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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

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The time Zoya saves Nikolai in the Fold. The time Nikolai asks her to be his general. And the times when they had win their battles and they can tell each other of those times.

This is dedicated to @tricewithaz because she specifically requested it and we came up with some nice hc. It’s so fun to explore how they met and how their relationship was built. the times we made a choice - ao3

word count: 10.417

“Do you plan on keeping some order on this desk or do I have to incinerate your work with a gust of fire?”, Zoya grunted, eyeing the absolute mess he had left after working in her sitting room all evening as he waited for her to come back from a private state dinner. She slumped beside him, huffing a tired breath and shutting her eyes. Nikolai closed the novel he had stolen from her nightstand, turning to her with a grin.

“I’m very glad to have your goodnight spite reserved for me, Nazyalensky.”

She turned to him, eyelids fluttering open, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. A wave of aching affection washed over him at the sight of her. His darkened fingers disappeared in her silky hair, skimming on the skin of her neck. A shiver went through her.

Nazyalensky. The habit of using her name like this had turned from provoking her to scowl to getting himself an annoyed but affectionate look. It possessed a different power, now that he knew it was an identity she had chosen for herself so long ago. Nikolai had waited to see if she would desire to change it, but he had the sense she was attached to it. It was hers, it was the promise of a new life she had made to a little girl long ago, and this made her feel conflicted. She was slowly embracing the parts of her past that could finally complete her, wandering through what she had missed in denying a part of herself; yet, some ghosts were more haunting than others.

“Do you remember the first time I called you that?”, Nikolai asked, if only for the sake of distracting her from another tiresome and tedious day of meetings. Zoya peered at him under her lashes. That was the look she wore when she was pondering whether to indulge his nonsense or just let him ramble her into sleep, with the engulfing solace of his voice frantically telling her about his new invention of the moment or the last thing they made explode at the Fabrikator’s lab. Her hand came to adjust his collar in an unconscious gesture.

“I’m not sure”, she admitted. He traced the soft curve of her lips with his thumb, smirking.

“It was when you saved me. I mean, the first of the many times you did that.”

Zoya looked dubious. “Was it though?”

“You remember something else?”

He was positively sure. When it came to Zoya, his memory rarely failed him. Still, a part of him did want to hear what she remembered. Zoya being willing to talk was a treasured rare occurrence.

“I think it’s when you made me your General”, Zoya asserted, cushioning her head on his forearm.

***

He was flying, and then he was falling.

When the blade went through the Darkling heart and his blood soaked the Fold’s barren sands, Nikolai’s wings disappeared in an inconsistent smoke.

He was fighting, and then he was surrendering.

The world started drowning in darkness, the shadows curling around its outlines and growing like a monstrous tide that devoured every living being on its path. He remembered the clouded sky, the shrieks of the volcras, the stink of fire and gunpowder. If that was how the bastard prince’s fight was going to end, his mind thanked the Saints for giving him that one last moment as himself. The demon retracted, leaving Nikolai on his own as he dove toward his demise. Yet, it would be fine. They would win. And Nikolai would never see what could become of his country.

He was dying. And then, without warning, he was floating.

Or sort of. A sudden gust of wind slammed on his back, slowing his helpless fall on the ground. The prince had only a split moment of consciousness to be glad before crashing onto earth, the blow hard enough that he heard the sound of his ribs cracking, of the air forcefully snatched out his lungs. The world went dark.

He was breathing. A strike of ravaging pain splitted his chest in two. He thought he had opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred as he forced his eyelids not to fall shut. Inhaling felt like a burning flame scorching his throat. He wanted to move, to get up, to take his weapon and resume the fight. He wanted to rest. He wanted.

“Try and be still”, a distant voice murmured beside him.

His vision sharpened, bolts of pain running through his battered body. Nikolai did not know how long he had passed out, if it was hours or mere seconds. Was he seeing the sea again? Was he coming back to the restless waters he loved with woeful neediness? For a brief moment, there was peace. He was home.

Then, another breath tore his lungs, the searing ache canceling the blur. It wasn’t the sea; he found himself lost in a pair of impossible blue eyes, deep and dark as the oceans he had sailed with his wolf of the waves. He grasped at them.

“Don’t move'', the voice whispered, shuddering.

A girl, with raven-black hair and blood smeared on her cheek. Her fingers tightened around his wrist, checking his pulse, while she held the back of his neck with the other arm. Her hold was firm, comforting; yet, Nikolai felt a tremor coming from her, her tone desperate. He knew her, something inside him told him as his consciousness slowly slid back into place. He knew her; he remembered her laugh, in the brief excitement David’s dishes for Alina had brought them before being shattered by the nichevo’ya. He knew her from dimly lit hallways made of rock under a mountain, where they had thought they could hide from the monsters lurking in the shadows. His lashes blinked away the mist and he gripped her arm, steadying himself; the girl startled, shifting her gaze and locking those unearthly eyes back on his again. Were his still black? Was he still the demon, or was he himself again? Another remembrance rushed as his mind finally cleared of the last strands of darkness, restoring all his awareness, all of himself. The squaller, the stubborn one, with that insanely acid tongue. Zoya. The grip on her arm grew stronger, he wanted to part his lips, to speak. He wanted.

“Damn, stop moving. I need to make sure I saved you. No way I’m letting Ravka’s only hope die on me, are we clear?”

Anguish cut through the edge of her tone, cracking it. Zoya, the proud one. The one he had overheard standing up for the Etherealki in the face of every disdain she had earned from them. Zoya, who had fought her way through their reckless warfare strategies with the grace and precision of a hawk diving for a prey. With the snarky words she had sent his way whenever they had crossed paths, her piercing gaze studying everyone around her, always surprising him with a biting response. Zoya Nazyalensky, the impossibly beautiful and equally mysterious summoner who all the other Grisha gossiped about. Kneeling on the dirt beside him right now with an endless well in her sight, full of sorrow and terror. It was the aftermath of the battle, probably. Probably.

Zoya the soldier. Alina’s soldier, Ravka’s soldier, the king’s soldier. His soldier, now.

“Nazyalensky”, he rasped out, mustering all the strength he could find. Relief flooded her face, making her lips quiver. Not too gently, she shook his hand from her arm, her look hardening. Nikolai felt the horrifying moist consistency of blood on his hands; he could not dwell on where it was coming from, either his own wounds, the ones of the girl beside him, or the ones coming from the lives he had snatched with his infernal claws.

“Good. The blow on your head did not shatter your brain.”

Cutting as a blade. As she scanned the ground around, he found her havoc-raging presence weirdly heartening. Nikolai was only dimly aware of the mayhem still breaking out. There was a muffled quiet around them; he realized that it was probably Zoya’s doing, hushing the sounds in the air. An unforgiving wind flowed, kicking up the grey sand; it seemed to reverberate directly from Zoya’s trembling body. The squaller ran a hand through her hair and her face, shoving dirt and red streams on her skin. She was shaken. It would take her a few more battles to get used to this. Maybe she never would. If he wasn’t lying half dead on the ground, he would have felt tempted to reach for her, to comfort her. The wind rose as she swore out, spreading her black mane around her, still frantically searching for help with her gaze. Saints, Nikolai thought, this girl is powerful. She snapped at him.

“For Saints sake are you capable of staying still? I have to fetch you a Healer”, Zoya barked.

Nikolai tried to get himself up, ignoring the excruciating ache in his chest, steadying himself on her shoulder with his right arm. “This would be a perfect moment to indulge in regicide”, he tried, another burst of pain running through him and causing him to cough violently.

“I might consider it if you don’t stop moving”, she murmured in response, scanning him for injuries other than his broken ribs and a likely dislocated shoulder, considering his other arm felt like it was catching on fire when he had tried to lift it. Nikolai caught a movement behind her, tried to gather the strength to get up, to follow the instinct to protect her. Zoya was faster, followed his eyes and threw her fist upward in that direction with a frustrated yell; a violent rush of air hit a soldier aiming at them, sending him toppling to the ground. “I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot”, she raised her voice, and with it a thunder echoed in the field. Was it being called forth by her? Whatever she was doing, she did not seem aware of it. “You have a country to run. So don’t distract me.”

Someone else was rushing toward them, but this time she looked relieved, which meant whoever they were, they were on their side. That help was coming, that they were almost safe.

“Then you should handle me more gently”, Nikolai spoke again, voice unpleasantly screeching the walls of his throat like nails on a mirror.

What was happening around them? Blinding rays were coming from upward as Alina’s power rumbled into the Fold in whistling sounds, shredding every inch of it into light. He heard muffled voices, Zoya barking commands. Nikolai reached for her again, he clenched his fingers in the folds of her kefta; the hold on her tied him to earth, tied his mind to a world that still felt too unreal and too far away, as it had felt when he had been looking at it with demon eyes. This time, she did not shove him away. A young boy with a red dusted kefta kneeled before him, placing his hands on his chest. Zoya unceremoniously slipped her arm away from below him, lowering him to the ground to let the Healer work. Nikolai hissed when his back hit the sand, shooting her a glare. She shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands in fighting stance to keep them safe, scanning the area for other enemies.

“I hardly am gentle, prince”, Zoya spat out, alert.

"Did we win?"

Now she sent a swift gaze his way, drawing in an unsteady breath. "I think so", she answered with tentative hope. The Healer’s powers were doing their magic, a warmth flooding him and numbing his senses. He fought it, not wanting to lose consciousness again, to fall back into the unknown.

"Then I'm fairly sure I'm going to be crowned. You should go with Your Highness."

Wit was his. Humour, brilliance, the might to find words when voice was failing you, when air was rare, was his. Not the demon. It was Sturmhond’s cocky attitude he had kept when he had been shot and nearly bled out, it was Nikolai’s charming attire when he had rode with Dominik through village fairs and then military encampments, the optimism he had tried to feed since when he had been just a boy. It was what provoked that shadow of an exasperated smile on the squaller’s face, the twitch in her lips promptly straightened again in a thin, severe line.

"You’re a wretch”, she scolded him, turning her attention from their surroundings to the Healer that was sealing his wounds. “There’s little royalty in you right now.”

“Still a king.”

The Grisha boy cleared his throat and nodded to her. “I did the best I could, we need to get him to a tent and someone more trained”, he explained, his remark shaky. “But he is out of danger.”

Zoya exhaled, her eyelids falling shut for a mere instant. The wind slowed down; her hands were still trembling when she ran them again through her hair.

“Do you want me to take care of - “, the boy tried to ask, pointing to her. Her eyes flew open then, firm determination in them.

“We need to get going”, she cut him off. She got up with a swift movement; Nikolai caught the hand she extended to him, letting her help him to a standing position that made all of his muscles and bones howl in protest. He staggered, his knees failing to keep him up. Zoya looped an arm around his back and made him lean on her side; he gripped on her shoulders, hating himself for feeling so weak, for having to rely his weight on her. Her kefta was badly bloodied and ripped, she had a deep cut that ran over her hip and other bruises; it was difficult to assess how injured she was, yet there they were, her will tougher than the hell they had just been through.

“Then you’re a King wretch”, she mumbled from under him. She barely reached up to his chin. What a tiny ball of spite and power she was. They started to make their way toward the outlines where the Fold ended once, when it still existed. “Better? Now let me save you. You have work to do.”

With another pang of relief Nikolai recognized Tolya in the distance, the flash of white of Alina’s hair lifting up from the ground. They were alive. He could not think of much else right now, not until they reached them, until they were safe. And all properly healed, he thought, checking Zoya’s limp and how she pressed on the gash in her flank with the hand that was not supporting him.

“Are you hurt?”, he asked, winded from the effort of putting one foot in front of the other, unable to conceal his worry. Zoya startled and looked up to him, her blue irises wide and exhausted, vulnerable for the span of a flutter.

“I’ll be fine”, she said, somehow softer than before. “Just keep walking.”

Nikolai put all of his remaining energy into subtly pulling away, relieving her from some of the weight. If she noticed his effort, she did not tell. His head emptied of anything but their cautious steps, Zoya’s ragged breathing beside him, her wind running with them, shielding them from harm.

“King wretch. I like it”, he muttered back.

Kings better not take themselves too seriously, after all. It was nice to have someone remind him of that.

***

Nikolai did not mind the paperwork that came with being a ruler. It felt almost comforting to see the slow improvements his country was making under his watch written on paper, sealed with ink and brought to life. He had decided to dedicate himself to the good news today, that maybe he had earned an afternoon of peace inside the quiet of his study. The wheels kept restlessly turning inside his brain, relieving the images of the tour they had taken across torn cities and miserable villages after his coronation, and for a couple of hours he just wanted to forget about them. Contrary to every concern he had held, the people travelling with him had made the grueling trip all the more bearable; they had run against time itself, wearing their horses down and getting little to no sleep at all, resting not more than one night at every stop to be back in Os Alta as soon as possible. He had felt even hopeful, at times. The same kind of jittery expectancy that made him check his time piece for the tenth time in a row and try to stop the rhythmic beating of his foot on the floor, without dwelling too much on the knot of eagerness in his stomach. When the pointer clicked on the chime of the hour, a knock resounded in the room. She was always almost eerily on time.

“Come in”, called Nikolai to the door, folding the letter he was skimming through. A valet entered and cleared his throat.

“Your Highness”, he bowed deeply, “Miss Nazyalensky is here as you requested. Shall I let - “

The squaller marched in the room, surpassing the poor valet as if he was an inconsistent blur of annoyance.

“Miss Nazyalensky”, she hissed under her breath, flicking her hair over her shoulder, ”I am no Miss, and I am perfectly able to let myself in.”

Nikolai arched an amused brow at her, kindly dismissing the servant. A disdainful glare was cast in the direction of the valet’s deferent curtsy as she strode in front of the king’s seat. Zoya never bowed. For anyone. He lounged in his chair, turning all of his focus on the gorgeous harpy that now stood before him, spine straight, chin high and defiant eyes pinned on him. She clasped her hand behind her back with her usual military countenance.

“You called for me, Your Highness?”

“I did”, he confirmed, straightening his legs before him and crossing them at the ankle. There constantly seemed to be a slight mockery in the way she indulged in his title. He folded his hands, still studying her. The vague nuisance with which she was eyeing him was clear enough to make him smirk at her.

“I hear the Triumvirate has done some grand process in these first few weeks”, Nikolai stated, gesturing to the documents on his desk. “I’ve been informed that many Grisha are seeking refuge in the Little Palace. And I also hear you’ve been reconstructing. I do have hope we will be able to put the Second Army back into shape.”

Zoya did not answer, merely kept looking at him with the barest nod of her chin. The king was not used to people being so untouched by his presence, or to be that annoyingly silent around him. He would not admit he had spent part of the last weeks trying to catch her off guard with an astounding lack of results.

“Would you agree with the reports?”

His question seemed to ignite a spark of interest through her immovability. He had noticed that while she had no issue in voicing her opinions strongly, she seemed not equally accustomed to people directly consulting her with a true interest in her point of view. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but he had guessed Zoya liked how he had started to value her input.

“We are indeed making progress”, Zoya said, “but there is a lot of work to be done. We’re only starting.” She paused, seemingly pondering her words. “We need - “

“Before we start making requests”, his interruption earned himself an irritated glare, “I called you in because I have something to ask. To the whole three of you, actually; I asked Genya and David too.” Yet, somehow, her answer was the one he was most curious about. “Alina gave you the Triumvirate. You know what to expect from it now. And you’ve got just a mere taste; what’s to come will be tougher, tiresome. While I assume you have the motivation to keep your position, I do prefer to give people a choice when it comes to demanding tasks. So I’m asking: do you still want it?”

“I do.” There was no hesitation, only urge in the way the answer rolled out of her. She took a step in his direction and cleared her throat. “Not just the Triumvirate. I want to train the new Grisha. And we need to speed up the process on the royal order stating Grisha’s rights. If we are to rally them, they need to feel truly safe here.”

Nikolai kept his expression neutral, although he was pleasantly impressed. He knew she had taken it upon herself to start working with the Grisha finding shelter in the Little Palace, and the kids being taken there. He would not have made her out to be someone who loved teaching; then again, it was hard to make her out for anything. As far as her initiative went, he had quickly understood how his status meant little to her. After all, they were kids themselves. She was a year younger than him, and she had seen him shift between his roles of privateer, prince and what someone might call usurper. Never failing to point the last one out to him, if one had to be precise; Saints forbid he could ever possibly forget he needed to earn a respect that was not freely given. Surely not by Zoya Nazyalensky. He would not expect from her the humble demeanor of a subject in front of a king. Thank the Saints for that, he found himself thinking. Her bracing self was almost soothing, after weeks of dealing with people smarming at his feet, and hers was the company he had found himself searching for more often than others, as wicked as she might be. Zoya never overstepped without a reason, apart from a common snarky energy that was profoundly her. What she did was to call him out on every dumb decision he leaned toward, and constantly remind him how to be worthy of his position and the love of his people.

“We can arrange that”, he decided to answer, satisfied by how her pupils widened at his prompt concession. He got up and opened a bottle of brandy, pouring himself a glass. He glanced back at her, still planted in the middle of the room.

“You were loyal to the Darkling.” Nikolai was sure he had not imagined the flash of anger that darkened the blue of her eyes, nor how her jaw clenched and her posture seemed to tense. “Pardon me for being so forthright, but I do feel like it’s better to deal with the tedious matter first.” Or rather the interesting ones you seem to keep an aura of secrecy around.

When she spoke, her voice was not as firm as before. “We’ve worked together for weeks and known each other for longer. I wonder if you have a suicidal strike or you are really questioning my loyalty now.”

“No suicidal strike, and I’m not questioning anything.” The heartfelt honesty in him seemed to reassure her. Her shoulders eased ever so slightly, yet her features remained strained. “As you dutifully pointed out, the time for that has long passed. However, since we’re getting to know each other, I guess you’ll find I like stories. This seems like a good one.”

“Stories are earned”, Zoya asserted, slitting eyes and matter of factly tone.

“Fine point. You were, though”, Nikolai pressed. Her look never wavered from his. Unconsciously he leaned toward her, rolling his glass between his fingers.

“I was.”

“What changed?”

“Everything.”

Silence stretched on. Nikolai decided he could wait a while, if it meant gaining some other insight. He did know part of the story, the part that was ushered by people when she strode beside them. Stories might need to be earned, but they also needed to be told by the ones who had lived them. Nikolai was not one to listen to gossip anyway. Sure enough, she resumed speaking, catching that he was not going to drop the subject.

“It got personal. I was loyal to him because I craved power, then because I believed he could provide a home for us. Instead, he stripped from me the only one I had and slaughtered my friends. Enough of a reason?”

Zoya proudly lifted her chin even higher, her words back to being stinging as an icy wind, the anger burning in her seeping through the tremor in her hands. She moved closer. A slight breeze swept through the room, rustling the papers, called forth by her emotions in turmoil. He remembered when it happened in the Fold, when her despair had raised the wind around them and a thunder had boomed.

They were no more than two steps apart, now; the gust she summoned carried a scent Nikolai struggled to place as her hair lifted up. It reminded him of the heat of a sunny day, of the field near Dominick's house when spring came, when his little sisters would run back into the kitchen with crowns made of daisies and golden ears of wheat. Was it the pressed corn caught in the evening mist? Was it flowers?

“I won’t beg for trust. Words are empty vessels, actions carry meaning. The choice is yours: either you let me prove myself, or you discard me now.”

She kept her fierce piercing eyes to his, every inch the warrior. Nikolai held her gaze, hazel melting into blue, a small smile tugging at his lips, struck by the force of her nature and her fuming reaction.

“Here I thought I was the dramatic one”, he chuckled, ignoring her scowl and pulling his hands up in surrender. He slipped inside a reassuring attitude. “I was really not questioning you. Alina trusted you, she chose you. You fought for all of us. I’ve seen the way you stood up for your people, I’ve always agreed with Alina. This is your home; you already proved yourself, more than enough.”

The wind ceased to flow; Zoya flexed her fingers, a rage made of guilt and regret still paining her look. Nikolai knew the place from where those feelings came. Maybe picking at that was not a sensible idea after all. He would need to stop outright testing both her patience and his luck like this; the temptation she was brewing of roasting him alive right now was evident. He was still measuring his steps around her, how she seemed to dive into arguments that would make anyone on earth feel at least uncomfortable, or close right off when someone touched seemingly irrelevant nerves.

“Besides”, Nikolai let the smile spread in her direction, “I am in dire need of allies.”

And friends, he thought sourly, yet a king can rarely ask for those.

“Unnerving them sure seems a smart way to ensure your supposed allies’ support”, she clipped out, shaking her cuffs.

“I like to test my chances.” His words were accompanied by a shrug. The urge to take another step toward her pressed in the back of his brain. “You haven’t unleashed a storm on me yet, so I’d say we’re halfway through a steady relationship of trust and mutual forbearance.”

“Mutual, sure.”

Nikolai tapped his finger on the desk. It seemed he could not stay still. “You’ll need to work together”, he advised, “with Genya and David.”

“I do well on my own.”

Like she has not made that abundantly clear in the last couple of months.

“Oh, I have no issue in believing that. Still, it wasn’t a suggestion, I’m afraid.”

Zoya’s mouth curved in an honey smile; she fluttered her lashes, tilting her head in his direction, the dark waves of her hair falling on her shoulders. It could have been an almost convincing smile, if it had reached her eyes. Instead, it stood cold on her face, firm as a statue, a pretense of complacency with the clear intent to taunt. Nikolai had no doubt whatsoever that entire crowds of people had fallen on their knees for that feigned sweetness. To be completely truthful, she did throw him off balance. Now it would surely be a reasonable call to put a bit of distance between them. Not that he resorted to reason that often when making decisions.

“I am well aware kings are not in the habit of making requests, Your Highness.” Her voice rippled like silk, delicate and musing, dripping sarcasm. “I was merely informing you.”

“You’re not particularly easy, are you?”, he asked with a grin, leaning back on the desk and folding his arms. An apparently casual movement meant to regain the use of his lungs. The smile vanished as she adjusted her hair.

“I am not easy, nor kind. And I lack the interest to make people search for these qualities in me.”

Nikolai had begun to understand in these weeks the stories around her, more than he had ever understood them before. He had also begun to nurture a sheer curiosity in her regard, for the complex mind she hid and the way she seemed careless to other people's thoughts on her. He tried not to let himself be distracted now, which always proved to be a strenuous task with this particular girl, when she waved that look at him and played the card of the ridiculously attractive and positively enchanting Grisha summoner she undoubtedly was. He did really need to get a grip, though. If they were to work together as closely as he had his mind set to, he had to find a way to make himself immune to her flair, constructed or natural that it was.

Never seduce anyone prettier than I am, right? Or never even conceive to seduce anyone you’re attracted to if you had planned to offer that specific anyone one of the highest-ranking positions in the whole country. An equally wise rule to live by. If only her look was the only appeal he had found in her. Her edgy personality, which people tended to be almost scared of, had captivated him a great deal more; whatever beauty withered in the face of how capable and strong-spirited she was. Qualities that made her all the more desirable. The privateer in him had screamed at the top of his lungs to take on the improbable quest of conquering someone who seemed impervious to him as she did, someone that out of reach, that captivating. Shameful instinct, to say the least. And leaning on the worst-idea-ever side of things.

Besides, he had a country to take care of now; he was no longer a privateer who could make reckless choices and chase after impossible girls. Nikolai Lantsov was a king, the king of a war-torn, desperate place. The challenge of earning her trust and admiration might turn out to be just as endearing; he could embark on that one, letting her bitter tongue put him back into place.

Resorting to his decision, he got a small box out of a drawer, placing it on the desk beside him.

“There’s something else I mean to offer you.”

Zoya eyed the box, while Nikolai bobbed his chin at it, encouraging her to take it. She stood still, her look shifting back to observe him. Truly exasperating the lack of gratifications she offered.

“Contrary to what you believe, I am no fool.” He decided to dive right into it, pushing through her silence. “As much as I hate to admit it, the Darkling was fairly good at reading people. You rose high in his favour because he considered you extremely resourceful and trustworthy, and valued you as a soldier.” Nikolai unfolded his arms and rested his hands on the wooden brink of the desk, pushing himself to her; he lowered his voice with a smirk. “And I know for a fact the reason for that has nothing to do with your very pleasant appearance, which I have no doubt is another weapon you know how to use.”

He backed up again. Life on the sea had taught him to turn weakness into brass. Thankfully, he had spent years practicing the art of acting. Zoya pursed her lips, biting a comeback and momentarily avoiding his gaze. Not that impervious after all. One had to catch on the details.

“I am not blind. Nor do I have reasons to pretend to be. Still, I’m afraid I am far more interested in your wide arsenal of warfare talents.” He took a sip from his glass and hummed teatrichally, cocking his head to the side to assess her. “I do share the burden of being handsome, though. We can whine together about our fatigues.”

That mocking smile was back on her mouth, sparkling with mischief. She spoke with a casual tone, smoothing her kefta. “As much as you brag about it, your charm seems to fail you. Our Sun Saint did not look particularly impressed by it.”

Ah, clever one. Nikolai mustered his composure to flash another grin at her, thoroughly impressed both by her boldness and by the precision of her strike. All right, that stung. Which to her credit only meant she had no fear to bite people where it hurt and a certain ability to find that spot. Useful skills for a General.

“Luckily for me, she was one of a very few number of exceptions.”

“Charm our way through peace, then.” Zoya cast her eyes heavenward, crossing her arms.

“Can I come back to praise you? I wasn’t finished.”

“By all means, do”, she gestured.

“As I was saying. Sadly for our favorite herald of darkness, he was also a prick. Not to mention manipulator and mass murderer, amongst other remarkable successes. He wholly under-estimated you: you are trustworthy and resourceful, along with a lot of other virtues he did not remotely understand nor properly paid attention to.”

Nikolai paused. He put his glass down, yielding to the temptation at last and letting his feet stride toward her. Had she moved more near too? Now they were definitely closer than needed. He could see the darker slivers in her irises, the curls falling inside the fur collar of her uniform.

The smell in the Grand Palace garden after a rainstorm, he thought of that scent. When he had laid in the grass and soaked his clothes in mud, just for the sake of feeling the earth below him and the water on his skin.

“I’ve watched you, these weeks. You are good. Not just at fighting, I believe that is a given. You are good at leading. Your mind is way sharper than your tongue. I’ve studied you with your Etherealki and the other Grisha, with the First Army representatives.``

He made a show of plucking a peck of invisible dust from his coat. Zoya did not move, keeping her attention on him. A sceptical frown appeared on her face.

“You do love to hear yourself talk.”

