside of the council chamber and looked at you with wild sad eyes, the grey colour of his eyes didn’t sparkle as much as they used to. He took your hands and kissed along your fingers, you were worried about what he had to say.

“Maybe,” he swallowed, “maybe you should take the twins and go back to Spain,” he sniffled, refusing to look at you.

His words caused a jolt of panic to go through you; did he really want you to go? “what? What are you talking about? Why on Earth would I go back to Spain?”

Sirius shook his head as tears stung at his eyes and you cupped his stubbled cheeks so he would actually look at you, “because I’m damaged goods, Y/N!” he threw up his hands, “first it was because my parents didn’t love me and now, my brother is dead, don’t you get it? I was supposed to protect him! That was my job! You deserve to be with someone who doesn’t have any worries.”

“Sirius, darling,” you sighed as you leaned forward to kiss him, “I don’t believe there’s anyone in this whole world who has no worries and I don’t want anyone else. We promised to be together till death do us part and even then death can’t keep us apart. Unless you don’t want me here anymore, do you actually want me to leave?”

Sirius sniffled as he wiped the tears from his handsome face and he offered you a small smile, “I don’t want you to leave. Never. I just think that you deserve better.”

You smiled as you kissed his cheek, “then I’m never going to leave, you’re the love of my life, Sirius Orion Black. I only want to be with you.”

Sirius cupped your cheek and kissed you slowly and deeply, “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Sirius,” you smiled and nodded at the door behind him, “come on, we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting.”

Sirius nodded as he reached down and laced his fingers through yours as you both walked through the door of the council chambers. The table had been moved out of the way to make way for the tall throne like chairs and an old man was standing before the King and Queen. As you and Sirius entered the room, he turned to look at you, smiling benevolently as he peered at you through half-moon spectacles. With his long white hair and beard he looked exactly like a sorcerer from a storybook.

You greeted Remus and Peter as you sat on one of the tall chairs, smiling at Lily as she looked at you nervously, her hands protectively on her stomach.

James was the one to speak up first, “I don’t much believe in prophecies and the like, Dumbledore but for my wife,” he reached over to take Lily’s hand, “I would do anything, if your information proves to be good and if you can help us thwart Voldemort then you may stay at court.”

“You’re very kind, Your Majesty,” Dumbledore bowed his head as he got glass ball from his pocket, “if you would hold this against your stomach, Your Majesty,” he gave the ball to Lily, “the prophecy is about your unborn son, we will only be able to hear the prophecy if it’s close to him.”

Lily nodded and took the glass ball and did as Dumbledore said, you and Sirius leaned in as the smoke cleared and the face of a woman in huge spectacles appeared, you exchanged a worried look with Lily. It seemed that you both recognised that woman; it had been the woman that had frightened Lily at the summer festival.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born as to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”

Deafening silence filled the room as you felt a chill of dread run down your spine as Lily blinked back tears.

“How do you know this is about our son?” James asked, finally breaking the silence.

Dumbledore walked closer to the King and showed him an engraving on the metal part that the ball was set in, “Harry James Potter,” James read out.

James and Lily both exchanged worried glances, “we have decided on the name Harry if we have a son and we wanted him to take James’ name as his middle one, and he’s due at the end of July” Lily sniffled as she looked down at her stomach, “he’s the only one who can defeat Voldemort, Voldemort will be coming after him, and us. He’ll want to kill us,” Lily’s breath started getting short and you got from your seat and wrapped your arms around her.

“The only people who know about the prophecy are in this room, word will never be able to get back to Voldemort, we’ll be okay,” Sirius smiled but you could feel that this was only the beginning.

You glanced up through the door that had been cracked open but it was enough for you to see the back of a greasy head walking down the corridor, glancing back as he did so.

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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @galwithbluethoughts @2410slb @sunles @krismeunicornbaobei @theincredibledeadlyviper @deathkat657 @lonegryffindor2005 @writing-your-heart-out​

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 40)

Sometimes she doesn't recognize herself. Especially not these days, not with her hair still shorter than usual and her belly so swollen. Not with the clothes she now wears and the makeup that she doesn't.

She has felt this so many times before but she hasn't done so in such a long time. And, spirits, the disconnect has come back with a vengeance. For some reason it is more noteworthy today. Maybe it is a product of silence and too much time to think while Atsu is in school and Hajime is at work. Maybe she should go into town and find something to do, someone to talk to instead of dwelling on the disjoint between her body and her mind.

Maybe she should set off to find something that reminds her of the old her. But then it becomes a matter of balancing--finding something that takes her back to herself but without dragging up the demons she has been fending off for so long. She lays against the pillow with a long and drawn out sigh, her fingers absently brushing over the bump. Not for the first time she wonders just who the hell she is; she wonders if Azula and Rikka truly are one and the same or if she has severed Azula away. She wonders if it would be a bad thing if she had--Rikka is significantly easier to love. Rikka hasn’t any past to feel or misdeeds to regret. But Azula has plenty. And sometimes Rikka feels the pains of them. There is no severance, not even the possibility of it, she decides.

Decide as she might, the disconnect still lingers in her mind, even when logic has already deduced that Azula and Rikka can never be separate. Even when logic deduced that they share not just a face and body but one mind no matter what name she puts to it.

She wishes that logic could be enough to ward off the feeling. She sits herself upright, if she lazes around any longer, the baby will begin its restless kicking. It always does. But swollen ankles and feet don’t exactly inspire her to get up. She sighs and pushes herself up anyhow.

She had every intention of going out for some fresh air but she finds herself sitting in front of the mirror. It should have been only a brief thing, a simple task. All she had to do was run a brush through her locks and dress herself. She gets as far as taking her sleep shirt off and reaching for her day clothes.

She should know better than to get anywhere near a mirror when she feels any manner of a disconnect and yet she had trusted herself to stand before one. Her grip on the shirt slackens. This time she is alone in the reflection. This time she can only lock eyes with herself. This time she will hold that stare until she has forced the disconnect away.

She finds that staring just doesn’t cut it and so she holds up her hand, if only to make sure that her reflection will do the same. Not that it hasn’t given a perfect imitation of her every gesture so far. Of each twitch of her hand and each flicker of an expression.

She touches her hand to the mirror, meeting the fingertips behind the glass. And when simply seeing the motions imitated does nothing to bridge the disconnect, she touches her cheek. Her reflection does the same. She brushes her fingers over the opposite hand, runs them through her hair.

She feels along the bump, she thinks that she can feel the baby stir. She thinks that she can feel reality slipping more securely back into place. And so she feels for her pulse. Holds her fingers there for the longest time just breathing. Inhaling and exhaling until security returns. And in the steady rhythmic beat, she does come back to herself.

It isn’t just logic that tells her that she and Rikka are not separate. It isn’t just logic that tells her that Azula isn’t an invader in Rikka’s body. She can feel it now, her mind does belong to the body it inhabits.

She is glad that Hajime and Atsu aren’t there to catch her standing topless and seemingly pointlessly in front of the mirror. Granted, Hajime has grown used to some of her more disorganized behaviors.

Azula finishes dressing her body and brushing her hair. Finishes grooming herself. There is no Rikka and Azula. There is only Azula and the false name she had applied to the the real mind and person behind it.

She double checks that the house is locked before slipping quietly out the door and into town. It would do her well to talk to a stranger every now and then.

That day she learns that she can help herself.

.oOo.

"Dad and I are going hunting, come with us?"

In less than ten words her life changes again. She hadn’t realized that things can change so startlingly fast. She is used to the much more gradual sort. Regardless of speed, she doesn’t know how many more changes she can take. How many changes like these.

She is cold, so very cold…

She still struggled to stuff herself into so many layers of clothing. One large sweater and a first coat are easy enough but Sokka always had to help her tug on the overlaying parka and that morning was no different. She thinks that he enjoys doing so, he always ruffles her hair before flipping the hood over too far over her head. As she had done every time before that she had pushed the hood out of her eyes and swatted him with all of her might--it was ineffective between the padding of her own gloves and the layers that Sokka was buried under.  He had laughed so hard and she thinks that Katara might have even stifled one before going back to scorning the firebender’s very existence.

She wonders if Katara is as worried about her as she is worried about her father and brother. At the very least, if she is worried at all. Even slightly. Sokka hasn’t laughed in a while…

Hakoda had placed a spear in her hand. “It’ll be easier than taking your gloves off every time you want to firebend.” She respected his sharp thinking. At least she knew that she wasn’t hunting alongside an incompetent man. But sometimes all the competence and quick thinking in the world isn’t enough to trump circumstance.

The goal was to sack a few arctic hens and maybe a puffin-seal or two. “You bag it, you skin it.” Hakoda remarked at the end of his lesson in spear throwing. She couldn’t imagine that it would be too much harder than aiming lightning. She remembers wondering if the man was joking about making her skin her catches. “I’ve skinned an animal before when I was in the grasslands, I can show you how if you’d like.”

Her jest was well received. The man had given her a sturdy pat on the back, a gesture not unlike Sokka slinging his arm over her shoulder. “I think that you’ll be a great help today.” The man had nodded. “We’re going to be hunting for the whole village. Us and Bato and his crew.”

And with those words they had bid Katara a goodbye. With those words they had begun a hunt that should have been successful. A hunt that was in the beginning.

She is bleeding so much. Or she would be, had the cold not sealed her wound by freezing the blood. Sometimes her life replays itself in her mind. She supposes that, in the end, she had shaped herself into a decent person. The sort that will be missed...

Between the three of them they had taken down seven arctic hens and one puffin-seal. Sokka carried four of the hens and she three. At least until the puffin-seal fell. It had been her shot, her killing blow and she wanted to carry the thing. “Firebender pride is one mighty force.” Hakoda had rolled his eyes. She thinks that she had earned a certain respect in lifting the creature. It was heavy without a doubt, heavier than her by some ten pounds. Maybe fifteen. But her determination had a weight of its own, a significantly heftier one.

Her arms still ache from the endeavor. She would have let Hakoda carry it if she had known that she would need her energy to carry Sokka. She wonders how much respect his father would have had for her if they hadn’t gotten separated.

Truth be told she wishes that she hadn’t taken the seal down so fast. They wouldn’t have had any extra time if she hadn’t. Sokka wouldn’t have been able to make his proposal if they had hunted even a few minutes longer.

“There’s a glacier that I’d love to show Azula, can we go dad?”

“I don’t think so, Sokka. Not today.” He had pointed to the sky. Azula thought that the world looked somehow dimmer. Dimmer in the same way that fog mutes a landscape.

“We still have a few hours.” Sokka had insisted. “I think that she would really like the glacier.” He turned to her. “It’ll be the second prettiest thing you see in the tribes--third if you count me! You’ll love it I promise.”

And maybe she would have if she had gotten to see them. She wishes that she would have been more adamant in her refusal.

They had made it to the glacier. “I’ll wait for you out here.” Hakoda had propped himself up at the mouth of the icy architecture. Mistake number two.

She wonders if the man had entered the glacier to look for them. To warn them to stay put until the storm passed. Maybe that would have been smarter but she had dreaded the idea of getting sealed away in there in the Water Tribe equivalent of a cave in. Dreaded the notion of being trapped under miles of snow and ice. She had practically dragged Sokka out into the open of the tundra. Mistake number three.

She had been such a fool to trust her inexperienced, fear-driven instincts over Sokka’s decade of experience and the knowledge that had probably been passed down to him since birth.

All those years ago, the tides might not have commanded her ship, but the frosty winds certainly command the tundra and everything that walks within it.

_________________________

For those of you wondering how Azula carried a seal, we will pretend like puffin-seals are like subantartic fur seals which, on average, weigh around 110 pounds. Azula is a strong lady, I firmly believe that she can lift that much. Fight me if you disagree. (ง'̀-'́)ง

[crossiantgay]

I Shall Say Goodbye Till It Be Morrow

Logince, fantasy AU! Pt 2 coming soon!

He looked out, over the balcony watching the sun set over the horizon. He was the prince; he was supposed to love his life. It has so turned out, that most days he had turned to envying the commoner. With his wealth and lavish lifestyle came the shackles of responsibility and no control over his future. The air was sticky and humid, and the setting sun gave the air a hazy glow. His light, white blouse ruffled in the wind and he felt his caramel hair brush against his face. He heard the steady beat of footsteps behind him and he turned. Everyone was supposed to head home, it was long past working hours. When he turned, he saw his pageboy, Logan (insert last name) approach. He had ditched his navy-blue suit for just his white button-up shirt, almost similar to Roman’s own shirt. He stepped next to Roman, leaning over the balcony. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it” His voice sounded distant and monotone, but still had the warm undertones Logan often had in his voice. It was only a few seconds later, Roman realized he was expecting an answer. 

“Oh-yes. I suppose.” Roman drummed his fingers on the banister and Logan turned to him. 

“Is something bothering you, my prince?” there was worry etched into his face, the concern all-so-subtly seeping into his voice. He sighed. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. You know the princess of Lancaster?” Roman looked back out over the village below. 

“The daughter of our known enemy? Why yes, I am fairly familiar with her” Roman licked his lips nervously. The summer heat was making his lips crack and blister and it was rather unpleasant. 

“I am supposed to marry her in 3 months’ time” 

“Oh-” Logan’s voice sounded hollow, like someone had pulled the floor out from underneath him but his expression stayed unreadable. 

“And, to be honest?” Roman turned back to the man, waving one arm about. “I don’t even like women.” Logan quirked an eyebrow.

 “This particular woman? Or-” Roman shook his head. 

“All women. No princess has made my heart skip beats like a man with tousled hair and a well-trimmed suit.” Roman didn’t notice Logan unconsciously run a hand through his own hair.

“If I am to be… wholly honest with you, I have felt a similar way in recent months.” Logan tried to trace Roman’s gaze, find out exactly where he was looking. “I thought I was crazy. It’s great to know that I am not the only one who feels this way.” Roman gave him a small, uneasy smile. He paused and drew his lips in a thin line. 

“Did you know that there is no law that forbids a man from marrying another man?” 

“I-no. That is rather intriguing, thank you.” Logan gave a curt nod as silence passed between them, Roman draping his arms over the railing, unease clouding his mind. 

“I’m headed for a future I don’t even want.” Logan’s expression softened into something sympathetic and caring before fixing his eyes on the horizon line. Logan carefully reached out his hand, putting it on Roman’s. To his surprise, Roman didn’t pull away but refused to meet his eyes. They stayed like that in comfortable silence as the sun set past the horizon line.

__________________

Roman waved his maid away. 

“If you keep messing with my hair, it might fall out!” he ran his hands through his hair, fixing it to his liking. 

“My apologies, your majesty. However, I believe you are ready!” Roman stood in front of the mirror, admiring the suit. It was a red suit jacket with gold fastenings and trim, with a white undershirt and black dress pants. His maid hurried behind him. 

“Oh my! How could I forget the most important piece of all!” The maid delicately placed the gold, ruby and sapphire-studded crown atop his head. He straightened his posture and gave one glance back at himself before walking out to the ballroom. There was the drone of chatter along with the distant hum of classical music. He scanned the crowd for faces he recognized, only to find none. He made sure to keep distance from his father along with the princess, beelining it for the concessions. He stumbled into a few people, mutter half-hearted apologies, keeping his head down and his crown straight. Someone grabbed his arm and he jerked back. 

“Well isn’t it Roman Cassanova!” He pulled his head up to look at whoever grabbed him, searching his memory for this person. They were clearly important, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no-

“..hey.” The person hit him hard on the back and he coughed, immediately talking his ear off. He zoned in and out of the conversation, trying to keepy up when amongst the rambling he heard ‘my daughter’ and something that sounded like ‘marriage’. His blood ran cold and he tried to say something, but what to say to your future father in law? His stomach churned at the thought. As if someone has answered his silent prayers, an arm looped around his waist. 

“My highness, the king requires your attention immediately.” Roman recognised the voice immediately. 

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I shall-have to attend to that as soon as possible” he blurted out as Logan tugged him away. 

“ah, thank you.  A tap on the shoulder would have sufficed” He said when he finally gained his footing, when they were out of earshot. 

“Oh, please. You looked like dying cattle, I did you a favor.” Roman finally got a glance of his ‘knight in shining armor’ and his breath caught in his throat. To say he looked stunning was an understatement. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Logan smirked. 

“What was that, my prince?” In truth, it was hard to see without his signature glasses but his jawline and cheekbones and oh my I think I might faint- he finally gathered himself and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t believe that is how you should be talking to the future king” He stuck his chin up exaggeratedly and stuck out his tongue. 

“Ah yes, real mature your majesty.” A waiter walked by and roman grabbed two glasses of wine from his tray, handing one to Logan. 

“Are you sure? You’re not legal yet-” Roman waved a hand dismissively as he took a sip, shaking his head. 

“I have what, 4 months ‘till my birthday? The marriage is in two months so- 5 months. Close enough.” Logan shook his head and took a sip, eyeing Roman carefully. A hush fell over the room as the orchestra picked up. Roman finished his drink and looked up at him, placing it on the passing waiter’s trays. 

“Logan?” he batted his eyes and Logan stepped back. 

“No. no- no.” He shook his head but Roman continued, offering out a hand. 

“Logan, may I have this dance?” Logan sighed, taking his hand. 

“Fine. You may.” Logan took his head and was caught off-guard when Logan placed a hand on the small of his back. It did make sense, considering Logan was the taller one but Roman wasn’t super familiar with the ladies’ part in this dance. Roman placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder and Logan smiled slightly. They fell into a steady rhythm of dancing and they moved across the ballroom, Roman temporarily forgetting everyone else existed. That was, until the song ended and Logan and him stayed holding onto each other. Roman stumbled back when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he felt the world crashing down around him as he realized it was the princess. Logan dropped Roman and Roman wanted to mourn the warmth, but knew where his priorities stood. He pretended the touch was just him reaching for Logan’s drink, because that was clearly the case, totally, and downed it in seconds. It was only right after he did so, that he realized Logan had not had champagne like he had, rather a much stronger liquor. The room spun around him. 

“Uh-hi” he said, trying to get his eyes to focus on the subject in front of him. 

“Hello, I assume you recognise me?” Her eyes flicked uncertainly to Logan, who stepped away. 

“Yes, I do. You are Bella Lancaster, yes?” Roman needed to get out of here, and fast. He felt as if any moment the floor would fall out from under him. 

“I am. And you are Roman Cassanova.” 

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her glove. “Fantastic. Okay. Yes” She looked off, as well. Though why he couldn’t tell. “I must go check on my-- my father” She smiled a bit and walked off and Roman made sure to count his lucky stars. 

“You should go.” Roman spun around and immediately regretted it, falling into Logan’s arms. 

“nOoO” Roman said, a bit too loudly, turning heads around them. Logan clamped a hand on his mouth before pulling away quickly.  

“Ew! Why did you lick me?” Logan said in a hushed voice, wrinkling his nose and wiping his hand on his pants. 

“Be lucky it was your hand this time, mi amor.” Roman said, clearly losing it and Logan flushed a glorious shade of scarlet. Roman had lost all sense of filter, something that was definitely required as a prince. 

“Maybe we should take you to bed,” Logan said, looking out at the numerous people staring at them. 

“Mhmm, bed, I like the sound of that” He purred and Logan sighed. 

“You are drunk off your ass and not thinking straight. You need to get out of here before you make a scene” Roman huffed, leaning more into Logan.

“Whatever you say..” he grumbled. “Your majesty…” his tone turned softer and his eyes fixed on something behind Logan. 

“N-no. Let’s go” He gripped Roman’s hand, in less of a handhold but more of a means to tug him along. Roman pouted the whole way as Logan did his best to discreetly tug him out of the ballroom, which went both well and not. Luckily, they avoided the king’s eyes but caught the likes of many onlookers, as Logan assured them that princey here had just had a bit too much. Once they were out of sight, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and raced up the steps. 

