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zemodaddy · 3 years

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Hey so i finally completed the first chapter of the zemo x reader fanfic. Make sure to read the authors note at the end and i hope you enjoy.!

Synopsis:

Y/n is an ex-avenger who, after the blip was forced to work for the US government. You trained to be an assassin/spy and your gifts of wielding flames made you invaluable. When you were assigned to follow Bucky you find him helping Helmut Zemo escape from his prison cell. What is he up to? Should you stop him?

Warnings: violence, lots of swearing, angst, fluff and in later chapters extreme acts of hatred towards John Walker :)

Shades of Him

They replaced him. They replaced him with a random guy and stuck Steve’s shield on him. You were staring at the TV in disbelief. You thought of Steve like a brother and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted this.

After the blip you had no job, the avengers pretty much all separated and that left you without anything to do, and that meant no income and no income meant no home or food. You couldn’t exactly find a normal job because most people were afraid of you. A trained assassin and spy who could wield flames wasn’t really considered normal. That left you with no choice but to accept the deal the US government offered you. Do their dirty work and you wont end up homeless.

Your newest mission was to track Bucky to make sure he followed the rules set upon him for his pardon. You are close to him, like you were close to Steve. Hiding the fact that you were following him everywhere he went was kind of hard but you managed. You had to manage.

So finding him and Sam visiting a German prison kind of surprised you. Had this got to do with his therapy? Surely not. They left around an hour later and from then nothing more suspicious happened. A quick google search and a deep dive into some public records showed that a high security prisoner resided at this prison. Not just anyone. Zemo.

Interesting you thought. Later that night you followed Bucky and Sam to an old garage. You waited outside for 5 minutes before entering, trying to keep to the shadows of the room. The two men seemed to be in the midst of a heated discussion. “You want Zemo to help us?” Sam looks exasperated. Bucky looks a bit apprehensive as he says “Look let me walk you through a hypothetical, can I do that?” He begins to explain an elaborate escape plan for Zemo. Your mind was wizzing with thoughts as you tried to figure out your next move. He really isn’t in the right headspace, same old Bucky, you roll your eyes. “What are you guys doing?” You step out of the darkness. The two seemed to jump out of their skin, clearly not expecting you to be there.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Bucky asks. They both looked so shocked by your sudden appearance that you had to suppress a laugh. “I was following you.” He doesn’t look happy. “YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME?” He raises his voice. You weren’t scared because you knew he loved you really. Keeping the same tone as him you shout back “YES AND YOU’RE HELPING A CRIMINAL” “I SAID HYPOTHETICALLY DIDN’T I”. Sam looks like he could start laughing any moment. You weren’t even sure if you should laugh or arrest them. Suddenly your phone buzzes. “Then please explain to me why I just got a message saying that ZEMO HAS ESCAPED FROM PRISON?” Sam looks mad now. “You’re kidding me Bucky” he says. “Look we don’t have any other leads, we were at a dead end.��

You knew that the two were looking for information on the new super soldiers serum. “He blew up the UN, he killed king T’Chaka!” Before Bucky could reply to Sams argument, the sound of a door shutting sounds through the garage and guess who walks in. Helmut fucking Zemo. Your hand flies immediately to the dagger on the side of your thigh. “Woah woah woah” Sam starts walking towards him as Bucky tries to hold him back. Too bad he didn’t see you slip past them and push Zemo against the wall with said dagger against his throat. “Your going back to prison” you pass him a sickly sweet smile. He looked surprised by you holding him against that wall but didn’t fight back. Not with the blade in your hand starting to heat up against his skin. “y/n let him go” Bucky looks frustrated.

“He can lead us closer to the serum, just let him breath for a second” Zemo did start to look a little breathless. Good, he should be scared of you. Reluctantly you let him go. He starts to talk “if I may”. At the same time the three of you go “NO”. He looked a little displeased by the response but didn’t have any other option but to oblige. “Apologies”. After further debating and a lot of disagreements you and Sam finally agree to trust Zemo.. for the time being anyways. “Alright Zemo, where do we start”

You mentally set a reminder to always have an eye on Zemo, how could you not with a guy like him. He seemed to be sending you anxious glances in return, which to be fair you did nearly choke him to death. He leads you to a large warehouse containing numerous cars of different ages, sizes and colours. Probably stolen you think. After grabbing a case full with clothes for zemo you all head to an airstrip. In the middle of which was a private jet. You look at it in awe. “So you were rich all this time?” Sam asks. “I’m a baron Sam, my family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country”. Shit. Those cars weren’t stolen then..

The mention of his country makes you think back to that battle against ultron. You were very tempted to leave the avengers after nearly wiping out the entirety of a population of a country. But they convinced you to stay, where else could you have gone anyway? You think a little longer about the aftermath, when you helped after the battle with the injured, and loved ones finding their dead. It was one of the saddest moment of your life, until the blip. No one else helped from the avengers, they didn’t even visit the memorial..

“Y/n you coming?” Sam was saying from the top of the stairs. Lost in thought you were stood in front of the plane. Maybe I should stop getting distracted you thought. Entering the jet the seats on the right were already occupied by Sam and Bucky, leaving the only other seat opposite Zemo free. Great. As a gentle reminder you check your dagger on your thigh, almost like a warning that if he tries anything he’ll know what’s coming. Zemo swallows looking where it would be and ask his butler person for a drink. Was that his butler or the pilot? Rich people problems you thought. The plane sets off and you look out of the window daydreaming a little.

The other three talk lightly until the mention of Buckys list, which ends in zemo being choked yet again. You smile a little, enjoying the mini acts of revenge for the people he’s hurt and killed. You feel a bit sleepy but then they start to discuss where you were going. “Do we want to live in a world full of people like the red skull” Zemo shakes his head lightly “that’s why we’re going to Madripoor”. Confused, Bucky explains the place’s history in the Indonesian archipelago. “It’s kept its lawless ways but we cannot go in as our selves” Zemo says. Uh oh that can’t be good.

You were right. Zemo had handed you a bag full of clothes and a pair of heels. You stared at yourself in the full length mirror that resided in the toilets. “You have got to be kidding me” you say aloud. Your were wearing a dark purple silky dress that reached only just halfway down your thigh. It exposed most of your arms, shoulders and a lot of your chest. Thankfully there was a black leather jacket in the bag too, however on the shoulders sat a blanket of fur, similarly to Zemos coat that he took from the warehouse. Your heels were also purple. You thank the lord you took the time to train in heels too because you never know when the situation arises when you happen to find yourself in those monstrous shoes.

“This” you point at yourself “is not happening”. “Ah my baroness has arrived” Zemo says, amusement glinting in his eyes. You glared at the word ‘baroness’. “Here put this on darling, to finish it off”. He holds what seems to be a lipstick in his hand. You already knew what shade it was before taking it from him. “Do you have some thing for purple or is that just me?” Sam and Bucky both laughed.

You had to admit, the dress didn’t look bad, in fact it looked expensive. To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement, not necessarily for what you were wearing, but for the hand now draped around your waist. Zemos hand. He said that no matter what, you couldn’t break character. Bucky was playing the role as the winter soldier; you felt bad for him, the memories this must bring up. You can’t even begin to imagine. Sam however, wore an extravagant and abstract red suit that kind of looked like a dress. It was funny to see his reaction to which he comments that he looked like a “pimp”.

A car pulls up beside you and you all pile in. Of course you were sat next to zemo in the back. After around five minutes you arrive in lowtown. A place where you could apparently find a gall called Selby. That hand snaked back around you as you intermingle with the crowded streets. The high density of the crowd forced you even closer to Zemos side leaving practically no space between you now. You could feel his warm body against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down on you. His eyes seem to be softer now than they were before and he gives you a quick kiss on the temple as if to reassure you that you’re safe. You tried to keep yourself from shaking him off of you but as you carried on walking, you got used to him a bit more. Sam and Bucky followed the two of you, both with grim faces.