“I’ve watched you do that, too. You’re bold, in a good way. You tend to deliver neat blows.”

“Are you in the habit of examining all the people that come to work for you?”

“Just the powerful ones”, he admitted.

She might have looked nothing but unimpressed by the string of praises he had just given, as if they were common known truths, nothing of importance to linger on. Her eyes had grown troubled though, then curious, they had softened in the glowing sunset light. They were assessing him with strong intent now, and Nikolai could only think they held the ocean inside. The ocean he had seen when he had thought he would never be back on the waves again, the one that had felt like hope gained with blood and shattered bones in those grey sands.

“You saved me, in the Fold”, Nikolai abruptly said. The twitch in her breath made him understand just how much his demeanor had changed unconsciously, how much the mask of the ruler had slipped away and his unguarded voice betrayed him.

“Indeed.”

“I haven’t had the occasion to thank you properly.”

“It’s my job”, she briskly answered, almost annoyed. “You’re my king.”

You’re my king. Best to ignore the bolt of confidence and pleasure that spiked through his spine.

“Apart from my gratitude, I kind of had in mind to make it your actual job”, the king considered.

Zoya Nazyalensky. Not kind, and not easy. Zoya shot him a suspicious look, but she held her ground.

“It just so happens that both me and the Second Army are in need of a General”, he declared, never shifting his focus from her face. “Would you care to consider taking the position?”

He caught the box in his hand, opening the lid and extending it to her. A medal was shining in it, the golden Ravka double eagle, wrought in in a pale blue sash. Zoya briefly lowered her gaze to it, turning to look at Nikolai with an intensity that was almost impossible to bear. Her look was unreadable, yet the tension in her stiff muscles unmistakable. Nikolai could hardly hide the painful want for her to accept, the thrill he felt at the chance of having someone to rely on, in time, to share some of the burden with. Someone who was not his father’s advisors, someone he could choose. Someone he felt a strange pull toward, a sort of twisted hidden affinity.

Alina chose you, he had told her. The choice is yours, she had told him.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

The thumping heart in his chest ached at the possibility of making things right for this cursed country with a person he could trust at his side. To ease the loneliness, even if it had to be a game of pretend to some degree. The moments dripped away, her eyes alight with a flame hard to understand. Nikolai restrained his own will to jump into that blazing chaos, knowing how easily he would have lost himself in it.

“You’re making me your General?”, she said finally. The annoyance had disappeared, replaced with a hesitant falter, something that sounded both like disbelief and a flicker of cautious excitement.

“I’m asking you to be my General, if you wish so. I would not force anything on you. The position comes with a lot of heavy responsibilities and long sleepless nights.” Zoya was still frozen in place. Slowly, her arms uncrossed, coming to rest at her sides. “On the brighter side, you’ll get to enjoy endless hours of my company.”

“I’d say the brighter side is the responsibilities one.”

None of the previous snark was contained in her words. He could see how hard she was trying to keep her attitude on her, her own mask.

“You can decide whether to direct your scowls at me or at people annoying you then.”

“You’re assuming you won’t be among the people annoying me. Bold take.”

“I’d wager that’s what I’m mostly going to do”, Nikolai conceded. Zoya was trying to buy time, to ward off his attention. He just wasn’t sure if she needed it to regain her confident self or if she was considering how to refuse the offer. Nikolai did not like the last option, and it was better to rip the band aid off quickly.

“With the prospect of this gain, would you accept?” She peered at him again. He could not hold back a grin. “Did I just surprise you?”

“Please”, she spat out, but it was a little too marked to not be forced. Nikolai fought the impulse to smile wider. “Who else would you choose? Genya, so she can tailor the enemies away? David, to bore them to death with science talks? I’m the most qualified for the job. It’s reasonable of you to ask me.”

“I am not asking you because it’s reasonable.”

Again, reason was not the prime source fueling his judgment. For Saints sake, would you take this damn medal? Nerve racking girl that she was. It was making him fancy her even more.

“I am asking you because you deserved it. I believe you are the right person for this task, in many different ways.”

The weariness in her was still there; he hoped she could see that was not empty flattery anymore, that he had meant it. Finally, finally Zoya reached for the medal. He heard her draw in a sharp breath, a crease appearing between her brows. Nikolai wondered how it would feel to make it disappear, to see her features smooth down. Zoya moved through the world like a soldier with an armor in place, one she kept up with the pure will of her steel spirit and hardened heart. Despite her stillness, power was radiating off of her, the wind once again carrying that distinctive scent.

That small fishermen port they had docked in when the Volkvolny had arrived on the Wandering Isle, the one that was surrounded by pastures and a wide meadow in which an ocean of colourful wildflowers had just sprouted. Wildflowers.

For once in life, Nikolai had hardly an idea of who the person standing in front of him was. The enigmatic, beautiful, fierce squaller. Was she happy? Excited for this chance to serve her country? Terrified by the prospect of what they still had to face? Considering smacking him for being out of his mind? There was something that lurked inside of her under that armor, something in those blue eyes that seemed too painful to be looked at, too intimate to know. It came in shadows, disappearing, as if she was fighting it to stay down, to get it under control. The same bottomless abyss he had seen when she had saved him.

Nikolai knew what it meant, to lose something, to fight for an ideal and see it broken, to finally have the power in your hands to fix what others had crushed. It felt terrifying and exhilarating, and maybe that was what was running in that head of hers now. Zoya brushed her fingers on the golden pin, pulling it up and wrapping it under her hand. She closed her fist, raising her gaze to him, locking their eyes together. The shadows had gone, replaced by a fearless light.

“I’ll need to meet with the First Army generals”, the tone of a leader. “They won’t like this, and since I am fairly sure you don’t care one bit about it, I’ll need to handle them. And I’ll need that document drafted.”

He nodded, pushing down the towering joy that was flooding his chest. Practical. Ruthless, facing the issues head on, not shying away. He twisted and reached for another glass from the cabinet, turning inside his mind the fact that she had accepted, that he was looking at his General now.

“To a long and fruitful partnership, then”, Nikolai offered her the brandy, “or rather to save this broken country and not getting killed in the meanwhile.”

Zoya gave him a stern look. “I don’t drink on the job.”

Why does that not surprise me? He grinned excitedly and raised the glass to her, downing his drink.

“In time, I may teach you to have a little fun, too.”

Unscathed, she just tossed her hair. “Believe me, Your Highness, I am perfectly able to revel in fun. I am just highly selective of the people I allow to share it with me.”

The seducing part really would never be necessary, after all. He had a hunch they were immensely going to enjoy working together and drive each other crazy. I undoubtedly am.

“You’ll teach me how you select those blessed souls, then.”

Before she could resume their banter, another call at the king’s chambers’ entrance interrupted them, bursting the quiet of this comfortable room. The sound seemed to snap Zoya back to herself, making her realize how close they were standing. Nikolai had already been all too aware of it. She quickly moved away from him, not leaving his eyes. Pride back in her expression, shoulders squared. In her silver threaded kefta, she already appeared like the able respected General she would soon grow into. Her medal was closed in her fist, the knuckles white from the force of the grip.

“I will not fail Ravka”, she said, marking every word. I will not fail you, was the rest of the sentence, the part that hung unspoken between them. “I promise you that.”

Nikolai trusted her, without reservations. The king knew he had made the right choice. Both for the country, and, he selfishly thought, for himself. There was a hidden gratitude in her oath, the emotion she would not speak outright but nevertheless felt.

“Brace yourself, Nazyalensky.” He felt positively giddy and already itching for the challenges that fate would throw their way. “It’s going to be one hell of a ride. Take the rest of the evening for yourself, I’m afraid it’s the last moment of peace you’ll have for a while.”

She exhaled, her eyes moving to the window and Os Alta’s pointed domes in the distance.

“Ravka doesn’t consider rest as possible, that much I know.”

She rang for the servant, ignoring they were in Nikolai’s study and he was the one probably supposed to do that. Already moving like she owned the place, deciding the conversation was over. Zoya gave him a long, deep look.

“Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Nikolai fell back on his chair, watching her go as one of the old king’s advisors was accompanied inside the study. Surely a less pleasurable company for the evening. Both for the eyes and for the soul, he thought, forcing himself to wave a welcoming expression to the white-bearded man and his ridiculously long mustaches.

“Miss Nazyalensky”, the advisor greeted her with a half bow as she passed beside him on her way to the hallway. Zoya simply rolled her eyes, strolling toward the door with a last nod at Nikolai. He was sorry to see her go. Before she got out, Nikolai took the impulse and called to the man before him.

“General”, he corrected him, ignoring his shocked expression, “it’s General Nazyalensky now.”

Nikolai did not miss the slight misstep Zoya took at his words. Her kefta wirled as her gaze snapped to his. A beat passed. Without a sign of acknowledgment, Zoya looked away, that scent he had finally placed disappearing with her. Nikolai thought it best not to tell her that she hadn’t been quick enough to hide; he had seen her lashes lowering as she sighed, a smile tugging at her lips, one that was not feigned neither mocking, one that made her eyes sparkle with delight and was not meant to be noticed. If there was hope to make Zoya Nazyalensky brighten up like that, maybe Nikolai had it in himself to steer this country to safety after all.

Goodnight, General.

***

“I thought we were past these poor attempts at wooing me”, she scoffed, playfully pushing him away. Nikolai chuckled, drawing her back to rest on his chest, circling her in his arms. He rested his chin on her head, listening to the warm huff of her breath on the cotton of his shirt. Deadly Zoya, who let herself curl in his hold almost easily. If someone had told him he would live to the feel of her lashes shutting on his heart, Nikolai would have probably sent the man to get his head checked by a Healer. Or paid him another drink.

“I am positively serious”, Nikolai assured her. Zoya blew a distrustful grunt.

“Nikolai, you do realize you don’t need to flatter me to get me into your bed anymore?”

“I do like you in my bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter”, he considered, humming against her hair. Zoya leaned on his shoulder to prompt herself up, looking him straight in the eyes. He tried to keep a smooth expression.

“So you’re saying I garnered your attention that soon? To me, you seemed a bit - “

She tilted her head to the side, shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes?”

“Distracted”, she pointed out, an overly amused grin perking her lips.

Nikolai knew she was referring both to Alina and to the apparently unscathed attitude he had kept around her in the years they had worked together. No doubt clueless to how quickly other forbidden images had replaced the Sun Summoner’s ones in his dreams or just how much commitment he had been forced to put into appearing unaffected by her presence. He had been distracted, at first, though even in distraction Zoya snatched the attention like a lightning. Then a quake in the ground had struck; Zoya had then made her way into his life like a ferociously fast tidal wave, rippling foam at first, raging and rumbling waters then.

“You distracted me a lot, Zoya. Working with you has been equally comforting and tiring. You distract me even more now”, he leaned closer, sliding one hand on her neck, preventing her from backing away, “that I get to do this”. Nikolai caught her lips with his, kissing away the disbelieving frown from her mouth. When the kiss broke, she looked halfway convinced of his candor.

“You can’t possibly imagine how many dull meetings I have tuned out with you haunting my thoughts. The overactive mind I happen to be cursed with did not help my concentration.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, even though they both knew how truthful the statement was.

“You are diverting.”

“Is it working?”

“A bit”, she casually dismissed, tucking a strand of black curls on her finger. Nikolai sighed happily, slipping away in his thoughts. He wanted to tell her everything, he wanted her to take a stroll right into his mind to see it all. They had so much time now, and he had the constant urge of stocking it without letting a single instant slip, making up for all the years it had taken them to have each other.

“Anyway, it’s nothing special. People are commonly struck by my beauty.”

“I’ll admit you are kind of a breath-taking vision”, he snatched her hand away from her hair to press a kiss on her knuckles. “That’s not what really caught my attention, though.”

Of course he had noticed her. Then again, who did not? The vexing creature was hard not to notice, with dark waves framing a perfect figure, hiding an intricate enigma to solve. Since he was a boy, the prince had loved to unravel the puzzle of a person, he had proud himself of being able to do so with nearly everyone he had encountered. Zoya was another kind of riddle, one that had given him more headaches than victories. She made a point to hide; and Nikolai, well, he had always been an explorer at heart, hadn’t he? So he had noticed, and embarked on the journey drawn by the thrill of adventure. Every bitter word had been a wave to crash, every harsh reply a storm to weather to look under the surface. Every gust of wind, barked command and brisk political comment a sudden turn inside her convoluted mind.

“I’m torn between accusing you of sweet-talking me as usual or just outright lying.”

Nikolai clenched his heart in a mock gesture, and a small laugh bubbled in his chest. Judging from the bright gleam in her eyes and the lightness with which she was messing with him, she had believed him.

“Enough about you then. Am I to truly believe I did not impress you at first sight?”

Zoya glared daggers at him, but did not answer right away, considering his question. He got lucky this evening.

“You did impress me, albeit saying at first sight would be a huge overstatement”, she admitted, then exhaled a long breath and let herself fall on the cushion. “I was so happy when you asked me to be your General”, her eyes were distant, as if she was talking to herself more than him, seeing the rageful and determined girl she had been. “I went back to my room and could not stop smiling. My heart was so full, for the first time since what felt like forever. It never felt like a responsibility, it felt like an opportunity you gave me.”

“Tell me you waltzed alone in your room, please”, he teased, being the one who wanted to improvise a victory dance on the spot.

“I will not.”

“You will not tell me because it did not happen, or just to deprive me of the satisfaction?”

“Your ego does not need more encouragement”, she rested her chin on her hand, forcing her lips to stay pursed and fighting back a smile. So that was a yes, then. Zoya bursting with happiness was a sight he would have probably sold his soul to see, three years ago.

“That was the first time I believed you may not be the overly chatty catastrophe I would have made you out to be.”

“You know, I’m not so sure”, Nikolai grinned at her, beaming with pride. “You were stunned when I shot the Darkling.”

“You remember that?”, she gave him a surprised glance from her place on the cushion. They barely knew each other back then, but he had not forgotten. He pulled her back to him, brushed his mouth on her forehead.

“I paid attention in these years, Zoya. To every inch of you.”

It had taken him a while to notice the other things. The stubborn tilt of her chin when she was being challenged and needed to hold her ground. How she shook the cuffs of her kefta before announcing something, or how it meant the argument was done on her part. The way she marked the first words of a sentence with a harder tone than usual when she was in distress, as if the very fact of lacing a syllable with spite could hold herself together. Her resting her head to the side when she was at ease, narrowing her eyes to the sunlight, allowing herself a surrender. The grief and hurt that peered through only when she was trying too hard to conceal it, only when the exhaustion was overwhelming and keeping this country together too tiring. The gleam she possessed when she was teaching the kids, how her gaze softened with care as soon as they turned their backs on her and she watched them laugh and toss each other around. Her laughter with Genya or Tamar when they had a glass too much in the evening and they gossiped around, basking in the illusion of being normal people with no weight on their shoulders.

Zoya had been a story for Nikolai, one he had wanted to unfold, to slowly walk through the pages of it and discover her mysteries, her secrets, her wants. She had been the puzzle of his lifetime, and he knew he would never stop sorting through it. Whenever he thought he had put some sense in it, she uncovered a dark alley he had brushed past without noticing; her Suli heritage, her family’s past, her garden of sorrows. And then came the agony of sorting her feelings out, a line he had walked balancing his hopeless wishes and the reality of her gestures. Trying to piece together how deliberate or innocent had been the way she kept locking their gazes together through the opposite corner of a room, wondering how carefree when she lingered with her fingers on his skin a moment too long as they brushed their hands. If she was toying with him as he had heard in the stories about her, or if her restraint wavered under a desire he had not known he was hoping for. All the times the inevitable had almost happened, and they had strode past these occurrences with the shared silent pact of not voicing it out loud. Zoya’s look growing calm in the dim light of the countless rooms they had worked in, a warmth they had both longed for.

Nikolai tightened his hold on her. He buried his nose in her hair.

The heat of a sunny day, the spring that came in Dominik’s fields, the crushed daisies under his sisters’ sticky fingers. The Grand Palace garden brought alive by rain around him, droplets running through his golden hair. A meadow near the sea in a foreign magical place where he would take her one day, the marvels he would show her. That damn wildflowers scent he had never been able to carve out of the bottom of his soul.

She had revealed herself in front of him, in irrelevant moments carrying with them a significance he had never been aware of.

“I thought I knew myself”, Zoya started, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, “the rotten parts of me. My strengths.” She paused. “Seeing me through your eyes - you shattered everything I knew and built it back. I did not understand how soon you had started doing that.”

"Soulmates stuff, I guess”, he murmured in a wanton tone, ignoring the prick behind his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in her mood and the heartfelt openness she was displaying.

“I don’t believe in that nonsense”, Zoya huffed dismissively. Nikolai laughed.

“I share your disbelief, actually. Destiny has done nothing but put obstacles in our path, after all. If anything, we have defied it. I believe it’s more a matter of choices”, he said, pensive. Once again, he rested his cheek on her carefully brushed curls, inhaling deeply. “We did not happen to stumble upon each other and miraculously fall in love. We chose each other.”

The choice is yours.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride.

The first one had gone unbelievably smoothly. The second, it had taken patience and effort and a certain resistance to disappointments. The third one, well - he was working on that. A ring did stand wrapped around her finger. Halfway there.

Zoya must had been thinking of that, too. She seemed to ponder his statement before replying. “You did tell me you would choose me. When I thought no one would.”

“I think I chose you long before I knew I did. Then I hoped against all odds that when you’d make your own choice, you’d choose me in return. That you’d choose to stay.”

Zoya fell silent. He could not see her, but he imagined just as well her biting her lower lip, his words sinking into her heart. With Zoya, the quiet was comfortable, warm as the press of her body on his. The quiet was needed.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long”, a whisper at last, as she turned back up to look at him. Nikolai shook his head decisively.

“Don’t be.”

“You have waited for me.” There was just a knowing safety in her tone. It had mattered, for Nikolai, to let her choose. To let her know, and then let her decide. To give her a chance at love and stand by for her to take it, his trust in her never faltering. He gently took her face between his calloused hands, worn by battles and tight salty ropes.

“You were worth every second. Besides, time means nothing for demons and saints, right? We have a lot of it in our hands.”

This time she whole-heartedly smiled, adjusting his perfectly fine collar in that affectionate unaware gesture again.

Being the unsuccessful poet he could have been in another lifetime, sometimes he wondered if the story they had lived would ever go on in ballad and poems, as he had once joked with her. If someone would tell of an open sky split by lightning in which a dragon had spread his wings and roared his heartache, never to be left alone to live in darkness again. If someone would hear of a wayward privateer finding the ocean in a person, tricking fate into conquering everything his battered heart had ever searched for. If there would ever be written the tale of a love waiting on the other side of a door, of the people brave enough to cross it.

He had thought they would have just kept telling that tale to each other, through open mouthed kisses left on bare skin, tangled sheets and hushed confessions traded in the night. Then one day, he had heard the kids play in the Little Palace forest, a girl with golden brown skin splashing water on the others from the lake, calling herself the Suli queen who could turn into a legendary beast. He had seen a Fabrikator in the library draft sketches of pirates and mystical creatures fighting each other on a flying ship. To his amusement, he had watched and eavesdropped as one of his personal guards, a handsome young boy coming from Udova, had tried to woo a noble girl into walking with him to the garden, promising her to tell her the fable of how a king with a demon inside had won the attentions of a beautiful unattainable witch who commanded the storms.

Nikolai liked that. The idea that their struggles might turn into hope. One thing he loved, though, were the details that remained theirs.

Zoya brushed a hand through his golden hair with a yearning look in her eyes, soft as a feather she kissed his jaw, adjusted herself in the space between his arms, played with the ring on her finger as she laced her hand with his. She still called him King wretch at times, he still called her his General. She had still eaten all of his herring that morning, they had still made time to work silently through papers together before dinner. At the end, there had never been a hierarchy between them, swept away in the matter of heartbeats since she had held a broken prince in the safety of her wind and he had given her a medal to cradle in her fingers: they had always fought alongside each other, as they were doing now. These details.

That was the part of their story no one would ever earn to hear. The part they would keep writing in secret.

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buckyjamess-archive · 3 years

Text

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter eighteen • a/n: last chapter folks- wanna thank all those who interacted/read it, I hope you enjoyed it! ♡ gonna miss these fools, ngl • wordcount: 2k • warnings: nothing but fluff. Parenthood. Babies. Kids.

summary

going through rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

His hands are warmer and maybe even bigger as his fingers are intertwined with yours, gently swaying back and forth, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand or a light squeeze to remind you he's still there.

a few steps ahead, rosie groans, huffs and puffs as she pushes the stroller the best she can. Talking to her little brother who gurgles back just as much.

"You're really heavy!"

a soft pink, round handbag with minnie mouse printed on the front hangs loosely in Steve's other hand. Handed to him seconds after leaving the restaurant by Rosie herself as she offered to push her little brother back home. A heavy diaper bag he'd taken off the stroller to take away some weight, hangs of his shoulder– you told him you could carry one of the two but Steve being Steve, refused your offer and instead clamped his hand in yours.

A day out planned by the man walking next to you. A day with the four of you, letting Rosie and JJ get used to Steve being around for more than the two hours every night before getting tucked in. That Steve wasn't just a friend anymore– though Rosie 'just knew' when you told her Steve was more than a friend, a special friend.

'I don't kiss my friends like that'

Rosie didn't mind, or at least you think. She was good with everyone, stranger or not. Opening up to Steve wasn't a problem, becoming friends with Steve came easy for the girl.

And bucky, bucky would always be dad.

'Now I have three daddies. My real daddy, my normal daddy and steve.'

And though you never intended to let Steve in your life so quickly, it became serious pretty fast.

Delicately glueing back each other's pieces left of a broken heart; giving solace, a shoulder to cry on and someone to hold. Steve and you never intended to become this, you were just friends, used-to-be-coworkers. It happened. Bucky no longer floating through your head every other minute or feeling that ache in your chest– just you and Steve and for now after the heartbreak Bucky caused you could in all honesty say that Steve Rogers treated you better than anyone ever did.

The stroller comes to a halt when Rosie stills in front of the apartment block. She let's go of the stroller and places both hands on her sides, bright yellow sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, she sighs heavily.

"That was heavy."

You and Steve chuckle at Rosie her stance as if an old man admiring his self-built furniture, sarcasm dripping from her body yet as innocent as can be.

"I bet it was, kid."

"Yes, JJ eats too much."

"Says the girl who ate all my fries."

Letting go of your hand, Steve hands Rosie back her own bag which she happily takes– slipping the diaper bag from his shoulder, you wrap your hand around it and carefully toss it over your own. Hand digging in to find your keys. Taking the few steps up the building, you push open the door and watch how Steve casually carries the stroller and JJ up the steps and follows Rosie in the building.

The walk to the elevator is short, the three of you and the stroller packed tight in the small space– you stay quiet, watching the interaction between Rosie and Steve, your heart grows ten times its size. You thank the gods above for giving you all these amazing men in your life, even if they broke your heart in different ways- teaching you the ways of life, giving the best things to ever exist, trusting you, caring about you..loving you.

Riley, your first real love. The one that changed your life forever. Teaching the ropes of this crazy thing called adult life. Be the calm to your chaos. Showed you love like you'd never had before– sure enough about it all to put a ring around your finger and giving you the most important job of them all; be a mother to a beautiful, funny and feisty daughter. Riley who gave you real heartbreak, leaving an empty hole in your heart and took a piece of your soul with him

Sam who stood by your side through it all. Going through the process together of losing a spouse and partner on the field. Your shoulder to lean on when things got rough, a friend of your man turned into your best friend– showing you the meaning of family by letting you into his own.

Bucky who stole your heart so fast, you never had a chance to let it settle– a wild man willing to wait. A wild man who showed you that life after Riley could be something beautiful; taught you how to love again, brought you back to life and gave you the gift you call your son, gave Rosie a father figure. Bucky the best mistake you'd ever made in your life.

And maybe all these men were needed to get you with the one. Without Riley no Sam and without Sam no Bucky, and you'd never have met Steve if you didn't move to Brooklyn. All these men lead you to him.

Steve. The man who picked up the pieces and put them back together– the man you so desperately needed in your life. The calm that Riley once gave you and the wild and silly bucky once showed. The one for real this time.

Even if things didn't go your way, men changing every chapter of your book– life was pretty amazing.

Steve must've seen the slight wobble of your chin and your eyes filling with tears. His firm hand back into yours, you look up to meet his blues, you shoot him a tight lipped smile.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

You inhale deeply, quickly wiping away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks and not trusting your own voice, you smile at your daughter but shrug.

"You know what I think?" Steve quips, the hand that's intertwined with yours now snaking around your waist to pull you ever closer into his side "I think mom's just really happy."

Rosie nods unsure but gives a toothy grin "then I'm happy too, then we're all happy."

"Then we're all happy."

He reads you like an open book, something you got to love and hate over the last few weeks. Nitpicking little flaws to get under your skin or be the biggest sap whenever you're feeling down; he knows you like the back of his hand.

"This is so stupid," you breath out a shaky chuckle "Jesus, I'm crying in an elevator–"

"It's not stupid," Steve reassures "we're all just very happy, right?"

"Yeah." You nod.

Squeezing your side, Steve let's you know he's there and plants a kiss to your temple before resting his chin upon your head.

"I love you, sweetheart."

Bucky can't quite believe it himself; just a month ago he labeled Steve Rogers as his arch enemy and wish bad things upon the blonde and now, now bucky hopes and wishes the blonde would treat you better than anyone else– welcomed Steve into the mess.

At ease, okay, alright but above all grateful. You didn't kick him out of your life or that of his kids– you wouldn't be the first mother to do such a thing, he's seen it on TV multiple times. Bucky's grateful that you and him still were a thing just not the same. Parents of your kids, friends.

Though jealousy would strike once in a while and he reminded himself of the mistake he'd made, It was good this way.

Big helium balloons in the shape of letters and numbers float above the table shoved against the wall, reading 'JJ 1 YEAR'. Silver birthday garlands hanging from ceilings along the baby blue and white balloons– table filled with snacks, gifts and drinks. Cramped in your apartment but done together– texting back and forth, nights of planning brought you all here, JJ his first birthday.

Friends and family here to celebrate something the two of you made from love.

Bucky leans against the kitchen bar, one hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans and the other wrapped around a bottle of beer. Eyes upon the small crowd gathered and lands on Steve, barely on his knees next to a side table, small plastic tiara on his head as Rosie applies makeup on the guy's face from the set she'd just got as a gift from uncle Sam.

Bucky smiles, at least you picked a child magnet, a guy who'll love his kids as much as the two of you do.