“Woahhh” Roman giggled, with a case of the hiccups “You’re strongggg” Once they had made it to prince’s chambers, Logan set Roman down and unlocked the door with surprising ease. Roman stumbled into the room, pulling Logan in by his jacket. 

“Roman!-” With one final tug, he pulled Logan onto the bed. 

“You thought I was done with you? Not even close” Logan felt his once-gone blush returning as the prince fiddled with the fasteners on his jacket. 

“Nope nope nope nope nope-” Logan sat up quickly, pulling the prince’s hands from his jacket, running his thumbs over the scarred knuckles. 

“You’re intoxicated and about to do something you’ll regret.” He looked him in the eyes and Roman looked away. 

“But I want this-no- I want you.”  Logan’s expression softened.

“Darling, the wedding’s in a couple months. I don’t want to make anything harder for you.” A choked sob ripped its way out of Roman’s throat and Logan pulled him closer. Roman tucked his head in the crook of his neck. 

“I never wan-” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as more tears rolled down his cheeks. “I never wanted this! Th-these responsibilities a-and arranged marriages a-and-” Logan shushed him gently. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here, you’re okay.” Roman looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and uncertain eyes.  Logan pressed a kiss to his forehead that lingered for a bit too long, breath ghosting over the skin. He pressed another kiss, this time to cheek, before another and another and another, touching every inch of exposed skin they could find as Roman’s mind went foggy, too overwhelmed by this absolutely wonderful sensation to even think. He feels a semblance of pressure at the back of his head, where Logan has his fingers threaded into Roman’s caramel locks, barely tethered there by the hand on his waist as Logan pulls his head up, looking at Roman with half-lidded eyes. 

“What about ‘not making anything harder for me?’” Roman says, a playful smirk evident on his face. 

“If you’ll allow me to indulge in a bit of selfishness, your majesty” Logan finally utters, his voice so much richer than Roman remembers; like the distant rumble of storm clouds.

“Yes,” Roman says, barely a whisper. “Please, yes” With that phrase, Logan captures Roman’s lips in a deep kiss, eyes fluttering shut despite himself. Roman blindly grasps for something to pull Logan closer, something to anchor him in this moment. 

                     ________________________

Loud footsteps can be heard from outside as Logan, who has been awake for about 3 and a half whole minutes, shakes Roman awake. 

“Huh? Who-” Roman groans as his suit uncomfortably pinches at his sides, very obviously not meant for sleepwear. Logan pointed towards the door and Roman noticed the heavy footsteps, which could only mean one thing. He looked to his side, about to urge Logan to hide only to find Logan was already under the bed, hidden by the maroon bedskirt. Roman sat up, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible as his father burst into the room. 

“Morning, son!” He bellowed and Roman winced, becoming acutely aware of his hangover. Roman blinked slowly, trying to wake himself up. 

“You look a little out of sorts. Get yourself ready and come downstairs! I hope you haven’t forgotten about our Day Of The Sun banquet?” Roman’s eyes went wide as he cursed himself. It was the summer solstice; where for the whole day a large party would be held across the kingdom. The festivities last night were just a precursor to that and this was definitely not the day to have a huge hangover and your assistant in your bed. Wait, how did Logan get here? His memory stopped after his talk with the princess. 

“Well see you down there, then…” The king trailed off, noticing his son staring at the wall and the look of distant fear in his eyes. He walked out, shutting the door behind him. Logan crawled out from underneath the bed, brushing himself off and laying beside Roman. 

“We should get ready,” Logan mused, taking in the prince once more. 

“What happened, exactly?” Roman asked tentatively and Logan’s cheeks went dark red. 

“Uhm, we kissed…” Logan said, avoiding Roman’s eyes and Roman blushed a similar color, envying the red curtains hanging in front of his windows. He, Prince Roman, heir to the throne of Cassanova, has kissed his assistant of 7 years. With his awaiting marriage in two months’ time. 

“Oh my” he whispered and Logan smiled at the remark. 

“Mm. Now we really should get ready, my rose-er, highness.” Logan stood up quickly and Roman shook his head. 

“‘My rose’ sounds better. Less formal.” 

“Noted.” He nodded a bit, trying to ignore the pinkish color of his cheeks. He paused for a moment. “I should get ready. Well, you too. We should get ready.” Logan gave a curt nod. Roman laughed a bit under his breath and stood up. He took Logan’s face in one hand and kissed it.

“I suppose we shall,” he flipped through his closet, looking for something light enough in the summer heat. He finally found another white blouse, frowning a bit as he put it on. 

“My hi-my rose-” Logan buried his face in his hands, looking between the gaps in his fingers and Roman shrugged. Logan went back to his chambers to change, Roman changing into black shorts. Finally, he grudgingly placed the crown atop his head. Everything he had grown to loathe incarnated into some dingy piece of jewelry. Logan returned a few minutes later, thankfully this time with his glasses, with a white button-up shirt unconsciously unbuttoned at the top and black suspenders. His black hair was messy and fluffy due to the humidity. Roman blushed when he saw Logan, stammering. Logan let out a puff of air, snickering. 

“You look lovely, my rose” he offered out his hand and Roman took it. 

“As do you, my love” he smiled as Logan placed a kiss to his forehead. 

“We should head downstairs,” Logan chided gently and Roman paused. 

“Just a few more minutes. I enjoy being here with you” 

                ______________________

The festivities were long underway, Roman hovering by Logan’s side the whole time as they talked with the common folk, eating all the delectable foods the carts outside the castle had to offer and embracing the enticing atmosphere. When the sun was just past halfway in the sky, one of the servants approached them. 

“Sir Logan, your family requests your attention immediately.” Logan’s brow furrowed as Roman held his hand tightly. 

“They live on the other side of the Alabaster River, why do they call for me- they know I have my responsibilities here-” 

“Your mother has fallen ill” the servant bowed and Logan’s blood ran cold. He nodded, shifting closer to Roman. He gave a curt nod, leaning over to whisper in Roman’s ear. 

“A week from now, meet me outside the city of Eastview at sunset.” Logan stepped away and Roman frowned, hurrying to the nearest carriage. 

                ________________________

Roman stood at the edge of his balcony, overlooking the edge to the drop below. It had been a week since Logan’s mysterious absence, and of course it took the King no time to appoint another in his position, a short and snooty page with a shrill voice who always insisted Roman was wrong, constantly babying him. Roman threw the rope over the edge of the balcony, double, triple-knotting it to the banister. With shaky hands, he slowly began his descent. He felt like fainting when he finally felt dirt beneath his feet, in all fairness climbing rope was not his area of expertise. He shook himself off before running to the stable, shushing the horses and grabbing one of them before making his departure from the kingdom. 

    After many uncomfortable minutes riding on horseback, he finally made it to Alogas, which was right next to Eastview. He was almost there. He looked worriedly as the sun started to set. He couldn’t be late. He couldn’t. 

    He finally made it to the border of Eastview, and his eyes lit up as he saw a tall, black-haired man in the distance. His smile only grew as Logan came more into view, in a wrinkled light-blue shirt and dirt smudged on his cheeks. He skidded to a stop and jumped off the horse, running into Logan’s open arms. They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, just enjoying the other’s embrace, Logan placing countless kisses to Roman’s head and Roman burying his face in Logan’s shoulder. 

“I missed you, my rose” He mumbled. It had only been a week, but Logan was always at his side so it felt like it had been months. 

“I missed you too, my love. Palace life has been near awful without you; have you seen who they hired to fill in?” Roman rolled his eyes and Logan chuckled. He placed a hand on Logan’s chest but when he did, his brow furrowed. He tugged at Logan’s shirt, tracing his hand across the scabbed-over gash. Logan took his hand in Roman’s, pulling it off the cut. 

“It’s fine. Just an unlucky accident.” Logan assured him. Roman didn’t seem satisfied. 

“Did someone hurt you?” Roman asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“No, my love, it was my own fault. I hurt myself while farming.” Roman looked up at him. 

“Farming?” Roman raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, my punishment for getting fired by the king’s court.” He ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back down, he saw the alarm in Roman’s eyes. 

“Wha-how were you-” Logan wrapped an arm around Roman’s waist.

“Someone at the ball saw us, and ratted me out to the king. Next thing you know, I’m fired and a direct message from the king to stay away from you. My parents nearly ripped a new one when they found out. So, 8 hours a day out in the field.”  Logan sighed, caging his disdain at the incident. He looked down and met Roman’s eyes, recognizing his concern. He rubbed circles in Roman’s shoulders, looking Roman in the eyes. 

“Oh no, my rose, it’s ok. We’ll get this sorted out, I assure you.” Logan tried to reassure him. Roman nodded slowly, looking at the ground. In truth, he looked miserable. 

“Plus, now I don’t have to look over my shoulder to do this,” He leaned down and captured Roman’s lips in a kiss, Roman’s cheeks dotting a beautiful crimson. He trailed the kisses down his cheek, further, down the slope of his neck, soaking in Roman’s murmurs of praise and small laughs, fingers entangled in Logan’s raven-black hair. He finally pulled away, leaving a few love bites but nothing prominent, taking Roman’s hand. 

“I’ve known where you’ve grown up for most of my life, can I show you where I grew up?” There was a questioning look in Logan’s eyes and Roman nodded, brushing shoulders with Logan. 

“I’d love to.” He smiled, pressing another kiss to Roman’s cheek. 

“Let’s escape to this town for a little while” They walked together, watching the setting sun. 

                ________________________

When they got to the more busy section of the town, Roman went to drop Logan’s hand but Logan held on more firmly. 

“It’s fine, my rose. No one cares who you’re with as long as you can pay your bill” Logan’s eyes scanned over the crowd. Roman pressed closer to Logan’s side, Logan wrapping his other arm around Roman’s shoulder. They went from shop to shop, walking around the town. 

“Would you like to grab dinner?” Logan asked when he saw Roman eyeing one of the bakeries. He nodded a bit too frantically, a chuckle escaping Logan. 

“That would be… adequate,” Roman said, looking at Logan sheepishly. “I didn’t have dinner before I went to see you” 

“Dear gods,” Logan murmured under his breath. Logan walked over to one of the shops, Roman staying close behind. After a few moments, he handed roman a boar-and-cheese sandwich. He covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing as Roman practically devoured it, licking his lips. 

“What about manners? I thought you were a prince” Logan teased and Roman huffed, sticking his tongue out. Logan rolled his eyes playfully. He held Roman’s hand once again as Roman pulled him along, towards the local animal pen to see the deer and sheep, probably. 

    The end of the night came all-too quickly as Logan carefully eyed the sky. If he was correct, it was probably around 11 or so. 

“Roman, as much as I hate to say it, you should be heading home.” Logan said, drawing closer to where they first met. 

“No, it’s too soon. I don’t know if I can go without seeing you.” Roman turned to Logan, a pleading look in his eyes. Logan bit his lip. 

“We can tryst again, same time next week. How does that sound?’ Logan held both of Roman’s hands, gazing into those dark, chocolate eyes. Roman nodded, if a bit hesitant. 

“Promise?”

“Promise”

________________________

“What is bothering you? I know that look,” Logan said, looking deep into Roman’s eyes, as if he looked hard enough, what was bothering him would be written, clear as day. Roman folded his hands in his lap, mouth twisting into a grimace. 

It had been another excruciating week without Logan when Roman slipped out to meet his lover again. Lover, he thought. It has a nice ring to it. Roman got off of his horse to fall into those strong arms of Logan’s , all doubt leaving his body. They were so secure, so comforting. 

“Logan, take me somewhere we can be alone?” Roman asked, looking as the townsfolk hurried about. Logan nodded, walking away from the town towards the woods on the edge of the eastern side of town. Roman followed in Logan’s footsteps, never letting go of his hand as Logan led him to a small lake. Next to the lake was an old oak tree with a swing attached to it. Before Roman could think, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and set Roman on the swing. Roman looked down, kicking off his shoes with euphoria bubbling inside him. 

“Ready?” He asked, arms looping around Roman’s waist. Roman nodded. Logan smiled, slowly pulling the wing back before pushing him forward. Roman couldn’t bite back the giggle that escaped his throat, happiness flooding inside him. They fell into a gentle rhythm of pushing and pulling, Roman’s laughter echoing around the forest. Eventually, the swing stilled into a stop and Roman scooched over, Logan sitting beside him. 

[hecohansen31]

Of Faes and Goblins

Fae! Aethelred+Changeling! Reader+Goblin! Ivar

(A/N): Happy birthday, Sophie, @maggiescarborough​!

So to celebrate your beautiful day and to show how much we support you and apprecciate all you do for this beautiful comunity, we thought of sharing with you a few creations to celebrate properly your lovely day!

My idea is basically an interactive story, as in: you’ll be faced with a few choices and you’ll decide the turn of events of the stories, so be sure to let me know what you prefer to happen and I’ll try my best to follow your choices.

For the rest, do enjoy the surprise and the idea!

Have a lovely birthday, beautiful! (with not too much heathen and your beloved sickly looking Saxons!).

SUMMARY: After your life turned out to be a complete lie, you find yourself faced with many choices and even more importantly with two annoying males.

WORDS: 9,8 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Violence, Kidnapping, Fighting (yeah this is very much taken from ‘The Dark Faerie Tales’ by Holly Black), Everybody is A Faerie.

Changeling were extraordinary creatures.

And you had been lucky enough to be one of them.

You had discovered it once you had moved back to Ireland, having transferred to North America for a scholarship after high school, feeling like Ireland was too tight for your dreams.

A sensation only worsened by your mother’s horrible mental health…

… although with time you had discovered that she knew the truth, all along.

Since you had had memory, your mother had said you weren’t his child, gaining quite the judging of everyone around her, and right after she had started making such claims, doctors had dosed her with medical drugs to keep her tame.

Even more after she had even tried to leave you in the wood nearby your family’s manor, the one you stayed at with your grandma.

Your grandma was the only person that had constantly supported you and she was the woman who had raised you as your own mother laid in bed, either passed out for the drugs or trying to ignore you, since only seeing you would make her faint.

Eventually your grandma had been the one to push you away from Ireland, suggesting that you pursued your dream outside of the beautiful land that had been your sole home.

She had given you the strength to believe in yourself, although the first years in America had been passed adapting yourself at its big cities and its enormous crowd.

But now that you were back from them, you felt almost uneasy in the small village you had grown up with, everybody looking too changed and yet the same, looking at you with distrust and envy, although you hadn’t become a famous star or an important businesswoman.

But the fact that you had escaped that strict mentality was enough.

You had come back for the same person who didn’t want you there.

As of lately your mother’s heart had been thoroughly weakened by the drugs (medical and not) and she had already had an heartattack.

Your grandma had explained it to you in one last call that sadly your mother’s life was becoming thin, pleading with you to come back, although you weren’t sure that your mother wanted you back.

You weren’t her child, after all.

At first, as a child, the way she uttered those words had hurt you in ways that pierced your tiny skin, making you completely detached from the affection of that woman, soon starting to call her simply by her name and nothing else.

And even sooner you had erased her figure, pushing your grandma in her place.

But now even she was tired, and you could hear her ache in the tone of her voice.

Although your mother might not want her title, your grandma still remained her mother and she suffered for both of you her mistakes.

Eventually you had been convinced by your mother, herself, a secret call, at 3 a.m. in the morning telling you to come back, because the faeries had told her that if she gave you back, they’d make her see one last time her true child.

‘… my inion’ the way the name had sounded on the tip of her tongue made you uneasy, because you had never heard it, but you had reasoned with yourself that maybe in your mother’s delusional words there might be some kind of truth.

And there was.

Almost too much.

Back then you had simply thought that she had finally come to the conclusion that you were her daughter.

So, seeing you again would have allowed her to rationalize and finally accept you as her daughter, something for which you strived for, although you had for long years tried to convince yourself that her approval didn’t matter, in the slightest.

But any hope had disappeared when after a flight of twelve hours, your mother had refused to face you, much to your grandmother’s and your annoyance, although the older woman welcomed you in again as a warm mother, having cooked your favorite meal, something that brightened your mood.

You spent a nice few days back in Ireland, although your mother didn’t seem interested into acknowledging your presence and whenever you were together, she’d stare at you with mighty intensity in her eyes and once you had heard her mutter ‘when will they come for you, silly girl? I want my real child back’.

And in that moment, you had dreaded the thought that had come to your mind.

You had wished that she would have just died.

It was less embarrassing, and it would have been a trauma she could deal with, instead of being stuck in the eternal limbo of ‘will she ever love me? Or will I be for ever the faeries’ daughter?’.

But then that fateful night had happened, and you had been the one thinking that you had grown as crazy as her, as you heard a melodic song being sprung from nowhere.

Something ancient that couldn’t be found on Spotify for sure, although you loved it.

But it just wouldn’t let you sleep, and eventually you peaked outside of your house to check what was going on, although you wouldn’t be surprised to find your neighbor having a concert.

They were quite the musical people.

But it was none of that.

And once you had moved a step outside of your house, the music seemed to slowly lead your step.

And although you weren’t aware of it, soon your body was led through the wood around your manor.

The moon was the only source of light and as you looked up, the music interrupted itself suddenly.

And you were in the middle of nowhere, in simply your skimpy pajama of an awful color from too many washings, and a big print of a teddy bear on it, the writing next to it completely scraped off, nothing as luxurious as the dresses of the people around you.

You almost thought that your neighbor were having a Renaissance fair in the middle of woods, some kind of ‘Shakespeare in the park’ movie, although the dresses belonged to every period in history and not a peculiar one.

Women were dressed in round gowns, puff and big, and tight corsets, meanwhile men looked like they had come from the nearest BDSM club, all dressed in leather and open shirts.

And the jewels they wore, both males and females: silver and gold that shone so bright, absorbing almost the brightness of the moon, intensifying it with their colors and the gems shone of every color in the rainbow, sometime even all together.

And for a moment you were so lost in your rapture that you forgot to wonder what was truly happening here.

The only thing that could come up to your mind was the Hamelin’s flautist, driving the mice to their demise, something that made a sudden shiver fall down your spine, even more when you noticed that they were all somehow armed.

And that wherever the moon didn’t touch, their skin seemed anything but human, having some present slight deformation and animalistic traits, enough that you thought to have wandered in a fairy tale.

A dark one, such as the ones that the Grimm’s brothers wrote.

‘Lady (Y/N)’ somebody called out to you, but you couldn’t identify anyone speaking, almost as if the voice had its original place in your mind, calling out to you loudly, in a way that gripped tight your skull, keeping your eyes on the fable-like cortege ‘… we hoped to meet you again’.

‘… I don’t…’ your voice sounded silly and echoed in your empty head, suddenly cleared of anything else other than that voice and the images of that magic in front of you.

This must be a crazy nightmare.

Or a horrible joke.

‘…  she doesn’t know when to shut up’ this time it was a feminine voice, harsh and tight ‘… are you sure, my son, that she is the one you want to choose?’.

Her voice concealed an obvious disgust, almost as if it was painfully obvious that you were beneath her.

Then why had they come for you.

‘I don’t understand what is going on’ you breathed out, finally able to push the words out, although the woman’s words still echoing in your head ‘… I should be in bed… is this… is this a dream?’.

You almost wanted to mutter that ‘it must have been “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” ‘.

‘… no, it isn’t’ the male voice was low, almost comforting and the tightness in your skull was lightly relieved allowing you to feel more comfortable.

Suddenly you felt your breath quickening up, enough that you feared a panic attack.

‘… then if this is a joke, it isn’t funny!’ your voice spoke loudly ‘… you take the newcomer in city and give her the scare of her life! That’s what you fuckers do! If this is it, I won’t tell the cops, but you have to let me go!’.