Finally, you come to a bar, most people around you watching carefully as you all enter. Zemo orders the both of you a shot and Sam gets his usual. This turned out to be something containing whatever the barman cutout of a snake. The sight of it made your stomach drop, and to your astonishment, Sam actually drank it. He looked like he wanted to be sick but, no matter what he had to stay in character. Bucky gave a slight nod, he didn’t get a drink, not as the winter soldier.

You had let it be known of who you wanted to see and as you waited a man came up behind Zemo and you. He immediately guided you away from this man so he was in front of you and Zemo in front of the man. He knew you could hold your own, you had made that clear already, but he wanted to protect you. For the act of course. “You ain’t welcome here” the man stated, placing a hand roughly on zemos shoulder as he turned to face him. “I have no business with the powerbroker, but if he insists he can either talk to me” Zemo points at Bucky. His hand then slipped to yours, holding it tightly. “Or bring Selby for a chat”. The man looks displeased and walks away. You had many things you wanted to say to Zemo at this moment, but sticking to your character was more important. As he continued to grip your hand, other men started to menacingly prowl towards you all. Zemo gave Bucky the order to attack and so he did. A fight quickly broke out between them all but Bucky was far too strong for them all. This ended in Bucky holding one of the guys that remained standing against the bar table. Finally someone called to say selby was ready to see your group. This was going to be interesting.

Notes

Okay i left this on a little bit of a cliffhanger but the next chapter should be out in a day or so. This is my first fanfic i have published so I’m interested to see what everyone thinks. If there’s any spelling or grammar mistakes then umm you didn’t see anything. I hope you enjoyed!

@killsandthrills @aisling1985 @booklover2929 @arianalilyblack @your-pixels-are-showing @kenna-1904

#mcu #helmut zemo #sugar daddy zemo #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo #daniel brühl #marvel #tfatws

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter One

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Words: 4366

This is not my original work!

This is a fan retelling of one of my favorite mangas, Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime, whose original mangaka sadly passed away in 2014, leaving the series unfinished. I will start at the beginning of the manga and go through the entire story that has already been written. Once I reach chapter 20, which is the end of the published chapters, I will have to start extrapolating and imagining how the story may have played out. I hope I can do the original story justice and not disgrace the original author.

I will say that I will be fixing a few things that made me uncomfortable about the original manga, in that the female protagonist was 15, which I didn't like. Otherwise I will try to stick as close to the original story as possible, though I will be arranging it so that it's a bit more linear.

I hope you enjoy!

“Blessings to you, my lady,” The visitor said, bowing deeply in greeting. “My name is Aquamarine. I am a servant of the high king of Banfarie and a chosen attendant to the future queen.”

The summons wasn’t necessarily a shock, but it was definitely a surprise. Lilya, the third princess of the former kingdom of Tritsia, had come of age during a bloody war between kingdoms to either side, and her small, impoverished land had been caught in the crossfire. Tritsia had been absorbed by the victorious kingdom to the east, Couliea, and was now a vassal state. As such, the royal family of Tritsia were now hardly more than paupers in their own kingdom.

Lilya assumed that she would no longer be eligible for the marriage interviews that were famously, or perhaps infamously, conducted five times every month in the largest empire in the continent, Banfarie. The interviews had been happening since before she had even been born, but as of yet, no queen had been selected. Or rather, no woman had accepted.

The rules for who would be chosen for the interviews was standard for most monarchs looking for a queen: a woman of royal or noble blood with proof of lineage, at least eighteen years old but no older that twenty five, no previous marriages or engagements, no children, and… well… consent.

Lilya met most of the criteria… except for one thing: she wasn’t a high born woman anymore. Her family’s royal status had ended when the kingdom was absorbed into another. Besides, even when her father had been king, they had never exactly been what anyone would consider proper royalty. Her father worked in the fields with his people, doing the same back-breaking labor as his subjects. Back then, she could hardly be called princess, but now she was nothing more than a peasant farm girl, more suited to feeding chickens and mucking out stables than attending grand balls and high teas.

So there had been quite a stir when their unusual guest came to deliver the summons. She was a woman who appeared very young in age, no more than perhaps sixteen, though she spoke as if she were a far older creature. She had a short bob haircut and a thick fringe, but it wasn’t enough to hide her pointed ears, her sharp eyes, and her upswept eyebrows, belying a nature that wasn’t human.

Her cloak was plain, but well-made and of fine cloth, likely silk or satin. She had all the hallmarks of a servant of a wealthy, prosperous nation. She had been given entrance to the house by the only servant Lilya’s family employed, Sebastian, and was standing in the receiving room with Lilya’s mother and aunt.

“I come with greetings from my Lord King, to relay a question and to present a gift to you, beloved princess.”

Lilya tilted her head. “A gift? His Majesty didn’t need to send a gift.”

Aquamarine simply chuckled and bowed. “From his Majesty, with his kindest regards.” From her cloak, she produced a velveteen box and opened it, revealing a tiara of breathtaking beauty. Sizable diamonds and sapphires lined the circlet and rose up to create a lovely sloped and winding style like that of wind on water. It was a crown that would suit any head it rested upon.

“Oh!” Lilya breathed. “It’s breathtaking!” She rushed to her mother in delight. “This is the answer to the famine on the outskirts in the south! If we sell the tiara at the biggest market in the neighboring kingdom, we could feed the farmers for months, maybe a year!”

“Lilya!” Her aunt exclaimed in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? This was a gift from a king, for goodness sake, you can’t just sell it!”

“But, Auntie, I can’t hoard something like this when people are starving!”

“You would not wear it?” Aquamarine asked, her face shrewdly assessing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Lilya insisted earnestly. “It’s lovely, more so than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. But… truly, for me to wear it would be like putting silk ribbons on a pig. It would be far less useful as a trinket in my wardrobe and better as a tool to feed the hungry. I’m afraid that Couliea doesn’t pay much attention to our struggles, so we have to fend for ourselves. This,” Lilya gently took the box from Aquamarine and turned it so that she could see the tiara properly. “This is indeed a kingly gift. This will save lives. There is no more noble a gift as that.” She bowed her head and handed the box back gingerly. “If his Majesty would not be pleased with my conduct, I understand, but I would hope he would see the sense in my actions.”

Aquamarine laughed a little. “I do not think his Majesty will be displeased. Quite the opposite. Even still,” Aquamarine set the box down on the table and carefully pried a dangling jewel from the very center, threading it through a silver chain she had worn around her own neck, and placed it on Lilya. “His Majesty will want confirmation that his gift was received. This will suffice.”

“Then I shall wear it to the marriage interview,” Lilya said, patting it fondly.

Aquamarine’s head cocked back in surprise. “I had not even had the chance to ask you, and yet you’re agreeing to go?”

“Well, yes,” Lilya said. “That’s why you’ve come to call on me, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Aquamarine said with a smirk. “But usually it takes much more convincing on my part. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so… eager.”

“At the very least, I have to thank him for his generosity,” Lilya said. “Even if he decides I’m not a good match for him, I have to express my gratitude in person.”

“You’re not scared? I’m certain you’ve heard the rumors about my Lord King.”

“Well… yes,” Lilya admitted. “I won’t lie and say I’m not apprehensive, but kindness like this can’t go unacknowledged. It’s only right that I meet with him.”

Where Aquamarine’s smile had been playful and mischievous before, it was now wide and warm. “I will happily go now and inform his Majesty of your decision. My sisters and I will return in a fortnight to collect you for your interview. You may bring a guest with you, if you wish, though I assure you that you’ll be quite safe in our care.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Lilya said, bowing. “Would you like some refreshments to take with you on your trip back?”

“How kind of you, dear, but that won’t be necessary,” Aquamarine said, patting Lilya’s cheek. “We shall return in two weeks. You make sure you take care now. Our Lord King would be much distressed should something happen to you in the meantime.”

Aquamarine snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light from which everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. When they blinked, the young woman was gone.