Bucky scans the crowd again and spots you without any problem, another smile on his face at the sight of his godchild hailey holding JJ, probably gossiping around with you.

It's good this way.

"Hey man."

Snapping out of his own world, Bucky meets the eyes of a man he hasn't spoken to in months; sam. Not since he got to learn about Bucky's mistake.

"Hey." Bucky shoots him a tight lipped smile.

Standing still next to Bucky, Sam leans against the bar in the same stance and follows Bucky's gaze to the crowd to you, his son and hailey.

"He looks like you." Sam confesses "scary."

Letting his head fall, Bucky chuckles and nods "at least we know it's mine."

Sam chuckles along till it dies down, silence falling over both men as they keep watching the scene in front of them. How you leave Hailey with her nephew and mingle with some friends– bucky can feel Sam's eyes burning on his face.

"Told you so, didn't I?"

Bucky snorts "Let's not go there, I've learned my lesson."

"Do you?" Sam quips with a grin on his face "No new love on the horizon?"

Bucky nods, he has learned his lesson and he knows he'll never find someone like you again– he has definitely learned his lesson and definitely not ready for something new.

"No man, I'm going to focus on my kids." Bucky breathes out a soft chuckle "apparently I still have two."

"Rosie loves you– I have to thank you for that, giving Rosie a father figure."

"Wouldn't trade it for anything else."

"I know."

Another, comfortable silence falls like a thick blanket. Knowing each other well enough to know what they're thinking– a smile creeping on both men's faces at the sight of you pushing yourself past some people and beelining towards the duo.

"Mind If I join?"

Scooting aside, both Sam and bucky make space for you in between and your arm that snakes around Bucky's back gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling– he pulls you closer into his side with his arm dropped over your shoulder

"A year ago you nearly passed out." You mumble softly

"I didn't pass out." Bucky scoffs

"I said nearly–"

"Not even nearly."

"The nurses had to sit you down."

"They never–"

"They did!"

It's a game of back and forth, getting underneath each other's skin and Bucky hopes things like this will never change even if you decided to spend the rest of your life with steve. The silly arguments, the silly fights and the lame jokes– bucky would be alright as long as that stayed.

The squeeze around his side makes Bucky aware you're still there. Locking eyes with yours, one's he's found himself lost in many times before, he copies your smile.

"What?"

"Nothing– we did good." You state.

Though things didn't go the way it was supposed to, the two of you did good indeed, more than good even.

"I think we did amazing." Bucky smiles back.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder a bit tighter, he places a quick kiss on your forehead before following your gaze into the crowd, his daughter, his son, his family and steve.

It's good this way.

"So, guys," Sam clears his throat from beside you "really gotta know what happened on hailey her birthday party that day."

"No, you don't." You and Bucky chuckle in unison "you really don't."

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #rosie and i*

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caterpellas · 4 years

Text

munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving)

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here) word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo, a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry #fine line album #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut

709 notes · View notes

aseioh · 3 years

Text

Kintsugi

Author’s Notes: This is something that I’ve been working on for a while. Hopefully you can enjoy it too, as its been a joy writing this scene.

It was the day after the ball, the inhabitants of the castle are still recovering from the festivities of the night. Inside the garden two Lords are having tea and discussing village matters. It may seem so ordinary for the two of them to talk, but one of them can barely follow what is being said.

Donna has been dreading this day. Her mansions repair is coming along nicely and will be finished by the end of the week. And fearing the connection brewing between her and the eldest Dimitrescu, she has decided to remove herself from the Castle.

Donna made her excuses, citing that it would be better for her to stay with Heisenberg for the remainder of the week. Their new project has been coming along nicely and it would be prudent for her to stay close by in case of a breakthrough.

Alcina merely nods in acknowledgement but gives Donna a piercing stare she uses when she’s caught a prey.

“Donna tell me what do you think of my daughters?” Alcina asked as if merely enquiring about the weather although her tone suggest otherwise.

Picking up the teacup between them, Donna takes a sip before replying “they’re wonderful, you’ve raised them well. You must be very proud.” It was obvious for the two Lords that there is an internal chess match between the two. And Alcina never once a being who likes to beat around the matter goes for the offensive.

“You do know Bela fancies you right. In fact, she’s down right smitten with you. I would even say that you have felt the same” She sees Donna tense, her hands tightening around the cup handle. She goes for the kill.

“So tell me truthfully Donna, why run?”

There was a tense silence between the two as Alcina lets her words sink in. She’s been hearing the gossips going around the house and believe it or not servants do gossips. The fact that the two are often seen together alone has only fueled the rumors around the house.

Donna considers the questions and as she meets Alcina eye to eye, Alcina can see the power within the stare. Afterall Donna is one of the village Lord, no matter how slight her built might be.

“Believe me when I say that I never intend to harm your daughter, but Alcina look at me. Look at me clearly and tell me what you see. Am I not a hideous monster that needs to be chained and hidden away?” She paused as emotions she never thought would feel build up within her. Speaking like this with Alcina, its as if she’s confessing her whole being to someone other than Mother Miranda.

It was liberating.

“I have nothing to offer your daughter, neither power nor protection. Of the four of us I am the weakest, I hide behind shadows and my dolls, I live in an empty mansion that house ghost of the past.”

“What could I possibly give in exchange for her love. No Alcina, Bela deserves someone better. Someone that can protect her when the time comes.”

Faced with Donna’s somber and heart felt confession Alcina could only offer her silence. Donna knowing that the floodgates for her emotions has opened continues with her monologue “I even envy Moreau. At least he can face forward and strive for something, no matter how twisted that dream might be, whereas I, I’m a ghost of my past without a hope for a future. Living day by day and hoping that one day some villager or outsider finally comes through and end my miserable existence.”

A different voice answers her pleas.

The only voice that matters to Donna.

Bela enters the room; she stands in front of Donna and with unshed tears she asked, “Do you truly mean that?”

Donna is transfixed by the arrival of Bela. For once she doesn’t have Angie with her to take over and thus with no other option has gone still on her chair.

Alcina stands up and begins to leave the pair. On her way out she spies two sets of eyes and a pair of doll eyes. “Come along children, let’s give the two of them peace and quiet. I believe that they will need it desperately.”

“Will my Mistress be alright?” for once Angie sounds unsure, gone were her excitable tone and was replaced by solemnity.

“Yes. Yes, I believe so. After all Bela will ensure that from now on” Alcina says cryptically as she herds the three away from the room.

Inside the room is a completely different story all together.

The tense atmosphere is reminiscent of the first time they have talked together all those weeks ago.

“Do you truly mean what you said Donna?” at that Bela kneels in front of Donna, never breaking eye contact.

“How much did you hear?” Donna whispers voice trembling from all the emotion she currently feels.

“Everything”

“Then you should know that what I’ve said is true. Bela you deserve someone better, A bright star like you should never settle for anything less.”

“Donna, it’s not about what I deserve. It’s about what I want. And I very much want you. I love you. Remember what you told me all those weeks ago, about loving and being loved in return. I want to love you Donna, please. Let me tend to your heart, as I’m sure you will tend to mine. I don’t need protection, and we can certainly protect each other”

“My love, let me give you something that you can live by. Let me share your burden, in the end isn’t that what love is really about? Let me mend what is broken and together we will be stronger” Bela ends her speech with tears running down her cheeks. Truly, such declarations of love have never been uttered in these walls.

With that revelation Donna made her decision. The only decision that truly mattered in her life. With passion burning her action she surges forward and captures Bela’s lips with her own. The two embraced and for once the buzzing in Bela’s head fell completely silent and for Donna all fear and apprehension simply vanished.

Parting for a bit to catch their breath, both still smiling widely that it almost hurt. Donna did what she thought was the most courageous thing she has done in her life. Cupping Bela’s face with both hands so that they see eye to eye, Donna whispers oh so sweetly.

“I love you too Bela, please be mine” before capturing her lips once again.

There will be time for tomorrow when the high of newfound love wears off and the reality of their situation rises. But for now, the two lovers share a sweet kiss and offers of warm safety in their embrace.

The end.

Notes: Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.

As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.

Hopefully you’ve understood my meaning in the end.

#resident evil village #Beladonna #bela dimitrescu #donna beneviento

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katsuflossy · 4 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

Pairing: Dabi x reader

WC: 2.3k

TW: Detailed parental abuse, detailed description of a mental episode, obscenities, mention of arranged marriage

A/n: ngl all of this is severely overdue but the recent chapter made my creative juices flow so here we are! Please enjoy💖

Taglist: @melanimed @mixfi @mythiccheroacademia @myhoodacademia @mypimpademia @ecao @strawberry-ice @plutropica @photosbyameil @lunabby010 @iiminibattlehero @sleepysheepkiara

The air was crisp, dark, and cold, what one had expected for the autumn night. Only a few patrons roamed the streets in the twilight. Those that wander under the streetlight had their eyes crossed, mind buzzed, and hand full of one final drink due to being kicked out of the bars. The ladies of the kingdom stayed within the comfort of their homes. They laid around the compassion of their loves or their families, only knowing of the horrors of the outside through gossip. The most recent urban legend paced through the streets with a scowl fixed on his face. Azure eyes glowed danger through the darkness, never revealing the coat-clad scarred body until passing under the street lights. The drunks waddled out of Dabi’s way, feeling the rolls of anger off of him from a twenty-meter radius. For once, the fire quirk wielder ignored the low bastards, never smirking as they cowered in fear nor sparking their shoes afire, laughing as they tried to put them out. No, his mind was occupied, fist clenching and unclenching in the pocket of his coat. Thoughts of past and future overwrote each other in his brain, creating a void of black in his mind. His own psyche started to turn on him again, knowing what’s about to happen would risk many lives. However, Dabi cared only about two lives-- his own and yours.

Like God gave him a sign, he passed the alleyway of a sweet memory. Running away from authority was his regular schedule since the age of 11 but he was close to getting caught one day. Caught but cunning, Dabi held you, hostage, by the neck. The little blue flame from his finger close to searing the flesh of your cheek as he backed into the dark alleyway, away from the entire police force out front. He dragged you through numerous yards before you begged him to stop, hands on your knees as you gulped for air. Glowing eyes stared at the ruby necklace that swang from your neck, almost daring him to try to take it. The second his fingertips could graze the jewel you slapped him away, grip tight on the chain and a fire in your eyes.

“You could take anything from me—shit even the pads of my shoes if you want—but I don’t want you to take this. Here, I’m sure the ring will cost more.” You glided the ring off your hand before offering it to Dabi.

Confused couldn’t even describe Dabi’s thoughts at that moment. Are you really offering a lowlife scum precious jewels? With a smile on your face?

“Are you demented?” The tilt of your lips turned down into a scowl. A haughty hmph passed your nostrils as you looked away from the criminal.

“You were stealing from Greggley’s pawn shop. The same bastard that swindles townsfolk out of their money and rats out people to the police for a living. I’d pay to see that fear on his face again when you ran off with me and his pile of stolen goods. So here’s my payment.” Dabi cautiously took the sapphire ring from your palm. The situation was ironic, he seemed more fearful than you. Cyan eyes watched as the dust on your outfit disappeared by the pats and sweeps of your hands before jumping up. You stayed rocking from the heels of your feet to the soles, eyes waiting expectantly on the chilled man to say something. Instead, his eyes bored straight into yours, deadpanned as he occasionally averted his gaze from the entrance of the deep alley, then back to you. The shouts of police guards had left from long ago; the sounds of their frantic pace went far off into the distance. Yet, you remained in this cramped space with him.

It unnerved him to no end.

“Well, your highness, your mutts went the other way to look for you. You can scurry away now,” He questioned his words. Why is he letting you go so easily? You were a perfect hostage. Just by your yelp, he could have your father in his palms, an important piece to the league’s ultimate plan. The smile on your face didn’t ease his confusion at all. His eyes burned with irritation, upset by your cheerful demeanor.

“Oi, are you fucking braindead? I said scram,” Your face dropped, forming a pout before pulling into a smile again. Dabi felt his eye twitch as you began to chuckle. His hand igniting blue flames as he stepped towards you. You put your hands up into the chilly air.

“Woah now, I’m just saying I could be of more use, Mr. Criminal.” The heat dissipated from his hand. His eyes looked as cold as marbles but within his head, he roamed over the possibilities, how and why should he trust you. Dabi was never a gambler, always a mouse wary of traps but today, he felt lucky. The once fiery hand laid out before you, staples glinting in the dim lighting.

“Dabi,” his eyes roamed over your face, noticing the crinkles at the corner of your eyes never softening, the gleam in your eyes shining more than before. You were actually happy.

“You already know my last name but that’s unimportant right now. The name’s (Y/n).”

The memory cleared away like smoke, reminding Dabi of his mission now. His hand clenched around nothing, his fist tight to relieve the searing anger in his chest. He imagined burning Shigaraki over and over, enveloping in the heat of his wrath as punishment for putting him on this mission.

Red beady eyes looked at Dabi in nonchalance, ignoring the smoke rising from his scarred hand.

“We built our whole organization on this end goal. We are one step closer to annihilating these ‘heroes’ and you’re rejecting this offer? Over some little noble mole?” the insult adding more fuel to Dabi’s rage and fire. His flames barely reached Tomura before being engulfed into another dimension thanks to Kurogiri’s interference. Unrelenting glares fixed at each other. Even then Shigaraki continued.

“I’m not saying it again. Either you do your job and save your blue-blood or they die by our hands.”

His eye pulsed; an ache coiled around his nape to his temple. His own anger throbbed in his head and blindsided his mind. He could add Shigaraki to his body count but your life, to him, was paramount. He withdrew his fire, recollecting himself before shoving his hands into his pockets. He surveyed the room, eyes scanning all the league in disdain; the others avoided his intense gaze. The gravel crunched under his heavy boots as he stomped out of the hideout.

Shigaraki’s threats echoed through Dabi’s head, anger already swelling at the thought of his red eyes as Dabi reached the edge of your house. The whirls of wind carried his coat in their stream, pulling the fabric all about. The walls of dark stone contrasted the warm yellow lights of your not-so-humble but welcoming abode. Dabi only knew the layout of your room but whenever he’s in there, there were hardly any lights from behind your bedroom door, just the occasional shuffling of the maids.

He halted his thoughts, pressing his foot against a jutted brick before hopping on to another. His movements were smooth and familiar as if he had perfected this route. He sat on the window’s stony ledge, fingers rapting against its pane, staring into the night as he waited on you to open the window panel.

Meanwhile, you were balled up in a corner, fingernails creating welts on your skin. Still, the stinging pain didn’t distract you from the taste of iron in your mouth, the phantom feeling of blunt rings on your cheek. Your silent cries shook you to your core, sharp inhales forced your weeping to stop, only for them to return again. All crying ceased once you heard knocking on your window, the same three raps then two softer taps only known to two. A familiar rhythm, one that closely relates to the song you made the criminal danced to during one night at a pub. The precious memory was unable to soothe the paranoia of your mind right now. A hitch in your breath paused all noises in your little quarter. If you stopped breathing, maybe he’d think no one was home. You ultimately stopped breathing only for harsher rapping to strike against your window.

On shaky legs, you stood up, swiping off any trails of tears and snot from your face. The cold air greeting you swung open the window for Dabi, who immediately hopped into the warm comb. He barely skimmed over your appearance before asking.

“What the fuck happened to you?” His hand came up to your swollen cheek; an obvious insignia marked the skin. You didn’t flinch away, instead, you wet your lips, pressing more into his palm. His hands were chilly from the cold outside but the contact warmed your entire body.

“I can’t do it anymore, Dabi.” A broken whisper escaped your lungs. Tears bled through your closed eyes, wetting Dabi’s thumb as he swiped a lone one away. He stood still, billions of thoughts jumbling in his mind as you bawled into his chest. Should he do this? On this night? Your well-being and the league’s plan fought for his attention. Every thought of his mission drowned by the sight of the insignia on your face.

“(Y/n), what the fuck did he do to you?” His shirt crumpled within your hands as you contemplated telling him the truth.

Nobody expected your father, an honorary Knight-Captain, to abuse his only child. It took one loose-lipped servant to say that you were seeing a commoner man in the kingdom for him to wrap his hands around your throat. You remember your body flailing, the coldness of your cheeks as tears fell from your bulging eyes. He dropped you by your mother’s cold command. As you gulped for any type of air she told you to stand. Her patience grew thin quickly as she ripped you off of the ground, your legs nearly collapsing from the force. A shroud of care she put herself under, letting her adorned knuckles skim across your cheekbones as she talked about your fate. You're being shipped off to marry the highest knight family, the Todorokis. Enjirou, commander of the Kingsguard, sought after you for his son, Natsuo Todoroki, for months. Your inappropriate actions caused your arranged marriage to arrive quicker. Her veil lifted, and in an instant, she whipped her hand across your face, the blow smacking your staggering body to the side. Their eyes entertained at your cry. She fixed her rings as she declared your fate. House arrest until the Todorokis picked up their new toy. They left you on the ground, weeping until Dabi arrived.

Stammers and hiccups escaped your lips instead of comprehensible words. His shirt crumpled under the intensity of your grip. In that time, Dabi had gathered all the information needed. The look in his eyes was unreadable as he loosened your constriction on his clothes, fingers interlacing in between your shaky digits. A shadow cast over his face as he talked to you.

“(Y/n),” your eyes dull and lost, you were wrapped up in your own severed psyche. A finger on your chin, he guided you to meet his eyes.

“Let me fix this,” It wasn’t a duel, but warfare that unfolded in his headspace as he asked, begged for your permission. You barely felt yourself nod before seeing the flame reignited in Dabi’s eyes. The smile on his face grew like a wildfire, nearly meeting the staples under his eyes. He left your numb body with a soft peck and a willful promise before walking, for the first time, out your bedroom door. Muted footsteps sounded miles away even though he left the door wide open. When did you end up on the ground, scraped knees meeting the plush of your rug, though you did not feel it? The warmth of the room dissipated from the air, goosebumps rising along your skin. Your body could only focus on one sense at a time, tuning into the sounds around you. Though muffled, you could hear the guttural screaming coming from rooms away. The cries formed into pleas before morphing back into incomprehensibility. Whether your body was protecting you from further trauma or not, your audible sense shut off only to look at the smeared blood all over your rug. Your ears never picked up on your outcry, pushing your diaphragm, but Dabi’s did.

He sprinted back to your room immediately, leaving his fires to completely consume your parents and lick at the foundations of the walls. His black coat draped over your body before he lifted you into his arms. The hungry fire now satiated, he left the same way he entered but with now, with you within his arms.

He knows what he did wrong, rubbing salt into your traumatic wounds, but he had a mission to do. He held your trembling body closer to his lithe frame. The league finally made their first step to instigating chaos but that did not matter right now. Dashing through the alleyways, he took a look into your blank eyes, cast away into another realm. The sounds of the Knights fighting against your burning house faded as he ran. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he made another promise to you.

“No one will ever tear us apart. I don’t care if this whole place burns to the ground. Just know you are the only one that matters. It’ll just be me and you at the end. Whatever it takes to get there.”

#bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x black reader #dabi x poc reader #dabi x black!reader

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heyitsdoe · 3 years

Text

Dearly Devoted | Charlotte Katakuri x OC Chapter 3

Words: 8.9k

<- Chapter 2

A loud knocking at the door awakened the giant Princess, who'd only managed fits of restless sleep throughout the night. Nerves prevented any sort of valuable rest, producing cloudy visions of scenarios of what the day might bring. None of them were particularly positive. Groggy eyes blinked away the light that filtered in through the bedroom window now that morning had arrived. Why did it have to be so bright so early?

"Princess! We must begin getting you ready for the ceremony!" A female voice exclaimed from the hallway outside, knocking a few more times for good measure, as if her banging up to this point hadn't already roused Yuna from sleep. "There is no time to waste in bed!"

Right. The wedding day. Yuna had been hoping for a less startling beginning to the morning, but she supposed none of this was going as expected. Smoothing out the worst of her seafoam-green bedhead and pulling her sluggish limbs from underneath the covers, Yuna swung them out and stood on the soft carpet, walking over to the door and mentally preparing herself for whatever bombardment she was about to be subject to. Her experience with the seamstresses the night before left little doubt that a plethora of people were waiting in the wings to swoop in and overwhelm her with whatever they were here for.

To her shock, the door opened to welcome a lone woman-very short even by average standards and a set of extra arms below the first pair. The tiny blonde-haired woman looked up, holding oversized towels and several products for the bath with incredible ease. She gave a wide smile, holding up the items in her hands a bit. "Good morning, Princess! How did you sleep?"

"Truthfully, not very-"

"Well, a nice hot bath should wake you up!" The woman chirped with glee, stepping past Yuna to enter the bedroom with her things. "We mustn't take long, many preparations are underway for your wedding today. We don't want to be late!"

Yuna gave a tired sigh, both from exhaustion and the growing realization that 80% of her sentences so far had been interrupted before she could finish them. How frustrating. Not to mention, a bath would simply drain her energy further given her devil fruit ability. "Alright."

Following after the tiny attendant, who lead her into the guest room's connected bathroom, Yuna watched as she set the items on the counter and went to draw the shallow bath built into the floor. The water was hot and steaming even as it came out of the spout, the water rising much quicker than she would have expected.

The small woman began sectioning out the products she'd brought with her as she waited for the bath to fill, before looking up at the much taller woman curiously.

"You will need to...undress for the bath, Princess."

"Right." She muttered with a blink, realizing that she was supposed to actually be doing something instead of just standing there like a child. Her fingers went to fiddle with the edge of her nightgown sleeves. "I'm sorry, my mind is elsewhere."

"That is why I am here. To make sure we don't fall behind schedule." The woman said with a happy smile, clasping her two sets of hands together. Then, she looked up at Yuna seriously, taking her addled thoughts as nervousness. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. "And don't worry. The seamstresses already let us know about the bandages. We've been instructed not to ask or comment on them while we prepare you for the wedding. It isn't our intention to make you uncomfortable, so please don't be nervous about such a thing."

The Princess' face grew hot, fingers clenching. She stared down at the woman's face, seeing no trace of judgement or disgust. The seamstresses had broken one of the two promises they'd sworn to, but Yuna could see that it was done out of concern for her own comfort rather than in the sake of gossip. At least, she hoped that was their only reasoning for it.

"Who is 'we,' exactly?"

"Just those will be preparing you for the wedding. Your secret is safe with us!"

"Thank you." Yuna whispered, unsure what else to say. Her emotions were a mixed bag of being touched by the sentiment and mortified that so many unknown people were aware of what was hidden underneath her gown without her consent.

The tiny woman's smile returned in full, bright as a shining sun. "Of course!"

Yuna slowly lifted the nightgown over her head, depositing the garment in the basket beside the bath. By this time, the bath was filled. Her attendant quickly turned off the water and gestured to the products now lined along the bath's edge. "There are scented oils you may use to your liking, other lotions and such, but please don't take long. The hairdressers and make up artists will arrive in half an hour to start getting you ready."

"Ok."

"Would you like assistance with the bandages?" She offered, but Yuna shook her head.

"I'll manage by myself. And...could you please see about getting me fresh ones?"

Happy to be of service, she nodded. "Right away!" With a spring in her step, the woman turned in place and left the bathing room. Yuna swallowed back her nerves, knowing she didn't have a lot of time to dawdle, and began peeling away at the white cloth secured around her body.

With practiced ease, the yards of bandages fell away to the ground, some portions smudged with dried blood. Her skin grew chilled when exposed to the open air. The pile on the floor grew, until the last coil slipped from her wrist. She looked around for a trash can, and picked up her discarded rags. Pushing it as far down into the can as possible, she hoped that the cleaning staff wouldn't ask any uncomfortable questions later down the line.

Yuna eased into the prepared bath with a sigh. The heated water felt glorious on her skin. The accompanying fatigue from being submerged was nearly ignorable from how good the temperature felt. What's more, she didn't have to worry too much about drowning in the bath, as the shallow depth and smaller width prevented her from unintentionally slipping underneath the water.

It was a small time of respite from what was sure to be a hectic day. The calm before the storm. Yuna relished every second she could in peace and solitude. Once her attendants began getting her ready, she highly doubted there would be a moment of quiet until later that night. And at that point, she would be expected to accompany Katakuri to his home...wherever that may be. He was supposedly a minister of one of the islands, but did he live in the castle?

A sudden terrifying thought made her still as she worked the lid off of one of the scented oils. Did Totto Land expect consummation of marriage on the wedding night? Seiiki Kingdom did not practice such an archaic tradition, and Big Mom didn't seem like the type to care about such a thing. Totto Land as a whole was very eccentric and informal, generally. But one never knew.

She knew nothing of Katakuri, and based off of his behavior when they'd first met, she highly doubted he would be willing to spend much time bonding at any point during the ceremony today. She'd be sharing a bed with a complete stranger, and perhaps expected to engage in such an intimate activity with him. Such a thing would require her to remove her clothing and display the bandages. Or underneath even those...

Yuna shook the thought from her mind, telling herself that she could confront that terrifying situation if it came to be. But for now, she could do nothing but soak in the lovely bathwater and dread the events that were to come.

Her limbs felt heavy and all of the energy was drained from her body. If she wasn't careful, she would fall back asleep just soaking in the water, but the overhanging time limit kept her alert and awake enough to see the rest of her bath through. Her attendant returned not long after with a small first aid kit gripped in one of her four hands.

"I wasn't able to get this without a nurse seeing me, so if anyone asks, you accidentally got pricked by the seamstresses' needles!" She explained with a wink and a grin, setting the box on the bathroom counter further away. Yuna nodded her understanding. "There's only a few minutes left for you to bathe, I'm afraid. We don't want to run behind schedule."

"I understand."

"Would you like me to leave while you dry off and apply the bandages again?" The woman offered, and Yuna paused before responding with a long sigh.

"No need to make a complicated process out of this, I suppose. You already know about them. What difference would it make if you see underneath?" The Princess decided with reluctance, wondering if she would regret this decision later on. But in the essence of time and simplicity, she could bear this temporary discomfort. "Besides, we don't have much time as you said. Having help will get it done faster."

"As you wish."

Yuna realized that she hadn't even bothered to ask this woman's name, and felt incredibly rude for it. She had been so kind, and part of her thought that this whole thing would feel less uncomfortable if she actually knew who she was.

"What is your name?"

The blonde's brows shot up, not having expected the question. "Oh! I am Minette. I should have introduced myself earlier, but I wasn't sure it mattered."

She nodded, committing it to her memory. "Well, Minette. I'm sorry in advance for what you'll see."