‘It isn’t either a joke’ the male voice was different, evidently deeper, almost as if who spoke was more grown up ‘… and whatever human forces you want to conjure they won’t help you’.

This brought dread to your stomach and your breath quickened, enough that you felt choking yourself up deeply, and soon all the air in your lungs finished, and it didn’t take you much to see black.

You woke up in an unknown place, smelling heavenly, something that eased your senses, meanwhile whatever you wore was as delicate as a petal, comfortable enough that it brought you to shift in bed, till you realized that your pajama would have been quite less comfortable.

Hence somebody had had to change you in whatever you were now wearing.

For a few minutes you hoped unrealistically that it had been your grandmother, although you were aware of not owning such luxurious garments.

It would have been a nice dream, before you woke up to the reality.

That seemed more like the dream itself.

You were inside what seemed like a flower, the light barely flicking through the rosy walls of utter silk, meanwhile they closed and opened around you almost as a flower, and the smell was also delicious, lulling and clean.

But then your reason finally came back.

And you realized that you weren’t at home, no matter how reassuring the atmosphere was.

You had been kidnapped.

By some kind of weirdos in tight robes.

Gosh, could it have sounded more like a drugged-out dream?

Had you accidentally taken some medicine from your mother’s cabinet?

But then as you turned lightly your skin was scratched by something and you saw a rose being laid on the pillow next to you, its thorns lightly gracing your face, making you realize that if you were feeling pain… this wasn’t a dream.

And you had seriously fallen asleep inside a flower, like Thumbellina.

But what truly got a scream out of your throat as your senses came back was the purple-skinned girl next to your bed, checking on you, as she folded a ridiculously puffy dress, unlike the simple one she wore, matching her golden feline eyes.

Her legs were also animal-like, almost as the one of a tiger, slender and hairy, colored of a bright orange that clashed with much strength against her skin color, effectively taking your mind away from the thought of being in danger.

Till she screamed back at you.

And you jumped out of bed, grabbing the first thing that you could see in your line of sight, which was a lamp, made of wood, with a small spirit inside of it, shielded by glass, the small being protesting loudly, with its fists, something that almost made you lose your grip onto the delicate object, saved by the purple girl, half-tiger and half-human.

If she was human.

Although you hadn’t seen many blue humans.

But if she wasn’t human… this opened so much possibilities that tricked with your mind.

“… my lady…” she didn’t seem to be in slightest much more informed or calmer than you “… you should calm down”.

But you didn’t and moved to collect something else, to shield and protect yourself, eventually settling on a pillow full of daisy, the same one where you had laid your head till a few minutes before.

“… where the fuck am I?” your voice was low, but it broke lightly in the end with hysteria.

“My lady, you are safe” the purple being spoke, as she settled down the lamp on its rightful place, lightly brushing against you, as you pushed the pillow in front of your chest, accidentally making a few daisies fall down onto your feet “… nobody will hurt you”.

“… I was kidnapped! You have already hurt me!” you replied tightly, choking on the words, as you felt another attack coming onto you, and the woman gently held you up “… I should go back home! I need to go back home!”.

“You are home, my lady” you were honestly annoyed by the way she pronounced your title, almost as if it was the most normal thing ever.

As if you belonged there.

“… this isn’t my home! My grandma isn’t here brushing away my hair and there isn’t even that bitch of my mother… Gosh I am fucking missing her right now!” your outburst strangely excited the small fire being in the lamp and as you looked at it too closely, shielded from it by your pillow, meanwhile the tiger-lady moved away, clearly thinking you needed your space.

The small creature was male-like, naked and with flaming hair, changing colors as the intensity of the flame became stronger.

And it talked, although it whispered lowly, almost child-like, chanting what seemed a bawdy dirge and you cursed again, being mimicked by the small being.

“… perfect! Kidnapped and pushed to meet a fucking perv of a fire spirit” you commented, gently caressing your forehead “… this can’t be true! Magic doesn’t exist!”.

“It does” the voice was different from the one of the blue-skinned being and it was much louder than the fire spirit’s one, although it seemed quite young, and you remembered you had heard it in the clearing.

And when you raised your eyes from the pillow you found a charming young man, barely younger than you, with long flowy hair, coming to his shoulder in light waves at its end, of a dark color that highlighted his enchanting blue eyes.

He wore a complex robe, although it seemed much more relaxed than the one you had seen in the clearing, having shed any elegant and expensive detail, except for a few earrings that caught your attention, pushing itself onto the peculiar shape of his ears.

They were pointy.

Like faeries.

You knew that people sometimes would undergo surgery to obtain such a shape, and you had been blessed with slightly pointy ears, something that had made many Halloween costumes easy for you.

But the way his ears looked…

… it seemed natural.

Because it was.

“Niahm, can you please leave us alone?” he spoke, although again his lips didn’t open, and you wondered whether it was again only in your head or you were starting to go mad.

But also the tiger-lady seemed to have heard it, bowing her head to the beautiful man, as she  moved outside, leaving you alone with him and you quickly managed to grab again the lamp, moving into a defensive position.

“Don’t think of hurting me, bastard” you muttered between gritted teeth “… I’ll destroy this and set you on fire”.

A sad smile appeared on his face, almost as if he was amused, but understood your reasonings and something in you relaxed strangely, as the man moved to push himself onto the bed, putting a lengthy distance between you and him.

And then you ran.

Ran outside, but before you could do much more, as soon as you shifted the curtains that were the walls of the chamber you found yourself almost falling to your demise, since outside of the whatever you had waken up in, there was nothing.

And underneath it, the ground… many many meters under you.

“… what the hell” your voice was low, and you quickly turned behind, closing the curtain behind yourself, as the young man looked at you with a knowing smirk.

“Smart move” he commented “… you don’t have wings sadly. Pixie sometimes are lucky enough to have them, but you don’t seem to be the type”.

“… pixie?” you asked, as slowly you felt everything you knew crumbling to the ground, your own knees buckling up underneath you “… this can’t be true”.

“It is true” replied the young man, adjusting on the bed, although he seemed rather elegant, also with his legs crossed in a relaxed position, making you notice that although his legs were lithe, he certainly had the posture of a royal person.

Head straight and clear eyes.

“… faeries exist, exactly like magic, and deep down you know, (Y/N)” again that voice in your head and you stupidly went to close your ears to prevent yourself from listening onto him “… you know because you are one of us, truly”.

And slowly, almost as if a cover had been opened from one of the trunks of your memory, slow images appeared in your mind, of you seeing faeries everywhere.

Meanwhile you were lost in the woods, after your mother had left you, small dwarves leading you back home, as they gifted you a wreath of roses and thorns that didn’t bite your skin.

Meanwhile you collected flowers for your grandmother, a few small faeries helping you, as they played with your hair, taunting you with soft whispers.

Meanwhile you left Ireland, a small cohort of little magical creatures accompanying you as you left your home.

And all of this had been hidden in your mind since you had left Ireland.

You had known magic, indeed, because you were one of them.

You were a changeling.

As your mother had told you.

“… my life…” you felt yourself choking up on your own tears, as the man quickly moved closer to you, dropping on the floor in front of you, as you shifted your face away, not wanting to show weakness, although again your eyes were beginning to be quite clouded “… my life is a lie”.

“And my mother knew it all about it” blame shifted in your body, as you remembered how easily you had called her ‘crazy’ all this time, when she had known all the truth about it “… this isn’t right, still… aren’t… aren’t changelings supposed to live with the humans?”.

The young man retreated from you, almost as if your lips had mumbled a tight accusation against him.

“… you are to marry my brother”.

Hadn’t all of this been quite crazy already, you would have started crying.

But instead you giggled hysterically, before you realized that he wasn’t joking.

“I don’t even know you!” you screeched, and before he knew it, your hands had clawed at his shirt, but as your hands came in your full view, you noticed that if you had thought that the crazy tiger-lady looked weird in blue and orange, you were now a shade of mauve that almost made you think you weren’t in your body anymore.

But you were a faery, after all, now.

It shouldn’t have shocked you that much.

Although it was utter crazy.

“… well then I can solve that quickly!” replied the boy, almost as if you hadn’t broken down two times already “… I am Alfred, and you are marrying my brother, Aethelred!”.

“That doesn’t solve much” your voice was grim, but you were too tired to fight, already thinking about the fact that you had discovered that you were a faery for a minute and you already were in a crazy amount of troubles.

“I can’t marry him”.

“Not with that attitude!” commented another voice, deeper and definitely much more mainly and you turned to take a small peak at whoever had joined you, discovering that the man was quite the picture of Alfred.

Same light eyes and dark hair, but he had a more mainly appearance, with a fresh unshaven beard and tight muscles, definitely much more robust than Alfred, who lightly ducked his head low, at that appearance, some sense of uneasiness shining in his eyes.

Meanwhile the other man’s showed arrogance as they took you in.

And it didn’t take you a genius that you were looking at your future husband.

“… I don’t think that I am even remotely ready to marry someone” you spoke loudly, spurred on by that amused annoyance you saw in his eyes, meanwhile his lips moved in a smirk and you pushed yourself up, although it didn’t solve much since you were still much smaller than him.

“Who is every ready?”.

“Don’t you have something smarter to say than idiotic answers” you replied, hissing through his teeth, as you pushed him away lightly, feeling like you were trying to push away a wall of muscles.

“… I don’t want a stupid changeling as my bride” he uttered wickedly, his humor certainly reminding you more of the faeries you had read about, accompanied but the dangerously darkness that characterized them, although they might dress in pink tulle and ride white unicorns.

“… I don’t want whatever the fuck you are as my husband” you mimicked him, crossing your head over your chest, solely now noticing that you weren’t wearing anything more than a nightgown that was the same color of your skin, making you seem naked.

“Aethelred, don’t taunt her” Alfred’s voice suddenly seemed deeper, laced with a troubled annoyance, and he set himself between you both, almost thinking that there might have been some kind of fight from you two, and you just watched the haughty faerie in front of you with your best glare.

“Mother wouldn’t like it to see you talk like that to your future bride” continued on reprimanding him loudly Alfred, and this time the arrogant annoyance became a truly hateful feeling and you couldn’t deny that you wouldn’t have liked it either, if your younger brother treated you like that.

“Mother doesn’t fucking care. She just wants to continue on screwing her pathetic humab lover…” the comment scandalized Alfred, but before he could say anything, Aethelred’s attention turned to you “… you aren’t one of us, you’ll only taint my bloodline, with your dried up blood”.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any intention to even come near your prick” you retorted loudly “… I do think that you probably find much more pleasure from whatever is showed up your fucking ass”.

This seemed to take him by surprised, as a strange mixture of admiration appeared in his eyes before turning in a devious smirk, his eyes shifting onto your body, as you shielded it, eventually turning around, wanting to grab your pillow and smother the arrogant asshole.

“… you shouldn’t have sent away the maid” now he talked with his brother like you didn’t exist anymore, but you were thankful they weren’t using the mind trick anymore “… you know that mother won’t appreciate it if she is either late or in a nightgown for the Promise”.

“What Promise?” you intervened, but the brothers now kept on talking between themselves, an embarrassed look on Alfred’s face “… somebody will fucking tell me what is going on? Or will I be also kidnapped for this fucking Promise?!”.

“Preferably not” sarcasm and sass was much better than nothing “… it is a ceremony before our marriage, where we promise that we won’t stab each other in the back”.

“… romantic” you muttered “… but believe me, even a swear won’t hold me back from stabbing you”.

“Faerie swears mean much more, although I do have to admit that you have the amazing ability to lie, having lived with humans for so long…” he commented “… that’s why you are here, our secret weapon”.

“What do you mean?”.

Why had these people all made this without even asking for your opinion.

“…call her maid” Aethelred simply sent you one last look before turning around.

Pity.

And you never wanted to feel like that.

Alfred seemed almost halfway through doing that when your voice became a tight whisper.

‘… can you give me a minute?’.

A minute of privacy.

A minute with the only person who didn’t seem to know everything that had been going on.

A minute to understand what you’d truly have to do to escape all of this.

Because there was no way you’d get married to that prick.

In the end you had tried not to question too much your faerie origins.

You had a much more urgent problem in your hands.

A marriage you didn’t want to attend.

A marriage in which you were a bride.

It was still difficult for you to understand what they truly wanted from you, but you wouldn’t have stayed for the real ceremony, although you hadn’t yet figured out a way to run away and go back to civilization, since you were closed off in some kind of ancient tower that looked like a flower.

Stranded away in the middle of nowhere.

So, you would have played the nice girl, till you found out how to run away.

You might not have had wings, but faeries usually had some kind of magic, so maybe you would have been lucky enough to have the power to teleport you away from all of this shit, something that you had childishly tried when the faerie maid, Niahm, had left you in bath alone.

You hadn’t found any kind of sharp objects you could use as a weapon.

You had tried breaking some kind of smelly bottles, probably filled with perfume, but they had just bounced off the wall even when you had thrown them across the bathroom, making you feel even more at unease.

Because not only you felt at danger.

But you felt damnably useless.

And pitiful.

Almost a child being dressed up in elegant gown and long dresses.

A child who had been stolen away and brought up in the human world.

You almost expected some fairy to take your hand and push you by their side as they brought you down the wedding hall.

Which should be what had happened, had they thought that they could marry you off, easily.

You would have thrown a worse tantrum than a spoiled brat in front of an entire faerie court, for sure.

Because if there was one thing that you knew in your bones about the people that you had seen around you, those two brothers were royals, truly with the way they acted and how expensive their dresses seemed.

And you wouldn’t have been married off easily.

Because you were wanted for some talent of yours.

Your had something they wanted.

And that made you valuable cargo.

No matter how annoyed Aethelred was with you.

And if there was one thing you were looking forward more than simply running the hell away from here, it was pissing off that asshole.

You were soon ready and when you stepped out of the bathroom Niahm checked you further, adjusting your dress and pushing your washed hair up, meanwhile she smudged lightly some make-up on your eyes.

‘It’s the trend of the season in the court’ she spoke as she took you in ‘… you’ll be the prettiest’.

“I better” you mumbled, annoyedly “… I might be kidnapped but I refuse not to look anything but the bestest”.

She didn’t seem to understand what you truly meant, but she simply smiled and you almost felt pity for the horrible way you had treater her.

She obviously wanted to be there as much as you did, and you couldn’t put much blame on her, although she certainly wouldn’t have helped you.

“… sorry” you simply mumbled, as she turned to you with a small smile, her voice telling you ‘not to worry about’, purring out the ‘r’s, but her eyes shone of acceptance, and then she told you to wait a bit more.

And then suddenly the sun, seeping through the petals of your new home, became more orange, hitting low the petal that opened almost on his own and then lowered itself on the ground on some kind of slide

‘This isn’t even the weirdest thing I have seen today’ you thought as Niahm moved to you.

“Would you prefer that I go first, my lady?” she probably noticed your uneasiness, since you had never been one to do this kind of things “… it is safe as life, as you humans say”.

“That isn’t reassuring” you commented, but insisted that she went first, seeing her disappear quickly over the silky slide of the pinkish petal, onto which you moved, in your pinkish dress, a shade clearer that your skin right now.

You didn’t even have to push yourself, you moved down calmly, although the fastness of it made you ditzy and you weren’t comfortable till you were again on the ground, seeing that everyone you had seen last night was now looking at you, and at your disheveled state.

And you were glad to have Niahm come and collect you, almost as a doll in embellished clothes and thick blush over its cheeks, meanwhile Aethelred, you recognized him by the elegant clothes and the piercingly blue eyes, whispered something to a creature that looked like the elves you had read about when you were younger.

Slender and so light that she blinded you.

They spoke with an intimacy that showed that your soon-to-be-husband had much more experience than you thought in womanly business.

You wouldn’t have for sure stayed around enough to see if that was true or not.

Alfred came onto you, once Niahm was done with your set-up, guiding you through a court of creature that even in your wildest fantasies you wouldn’t have been able to conceive, although you recognized a few, asking yourself whether there were humans, since some seemed almost ‘normal’, but then a twinkle of their eyes would reveal much more.

And you felt a stranger.

A powerless stranger.

“Dear sister!” welcomed you Alfred, and although you weren’t sure to trust him or even like him, you were grateful for his help, since he had been the sole source of information you had met “… let me show you around! We have all been so eager to meet you!”.

And the court did seem eager.

But in a wicked away.

As if they expected nothing more than some kind of mistake from you.

One that would have sent you away from them, since they all looked positively plotting and you could only guess what they were thinking of you, although your shade of skin wasn’t human-like, but the way you moved… was clumsy.

Horridly clumsy, if confronted with theirs.

Alfred named ladies after lords as he guided you through them, and soon you were in front of two thrones, both pushed upward to distance them from the crowd below, as if they were stronger and you could only guess this meant they were the royal-est of the royals.

One seat, still, was left empty beside them, halfway through earth and sky.

But soon you had a bigger surprise waiting for you, as Alfred informed you that the older man and the younger woman sitting on the thrones were his relatives, making him the prince of the faeries.

Exactly like his brother.

The one you’d have to marry.

As if your situation hadn’t been already bad.

“My grandfather Ecberth, he is the one who organized your wedding” and he bowed lightly his head, making you a small sign to do the same, as the annoyed old man turned his attention on you suddenly.

The whispers all around you being immediately silenced.

And you felt judged.

“… lady (Y/N)” it was the woman who spoke, and had you been intimidated by the older man, the woman’s voice spoke of pure poison, something that made you extremely uneasy “… we are blessed to see your face and not hear your horrendous screams, this time”.

You honestly thought of a few comebacks but held back your tongue.

For now, you had to play the docile card.

You couldn’t make them worry when you were in their territory, if not for your own personal safety, to make your escape easier.

“… and this is my mother, queen Judith” exhaled softly Alfred and you had to push your eyes back onto your feet, because surprise shone in them.

Alfred hadn’t seriously inherited a single drop of that poisonous woman.

And now you did understand why Aethelred didn’t like her.

“… Judith!” reprimanded her quickly Ecberth, although something similar to amusement shone in his eyes as he said that name, before turning his full attention on you, something that made you almost feel like an ant being looked up by an enormous human foot “… excuse my lovely daughter-in-law, she knows nothing of our hospitality”.

“I am grateful for your hospitality” you spoke lowly, trying to keep your sarcasm contained, although you heard Aethelred laugh at your clumsy response, his snicker catching also Ecberth’s eye, who smirked back, but with harshness in the twinkle of his eye.

“… my eldest grandchild seems to have taken after his mother” and his eyes became harsh and heavy, and you almost felt bad for the public humiliation that befell on Aethelred “…do come forward, my foul boy”.

And Aethelred almost pushed by the same enchantment that had brought you in the woods, moved himself forward and marched with a harsh expression to you, till he was by your side.

“… isn’t your wife lovely?” he asked him, a tone of mockery in his words and soon purple coated Aethelred’s cheeks in a show of embarrassment that made you almost think that this wasn’t simply an advantageous wedding, although they had told you so.

This was a punishment for him.

“I don’t have to find my wife lovely” Aethelred shot back, hissing roughly through his teeth “… I just have to find her a liar”.

Again, that accent on your lying abilities.

What did it mean?

These people could enchant others, they could fly on their own wings and sprout fire, but they were suddenly interested in a girl that could lie.

“And can she lie?” the fact that he spoke like you weren’t there got on your nerve.

But you clutched your fists harder, raising your head immediately with a smile.

“I am very pleased to have this marriage with the lovely Aethelred” each word sounded fake, but the lie smeared itself on your mouth, making the man look at you as if you were some kind of strange animal.

One that pleased him greatly.

But could bite.

“… oh Gosh isn’t it marvelous?” he commented, laughing loudly as the entire court mirrored him as if they were one with him “… a blessing upon our house”.