“Witch...” Sebastian said in horror. “My Lady, you can’t meet with this monster! What kind of king employs such demons?”

“Likely someone who understands that people like them also need to earn a living, I’d imagine,” Lilya said reasonably. “Besides, I’ve already agreed and accept his gift. I can’t go back on my word.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually sell such a treasure,” Your aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re so like your father.”

She didn’t mean that in a good way. Lilya’s mother’s sister, Kiya, had always disliked her father and resented him for being too weak a king, unable to protect his people during the war. She had also resented Lilya ever since she had been born. There was worry that Sophie would not be able to carry another child at her age, and that the royal line would end as there would be no male heir to Tritsia.

The birth of Lilya’s little brother shortly before her father’s death was not enough to warm Kiya to Lilya. In fact, it seemed to drive the wedge even further, as Sophie and her brother were both terribly weak afterward and there was concern they wouldn’t survive. Kiya had gone so far as to blame Lilya, telling her that it would have been her fault if they died. As a nine year old, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done to cause such a terrible thing, but now she understood it was just her aunt lashing out.

Perhaps it was because Lilya resembled her father the most out of all her siblings, or because she was most like him in temperament, but she doubted Kiya would ever view her favorably. She was still family, though, and Lilya tried not to take her criticism to heart, though her aunt’s cutting eyes often wore into her painfully.

“I’m doing this for our country, even if it no longer exists,” Lilya said, determinedly putting the box away in a case so that Sebastian could take it to the neighboring kingdom for appraisal. “The king has called for me. The least I can do is answer.”

“Lilya’s right, Kiya,” Lilya’s mother, Sophie, said reluctantly. “It would be improper for us to take his gift and ignore him. Though I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of this.” Sophie sighed unhappily. “Lilya would have been expected to marry soon as it is. I supposed we couldn’t hope for better than a king.” Sophie took her daughter’s hands in her own. “Still, I’m very worried. I should come with you.”

“No, Mama, they need you here. You’ll have to be the one to make sure that the tiara gets a fair price and oversee the distribution of the food to the needy. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, Aquamarine said that she and her sisters were part of the Queen’s guard, and I liked her very much. I couldn’t be any safer.”

Lilya’s mother grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You have many lovely qualities, my sweet child, but being a good judge of character is not among them. All anyone needs to do is tell you a sad story for you to want to take them under your wing, regardless of their true intentions.” She smiled fondly. “You’re much like your father in that respect.”

Lilya smiled in return. “Father was not a good king,” She said sadly. “But he was a good man.”

“With that, I cannot argue,” Sophie said, but she frowned in distress. “You’re elder sisters had married before they got the summons, so I’ve never met with the king. Your father met with him only once, during a conference of kings, but he never told us anything about him other than he found him to be… striking. I think he didn’t tell us more because he want to frighten us.”

“Have you heard much about him?” Lilya asked anxiously.

“Reports are varied and hard to believe; that the king is a headless monster, thousands of years old, ten feet tall, winged and hulking, who eats the women who refused him. I’m not sure I believed any of that, but the rumors are still enough to make me trepidatious.”

Sebastian grumbled, his mustache shuddering. “It is the rumors that could be true that make me uneasy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am an old man now,” Sebastian said. “Well into my seventies, so I remember when the interviews began sixty years ago. In all that time, and no queen of Banfarie has been chosen. It concerns me. The king himself may now be an old man.”

“Is that why he’s being turned down?” Lilya asked.

“No, young madam,” He said. “You see, even before the interviews began, Banfarie had no queen in nearly one hundred years. In fact, since that time, no new kings had been crowned, either. The king from one hundred years ago was an elusive man who few had ever met, and those who did were terrified of him. If the current king is that man’s successor, it’s certainly distressing. But if he is the same man, then he is a creature of deeply evil magic, and Lady Lilya should stay far away from him.”

“Even if he were the same man, which should be impossible, his reputation is less than ideal,” Sophie said pensively. “The house of Banfarie is known historically for it’s cruelty and harsh punishments, even of neighboring kingdoms. It instituted a law that allowed Banfarie to make judgments on the conduct of royals, indict them criminally, and even sentence retribution against them, up to and including execution. The neighboring kingdoms pushed back against this, of course, but eventually they all fell in line and wrote it into their countries’ laws. I don’t trust any man who could wield that level of power over others.”

“But think of what that level of influence could do for Tritsia!” Kiya said. “A king with that kind of power could protect us and provide for us!”

Sophie shivered. “I don’t want to know what he would want in return for that protection.”

“Well, I would think that’s be obvious,” Kiya said, looking pointedly at Lilya.

Sophie, normally a mild, even-tempered woman, grew angry. “And you’re alright with that, are you? You’re willing to sell my youngest daughter to a monster if it benefits you?”

“Sophie, don’t be sentimental,” Kiya said, folding her arms. “Political marriages are common for royalty. If we had been a stronger country, this would be completely normal, even for a third daughter.”

“We’re not royalty anymore,” Sophie said firmly.

“But we could be, that’s the point!”

“Please, don’t fight,” Lilya said, getting between the two sisters. “I’ve already made the decision. Kiya is right; if I were to marry His Majesty of Banfarie, our kingdom would then be his responsibility rather than that of Couliea. However he treats that responsibility, it can’t be worse than the wanton destruction from the war or the indifferent cruelty of Couliea. If he accepts me, even if it is only a political marriage and nothing more, it would greatly benefit us both. He would at last gain the queen he’s been searching for and our country will be protected. I will meet him. Perhaps the rumors are wrong.”

“I can only hope,” Sophie remarked grimly. After throwing an angry look at her sister, she pulled Lilya away from Kiya and spoke in an undertone. “But… is this what you really want?”

“I want my family and people safe and well above all,” Lilya said. “If this king can offer that, then I can ask for nothing more.”

“If this is what you wish,” Her mother said slowly. “Then I will respect it. But… it is not what I would wish for you.”

“I know, Mama,” Lilia said. “We don’t always get what we truly wish for. But this is as close as I can get.”

“If the king accepts you,” Lilya’s mother remarked sadly. “We may never see you again.”

“That may not be true. I would hope that his Majesty wouldn’t prevent me from seeing my family once I settle in.”

“Just be careful, my love,” Her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “Be careful.”

As promised, Aquamarine returned in a fortnight to collect Lilya to take her to the capitol of Banfarie, Rukruf. A carriage had come with them for Lilya’s comfort.

“Couldn’t you transport me like you did the day you first came?”

“I’m afraid that’s a rather disorienting way to travel for humans, My Lady,” Aquamarine said, taking Lilya’s luggage. “It would require some degree of acclamation, and I don’t think his Majesty would want you to be sick during your interview.” She lifted Lilya’s bag up with one hand. “Is this all you’re bringing with you?”

“This is all I have,” Lilya replied simply. “You admit that you’re not human?”

“I was never attempting to hide it. I’m a spirit, specifically an stone spirit, as are my sisters. There they are now.”

She jerked her head toward the carriage. There were two more women identical to Aquamarine near the carriage, one in the driver’s box and another holding open the door to the carriage. All three women had short, pale lavender colored hair and large, glittering eyes. They wore identical uniforms similar to that of an attendant, but the skirts were rather short, stopping just below the knee, giving them a freer rang of movement. Each one had a dagger hanging from their hip.

Both new sisters bowed deeply as Lilya approached.

“My lady,” They said in unison.

“Garnet,” Aquamarine said, pointing to the driver,and then to the coach-woman. “And Peridot.”

“I don’t doubt the three of you are sisters; I can’t tell you apart,” Lilya said.

“Ah, but see?” Peridot said, pointing to a white bow on the right side of her hair in the shape of a butterfly. She then pointed to Garnet, who wore a black butterfly bow on her left side, and to Aquamarine, who wore no bow at all. “Even people who know us well have trouble distinguishing us from the other, so we’ve taken to wearing these. Only his Majesty can tell us apart without them.”