With that, Yuna rose from the bath and grabbed one of the towels that lay waiting on the edge, wrapping herself with it as best she could. Her arms and legs were still left bare, and Yuna was impressed with Minette's ability to not stare in a way that made her cower in on herself. Her patient smile never slipped, and her eyes gave no indication that she was disturbed by the sight of her naked body.

It did a lot to ease her nervousness.

Yuna was dried, rewrapped in bandages, and sat in the chair before the vanity in record time. Minette had made the bandaging process much quicker given her extra sets of hands, but Yuna's nerves were on edge the entire time, unused to having someone help her do that part of her routine. So far, so good, though.

The two women in charge of doing her hair, and the two in charge of her make up all arrived at the same time minutes later, fretting about the guest room as they prepared to make her beautiful for the day. Minette was still present, waiting for instruction and smiling happily from a nearby chair as she watched the two hairdressers begin taming her seafoam-colored locks.

"What is Seiiki like?" The tiny woman suddenly questioned, her four arms settling on her lap as she sat in her own chair further away. "I've heard people call it a sanctuary."

"It is. We help escaped slaves lead a new life after their captivity." Yuna explained, wincing as one of the women pulled just a little too hard on the comb through her hair. "My father has always tried to make it as peaceful and prosperous a place as he possibly could."

"Well, any good leader tries to do that, darling." One of the hairdressers said with a chuckle. "That doesn't make it very unique, I'm afraid."

"Of course." Yuna conceded the point. "We simply keep our citizens pasts in mind, and try our best to make sure we are always considerate of that when passing policy and laws. He is no tyrant king, is what I mean to say.

"The people are kind and caring, and many seek artistry as a means of expression. Seiiki is filled with many talented artists and musicians, and we frequently have concerts or plays performed in the Royal Theatre. There are festivals when the trees turn a beautiful orange and red in autumn. It's lively and good fun."

"It sounds like a wonderful place." Minette chimed in, smile never fading. "A paradise just like Totto Land... I didn't know such a country existed."

Yuna tried to explain that Totto Land and Seiiki were entirely different places, but the two make-up artists sitting in wait for her hair to be finished both laughed between themselves before she could get a word out.

"No place is like Totto Land, silly Minette!"

"And even if there was, everyone knows better than to leave."

The women all laughed together, perhaps some hilarious joke that Yuna didn't know the context to. Yuna was forced to sit still, her hair being yanked in all sorts of directions as it was combed and treated with more hair products from their little bag. They certainly weren't gentle, but at the very least skilled.

Makeup was next once her hair had been teased into beautiful, wavy curls that framed her face. Yuna's face was attacked by their various creams and powders, brushes swiping across her skin with practiced ease. The Princess was more or less forced to keep her eyes closed during this portion of her makeover, not wanting to get anything in them. The scent of the powders nearly made her sneeze.

Their constant bickering didn't help dampen her nerves of coming out of this looking like a clown.

"A natural look is what we want."

"Natural? This is a wedding day! Bold and dazzling is what we want!"

"No, no...red is too harsh for her skin tone. And her hair! It sticks out to much."

"Well, we don't want her looking washed out! Everything is pastel this, and pastel that. We want some color, my darling."

"A darker brow will set this bring this whole look together."

"We want a roasted chestnut color, not a charcoal black! Step aside, I'll do her brows myself."

Yuna decided that butting in with her own preferences or opinion would do nothing but upset both artists, and elected to stay silent in her chair. With luck, their two drastic styles would meet somewhere in the middle and look alright. Surely Big Mom wouldn't allow her to look ridiculous walking down the aisle. Right?

Finally, after what felt like ages, her face was left alone and she felt the space occupied by the two make up artists in front of her become vacant. They'd stepped back, and one of them gave a quiet chuckle.

"Open your eyes, my dear."

Tentatively, Yuna cracked one eye open, then the other, and gazed upon her reflection in the vanity's mirror. She blinked, impressed with their skill and how everything had come together. Her brown eyes were accentuated with dark lashes and a swipe of green eyeshadow. Full lips were colored a subtle red, not too striking to draw attention from her face, but not too light as to blend in. It was a little more than Yuna typically applied on herself, though for a special occasion as mentioned, she supposed it made sense to do so.

"It looks wonderful." Yuna complimented, tilting her head back and forth to see her face from all angles.

"Well of course, it does. We aren't amateurs." The second artist gave an eye roll, as if such a suggestion was absurd.

"I'm sure Katakuri-sama won't be able to take his eyes off of you!" Minette chipped in from her own chair, a dreamy smile brightening her expression.

Yuna had her doubts, but felt it would be cruel to dampen the mood, if only for the other womens' sakes. She returned Minette's smile with a small one of her own. "You may be right."

Several harsh knocks once again banged on the door, and the familiar team of seamstresses burst through without waiting for entry.

"The bride must dress!" The head seamstress announced. "Please leave the rest to us."

With nods, the hairdressers and makeup artists packed up their things and left in a hurry, more than happy to allow the seamstresses to finish up getting the bride prepared. Yuna was ushered out of the chair and made to stand on the platform from the night before.

The room was abuzz with women once more, though four of them were already taking her finished gown off the mannequin and dragging it closer to her. Yuna's eyes didn't know where to settle, and so were constantly tracking different people, before settling on the head seamstress who approached her with a serious expression.

"Will the bandages remain?" She gestured to Yuna's body with curiosity.

Her fingers clenched. "Y-yes. They will."

"I see. Adjustments will be made." Was her only reply, before turning and helping the four women gather her gown together.

Yuna felt leagues better once the fabric covered her bandage-wrapped skin. Having her secret exposed for others to see was a never-ending anxiety in the back of her mind. It was necessary to get through the wedding process, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

The Princess stood straight as they laced the back of the gown up, all the way to the back of her neck. Custom fit to her body, the whole thing fit snugly and comfortably. The others fluffed out the dress so that it was on full display to make sure nothing had come apart from the night before. As if Yuna would have tampered with it in any way.

Her eyes closed, letting them do their work and taking a deep breath to steady her beating heart. With the full ensemble together, reality was catching up to her at a breakneck speed. This was her wedding. Her special day. Well, it was supposed to be. It didn't all that special at the moment.

An itch began to build just behind her nose, but she held back the desire to cry. So much work had been done on her appearance, she didn't want to ruin all of the work that had been put into it. And she had a feeling everyone would be able to tell that she'd been crying, no matter how hard she might try to hide the fact.

"You look so beautiful, Princess..." Minette's reassuring and quiet praise made Yuna open her eyes. The small attendant stood to the side in front of her, her hands clasped together with evident tears in her eyes. Her smile was dazzling. "I've never seen a bride so enchanting."

"How many weddings have you assisted with?" Yuna questioned, more so to distract herself than wanting to know an answer.

"Oh, maybe a dozen? Big Mom has many daughters!"

"Then surely I do not compare."

"Nonsense! You have the grace and serenity that I would expect of a Princess, and truthfully, most of the Charlotte daughters are...well, harsh, if I had to say." Minette gave a little laugh, stepping aside as one of the seamstresses ducked under Yuna's dress to make whatever adjustments they needed to the underside. "I respect them very much, but they make for very unorthodox brides."

"Hmm." Yuna responded, unsure what else to say.

"There. It is finished." The head seamstress concluded as she nestled the veil into her hair, and all of the women stepped back to see their handiwork.

Yuna caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and had to admit that she did look like the picture of what a bride should. The white veil covering her face, coupled with the stunning white gown...she was wedding ready on the surface. All that was missing was a bouquet of flowers to hold.

In her chest her heart hammered a painful beat, aching for the absence of her father and brothers. Denji would have teased her for the primness of her appearance, followed by Genji's incredulous reply that there was no need to be rude. Her father would have gazed upon her with fondness, and told her that she reminded him of her mot-

"Our job is finished." The seamstress continued in a loud tone, gathering up their things and taking the now-empty mannequin with them. "Minette, please escort the Princess to the chapel. Mama would like her to wait there before the ceremony begins."

A sudden thought came to mind. "My retainer-"

"He will be sent to the chapel as well."

And with that, the team of women disappeared again, leaving her and Minette standing in the middle of the guest room in silence. Yuna forced herself to take a careful breath, fingers clenching the edges of her wedding gown's white sleeves. This was all too much...

"Breathe, Princess. It is almost time for the ceremony, and we don't want you passing out from shock." The attendant's hand placed itself against the fabric around her leg, noticing the strained expression and her tense shoulders. "Follow me. I'll bring you to the chapel, and you'll be able to sit down for a moment in some peace and quiet."

"Yes..." Yuna said, slightly out of breath. There was no excuse for losing her composure now. So close to securing protection for her country, the Princess of Seiiki would not break under the pressure. Every challenge that presented itself here forth, she would undertake and overcome. Her fortifying nod followed after. "Yes, ok."

_____________________________________________________________

The chapel was silent, as Minette had promised. Blissful peace.

Yuna sat upon one of the pews at the front of the room, elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. The bouquet that Minette had handed to her before letting her have a few moments of solitude sat on the seat next to her. She glanced at it, trying to appreciate the colorful arrangement of flowers someone else had picked out for the occasion, but couldn't bring herself to care too much.

"Your vows are on a piece of paper in the bouquet." Minette had instructed, giving her an encouraging smile and a squeeze of her finger. Her tiny hand couldn't wrap around anything bigger on the bride. "You'll do great, I know it. And congratulations, Princess!"

Her eyes wandered to the podium that took up the center of the raised platform at the head of the chapel, overlooking where the congregation would have sat. The whole place looked so plain in comparison to the rest of Totto Land. It hardly seemed used. What was the point of a chapel if the wedding ceremony wouldn't be conducted in it? None of the residents struck her as the religious type either. When your life rested in the hands of a Yonko, she supposed it left little room for belief of a higher power.

The sound of a door opening made her glance back, nerves tensing her shoulders. But they fell in relief when she spotted Daigon slipping inside. The naval captain froze upon seeing her, before approaching with a cautiousness she hadn't expected.

"Princess..." He muttered, coming to stand before her and look upon the bride. The man was dressed in his finest uniform, the colors of their kingdom shown off with a pin on his chest. His normally unkempt, salt-colored hair was combed and trimmed. And while he wore a cologne to present his best, she could still smell the underlying salty stench that would always remind her of him. One might find it offensive, but she felt only a sense of comforting familiarity in this strange land.

His face was an open book, so unlike what was typical. The guarded, cynical man could barely suppress his wonder at the sight of the young woman before him. A hand slicked back through his hair, blinking a few times. Did he expect her to disappear?

"You, uh..." He began again, clearing his throat a few times to get rid of the huskiness in his tone. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." She replied, some of her nerves dampening with the warmth of his genuine compliment. Coming from him of all people, it meant more than she could describe. "I'm surprised you didn't come to my room this morning."

"I tried to, but...they wouldn't let me near your door. Said you were getting prepared and couldn't be disturbed." Daigon gave a shrug. "I figured causing a scene would have given you trouble, so I abided their terms."

"I appreciate it."

They both went silent after that, neither sure of what to say, until Daigon walked over and moved her bouquet to the side so he could sit on the seat beside her. His hand reached for hers, only managing to cradle half of her palm.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Not particularly."

"And how are you feeling?"

"Terrified. Yet, calm." The bride frowned a bit. "I don't know how to describe it."

Yuna took a deep breath, before letting it all out in a huff. Her head shook slowly. "I'm so nervous, it takes everything in me not to shake or scream or cry. But at the same time..." She looked down at her hands. "...I know this is what I need to do. Like I was destined for it. I'll do my best to make Father proud, and all of the people back home. That alone is what's kept me together so far."

Daigon nodded but was unable to mask the expression of pain entirely. It was replaced with a sudden determination, and his eyes met hers directly. "Ask me to whisk you away back to Seiiki, Princess, and I'd do it. No matter how impossible it may be, I'd find a way. This may be your last chance to decide."

"Daigon-"

"My crew, they too would fight until their last breath on your behalf. If it meant you could return home, they would risk everything, the Emperor of the Sea's wrath be damned. So just say the word, and we'll burst out that window right there back to the ship." He pointed towards the stained glass towards their left. "This could all be a bad dream, an experience you can forget and never look back on."

Yuna stared at the window for a long time, before smiling quietly back at him, enclosing his hand in her palm with her other one. "We both know I will not ask that of you or your men. Big Mom's forces would strike you down as soon as we stepped foot outside of the garden. Seeing you lose your lives for me is not something that would bring me happiness. The cost of that freedom is too high."

The naval captain scoffed, clearly disagreeing, eyes downturned to the floor in anger. No doubt he blamed himself for being unable to find a way out of her predicament.

"I've made up my mind. I will go through with this wedding and protect everyone we love back home. This is a joyous day for the kingdom of Seiiki, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. So please do not be angry." Her hand squeezed his slightly, drawing his gaze upwards. "It's my wedding day, after all."

His expression hardened, but beneath the cracks she could see the struggle to keep himself composed. For a moment, his eyes took on a glassy appearance. "As you wish, Princess." He muttered.

Someone cleared their throat from behind them. Despite only having heard him speak a few sentences at most, Yuna could tell who stood in the doorway by his presence alone. Daigon swung his head to take in the sight of her groom, glaring his blatant displeasure at being interrupted, but she merely closed her eyes in preparation.

The time had come.

"The ceremony is about to start." Katakuri's deep tone explained, and she heard the naval captain low growl.

"It can wait. The Princess needs a moment to-"

"It's alright." She interrupted, garnering her companions attention. She flashed him another smile, this one feeling much more enthusiastic than what her emotions reflected. For his sake. "I'll be alright, Daigon. Please, make sure Father knows that. Denji and Genji, too."

He merely looked at her. She leaned down to envelope him in a hug, thankful for his presence up to this point. There was a very minuscule chance that she would see him again after this, if her experiences so far were anything to go by. Pulling back after a moment, she retrieved her bouquet from beside her and stood to her full height, making sure the veil was in place over her face.

Turning, she gazed upon her groom for the second time. Dressed in much more formal a uniform-though still retaining his fluffy scarf to hide his face-he was just as intimidating, if not more so, than before. His large build stood out in the fitted dress shirt and black vest. This one was buttoned, she thought with mild amusement. Black dress pants and shoes completed the look. Other than the odd accessory and the short, fluffy hair that came across as untamable, he looked as much a groom as she did a bride. A match made in...ah, hmm. Well, it was a match at the very least.

The thumping in her chest grew more pronounced, to the point that she worried he would somehow know. Despite knowing nothing about him, she got the impression that he was extremely observant. Those piercing eyes, and the way he held himself. Confidence like that didn't come from ignorance, surely. But her own determination tramped down the fear and kept it in check. Her expression kept deceivingly unaffected as she approached the man who would be her husband.

Katakuri looked down at her with his intense red eyes, flicking back and forth over her person, no doubt taking in her appearance just as she had done moments earlier. Whatever he felt about the end result was hidden behind his own blank face, though only being able to see the upper portion of it didn't help in the slightest. It would have been nice to know if he was repulsed or attracted to her. Was that too much to ask?

"I understand your mother does not appreciate tardiness." She found the strength to say, fingers tightening on her bouquet. "Shall we?"

His only response was a small nod. To her surprise, he offered her his elbow to take. Such a gentlemanly act from someone so aloof and distant. Her hand lifted and curled into the crook of his arm, feeling the strength of his muscle even through the fabric of his shirt. Yuna swallowed, telling herself not to get flustered.

Such a strong man her husband-to-be was.

Out of the chapel and down the main hallway he lead her, the distant sounds of music falling into her audible range. Her eyes kept straight ahead on the door that lead to the garden, where the ceremony would be held. There truly was no going back now. Measured breaths and even steps. No need to show them how terrifying this all was.

"You mask your fear surprisingly well." Katakuri suddenly spoke, drawing her gaze upwards. His own eyes were trained on the doorway, rather than her. It was like he could read her thoughts. "Can you keep it up in front of a large gathering of people?"

The words were almost mocking, but his tone conveyed a sort of curiosity more than anything. She supposed expecting him to compliment her on how she looked before the ceremony was too much.

Yuna let out a small breath. "Naturally. I've had years of practice."

"Hmm."

The conversation died away as the soon-to-be couple stepped out into the open garden together. Out of reflex, her fingers tightened their grip around his arm. If he noticed, which she was positive he did, he didn't react.

His description of a large gathering of people was a gross understatement. The main garden of Whole Cake Chateau was exorbitantly spacious, filled with smooth, orchestral music to celebrate the grand occasion. Round tables were placed to the left and right of the center carpet that Yuna and Katakuri would walk to reach the priest, and all of the seats were filled with the many guests that were in attendance. Hundreds of people. Thousands wasn't too far of a stretch, either.

Big Mom herself stood out starkly from the rest of the crowd, towering above and visible from anywhere in the venue. Her face was lit up with a blissful smile, watching the events unfold. Though, she kept glancing at the gigantic wedding cake set up not far from where she was seated. No doubt, that was the cause of her exceedingly good mood.

Not a single face was familiar. For someone used to diversity in a crowd, she wasn't prepared for the outlandish appearances of many of those closest to the aisle. The bride tried her best not to stare or let her gaze linger on any one person, unsure of who anyone was or their importance to Totto Land. Inadvertently angering someone who might make her life harder down the line was definitely not on her list of things to do.

She found it surprisingly easy to match pace with Katakuri. Even with 5 feet to his advantage, he kept their strides manageable for her shorter stature. So, he could be considerate, as well. A note she filed away for later.

Soon enough, they reached the dais where they were to be officially wed, Katakuri stopping them in place just before the round-bellied priest. He looked between the two of them with a small smile.

"With the arrival of the bride and groom...we may begin."

The music quieted on cue, and the priest began reading from the small book in his hand, voice loud enough for all to hear. Yuna's eyes never strayed from the book, trying her best to pay attention and not miss an important cue for when she would need to actively participate in the ceremony. But her mind was a swirling pot of nerves.

Katakuri's presence beside her was unmistakable. She knew he too faced forward without needing to look at him. If he even so much as glanced in her direction, Yuna would be able to feel it. As if the haki that he wielded with such ease was a physical extension of himself. What a sight the two of them must be, stone-faced and taciturn. What a dour pair.

Her bouquet felt heavy in her hands. A glance to her left confirmed that there were no bridesmaids to hand it over to. She didn't remember seeing any groomsmen to Katakuri's right, either. Her fingers twitched, nerves beginning to get the best of her.

Yuna closed her eyes for a brief moment, reminding herself that this was what she had decided, that she would make this all work, one way or another, and to live with her decision. No need to be so bitter. And if at all possible, Yuna swore to make things better for herself. And Katakuri. No need to be selfish in this marriage they would both be a part of. She opened them and schooled any cracks in her expression back into place, looking up at the priest.

"May we be presented with the rings?" The priest requested, turning and allowing Minette to step forward.

Yuna was pleasantly surprised to see her, and offered the tiny woman a brief smile. Minette returned it brightly, holding up a small box that contained hers and Katakuri's rings. They had to bend down to even get them, but it wasn't unmanageable. What's more, she reached for Yuna's bouquet, freeing her second hand to be able to go through the rest of the wedding unhindered.

Katakuri's ring was a simple silver design. It was unadorned, yet shiny, polished to perfection. Her own face reflected in the band of metal. As blank as the man she would slip it on to. How fitting.

"And now, the exchanging of vows." The priest announced, turning back to regard the couple, then gestured to Yuna. "If the bride will take the groom's hand..."

The couple turned to each other for the first time, forced to look at one another. Doing as instructed, she held Katakuri's much bigger hand in her own. Such a sensation was unfamiliar, but she didn't let the strange thoughts show on her face.

The vows they'd produced for her in the bouquet were so plain and generic, she'd already memorized them during her time in the chapel. Truthfully, they only served to irritate her, providing little sentiment and promising nothing of value to Katakuri as a person. How demeaning. Such hollow and empty vows felt disingenuous. It may be a marriage of political necessity, but that didn't mean she would allow it to be terrible. And any good marriage started with a good foundation. It would also show Katakuri that she would take this seriously, even if he did not.

Hoping her voice didn't come out as strained as she felt, Yuna lifted her eyes to look into his. They bored into her relentlessly. Hopefully, Big Mom wouldn't be angered if she went a little off script.

"I shall do my utmost to uphold your honor and my own, in danger and in safety." She saw his eyes narrow, realizing that her words did not match those he too had no doubt memorized for the ceremony. "Your burdens are my burdens. My victories are yours. I vow to further the prosperity of the Charlotte family, and my people of the Seiiki Kingdom, through this bond with you."

A low murmur went about some in the crowd, and even the priest gave a pause, unsure of what to do. Before anything could be done, Yuna slipped Katakuri's ring onto his finger, sealing her words in place and making it clear that she'd meant every one of them. He watched her silently, as if wondering why she felt the need to say such things, but his composure never slipped.

"And, uh...the groom." The priest continued, recovering from his surprise as gracefully as he could.

Yuna lifted her hand, allowing Katakuri to take it in his own. Her own silver ring was just as simple as his own, though topped with a pink gemstone. Her eyes tracked back up to his own, watching as he closed them for a brief moment, before meeting hers once again.

"Through this marriage, I vow to further the prosperity of Totto Land and the Charlotte Family." He recited without emotion, easing the ring onto her finger. His eyes seemed to dare her to challenge his lack of original vows, a testament to his opinion on this union. Well. She certainly hadn't been expecting him to be overjoyed to be married to her, but his blatant disregard for it all in general seemed...unnecessary.

Yuna and Katakuri's silent standoff through eye contact distracted them both enough to miss most of what words the priest had to say after the vow exchange, until he cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Do you, Onegama Yuna, take Charlotte Katakuri to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Charlotte Katakuri, take Onegama Yuna-"

"I do." He stated with impatience, jilting the ceremony again as the priest was not expecting the interruption.

"Ah...yes. Very good. Then by the power vested in me by the paradise of Whole Cake Island, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He shut his book and gave them both a strained smile, though neither bothered to look his direction. "You may, uh..."

Premature cheers from the crowd interrupted the rest of the priest's declaration, and Yuna was taken off guard when Katakuri simply turned to face the way they had come. He hadn't even lifted her veil. Hadn't even leaned in as if to kiss her. Her composure slipped enough to display her confusion.

She had anticipated differences in ceremony, but...the absence of a kiss seemed extreme. He nudged her to follow his lead and she reached up to take his arm as he lead her off to the side towards an empty table that she assumed was reserved just for them. The guests began to talk and laugh as the music once again swelled to life, bringing the celebratory portion of the reception into full swing.

As she was guided to sit in the chair beside her now-husband, Yuna's curiosity got the better of her. "Is it not customary to-"

"It is." He confirmed, his eyes fading from the red glow she was becoming accustomed to. "I refuse to show my face to anyone."

Her questions regarding the scarf were more or less answered then, silence overtaking her as she was forced to accept his explanation. She assumed since most of the crowd was his family, they too knew a concluding kiss wouldn't be part of the ceremony. Hence the premature celebration.

"I see." Was all she managed to say.

His reasoning wasn't a direct jab at her, per se, but Yuna couldn't help but feel insulted. He sat, unperturbed by the events that had just transpired, arms crossed with indifference as the party around them grew more boisterous.

When the cake was served, Katakuri didn't have any for himself, and Yuna tasted nothing but the bitterness of disappointment.

_____________________________________________________________

Late into the night, the party finally came to something of a close. That close being when Big Mom finally fell into a deep sleep amidst the remains of the cake she'd been eating. Many guests had passed out from too much alcohol or too much sugar at their tables during the past few hours, everyone too afraid to leave early and anger the Yonko.

The reception had much less been about the newly married couple than Big Mom herself. Many guests had provided her with gifts and tributes, barely giving Katakuri and herself so much as a glance. Yuna truthfully didn't mind too much, considering she knew no one in attendance and her emotional stability wasn't at it's peak in the moment. Katakuri didn't seem to care either.

When it was clear that Big Mom was out for the night, Katakuri finally rose from his seat, looking down on her with his typical blank gaze. "It is late. Let us return home."

Too tired to protest or ask the million questions on her mind, because she was exhausted as well, Yuna rose from her seat and followed after Katakuri back towards the hall they had originally emerged from. They stepped past unconscious guests, sprawled out at various points in the way of their path, and the remains of the huge party that had come to a close.

The softness of the grass beneath their feet changed into the tile of the castle floors, and he brought them both over to a large mirror set against the wall. Yuna frowned, unsure what exactly they were doing here.

"Brulee." Katakuri called into the mirror, arms once again crossed. "Take us through the mirrors to Komugi Island."

Not a moment later, the vision of a lavendar-haired woman appeared in the glass, and Yuna blinked in surprise. She was very witch-like in appearance, a diagonal scar marking the center of her face, overshadowed only by her pointed and slightly darker-colored nose.

"Of course, Big Brother." She responded, gesturing with a hand behind her, as if inviting them through. Though, she still took the moment to send a nasty glare in Yuna's direction.

"Take my hand." Katakuri suddenly said to Yuna, who looked down at his hand hesitantly. Though, she had no reason to distrust him at this point. She did as told, and a moment later, he was stepping through the mirror and pulling her along with him.

"What-" She started to say, but her breath was taken away as she passed through what should have been the solid surface of the mirror. The cold sensation that had accompanied passing through the threshold disappeared after a moment, and she found herself standing in a fantastically strange red and black checkered...place. It was too big to be a room, but the lack of open air meant they weren't outside. Thousands of mirrors dotted the oddly round and smooth walls, comprised of all sorts of sizes and styles. She didn't know what to make of all of this.

"This is the mirror world." Katakuri explained, no doubt noticing her confusion. "Brulee's devil fruit allows her to move throughout them as she pleases."

"Incredible..." She muttered, too amazed by the usefulness of such an ability and the remarkable zone that she'd created with it. Her words made her now sister-in-law scoff, though she wasn't able to completely cover up the redness that rose on her cheeks.

"You think this is impressive? I can do so much more!" She claimed, crossing her skinny arms over her dress-clad body. "This is barely a scratch on the surface."

"Which mirror will take us to my home?" He asked, cutting off his sister's blustering with a clear impatience.

Her attitude shifted to something much more pleasant, pointing to her right. "Over here."

She lead them towards one of the walls, and Yuna was once again amazed. She knew where specific mirrors were located? Out of all of these? What skill and memory Brulee possessed.

"This one leads to your home's main study." Brulee said, stopping in front of a oval-shaped mirror. Yuna peered into the reflective surface, watching as it suddenly shifted to be the scene of a darkened study.

"Thank you." Katakuri said, once again grabbing Yuna's hand and leading her through the mirror. The Princess wasn't even given time to register that they were traveling through again before she was dragged in between realms.