Everybody agreed, even the scorned queen, although her eyes marveled with something that seemed almost envy, you held your head tighter, taking in your small victory, but it didn’t last much, because soon king Ecberth looked at you again and ordered to move onto the royal dinner.

‘… we’ll get something in our stomach and then raise our cups to the promise”.

And that would have made everything painfully real.

No matter the fact that you didn’t understand what this promise fully entailed, but the thought of food might have been helpful, since you honestly just started feeling the pain in your stomach due to the hunger.

Although you weren’t sure you should have eaten everything.

You had read too much Christina Rossetti to trust any fairy food.

And in a blink of an eye, tables appeared, almost blooming from the ground, and solely now you realized you weren’t in some magical land, but you were beneath the grass, as small as an ant, enough for to inhabit the small flower you had woken up into.

You wondered how the hell had it happened, even more when your captors had been your same height the previous night.

Had you become too small?

Or had the world grown too big around you?

They didn’t call them ‘Little People’ for anything, after all.

You almost shrieked as one chair came right behind your huge dress, the layers of fabric shielding you from unwanted attention, but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment at that sudden apparition, unused to such ordinary magic, as Alfred giggled innocently, meanwhile Aethelred smirked dangerously, but still sat next to you.

The food made you nervous so you simply played around with it, wondering whether you should have tasted the purplish substance in your glass, since your throat was suddenly aching for water, but you didn’t want to die or either worse be enchanted and driven mad.

You might have had their blood, but you weren’t used to their magic and their tricks.

“… it is safe to eat” commented Aethelred as he saw your hesitation “… people will be annoyed if they find out that I intend to starve my bride”.

“Will this make me dance like crazy around the table?” you muttered holding out the purplish liquid in the elegant glass.

“No” and he noticed that you didn’t look in the slightest convinced “… I can’t lie”.

“Is it true?” you retorted, but slightly dipped your lips in the liquid, your throat begging for a bit of relief.

“… I lo…” and his mouth pushed itself in various shapes till he renounced saying whatever he wanted and instead muttered darkly “… I hate all of this”.

“Don’t even start” you shot back, as you then moved to dip your mouth further in the glass, discovering that what you had thought was an horridly powerful potion turned out to be simple grape juice, not even alcoholic “… you weren’t kidnapped for this”.

“You know why my grandfather agreed to this?” he commented loudly, as if you were seriously interested in his own problems, not having already enough of your own “… because although you might be so special for your lying abilities, you are nothing more than a human girl”.

“My skin color would suggest otherwise” you muttered, showing off a naked arm, since your arms were exposed, through light sleets “… what the hell do I have to do to turn back to my original complexion?”.

“… get away from here” it was almost a suggestion “… changeling show their true nature only in Fae reigns. Run away and you’ll be a simple human again”.

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to do just that” a sugary sweet smile appeared on your face, matched by Aethelred, showing you that although he might not lie, he was completely able to fake “… just let me know which one is the emergency exit door and I’ll be far swiftly out of your hair”.

“You have such a way with words” he spoke loudly, a bright laugh escaping from his mouth, as he raised his cup towards his mother and grandfather “… keep your tongue tame or you won’t survive in here”.

“I have every intention of not even living in here” you replied, although the threat had gotten the hair on your skin to raise, as the goosebumps went all over your body, and you weren’t sure if it was for the veiled threat or the way Aethelred was so close to you.

He was as handsome as an amazing statue, a strong facial structure and a tight smile, and eyes that shone of much more interest than he led on.

“… what is this ‘promise’ thing? Seriously” you muttered, your voice a bit lower than it should have been, but Aethelred spared you any harsh remark, instead choosing to focus onto your question, although his eyes shifted onto what had been left in his plate.

He had eaten voraciously, almost as if he expected everything to be brought away from him.

“It is the first bonding ritual to link two faeries together” he explained with a dark and ancient voice, definitely tired “… we don’t swear upon chastity or faith since it is quite common to have lovers and such, in Fae realms…”.

“… that is reassuring” you commented darkly, unsure of why you’d be jealous of Aethelred, when the sole thought of sharing a bed with him, as handsome as he might be. put you at unease.

“… I am a prince” he replied, as if that was a justification enough “… sex is simply a mean to gain power, and you should know it as well”.

“That’s what men always say and then stone women as whores”.

Aethelred seemed surprised at your affirmation and something of almost reflective shone in his face.

“We wouldn’t stone you for cheating on me” he said, and then his voice had a tougher intonation, returning to the silk-veiled threats he had been launching at you since the start of it all “… we would kill you for betraying our family”.

“… that surely reassure me”.

“The promise will prove that and ensure it” he continued on explaining “… we swear of being loyal to our families, joining us under one, in order for us to forge an alliance that will never be broken if not in Death”.

“That shit seems serious” you muttered, as you also started eating the meal in your plate, knowing that if you truly wanted to escape, you’d have to be strong.

“… it is” he confirmed “… but the promise is the least show-like of our ceremonies, then there is ‘The Dressing’, ‘The Ceremony’, ‘The Undressing’…”.

“They all explain pretty well what they entail” you commented loudly, embarrassment written all over your cheeks in a show of uneasiness that made you a weak target for Aethelred’s laugh, although he kept the conversation between you two, as he promised.

“I’ll be gentle with you, little virgin”.

Your cheeks became even redder, and you dropped half the glass onto his expensive pants for revealing your embarrassing secret, as he smirked almost playfully.

He was like a big feline waiting for his prey to lower her guard.

The stain didn’t last even a sole minute on the pants, before it vanished in thin air.

“… don’t worry, I’ll wait” he grinned at you, before he leaned in, and you found yourself stuck on the chair “… there is no intention in me to take a fruit that isn’t offered, but either way I always seem to wait for the more mature ones, falling right in my hands”.

You were too hot.

And you almost thought about drenching yourself with grape juice, to relieve that.

But Aethelred quickly moved away from him, his entire playful attire disappearing as his eyes focused on the sight of Judith hand-feeding Alfred, although he shouldn’t have the need of it, but you didn’t miss Aethelred’s longing gaze, desperate for affection.

“… my mother, too, didn’t like me” you didn’t know why you blurted it out, but it just did.

“Mothers can feel when their children isn’t theirs, so I don’t blame her” he commented, and you were surprised he hadn’t said anything truly cruel “… my situation is worse, believe me. My mother hates me for the sake of my brother’s love”.

It was an heartfelt confession and you wondered whether you should have said something but you just stared at him, unable to stop yourself from doing literally anything, as your hand held out for his, but he just shifted it away, facing forward.

And although you had no intention or interest in comforting your captors, not wanting to develop Stockholm Syndrome, you couldn’t help but feel bitter at his rejection and when you were turning around to collect yourself in a private moment, you saw something, a thick creature, dark green and horridly scaly, almost like a snake.

But before you could scream more wretched creatures appeared, and from the scream that erupted, you knew that they weren’t invited.

Aethelred was quick, noticing the creature near you, as he pushed you back, almost getting you to bump into the ground and he exited the sword and pushed it right into the creature’s chest, horridly killing him as some kind of acidic blood was emitted by the horrifying nightmare, and you shielded yourself with the fabric of your dress.

“… grab my knife, soon-to-be wife” he commented loudly, as another creature screeched appearing onto the table with a warrior scream that made you immediately cover your ears, as Aethelred shook you to your feet “… the knife! Idiotic human girl!”.

And you did grab the knife he had stitched onto his thigh, getting it out of his sheath, as he sent you a little look to where a running mob was forming, before the creatures completely circled you, leaving you no escape.

“… run forward and never stop” he explained to you, as he easily fought off another attack and you shamelessly used him as a human shield “… there’ll be an arch… it’ll make you human again just by stepping over it”.

That was your way out, although chaos erupted around you and you screeched loudly making you heavy, but you nodded at what Aethelred had said and quickly moved towards where he had pointed, trampling over a furious crowd, as guards appeared shielding the royals, Alfred disappearing under the tight arm of an armed man.

And you ducked down, sure that nobody would notice you.

But hands came for you, both scaly and both faerie, and the knife in your hold moved on its own, pushing itself through flesh and coming out marred in blood, although you never wanted to hurt anyone.

But had you stopped they would have hurt you.

You tried not to do too much damage, simply stabbing at the hands, hoping that whatever happened they’d have some kind of healing magic you had never known, and just pushed forward, eventually leaving behind the small war, and for a bit you thought it was a trap.

Some kind of dangerous ploy to prove your loyalty.

No arch was in sight.

And you were losing hope, thinking that maybe it was all a game.

A game of chase that would have belonged to those savage people, but then your eyes caught a beautiful sight: an arch, right in front of your eyes.

And you were just moving to pass it, when something blunt hit the back of your head and you went down again, cursing yourself for having thought this would have ended up well.

You were getting annoyed at waking up like this.

Not in your room and with a burning headache.

This time you knew from the start that you hadn’t woken up for sure in your childhood home, since everywhere around you was cold and wet, almost as if you were being held under earth and when you opened your eyes, you saw that you hadn’t been wrong.

Around you everything was brown, barely lighted up by the dying flame of a candle.

You couldn’t help but feel buried inside a good amount of mud, all around you in a strange structure that was reinforced with metals and rocks, such as the things that blocked you from moving out.

No soft petals, but metal bars.

You were in prison.

Had they imprisoned you for having run away?

But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you had shifted away completely by the cheery light of the faerie world and you were now closed off in mud and something that smelled much worse.

You moved closer to the small candle, as you cradled it closer to you, moving towards the bars to look outside to try to understand what was going on as you realized that your color of your skin hadn’t gone back to normal, showing you that you hadn’t passed the arc.

That you were still in faerieland.

Or whatever they called it.

But you weren’t anymore in any royal court, something that you dreaded to admit but you almost missed.

Even more when you noticed what was outside for you.

Or better in the bars in front of you.

Frightened creatures that you identified as similar faeries, backed up and scared, a few of them wounded and you couldn’t help but think that although the faeries seemed true savages, they wouldn’t have done this to their same people.

Had it been the creatures that had attacked you at the royal banquet?

But soon your thoughts were answered, as you heard heavy steps starting to sound, as the creatures shrieked away from the bars and towards the darkness of their cells and your heart started speeding up, as you finally realized that you were in deep shit.

You definitely missed your small private flower chamber.

But it wasn’t the creatures you had seen at the wedding that came face to face with you, although they resembled them in the color of their skin, a deep unhealthy yellowish green.

And it didn’t take you much to understand they were goblins.

Although they were quite more handsome than you thought.

But they had an almost aggressive beauty to them, something that made you uneasy as they inched closer to your bars, snickers coming from them, as they noticed your surprised face, and you took in how many they truly were.

Four men, all with long hair, braided elegantly, almost in warrior-like fashion, but two were bigger, although at least four of them were relatives for sure, meanwhile one stood out with his tattooed face and hair falling onto his face.

But they all shared their hungry smiles, and you almost crawled back in the back of the cell when they walked in the bar, opening it up to you.

“… don’t you smell the lovely perfume of a scared faerie?” commented the smaller one, his tongue wetting his lips, in a suggestive way that made you tremble “… they always taste sweeter when they cry”.

“Hvitserk!” called him back who looked like his brother, an elegant braid of brownish blond hair and pure blue eyes “… you aren’t allowed to touch her, don’t you remember?”.

… oh, that certainly put your mind at ease.

“… yeah yeah, I know… Ivar wants her alive” commented harshly the man backing up from you, as instead the tattooed man walked forward you, grabbing harshly your arm to push you to move alongside him, meanwhile the only man that had been silent, the older of the brothers, also blonde hair and damned blue eyes, looked at you.

You kept your back straight and pushed yourself to stand taller towards him, because showing that you feared them made you uneasy.

And it would have just brought you deeper.

You might play the compliant princess.

But you wouldn’t have played the scared one.

From what you had heard you weren’t to be touched, hence you were safe.

For now.

Although Hvitserk, or whatever that troll was called, kept his eyes for the entire time on your ass.

You tried to take in the road for where you were lead, up to a pair of stairs, although you couldn’t see any windows in sight, probably because if you remembered correctly the light of the sun turned goblins into stone.

But still you weren’t able to catch the passing of time, whether you had moved away from the bloody tint of the dawn you had experienced or if it was already the rosy-fingered dawn, coming for you.

The walls still became much more sturdy and stable, made of rocks than instead mud, almost as if you were slowly walking towards the true castle, meanwhile the prisoners were simply returned to the earth where they had all come from.

You hadn’t been wrong at thinking that you had been buried alive.

And then you walked in what looked like a dark hall, straight from your darkest fairytales, with black rocks everywhere and barely a fireplace shining through the darkness of the room, as you took in the elegant and cruel assemble.

And the man who sat on a chair in the middle of it.

He looked young, probably a few years younger than you, the color of the fire making his face shine with a more normal color, almost human.

But you were sure he was a goblin.

Hadn’t it been for his horrifying teeth, sharp and pushed forward, you would have thought he might have been quite the handsome lad.

But villains always looked wonderful in fairytales.

And from what you had seen and heard, he was one of them.

“… lady (Y/N)” he welcomed you, raising himself up, although you noticed that he was in a croaked position, making you wonder whether he had been wounded or was simply tired.

Or wanted to mock you.

“… welcome in my humble home” he commented with a devious light in his eyes, again  predator taunting his prey and you honestly couldn’t help but hate that behavior, rolling lightly your eyes as you were laid onto a chair that was propped in front of him “… I take it that your staying was well”.

“My hair got a bit dirtied due to the humidity” you commented, taking on the persona of the spoiled brat “… if I get split ends, I’ll forward you my hairdresser’s bill”.

You knew that you were toeing a thin line, but the beautiful goblin simply looked at you with a smirk, as his eyes shone of interest, probably not expecting of you reacting that way.

But he didn’t let it impress him.

“… we’ll pay, goblins certainly don’t miss riches” he said, as he then moved to turn around, showing you that on the wall in the barely-lighted up a trophy shown: a golden armor, encrusted with gems all over it, definitely expensive “… my uncle Floki, made it for me”.

“… seems heavy” you commented unimpressed.

And this time his eyes showed that he had taken offense at your comment.

Good.

“You aren’t one for pretty words, are you?” he questioned you, and you felt the aggressiveness that told you this wasn’t a curtesy call.

“I might look like a cupcake in this dress, but believe me, I am not” you shot back, and although he seemed quite confused by what you said, he seemed to get the gist of the discourse, for which you were thankful.

Since it meant he might have stopped treating you like an idiot.

“… I am Ivar, the king of goblins”.

Again, you were unimpressed, pushing your face to rest itself.

“… and I am (Y/N), princess of being kidnapped, it seems”.

“This is serious” he commented, and you felt the surprised being met with annoyance, something that got you to assume a more serious expression, as you straightened your position “… and it’ll be advantageous to both of us, if you accept my deal”.

“… will you allow me to go outside to poo? Because believe me… the faeries also offered me that”.

“I can offer you your freedom”.

And that got you to finally shut up.

And stop with the sass.

Because Ivar’s eyes seemed honest.

So, it was impossible.

“… I don’t believe you”.

“I belong to the Little People, I can’t lie” but something told you that he would run around the truth, and hence you couldn’t believe him and wouldn’t have.

Till you had proofs.

“Why would you offer me freedom?” you asked, knowing that this wouldn’t be free “…what do you want for yourself?”.

“A spy” that left you surprised truly “… not many faeries can be good spies, but somebody like you, linked to the royal family and able to lie at command, might come quite handy to me… and all you’d have to do is to be my little bird, chirping information on my shoulders”.

Which wasn’t what you wanted in the slightest.

“… if I accept… how will you give me my freedom?” you asked, as your eyes danced around the room, not wanting to let him see how much you were considering his proposal.

Some part of you told you that goblins had their own agenda and you would have been caught in something in between and any way to escape would have been ruined.

But still… you didn’t see many ways to escape this prison.

Goblins weren’t certainly as gentle as faerie, and certainly although Ivar had ordered not to touch you, it certainly wouldn’t have lasted much.

So, you should have accepted, but…

… but you just wanted a normal life.

“… easily, I’ll turn you back in the human you always believed yourself to be” it seemed easy said by his mouth and although you knew that he couldn’t lie, for a minute you felt like this had a second meaning and you should be careful for that.

Everytime the villain offered the easy solution out, it meant that the main characters had sold their soul out.

“… you make it seem easy, but I don’t trust easy things” you commented, as you readjusted on the chair, lightly focusing your attention on the dress, noticing how utterly tattered it look, completely ruined.

It represented perfectly how you felt inside.

“It isn’t an easy thing, but… it is possible” he replied “… many of our species ditch our skin to enchant elegant wives, a few of my brothers can confirm it”.

A choir of snickers made you aware that it was indeed true.

“… it’s an enchantment” he explained “… it’ll make you human again”.

“How?”.

“I am not telling you till you decide whether you accept my deal or not” his mouth turned in a devious smirk.

“You might trick me”.

“… I could force you into this” he commented loudly, and suddenly you were aware that although he hadn’t shown you that he was powerful, he was much stronger than he let on “… I could have you spying for me with worse methods”.

And he meant it from the bloodthirsty expression which appeared on his face.

“But I am feeling generous, and I know that satisfied employees are the best ones” he reached out to you, as he lightly staggered down from the throne, making you notice that he wore braces, metal braces onto his body, although you assumed they couldn’t be iron, but he looked quite strong, holding his body straight.

But your eyes shifted as he moved his hand forward to you and his hand lightly moved itself in your hair, before settling on your face and strangely his touch seemed ice-cold and wet, but it didn’t startle as his eyes shifted onto you.

“… will you be my spy, little one?”.

---

Aethelred Taglist:

@flowers-in-your-hayr​

[being-held]

There’s Something Strange About How It All Began by Alexis Pera

A draft piece for a book not yet written. Enjoy.

I.  eight when I first caught fire. It was a cold day in my village, as it usually was, near the shores of the lake where my family’s home was built. It was a small dwelling in my home region of Plivium. It rained a lot in Plivium, unlike the rest of Alienis, and no one knew why, or no one really cared. It was home, no one questions that. But, when  it wasn’t pouring, most Plivumians preferred to be outside. We kind of had to be, or else the work would never be done, the harvest never brought up, and the damages never fixed. So as my parents worked, I was free to roam and explore.

    Yet, out of all the land my parents had, all the forests and rivers and ponds, I loved my father’s garden, beautiful in every sense of the word. He had grown flowers of every color and nurtured trees so full of fruit we could never harvest them all. It was my favorite place in the entire world. I would run through the paths, looking up the entire time as I watched the trees rush by and the leaves brush my legs as I went. Who knows how many times I fell, or tripped, or just ran full on into things. My father would always scold me about being more careful, but he would have a smile on his face because he was more than amused by how happy I was despite having just run into a tree or tripped over some vines. My mother would be more upset, she didn’t like seeing me hurt, even if I wasn’t upset about it, and I always had bruises and scratches but a smile on my face. Of course, that all stopped the day I Specialized.

    Most children didn’t Specialize until they were older, when they were turning into grown men and women, but I didn’t. I was still a child, still scared of the stories my parents told me about Specializing, still carefree and unable to prepare for what would happen.

    Because gaining your Specialty and becoming one with nature was something that usually didn’t come in a nice package with a pretty bow. It was painful and unpredictable, and with my family’s bloodline, my Specialty was to be even more so.

    The wind was strong that day, or so I thought at least, and it kept growing more and more until the chill in my spine wouldn’t go away. Then my small kid brain finally realized that none of the trees or plants were swaying from its force, and that my clothes and hair were still in place. I was then wondering why I was so cold and why it felt like someone was waving cold air on my neck. I didn't have much time to think about it.

    A searing pain had bloomed in my temples, my vision and balance immediately going awry. It was paralyzing, and as I hit the dirt, a terribly cold tingling took over my hands and arms.