“Here, my Lady,” Peridot said, swinging a beautiful, fur-lined, snow-white cloak around Lilya’s shoulders. “We’ll be going through the mountains and it’s likely to get cold. His Majesty had this made for you.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilya said, petting the soft, veltvety collar that ruffed around her neck. “I’m starting to get anxious about meeting him.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Peridot asked ash she helped Lilya up into the carriage.

“I can’t tell,” Lilya replied, laughing nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peridot said as she came in and closed the door behind her, rapping sharply on the roof before settling. “His Majesty is only a threat to humans.”

Lilya looked at Peridot in alarm.

“It was a joke,” Peridot assured her, giggling. “…mostly.”

The carriage lurched forward and Aquamarine put a hand out to steady Lilya before she fell out of her seat.

“When will we arrive?”

“Around sunset tomorrow,” Aquamarine replied. “We’ll continue on through the night rather than stop at an inn. His Majesty is eager to meet you.”

“Won’t you be tired?” Lilya asked.

“Not to worry,” Aquamarine said. “Spirits like us don’t need much sleep, only a few hours a week. We’re all rested up.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is awfully handy,” Peridot said rather smugly. “Are you hungry? We’ve brought things for you to eat.”

The two days passed pleasantly and Lilya spent the time having long, friendly conversations with all three sisters. Lilya had never had lady friends her age, and though the women were spirits and likely far older than she was, they seemed to enjoy her company and asked her many questions.

“Oh, Lady, come and see!” Garnet said, pointing out of the window. “You can see the capitol city from this vantage!”

Delighted, Lilya looked out of the window where Garnet was pointing. “It’s huge!” She exclaimed. “I can’t even see the end of it! It must be as large as my entire country!”

“Your country is larger by about fifty miles, in fact,” Aquamarine said. “It’s the smallest country on the continent.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t know that for sure, but I’m not surprised.”

“Are you sad to be from such a small country?”

“No,” She replied. “My country is beautiful and my people are good. I just wish we were better able to defend ourselves.”

“Well, you may not have that problem anymore,” Aquamarine said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Will I meet his Majesty today?”

“No, you will be tired from the trip and will rest for tonight. He will conduct your interview tomorrow after you have your breakfast. His Majesty has instructed us to see to your every comfort.”

“That’s just going to make me more anxious,” Lilya said.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” Peridot said.

That evening, they arrived at the castle, which was every bit as colossal as described. Over it was a cloud of purple, blue, and pink particles, as if it were perpetual sunset over the castle.

“What is that?”

“It’s called the Aurora,” Garnet said. “It’s a magical field that has existed over the castle for hundreds of years and is the source of the royal family’s magical power. It ascends and descends over the castle, depending on how the king feels. It’s highly reactive to his emotional state.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said. “It’s rather low right now. What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” Garnet said. “I believe he may be feeling rather withdrawn.”

“I wonder why that would be,” Lilya mused.

Standing at the front steps of the castle as they pulled up were two young men in uniform, one blond and one dark haired. The blond wore glasses and seemed to be the junior of the two. They bowed as Lilya exited the carriage.

“Miss Lilya, these are the King’s personal attendants, Larima,” She gestured at the dark haired one first, and then to the blond. “And Raba. They are meeting you in place of his Majesty today.”

“Does that mean his Majesty is watching?” Lilya asked, looking up at the windows.

“Whether he is or is not,” Larima said as he straightened. “We are pleased to meet you, My Lady. Please allow us to show you to your room.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lilya replied. Curiously, she noticed as they turned that there appeared to be leaves growing out of their hair.

The sisters were following behind her at a short distance. “Are they spirits, too?” Lilya asked them in an undertone.

“Yes,” Peridot said. “They’re tree spirits. All of the staff employed at his Majesty’s main castle are not human.”

“Why?”

“His Majesty distrusts humans,” Aquamarine replied.

“But isn’t his Majesty human?” Lilya asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Peridot responded.

“And no,” Garnet said.

Lilya made a noise of uncertainty under her breath.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

“This is all very ominous,” Lilya said uncertainly.

“Yes!” Peridot said. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Before she could answer, she was lead to an opulent guestroom, far larger than any of the rooms in her home, filled with luxurious furniture and carefully crafted decorations.

“This can’t be my room,” Lilya said with a laugh. “What would I do with all this space?”

Raba and Larima exchanged looks. “Do you dislike it? We have a number of other rooms. You’re free to choose any one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Lilya said hastily. “It’s beautiful, I adore it. Please, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just feel like… I don’t know… isn’t it wasted on me?”

The triplets sighed sadly, having become used to Lilya’s unusual behavior, but the men continued to look confused.

“You do realize that if his Majesty chooses you and you accept, you’ll be queen?” Raba asked. “This,” He gestured at the room. “Is nothing compared to the queen’s suite.”

“Oh…” Lilya replied, a little disconcerted. “This will take some getting used to.”

“I understand,” Larima said. “You’re the princess from Tritsia, correct? The smallest, poorest kingdom on the continent, now a captured vassal state of Couliea. I suppose you must not be accustomed to living so resplendently.”

“Larima!” Aquamarine hissed. “Don’t be so tactless!”

Lilya laughed a little, relieved. “No, it’s alright. I’m not used to this at all, that’s true. Will that bother his Majesty?”

Larima smiled and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Don’t worry so much about what’s appropriate and just enjoy your time here. Come.” He lead Lilya inside and showed her two cords right next to the bed, a small blue cord and a larger red cord. “The blue cord is attached to a bell in the queen’s attendants’ quarters. If you need for anything, just ring it and one of the triplets will be here in an instant. The red one is an alarm. If you pull it, bells will go off all throughout the castle. Ring it only if it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Lilya said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Raba and Larima bowed and left, and the triplets ushered Lilya into an adjacent dining room to have dinner.

After a restless night of sleep and a breakfast she barely touched, Lilya was dressed in a lovely blue gown that complimented her hair, which was pulled back with matching ribbons. The bodice was tight but comfortable, the cut of the dress was simple but elegant, and for the first time, Lilya felt like a proper grown woman.

A knock on the door revealed Raba.

“His Majesty is ready for you and is waiting in his office,” He said.

Lilya stood and clenched her hands to stop them from shaking and followed Raba out of her quarters with Garnet and Aquamarine following behind her.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “I think the king will like you very much.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes,” Aquamarine replied. “We’re more concerned whether or not you’ll like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?” She asked.

“Well…” Garnet began regretfully, but then stopped.

“Here we are,” Raba said, gesturing to a set of large double doors. “One moment please.” Raba knocked on the door. “Your Majesty, I have retrieved Lady Lilya for her interview. Are you ready?”

There was silence, though Raba tilted his head as if he were listening.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raba opened one of the doors and stood aside. “You may enter.”

Gulping, checking that the pendant was in place, and taking a deep breath, Lilya stepped inside.

There, standing rail-straight behind a desk, was a tall, thin man wearing elaborate garments in keeping with his status as a king and emperor, as well as a sash and badges of his station. Almost immediately, one of the many rumors about the king was confirmed with Lilya’s own eyes.

His Imperial Majesty, the king of Banfarie, had no head.

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My Masterlist

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bouncydragon · 4 years

Text

LORD: Legion of Random Dinos

Now here we go!

Here is the Endgame Rewrite featuring dinosaurs and a dragon! It got WAY longer than it was supposed to. But ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. But because it is so long, I’ll divide it into two parts

Anyway, hope you’ll like it!

***********

Bonus: Endgame, But With Dinos! (Part 1)

It was a sight like none before. So many people, all coming together to defeat a common enemy. Stephen just hoped they would be able to defeat Thanos. How were their chances anyway? They might be many but Thanos had the stones. Probably their chances were rather slim. But Stephen wouldn't let his hope be taken away. Somehow they would manage. They had to.