The mirror world was replaced by the study she'd caught a glimpse of. The change in light made her blink, but Katakuri was already moving away from her.

"This way." He said without looking back, and she followed where he lead her through the darkened home.

It was large, as she would have predicted. Not just in height, but in overall structure. Yuna marveled at how she could walk upright through every doorway they crossed, something she never could have managed back home. In fact, it hadn't occurred to her how much access Yuna had to the castle she'd stayed in and the place that would now be her home. Crouching and huddling low to avoid hitting her head on stone arches was a thing of the past. Having so many tall residents gave her a mobile freedom she'd never experienced before.

While not as fancy as the castle on Whole Cake Island or Seiiki, she could appreciate it's minimalist style.

Katakuri stood before a doorway at the end of the hall, turned to regard her for once, then turned the knob and entered the room.

It was even more spacious than the guest room she'd stayed the night in on Whole Cake Island, the bed a grand affair with a plush comforter and the fluffiest pillows she'd ever seen. A large window took up most of the opposite wall, giving a clear view of the main city down below. Yuna's brows raised, realizing that Katakuri's home sat on the top of a hill, maintaining it's distance but still in sight of the citizens to bring them a sense of reassurance that their minister was nearby and able to assist with whatever they needed. A very astute design.

Her eyes shifted to the left, where a large standing closet lay waiting open. And on the right was the entrance to their room's attached bathroom, elegant and simple. It was a beautiful room, though a lack of personal effects made it clear that Katakuri preferred function over sentimentality.

This would be her room now, too.

Movement drew her eye away, and she noticed that he began unbuttoning his vest. Yuna's mind purged itself of everything except the fear that he would expect many intimate things of her. Consummation of marriage...was a terrifying thought. With someone as large and muscular as Katakuri, she feared injury on top of insult from having to bare all of herself to him.

She'd procrastinated thinking about it, but there was no more time to push the issue. This was happening now, if it was happening at all. Her hands gripped the ends of her sleeves, staring up at him with clear discomfort. She began working herself up to ask the embarrassing question, knowing that it was better to be communicative than to assume.

He seemed to notice, and stopped what he was doing. In the dim light, the sudden flare of red from his eyes was obvious, but he closed them before she got a particularly good look. "Such an antiquated tradition. We are sleeping. Nothing more."

All at once the anxiety melted off her shoulders and she nodded her understanding, before moving off towards the closet to change out of her clothes. The door closed with a shut behind her, and Yuna looked to see what sort of clothing she had at her disposal to sleep in. Having even a scant moment of privacy to herself was reassuring at that moment.

She was pleasantly surprised to see long sleeved shirts and long pajama pants sitting folded in a pile on one of the shelves. Perhaps the seamstresses had put them here, or maybe Minette had. Whoever it was would probably remain a mystery, but she appreciated them all the same.

Pulling at the strings that held her dress together from behind her neck, it took many minutes of loosening and adjusting the laces before she was able to get it off. The white gown fell into a pile on the floor. Part of her wondered if it was something she'd want to keep, but she simply shucked it further into the corner, deciding not to care at the moment. Her mental and physical exhaustion were too much.

Checking to make sure the bandages had remained intact and secured, she slipped on the provided pajamas and emerged from the closet.

Katakuri sat in a large plush chair on the opposite side of the room, legs crossed at the knees and now sporting a pair of comfortable-looking lounge pants and a simple white shirt. Ever-present was the scarf that she'd never seen him without. His eyes had been closed, but upon her entering the room, they opened again.

"Which side of the bed do you prefer?" She decided to ask, figuring there was no perfect ice-breaker to beginning a conversation with him. "I have no preference."

"I will be sleeping here." He indicated in his typical deep tone, and she frowned.

"On the chair?" Did he assume her modesty went so far as to be unable to lay beside her own husband? "There is no need to-"

"It has nothing to do with you." He explained, expression never wavering. "I do not lay on my back under any circumstance."

Yuna had no idea what to say, never having heard of such a thing. The thought of sleeping while sitting in a chair for one's entire life? Absurd. Preposterous. Why have a bed if you would never use it, she wanted to point out. But he had already closed his eyes again and she was growing increasingly more tired the longer she stood there.

Yuna let out a small sigh, wanting to fight the ridiculous notion that he sleep on a chair, but turned in place and made her way over to the inviting bed. It was much too late, and the bed was calling her name in enticing whispers. Turning her back to where her husband now sat-she'd have to grow used to thinking of him as such- she covered herself with the comforter and settled in.

Sleep would not come for hours, and even when it did, Yuna only speculated the sorts of challenges this marriage would bring in her dreams.

Chapter 4 ->

#one piece #fanfic #romance #slow burn #arranged marriage #princess #devil fruit #eventual smut #multichapter story #katakuri x oc #whole cake island #charlotte katakuri #oc

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c0smicheaux · 4 years

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Twelfth House In The Signs

Aries-

When the twelfth house is set in the sign of Aries, it is almost always a sign that problems with healthy boundaries will be present in a person’s life. Others will intrude in their world as if they had no membranes to recognize and defend themselves from those who steal their energy. In time, they will have to “remember” what it was like to follow the passion within, fight for their rights , yell at others if that is what the moments asks for, and be true about everything that is on their mind. While Aries would like to have a certain goal and aim all its energy towards it, this energy seems to get bent here only to end up in a strange subconscious state where it is neither manifested nor used. This is a position that speaks of a past life that ended in aggression, in the army or from fire weapons, sharp objects, and most often “before one’s time.”

Taurus-

If the twelfth house is in the sign of Taurus, the mystery of the material world can remain a hidden for years, as well as hedonism and the chase for satisfaction in this material world. This is a position typical for those who have never felt real pleasure, and everyone with secret sexual encounters, or at least those who have the need to eat hidden from everyone else. Spirituality and real talents fall into the sign ruled by Venus, meaning creativity and inspiration come as a given, but only once they are discovered and approached studiously. True intimacy is found in secret bonds, and warmth will have to be built in solitude, realizing at first just how much we are worth and only later starting to search for someone who will recognize this. If one wants to make their dreams come true, this position is perfect, for it brings the Earth into our personal dreamland, making everything we imagine possible.

Gemini-

The twelfth house in Gemini isn’t very easy because of its Piscean nature and everything it has to do with emotion as an entity entirely apart from rational thought. Speech can be impaired, while those with lower self-esteem easily turn to gossip and matters that aren’t theirs to discuss to begin with. This is also a position that could give a wonderful talent for languages, words and writing. It is a shame to use it on other people and spend too much time thinking of their business, abilities and weaknesses. Those born with the twelfth house in Gemini must have ended their past life with a vast desire to speak their mind, share their inner truth, and express their personality in some way. Ties that get created here will manifest through strange friendships and their relationships with children, but most of the time, they will manifest through difficulties in their mind they cannot fully explain.

Cancer-

With the twelfth house in the sign of Cancer, you can see a family secret instantly, as well as the tendency to idealize one or both of the parents. This is a burden of an entire family tree and a mark that debts were left in spheres of the emotional and the fragile within. Strange matters are hiding in the twelfth house and when Cancer is here, you can see these strange matters in one’s home and intimate relationships. Depending on a very personal position of the Moon, we will see how well incorporated this can be in their everyday life and if disappointment is their family story or not. The emphasis on sensitive emotion is also seen here, and we will come to find that the twelfth house cusp in any Water sign gives one the ability to feel what others feel, often being unable to recognize where one person ends and their emotional body begins.

Leo-

When the twelfth house begins in Leo, the personality itself seems to be strange, sensitive, and unknown. These individuals will have to learn about their power and their inner truth, while they remain in the blurry waters hidden from plain sight. This is often a signal that previous life carried a story of success, and image that was maintained and remained important to the person until they died. It can be extremely rewarding if unconscious memories of it are pleasant and bring confidence and peace. However, if there was any dishonesty in their approach once upon a time, this will be the life to rectify it, accept the flaws in others, those we don’t want to see and don’t want to show, and find brothers and sisters in crime finally set free from self-criticism. Since the clear image of one’s Self is blurry, overall good of the mankind will be important to these people, as well as humanitarian efforts they often turn to at some point in their lives.

Virgo-

If the twelfth house is in Virgo, we can almost imagine the mechanism in a person’s mind making them seem stupid when they want to show how smart they are, and incredibly intelligent at the most unpredictable situations. They will rely on their brains while practical matters will keep some of their mystery at all times. Ties created here will have to do with old, used things, those that can or cannot be fixed. That halfway principle of Virgo can be quite difficult when we speak of someone’s twelfth house, for dreams tend to get crushed by reality, sensitivity by common sense, and vice versa. If a person with the twelfth house in Virgo wants to find happiness, they have to realize where their true talent lies, so they can use it and share it with the world. Very often their talents will be found in writing, detailed analysis or communication with the strangest of beings here on planet Earth.

Libra-

With the twelfth house in Libra it seems inevitable to lie or be lied to, and usually both. Still, if we put this aside, we can see the magical story of Libra in this mysterious house and realize that someone we once left behind is there for us to find them again in this life. Things that were lost in our twelfth house have a tendency to show themselves someday. This goes specifically for great loves, and with strongly set Venus, even greater loving relationships. If Venus is not that strong in this kind of horoscope, the obvious debt has to be repaid through emotional sacrifice of some kind. In most cases, this will develop through a romantic relationship in which the trust has been broken, finally liberating the person from unrealistic expectations. This is always someone talented to recognize beauty, often artistic and with a knack for drawing or music. However, they have to be very careful not to disrespect people around them in any way so that their personality has room to grow.

Scorpio-

The twelfth house in Scorpio is an interesting place. Something as taboo and as hidden as Scorpio rarely finds an appropriate secretive hideout, but this position allows them to. The most unfortunate thing here lies in one’s ability to bury their own feelings, doings, or aspirations, finally ending up without any awareness of their true inner light. This is the sign that speaks of our shadows and everything we want to bury and dismiss along the way, and when it is set in such a secretive house, shoving things under the rug becomes a routine. This can make these people explode in numerous ways, ending up in strange circumstances, weird conversations, interventions, institutions or even jail. To see the magic in Scorpio this person has to be truly and deeply open-minded, fully willing to accept the most devastating, darkest and most dangerous emotions they carry within.

Sagittarius-

When the twelfth house is set in Sagittarius, we usually see someone who has no idea where they are going. Being lost seems to be the congenital disease in these people and they have no way of knowing where they want to end up. Ties were made to the most distant of places, and past life regression could help them discover where they have lived and what makes them lose their place and their hopes. Beliefs have to be examined, as well as their religion views. Blessings will come from the most unexpected people and places, and although there are a lot of secrets to be expected in lives of others, these individuals are able to sense anyone’s goodness of heart from miles away. This is a very strong position for spiritual work and meditation, but if they don’t get enough sleep, they risk their entire life passing them by.

Capricorn-

With the twelfth house in Capricorn, there is no knowing which responsibility falls under whose jurisdiction. The difficulty of this setting hides in the inability to see that a strong foundation makes all the work, and while good ideas can come a long way, they aren’t easily materialized if hard work isn’t put in. Even though it might not seem like it, this is one of the most demanding positions in the twelfth house, for it speaks of karmic ties and our strong, physical connection to past life experiences. Strange things will manifest as circumstances that are hard to avoid or overcome, with many obstacles standing in one’s way towards liberation. If Saturn is strong in a person’s chart, there will be a sense of security, wisdom and unconscious power in doing the right thing, and that will become a wind in their sails and open them up for real inner experience of faith.

Aquarius-

The twelfth house in Aquarius speaks of a stressful death that happened in our past life. This is a place of stress and strange mental orientation, pulling strongly with its humane gravity and the unconscious need to set free, set apart from everyone else, and sink into all natural oppositions as if there was no other way. Mending the differences and finding middle ground seems distant and impossible to these individuals, as if they had a talent for true friendship, but lack of awareness for those who don’t fall into this category. They need to learn to be humane, so charity work will come in handy, especially if they are the secret benefactor nobody knows about. Their eccentricity will make them happy but in secret and in silence, with as little words said as possible. Even though they might be on the mission of solitude, they are often calmed by the peace of their marriage and relationships that represent a good basis for their personality rather than making them feel at home.

Pisces-

If the twelfth house is set in the sign of Pisces, all secrets will be sunk even deeper than in other cases. This practically means that all digging through subconscious matter will have to be thorough and results will seem more distant than those others tend to dig up. Usually, these individuals tend to look forwards, fully unaware of their dependencies and ties to the mysteries of their distant past. They will live their lives unaware of their own inner faith, needing healthy sleeping routine in order to stay in a calm and peaceful state. In many cases, these people will sleep every day for eight hours, avoiding late nights out or losing sleep over any burning issues at hand. They understand that the night is not to be messed with and hide from their own family in plain daylight. With true faith in the background, it would be good to raise awareness about their talents and their true life within, however scary that might seem.

Source;Astrology-Zodiac-Signsdotcom

#Astrology #Astrology Facts #Astrology Posts #Astrology House #house astrology #houses in the signs #twelfth house #astrology post #astrology fact

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timebird84 · 4 years

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @paperandsong

Feast Your Eyes

Gifted to @shinyfire-0

Happy Christmas everyone!

Christine rose from her bed long before sunrise and padded sleepily into the kitchen. She lit the oven and pulled down an old recipe book from a shelf. She cracked it open to a page marked with a red ribbon; recipes for Luciamorgon, written by the hand of Maman Valerius’ own mother, and brought from the old country long ago. Its tattered pages were heavy with the nostalgia of mornings past and the expectation that such traditions will go on forever.

She did not need the book; these were recipes written across her own heart. But she liked to trace the handwriting with her fingers, smudged with ancient butter and flour, and to stir up her own memories. She liked to think that her late mother had also woken up early on December thirteenths to pull out the same ingredients and to follow the same steps. The echo of this ritual was a comfort to her.

She yawned as she set the kettle on the stove and pulled out the sugar, the butter, the flour, the yeast, the eggs, the milk. She reached far into the back of the pantry for a little bottle of saffron threads, neglected all year long until this dark morning. A sprinkle of cinnamon, a crush of cardamom. For the lussekatter buns, she steeped the saffron in milk, she kneaded the yellow dough, and shaped it into buttery swirled S shapes, pinned with currants on either end. She pressed an angel-shaped metal cutter over the thinly rolled pepparkakor dough, inhaling the ginger and clove with deep satisfaction. As the buns and biscuits baked in the oven she went back to her room to dress.

She struggled to pull her arms through the tight sleeves of the same white dress she had been made to wear since she was a just a girl. She had grown considerably in her bust and hips since it had first been made for her; she did not bother to try to button up the back. It was impossible. Maman Valerius knew it was impossible. But it so delighted her to see Christine wear that same dress, year after year, that she wouldn’t dream of complaining. She dutifully tied the red sash around her waist. The white of innocence, the red of martyrdom.

Just moments before dawn, Christine arranged the cat-eyed lussekatter and angel-shaped pepparkakor on a tray along with two cups of coffee with milk, and a small lit candle. She lit another four white candles and carefully set them in the wreath of evergreen she had woven the day before. She settled the glowing crown into her halo of loose and unruly hair. She delicately lifted the tray, careful not to tip her flaming head too far forward. She glided across the floor as lightly as a snowdrift, making her way to Maman’s room. She stood outside the door and sang,

Natten går tunga fjät rund gård och stuva;

Night walks with a heavy step round yard and hearth;

She nudged the door open with her elbow. The dim room filled with candlelight as she entered. There was Maman, sitting up in her bed, her long white braid hanging over her shoulder. She was waiting eagerly for this blazing vision of Christine.

Kring jord, som sol förlät, skuggorna ruva;

Around the earth, forlorn by the sun, shadows are brooding;

The old woman clasped her hands together, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Oh, Christine! You are an angel - truly, an angel shining on me from heaven!”

Christine continued to sing, her voice high and sweet, as she used to sing when she was only a girl,

Då i vårt mörka hus, stiger med tända ljus, Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia!

But there in our dark house, arising with her burning candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

She slowly walked towards the bed, allowing Maman to take in the holy sight of her. With each dazzling step she drove all darkness from the room. Truly, Christine was the daughter Maman had never had. And she had played this role of Lucia bride far longer than any other daughter would have tolerated. Perhaps somewhere in her heart, Christine knew this would be the last year.

She set the tray carefully on the bed. Maman pushed back the blankets and patted the place beside her. Christine first took off the candle crown and set it on the small table near the window. They had a laugh remembering the time several years ago when Christine’s hair had caught fire after wearing the wreath for too long. It took days to scratch out the melted wax from her scalp.

“Thank you, my child,” Maman said, nibbling on a lussekatter. “You are so good to me.” “It is you that are good to me,” Christine responded, kissing the old woman on the cheek. Tears rolled slowly down her wrinkled skin. “Maman! Don’t cry.”

“It is just - I can almost feel them with us. My dear husband, your dearest father.” “I know. I can feel them too.”

Maman rubbed her eyes and shook her head with a sigh.

“It is almost seven-thirty! Shouldn’t you be leaving for the Opera soon? Won’t you miss your voice lesson? Won’t your teacher scold you?” She said ‘teacher’ with a knowing glance that made Christine's heart tighten in her chest. They both knew he was no mere teacher. Christine blushed.

“I told him that I would miss my lesson today. You have me for the whole morning.”

“Oh, I am sure he was not pleased to hear it!” “Why, Maman, he was very understanding. He finds it good and proper that a daughter should tend to her mother on this, the Feast of Saint Lucia.”

“It is a good and a proper thing, my child. The Angel of Music knows these things. Shall I read from my book? Hand it to me, if you will.”

Christine went and found the ornately illustrated book of the lives of the saints, also brought over from the old country. Maman turned to the story of Saint Lucia and read aloud, as she did every year. Christine took a mouthful of pepparkakor and nestled deeper into her place in the bed. She tried to keep her eyes away from the brightly colored image of Lucia carrying her own eyes on a silver platter.

During the Diocletian persecution of the good Christians, there was a maiden of Syracuse by the name of Lucia. Even as a young girl, the light of Christ shined brightly within her.

As Lucia’s father had perished years before, the two women were alone and vulnerable in the world. Despite her faith, Eutychia arranged for Lucia to marry into a wealthy pagan family. Lucia wept with grief. No, mother, she cried. Let my dowry be distributed among the poor. I shall never marry here on earth for I am the bride of Christ and my husband awaits me there. Reluctantly, Eutychia agreed, for she could see the light that shined within her daughter. She gave Lucia her dowry, a host of riches and jewels. The maiden took to visiting the prison in the dark, to bring food and comfort to the men that languished there. She wore a crown of candles upon her head so that she might see through the darkness and keep her hands free to fill with alms.

But gossip reached the ears of her jilted betrothed. He was told that Lucia had broken their engagement because she had found an even more wealthy patron of far nobler birth. In his jealousy, he denounced Lucia as a secret Christian to the Roman magistrate, Paschasis . Paschasis ordered Lucia to burn a sacrifice to an idol of the Emperor. To which Lucia replied, I would rather burn myself than to burn a sacrifice to a false idol. In his anger, Paschasis ordered the defiant maiden defiled in a brothel. To which Lucia replied, You could lift my hand and rub it against your idol and still I would be guiltless in the eyes of the Lord, who knows me and knows that you can defile my body but you can never defile my heart.

When the Roman guards came to take Lucia away, to have her maidenhead defiled, they found that she was immovable. Even when they tied a team of oxen to her waist by a rope, even then, they could not move her from her mother’s home. When they could not take her to the brothel, they decided to burn her. They built a pyre around her feet, but it would not light. In frustration, they gouged out her eyes - those eyes that burned with the light of Christ inside! They slit her throat, that throat as pure as that of any spring lamb. And so the virgin Lucia died a martyr for our Lord. The angels sang as she entered heaven and the good Lord restored her eyes, more beautiful than those she had possessed here on earth. For she was truly the light of his own eyes.

Christine hated the story.

“It isn’t fair that she had to die,” she said bitterly, though her mouth was full of sugar.

“No. There is nothing fair about the lives of the saints. They have all suffered unjustly in one way or another. It is a great burden to be born a saint.” “I do not remember any male saints dying because someone forced them to marry some pagan princess.” “I am sure there is at least one.”

“But there are countless maiden martyrs. Do it please him, then? For us to suffer on his behalf?” “No, Christine. Our Lord suffers along with us. The tears we shed were his to shed first.” The old woman had become very serious. “No one is asking the Lucia bride to be a martyr. Only to carry light in the darkness.”

Christine was chastened. She had not meant to antagonize.

“I believe I am much like Lucia.” “Indeed you are, my child. The light of Christ shines brightly from within you.” “No, I meant only that I shall never marry.”

“Oh! You cannot mean that. Surely, you will find yourself a good husband. One who will love you as much as I do. For one day, I will no longer be here with you. No, no. Do not say that, Christine. You must find someone to look after you. What of the Vicomte de Chagny? Don’t you ever see him at the Opera anymore?” “Oh, I see him up there in his brother’s box. But he never looks at me. I do not believe he remembers me at all. But I could never marry him. I could never marry anyone. Then I would never hear the Angel again.” “Is that what the Angel has told you?” “Yes. He has told me that if I should ever marry, he would have to return to heaven and I would never hear his beautiful voice again,” she said sadly.

The old woman grew very quiet.

“Perhaps Our Lord has a greater calling for you, Christine, than to be a wife. Perhaps he intends for you to devote your life to music, and music alone. To be a bride to no earthly man, but the bride of music itself.”

“Do you think so, Maman?” Christine asked wistfully. She was excited by the idea that her destiny might be great and divinely written.

“I think you should listen to your Angel. He will know what is best for you.”

Christine changed out of her Lucia gown and went to the Opera later that morning so that she would not be late for rehearsals. A part of her wished that the Angel would come to her, despite that she had missed her lesson. When she stood in his invisible presence, he blessed her with a warmth she found nowhere else. She regretted even one hour lost. But he did not make himself known to her that day.

In the evening, Christine served mulled wine with dinner. Maman drank too much and retired early, but Christine took her warm and fragrant cup out onto their narrow balcony to watch the people walking along the street below. It was quite cold and she pulled her coat tight around her body as she leaned slightly over the railing.

Thoughts of Lucia and her bloodied eye sockets had haunted her all day. Christine wondered now how the saint’s story might have been different had Lucia agreed to marry the pagan bridegroom. Could they not have become friends, like Saints Cecilia and Valerian? Could she not have taught him the love of Christ better as his wife than as a martyr? They could have learned to love each other somehow. There had to be some way for Lucia to survive her own story.

Christine shook her head angrily. But why should any woman lose her maidenhead to a man on the mere hope that her love might be enough to save him? Why should she have to save him?

Her ears pricked up at a sad sound in the distance. Music, from directly above, but far away, as if from the clouds. Or maybe only as far as the rooftop. She turned and looked up towards the sky overhead. The streetlamps dimmed the light of the stars, but she could just make out the westerly motion of Freya’s cat-drawn chariot. A violin whined a melody so faint it could not be named. Had her Angel come to say goodnight? Her pulse quickened in her ears. If she could have no earthly husband, might she really be wed to the music itself? She listened for a while and then the cold began to bite at her fingertips and the music faded away and it was time to go to bed. She looked into her empty cup and smiled.

Inside, she placed the last lussekatter and a fresh cup of hot glögg onto a small tray and took it out onto the balcony. She kneeled to place the tray on the floorboards and stayed there a moment to whisper a little prayer,

“Oh Angel of Music, sent from my father in Heaven, I do not know that angels take offerings in the way of the saints. An angel is not a saint. But I offer you these in thanks for your music. And for your lessons. And for your arrival into my life. I thank my Lord every day that you have finally come to me. Please, tell my father I love him.”

Christine tossed about in her bed that night, straining to hear movement on the roof or on the floorboards of the balcony. In the morning, she found the tray quite empty. The cup was dry. She turned her face to the sun and threw a small laugh of delight up to heaven.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 13

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p-artsypants · 4 years

Text

Integrity (Part 7)

“It’s just a one or two shot,” she said. “Nothing very long.”

She lied. She lied lied lied.

This chapter goes fast because I didn’t want to write it.

FF.net | Ao3

—

“So, how was school today?” Asked Tom. The family was gathered around the little table in the kitchen, Adrien and Marinette sitting next to each other. Sabine had made quiche, remembering that Adrien had greatly enjoyed it. So far, they were sticking to small talk, trying to avoid the inevitable reveal. It had to be natural, of course. “Mom said it was a little rough. You’re still having trouble with that Lila girl?”

“Maybe,” Marinette said as she finished her bite of quiche. “Miss Bustier had us air our grievances like adults. She said she wanted to avoid rumors and gossip, so Lila, Adrien, and I all got to state our sides of the story. And then Chloe and Nino backed us up.”

“So, did it get solved?” Asked Sabine.

“We don’t know,” Answered Adrien. “We didn’t stick around. There was a lot of shouting from the classroom, so…we’re just going to let our classmates decide for themselves.”

Tom gave both of them a surprised glance. “That’s a bold move! Are you sure?”

“You can’t force someone to believe you,” said Marinette wisely. “I know from experience.”

Sabine reached over and patted her hand. “Well, I’m proud of you. You’re learning this lesson very early in life. It does get better as you get older, but some people never outgrow petty behavior like lying. But the older you get, the more dangerous it is to lie. It has bigger consequences for those who it affects, and when you get caught.” She finished with a broad smile. “I’m glad I raised a daughter that’s above lying.”

Marinette smiled at her, before the look fell. She couldn’t have asked for a better opening, but she just wished it hadn’t made her feel so guilty. “Actually maman, papa…there’s something I need to tell you. Something we both need to tell you.”

This was it. The moment of truth. Of course, Marinette trusted her parents, and she knew they’d take it well, but she had just been hiding it for so long…

“I wanted to tell you from day one. It killed me that I couldn’t. It was for your safety, you know?”

“Honey, what are you talking about?” Sabine frowned, concern etching wrinkles around her eyes.

“Just…don’t get mad?”

Tom and Sabine shared a look. “We’ll try.”

Marinette exhaled, and reached over to take Adrien’s hand. “Together?”

“Of course.” He smiled.

“Okay…Tikki, spots on.”

“Plagg, Claws out.”

The bright flash forced Tom and Sabine to look away, and when they looked back, their daughter and her classmate were replaced with the Heroes of Paris.

Silence. It felt like minutes ticked by, as they just sat in silence. Both parents wracked their eyes over the teens, taking in every detail, making every piece fit in their minds.

Marinette held her breath, as Adrien squeezed her hand.