    My mother found me first, and she was the one who first saw the visible effects of what was happening. My fingers, hands, and lower arms had turned completely black, right up to my elbows. And though it seemed as if I stuck my hands into a smoldering fire pit, my skin was entirely numb to feeling. The headache had faded and vision only slightly better at that point, so I was left sitting on the ground staring at my arms as if they didn’t belong to me. In that moment, it didn’t feel like they did.

    Then the second wave hit.

    While my vision cleared enough for me to see and the overall pain had deadened to a dull throbbing, my arms sparked and white flames enveloped them. I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t stop it, I could barely see it, but I screamed and yelled and cried. My mother didn’t know what to do, neither did my father when he finally found us. They couldn’t come near, and my mother learned that the hard way. She hated seeing me in pain, so her motherly instinct to hold me, to comfort me, backfired when she tried. She now has a large burn scar down her right arm, a daily reminder of how dangerous I was.

    Because to the horror of myself, my mother, and my father, I had managed to inherit one of the rarest and most dangerous Specialties known to our world, called Aerdior. The unfortunate ability to conjure heat from one’s skin. My version of it, of course, came with the bonus of flames.

    I don’t remember the rest of that day. I just know that my parents had to reach out to one of our neighbors, who could manipulate water, to put me out. And that that day was when everything became different.

II.

    I can’t count how many times in a day I used to catch fire. At first, it was really often, every hour or so, and that’s how I was forced to learn how to will it away. And eventually I could. And after a month, it would go down to every two hours. And after another month, three to four hours.

    By the time I was nine, I could go at least two days without catching, on a good week.

    I also can’t count how many times I’ve hurt someone or something around me. It would come so suddenly, I never had enough time to get away from whatever I was touching. My father had a couple burns on his shoulders and arms, my mother on her fingers and hands. I banned myself from my father’s garden after I destroyed almost half of my father’s rare Cossia flowers, and later from even going outside when I injured a creature that had come too close. I spent most of my time in my room, where anything that wasn’t or couldn’t be fireproofed had been removed. I cried when my mother wanted to take my books, but my father, who taught me to love and cherish reading, spent almost two weeks trying to figure out a way for me to keep them. He finally found the perfect mixture of plants and special roots to create paper that couldn’t burn. And he then spent the next several months copying all of my favorite books onto the special paper so I could read them. I only have one of those copies now.

    I was terrified and paranoid of my Specialty, and of what I could do. No matter where I was or who I was with, I had to watch what I touched and how I handled things. Before long, I was labeling everything as burnable or unburnable, what I can’t touch and what I can, who I couldn’t take the chance on and who I could. It was an unbearable existence for a nine year old child.

    And then we moved.

    I say moved like it was optional, like we made the choice, but truly, we weren’t just changing scenery, we were running.

    I don’t remember much of it. One day we were happy; my mother, my father, me, and the little baby in my mother’s belly that we were all so excited for. Then the next, I was being dragged through the forest by my parents who kept insisting everything was alright. Right up until it wasn’t.

    My father died that day, protecting us. My mother will only tell me that without him saving us, we wouldn’t have escaped, we wouldn’t have made it to earth, the Connected World.

    It’s been nine years, and she still refuses to tell me more.

    But now, I only catch randomly, with no pattern. A rushing feeling will run down my spine, and then my fingers will start turning black. If I don’t separate myself from my surroundings and put all my willpower into making it go away, I will eventually catch, though it’s much slower on earth.

    My mother would always tell me that it was all a blessing in disguise, that coming to earth was good because I was less likely to hurt others. I used to believe that, and maybe a small part of me still does, but now I know that it doesn’t make a difference. Who am I to have a better life when my father never got to live the rest of his?

III.

    My little sister was born the day we came to earth. Because of the way we came, in the chaos and madness, my mother went into labor not even an hour after arriving. We had come through the Pathway into an old church, which had seemed to be abandoned with no one left to take care of it. I was the only one there to help my mother as she gave birth.

    It was a horribly long, terribly painful, and rather traumatizing experience that I would never like to experience again. But once it was over, we had another problem to handle. Because my little sister didn’t come out crying.

    My mother had pretty much passed out once the baby was out, so I was left to try to understand what was happening. It was, fortunately, not long before I realized that my sister wasn’t dead. She was still moving and her heart still beating, with her face scrunched up as if she wanted to cry but just couldn’t get it out. She was mute, a birth defect common to Plivumians.

    I had shifted my mother into a lying position and covered her with an old curtain I found, then proceeded to wrap my new born sister in the torn up cloth from my shirt. I held her as she slept, and didn’t sleep myself, and that night I named her. I never asked my mother after if she liked the name I picked, or of she was upset that I did, but I was fully convinced that my father would have loved it.

    I named her after my father’s two favorite flowers, the ones which he had spent years growing to be perfect for their blooming season, and the ones I adored more than any of the others. Her name was Pella Cossia, my little sister. And the only thing I thoroughly remember from that day, was the promise I made to her, that I would never let her get hurt, that I would protect her no matter the costs.

    I still keep that promise, and I don’t ever plan on breaking it.

IV.

    We found the dwelling, or town, as the earthans called it, that the church belonged to, and met many people who were confused about who we were and what had happened to us. One person called himself an officer, and he helped us find clothes and food. We also met a lady who gave my mother a job at a restaurant, which at the time was a very strange concept, as we didn’t have restaurants or food suppliers back in Plivium. But we adapted quickly, and it was only a year of taking help and staying in hotels before my mother could finally afford a home.

    It was a small, unkept, dirty place, but we were decent enough at cleaning and home-keeping to get it livable again.

    By the time we found out about school, I was twelve and completely unqualified. But due to the laws of the land, and the strict suggestions of anyone we knew, my mother thought it wise to send me to school. The idea of school seemed promising, an organization built to help children learn and grow in the world, but the actual reality of it was a lot more disappointing. The education part was pretty much an afterthought, as the talking, sports, and teasing took the forefront. I came to be a wallflower, even more so because of the... heat problem. People liked to point out that I wore sweaters and gloves all the time, even when it was warm; little did they know that I couldn’t feel warmth at all, or cold for that matter. The sweaters and gloves were more for a safety precaution(made of a special heat resistant material that took years to find and use), and a comforting mechanism.

    I caught up quickly; in my studies, that is. I was pretty much enthralled with anything I didn’t already know, as we didn’t have education anything close to Earthan education back home, where we learned to read, write, count, and that was it. In Plivium, reading more than what basic training required was like being a genius, which both my father and myself easily overstepped. But on earth, being an avid reader was somewhat normal, and even the small amount of people who actually enjoyed learning maths and science and literature were many more than at home. I also had more than enough time on my hands, as I still stayed cooped up in my bedroom with things least fire-prone. I had more books than clothes, and more library passes than shoes, which I was more than okay with. I enjoyed it, even if school itself was much less than fun and little more than torture.

    Though as high school came, with my Specialty growing stronger and more worrisome, my mother thought it time to pull me out. At that time, I wasn’t attached to school, as long as I got to keep the books and the library trips. My mother obliged, but, unfortunately, she was still listening to coworkers and neighbors. Because apparently, by the time your fifteen, your supposed to have a job. Which, of course, my mother and I thought strange and ridiculous, because the whole employment thing was an entirely different situation at home. But we adapted anyway, and I managed to get a job at a small bookstore in town, but only because it was run by an older lady who majorly needed help.

    I still work there today, and Mrs. Gorgio is like the grandma I never had, feeding me when I forget myself and praying when she knows my mother has a job interview. She instantly fell in love with Pella, and asks about her every day I come in. Pella doesn’t like books as much, preferring music and other loud ways of expressing herself, but she likes Mrs. Gorgio and the fact that the older lady wasn’t shocked to find she can’t speak. Pella comes in once a week, and is continually teaching Mrs. Goegio sign language so that it’s easier for them to communicate. I sometimes watch them interact, sitting in the big cushion chairs in the back of the shop, laughing and smiling and gesturing. It’s rather funny to see Mrs. Gorgio get the movements wrong, in which Pella will simply smile and correct her with gentle fingers.

    When we walk home together, Pella will sign to me the whole way, explaining what they were working on and how Mrs. Gorgio has the best taste in music and why the old lady always wears that rusty necklace around her neck. Though I trip on the bumpy sidewalks and my own feet watching her hands fly, I don’t ever shove it off. I know how much it means to her, and that she looks forward to that one day of the week when I take her.

    It also distracted me, helped me pretend that our lives were normal. And that we weren’t foreigners in disguise, tricking everyone into believing we belonged, when we really truly didn’t.

[t-o-m-hollands]

A/N: Cointens violence and mentions of injuries, war and blood. Also swearing and drinking. Smut in future parts, nothing in this. 

“It seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits in.”  

― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep  

When Tom’s grandfather passes away, he inherits an office in the middle of a buzzling London. He has no idea what to do with it.

The year is 1947 and Tom is restless after the war. After a chance meeting with his old comrade Harrison and a drunken lunch at the local pub they decide to open up a detective agency. After finding you huddled up in a library while chasing an unwilling witness Tom decides to hire you as the agency’s secretary. You, reluctantly, take up the offer from the charming stranger.

Together the three of you face some of London’s most hard-boiled criminals and lethal femme fatales.  

You have to navigate your way through adulthood, life after war and your growing feelings for your boss.

***

The pub was unusually crammed with people, workers meeting up with each other for a pint before heading home to their families. He could see them through the muted windows, cheering and laughing, pints of beer clutched in their hands. Now, it certainly wasn’t the nicest pub in London, a thick cover of mud covered the floor, the walls were so dirty that it was hard to tell what the original wallpaper had looked like. But then again, it was the Bugle, a pub well hidden in the Shafto Mews in London. It was not a pub you just happened to stroll in to, looking for a place to eat or a friendly place to catch up with a long-lost comrade in. It was a seedy and dirty place, where the beers came cheap and the brawls started easy.

The barman, a Mr. Eric Brew, was a brusque and quick-tempered elderly man with a beer belly so large it made it hard for him to steer his way through the many bottles and glasses behind the bar. Luckily for him it was unusual for anyone to ordered anything other than a pint or perhaps a glass of cheap and watered-down whiskey.

Tom loved this place, because no one ever bothered him here. This was not a place to talk to strangers in.  

On this particular autumn afternoon the air outside was crisp and full of the smell of pavement after rain, it smelled of London. Currently though the sky was bluer than it had been all summer and the leaves on the trees had just started to change their colours. There was a distinct chill in the air. Tom shivered in his dress shirt, thinking to himself that this was sure to be the last time that year he’d get away with not wearing a jacket.

As he stepped inside, he exchanged the almost impossible fresh autumn air for a cigarette smoke fog. It was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon, and the sound of loud voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Tom gathered it must be payday. It was long ago that he stopped to bother about the days of the week or when pay was due. Not because of an abundance of money but for the lack of a steady job.

Walking up the bar he told Eric to pour the usual and handed him a coin. Eric grunted and started to pour into a glass that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months.

“Busy today, mate” Tom stated. Eric grunted again and handed him his drink.  

As Tom sat down in the far, and well hidden, corner of the pub he thought to himself that his so-called conversation with the barman had been his longest conversation in days. After the war had ended, he’d stayed out in France, despite his mother’s letters begging him to come home he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his family, on the contrary, being apart from them felt more torturous than anything he’d lived through during the war.

Still, he thought as he gulped down on his drink, he had been through war, and that does change a person. He wasn’t the same care-free boy who’d so gladly enlisted, desperate for some preconceived idea that the war would satisfy his deep-rooted need for adventure, to please his longing for glory. He’d happily waved his younger brothers and his parents goodbye on the platform, surrounded by sad looking boys saying farewells to their loved ones.

The war had not given him what he wanted. There had been no glory or sense of adventure.  And even though the worst injury he’d suffer was a broken nose that had more to do with his own stupidity than actual fighting he had still seen the suffering of others. Walked through villages so bombed there was nothing, no human nor animal left. Nothing but ruin and corpses left to rot. He’d seen the torn apart remains of what had once been children on the street. He had had to breath trough the smell of decaying flesh as they walked by. He had lost friends and comrades.  

The war had changed him, and he still wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse. All he knew was that he couldn’t face his father, or his mother. Not yet. He thought of his little brothers, how much five years must have changed them. He quietly wondered if he’d recognise them if he passed them on the streets today. He tried to convince himself that he would, and only after half a bottle of whiskey did he feel brave enough to admit it to himself that he probably wouldn’t. Too long had passed.  

The only reason he had come back to England at all was for a surprise visit from a solicitor, who had tracked him down somewhere outside of Cannes, informing him of the passing of his grandfather. Tom had few memories of said grandfather What he could recall was a fearsome and stern figure, Victorian in his manner. Tom could remember looking up to the damn near giant as he looked down at Tom with disapproval written all over his face as Tom stood in front of a broken vase, he’d accidentally shattered while chasing the cat. It certainly had not been a man fond of children. Tom had always kept his distance from the man whenever they had visited, scared of the scolding the older man was more than capable of.

Therefore, it had been, to say the least, a great surprise when said grandfather had left his entire inheritance to his oldest grandson.

Sure, there hadn’t been a lot of actual money, not after all the death-duties and inheritance taxes had gone through, but he’d gotten his office and the apartment above it, placed bang on one of the busiest streets of London. What his grandfather had used the office for he had no idea, and the solicitors refused to tell him anything about is grandfathers’ dealings, but judging by the state of the place it must have been an awfully long time since anyone sat their foot in the place, probably not since before the war, the first one. The entire place was, like this very pub, filled with dirt and dust and long abandoned forgotten things. Most of which was nothing more than trash, a chair that surely would break as soon as anyone sat down on it, a desk with one broken leg and a filing cabinet full of mouldy documents.

The only distinctive feature was a rather well-made painting. Not only was the portrait of the young lady striking, but the gold frame surrounding it was solid gold. Something that had chocked Tom greatly. For he had never seen anything look quite so out of place than that gold framed picture of a young, beautiful women with seemingly shining eyes –

“Surely it can’t be – Tom Holland, OI! Tom!”

Tom instinctively looked up, only to meet the eyes of a dearly beloved friend.

“Mate! As I live and breathe!”

“Where have you been, buddy?” Harrison happily exclaimed, pulling out the chair opposite of Tom and before pretty much falling down on it, a pint of beer in hand and a massive grin on his face.

“I haven’t seen you since Monte Cassino– ” he silenced himself. Maybe because of the look in Tom’s eyes, maybe because of memories of his own.

(I haven’t seen you since the war, I haven’t seen you since we were crying in the bunkers, thinking we would die. Hoping that we would. Hoping that we wouldn’t.)

“Yeah” is all Tom can manage to get out, lungs suddenly feeling too tight.

They both take large gulps from their glasses, avoiding the others eye.

“So how you’ve been, mate?” Harrison asks, sounding more mellow now, less cheerful.

“It’s been good, bud” Tom says, trying to sound happy, trying to raise the mood a little. He can see the dark clouds of the war in Harrisons eyes, can see it clear as day even in this smoke-filled, god forsaken pub. It’s still haunting him. And he doesn’t quite know what else to say, doesn’t know how to voice the fact that he himself is hardly sleeping anymore, that he spent two years in France living as a wanderer and picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them, not even trying to pick up the pieces from the past. Not knowing where to begin

(At home, the part of him that’s braver than the rest seem to always whisper. Start at home and build from there.)

“Yeah?” There’s a note of hope in Harrison’s voice and as he looks at him the clouds in his eyes seem to clear, if only a little, and Tom’s heart breaks for his old friend. He knows that desperation, saw it all over France in the soldier's eyes. A desperate longing for proof that there was something good in the world, even after everything that had been done.  

“Yes, mate! It’s been grand. I came into an inheritance and all!” And upon seeing the look of pure surprise in Harrisons now cloud-free face Tom bursts into genuine laughter, not caring to think about how long ago it had been since he had made a whole-hearted, genuine laughter.

“Alright, let’s order some food and then let’s catch up, yeah?”

And they did. The food at The Bugle was awful. Tom knew this, since coming back to London he’d drink away his consciousness in this pub and once or twice he had given in and ordered what The Bugle’s chef referred to as food. He knew this but did not care, for the company was excellent.

It turned out Harrison had come home immediately after the war. Had tried to pick up the pieces from before. He met up with his old friends (the ones that’d survived), he dated a different girl every week, unable to settle and now lived in his parent’s townhouse in Belgravia while they spent most of their time on the family estate out in Norfolk. He too was currently out of a job, however the difference was that Harrison had no need for work, the allowance his parents gave him and his own grandparents inheritance (which, although Tom never asked, but presumed) far exceeded his own.

Tom sensed that Harrison, just like himself, felt a deeply-rooted restlessness since coming home. It was in the way his left leg wouldn’t stop tapping, his regular glances around the room, in the way he just shovelled the food around his plate, not eating much.

Tom in return told him, although with far less detail than his friend had given, of staying out in France, of a surprise visit by the solicitors. He told him of the abandoned office and apartment he now was the owner of. He even told him of the portrait hanging above the broken desk.

They talked about old times, of old friends and past lovers, and every time the name of one of those comrades that didn’t make it to the end of the war was mentioned an awkward silence spread between them before the other one quickly started a new story.

(Harrison noticed that Tom never mentioned his parents, or his brothers. Not once. But he doesn’t say anything. He think they’ll get to that eventually.)

A loud crashing breaks their conversation and both Harrison and Tom are on their feet before either one of them has even registered where the sound came from.

“YOU FUCKING SWINE, I’LL GIVE YOU NOTHING!” The screeching, and surprisingly high-pitched voice, comes from Eric the barman, who’s standing arms raised above his head behind the bar. A young man, not even wearing anything to mask his face, is holding a revolver and pointing it right at Eric’s chest.

Before he’s even fully comprehended what he’s doing he’s halfway across the pub, people scattering out of his way, and out of the robbers aim. He can sense Harrison’s presence right behind him and then they’ve both tackled the young man to the ground. All Tom can think about is to get his hands on the man’s revolver, so that he can secure it. He sees how Harrison tries to get a hold of the young robbers’ arms as he’s waving them around, trying to fight them both at once. Unfortunately, he gets in a lucky swing that hits Tom right over his nose, a nose that’s already been broken once, and blood gushes out. The man looks surprised by this, partly because of the sudden stream of blood falling over him and partly because he actually just hit someone. Tom quickly uses this for his advantage and dives down for the revolver as Harrison secures the burglar’s arms behind his back.  

They manage to hold him down until the police comes. They give them a quick rundown of what happened. Eric, furious and face alarmingly red, fills in when he manages to find words, shaking from fury. One of the policemen offer to drive Tom to the hospital to have his nose looked at but he refuses. Then they ask if he’d like to press charges. Tom takes one quick look at the young man now sitting in a police car and shakes his head. The boy, for on closer inspection he’s nothing more than a boy, looks terrified, and honestly, he’s already in enough trouble with the law. During the past few years crime in London has been on the rise. Young and restless men all coming home from the war, looking for jobs where there are none and haunted from memories from the battlefields. It’s no wonder there’s desperation in the air.

So, Tom and Haz walks away, leaving the two police cars and its officers, a furious pub owner with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice, and an entire pub of people with their noses pressed up against its foggy windows.

As they walk, without discussing where they’re going, Tom suddenly bursts out in laughter. He doesn’t know why, but the restlessness that’s done nothing short but haunted him for years now has suddenly vanished. There’s a pause and then Harrison joins in and Tom knows, knows that he feels the same. That this sudden rush of adrenalin was just what he needed too.

They practically double over with laughter, leaning on the other to keep upright and when they finally stop a comfortable silence fill the quiet as they walk on.