He knew the Avengers had to be somewhere here, he just didn't know where (yet). He knew that even Loki was here. He didn't quite understand why they had made him a part of the Avengers but it didn't matter now. Any help was welcome. They'd need it.

What he didn't expect though was, when everyone came through the portals, that there were also…

"Are those… dinosaurs?" he asked, perplexed and had to make a double-take. Yes, those were definitely dinosaurs. How? Why?

Captain America—Steve Rogers—came to stand next to him. "Don't ask," he sighed and looked very tired.

When there was a thundering roar above them, Stephen looked up to see a huge creature fly across the sky. It looked like… But no, that couldn't be, could it? They weren't real. Or were they? He had to ask. Steve seemed to know about it, judging by his total lack of reaction.

"And is that… a dragon?" Stephen asked. "What's going on?"

Steve sighed and adjusted his shield. "His name is Gwaine and he's Loki's."

Well, that only answered one question. But also opened more. How and where did Loki get a dragon? Why did he have one in the first place? Where had the dinosaurs come from? And why did the other Avengers ride some of the dinosaurs?

Stephen turned to Steve. "I think you really need to explain what's going on."

Steve grimaced. "I'd rather not? Just thinking about it gives me headaches."

Stephen frowned. So there was probably more to this than he might've thought initially. Now he was even more curious.

Suddenly the shadow of the dragon grew and soon it landed next to them. On top of it was Loki, smiling down at them.

"Hello," he greeted them. "Everyone ready for the battle?"

Might as well ask him, Stephen thought, figuring that Loki would answer his questions. "Why is there an army of dinosaurs?"

Before Loki could answer, Iron Man—Tony Stark—landed next to them. He opened his faceplate. "They're called LORD," Tony explained grinning. Yeah, because that answered all of Stephen's questions. Also, how had he heard him?

"LORD?" he asked after he had rolled his eyes.

The answer surprisingly came from Steve. "Legion of Random Dinos." He groaned. "Aw dammit, now I'm one of you nutjobs."

"Welcome to the club!" Tony cheered, hugging Steve who looked anything but happy right now.

Then suddenly a Pterodactyl landed next to Loki's dragon (damn, the size difference!). Sitting on it was someone Stephen didn't know yet. But Tony was quite helpful and told him that that was Steve's boyfriend Bucky. He had heard that name before though.

"Which club?" Bucky asked. "DTSWDT or the Mischief Squad?" Did they all have superhuman hearing?!

Steve frowned at him. "Mischief Squad? Also, what does DTSWDT stand for?"

Tony, Loki and Bucky exchanged glances and then all at the same time said: "Nothing."

Stephen decided to ignore this and addressed Loki once more. "You still didn't answer my question. WHY is there an army of dinosaurs?"

"They're going to help us against Thanos, of course," the God told him. Fair enough but still didn't answer his questions.

"Still doesn't really answer my question," he tried again.

"Loki has summoned them," came the answer from behind him. Turning around, he saw Thor coming towards them on a T-Rex. "I think they will be a great help. Thanos won't know what hit him."

"Why?" It was a very reasonable question, in Stephen's opinion. Also the only question that mattered right now.

"Dinos make everything better," Loki answered, shrugging. That, on the other hand, wasn't a satisfying and reasonable answer. It was an answer a child would give.

"They listen to Loki, so don't worry," Tony pointed out. That didn't make the situation better but was good to know, in case he'd be maimed by one of them.

Stephen looked around then and saw the rest of the Avengers on dinosaurs. They were laughing and racing each other. Looking over at Steve, the leader of the Avengers looked very tired and done. Stephen got an idea why.

He leaned over and whispered, "Do you have to deal with this every day?"

"You have no idea," the soldier sighed. "They're usually worse."

Stephen's eyes widened. How could it be worse than this? Okay, this wasn't actually so bad. Yet. But Stephen really doubted these people's sanity. Not Steve's, but the others'. Riding dinosaurs seemed like an unnecessary risk. Something they really couldn't afford right now. Stephen got the feeling though that these people were beyond reason.

Another T-Rex came heading towards them. On top of it was Clint Barton. "Hey," he yelled grinning. "Let's kick some grape butt!"

Very immature but he did have a point. They were here to fight Thanos. They shouldn't waste time by discussing why there were dinosaurs. That was a topic for after the fight, if they could still discuss it then.

"The Hawk is right," Loki agreed and Gwaine took off into the sky again. "LET BATTLE COMMENCE!" came the rallying cry from Loki before Gwaine charged forward.

Bucky on his Pterodactyl and Tony took off too and flew after Loki. The rest of the dinosaur-riding Avengers followed them on the ground. And the army of dinosaurs was right behind them. Stephen followed with Captain America and watched quite impressed as the Avengers and the dinosaurs (and all the other heroes and warriors) fought against Thanos and his army. It really was an epic battle. Strange but epic.

"Huh," Stephen noted when he was able to take a breather for a moment. "The dinosaurs really are quite efficient."

Steve grabbed him by his collar (not the cloak collar though) and stared at him intensely. "No, please," he practically begged him. "You are the only still rational person I know. Please don't leave me too!"

Wow, they ruined him, Stephen thought.

***

It was some time later when they were able to catch a break and regroup. Everyone had fought valiantly but there was only so much a person could fight before they reached their limits. Thanos apparently was regrouping too. He had underestimated them and Thor had been right… He hadn't known what hit him when a bunch of dinosaurs had attacked him and heroically had given their lives for the greater good.

Stephen had saved a raptor from an attack and now the sharp-clawed fellow followed him around. It was actually quite adorable. He hated to admit it but the dinosaurs were a great help. There's something he never thought he'd say… Also, they were dinosaurs! The child in him was freaking out about having a dinosaur friend.

But it didn't go unnoticed to him that Steve wasn't so happy about his new friend. The super-soldier threw disapproving looks in his direction.

"I'm so, so sorry," Stephen whispered to his dinosaur friend while shooing him away. "I promise I'll be there in a sec. I just gotta deal with your Uncle Steve, he's angry."

Stephen never knew for sure if the dinosaurs understood what was being said to them. His dinosaur tilted its head looking at him questioningly.

Stephen turned to Steve who was standing there with his arms crossed and such a displeased expression that Stephen thought he had been ordered to the principal's office.

For several moments, no one said anything, until Stephen burst out: "Oh don't be so dramatic!" He pointed at his jurassic friend who had trotted back to his side. "I mean, c'mon! It's a dinosaur! Who doesn't love dinosaurs?" He gave his friend an affectionate pat on the head.

Steve turned away from him. "I can't even look at you right now."

Stephen wanted to say something but was interrupted by Loki landing Gwaine right next to him. Stephen was convinced that the dinosaurs saw Gwaine as their leader. He couldn't explain why though. It kinda just made sense that they would.

Gwaine lowered his head for Loki to climb off. "So," the God addressed Stephen. "I see you have disappointed the Captain too."

Stephen sighed. "I guess so."

Loki spread his arms and grinned at him. "Welcome to the club!"

Stephen raised an eyebrow. He could understand why Steve was done with his team but on the other hand, what did he expect when one of his team was literally the God of Mischief?

Loki leaned in closer to him. "If you want to hang out more with dinos and all sorts of mythical creatures, DTSWDT meets every Saturday in Tony's workshop at Avengers Tower," he whispered. "The password is Petrie. JARVIS will let you in then."

Stephen looked at him a bit dumbfounded and watched as Loki climbed back on Gwaine.

"There's also free food and drink and official T-Shirts," Loki told him, apparently not caring about the Captain hearing him anymore. "Or whatever you'd like clothing-wise. Toodles." Then he flew off again.

Stephen looked after him, straining his neck doing so. His cloak poked him and Stephen knew what he meant to say.

"Huh," he said and gave his dinosaur friend (he needed a name for him) a few gentle pats on the head. "Well, I guess that's worth checking out."

To his side, he heard a frustrated groan. He looked over and saw that Steve had thrown his arms up in frustration.