“All this time…? It was you…? Both of you?” Sabine looked absolutely horrified, as she remembered over and over, these two children taking fatal hits and falls, fighting on rooftops and cars, facing off with guns and swords.

Her baby, on the front lines of a magical war.

Marinette nodded, tears starting to form in her eyes.

Suddenly, Tom was laughing. Not just a chuckle. A full on, rattle the windows, fist pounding on the table, absolute uncontrollable laugh attack.

It startled everyone.

“What’s gotten into you, Tom?”

“When did you—“ more laughter. “When did you find out about each other? I have to know!”

Confused, and a little unsettled, Marinette answered, “Um…he found out yesterday, and he told me today.”

That just incited more laughter, as Tom actually fell out of his chair and landed on the floor.

“Papa…?”

“I’m—I’m sorry, cupcake!” He tried to get a hold of himself as he kept giggling. “It’s not—It’s not that funny—!”

The other three just shared nervous glances. Did their reveal drive Tom to insanity?

“Were—“ He wiped a tear from his eye. “Weredad! Breakfast!” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “I’m just thinking about that one time Marinette confessed to being in love with Chat Noir, and then he said he had to turn her down for Ladybug. But I knew Marinette had a crush on Adrien! And I got akumatized over that! That’s hilarious!”

Both of the heroes blushed. “Papa…” Said Ladybug.

“No, no you’re right, that was an emotional day for everyone.” He held a straight face for about three seconds before he burst into giggles again.

Although Adrien and Marinette were actually dating now, it didn’t ease the embarrassment for either of them, and they both blushed.

But his laughter did break the tension in the room, and Marinette was able to take a steady breath.

“Now Tom,” Sabine chastised. “Leave the kids alone. I’m sure they had a good reason for hiding their identities from each other.”

“We did. We had to keep each other safe. If one of us fell under control of an Akuma, Hawkmoth could use that to get our identities.”

Tom’s laughter finally subsided as he got off the floor. “I’m sorry, cupcake. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was just—you got yourselves in such a pickle!” He retook his seat, and put his head in his hands. “Okay, now that that’s out in the open…is there a wedding in the future?”

Sabine smacked his arm. “Tom!”

“What! You know I’m a huge romantic! And an even bigger Ladynoir fan!”

“What happened to Marichat?” Asked Marinette with a wiry smile.

“Old news. So…?”

“Well sir,” Chat began, a dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I’d like to formally ask you for permission to date your daughter—“

“Yes! Of course! Absolutely!”

“—But,” Chat interrupted right back. “There’s something else we need to tell you before you make your decision.”

“We’re listening,” said Sabine, resting a hand on her overly excited husband. “Take your time.”

“Well,” began Ladybug carefully, “we’re revealing ourselves to you now because it’s safe. You’re the first civilians to know. And you’re the first civilians to know that Hawkmoth has been defeated. Chat took his and Mayura’s Miraculous.”

Absolute joy and pride nearly burst out of both of the parents, as their smiles grew and their eyes sparkled. But before they could celebrate, Chat Noir elaborated, “It’s because of that that I’m here. My...my father is, or was, Hawkmoth. He was suspicious of me, so I had to leave.”

All that joy was snuffed out in a second, and Marinette swore she could hear her parent’s hearts breaking.

A clattering of chairs and Chat Noir was embraced with two pairs of arms.

“You’re a part of our family, Adrien,” Sabine assured. “You will always have a place here with us. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t cry when his father had revealed himself. He didn’t shed a single tear because of the shock. But all of the subsequent actions had built up, and now in the arms of the Dupain-Chengs, Adrien felt himself beginning to break down.

“We got you, Kitty.” Marinette promised, the flash of light signaling her transformation.

“Plagg, Claws In.”

The suit faded, and all at once, Adrien let loose his tears of frustration and betrayal. Just a few tears being squeezed out of him by Marinette’s family.

“Thank you.” He choked. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course, kiddo.” Sabine cupped his cheek. “You’re a great kid, and we owe Chat Noir a lot. We want you to be happy, and safe.”

“Marinette is extremely lucky to have you as parents.”

“Oh no,” Tom disagreed. “We’re horrendously annoying and nosy!”

“Papa...” Marinette warned.

“But cupcake! You knew when you got a boyfriend I was going to hound him relentlessly! Don’t act so surprised!”

Sabine patted her husband. “Oh leave them alone Tom. I think we’ve all had a very stressful day. Let’s cool down with a movie, hmm?”

“Actually...there’s still more.”

“More?!” Both Tom and Sabine shouted.

“It’s not as bad as the last bit,” Marinette waved her hands around. “Well...I guess that’s debatable. We need to go to Tibet.”

“Tibet?” Parroted Sabine. “Why on earth would you need to go there?”

“The Guardians of the Miraculous live there in a temple. Adrien and I...well, we learned why Gabriel did what he did.”

“My mother,” Adrien explained. “She’s still alive. She’s in a coma from using a broken Miraculous. He hoped that using our Miraculous would wake her up, but...”

“It’s really risky.” Marinette continued. “We just want to see if the guardians have a better idea.”

“I see.” Sabine breathed. “Where’s Gabriel now? Did you not call the police on him?”

“No.” Adrien shook his head. “We took his Miraculous. He’s not able to hurt anyone anymore. And if we revive Mrs. Agreste, he won’t have a reason to either.”

Tom and Sabine shared a skeptical look. “Are you sure? I know you’re Ladybug and Chat Noir, but...shouldn’t he face judgement for his crimes?”

“I’m being selfish.” Adrien said softly. “I don’t want to lose my father. If I get back my mother, maybe he’ll be back to who he used to be, and we can be a family again.”

“Oh honey,” Sabine cooed, wrapping her arms around him. “It might not happen that way.”

“I know…but it’s worth a try, right?”

Sabine wrung her hands. “But Tibet is just so far! Plane tickets would be expensive—“

“We’re not flying. The Horse Miraculous allows the user to make a portal to any location. We’ll go and be back on Sunday night.”

Sabine frowned. “It sounds like you’re telling, and not asking.”

Marinette gave an uneasy smile. “This is official superhero business. I thought it would be better if we told you?”

Sabine sighed. “Yeah, I suppose it would be. If I can’t stop you, at least I can make sure you’re safe. When do you leave?”

“First thing in the morning. Tibet is six hours ahead of us, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave tonight.”

“Alright, then make sure to pack everything you need for an overnight bag. Papa and I will make sure you have plenty of snacks to take with.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks maman! The trip is instantaneous though, we don’t need any snacks.”

“Oh but you should offer your hosts some of our pastries! An offering of peace!”

Marinette smiled. “You’re right, of course. Thank you. Both of you. For being so cool.”

—

Later that night, Marinette was mostly asleep when Adrien’s voice pierced through the silence. “Are you still awake, My Lady?”

“Hmm-mmm.”

The floorboards groaned and then her mattress swayed as he climbed up onto her bed, leaning against the wall. “Sorry, I can’t sleep.”

She turned to face him. “I don’t blame you. Wanna talk about it?”

He laid down beside her, propping his head up on his arm. “I can’t really have my family back to normal, can I?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

“I want to be on the same page as you. You’re…you don’t have the same bias. You know what to do.”

Marinette held her breath, knowing this would be the breaking point. The same question had come back to her over and over too. So what was the right thing to do? Hurt him? Or brush off her duty as Ladybug?”

“He needs to face justice, Adrien.”

He hid his face in her shoulder and nodded. He knew what she would say. He knew what was right. He just didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t fair.

It was fair, though. His father was a messed up, broken man who had done horrible things, no matter the reason, no matter how temporary. He had scars on his heart from that man that would take years to heal.

“I don’t want you to do that alone, but I don’t know if I can be with you when you turn him in.” He breathed, sobs just at the edge of his voice.

“Kitty, I would never expect you to turn in your own father.”

“But I want to support you. You have so much responsibility to shoulder being the guardian and—“

“Adrien,” she pushed his shoulder so he would look at her. “You single-handedly defeated Hawkmoth. Please, let me take care of the clean up.”

Hesitantly, Adrien nodded.

“But first, let's worry about your mom, okay? One step at a time.”

“Thank you, My Lady. I love you.”

“I love you too, My Prince.”

—

At the break of dawn, Marinette dawned the Horse Miraculous, and along with Chat Noir, departed to Tibet.

The temple was on top a mountain, and stepping from tepid France to frigid Tibet was a whiplash. The snow whipped around, and threatened to knock Marinette’s pastry box right out of her hands.

But they waded through the snow to reach the massive doors of the temple, and knocked.

The door slid open cautiously, a monk watching them with confusion.

“Hello,” Chat translated. “I’m Chat Noir, and this is my partner, Ladybug, or Pinto Rouge, we’re here to learn about the Miraculous.”

Pinto Rouge held up the box.

“We brought snacks!”

Still confused, the monk allowed them inside and instructed them to wait in a large lobby. The room was mostly bare, only decorated with the symbol of the Miraculous on the walls, and huge columns.

“Welcome,” another monk finally greeted. “How can we assist you?”

Both Pinto Rouge and Chat Noir bowed in greeting, offering the pastry box to the man.

“Tikki, Kalkki, divide.” Ladybug whispered, returning to her normal suit.

Chat Noir translated for her, “Pardon our intrusion. My name is Ladybug, and this is my partner, Chat Noir. I don’t actually speak Mandarin, so he’ll be translating for me.”

The monk nodded, indicating that he understood.

“We were picked to be wielders by Wang Fu, who trained me in succession to be a guardian. He was once a student here.”

The assembled guardians all reacted to the name, nodding, some chuckling.

“How is Wang Fu?” One man asked.

“They want to know about Master Fu.” Chat provided. Ladybug answered, and he translated. “He’s well. Unfortunately, he was compromised and named me as guardian, and then lost his memories. He lives with his wife in England now.”

“He must be quite old.”

“186, last I checked.”

“Well, despite not being chosen for our order by the council, you are still a guardian of the Miraculous, and you should be trained as every one is. Where do you hail from?”

“Paris, France.”

“All the way from Paris! Wang certainly fled as we asked. When can you start?”

“As much as I desire to start training as soon as possible, there is something we need help with first.”

They were beckoned into a meeting hall, and sat down among the order. Tea was served, and the pastries were divided up. Then they began the story from the beginning. How Hawkmoth appeared one day, and how they were bestowed Miraculous. How they fought together for over a year against him and Mayura. And then the day of the reveal, how Adrien had come to discover his own father was behind the whole thing, and that his mother was in a magical coma from a broken Miraculous. How that night, he stole the Miraculous and returned them to the Miracle Box.

“So you see, he doesn’t pose a threat to Paris anymore, but his wife, my mother, is still asleep. He wanted to use the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous together to wake her up.”

More nodding as their tale was considered, and then the conversed among themselves, speaking much too fast for Chat to translate completely.

“What are they saying?”

“Some of them are doubtful she can be healed, others are doubtful they can trust us.”

“Yikes.”

“Drop your transformations, as a show of good intentions.”

“They want us to de-transform, My Lady.”

“Oh, okay. No harm in that. Tikki, Spots off.”

“Plagg, Claws in.”

The Guardians seemed much more at ease after they took off the suits.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She reintroduced.

“And I’m Adrien Agreste.”

“A pleasure.” The monk bowed. “Now, we have discussed what you have said. We will need to examine this woman, Emilie, and the broken Miraculous before knowing exactly what there is to do. Our last resort would be to use the Black Cat and Ladybug, but it is very risky, and works with equivalent exchange. If your father, Gabriel, really wishes to wake her up so badly, he must decide who he wants to give up in exchange. Whether it is another loved one, or himself. He will need to keep that thought in his mind.”

Adrien explained this all to Marinette, who frowned. “Would you be able to handle that? If he decided to take her place?”

Adrien was quiet for a moment, and then admitted, “I’d have to think about it…”

“You’ve both come so far, why don’t you stay the night? We can get in a little training tomorrow before you leave. Then you can return with Emilie when you can.”

“Thank you, Master. We’d love to stay.”

—

Sunday night came quickly with all the training that had taken place. Marinette was thankful she had brought a notebook, since the monks had taught her how to read the coded Grimoire. Adrien had, of course, been there to translate all of it, so he was also being trained as a guardian.

But now it was time to return to Paris, and time to confront Gabriel Agreste.

It could go either way. He could be responsive to help, or he could fight the whole time. It was absolutely unpredictable.

Chat Noir and Ladybug arrived at the mansion at sunset, waiting outside the gate, gathering courage.

“You still with me, kitty?”

“I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“I don’t doubt that. Do you want to come back later?”

He shook his head. “No, the longer we wait, the worse it’s going to be for me. I just…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me.” She offered him a smile. “You remember a few days ago? When I had my melt down?”

“Sure.”

“It was this feeling of hopelessness, of everything being completely out of control and the whole world resting on my shoulders. But you gave me control back. You gave me peace of mind. Now I’m here to do everything I can for you. You and me against the world, and you and me against your father.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before hugging her. Just soaking in her warmth for a while and letting her strength flow into him.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

“Let’s go.”

She rang the doorbell.

The camera came out, spotted them, and the gate opened without a word.

“Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.” Chat muttered to himself.

“He doesn’t have a Miraculous, we’re stronger than him.” She reminded him gently.

He scoffed. “I’m not afraid of him hurting me physically.” The rest went unsaid.

Gabriel opened the door as they approached, then beckoned them inside. He was quiet, reserved, and looked tired. He had bags under his eyes, unkempt hair, and a shadow of a beard on his face.

“Ladybug, Chat Noir, please come in.”

“Your secretary have the day off?” Ladybug asked conversationally.

“Nathalie and the rest of my house staff will be taking an...extended vacation.”

Chat tried to not let his disappointment show, but he had assumed Gabriel would fire anyone he was suspicious of. He just didn’t think that included Nathalie.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ladybug smiled as pleasantly as she could, like she was talking to any other civilian. “We’re here to help.”

“Ah, with what, exactly?”

“Please show us your wife, Monsieur Agreste.”

Gabriel’s almost pleasant attitude evaporated into something akin to anger. “He told you then? My son ran his mouth?” He sneered.

“Something like that.”

“You have Nooroo now?”

“And Dusuu too, yes.”

“So what now? Have you come to gloat? To beat me up anyways? I’ve already lost everything, what more could you take from me?”

“We’re not here to take anything,” Chat said. “We want to give back.”

“We might have a way to save your wife.”

The tightness Gabriel held began to subside. His fists unclenched, his brow smoothed, and the deep set frown relaxed into open mouthed awe. “You...want to help me save her?”

“Purely for selfish reasons on my end,” Ladybug explained. “If your reason for hurting others is removed, you’re not a threat anymore, right?”

He inhaled, his breath shuddering as he did so. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. This went on for so long, and I kept telling myself that I would quit, that it wasn’t worth it...then I would see an opportunity, and get so close again. I was obsessed, Ladybug. Can’t you see?”

“The powers of the Miraculous can be addicting. Knowing that you were so close to being with your wife again...I don’t blame you.”

Then Gabriel did something they were not expecting.

He started to cry.

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve your help.”

“You don’t.” Chat confirmed. “But your wife and son do.”

“My son hates me. He’ll never speak to me again. And I can’t blame him for it. And my wife...once she knows what I did...this wasn’t worth it. I ruined everything.”

“Mr. Agreste,” Ladybug spoke calmly, as he started to spiral out of control. “Let me see your wife.”

Gabriel collected himself and turned from them, heading to the office.

Ladybug and Chat Noir shared a look. Villain or not, Gabriel Agreste was not well, and he severely needed help. Maybe not even help they could give him.

They followed him into his office, and up to the painting Chat had seen the other night. He typed in the code, and then they were descending in an elevator into a huge cavern.

At the end of a bridge, there was a garden, filled with flowers and swathes of butterflies.

In the middle of it all, was a glass coffin.

It might have been beautiful if it wasn’t so horrid.

Ladybug reached out to take Chat’s hand, holding it in comfort as they walked down the bridge.

“She was using the Peacock Miraculous,” Gabriel explained. “It’s broken. It hurt her, made her sick. By time we figured out what was wrong, it was too late. She had...she had fallen asleep.”

Chat wanted to yell at him to shut up. He had heard the whole pitiful story before, but he just found himself as silent in shock as the first time.

“I have the grimoire too. There was a page on combining the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous to create an amazing power, capable of granting any wish. Nooroo confirmed that it worked.”

“We talked to the guardians about it. Yes, it would work, but not without equivalent exchange. To wake up your wife, someone else would have to take her place, perhaps you, perhaps your son. There’s no way of knowing.”

“I could have—“ his words got caught in his throat as he fell to sit on the grass. “I could have killed Adrien. I was so concerned with bringing her back, I didn’t even think…” He pulled on his tie, ripping it away from his neck. “What have I done? What have I done?”

“Will you let us take her to Tibet? To see the Guardians?”

“My poor Adrien…I could have lost him. What did I do? I tore apart his room! I hit him! I’d never—“ He moaned as he rocked back and forth.

Ladybug looked at Chat. “Do you want to tell him?” She asked so softly.

“Tell me what?” Asked Gabriel, looking up desperately. “What else is there? What do I have to do? Is Adrien safe? Did you talk to him? Will you talk to him?”

Chat took a calming breath, trying not to lose it at the sight of his insane father. Then he spoke, “Plagg, Claws in.”

Gabriel looked away at the green flash, and when he turned, his tears started again in earnest.

“I lied to you, Father.” Adrien began, before he lost courage. “I’m the one that betrayed you. I had my kwami take your miraculous while you slept. I do want to save mom, but I had a feeling combining the Miraculous wasn’t going to work. So I went to Ladybug. She’s smart and she always has an answer. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, you just…you scared me. You’re still scaring me. I trust that you only had good things in mind but…you’ve changed. You need help, father.”

Gabriel clamored to his feet, finding shaky steps towards his son.

Ladybug stood at the ready, in case he became violent.

Gabriel collapsed on Adrien, hugging him and crying and begging for forgiveness over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

It wasn’t what he had in mind, but he’d take any affection he could get from the man. He hugged him back.

“We’re going to find a way to save her. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

“It’s all my fault. I ruin everything…I’ve hurt you so badly.” He pulled away from the hug to hold his face, squishing his cheeks slightly. “I’m so proud of you…”

Pride. Adrien never thought he’d be worthy of his father’s pride. All his life, he had done everything right, and only now, after he had betrayed him and gone behind his back, at the reveal of fighting against him after all this time. Now he’s proud.

It was kind of a kick in the pants.

“Father…”

“You knew when to ask for help, when I didn’t. You knew I couldn’t handle this. You did the right thing…I told you before, that you were a good kid, and you’ll be a great man. I mean it. Adrien…”

And then Adrien understood what was happening. It wasn’t immediately apparent, but with his father’s face so close, he finally figured it out.

“You’re drunk.”

Gabriel started to sob again, grabbing hold of Adrien’s shirt and sliding to his knees. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought I had to say goodbye. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really? Or are you just drunk?”

“Don’t leave me Adrien...please, son. I love you.”

Adrien grabbed his hands and pulled, trying to wretch him free from where he was clamped. “Why did it take alcohol to get you to say it?”

“Because I’m awful...I’m worthless, I ruin everything I touch. Everything I did was a waste! I couldn’t save her! Hundreds and thousands and millions of people were hurt because of me! How can I live with that?”

“Adrien,” Ladybug began. “I think we should continue this conversation when he’s sober.”

“No!” Gabriel protested. “Take her! Take her to Tibet and save her! Give Adrien back his mother! Please I beg you!”

“Then what will happen to you?” Adrien asked, looking down on the blubbering mess that was once his indomitable father.

“I’m going to turn myself in. I’ll live with guilt the rest of my life, but let me have some relief! Let me face judgement.” He collapsed onto his hands and knees, bowing at the feet of his son. “Let me earn your trust. Let me earn your forgiveness. Please.”

They spent a long time in silence, Adrien coming to terms with what had to happen.

“My lady,” he finally said. “The Horse Miraculous?”

She handed over the glasses.

“Plagg, Claws out.” In a flash, Chat Noir stood there, and stepped away from Gabriel over to the glass coffin. “Plagg, Kalikki, unify.” Dawning both Miraculous, Belle Noir easily opened the coffin.

“Be careful with her! Please, I beg you Adrien! She’s done nothing wrong.”

“I will be careful,” he spoke calmly, as he reached his arms behind her shoulders and knees.

“Ladybug. Please escort my father to the police. I’ll take care of my mother.”

“Of course, Chat.”

“I’ll find you when I’m ready.”

“Stay safe.”

He only offered a nod of agreement, before summoning his voyage and disappearing into nothing.

#integrity #ml #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrinette #fanfiction #hawkmoth defeat

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hesmygolden · 4 years

Text

we said forever (ch.2)

ch.1

A/N: I just could not wait to post the second chapter until tomorrow so I had to post it now. I enjoy writing with my whole heart and I’m having so many ideas for this series. would love to hear your opinions and thoughts on this. next chapter will be up until next week. be safe and take care.

CHAPTER TWO

A grunt escaped from your lips as your phone ran loudly above the coffee table. You had no idea how or when you’d ended up falling asleep on the sofa but you were grateful you’d been able to get some sleep since it’s what you needed after all those sleepless and lonely nights you’ve been spending lately.

The name of your manager, Andrew, showed up on the caller ID and before answering the call, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

“It was about time you picked up the phone.” He sounded annoyed but at the same time calmer than his usual self.

He was being extremely patient with you since the breakup letting you take days off, checking up on you every now and then, making the PR team work on deleting and ending the gossip built around you and taking over your social media, but you knew that enough was enough and you needed to get back to work.

Especially now with the upcoming release of the big movie you were starring in, there were interviews and press releases to be done and your fans were begging to hear from you.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I was taking a nap.”

“Naps are good,” his voice went softer, “how are you doing?”

“Well that was a good nap.”

“I’m sure it was, but that’s not what I asked.”

You took another deep breath and reminded yourself that enough was enough, you had to keep living.

“I’m doing better.” You lied.

“Better enough to start promoting the movie?”

“How soon?”

“Relax dear,” he chuckled, “the first interview would be Tuesday next week.”

“Tuesday next week.” You repeated out loud just to make sure your brain had processed the information.

“Y/N, it’s the furthest I’ve been able to push the start of the promotion for the movie, you know the rest of the cast have busy schedules and the movie is premiering in a month, the PR team is urging us to start now.”

Not only had your personal manager been patient and understanding with you but also the cast and the rest of the PR and Marketing team for the movie rescheduling interviews, press releases, conferences and other events. You were one of the main characters on the movie so you had to be there, you were a good marketing strategy after all.

The trailer had been released a month ago and the public’s response has been outstanding ever since. Fans and movie critics were eager to watch the movie and know more about it.

The movie was produced and directed by Greta Gerwig, who recently has been having a huge success on the film industry and apart from you being the main star, it also starred your co-star Saoirse Ronan, who has now become one of your closest friends.

The movie is focused on female empowerment, so you had an even bigger reason to show your face and prove the audience you’re doing great, even if you had to fake it till you make it.

“I appreciate that Andrew, I truly do.” You replied after a short silence. “I’m ready to get out there again.”

“That’s the Y/N I know.”

You hung up after setting a meeting tomorrow with your team to organise everything and you even ended up with an appointment with your hair stylist since everyone knew that a change in your appearance was another way of ending a cycle and having a fresh start

You made your way to your bedroom, your heart beating fast at the thought of being interviewed and having the media all over you again.

Being honest, you still felt like cuddling up in a ball and never going out again, but you also knew you were better than this and you were not going to let a breakup also break something you’ve worked on your whole life. Your career.

Laying in your bed after doing your night routine, you decided it was time to check your social media even though you were not going to post anything for the sake of your wellbeing, so you just opened Twitter to read all the opinions of your fans about the upcoming movie and how loved you are by them, which definitely made you feel a little better.

This is not so bad. You thought to yourself.

Sure you scrolled past the usual unnecessary gossip from accounts like TMZ and some hateful bot tweets but you’d had years of training on ignoring the hate and focusing on the people who support and spread love to you, so all was well.

Until you saw it.

A picture of the curly haired man with green eyes who had broken your heart, the man with the many tattoos you used to softly trace with your fingers when he had trouble falling asleep, the man you were supposed to spend forever with, the man with the pretty hands and fingers covered in rings that once held your own hands but looking at the picture, you saw they were now holding another pair of hands.

There it was, the picture of Harry Styles holding hands with his new girlfriend, Camille Rowe.

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

CONTINUE

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #solo harry #solo harry styles #harries #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x actress #imagine harry styles #one shot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #camille rowe #saoirse ronan #saoirse ronan x reader #harry edward styles

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onceuponakdrama · 3 years

Text

The World of the Married KDrama Review

—

Bingo Card for The World of the Married

—

Synopsis: Ji Sun Woo is a family medicine doctor. She is married to Lee Tae Oh and they have a son. She seems to have everything, including a successful career and a happy family, but she is betrayed by her husband and others. Meanwhile, Lee Tae Oh dreams of becoming a famous movie director. He runs an entertainment business with the support of his wife Ji Sun Woo. Even though he loves his wife, Lee Tae Oh falls into a dangerous relationship.

TW: infidelity, attempted murder, suicide mentions, abusive relationships.

Overall Main Plot: Rating - 9 out of 10

Wow. Okay, so I have to clear up that I really like romantic comedy dramas better, but I gave this a shot because it was highly rated and I did not regret it. Like many other viewers, I was super invested in every episode because there was just twist after twist and it was the kind that was actually not expected (other than the mistress getting pregnant because I totally called that). It definitely felt like a thriller drama, especially as things got more and more tense between all the characters and how they were all pushing the plot. Just when you thought you were safe and knew what was going to happen—BAM, new plot device! I know this drama is surrounding the romance and the whole theme of infidelity, but it was so much deeper because it was focused on more than just the one relationship. It was about how these relationships overlap, class dynamics, and even a couple of notes about sexism when it comes to parenting and divorce. It was also about trust because Sunwoo’s trust was not broken between just her husband, but also her friends and there’s also the doctor-patient trust.... There is just so much happening and it feels so overdramatic, but it actually works. I guess what made it a 9 out of 10 rather than a 10 out of 10 is the fact that there were too many elements happening that if you missed something real quick, you might have actually missed a major part of it, but that’s just my opinion.