Before long, and before having reflected on where his feet are leading him, they’re standing outside of 15 Sloane street.

“Is this it?” Harrison asks, voice filled with curiosity as he looks up at the red-bricked building.

“Yeah” is all Tom manage to get out as an answer. Because suddenly he feels almost shy, like he’s showing Harrison some long kept secret. And for a moment they just stand and admire the building. “Can I look inside?” Haz asks, curiosity colouring his every word. So, Tom unlocks the door and they step inside.

Inside the air feels heavy, not like in the pub where it had been full of smoke, but instead it feels old, and if it hadn’t been so damn cold outside Tom would have opened up the windows.

The ground is as covered in mud and dust and dirt as the pubs floor. The walls look dull too. But the space is good, a large foyer to receive visitors, a guest bathroom, an office, a kitchen and a staff bathroom too.  

“So” Harrison finally says, having taken in the place in silence. “What are you going to do with it?”

And Tom doesn’t know what to say because honestly – is that not just the question that’s frequently been on his mind since he first got here. “Dunno” ha answers lamely. “I suppose,” he starts but stops himself, feeling too embarrassed at his childish idea.

“What?” Haz encourages.

“Well” Tom begins, and then before he loses his gut he rambles out “It would be cool to be a detective though, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t look at his old friend as he says this. He should though, because he misses out on the massive grin spreading across Harrison’s face.

“Oh totally!” He all but yells. “Like Sherlock Holmes, or Phillip Marlowe?”

“Phillip Marlowe, surely!” Tom responds, finally looking at his old comrade. He feels light as air, having finally put words on a wish that’s long been on his mind.

But now Haz looks awkwardly down, down on his well-polished, hand-made shoes and the muddy ground. “What?” Tom asks, worry threatening to blow his happy bubble.

“Look, you don’t have to, it’s just, like if you don’t want it or you find me lacking you could just sack me bu–“

“Of course, you’ll join me” Tom interrupts Harrisons awkward attempt at asking to work with him. “Really?” He asks, eyes gleaming with happiness. “You, ‘course mate, wouldn’t wanna do it without you”.

***

And so, it begins.

They start with trying to make the place habitable. After all, the office space needs to be a presentable enough environment for clients to feel comfortable to share their troubles with them and preferably the apartment above needs to be clean enough for Tom to live in without contracting a disease. It’s hard work, and Harrison loudly complains and gruntles and questions why they can’t hire someone to do it. Tom just laughs and tells him to shut his over-privileged mouth and keep mopping.

The truth is they could easily get someone in to do the cleaning for them, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want to, feels like they really ought to do this by hand, by themselves. To build the business from the ground up. And quite frankly, some real, good hard work is just what he needs. For the first time in ages he’s so physically exhausted by the time he goes to bed that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He still has nightmares, but he gets in a couple more hours sleep every night and that makes it worth it.

Even though Harrison loudly grumbles about the rough labour he is a hard worker. Tom teases him a lot about it. Telling him he didn’t expect to end up doing this when he was sent to that posh public school as a child. Telling him that this is what good honest works feels like. Informing him that the pain he had in his knees from scrubbing the floors is what heavy labour feels like. It’s all jokes thought, for even they grew up worlds apart on the social scale they still fought on the same battlefield and as children they fought the same imaginary dragons.

In the end aid comes in the form of Lady Lauren Osterfield herself.

Tall and lean and dressed from top to toe in fine silk and fur in soft colours and with hair, the same shade as her son, in soft waves. She sways into the office one day, unannounced, as Tom’s trying to scrub the dirt from the walls and Harrison’s sprawled out on the floor, fighting a particularly stubborn piece of dirt. A hard a look of deepest disapproval is written all over her face as she takes in the scene.

“Darling” she drags out the word and make the endearment sound like a loving, but stern warning. “You simply cannot do this on your own”

“But mommy we-” Harrison begin but she stops him with a raised hand. “I will hear none of it, sweetie. If there is one thing I know it’s potential, and this place has got spades of it. However, I will not see my darling boys like this” she huffs, then adds “also, the rate you two are going at you’ll be in your 50’s before you even had your first client.”

She walks over to where Tom stands, now leaning against the broken desk, hands in pockets and covered in dust and sweat. “Sweetheart, it is wonderful to see you again” And she strokes his cheek with a satin gloved hand and Tom can’t help but to lean into the touch.

He had spent many a school holiday at the Osterfield house. Although, house wasn’t the right word. Technically it was a manor house – Osterfield manor was in fact its name. It had been built by Lord Ashley Osterfield in the early 1600th and had stood proudly on its green fields ever since. Tom had lived in the village, in a small cottage with his mother, father, three brothers and a half-blind cook/nanny named Cully. Harrison, since it was the family tradition, had been sent away to Eton whereas Tom had gone to the village school.  But whenever summer holiday rolled around, they’d play on the grounds to the manor and in the forest surrounding it. They had played thief’s and robbers, Robin Hood and Peter Pan. Life had been blissful and full of light. He can still remember how the last month before summer break had seemed endless, how he’d counted down the days until his best friend would return, staring out of the window during class, not listening to whatever Ms Frank was going on about. They sent each other letters of course. About what was going on at home, what tricks each had played on their friends, or on their teachers, how awful school was or about the latest mystery novel they’d read.

His memories of the Osterfield family were many and fond. Lady Osterfield, with her loving but stern ways, never looking anything less than perfection, bringing them meringues and freshly made lemonade to the treehouse where they sat people-watching, spying on the garden parties going on below. Memories of Lord Osterfield, reading his newspaper outside in the warm summer sun, dressed in linen suits and with a great moustache covering his upper lip, teaching Tom tennis and playing croquet with them. And then little Charlotte Osterfield, Harrisons little sister. With her long, blonde hair neatly combed and braided, always carrying around a teddy bear, following them wherever they went. Harrison would get rather annoyed with her for that, but Tom had always said that she could join them if she wanted to.

He remembers Christmas eve at their house. A ginormous three in the hall, neatly decorated by Lady Osterfield herself. Countless of cousins and great-aunts and uncles coming over. The staff running around cleaning every corner. The chef, Mary her name had been, yelling orders and shouting herself blue in the face. The end result had been incredible though, and as snow covered the entire manor and its grounds there was a fire lit in every room, the smell of ham and turkey in the air, glitter and light and mistletoe and presents in overload. He remembers still, being sent home in the horse driven carriage on Christmas eve, belly full of delicious food and sweets, and presents from Lord and Lady Osterfield to every member of his family, including one to Cully, surrounding him as he watched the snow fall over the pretty little village outside the carriage window.

“Hello, Lady Osterfield, it’s been a while” he manages to get out. Because this is, has always been, his second mother. And it hurts even more to see her now, despite the fact that war doesn’t seem to have aged her a day. But seeing her reminds him so much of his own mommy, and his stomach seems to revolt.

“That” she says, and he thinks her eyes are wet with unshed tears “it certainly has been”. She doesn’t ask how his war had been, why he hadn’t return sooner, or sent them letters. Probably understands that he cannot give her those answers. Not yet at least. She lowers her hand and take a step back.

“So” she announces and there’s a level of authority to her voice that makes both Harrison and Tom stand up straighter. “I will send Georgina over, hopefully she can start tomorrow already, because this really is urgent”. She looks around her surrounding, the broken furniture, the floors and ceiling that refuse to give up the dirt they’ve been holding onto for years, despite Tom and Harrisons desperate scrubbing.

“Sorry? Mommy, who.... who on earth is Georgina?”  

Tom smiles, for he can almost hear the curse word Harrison so nearly lets out.

“Oh darling, it’s Georgina Brewster, she is simply marvellous and really the only one who can save this place. I shall call on her immediately, she will work wonders, just you see”.

*

Georgina Brewster, as it turns out, would have put fear of the devil into any and every one of the generals Tom had met during the war. She practically comes in as a steamroller into the office the very next day and before either Tom or Harrison know what’s going on they’ve been thrown out of their office with strict orders to “keep out of the way, for gods sake, and don’t come back until next Friday at least!”

And because neither Tom nor Harrison dare to contradict her, even though Tom’s apartment is above the office and he now has nowhere to sleep, they listen and keep out of her way, spending their time at Harrisons, or rather Harrisons parents, place in Belgravia.

There they plan out and strategize, trying to agree on what exactly their business should be and how they should conduct it.

Their first hurdle is the name of the agency.  

“So”

They’re at ‘The Bugle’ again and Tom is swirling the liquid in his glass back and forth, holding a lit cigarette in his other hand. Around them the air is filled with smoke and conversations. Tom had, rather cheekily, asked the barman if they shouldn’t get their drinks for free, seeing as they did save his ass just the other night. The barman had done his usual ritual of mumbles and grumbles before pouring them some watered down Irish whiskey.

“So?” he asks, implying that Harrison should continue his unfinished statement.

“What should we name it, mate?” Harrison is leaning back against the wall, his long legs sprawled out. He looks as exhausted as Tom feels.

“Name what?” Tom dumbly inquires, only half his mind on the conversation, the other on the gorgeous woman at the bar. She looks strangely out of place, wearing a respectably coat, dark hair neatly organised in curls and a soft smile on face as she’s conversation with the infamously grumpy barman, who – and Tom can hardly believe his eyes – is smiling back at her.

Harrison snorts and with a voice practically dripping in sarcasm he answers “Oh the golden retriever puppy we’re adopting! The fuck you think, mate? The detective agency of course!”

Tom gives his friend a kick on his sprawled-out legs.

“Holland Detective Services” he then states.

Harrison goes quiet for a second, rubbing the aching spot on his leg where Tom managed to get in a perfect hit, the bastard had always been good and noting soft spots. “Not Holland & Osterfield?” he asks, only half joking.

“Nah, too posh mate, we’ll sound like some solicitors’ firm, you know, like ‘Bundle & Alfredson & Alfredson & Bundle”, too ridiculous. Plus, no one trusts solicitors with their secrets, they’re too posh and proper. We need people to feel like they can come to us with things they can’t go to the police with.”

He looks over to the bar again, but the beatiful lady is nowhere to be seen.

*

And so, Harrison Detective Service is founded. The office (the apartment miss Brewster luckily left him handle himself) is revealed to them.

It’s perfect. There’s no other word for it. It’s looks professional but not over styled. The two large desks made from oak, the bar table with its whiskey decanter, the filing cabinets strategely placed in the little backroom, the lamps giving the office an almost golden and mysterious lightning, and on the wall hanging above his own desk, the painting of the woman that his grandfather left him. The only thing remaining from the original office.

*

It doesn’t take long until their first client arrives. He’s a perhaps not the ideal client, Tom notes. The man is in his late 50’s, wearing an ill fitted suit and smelling distinctly of B.O. He is however willing to pay.

Thus, this is how Tom ends up chasing a, to say the least, unwilling witness all down Euston Road. The man he’s chasing is fast, and Tom’s side is hurting and he feels out of form. He really should have had something other than whiskey for lunch. The man does a quick turn left, right over the road and Tom’s right at his heel.

A car horn blows and there’s a blinding light and for a moment Tom’s back on the battlefield in France, he throws up his arms, trying to shield himself for whatever is coming at him. His entire body tenses up and he waits for the inventible crash. But it doesn’t come, and there’s shouting but he can’t hear what they’re saying, the blood rushing through his head too loud for anything else to sound real. His lungs feel too tight and his breaths are shallow.  

Slowly he regains control of himself, as he tries to take the world around him in.

The shouting is coming from a very angry driver, half hanging out of his window telling Tom to get out of the way, waving his arms in fuming gestures. People on the pavement have stopped what they’re doing, some mid conversation or mid walk, all just staring at him. He jumps into action again, desperately trying to push down the part of his brain that’s still in France. He can’t see his witness, but there’s only one place he really can have gone.

He runs up the marble stairs, ignoring the glaring stares around him.

The foyer is impressive to say the least. It’s a large circular room, marble from floor to ceiling. Right in front of him, but all across the room, is a reception and an elderly woman sitting behind it.

“Excuse me sir, we close in twenty minutes,” she calls after him, but it’s all she manages to get out before he’s gone, having made his way all across the hall and into the large oak doors with a sign simply stating ‘Main Library’.

The doors slam behind him and the sound eco in the silence. At first he’s taken aback, for this is nothing like the marble mausoleum he’s left behind, and if he thought the reception area had been large then this room is massive. It’s nothing short of a labyrinth of oak bookshelves, reaching from top to ceiling and filled with large volumes of books that look as if they must be older than queen Victoria.

He can only assume that this is where his witness is hiding, somewhere in this maze he has taken cover, wrongly assuming that Tom will just give up and leave. His witness is in no such luck. Tom does however remember noting the lineament of a revolver inside the other man’s jacket, and by now he’s had more than enough time to take it out, perhaps just waiting for Tom to be close enough not to miss.

The library looks empty and surely it must be this late. On slow but quiet feet he makes his way to the left side of the room, deciding to start there. Careful not to make a sound he removes his own revolver from its holster. Slowly he starts to make his way down the aisles, every time he turns a corner he knows it’s about whoever is the quickest with their trigger that will win.

By the time he’s made it down aisle three he can feel his heart beat so hard in his chest he finds himself wondering if it’s going to leave a bruise on his skin with its violent beating. Adrenaline has been running in his veins since the near contact with the automobile outside.

And then he hears it, a sound, what might be the noise of shuffling, and he starts to move with even higher awareness of the danger of the situation. Any second now he could stare down the barrel of a gun.

Before he can be a coward about it, he jumps around the corner of the shelf, gun in hand and pointing it straight at the witness.

Except it’s not him.

It most certainly is not him.

A pair of enormous and breathtakingly beautiful - but also terrified - eyes stare at him and for a second the whole world seems to stop, or crash, and Tom can’t help but feel like he’s a planet that completely unexpectedly has gotten knocked of its axis. He goes still, not just his body but his mind too. Everything just seems to stop, and Tom can not remember anytime that has ever happened to him before. All he sees is a pair of hauntingly beautiful, and vert familiar, eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, but weapons are not allowed inside the library.” Her voice is soft and even, but Tom can hear the slight tremble behind them, he can tell she’s playing braver than she feels. He knows that trick all too well. So, he lowers his revolver, but doesn’t unload it, still ready for his hostile witness to pop up, and if he does Tom will be ready for him.

“I beg your pardon, miss” he says and looks her up and down, trying to take in the rest of the woman in front of him. He’s pretty sure she is the same woman he saw at the Bugle the other night. She’s only a few centimetres shorter than he is, but then she’s wearing a pair of kitten heels. Her black pencil skirt and white blouse practically scream out respectability and woman. Around her neck hangs a thin, golden necklace with a little golden heart attached to it. A fleeting question of who has given her this pass his brain. And then there’s her hair, brown and styled in and fashionable curls.

“Sir” she says, and she sounds sterner now, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows “could you please pu-“ but before she can finish the sentence, before she can even finish her though Tom’s pushed her down on the ground, trying to cover her with his body as bullets fly around him. He swears under his breath, and he feels the librarians still body under him and he can practically feel her heartbeat. He tries very hard not to react to how close their bodies are to each other. His hyper focused mind hears her hitched breathing even above the sound of a firing gun and he sends a silence prayer to whatever god might be listening that she’ll get out of this unharmed.

The witness is far away from them, all across the hall and if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t want to leave this woman unprotected he would just hope for the best and rush against him, firing as many bullets as he had and if he survived this, and if Harrison found out he would just have to take his scolding later. Still trying to cover the women underneath him he raises his gun and fires. He knows the chances of him aiming right are damn near zero from here, but he wants to make it clear to the other man that he sure is not going to give in without a fight.

Still keeping his eyes on the bookshelf the witness has hidden behind he whispers to the librarian, “when I move off you, go hide behind the bookshelf, do not run for the main entrance whatever you do, but if there’s another way out, and you get a chance to leave, I suggest you fucking take it miss”. He hears a hiss of breath and then, a quiet “alright” and that is all he needs.

Springing to his feet he rushes seven meters ahead and then throws himself down behind another bookshelf. Daring to cast a look behind him he just about manages to see the secretary hide behind another bookshelf. Good, he thinks to himself, at least he doesn’t have to worry about her. And so he sprints out from the bookshelf and runs for all his might straight against the bookshelf the witness is hiding behind. It doesn’t fall, but he can hear countless of books falling, hopefully all over the man with the gun. He hears a shout of surprise and despite the situation he can’t help but smiling, the all too familiar rush of adrenalin runs through him and he jumps around the corner. However, before he can even raise his weapon something hard hits his temple and the world goes white for a moment as he stumbles over.

The other man is above him, throwing punches, hitting different places of Tom’s face with every hit. Tom tries kicking and luckily enough the stupid idiot above him has mounted him at chest level and haven’t taken his legs in consideration. One of Tom’s kicks hits the shelf and as he grabs the man's arms with his, stopping the flow of punches he sees a thick book (Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, he notices with glee) fall down and hit the man straight on the head. This time it’s his turn to stumble and Tom shake him off him with ease, but the other man quickly recovers, and lunches over him again, arms stretched out to grasp around his throat. Before he can even try to fight the bigger man off him, the loud sound of the shot of a gun echoes against the walls of the library and he stills. Then he feels it. A bright burning in his side and then, another shot.

He manages to turn around trying to make sense of the situation. On the floor lays the hostile witness, clutching his leg, where he’s clearly just been shot, and above him stands the librarian. Arms shaking as she’s clasping the gun in her hands.

For a moment Tom forgets about everything else. The mess they’ve made. The fact the police must be on their way. The bleeding man beside him. The fact that he’s bleeding too. All he sees is he terrified but impossibly brave woman in front of him.

Slowly, trying to ignore the pain in the side of his stomach, he gets up and walks over to her, arms stretched up in a gesture to show that he means her no harm, for she looks terrified to the point where she’s trembling all over. Her eyes are still fixed on the man on the ground, who’s shouting in agony.  

“Look at me” he says, and his voice is firm and calm “Hey, miss, look at me”. She does, and something in his stomach churns. Once in the woods he and Harrison had all but stumbled over an injured deer, it had had the same look upon its face then as the woman had upon hers now. But he doesn’t flinch, don’t want her to lose focus but keep it on him and not the bleeding bastard on the floor.

When he finally reaches her, he takes the gun from her still clasped hands, unloads it, and put it in its folder by his chest.

“You’ll be alright, yeah? I promise you’ll be alright” he tries to reassure her but she keeps looking at him with that utterly terrified look on her face.

“Just hang on for a second, alright?” He doesn’t want take his eyes off of her, but he knows he has to, so he turns away from her and walks over to the injured man. Leaning down over him he whispers in his ear “mate, the police and probably the ambulance are on their way. They will be here any moment. Now, listen up, alright, ‘cause I’m only saying this once. You will be a fucking gentleman about this and when the police ask what happened here you’ll tell them it was some randy bugger trying to nick your stuff, yeah? You defended yourself, ‘cause you’re a lad and all that bullocks. They won’t believe you, but they can’t prove anything else.” His voice is low and threatening and he knows he has the witness full attention. “And in return” he continues “in return, I’ll stop hunting you over this Faulcon business, yeah? I’ll go after someone else, and when I finally have enough to turn that bastard over to the police, your name won’t be mentioned anywhere, yeah?” The man looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and nods.

Moving away from him he swiftly walks over to where the other mans’ revolver got lost in the fight and he takes it, places it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he walks over to the librarian, who, apart from her shaking hands has not moved a muscle. She’s staring at him, but not at his face this time, but eyes fixed on the wound at his right side. It’s pretty much only graced him. It still hurts though, and a bloodstain is growing ever larger and larger, staining his white button ups to the point where he doubts he’ll ever get the red out.