"HAS EVERYBODY GONE COMPLETELY MAD!?" he yelled to the sky.

Out of nowhere came Iron Man flying and hovered a few feet above the ground. He raised his faceplate and grinned first at Stephen and then at Steve.

"You should've seen him on Titan, Cap. Then you wouldn't be asking that," he said and winked at Stephen.

Stephen cringed and glared at him. Did he have to bring that up? Also, what did it matter? This was an alternate timeline.

A huge shadow fell over them and Stephen looked up to see Loki on Gwaine there.

"What does he mean?" he asked Stephen.

Stephen, obviously, stayed silent and looked at Tony who lowered the faceplate again and flew away. Loki frowned and looked at Stephen more intensely.

"What does he mean?"

Stephen still didn't say anything. Loki didn't look too pleased. Should Tony face the consequences of his comment. And he would.

Loki gave Gwaine some sort of signal and then the dragon flew after Tony at an incredible speed.

"COME HERE, YOU ASSHOLE! WHAT HAPPENED ON TITAN?!" he yelled after Tony.

Stephen didn't pity the man right now. Being the target of Loki's anger seemed like a very bad idea. He just hoped he wouldn't have to experience it as well.

***

"HOW COULD YOU HAVE BEEN SO UTTERLY STUPID?!"

Okay, Stephen did become the target of Loki's anger. And boy, he was terrifying. Even more so because he was on Gwaine hovering several feet over Stephen. And Stephen guessed that Gwaine could sense that Loki was angry because his look was just as angry. Stephen was in serious trouble here.

Tony was in the air near Loki but for now kept silent, just as Stephen and the Captain. There wasn't anything they could say right now. Loki wouldn't let them anyway.

"GIVING UP THE TIME STONE!" Loki kept on yelling. "TONY WASN'T IN ANY DANGER! HE'S UNDER MY PROTECTION! HE WOULD'VE SURVIVED ANYWAY!"

"WELL, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT, NOW DID I?" Stephen yelled back now. Why was Loki yelling anyway? Sure, he was angry, but he could be angry at a reasonable volume.

"HE WOULD'VE TOLD YOU, IF YOU WOULD HAVE JUST LISTENED!"

"Why are you yelling, Loki?" Steve asked now.

Loki looked at him and frowned. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LOUD THE SOUND OF THESE WINGS ACTUALLY IS RIGHT NOW?"

They didn't sound loud to Stephen but he also wasn't directly next to them. Or maybe Loki was going deaf. He had talked to them while on the dragon earlier and hadn't yelled then. Maybe the wings were only loud now because Loki was angry and Gwaine therefore too, so he was flapping his wings in anger? Did that make any kind of sense? Why bother wondering about it now? There were more important things to worry about than the volume of dragon wings. Again one of those things Stephen had never thought would go through his mind.

"ALSO," Loki continued, "YELLING SEEMS APPROPRIATE IN THIS SITUATION!" Okay, fair point.

Tony finally took action and tried to calm his raging boyfriend. He flew closer and opened his faceplate. "Babe, it's alright. We will defeat Thanos," he tried.

But apparently Loki wasn't done with him yet either. "I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!"

Tony looked at him slightly shocked but didn't say anything. He knew there'd be more, and he was right.

Loki fully turned towards Tony. "YOU ALWAYS GET SO MAD AT ME WHEN I PUT MYSELF IN DANGER! BUT WHEN YOU DO IT, IT'S OKAY! YOU DIDN'T EVEN TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED ON TITAN UNTIL NOW!"

Tony was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, Stephen had to really carefully listen or he would've missed it.

"I thought you were dead…"

Loki actually scoffed. That seemed a little insensitive to Stephen. Tony had a good point. It must've been hard for him to think his love was dead.

"WHO AM I, STARK?! WHO?!" Loki yelled at Tony but Stephen heard something else than anger in his voice. He just couldn't place it. "YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT I'M FUCKING HARD TO KILL! AND I'M ALSO BAD AT ACTUALLY STAYING DEAD!"

Next to Stephen, Thor inhaled sharply. "Oh boy, he's called him Stark," he whispered. "Someone is in trouble."

"I SWEAR, IF YOU PULL ANY SELF-SACRIFICING SHIT TODAY, I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL RESURRECT YOU AND THEN KILL YOU AGAIN!" they heard Loki. That was an interesting threat, and he probably meant it literally.

Tony wasn't able to respond to that anymore because Loki just flew off. Stephen wondered how exactly he flew the dragon. Were there specific signs? Did they talk? Was there something like a dragon language? And if so, was Loki able to speak and understand it?

Tony landed next to them, looking like a kicked puppy. "He's never been that mad at me before…," he mumbled sadly.

Tony was quiet for a few moments, in which Stephen figured he was contemplating what to do now. Stephen wondered if Loki would even be mad at him for long. They seemed to fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. Considering that, Stephen could understand why Loki was so mad at Tony.

"Thor!" Tony suddenly exclaimed. "How can I make it up to him?"

Thor looked at him rather surprised and a bit lost. Then he shrugged. "Why are you asking me?" he answered. "You know him better than I do."

Stephen frowned at him. Didn't he always claim that Loki was his brother, no matter what, and he loved him? Shouldn't he know him then?

"Ah fuck!" Tony whined and then flew after Loki. "LOKI! WAIT! I'M SORRY!" he yelled but Stephen doubted that the Trickster could hear him.

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thecatwhogrins · 4 years

Text

The Red-Haired Maiden, the Little Wolf and the Firebird

A little Obiyuki firebird au fic for Obiyukimadness20, please enjoy!

Tsarevitch Raji Shenazade has demanded to see a Firebird.

A rumor had been spreading throughout the kingdom, from village to village, till it had reached the glistening towers of St. Petersburg. There, the rumour had spread like wildfire, and soon enough it caught the attention of the grandson of the great Tsar. The young noble was entitled to demand such things, even if this meant that many men would die trying to achieve this. If it is his will, it shall be done.

“Only a spoiled princeling like him would send his subordinates chasing after an old maid's tale", thought Obi bitterly as he shivered in the cold.

Obi was one of such attendants, the son of a skilled hunter, and the best one at that. But he was of a lower birth status, and this could be felt in the way the other young nobles looked at him. Obi simply let them do what they wanted, his attention was all on tracking the god forsaken bird. If he did not find the bird, he knew the princeling would throw out men from the throne room windows and behead the rest. Although Obi didn’t particularly like any of the snobby noble men or spineless servants, he did value his own life and the prize that had been promised if he succeeded in this task.

Freedom.

And so, this was the reason why a pack of young and not so young noblemen and servants scoured the thick forest on the edge of the eastern border of the kingdom, boot-clad feet deep in thick blankets of snow. They walked in a single file, the younger ones were rowdier and made much more noise. Obi stuck to the front, his footfalls as silent as a wolf's, his ears perking at every sound. Tracking a bird that no one has never seen was not an easy task, to say the least. His full attention was on finding a sign, any kind of sign to prove that the bird existed.

“Don’t go too far ahead, Volchonak, we don’t all run on all fours like you.” One of the men shouted, mocking Obi who simply let it go.

Volchonak, little wolf.

That nickname was better than others he had been called in the past. At least this evoked something to be feared, to be reckoned with. Obi simply advanced, leaving behind him the childish nobles.

As night encroached upon the trees, the group set up camp and lit a bonfire to ward off any nightly visitors from surprising them in their sleep. One of the younger nobles called Ryuu Ivanovitch was to be on sentry duty with Obi and had visibly never done such work before. He peered into the only darkness nervously but with a dignified countenance as he sat down next to Obi under a huge pine tree. They sat at the foot of a huge fir, both wearing as many layers of clothes they could, bundled up until only their eyes and noses could be seen. As the other nobles started to go to sleep, one of Ivan’s friends passed him and snickered.