Characters: Rating - 8 out of 10

↣ Ji Sunwoo [played by Kim Hee-Ae]: y’all, the first thing I wanna say about Sunwoo is how bad I felt for her the entire time. She was just so fooled into thinking she had a perfect life, only to find out that her husband and her friends really just... hated her? Or, at least it felt like she was secretly hated amongst them. Not to mention the fact that Joon Young (her son) just felt more and more antagonistic towards her. While I understand how hard divorce is on a kid, the way he acted sometimes just felt lowkey misogynistic at times and I felt so bad for her. Not to mention that she kept going back to Tae Oh for no fucking reason. Well, I guess it’s just hard to break off ties when there are lingering feelings, but he’s tried to kill her! TWICE! Maybe, even thrice! I don’t know; her relationship with her family was the one thing that she wanted to protect but then it broke her in the end. One another thing that made me mad was also her relationship with that other doctor, Dr. Sul—that two-faced bitch needed to pick a side and she kept gossiping and... God, I hated that Sunwoo kept talking to her, like why. Overall, I just felt bad for her and how things played out; while she definitely handled things like a boss at times, there were moments that were too flawed for me about her character that I couldn’t overlook. I think I just really felt for her when she lost Joon Young (temporarily, but still) and, along that, herself and, her suicide attempt.... she really deserved so much better.

↣ Lee Tae Oh [played by Park Haejoon]: okay, real talk. I hated all the men in this goddamned drama, but Lee Tae-fucking-Oh takes the entire cake. I have never hated a man more in my entire life. He didn’t even get everything he deserved, which is nothing, and, after everything he and his families had been through, he never once formally apologized or even took the fault of the problems HE started. His character alone is enough her to deduct a point because he was the only one who did not develop. He never once reflected on the fact that he was the problem and all he had to do was apologize. AT THE END OH MYGOD THE AUDACITY. He literally was just so stubborn and was the ultimate downfall for everything that happened because he couldn’t keep it in his fucking pants.

↣ Yeo Da Kyung [played by Han Sohee]: I really hated her at first and I only really liked her at the end when she left Tae Oh with literally nothing. But, I started to go through the posts about this drama and... some good points were made. The most notable thing to me was the fact that she really was just a younger woman who was gaslit into thinking that this married man loved her. At the end, she realized that she was deluding herself into thinking that. It makes the viewers think about it too—the fact that she gave him a choice, but when Sunwoo left him, she thought he actually did divorce her when it was the other way around. I just wished she came to this realization earlier because we could have gotten some real epic scenes of Sunwoo and Da Kyung together. I think I really didn’t like her in the beginning because she really was just a spoiled rich girl (she still is at the end, but she’s just less gullible) who thought she owned the world because her father had so much power and her family had so much money and.... she was such a disrespectful and dumb girl. But, again, she is a younger woman who’s been sheltered and her development was really satisfying, especially when she rejected that one guy’s advance to focus on herself. There was a lot to hate about her until the very end, but it still feels satisfying to know that she wasn’t gonna let Tae Oh ruin her life completely.

↣ Lee Joon Young [played by Jeon Jin Seo]: he was also another annoying character I didn’t like either, until time went and he slowly grew to understand things better. He is a teenager after all and there was a lot that he did that he’ll definitely regret looking back on, but his response to his parents and their complicated their relationship was totally warranted. He’s just a confused kid and his parents weren’t going to explain anything to him—it wasn’t until he and Sunwoo had an honest and open conversation that they were able to determine what it was that they would do and all that other good stuff. In a way, he was a major part in the plot because all this plot built up to him running away from home at the end. His parents were the downfall of his mental state and he really needed to just get away from them, which also helped his parents realize that they need to get their shit together. I also felt really bad for him too, especially when Da Kyung accused him of hitting her daughter to getting hit by his dad to getting bullied at his school (and I highkey thought that fight at school was warranted because of all those kids talking shit about his mom, like.. mind your own business). There was so much happening to him all at once and his behavior, while infuriating to us as viewers, it felt very on par for a teenager who is going through these issues.

Personal Notes: I think what really made the characters great was how flawed they were and their development along the way. The ending was mostly satisfying for the most part, in which everyone kind of got what they deserved. Although, there were definitely some weird choices that made no sense and they kind of tried to reason it with all the emotions (like when Sunwoo bailed Tae-Oh out of jail... girl, leave him in jail to rot). I also did not predict Joon Young just flat out running away from home and it made me think about his parents: did Sunwoo and Tae Oh really learn their lesson? Are they going to change after he returns? I went through so many emotions with these characters and, those who developed, it felt satisfying to watch.

Romance: Rating - 7 out of 10

There was definitely chemistry between the three main characters. For romantic chemistry, there was a lot of it in both before the divorce and after the divorce. There was just so much push and pull from Tae Oh and Sunwoo and it was heartwarming (for a hot second) to see how they got together and decided to get married (you know, before he tried to make Da Kyung a copy of Sunwoo because he is obsessed). The biggest thing that put me off about this romance though is how toxic is. While that’s supposed to be main point of the drama, it just got me rolling my eyes because Sunwoo really needed to remove herself from this emotionally abusive relationship. It pushed her all the way to the edge—both causing her depression and her suicidal attempt. This drama made me distrust everyone because I wasn’t (and still not) sure of Dr. Kim (the psychiatrist). I was just pushing for self-love on both Sunwoo and Da Kyung’s parts because of how Tae Oh ruined these women. All of these romance relationships, while I was invested and the chemistry between them were present, I did not love them and root for them. I was screaming at my TV screen for them to get away from one another. The romance is the key in this drama, but it’s the ultimately downfall of the characters because of how it all broke apart so easily because the men in this drama are garbage.

Second Plot/B-Plot and Secondary Characters: Rating - 8 out of 10

I was actually really invested with the secondary plots, especially when it came to Hyun Seo and Ye Rim. They were in these situations that were similar to Sunwoo’s, but it was different in which one turned more dangerous and the other was more of a ‘what could have been’ had Sunwoo forgave Tae-Oh. I think these secondary plots were definitely interesting, especially in contrast to Sunwoo’s situation. I mentioned it earlier, but I was not interested in Dr. Sul, so I had no real interest in her becoming the associate director or whatever. Another side plot I didn’t care for was the whole issue with the women’s association. It was really unclear as to what they really did and it seemed to break apart after Sunwoo joined and quit, which followed by Yerim and Dr. Sul quitting. What I liked about this drama was the fact that the secondary plot could also overlap with the main plot because it’s all interconnected; it could also branch off into its own naturally because of the main characters and the damage they have caused onto the other characters.

Additional Notes:

Joon Young’s Development - while it took a bit, his character development felt the slowest and I just ended up feeling really bad for him because he just.... ran away from his problems. I really wished there was more communication between Joon Young and Sunwoo because then there would have been better outcomes for them and the whole family situation. There was that small moment and you could see how that was very positive towards their relationship, but then it all just fell apart and then he ended up running and then kind of coming back? It was just all bad writing and I just felt so bad for him.

Lee Tae Oh’s Demise - I mentioned it earlier but I hated him and watching him fall into pieces was so satisfying. I just wished he got nothing nothing in the end. In the end, it was more that he was broke and that was fine, but I kind of wanted him to be homeless because he really did not learn his lesson until he lost Joon Young. But the question still kind of remains though: did he really learn his lesson? I really wished that he did, but knowing the men in this drama, I don’t think he would have.

Social Commentary on Divorcees - I really liked the social commentaries on divorce and the double standards between men and women. There were so many married couples throughout this drama, but there seemed to be specific breaking points. But, even then, their breaking points might not have been divorce, but rather a complete break of trust within the marriage and things would not be the same. I just thought it was interesting to watch as things went down between each couple, whether they were apart of the main cast or not.

Overall Rating: 8 out of 10

Recommended?

↣ Yes: this is one of those overdramatic dramas that have so much going on, if you’re into that, this is a good drama for you. Because it’s also a thriller drama, there’s a lot of action included—there is a violence warning though, since this is a more *rated* drama. It also keeps you on the edge of your seat because there’s a lot happening with many twists and turns that come unexpectedly. There’s also a lot of character development, even though it takes a while, but it’s really satisfying to watch as the drama progresses. This is a drama that is really about rooting for the characters to grow on their own and build their independence further. There’s also many side stories, which do cross with the main storyline; it all aligns and still manages to be interesting.

↣ No: this is not a really romance centered drama—it’s more of indirect commentary about marriage and complications of divorce. If you wanted something with a couple to root for.... this is not it for you. Because there’s a lot going on, you have to pay close attention to details and if you wanted a less involved drama, this is not the right drama. This is also a very frustrating drama to watch because there’s so much happening, the development is very slow or very fast, and there’s also the fact that it’s about infidelity so there’s a lot of frustration between the main couple.

#the world of the married #a couple's world #kdrama review #kdrama recs #spoilers #mine

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polyamquackity · 4 years

Text

An anon requested Logince + Oh No! by Marina and it turned out significantly longer than expected.

Title: Oh No!

Warnings: Potentially panic attacks, implied bullying

Word Count: 1627

Read on AO3

It was common knowledge that Roman Williams was meant for better things. He had a genuine talent, his acting abilities bringing an abundance of new patrons to the school’s shows. He, in his own right, was relatively famous. Both locally and online. It was a surprise that he hadn’t left on some sort of show offer, he certainly had them. Rumors circled, but no one ever confirmed the reason. And of course, with fame and gossip, comes a torrent of people wanting a piece of the fun. If you asked, the students of Jonesville High would tell you that Roman had friends crawling out of the woodwork. His clique was that of the infamous popular kids, the preps. It wasn’t often that a queer theater kid was truly a school’s primadonna, but he managed it just fine.

Logan Arthur on the other hand, was significantly less well known. Most kids wouldn’t even know his name if you asked. This was by no accident, Logan didn’t want to be known. The only thing he wanted was to keep his head down and get the hell out of this city. To go to college and make something out of himself. The kids who did know his name, would be able to tell you that he was incredibly smart. 4.1 GPA smart. Had the knowledge to correct the teacher smart. He worked hard and had a seemingly never differing routine. This was a kid with no friends, a loner in the truest sense of the word.

Rumors followed Logan throughout high school as well, although these were significantly more malicious than those about Roman. One of the more memorable being that Logan was an emotionless robot. It could be argued that these were more insults than rumors. After taking day after day of comments such as this, without so much as blinking, even the most experienced performer would need a break. A moment to be himself and to let everything out. So one day, instead of heading to his usual lunch spot in the library- Logan headed swiftly towards the empty auditorium.

If you were quiet and paid attention, you would notice that the performing art kids talked about how easy it was to get into the catwalk when it was left unattended. And you would know that it was the perfect place for a breakdown. Conveniently, Logan was aware of both of these things. People tended to talk in front of him as though he wasn’t there.

He shimmied through the broken gate-like door, with relative ease. It was very broken. As he maneuvered up the steep, winding stairs, his tears began to fall. It was a slow thing, one tear slipping out at time. Finally escaping the dam that had been built long ago. Logan supposed that this was about far more than a few mean comments. Logically this was probably years in the coming, it wasn’t healthy to push everyone away as he had.

What none of the students' gossip could have prepared him for, was that upon breaching the entrance to the catwalk, Logan would find one Roman Williams. One Roman Williams who was equally as, if not more intensely upset than Logan.

There was an odd beat where they just started at one another. If Logan had not already been in tears, perhaps Roman would have said something needlessly cruel. And if the opposite were true, Logan may have simply left. But, as it was, they were both distraught.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” Roman offered, awkwardly gesturing the area beside him.

“I’ll just find somewhere else,” Logan mumbled, already beginning to back down the stairs.

“Nonsense, you’re already here, aren’t you? And it’s not like there’s anywhere else to cry without being caught. Well, more caught than we already have been.”

Logan squinted into the dark, assessing the actors' offer. He sighed, making his way back up the few stairs he had descended, “If you’re certain.” He took a seat next to Roman and a silence rose between them. Sitting in the dark, crying silently next to a stranger is a weird scenario for anyone to be in. But, it was especially odd for these two.

It was surprising to say the least, when this quiet was broken by Roman giggling, “What the hell are we doing?”

Logan raised a brow at him, “I thought it was obvious? We’re crying.”

More laughter bubbled out of Roman, “I know that! I just. We could at least be trying to help each other and instead we’ve elected to wallow in our miseries privately.” Roman wiped at his tear stained face, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You don’t even know my name, why would I tell you about my feelings?”

Roman turned to get a better look at him, “Huh. I actually don’t think I’ve seen you around set before. Were you part of the crew freshman year or something?”

“No, I’ve never been involved with the theatre club.”

“Then how do you know about this place?”

Logan looked away and reached to fidget with his watch, “Hearsay.”

“So you were eavesdropping?” Roman accused, leveling the other with a look.

“Is it eavesdropping if people talk directly next to you, as if you aren’t even there? I’m certain that they noticed me, it’s not as if I was hiding.” Logan asked sheepishly.

“Hm. I guess that isn’t.” He reached out his hand, “I’m Roman then, if we have to exchange names before feelings.”

The other hesitantly gripped his hand in response, “Logan.” Another beat passed, “So, which of us should go first?”

Roman shrugged, “I asked you first.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, “I suppose that I’m feeling rather upset at the moment. People tend to make assumptions and opinions about people who differ from them and I differ pretty heavily from our peers. Their incessant mocking seems to have gotten the best of me.”

Roman nodded, “People are assholes. I’m sure whatever they’re saying about you isn’t true.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but I know our school. And I haven’t met a kind person in a long time. I’m not sure if anybody is really anything more than a fake anymore.”

It was Logan's turn to nod. Both parties had ceased crying since they began talking to one another. Logan wasn’t much for talking about his emotions, so he decided to urge the conversation forward, “Do you want to talk about your feelings now?”

Roman took a breath, “Sometimes! Sometimes having to be perfect is too much! I have to act a specific way or else- Or else I lose my reputation. And that’s everything in show business. I need to be the best, to never falter or. Or I’ve failed. And I can’t fail, I have too much on the line to fail.” Roman looked close to crying again.

Logan carefully put his hand on the other's shoulder, “I’ve dealt with a similar issue, although at a much different level. I’ve pushed people away because of it, but from what I know you’ve done the opposite. Would you like my advice?”

This was met with a shaky nod.

“You are human Roman. Despite your reputation, you are going to fail sometimes. That is an entirely human thing to do. And people who truly care about you will be understanding of this. If there are people in your life that are making you feel otherwise, they probably aren’t good for you.”

“That makes sense.” Roman admitted. For the third time that day, a silence occurred between them. Although, this was the most comfortable out of all of them. The five minute warning bell rang in the distance and Logan shifted to stand up and head to class.

“Wait, before you go, can I have your number or something?”

Logan stared at Roman, mouth agape, “Are? Are you being serious?”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Dude, yeah. This might have been really weird. But, it was also the most genuine conversation I’ve had in awhile.”

“Yeah, okay then. My numb-”

“Just give me your phone and I’ll give you mine.”

Logan handed his phone over, standing awkwardly as Roman put his number in.

“There you go! Make sure to send me a text soon Logan!” Roman said far too brightly for someone who had just been on the verge of tears. He handed Logan his phone back before practically running down the stairs.

It wasn’t until the end of the school day that Logan took the time to text Roman. What the loner saw in his contacts made him freeze up for a moment, Roman had put a heart emoticon next to his name. That probably meant nothing he reasoned with himself, it’s not like they even talked for that long.

Logan: Hey this is Logan from earlier. You told me to text soon, so here’s a text.

Roman<3: Hey!! I’m glad you texted!

Roman<3: I wanted to tell you that you really helped me out earlier and I’m feeling a lot better. Although, I wish I could have helped you out more. It doesn’t even seem like you got to talk that much

Roman<3: Also, I wanted to know if you maybe wanted to get coffee sometime?

In the future, it would be common knowledge that Roman and Logan were made for each other. No one knew high school sweethearts who had a bond as strong as theirs. Forged in fire some would say. The two found success and comfort in one another. A sense of home that neither had ever felt before.

But, that was the future. For now, what they have is this first coffee date. A gentle start to something wonderful.

#logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sides #ts sides fanfiction #my writing #ash writes #oh no!

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 21: Answers

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan awoke that morning feeling fresh and clear and light, so much so that it surprised him. Unnerved him. He still felt weightless, but he was no longer falling, no longer lost. He could almost still feel Aelin’s hand in his, a phantom limb. Guiding him onwards.

The day passed normally, only Aelin was banned from the kitchens so they made their trek up to the temple ruins in the early morning rather than at noon. They were both quiet for most of the day, adjusting to this new thing – this new dynamic between them. Or at least Rowan was.

He didn’t know what to do with her, didn’t know where to place her in his life.

Yes, she was temporary, and would soon be gone back into the west, but right now she felt frighteningly permanent. And though she was young, she felt old. Very old. Her experiences in life had aged her immensely, and though she was very similar in temperament to Fenrys, Rowan felt far more akin to her than he’d ever felt to the reckless male.

But she wasn’t a friend, wasn’t a sister, wasn’t a companion. She was still his student, still under his command. And he did not take that lightly, nor could he forget it. She was his responsibility until they knelt at Maeve’s feet in Doranelle, and no earlier.

And yet, last night something had passed between them. Something had shifted, and would not easily shift back.

Yet it was far from easy between them. The day Aelin didn’t provoke him at least once, would be the day the world fell apart at the seams. What was strange was Rowan was almost starting to enjoy the teasing, and how it morphed into a comfortable banter between the two of them.

Mostly, however, he felt a ravenous, aching curiosity. The girl was a mystery, one he was now determined to solve. One that he would solve. Last night, Rowan had broken down the door, and handed her his past on a silver platter. And she had taken it, had listened to his every word. Without judgement, and without reproach.

It had felt…good. To open those floodgates, to let go of his truth. To share it with her. And he had no intention of going back to the icy silence. All the questions had built up within him over the past weeks and were now resting on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked. He just had to find the right opportunity.

That evening, Rowan ate in the kitchens with everyone else, then retired to his rooms early to begin repairing the damage done to his tattoos. He used a mirror to ink in the mangled sections on his face, but soon realized it would be impossible for him to fix the marks on his right arm without help.

Rowan sighed deeply, and went to go ask Aelin a favor.

···

“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.”

“No.” An automatic response.

Aelin looked up, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…” She lowered the tattooing needle closer to his arm for emphasis.

Rowan almost laughed. As it was, he let out a huff of air through his nose and his lips tightened, preventing a smile.

He was sitting on his worktable, facing away from the idly burning fire and towards the closed door. Aelin was sitting in the rickety wooden chair and hunched over his wrist, baring the tattoo needle with a wicked glint in her eyes, her neck arched towards him, her golden hair falling over her shoulders and masking the beautiful curve where her neck met her torso –

“Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?” Aelin’s question jerked Rowan from his thoughts.

“Yes, master and apprentice and all that,” Rowan answered, silently cursing himself. “In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh – sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamored of it, and I convinced him to teach me.”

“With that legendary charm of yours, I suppose.” This time, he couldn’t completely hold in the smile curving his lips. He cursed inwardly again, and mentally shook himself.

“Just fill in the spots where I – ” Rowan hissed in pain as Aelin took the needle and punched another mark into the thin skin on his wrist. “Good. That’s the right depth.”

Rowan couldn’t help but be impressed. Before they’d begun, he’d instructed her on how to properly use the tools, and she’d taken to the lessons quickly, her skill with blades translating fairly well into the subtle dexterity necessary to make the delicate markings. Usually he asked Gavriel to assist him, and it’d become a regular ritual in their easy friendship. Once, he’d asked Fenrys, and then immediately regretted it. The male had no patience for the fine, slow work.

Aelin made several more marks, her hands steady, while Rowan focused on locking his jaw and evening his breaths.

“Tell me about your family.” Another casual question.

“Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Fine.” Her hard voice revealed nothing. “Are your parents alive?”

Rowan shook his head. “My parents were very old when they conceived me. I was their only child in the millennia they’d been mated. They faded into the Afterworld before I reached my second decade.”

Aelin was quiet, so Rowan paused for a moment, deliberating. There was so much he wanted to ask her – about the years he knew nothing of, about her family, her friends, about whoever had died and left her to cross the ocean alone, desperate enough to bargain with a Fae queen. But he knew he had to ease into it.

“You had no siblings.” The statement was flat, the question implied. And even though Rowan had thought it innocuous enough, Aelin still hesitated, her embers curling around her as she steeled herself.

“My mother, thanks to her Fae heritage, had a difficult time with the pregnancy. She stopped breathing during labor. They said it was my father’s will that kept her tethered to this world. I don’t know if she even could have conceived again after that. So, no siblings. But – ” A pause, and a deep breath. “But I had a cousin. He was five years older than me, and we fought and loved each other like siblings.” Her voice was hollow and cold. Rowan searched, trying to remember, but the name slipped his mind. Her cousin…

“I don’t know what happened, but they started saying his name – as a skilled general in the king’s army.” And then it clicked. Aedion, Aedion Ashryver. The name he had heard her whisper in her sleep that night they camped in the wilderness together, the male she had apologized to in her dreams. The Wolf of the North, and general to the King of Adarlan.

Rowan didn’t know much about him, only the scant rumors that had made their way across the sea. Before the fall of Terrasen, not much was said about the boy – especially when so much attention was laid on his much more powerful cousin – but Rowan could remember hearing of vague machinations to marry Aelin and Aedion, strengthening Terrasen’s ties to the Ashryvers and Wendlyn, and therefore to Doranelle.

After its fall, Rowan had heard nothing at all until Aedion swore fealty to Adarlan and was placed in charge of Terrasen, only now under the thumb of the evil king. He had become Adarlan’s whore, and a menace to his own people. But still, he had survived. A feat in itself.

Aelin’s voice was quiet as she admitted, “I think facing my cousin after everything would be the worst of it – worse than facing the king.”

Understanding twisted in Rowan. She had left Aedion to deal with everything completely alone – with the fall of their kingdom and the slaughter of their family, with the murder and enslavement of their people, with the shame of having to kneel to the southern king. Aelin’s hands trembled, shame and hatred dousing her golden flames.

So Rowan gave her all he could – the calming meditation that came with the repetitive action of using the tattoo needle. “Keep working,” Rowan said, jerking his head towards the tools currently sitting in her lap.

After a few more taps of the mallet, Rowan chanced another question. “Do you think your cousin would kill you or help you? An army like his could change the tide of any war.”

Aelin’s lips pursed. “I don’t know what he would think of me, or where his loyalties lie. And I’d rather not know. Ever.”

Rowan kept silent, waiting for Aelin decide to continue the conversation. He knew what it was to be unable to talk, and though his curiosity burned, he didn’t want to push her into giving anything she didn’t want to give him.

But after only a few moments of silence, she offered up another question. “Do you have cousins?”

“Too many. Mora’s line was always the most widespread, and my meddlesome, gossiping cousins make my visits to Doranelle … irksome.” Aelin gave him a small smile, and though it didn’t touch her eyes it urged him onwards. “You’d probably get along with my cousins. Especially with the snooping.”

Aelin squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. “You’re one to talk, Prince. I’ve never been asked so many questions in my life.”

The light teasing had him baring his teeth in response, though the pressure of her hand was a surprisingly welcome warmth. Rowan stiffened, forcing those thoughts back, and glanced meaningfully at his bleeding wrist. “Hurry up, Princess. I want to go to bed at some point before dawn.”

But instead, Aelin used her free hand to make a particularly vulgar gesture. Before she could drive the point home with some quip or insult, Rowan caught her hand with his own, baring his teeth again. “That is not very queenly.”

“Then it’s good I’m not a queen, isn’t it?” She tried to keep the words light, but they burned with the weight of her self-hatred. And Rowan could no longer hold in his curiosity.

“You have sworn to free your friend’s kingdom and save the world – but will not even consider your own lands. What scares you about seizing your birthright? The king? Facing what remains of your court?”

Their faces were now inches from each other, close enough that he could see the flecks of brown hidden in the indistinct border between her turquoise pupils and their golden core, their hands still clasped together between their chests. “Give me one good reason why you won’t take back your throne. One good reason, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.”

Aelin paused, seeming to weigh the intentness of his gaze against her desire to keep her answers locked up deep in her chest. Then she finally said, “Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.”

He leaned back slightly, the information clicking into place. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, another set of shackles?” Rowan loosened his grip on her hand to reveal the two thin bands of silver that encircled her wrists – the marks of heavy chains, embedded in her bones.

Aelin yanked her hands out of his grip. “Nothing,” she said. “Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.”

Rowan’s mouth tightened. Something was off in her scent, and it almost smelled like the anxiety that came with a lie. Not that Rowan blamed her if she was keeping anything back from him – she didn’t own him anything.

Aelin went back to her work, and Rowan kept his body very still through the sting of the tattoo needle. But his mind was far away from the small, damp room. It was across the sea, in the capital of Adarlan and deep in the bowels of the Assassin’s Keep, where he could see a small golden figure curled up in the dark, her limbs held in chains. A perfect reflection of the cage she still labored within, the mental shackles containing her power. But in this image, Aelin had a child’s face.

Fury rippled through him, and the question leaped to his lips. “Why did you stay with Arobynn?”

A pause. “I knew I wanted two things: First, to disappear from the world and from my enemies, but … ah.” Aelin avoided his gaze. “I wanted to hide from myself, mostly. I convinced myself I should disappear, because the second thing I wanted, even then, was to be able to someday…hurt people the way I had been hurt. And it turned out that I was very, very good at it.”

That quick flash of fury gave way to a much deeper, writhing rage as the image of that chained girl shifted, her face becoming twisted with a suffering and anger and violence that no child should be faced with. There was much about the princess that eluded him, but this didn’t. He too had been put in chains, he too had a master.

But he had chosen his chains, had walked into this slavery. She had been forced into it, and the difference there was massive. Infuriatingly so. The difference between jumping off the ledge, and being pushed.

Aelin continued. “If he had tossed me away, I would either have died or wound up with the rebels. If I had grown up with them, I probably would have been found by the king and slaughtered. Or I would have grown up so hateful that I would have been killing Adarlanian soldiers from a young age.”

Rowan’s brows rose at all the questions she was purposefully leaving unanswered, but Aelin only clicked her tongue, saying, “You thought I was just going to spread my whole history at your feet the moment I met you? I’m sure you have even more stories than I do, so stop looking so surprised. Maybe we should just go back to beating each other into a pulp.”

“Oh, not a chance, Princess. You can tell me what you want, when you want, but there’s no going back now.”

She lifted the needle and mallet once more, another tease on her lips. “I’m sure your other friends just adore having you around.”

Rowan grabbed her by the chin, lifting her face to look up at him. “First thing,” he breathed, “We’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

A thin shield, one Rowan could only hope would stay intact under the weight of Aelin’s relentless teasing. If she started making any other kind of advance, he had no idea what he would do. Rowan didn’t know what Aelin wanted with him, but he did know that he wanted her. And that he couldn’t ever have her. For many, many reasons.