“Miss, look at me, yeah?” He tried to get eye-contact with her again, because even if she’s been incredible brave so far, she looks as if she’s about to pass out “Just focus on me, I’ve got to get us out of here thought, do you know any other way then the main entrance? Some back door?”

As he’s talking he buttons up the suit jacket, effectively hiding the wound. He sees her eyes flicker down for a brief second as he does so. Then, as if she suddenly wakes up she takes a breath so deep he can’t help but to wonder if her lungs had been empty. “Yes” she then says, and he feels the immense relief over the fact that her voice sounds clear and controlled again. “It leads straight out into a back alley and then out on Gordon Street.”

He stares at her, taking her in again. Her dark hair still in perfect curls framing her, perhaps somewhat paler, face. Her back is straight, her hands still somewhat shaking. He notices her red fingertips, and no gold ring to be seen. At least he doesn’t have to deal with some unknown husband, who probably wouldn’t be too happy with him if he’d heard what Tom dragged her into.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because he has to know.

“Laura” she breath out.  

Just a first name then.  

“Well Laura” he says “let’s leave”.

He takes one of her shaking hands in his, and she leads the way out of the chaotic scene, leaving behind them a massive hall and a labyrinth of bookshelves and in that labyrinth an injured man slowly losing consciousness.

***

A/N -  Harrisons family is of course entirely fictionalised. As is everyone in this story.  

Also, my sort of face claim for Laura in this story is Gene Tierney, but imagine it as whoever you like.

[stcriestold-a]

😘 ( min & alistair, kings and queens, "i thought you were dead, you bastard" )

It had been an age since she last saw her home.

For years now Min wandered Thedas in search for a cure to the Calling, her trust mabari hound her only constant companion. People came and went from scouting parties, villages, entirely different countries far from her dear Fereldan, but her determination kept her moving forward, pushing on and on until at last, at last, she found it.

Back during the Blight, she’d been told all Wardens had roughly thirty years to live. It took much longer than she liked to finally find this, so close to her own Calling, but here it was. All Wardens, if they wished, had a way out. The entire trip back to Denerim saw Min practically floating on air, a lightness in her step that she hadn’t felt since her wedding day post-Blight, and she only made one stop at Vigil’s Keep to tell Nathaniel the news before continuing onward--continuing on home.

Now she stared at the silhouette of the city she once called home, years on the road making her feel far from the lady she was raised to be and further still from the queen she was expected to be. The road knew no etiquette or safety; the road knew bandits and long nights without a wink of sleep, listening only to herself and her gut instincts as she slashed at and killed stray darkspawn pockets. The road knew the Queen of Ferelden as a muddy mess, washing only in rivers unless she could afford an inn and staining the fabric of her armor beyond recognition--only the dull shine of the griffin on her chest told people who she truly was.

The road, she thought as she nervously made her way through the Denerim streets, cloak pulled up over her head so the people who have probably long forgotten her queen didn’t see her in this state, took Mindel Theirin nee Cousland, chewed her up, and made her a ruffian that would have her mother tutting in distress. 

Min had done what she could with her hair outside of the city limits, making herself as presentable as a travel-weary adventurer could with her sack of supplies, but she only took off her hood when she came to the walls surrounding the palace, making eye contact with the guards stationed there and ignoring the way their jaws dropped. 

“I’d like to see my husband, please.”

What happened next was a flurry of motion. She could recall being brought into the palace and handing her satchel off to a servant she didn’t recognize, her dear Moose refusing to leave her side after years of never being apart. Alistair, she was told, was in an important meeting regarding the Inquisition, but he’d be told as soon as it was done. Enough time for her to become more presentable.

Into the bathtub she went, years of dirt that the rivers couldn’t wash away coming off with the palace’s fancy soaps, and she didn’t even fight as two women insisted on helping her scrub and wash her hair. Min wanted to rest, but she couldn’t, not yet. Off went the caked armor, and scissors bore down to cut off the dead ends of her hair that desperately needed chopped. On went a soft, silk dress that she thought she’d only dream of wearing again, and Min was thankful that, after so many years, the ladies didn’t make her wear a blighted corset along with the gown. It was a casual gown, she noted idly. Good--she didn’t think she could stand court right now. She couldn’t even stand the thought of shoving her feet into heels at the moment.

The ladies eventually left to fetch her some food and water, and Min sat on the edge of the bed that seemed far too soft (yet welcome all the same). This, she figured, was Alistair’s room--their room, if he allowed it. Little knick knacks scattered around it told her that, though he’s obviously matured as king, he was still the same man she loved. She wasn’t sure how much time passed between the ladies leaving and the door to the bedroom slamming open, but she jumped up immediately, reaching for a weapon at her hip that was no longer there until her eyes landed on Alistair himself.

He was softer, she noticed, and his hair was darker. The little scruff he had during the Blight was turning more into a beard than she thought he’d ever allow, and there were bags under his eyes that made her want to reach out and hug him more than ever before. She met his eyes, and the two stared silently at one another, unspoken words hanging between them.

“Mindel?” Alistair finally whispered, and years of emotion and loneliness broke through her walls, tears streaming down her face as she rushed forward and threw her arms around her husband. He hugged her as fiercely as she hugged him, her tears wetting the shoulder of his shirt and his own dripping onto her gown. They pulled away only slightly, but it was enough to lean up and finally kiss one another, years of longing and love and anger and upset searing into it.

“I thought you were dead, you bastard,” he whispered when they pulled apart for air, but there was no bite behind the words, just disbelief.

“I found it,” Min replied. “The cure, I found it. We--we’re going to be okay.”

Astonishment flooded his face, and he reached up to cup her cheek. “Are you home, Min?” he asked, holding her eyes and seemingly steeling himself for an answer he didn’t want to hear. “Are you home now?”

“I’m home,” Min replied, covering his hand with her own and turning her head to kiss its palm. “I’m not leaving again. There won’t be a Calling anymore. We... we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he echoed, leaning down to kiss her again. Min melted into it and, for the first time in years, allowed herself to relax.

She was finally home.

[seoulnotes]

Luce in altis   |   ix. A Familiar Face

S Y N O P S I S | Passed down from centuries worth of history, the remnants of a hatred between two kings reside in a small village that serves as a border between their two feuding kingdoms. y/n lives in that village and must seek aid from one of the kings. Her trust is tested when she learns of the king that is truly wicked.

C H A R A C T E R S | Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, reader (y/n) ; (mentions of other members)

G E N R E | fantasy, romance, drama — royalty au ; PG-15

W A R N I N G S (chapter specific) | none

W O R D C O U N T | 4.8k

All parts here

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The following afternoon as Isobel had said, a seamstress arrived at the palace. She had brought many samples of fabrics with many colors and patterns.

I spent hours with the seamstress, instructed to stand still for some time while my measurements were taken and then picked different fabrics for tunics, trousers, dresses, and on and on.

My eyes landed onto a certain sheet of fabric that was brought by the seamstress. Flowers were embroidered onto the gray tulle but only along the bottom as if fading away towards the top. Unconsciously, my fingers rose to graze the fabric, taking in the texture of the flowers with their beadings that stood out amongst the tulle.

“My lady, do you like the fabric? It is more elaborate; we don’t usually use it for day dresses,” she explained.

“No, it’s fine, I was just looking.” It would be ridiculous to have any plain day dresses made from that fabric and it looked too expensive to just simply waste for that.

“I’m finished for today. Since we spent enough time gathering your measurements, the styles you prefer, and the fabrics, as the pieces finish, they will be sent to the palace.” She bowed and began to pack her sketches and fabrics.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“It was my pleasure.”

I felt like all I had to offer lately and especially at Hemera were thank you’s. I didn’t have anything besides what Jimin had provided me with as his guest.

That night Jimin had asked if I would dine with him alone or choose to dine in my chambers by myself as it was not usual for his entire court to dine together each evening. I agreed to dine with him since I was not fond of being alone during a meal. It would only remind me of my missing family and of the meals I had at Erebus.

I was surprised that he didn’t choose to dine at a grand table for dinner, but a private dining room.

“Do you dine by yourself here?”

He nodded with a half-smile. “It’s more comforting than a grand table by myself since I do not have family or others to dine with.”

The dinner was in fact as simple as the act of a king dining alone privately. It was not the large display Taehyung had at his dinner with guests rather something like sliced honey bread served on a plate along with vegetables and veal.

I was given a goblet of wine along with the meal.

“Do you have any intentions of courting anyone?” I was unsure of the appropriateness of my question, but I had already asked before I could rethink myself.

Jimin didn’t seem bothered thankfully and answered with genuineness. “When you are a ruler of a kingdom, it is hard to seek the true intentions of those who are around you. When you are busy reading their intentions, it becomes hard to make space in your heart for love.”

I nodded, half understanding what he had said. I can feel sympathy, but I was not a ruler and could not empathize with him. I did feel bad for the lonely position he had been dealt with.

“If I intend on finding a queen, I will want my marriage to be out of love, not out of an alliance.” The corners of his lips turned as he gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “Although, that is quite hard.”

We had such genuine conversations when we spoke and I much favored them to the conversations I had with Taehyung. He knew how to carry them well and most importantly, in these conversations, I felt like I was speaking to a friend who knew me well rather than a king who had the power to have me gone within seconds.

Soon, I felt a wave of fatigue cross me. We had long finished dinner but had spent a while talking about anything and everything that stemmed from our conversation. Jimin was speaking of a time when he was a young boy, centuries ago, when the kingdom was still one.

I did not know how our conversation had drifted there, but I was glad to hear of stories of a happy childhood.

Unfortunately, my fatigue was strong and I was not able to hear all the words; they were muddling together and my eyelids threatened to shut from heavyweights.

“Are you alright, y/n?” From my tired eyes, I could see the concern in his eyes.

“I just feel a bit tired, maybe since it is late. Perhaps, our conversation may continue another time?” My voice was dragged on, tongue barely curling enough to form proper words.

“Yes, you should return to your chambers and rest.”

I don’t know how, but it was black the moment I had hit my bed. Was I that tired?

I woke up to the beautiful daylight of Hemera, but a sour feeling on my tongue. My tongue felt like I had spoken words of betrayal; it tasted bitter, yet I had not eaten anything yet.

My mind fluttered back to last night’s conversation. I had spoken on Taehyung briefly, but it was nothing incriminating. I still felt like I had said something I was not supposed to.

Was I too drunk from a single glass of wine and let my mouth run?

I shook my head at the thought. I didn’t own a single detail in which I could betray him in any way. He had his own secrets that he had made sure to keep from me.

When a knock came to my door, I realized it was probably Isobel and my suspicions were confirmed when she peeped her head in.

“Good morning, your highness,” she bowed briefly at the door. “I hope you are well-rested. His Majesty had asked if you are rested enough to see more of the capital.”

It seemed that he had noted my fatigue last night but this morning, I was more than well-rested. I was hungry to explore more of the city.

“Of course.”

Although the seasons were still winter, it was like a completely different scene at Hemera. It was one thing I had failed to really take in until my second day at Hemera. With winter bleeding into the spring that was soon to arrive, the bitter cold was not there to bite, but rather a slightly chilly breeze one might experience during autumn. At the same time, I knew Erebus was much colder than here.

Interestingly, Jimin has dressed in extremely casual clothing, far from the embroidered tunic and jackets he wore. Instead, he adorned a simple white shirt and black trousers, neither with any decoration. The shirt wore loose on him and was tucked into the trousers.

My dress was along the lines of his clothing as well. The long dress was a plain off white with bell sleeve; the only decoration being the belt that tied at my waist. I wasn’t sure where this dress appeared from because it was not from my own clothes.

“How is it so warm? In Erebus, the weather was freezing the day we left.” We walked along a street which Jimin had claimed to be their famous street of crafts and many visitors of the kingdom came seeking a craft from this street whether it be clothing, art, or pottery.

“We’re much farther south. Our winter seasons are not as extreme. It’s great for the most part, but I miss the snow sometimes.”

Just as he finished speaking, we were steered around a corner. I spotted the bookstore and Jimin must have noticed my line of sight changing because his hand grasped mine as he pulled me towards it.

“I used to hate reading, but came to love it once I came to Erebus.”

“There’s a library at the palace since you like to read,” Jimin noted.

With a failed attempt at refusing, we were walking out of the bookstore, me an edition of “Through the Looking-Glass” in hand.

“If you had it in your library, I could just read it from there.” I couldn’t help the pout in my voice.

“I don’t, I swear! That’s why I bought it, I want it in my library,” He raised his hands in surrender.

“Thank you anyway,” my lips returned to a grateful smile.

“Anyway,” he drew out and I steered my focus to him, “what do you think about another ball?”

“Are you asking for my opinion for an event for your kingdom, Your Majesty?”

“Well, I’d like to know since it would be a ball in your honor,” he responded, hands tucking into his pockets.

“Why for my honor?” My brows furrowed in confusion.

“For one, you weren’t enjoying the ball at Erebus so I’d like for you to experience a different one. One here. Also, you’re my guest. My brother hosted a ball in my honor so I want to return the favor while you’re here,” he explained.

“You don’t need to,” I waved my hand. “It would be a lot of work and you’re already doing more than enough just showing me the capitol.”

“How about it would be my honor to host a ball?” He suggested, an eyebrow-raising to jokingly challenge me.

“Well, I don’t have a dress,” I responded.

“I’ll handle that,” a smirk curving on his lips because he knew he got me wrapped in his plans. “I guess it’s settled,” he clapped once in satisfaction, “a week from today, we’ll have a ball!”

I could only shake my head with a smile rising to my lips.

“Do you have anything, in particular, you’d like to see? To be honest, I ran out of ideas,” Jimin asked the next day over breakfast.

The spoon in my hand swirled the tea and then I remembered, “I believe I was owed a tour of the palace library.”

“Said who?” He brought a cup of coffee to his mouth with a teasing smile.

“Says you, Your Majesty.” No amount of holdings I had was able to stop the tease in my tone when I mentioned his title just to get a laugh.

So, I was left in awe as Jimin led me through the double doors revealing behind it the library. The walls were lined with shelves of books nearly two stories high which were only accessible with a ladder than ran along the walls.

“Wow,” my mouth left hanging agape.

After a few moments, Jimin was beside me and in his hand was the copy of “Through the Looking Glass” that he had bought yesterday.

“So, what made you like reading when you went to Erebus?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t realize that reading could take you away from reality.”

“Reality?”

“I guess the marriage wasn’t really what I had planned,” I revealed. In my mind, I was weighing whether or not to reveal more, to reveal why I was really at Erebus and what had taken place at my village.

“And reading took you away from that?”

I nodded. “Jimin, what do you think about the village between your two kingdoms?”

Why did I just ask that?

Taehyung’s voice rang in my head. A task that required me to look for mere humans of a defenseless village…

It would be better to see Jimin’s view beforehand right?

“It’s a shame that they have to be caught between all of this,” he said. “Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

I paused for a moment, attempting to wind up an excuse because clearly, his answer was not enough to compel me to give my true reason. “The festival happened recently; I was just wondering since it was on my mind,” my voice trailed off and I prayed that it was a good enough excuse.

Jimin seemed to have bought it as he nodded his head in response. “Yeah, a few months ago. I wish I was able to help the village with poverty, but the village is neutral land between our kingdoms. I can’t do anything.”

His hands secured behind his back as his gaze grazed passed shelves as if in deep thought with himself as he spoke.

I felt myself believing what he was saying. He had no reason to be telling me this if he hadn’t meant it.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Dinner tonight?” A faint smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

I found myself growing increasingly tired as nightfall came for days to come. Whenever I was at dinner right past nightfall, I would feel the heaviness on my eyelids and my mind beginning to grow lazy and losing attention easily.

Jimin noticed himself.

“Are you okay? You seem to easily tire recently. I’m going to send for a palace healer tomorrow.” Concern laced his voice and was present in his eyes. A frown took hold of his lips as he reached out a hand to grasp my arm gently.

“I’m not sure. I just feel like I have no energy to stay awake past certain times.” It was hard to muster the energy to even speak my words.

Jimin stood from his chair and wrapped an arm around my waist, helping me from my chair. “Here, I’ll walk you back to your bedroom.”

I only mustered the strength to nod. “Thank you,” my words came out in breaths.

Just like the past few nights, I entered the arms of sleep the moment I was in my bed. The last thing in my sight before my eyes shut was the worried frown on Jimin’s face.

As Jimin had stated the night before, a palace healer arrived in the morning following a concerned Jimin. The anxious king seemingly couldn’t stay still as the healer took my pulse. I felt perfectly fine when I woke up, but when night fell, especially after dinner, my energy disappeared into thin air.

I was sitting in bed having a healer examine me as if I was truly unwell with something.

“Her pulse is not weak, Your Majesty. There is no sign of illness.”

“Then why does she have such a lack of energy?” Jimin sounded annoyed at the lack of a diagnosis.

“I’m sorry, I am not able to tell if it is a condition I have not heard of before,” the healer bowed apologetically. Honestly, Jimin looked like he was ready to bring about punishment and I understood why the healer was frightened by his demeanor.

“It’s fine. I may not be resting enough,” I added to try and smooth over the healer’s lack of diagnosis and calm the irritated king.

“You’re dismissed,” Jimin waved a dismissive hand towards the healer.

The healer took another bow before leaving.

“It might be my fault,” I mustered a smile towards the displeased king.

“I’m going to send for herbal teas or something. It isn’t right my guest is feeling unwell in my palace,” he took my hand, letting his thumb gently sweep across the back of it.

“Thank you.” I was grateful he was placing so much care in a subject that was not as important. “Needn’t worry yourself over such an insignificant thing. It could be anything really, like getting used to the change in seasons so suddenly,” I suggested.

It really didn’t concern me as much as it seemed to concern Jimin.

“It’s just not settling that this is while you’re in my care. I couldn’t possibly return you in this state back to your home.”

Right, home. It was a reminder that I was technically still visiting this kingdom.

Taehyung wouldn’t care if I was on my death bed anyway.

“I assure you, the fatigue is gone by morning when I awake.” I offered a gentle smile.

Jimin sighed. “It could be the beginning of something more serious. At least drink the tea I send for later.”

I had no choice but to oblige to his request because God knew that he would just continue down the path of concern.

I had not seen much of Jimin for the next few days except when we met for dinner in which he would appear in the library where I was nose deep in another book or in my room, hands tucked behind his back and a smile on his face as he invited me to dinner.

Isobel didn’t ask in his place anymore.

The fatigue was not as frequent, only occurring sometimes and not every night as before. It settled Jimin’s worries.

Tonight was the night of the ball. Just as I had experienced at Erebus, the palace was in complete chaos. Even though I was the only guest from outside of the kingdom here, it seemed the decoration was just as elaborate.

“Your highness, I have your dress for the ball,” Isobel arrived in my bedroom with a white box in hand. She placed it down onto the coffee table and I rose from the bed to open it.

When I lifted the lid from the box, it revealed the familiar fabric with gray tulle and embroidered pale pink flowers.

My mouth went agape as my fingers glided across the fabric, through different flowers. Awe ran through me for a few seconds, how was this possible? How could Jimin possibly have the dress made?

“How could he have…,” I whispered to myself.

“His Majesty had ordered it from the seamstress that had come earlier this week,” Isobel responded.

I grasped the dress and pulled it from the box. It revealed a ballgown, full in the skirt as the flowers gathered at the bottom and dispersed as it reached the waistline. The dress had straps falling from the shoulder and the top focused on the flowers as well.

“It’s beautiful.” My eyes struggled to remove themselves from tracing through the dress over and over again.

“The ball will be in a few hours, do you want to begin preparing?”

I nodded, feeling eager to try on the beautiful gown.

Just like that, I was thrown into a flurry of activities beginning with bathing and ending with the dress being laced by Isobel and jewels being placed on me. Half of my hair was braided and wrapped around the crown of my head while the rest flowed down my back.