“Ryuu Ivanovitch! Don’t get lost in the forest now, Baba Yaga might just snatch you up and eat you.” He laughed and continued towards the snow hole he’d be sleeping in. Ryuu pouted, displeased, and Obi rolled his eyes while his thumb strokes the hilt of his hunting knife. Obi was less preoccupied with Baba Yaga and more worried about wolves or bears, not that he would tell the young nobleman next to him. The last thing he needed to deal with during the night would be a panic-stricken pup clinging onto him. But it would be funny to tease him.

“Decisions, Decisions...” Obi sighed and looked towards the tree line a few meters away.

Obi's keen eyes suddenly caught something glistening a few meters away. It glowed like the gold that decorated the throne room. He rushed over to the object and found a single golden feather with bright red edges. It looked nothing like any kind of feather he had ever seen. It had melted slightly the snow around it but didn’t look hot anymore. Obi still hesitated to take it. He finally gingerly picked it up between gloved fingers. The feather was still slightly warm and shone brightly. It looked almost like an ornament a skilled craftsman had forged and dropped onto the snowy forest ground.

As Obi looked up a quiet sound resounded above his head. High above him, perched on a tree branch, sat a girl. She wore a necklace made of the same kind of feather Obi held in the palm of his hands. Her hair was a brilliant red, it glowed like a beacon in the frigid night air. She was staring at him curiously and the bonfire added a radish hue upon her face. She looked positively fiery, as though she herself was in fact the fire bird, a notion Obi refused to consider.

“Um...hello there miss?” he called up to her.

Ryuu looked up from where he sat at the base of the tree. His black brows furrowed but he did not utter a word. He suddenly cried out in alarm at the same time as the woman in the tree:

“Volchonak! Be careful!”

Obi barely had time to react as he suddenly was tackled to the ground by a creature, fur and weight and warmth smothering him. A row of sharp teeth snapped near his throat, nearly missing him.

It was a wolf.

How ironic.

He couldn’t make it out completely in the dying fire’s light, but it was huge and fierce. Its paws scratching at him as he grappled with it, avoiding its maw. They struggled in the snow, the beast was snarling, Obi was making almost inhuman desperate noises as desperately trying to get his hunting knife. The other men had also woken up, alarmed by all the noises and by Ryuu screaming.

The wolf suddenly got hold of the arm Obi was using to shield his face, and he hissed with pain. Fortunately, his teeth hadn’t sunk in too deep, but the pain was still intense. Obi glared at him, eyes locking with his adversary’s. It felt like a lifetime had passed when Obi finally grasped his weapon and slashed at the wolf’s eye. It whimpered and let him go, backing away. Obi’s head was spinning, the frigid night air coming out in breathless gasps. The beast turned away and raced into the night.

The other men were also trying to fend off other wolves with their hunting equipment. There was one man already down, his crimson blood spilt over the cold ground. After a few more minutes of panic, they managed to steer them away. Obi observed this all lying on the snowy ground, it thick like a carpet but colder than hell.

From where he was lying down, his gaze met the woman’s as she huddled in the tree. There was a look of worry on her face as he slowly sat up. The knife was still held in his hand tightly, blood from his arm trailing down, warm and wet. Ryuu helped him to stand up completely, asking him if he was feeling well.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked with a melodious voice.

“I’ll survive,” obi answered, even though he still felt slightly light-headed.

After a few moments of silence, she asked another question:

“Are you here to see the fire bird?”

Obi hesitated slightly before answering.

“Wait, you know of the fire bird? What are you doing here? What is your name?” he asked.

“My name is Shirayuki, I live in the cottage not too far from here and I was out hunting for some herbs. I climbed this tree when the wolf attacked me, but it seems… I can’t get back down again.” She smiled sheepishly.

Obi’s brain worked double time as he tried to detect anything amiss in her story, but everything seemed a little too convenient. And that necklace… those were not normal feathers.

“Let me help you down, miss.” he smiled up at her. The time for questions would come later.

Obi directed her on where to put her hands and feet as Ryuu Ivanovitch watched silently next to him. The other men were all asleep and no other sounds disturbed the night but the wind howling and Obi’s calm voice. Shirayuki was about halfway down when suddenly the branch on which she was standing broke. Snow dropped heavily, her screamed filled the empty air and Obi suddenly found himself with an armful of red head and his arm was screaming in pain once more.

The night air turned silent again and Obi’s arms tightened around the young woman. Her green eyes were wide, still burning with fear and staring into Obi’s golden ones. Their breaths came out in puffs as they both calmed down. The whole camp full of groggy, grumpy men started to circle the three of them. Then, Shirayuki smiled, a small bright thing that grew more and more till she started to laugh. It was a bright sound, clear as bells in the middle of winter.

“Thank you for saving me, Volchonak.” She thanked him softly once she stopped laughing, “oh no! Your arm! I’m so sorry,” she quickly added, hastily getting out of his arms.

“You’re welcome miss.” He answered as he set her down. His heart was beating fast, but it wasn’t in fear. He gripped his injury, trying to staunch the blood.

“What’s this girl doing in the middle of our camp at this ungodly hour of the night?” asked Alexei Vasiliev, one of the lords on the hunt.

“I’m not too sure”, said one of the older servant men, Andrei Popovitch, “but it looks like she might be one of our men’s women who’s come on the hunt.”

The other men laughed at this but suddenly one of them cried out in surprise.

“My lord, look at her neck, those feathers, aren’t they strange?”

Shirayuki looked down at her chest where the feathers glowed dimly in the light of the campfire.

“They are strange! Speak, girl, tell us where you found them!” exclaimed Alexei Popovitch.

“This necklace is made of the firebird’s feathers. He does not give them out freely, but I saved his life once so to repay this kindness, he gave these to me.” Shirayuki explained. Obi felt surprise and suspicion worm their way into him. Living in the palace, he had met many a man who would spin the wildest tales in hopes of pleasing whoever listened in hopes of a few roubles.

“You know where the firebird is?” Obi interjected.

“I don’t know where he is right now, if that’s what you’re asking me.” Shirayuki answered, “he doesn’t come to my bidding, he has a mind of his own. The firebird assists me when I heal people. He comes to me when I need him. But he is a fickle creature and doesn’t always come when I think he will.” She laughed slightly at this.

“You’re a healer, then?” Obi asked.

She explained how she grew up in the forest with her grandparents. Her grandfather was a woodcutter and her grandmother taught her how to recognize plants and how to use them to heal people. Many people from the surrounding villages would often come visit her grandmother, seeking her skills. She continued with her grandmother’s the family business and cured whoever came to her cottage in exchange of things she could not provide for herself such as food and other rare items. Throughout this story, Obi looked at Shirayuki and she seemed truthful, her eyes shining slightly when she spoke of her grandfather’s passing, her grief still apparent, a small smile nonetheless playing on her lips. A strange sadness gripped his own heart and Obi had to look away from her eyes.

“It’s my turn to ask questions now,” she said with an inquisitive smile, “why do you seek the firebird?”

Obi was silent for a moment, a heartbeat. Telling her the truth was risky.

“We are not seeking it for glory, if that is what is worrying you. In fact, we don’t have much of a say in the matter. Our lord wishes to see the bird. We are simply here to execute.” Obi explained.

Shirayuki cocked her head at him, her brows drawn in a frown.

“What will you do when you see it? Will you hurt it?”

“No, Tsarevich Raji only wishes to see it so we will capture it, bring it before his highness and set it free.” Alexei Vasiliev answered. The lie was obvious for anyone who lived with nobility. Obi tensed up. Shirayuki seemed to not believe the noble man and instead looked at Obi, with a slight tilt of her brow. Obi looked away, under her scrutiny he suddenly felt very small, very much like his nickname.

“Well, if that is all you wish to do, I might be able to summon the bird tomorrow, we simply must find its roosting nest on the top of the mountain.” She explained calmly.

“We shall sort this out in the morning. Everybody will wake up at dawn. Everybody go back to rest and if someone wakes me up again, so help me God, they will get a beating they shall remember.” said Alexei Vasiliev. The men grumbled and returned to their snow holes, shivering and cursing at the cold.