So he also said, “Second – whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”

She studied him for a moment, their breath mingling.

“Deal,” she said.

···

The next few weeks passed more quickly and easily than any Rowan could remember in the past century. He still woke up almost every morning gasping for air, still occasionally heard Lyria’s faint screams in his head, and felt the cold numbness dragging at the corners of his mind. But time no longer pressed in on him like bags of sand, and passing through each day no longer felt like fording through river rapids.

Emrys grudgingly let Aelin return to the kitchens the next day, and she spent each morning and evening playing scullery maid. Rowan had decided to continue the pattern, even if he now knew that the work wouldn’t teach her the lessons he’d originally intended it too.

Aelin didn’t need to be taught the value of hard work, didn’t need her arrogance curbed by manual labor. She already understood these things. But she seemed to enjoy her time working with Emrys and Luca, so Rowan had no intention on depriving her of meaningful, productive work in which she found purpose and camaraderie. Particularly as it freed up his mornings to continue his pursuit of the dark creature.

To both his and Malakai’s relief, no more dead demi-Fae appeared. And though each morning Rowan flew into the wild, carrying out systematic searches for the creature, he found nothing at all. As usual.

By now, the flights were almost solely out of habit, or perhaps some sense of obligation. Though he remained vigilant, Rowan didn’t truly expect to discover anything on these trips, and he ended up spending most of the time thinking about the princess.

Not that he really wanted to be doing that either.

But he couldn’t help it, she was an enigma. The more he tried to unravel her, the more tangled up she seemed to be. And she was very adept at dodging his questions; much of the time they spent together, it was he who was speaking, telling her his many stories, his long history.

Now that he had finally let go of some of his truth, the rest of it followed suit, flowing out of him more painlessly than he would have ever thought possible. But it was more than that – Rowan wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know him, just as he wanted to know her.

Rowan told Aelin about his various campaigns in the south and east of Doranelle, the wars fought and won, the courts that rose and fell with the tide, the Fae he’d led through battle and who died at his hand and under his command. Told of sieges in bloody sand that lasted for years, of the destruction of towns and villages, the massacre of evil and good men alike, of spying, lying, cheating, and killing.

And she listened to it all, unwittingly giving him the greatest gift she could give.

Fenrys, Connall, Lorcan, Vaughan and Gavriel were frequent visitors in his tales, though it was rare that all of them were ever in one place. Aelin didn’t ask many questions about them, and Rowan only rarely provided names or details. There were stories that weren’t his to tell, truths that didn’t belong to him.

As he talked, Aelin worked with her magic, painstakingly drawing out small tendrils of flame and trying not to burn up the mountainside. She only sometimes failed. The small things were still the hardest, and Rowan had her practicing lighting candles, putting out hearth fires, weaving ribbons of flame through her fingers. Slowly, she improved.

A week or so after the incident beneath Bald Mountain, Namonora finally sent notice to the fortress.

Prince Whitethorn –

We have completed our examination of the body, though I would prefer to explain our conclusions in person. And also, I think there is someone here you would benefit from meeting.

Please come at your earliest convenience.

– Namonora, Head Healer

Western Compound, Doranelle

So the next morning, Rowan flew out to meet with Namonora at the Healer’s compound.

This time, he found her sitting at a worn desk in a small room deep in the stone castle, pouring over a piece of paper, her brow furrowed. Rowan greeted the old female respectfully, his head slightly bowed. Namonora jerked from her reverie, then greeted him in return.

“As you asked, so I have come.” Rowan said.

“Indeed you have, Prince Whitethorn.”

“And?”

“And there is no doubt that the demi-Fae are being murdered. None whatsoever.”

Rowan’s lips pursed, and he nodded, gesturing for the old healer to continue.

“The body arrived approximately two weeks ago. Both I, and two other experienced healers conducted the examination. We couldn’t determine an exact time of death, due to the strange nature of the decay, and the damage done to the body in transport. The demi-Fae could have died as few as two or three days before he was discovered, or as much as three weeks.”

“Is that normal? To have such a wide gap?” Rowan interrupted.

“Far from it. Normally, we can determine the age of any corpse by the degree to which various species of insect have matured on the body, in combination with how physically decomposed it is. But this body has not decomposed naturally, and has been avoided by all kinds of scavengers – including insects.”

“Do you know of anything that could cause such a thing?”

Namonora clenched her teeth, and shook her head jerkily, frowning. “No. I have never heard of bodies being avoided by insects – such a thing is completely unnatural. A disruption of the biological cycle, the order of things. It all but confirms that whatever killed the demi-Fae is just as unnatural.”

“You mean, the creature…marked them, somehow?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Namonora shook her head again, this time in discomfort. “It could be the scent that keeps them at bay, but we couldn’t prove such a thing. It could also be as simple as the fact that the corpse was so withered and empty of sustenance that scavengers were deterred from feeding.”

“What about a cause of death?” Rowan was intent, his eyes narrowed.

Namonora pursed her lips. “Another mystery. You were right, there were no marks on the body, nor could we find any internal damage to any organs, vital or otherwise. The lungs, heart, liver, intestines, brain – all intact.”

“So death was magical.” Rowan asserted.

“Yes.” Namonora sighed. “I can’t think of any other reasonable explanation, though I don’t know of any power that could inflict this kind of damage.”

“It has to be something new.”

Namonora pursed her lips. “One of the first lessons you get taught as a healer, is that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. I do not like asserting something so outlandish, no matter how it stares us in the face. It was why it took me so long to summon you. I kept re-examining our notes, turning the facts over and over in my mind. I even consulted with my former instructor, but he knew nothing that could be helpful.” The healer sighed, a huff of air out of her nose. “But once Paynor arrived, I knew I could wait no longer.”

Rowan frowned, asking a silent question.

Namonora just shook her head, standing from her chair and moving to depart. “I will let him tell his own story.”

The healer led him back through the compound, and towards the wing of the camp where long-term patients stayed while being treated for non-life threatening injuries. Namonora knocked on an obscure dark wooden door, her expression expectant. A soft, “Come in,” could be heard from within, and she entered, revealing a small, dry room with a well-made bed and a tall, lean man sitting upright, though his left leg was encased in plaster.

“Head Healer,” the man greeted her, nodding respectfully. He was completely human, his scent bland and uninteresting – a mixture of wool and hay and oats. His clothing was simple, but clearly marked him as a soldier from Wendlyn, possibly naval.

“Paynor.” Namonora inclined her head in return, her face tight, “This is Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded his greeting, while the man’s scent filled up with that all-too-familiar fear, his eyes widening, muscles stiffening. Rowan shifted slightly. It had been a while since someone had reacted to his presence so violently, and it discomforted him.

The soldiers of Mistward had no love for him, but they no longer flinched whenever he entered a room. Rowan could even eat in the kitchens now without attracting too much undue attention. And spending so much time with Aelin, who had not feared him even once since that first encounter, was really shifting his expectations for how others reacted to his presence, and not helpfully.

Namonora’s voice cut through the tension rapidly filling the small space. “The Prince is investigating a series of deaths, and I think your story is relevant to his search.”

The soldier looked confused, but with a gesture of encouragement from Namonora, he began to speak. “Until very recently, I was a soldier serving in Wendlyn, in the King’s navy, beneath Prince Galan Ashryver.” The young soldier shifted in his seat on the bed, settling in to tell his tale.

“The first couple of years were simple, not easy, but expected, you know? I fought when I was told, did whatever work was asked of me, kept silent when I was told to. But then a few months ago, we got a strange assignment. A foray into enemy territory, but not to strike – to spy.” At this, the soldier’s eyes flicked uncomfortably over to Rowan’s and then back again.

“It was strictly against the King’s directive, but the orders came straight from the lips of Prince Galan, and my commander wasn’t one to question princes.”

“So you went.” Rowan said, his face inscrutable.

“So we went.” Paynor agreed dispiritedly. “Galan wanted us to make a sweep of Adarlan’s coast, to scout the locations and dispersal of enemy ships, and to determine whether the bastard king was really intending on invading us anytime soon. We were to disguise ourselves as merchants, but instructed to keep our distance from foreign ships as much as possible.”

Paynor signed. “It worked at first. We shot across the sea, heading for the southern half of the western continent, around Fenharrow. After about a month, we reached land, and began to skirt our way up the coast. We knew we would have a sketchy bit of sailing around the Dead Islands, but we had no idea what we were in for. A storm caught us at exactly the wrong time, and we were marooned just off the coast. Only twenty-three of us survived the sinking. But that was only the beginning of it.”

The soldier’s face darkened, and he shook his head slowly. “Now, I have to think I’d gone insane. But I would have sworn I could hear…roaring. Fell noises at night. And then people began to disappear.” The soldier shuddered. “For all I know, they were only wandering off and then succumbing to dehydration, or exposure. But with that roaring…it was hard not to think that the islands were haunted. That a creature was coming at night and killing us off – one by one.”

Paynor took a steadying breath. “I soon lost track of the days, but we had to have been stranded for nearly a week. And then, the night before we were rescued, I think I caught a glimpse of…something. A…darkness. That reeked of death. But then it was gone, and in the morning the twelve of us remaining were found by a passing vessel and taken to the nearest port, where we bartered transport onto a ship heading for Varese, and didn’t look back.”

The soldier’s voice regained some of its former strength. “Another month passed in travel, and we regained some our health. But this leg – ” Paynor gestured to the limb currently bound in plaster “ – was broken in the sinking, and it didn’t set right. So once we returned to Wendlyn, I was sent to the Fae healers, so I might recover its use. And now here I am.”

Namonora nodded, her pleasant expression doing little to disguise the anger and fear and disgust that colored her scent. “Thank you Paynor, I know that was hard for you to relive.”

The soldier nodded, his brow furrowed in anxiety and confusion. “I only hope I could be of service, ma’am. But I don’t really understand how I could much help.”

Namonora only nodded once again, giving the soldier a polite farewell and turning to leave the small room. Rowan followed her back up to her small office, thoughts swirling.

“So.” Rowan said, once the door was shut behind them.

“So. Last time you visited, you asked after anyone who bore a similar story to yours. So once I heard Paynor’s, I sent for you.”

“He is not exactly a trustworthy source – he admitted himself that he must have been going mad.”

“Quite to the contrary. Before you came last time, we had already treated another from Paynor’s company and discharged her. There is another to corroborate his story, who also spoke of a strange darkness stirring in the Dead Islands.”

“That does not mean it has come here.”

“No, it does not. But you must be able to see the similarities between them.”

Rowan sighed. “Paynor did not lie, but I am loath to take such vague assertions at face value. As you said with healing, so is true with most things: the easiest explanation is usually the correct one. And a connection between two events, thousands of miles apart and separated by an ocean, is far from the easiest explanation.”

Namonora’s jaw tightened, and she sighed as well. “Still. I thought you should hear his story.”

Rowan nodded, and thanked her.

Namonora shifted in her seat, her eyes once again finding his. “And as for your other problem, how has that been going?”

Rowan blinked. “She has progressed well since we last spoke.”

“And is Aelin Galathynius’ mental block gone?”

Rowan couldn’t contain a flinch of surprise.

Namonora gave him a small smile, her eyes warm. “I did not know until I saw her in person. I knew her mother, many years ago. A good woman, the Ashryver Princess. Her daughter seems to have inherited her strength, and her compassion.”

“So it seems.” The words were tight, even if Rowan should have anticipated this after Emrys’ revelation the previous week. Namonora had been here just as long as the old male, if not longer, and her memory was infallible. No matter her penchant for bedside tales and impractical notions.

“The Heir of Terrasen has walked a hard road. I can only hope that it has been less dark of late.” The healer’s eyes glinted.

Rowan’s mouth tightened, but before he could reply, Namonora interrupted once again. “I stand by what I said before, Prince. There is still hope. And it gladdens me that after all these years, you seem to have found it again.”

Rowan just nodded curtly, his face an icy mask as he strode from the room. It wasn’t that he was angry with the female, more that he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. No matter all that had happened, how much had changed, it didn’t mean that there was any hope for him.

Rowan had been entrusted a spark, and he would ensure its survival unto his own death – but that meant nothing for his own future. He had tied himself to Maeve, and though it had been at the lowest, most desperate point in his life, he had still done it. And it could not be undone.

Not for anything, let alone feeble hope.

···

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justheretobreakthings · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Family - Chapter 8

(Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 3,089 (Total Word Count: 20,507) Read on AO3

Story Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.

It was a tough adjustment, going back to school for the first time in over a year. Kolivan had warned him about that after he had first been released, that it may be difficult for him to be back in a regular school setting, but there wasn’t exactly much to be done about it. There wasn’t very well any way to practice being back at school in the two weeks between his release and the start of the new school year, so the best Kolivan could do was recommend that he go to the school counselor if he had any trouble.

Which Keith was in no hurry to do. Back at the detention facility, they’d mandated he see a counselor too. Everyone had to, and as far as Keith could tell, it hadn’t done any good for any of the kids there. The counselor he’d seen had been constantly dismissive, writing off any trouble he was having with the other juveniles as him simply losing his temper, and telling Keith that he was exaggerating the problems in his past due to his ‘negative life outlook’ and needed to simply look on the positive side of things more.

Of course, that counselor also didn’t use the title of ‘doctor’, and had yelled at Keith when the latter had first asked about his credentials, so maybe he wasn’t exactly the best example of a counselor. But it left Keith on his guard.

If you assume out the gate that all counselors were underqualified and disparaging, you won’t be disappointed when it turns out to be the case. A lesson he had learned long ago and applied to caseworkers, and classmates, and homes. They weren’t all bad, but the ones that were…

It was a tough adjustment.

Still, as patronizing as that counselor’s advice had been, he tried his best to focus on the positives, listing them in his head throughout the day as he came up with them.

He had his own locker. That was nice. Privacy was always hard to come by, whether he was with a foster family or a group home or back in juvie, so every little bit was a relief.

The teachers actually seemed to give a shit about their subjects, which had not been at all the case for him last year. He was pretty sure that the tutors’ credentials had been even less valid than the counselor’s, and none of the other boys at the center had actually cared about learning anyway - or if they did, they had the sense to keep it to themselves - so the tutors were pretty quick to give up anyway. So that was a nice change.

The place as a whole seemed generally well-kept. No obvious damage like broken windows or exposed wires, and they had those modern drinking fountains with the bottle-filling stations built in. When Keith went to the bathroom after lunch, there was some graffiti in the stall, but it was just the ‘Here I sit brokenhearted’ poem in Sharpie. Pretty innocuous.

And he’d had a place to sit at lunch, which was a major step up from some past foster homes where he’d either been the only kid, or the other kids in the house wanted nothing to do with him. Of course, there had still been some weirdness there. While Hunk had seemed nice and Pidge’s sarcasm hadn’t seemed malicious and Lance did seem concerned about whether or not he ate, it was hard to say how genuine it was or how long it would last. After all, he’d messed up. He’d accidentally insulted Tania, and it had upset Lance, and he hadn’t missed how much all three of the others had stared at him throughout the meal, even if they tried to hide it.

He didn’t like being stared at. He didn’t like it when people were curious, when they tried to dig into him and his life.

Being back in a crowded school made that harder to avoid, which was one of the negatives that he tried not to focus on but couldn’t help but let intrude his mind whenever he got the inkling that there were eyes on him. Which, admittedly, happened a hell of a lot, more than was probably realistic.

The counselor had called him paranoid, but he was sometimes right, and if he was sometimes right, then it wasn’t paranoia, it was just caution. There was nothing wrong with caution. Sure, maybe the times he caught people staring in his direction, they weren’t actually looking at him, and maybe when people whispered nearby or muffled a laugh as they passed him, they weren’t discussing him. But maybe they were. And Keith never knew how to handle that.

It’s not as though there wasn’t plenty of reason for him to be stared at or gossiped about. He reeked of not belonging, and he knew it. He was very obviously the ‘new guy’, not knowing any names or where anything was and three times so far he’d had to ask for directions, a task that had no business being as anxiety-inducing as it was. He’d had Algebra 1 for fourth period, and he was pretty sure he was the only sophomore in a class otherwise full of freshman, which he knew was going to be the case in Spanish 1 tomorrow as well, and no doubt his classmates would have questions about that. And, of course, there was his scar. He supposed he couldn’t blame people for staring at that, but that didn’t mean he had to like it or stop glowering at other students when he caught them at it.

Point was, though, he made it. He made it through the day without any big problems. No one was outright antagonistic to him, nothing the teachers assigned seemed beyond his ability. Sure, there were still a hundred and seventy-nine days left in the school year to ruin that, but at least he was starting off on the right foot. Or, a neutral foot. Whatever.

His last class of the day was P.E., and he was one of the first in the class to leave the locker room at the end of class. Since it was the final period, some of the boys opted not to shower afterward, which was a relief to Keith, as it made the fact that he wasn’t doing so stand out less. You only needed to get your clothes stolen from the gym locker one time in middle school before you took steps to ensure that it never happened again, so he had no problem waiting until he got back to the McClains’ house to clean up.

He had ducked into a bathroom stall to change out of his gym uniform - he would have to ask Lance what the weird cartoon clipart of a knight on the tee shirt was all about - and fortunately it didn’t seem like anyone had paid him enough attention to notice and given him any shit about his excessive modesty, so he was able to slip out of the locker room a minute before the final bell, an extra minute that he definitely needed to find his way back to the sophomore lockers.

After he gathered his things, he headed out to the parking lot to wait next to Rachel’s car, although it was at least another twenty minutes more before he spotted her and Lance leaving the school building. He lifted a hand to wave at them from where he sat perched on the car’s hood, but slowly lowered it again as he noticed the annoyed look on Lance’s face.

“That’s where he was,” Lance said loudly once they were in earshot. “Damn it, we were looking all over for you.”

“What?” said Keith. “Why?”

“Because you weren’t at the entrance,” said Lance. “We waited for you. Rachel was starting to worry you ditched school or something. How come you didn’t meet us there?”

“I… didn’t know I was supposed to?” Keith said, raising a brow. “What entrance?”

“The music wing entrance,” Rachel said. She reached the front door and pulled it open, hitting the button on the inside to unlock the rest of the car. “We always meet there at the end of the day. Didn’t Lance tell you that?”

“No.”

“Hey, what?” Lance said as he slid into his own seat. “Why was that my job? You’re the driver, you were supposed to coordinate everything!”

“...Oh.” Rachel frowned. “Okay, fair, guess this one’s on me. Sorry, Keith.”

“S’okay,” Keith mumbled. He clambered into the passenger seat as Rachel turned the ignition, and leaned in toward the fan as the air-conditioning kicked on.

“From now on, we don’t count on Rachel for anything,” said Lance.

“Fine,” Rachel said. “Good luck getting home from school without me.”

“From now on, we count on Rachel for only one thing.”

“There we go.” Rachel nodded. “Anyway, right, from now on, just meet at the music wing, okay? The front entrance has a sign pointing to the auditorium, so if you go there, it’s just down the hall on the right, and you’re there.”

“Got it,” Keith said.

“We woulda texted you,” said Lance, “But you didn’t give us your number.”

“I don’t have a phone,” said Keith.

“What? Why not?”

Keith turned around to scowl at Lance, and the latter was quick to deflate. “Oh, sorry, was that offensive? Somehow?”

“I just don’t have one,” Keith snapped.

“Talk to Mamá about that,” said Rachel. “I just upgraded a few months ago, she’ll probably let you have my old one, and Luis is off the family plan now so we can add another number.”

“All right,” Keith said. “Um, thanks?”

“Don’t mention it. Not like I’m using it anyw- Lance, don’t you dare take your shoes off in my car!”

Lance looked up, his feet already up on the seat next to him and one shoe off, holding the laces of the other. “Oh, come on, it’s a thousand degrees outside, my feet are hot!”

“No, you are not stinking up my car with your weird foot odors. Wait ‘til we get home.”

“First of all, your car stinks anyway, and second of all, my feet are beautiful and your car should be honored to smell like them.”

“If your feet are so great you wouldn’t need to spend an hour every day rubbing all those creams and oils and stuff on them.”

“Um, it’s called self-care.”

Deciding that the sibling bickering was probably going to go on for the rest of the ride home, Keith leaned toward the dashboard and adjusted the fans to blow directly into his face, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the blowing air conditioning drown out everything else. At first he was a little worried that the fans might spread the smell of the sweat left over from gym class throughout the car, but neither Lance nor Rachel made any comment about it - the smell of Lance’s feet was the only one they seemed focused on - so he was able to relax up until they pulled up to the McClains’ house, coming to a forceful and crooked stop on the curb.

The other two tossed their backpacks onto a chair in their den and shouted greetings to their mother as they entered the house, while Keith kept quiet and kept his bag with him until he’d gotten upstairs and dropped it into his desk chair. Lance had first dibs on the bathroom, so Keith waited on his bed for his turn to grab a shower. When that turn finally came, he turned the water up to near scalding and took a few minutes to just stand and soak. It hadn’t been a bad day, nothing big had happened, but he was still exhausted. Being around so many people for eight hours straight had drained him.

It took a long while and a mental reminder that the others in the house would probably be pissed if he went and used up the hot water for him to finally pick up his bottle - a single, all-in-one shampoo-conditioner-body wash that he’d picked out from the store and that was conspicuously dull among the dozen bottles of brightly colored and sweetly scented who-knows-what that Lance had arranged on the rim of the tub for himself - and start washing up. Once finished, he towel dried thoroughly and got fully dressed again before finally stepping out of the bathroom, letting the steam waft into the hallway behind him.

By this point he was starting to get hungry, the awkward school lunch long behind him, so he started down the stairs, hoping to find something in the kitchen to sneak back up with him before dinner. The den was empty, and the muted sound of Rachel’s trumpet indicated she was practicing in the basement, so the coast seemed clear until he reached the bottom of the stairs and caught the voices of Lance and Tania in the kitchen. Keith hesitated, hand on the banister, deciding to wait it out.

“It’ll just be the morning meeting tomorrow for this week,” Lance was saying. “But starting on Monday we’re back to three morning practices a week, and I think we’ll start on the afternoon practices again in October, so you’re gonna need to tell Rachel she has to drive me.”

“Lance, we can’t base Rachel’s whole sleep schedule on your swim practices,” Tania replied. “I’ll drive you when I can, and we really need to arrange a carpool for you this year. Your friend Nadia doesn’t live too far from here, right?”

“Yeah, but her dad listens to country music in the car. It’s torture.”

“Too bad, mijo, it’s either find a carpool or skip some practices.”

“Fine. I’ll ask her. Oh, and I still need the money for the new trunks this year. My old ones are getting tight as hell.”

“Language.”

“Sorry, tight as heck. Anyway, I need a check for them.”

“All right.” Keith heard the sound of a drawer opening and papers rifling.

“And for a team jacket,” Lance added.

“Ah, ah, no,” said Tania, “I told you already, you want one of those jackets, you pay for it yourself.”

“But Mamá, it’s school spirit!”

“It’s fifty-dollar school spirit and I’m not paying for it. You want extra money, you do some extra help on the farm or you wait ‘til Christmas. For now, how much for the trunks?”

“Twenty.” There was quiet in the kitchen for a few seconds, then the sound of tearing paper. “Thanks,” said Lance.

“Don’t you lose that check, now,” said Tania. “Put it in your backpack before you forget.”

“I will.” A cabinet opened and a couple of dishes clattered against the countertop before Lance cleared his throat. “Hey, uh,” he said. “Speaking of checks, uh…”

“Mm?” Tania hummed.

“Something kinda weird happened at lunch today.”

Keith tensed, his grip tightening against the staircase’s banister.

“How do you mean?”

“With Keith. He tried to skip lunch, said he was saving for when he ‘needed’ it.”

“What does that - ?”

“Well, apparently he thought that the check you gave him for lunch was supposed to cover the whole school year. He was trying to ration it out.”

There was a pause before Tania softly muttered, “Oh querido…”

“Did he, like, act weird at all when you wrote out the check? Or did you say something that he thought meant - ”

“No, no, I think it was just - ” Her sigh was nearly drowned out by a cutlery drawer opening and closing. “Don’t worry over it, cariño, I’ll talk to him.”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna say? Do you know what that was about?”

“Never you mind, Lance, I’ll take care of it.”

“But why did he think - ?”

Finally, Keith had heard enough, and he stepped out into the dining room, ensuring that his footfall was loud enough to get their attention. It worked, as both Tania and Lance looked up at his entrance. Lance quickly looked away again, face sheepish, but Tania plastered a smile onto her face and gestured for him to come into the kitchen. “Keith, dear, good to see you!” she said brightly. “How was your first day?”

“Fine,” Keith said.

“The school seem like it could be a good fit for you? Do we need to make any changes to your classes at all?”

“They’re fine.”

“You’re okay with having Rachel drive you? Her driving didn’t scare you too badly?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“How are your classmates? Met any nice people? Make any new friends?”

“I - I just came in to get a snack…”

“Oh! Right, right.” Tania ran a flustered hand through her hair and turned back to the counter. “Well, I’m actually going to start making dinner here, so if you don’t mind waiting a little longer, there’ll be plenty to eat soon.”

“Oh,” said Keith. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry!” Tania said. “It’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. Would you like to help with dinner, sweetie? I could use a hand peeling potatoes if you’re up for it. Have you used a potato peeler before, Keith?”

“Um, yeah. Sure, I can - I can help,” Keith said.

He shuffled toward the counter. Lance leaned in to whisper something to Tania that he didn’t catch, and she shook her head and waved him away in response. Lance pouted as he stepped away. “Well, uh, I’ll get outta your way, then,” he said.

“You sure you don’t wanna help too, mijo?” said Tania.

“I’m on dish duty tonight, Mamá, you can’t make me do double chores. I’ll strike.”

Tania picked up a dish towel and lightly swatted Lance on the shoulder with it. “If you’re not gonna work in the kitchen, you can’t stand around in the kitchen. Get.”

“All right, all right,” Lance said, turning and walking out toward the dining room. Before he left fully, he glanced over his shoulder toward Tania and said, “¿Me lo dirán luego?”

“No, Lance,” Tania snapped. Lance muttered something under his breath and left as Tania slid a bag of potatoes across the counter and handed Keith a peeler. “We should only need around eight,” she said. “I’ll start on the chicken, and you just let me know if you need anything, okay dear?”

“Okay,” Keith said with a nod. She turned her attention away, and Keith glanced hesitantly back toward the sound of Lance’s retreating footsteps before he shook his head clear, rolled his shoulders, and got to work.

#vldgen #vld fic #voltron fic #keith #lance #my writing #fic: welcome to the family

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