A knock came from the door.

“Come in.” I folded my hands together in front of me and waited. I knew it was Jimin who was behind the door.

The door opened to reveal a royal king, dressed like a true king, and standing like a true king. Jimin strode in, a smile gracing his lips. He wore an ivory suit jacket, the collar, and cuffs laced with gold trimming. Just beneath peeped a white dress shirt. Above his brow was a grand crown I had not seen much of.

I had not realized the gold crown had a jeweled sun in the center, but it only stood to represent the power he embodied.

Even a humble king didn’t miss the chance to dress for the occasion as rings adorned his fingers and a single earring hung from his ear.

“Beautiful,” Jimin spoke as he approached me.

The single word drew me from my thoughts and warmth to make its way to my cheeks as I bowed. “Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

He extended an arm for me as I took hold of it.

I didn’t know if I met Jimin’s standard of regalness, but he didn’t stop when we entered the ballroom allowing all eyes to fall upon us.

The similar feeling of self-consciousness fell onto me. I was definitely not the same flawlessness as them, but walking in with Jimin gave me a feeling of comfort.

People bowed and addressed their king as we walked by.

I wasn’t aware I gave away my thoughts until Jimin tipped his head over and whispered, “you look magnificent, don’t let any looks take that from you.”

Again, my cheeks felt warm and I ducked my head out of habit. I didn’t want to reveal the blush on my face. “Thank you, Jimin,” I replied, grateful.

His words kept some of the insecurity at bay.

“I think you’ll find our balls enjoyable,” he commented as he reached for two flutes of bubbling wine and handed me one.

“I’m already enjoying this much more,” I revealed.

“Then I’ve partially completed my mission tonight.” He took a sip from the flute, a satisfied smile on his lips.

My brows furrowed. “What mission?”

“Well, first, make sure you attend a ball and actually have fun,” he began. “Then, a waltz in much better music.”

He had remembered my note about the music from Erebus’s ball.

I felt a strike of courage as I asked, “then the waltz?”

“Would you do me the honor then?” Jimin picked up on my question as he plucked the flute from my hand and placed both glasses down before extending a hand to me with a curt bow.

“Of course, we’ve got to complete your mission right?” I took his hand as he led me towards the center of the ballroom.

As though the orchestra had known, another song had begun to play. Jimin was right, the music was better.

I realized I was not as terrible as when I had first danced in Erebus. Even though it was only the second or third time, my footing had gotten better.

We took a few steps before I remembered.

“How did you have this dress prepared?” He couldn’t have known about the fabric.

“The seamstress mentioned the fabric from when she came to take your measurements and I thought you’d like it for the dress,” he said, a clear smile due to how well received his choice was.

“I love it.”

With that, Jimin released a hand to spin me from him and pulled me back to him which caused me to release a laugh.

“I’m glad you did,” and this time, we were closer than before, his voice next to my ear. “Who knows how upset I would be if you didn’t,” he joked.

It felt more intimate, more intimate than we had ever been. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this closeness and feared my heart was starting to fall for Jimin. Yet, I had to remind myself that publicly I was betrothed to Taehyung and had yet to dispel that.

Before I had a chance to distance myself to stand as an upcoming monarch of a different kingdom, Jimin moved first. It was clear there was displeasure on his features, a slight frown was on his lips and his eyes flitted around the room.

“I want to show you something.”

I allowed his hand to slip into mine and tug me from the ball. He led me down a hallway and into a room.

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere that isn’t the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“To be honest, I apologize for the way my people may have been treating you.”

I knew what he was talking about yet my brows furrowed in confusion. “What made you say that?”

“In the ballroom—,” he started. He didn’t have to finish.

“They were watching us dance,” I finished for him. “It’s alright, I understand I’m the outsider here.” I kept my tone casual because I had faced more discrimination at Erebus than simply people giving me strange looks.

“It was still discourteous,” he interjected.

“No, it’s fine. I mean it.” I gave a small smile. “I promise.”

“I’ll try to keep the impoliteness at bay.”

“So I assume that there wasn’t really something for you to show me,” I gestured to the room we were in. It was another empty bedroom in the palace.

“Actually,” he drew out.

I realized our hands were still intertwined as his thumb gently ran across the back of mine. He pulled me towards a pair of glass doors. This was something new that I had not noticed before.

“I intended to apologize, but this room also has a balcony with an amazing view,” he said cheekily.

“I’m jealous Jimin, I was not given a balcony in my room,” I teased him.

Leaning against the rails of the balcony, silence settled. We could only hear the gentle howling of the wind and the rest of the capital with all its lights in the distance.

“How about dancing here without prying eyes and impolite frowns?” Jimin suggested.

“In the silence?” I gave him a strange look although there was no refusal in my tone.

“The better.” He extended a hand which in a split second, I placed my hand into. His other hand fell below my shoulder which allowed my arm to rest upon as my hand landed on his shoulder.

In the silence, we waltzed. The only sound came from our shoes shuffling as we moved.

“You were right,” I said with an amused smile.

“I’m full of good ideas.” His mouth curved.

We paused in the dance and my heart began to race. With the moonlight cascading over the side of his face, I was able to finally see the king before me. It was different from whenever I had seen it before.

I noticed the way his eyes were twinkling in the moonlight and how they shaped with the smile he wore. I liked that smile a lot.

His eyes found purchase on my lips and I couldn’t help but mirror his actions, allowing my eyes to fall to his. The intention was there.

He leaned in then his soft lips were on mine. It was not a long kiss, rather a short one filled with enough emotion. It was clear where the intention of the kiss had come from. I kissed back to my own surprise and allowed myself to lean into his body with my hands finding their way to behind his neck.

He returned by circling his arms on my waist, pulling me flush against him. For the first time, I felt my flutters inside my chest and that warm feeling that made me want to seek more. For the first time in a while, I had felt safe and I felt safe in Jimin’s arms.

We were both surprised when we separated. I assumed my pupils matched his, dilated. I don’t know if the sudden kiss opened a door of trust for me, but I was compelled to tell him. “Jimin, I have something to tell you.”

His eyes encouraged me to continue and I was about to, mouth opening to tell him about my family and village who was taken away until there was a knock on the door that pulled the opportunity right from beneath my feet.

We escaped from each other’s arms and distanced ourselves. “Come in.” Jimin brought his authoritative tone back.

I’m sure my eyes grew wide and my heart plunged into my stomach when a familiar face appeared in a whirlwind of white.

It was a man that resembled the guard in my dreams of my village in the dungeon. The same nasty scar was beside his right eye.

I shook my head slightly. No, it was just someone who looked like him. He was a soldier, of course, he had battle scars.

My dreams were definitely not real.

A more unsettling feeling came when my curiosity surfaced. Was it possible?

I was nauseous immediately at the consideration. I had to be mistaken. My dreams are not real. They cannot be.

Why did this person resemble someone from my dream? I swallowed and began to reason my thoughts. This was a possibility, someone in my dream could look similar to others in reality.

My eyes were on the upper arm of the man’s armor searching for his crest. The fear settled. It was not the same crest from my dream. No bleeding moon. It was rather a sun with crossed swords below it. It certainly had to be the royal guard’s crest.

The guard eyed me strangely before clearing his throat.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, it is time to discuss the guests from the continent and their stay.”

“Yes, I will meet you in the cabinet room in a moment. You’re dismissed.”

After the guard left, Jimin turned his attention from the door. “I’ll see you later?”

I had been too distracted by the thoughts of the guard to fully regard the nervousness in his tone and nodded.

I barely noticed him leaving the room.

Even though the chances were small, I couldn’t settle the thoughts that urged me to consider the possibility that this was someone from my dreams. And if he had been real, were my dreams real?

I shook my head at the thought.

Foolish, they were foolish. There was nothing besides a simple resemblance to someone from my dreams to point me towards the insane idea that my dreams were entirely real.

a/n

lowkey a little bit of filler and i hate some parts i wrote, but i really wanted more development with jimin’s character and y/n & his relationship which is how this chapter came to be, hope you enjoy reading it though! :)

[also really sorry to say this but i kinda dug myself into a whole of writer’s block for this series and might (potentially but not sure yet depending on the outlook of the next two weeks) put this series on hiatus or have the next chapter be posted in longer than the two weeks marks between chapters :( it’s just been tough to write the next chapter because i’m not really sure how i want to write it and i love this series too much (and it needs the justice) to just force myself to write it and have it written terribly. i really hope it doesn’t happen though]

yours truly, Selene ♡

[manage-mischief]

Ground Zero

Part One: Fears

Read on AO3 here. 

Summary: Two-shot. Though Tonks had been fantasizing about moments like this for months—moments when the two of them were in bed together—none of them had involved quite this much blood or mortal peril. In which Remus is injured during a mission and Tonks has to think fast to save his life.

Author’s Note: This will be a two-shot and perhaps part of a larger Remadora series. They are definitely one of my OTPs, and I feel like a lot of their relationship was glossed over in the books. This story attempts to place a timeline on some of their romance. It takes places soon after Order of the Phoenix, before the Half-Blood Prince. I envision it happening right before Harry arrives at the Weasley’s and sees Tonks and Molly there. I’m pretty new to fanfiction writing, so any kind comments would be appreciated!

“We’d like a room, please,” Tonks furiously attempted to steady her voice as she supported the injured man beside her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hoping the innkeeper would assume they were nothing more than two love-birds who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, looking for a quiet night away.

“Just a mo’,” the woman behind the desk remarked, holding up a finger while flipping through a large, leather-bound journal. “Let me check what’s available, dears…let’s see let’s see…”

Tonks bounced her leg, irritated. It took all of her strength not to vault herself over the desk and strangle the old lady. This was a crisis, goddammit!

Breathe, just breathe.

Normally, Tonks prided herself on her ability to stay cool under fire. Normally, she’d be calm and collected, just like Moody had taught her. And she would have been, if anyone else had been leaning on her for support, dripping blood. Anyone else besides Remus Lupin.  

Remus had underestimated her when they first met. He, like many other members of the Auror Department, the Order, and her own family, quickly wrote her off: too young, too frivolous, too clumsy to do any good. He would scold her constantly. “Nymphadora,” he’d sigh in his disappointed professor voice, shaking his head whenever she had said or done something undignified. Naturally, he’d annoyed the living shit out of her. She couldn’t stand his constant nagging. She’d even asked Moody for a transfer.

“The two of you work well together,” her mentor had grunted, clearly indicating that there was no conversation to be had. She had more sense than to argue with Mad-Eye about such matters. He was a stubborn arse, just like her. It was why they got along so well.

It wasn’t until Remus and Tonks’ first real, proper, hunt-for-Death-Eaters-and-try-not-to-get-killed mission that the pair had bonded. Together, they had taken down a small group of Voldemort’s cronies stationed in Muggle London. Tonks had saved Remus’s life, blocking an avada kedavra on course to hit him square in the chest and taking down four baddies in her wake. Funnily enough, Remus gained a bit more respect for her after that. She began to return the feeling.

Respect blossomed into friendship. And friendship, at least for Tonks, had evolved into something much deeper and much, much harder to name. Her heart began to flutter each time he walked into the room. Their banter made her blush. She found herself making excuses to get close to him, despite every logical, reasonable voice in her head telling her becoming romantically involved with her partner would be an absolutely horrid idea. She never had been good at listening to reason.

Romantic feelings aside, the duo had made quite an impact on the Order. Their latest excursion had been going quite well…until it hadn’t. They were camped out in the woods near a small Muggle town in Wales. The Order had received a tip that Fenrir Greyback and his gang were hiding there, planning some attack for You-Know-Who. Despite the life-or-death circumstances, their little camping trip had been very enjoyable. The witch and wizard had sat under the trees, sharing secrets and stories of past mischief well into the night. Tonks even thought she had felt Remus’s hand brush hers as they lay on their backs, looking up at the stars that shone through the branches above.  

Then, they had been ambushed. Greyback had known they were coming. He must have. Three of his minions jumped them, just as their fire was beginning to die out. Tonks managed to defeat two of them in under a minute. She huffed, extremely pleased with her handiwork—until she heard a loud crash and a scream behind her. She whipped around. There was Remus, lying face down on the forest floor, bleeding profusely. The third member of Greyback’s pack grinned and darted back into the forest, leaving Tonks to take in the sight of her injured partner.

It was clear that their hastily-assembled campsite would be insufficient for tending to Remus’s wounds, so Tonks had Apparated to the village just beyond the woods. Her main priority was getting him to a safe and comfortable place. Running water and heat would be a plus. This inn had been the closest space she could find. The building itself was a bit run down, but the warm glow of the window lights and the steady stream of smoke emerging from the chimney had seemed promising enough. And so, she led her partner through the door, attempting to conceal the blood seeping through his shirt as though not to draw suspicion. The last thing she needed was the Muggle police getting involved. She was not in the mood to Obliviate anyone tonight.

“Hold on, we’ll get you fixed up,” she whispered in Remus’s ear, very aware of her own body pressed against his as he leaned on her for support. He nodded, his face paler than usual. Still, when the innkeeper looked up from her desk, he forced a smile, trying his best to keep up their alibi.

“Aha, here you are! Room 219, second floor. Should be a cozy place for you two to…relax.” The matron winked and flashed a sly grin. Tonks tried to laugh, but was sure it sounded more like a sob. “Thank you very much, ma’am.”

Tonks guided Remus around the corner. No elevator. Perfect. “Remus, we’re going to have to climb the stairs. I don’t think it’s safe for me to Apparate with you again. Can you do that?” Remus grimaced and nodded. Tonks adjusted her grip, holding up as much of his weight as she could. “Ok. One step at a time, Remus. Let’s do this,” she said, more as encouragement for herself than for him. This was not the time to be tripping up the stairs (as she had been known to do, on occasion).

Slowly, painstakingly, Tonks and Remus made their way up the stairs. Every step was agony. She could feel his breath hitch and his body tense at each movement. He winced, he groaned. Her heart felt as if it were being ripped into pieces. She couldn’t stand seeing him in this much pain. Get it together, Nymphadora! She scolded herself, using her hated first name. Focus, dammit! Why did emotions have to be so bothersome? This was just a mission. Just like any other mission. She had to resist the urge to break down. She refused to let her feelings…whatever they happened to be…get in the way of saving Remus.

Finally, they made it to their room. Tonks eased Remus onto the bed—of course, there was only one, because evidently the universe was determined to make Tonks’s life as miserable and humiliating as possible—and swung the knapsack she had been carrying off of her back. “Alright, I have a bit of Healer training. Let me see what we’ve got here…” she paused, her face reddening. “I’ll need to…um…expose the affected area….” Remus coughed. She chose to believe it was due to the exertion from stair climbing. There was certainly no awkwardness here. No sir. She was a professional.

“Okay then. Right. Um…” she kneeled in front of him and examined his injuries. There were three bloody gashes that began slightly left of his navel and wrapped around his left side before traveling up his back to his shoulder blade. His shirt was plastered to the area with a mixture of sweat and congealed blood. Scanning the rest of his body, she noticed a few more minor scrapes, as well as what seemed to be a large puncture wound on his left thigh. His breath continued in a ragged rhythm. Her hands began to shake.

“I’ve looked worse,” he chirped, cracking a feeble smile. His grin gave her a jolt of confidence. Reinvigorated, she stood and grabbed her knapsack, which had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.

“Debatable, old man,” she teased back. “I’m going have to get a better look at what we’re dealing with. Do you think you can take off your clothes?” Was it just a trick of the light, or had she seen some color return to his cheeks?

“I hate to ask, but… I don’t think I can manage it on my own.” He demonstrated a feeble attempt to raise the hem of his shirt, wincing. Tonks swallowed and nodded slowly. She plunged her arm deep into the magic bag and rummaged around until she found what she was searching for: a silver-bladed knife. “I hate to ruin your shirt…”

“I think we might be a bit past that point,” he quipped. Sitting down on bed beside him, she began to gently cut away the blood-soaked fabric. She worked as quickly as she dared—not wanting to tear away his skin, which clung to the sticky, formerly-white cloth. Finally, she was able to remove the garment, exposing Remus’ bare chest. This time, she felt her own breath hitch. Her eyes lingered, just for a moment, on his leanly muscular frame. She noticed streaks of white running crisscross over his bare skin: old transformation scars. She averted her gaze. This was no time to be ogling the half-naked man in front of her. Though she had been fantasizing about moments like this for months—moments when the two of them were alone in bed together—none of them had involved quite this much blood or mortal peril. Come to think of it, none of them had involvedany blood or mortal peril.  

The gashes on his chest and back were pretty superficial, despite the bleeding, and did not seem to have punctured any vital organs. She would simply have to stem the bleeding and bandage them up. She moved to examine his leg. “Lie down,” she commanded, and assisted as he tried to move his legs up onto the bed.

Grow up, she thought to herself, as she helped guide him out of his trousers. Her heart sank. The wound was deep. Furthermore, she deduced from the greenish tinge surrounding the gaping flesh, the weapon that had made it must have been poisoned. Great. She knew she should have paid more attention in potions. Furiously rummaging through her knapsack once more, she pulled out several bottles and desperately read their labels, muttering to herself. “Bubotuber pus, no. Mandrake draught, no. Love potion antidote, no, why do we even have this?!” Despite his state, Remus chuckled. “Clearly, you’ve never had the pleasure of being under the influence of a love potion. Now that’s dangerous.”

“Okay, right now I’m trying to focus on saving your life, Lupin, but as soon as I’m finished, I want every, and I mean every detail of that story.”

“Fine, fine. If I don’t succumb to whatever injuries those prats inflicted upon me, you can hear the story. But, if I do die, I want you to promise you’ll mourn me properly. Black veils, wailing, flinging yourself onto my coffin, the works.”

“There’ll be none of that talk! I’ll have you up and running about in no time, grandpa,” Tonks joked back, though still frowning. Dumbledore said he had given them everything they could possibly need for their adventure. Surely, he must have packed them something to deal with poison. Suddenly, her fingers wrapped around another, extremely small bottle. She pulled it out of the bag and searched the label. All it said was “From Fawkes, for Order emergencies,” with a picture of a red bird on the label.

“What’d’you reckon this could be,” Tonks asked as she passed Remus the bottle.

“Fawkes is Dumbledore’s bird, I believe,” he responded, twirling the bottle in his hands, as if searching for a hidden message.

Tonks’s face lit up. “That’s it! Give it here!” She grabbed it out of his hand and hastily unscrewed the top.

“What is?”

She grinned up at him as she used the dropper top to apply a generous amount of clear liquid to his punctured leg. Sure enough, the wound began to knit itself back together, the green hue fading. “Fawkes is a phoenix, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I don’t…of course!” his faced beamed with realization. They met each other’s eyes and simultaneously exclaimed: “Phoenix tears have healing powers!” A moment passed.

“Nerd,” Tonks remarked. Then, the pair burst out laughing, the tension from the night’s events pouring out of them with a relief. Remus winced again, drawing them both back to reality.

“I suppose we don’t have enough to use on my other wounds as well?”

“No,” Tonks replied, once again searching through the bottles surrounding her, “but we do have Essence of Dittany and bandages!”

“That’ll do just fine.” Remus smiled.

The next hour consisted of Tonks carefully dabbing Dittany onto Remus’s chest and back. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she could no longer ignore the chills coursing up and down her spine as she lightly brushed his bare skin. Once she had bandaged the last of the gashes, she allowed her hand to linger for a split second. She ran her fingertips gently down his uninjured back. He went unnaturally still. She pulled her hand away, quickly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Remus.”

Abruptly, she jumped up off of the bed, walked to the bathroom, and locked the door. She let herself sink to the floor, back against the wall, and put her head in her hands. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to slow her racing heart. There really was no denying it: she was deeply, madly, hopelessly in love with the man who lay beyond the bathroom door.