Only Obi, Ryuu and Shirayuki remained, an uncomfortable silence reigning. The next round of night watch brought out two more young hunters to take over. Obi let them take his place under the fir tree and headed towards his sleeping hole he would share with someone else. Ryuu, mostly silent during the whole interaction shuffled off sleepily towards his own sleeping hole. As Obi neared his resting spot, he realised Shirayuki was following him softly.

“Let me help you with your wound,” she said softly, bringing out herbs and other equipment out of a small satchel she wore.

“I’m sorry, this might hurt,” she said as she borrowed the deer skin full of alcohol and used it to drench his wound, disinfecting it. She then applied some herbs that smelled rather strongly, making Obi’s nose wrinkle in distaste. She finished by bandaging his arm quickly with a fresh piece of linen. Her hands on his skin were soft, almost too warm compared to the cold air. Her head was bowed, concentration etched on her features. Obi’s heart was once again racing. He was so distracted, he barely heard her when she voiced her request.

“Can I borrow your snow hole please? It’s too late for me to dig one myself” she asked softly. There was no trace of embarrassment like the blushing maidens back in the village would have had. Her crimson hair was all tussled from the wind and falling from a tree. Obi could even detect a few pine needles sticking out of it. A small smile played on her rosebud lips. Utterly charming. Obi swallowed hard.

“Of course, little miss. Let me just move over, make some space for you. Don’t want it to be too tight.” Obi almost winked and thought better of it. Shirayuki looked rather unfazed, probably missing the double entendre.

“Actually, when it’s this cold, it’s better to sleep closer together to retain the heat,” she said unabashedly. Obi almost choked.

“Yeah…Yes, you’re right! Come on, before we wake up anyone again.” Obi hurriedly said.

Shirayuki settled next to him, the bonfire did not illuminate the hole, so Obi could only see her profile outlined in the dark. The silence was only interrupted by the sounds of the forest and Shirayuki’s light breathing. Obi was known to be a flirt, but he wasn’t accustomed to see a woman this unabashed.

He closed his eyes and tried to get some rest.

#obiyukimadness20 #fanfic #myfic #obiyuki #ans #russian myths au #ans snow white with the red hair #obiyukimadness2020 #after-action patch-up

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wallofprompts · 4 years

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Another chance to win the fight AU 7

(282 AC. Winterfell.) Since Ned came back from visiting White Harbour, his father had been looking at him in a particular way, but he hadn’t said what was bothering him until the day before.

---------

“Son, are things between you and the Princess going...hmm... adequately?” Lord Rickard had asked him.

“Ahm... ehm... Aye, I think so, father.” He had answered disconcerted.

If Ned had stopped to think about it, he might’ve remembered that Shaena had been tactfully avoiding him since he had come back. He had missed her during his trip. Several times, Ned had found himself thinking of something that she might have liked or made her smile, so he had assumed she might’ve missed him too, but it didn’t seem to be the case.

Lord Rickard had nodded, mulling his answer, both strolling in silence around the keep.

“It’s just that... it passed a year since you wed...” His father told him. It’s been thirteen moons precisely. “And you’re both so shy, that I thought maybe you were having some troubles at the... marriage bed.”

Ned flushed at his father’s words. Sure, they were both of an introvert and quiet disposition but passed the few first clumsy times, they both have been enjoying their time abed, at least they had before he had gone to White Harbour.

“Sorry if I’m being too blunt for you, Ned, but you’re the heir now.” Lord Rickard continued. “You and the Princess must secure Winterfell for the Starks.”

--------

Ned himself had pondered about why Shaena wasn’t bearing a babe yet but he had presumed it'd happen sooner or later. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He decided talking to Maester Walys was the sensible thing to do.

What he hadn’t expected was the Maester explaining him, his wife’s avoidance had been under his direct orders.

--------

“I prescribed the Princess at least one moon for her body to heal before you try again, my young lord.” The man must have noticed Ned’s ignorance because he added. “Because of the miscarriage.”

“Mis...miscarriage?” Ned repeated, trying to understand what the man had said.

“Oh... bu-but I thought...” The Maester stammered realizing his mistake. He thought Ned knew because what man wouldn’t know his wife had lost their babe? “Princess Shaena said...she’d inform you.”

“She didn’t,” Ned admitted, more hurt than angry. “When...?”

“It happened after you left for White Harbour.” He explained. “The Princess suspected she might be with child before you left. I saw some signs, but it was too early to tell for sure, unfortunately, a fortnight later she lost it.”

“I...I-, thank you for telling me.” Ned stuttered. He wondered if Shaena was distressed or suffering and he had failed to notice it, but mainly he questioned why she hadn’t told him. He turned away, ready to leave but the Maester stopped him.

“The Princess...” The Maester hesitated for a moment. “She thinks it happened once before, shortly after you were wedded. I explained her that before a woman starts to show, it’s very difficult to know for sure if the seed has taken root.” He expounded, “The one she mentioned was earlier than this and so, I tried to erase the notion of it, but she was adamant.”

“I...I see.” Ned hesitated. The more he knew about it, the worse was the bitter taste on his mouth and the dreading grip on his entrails.

“Do try to not be very displeased with her, it’s what I’m trying to say, Ned.” Maester Wilys advised him. “It’s a fearsome predicament for a Lady and it’s too early to be concern about it.”

--------

Ned intended to confront Shaena that night, but he cowered and instead expended the night in Brandon’s room. His brother’s things weren’t there anymore, but he felt somehow closer to him there.

Ned felt like a pretender most of the time, living his brother’s life. Winterfell was supposed to be his, all the travels and responsibilities were meant for Brandon, even Shaena.

She was meant to be Brandon’s bride, not Ned’s.

Brandon, who was witty and passionate, who knew how to flirt and talk to women. Not him, who found challenging talking to his own wife.

And yet, the notion of Shaena married to Brandon, of her pale, petite body laying next to his brother, her silver-white threads spreading over him or tangled around his fingers instead of Ned’s, made him feel sick to his stomach.

He barely slept that night, he woke up before the sunrise and walked back to their chambers.

Shaena was curled up under the bed’s furs, sleeping very close to the border as if she might need to run out of the bed at some point.

Ned took off his boots and slipped under the furs. He curled his arm around her middle and pressed his face against the back of her head, his nose burying in her silver tresses, inhaling the warm womanly scent that was unique of Shaena.

She stirred in her sleep. She relished on the new source of warm, sinking back against his body.

“Ned?” She asked, twisting in his arms to face him.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Sorry? For what?” She inquired with worry.

“The babe” He croaked. Shaena’s violet eyes widen suddenly, her body stiffened in Ned’s arms. “Maester Wilys told me.”

His explanation didn’t remove the shock from Shaena’s body, so Ned searched her face. He had only seen such dread on her face once before, the night of their wedding. When their guests had pushed them into the room and closed the doors behind them, leaving them alone for the very first time. He remembered Shaena hugging her petite naked body, shivering and staring at him with absolute terror.

“You are?” She whispered, returning Ned to the present.

“Aye,” He nodded, petting her silver hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Ar-aren’t you angry?” She searched his face looking for any expression that could give away his feelings.

“I’m-” He had been hurt and disappointed to learn it from the Maester instead of her, but surely it had been worse for her. “I wish you’d have told me, but I’m not angry.”

“Bu-but I lost it,” She whimpered, panic seeping in her voice, “I lost our babe.”

Ned pressed a kiss to her brow and hugged her tightly.

“You didn’t do anything, it happened.” He kissed her hair while her hands grabbed his shirt and she started to cry out. “It wasn’t you, my love.”

They held each other for a long time.

Ned’s own silent tears joined the louder heartbroken ones from Shaena.

“How she did it?” She questioned after she had calmed down.

“Who?”

“My mother,” She tipped her head up to Ned, “I wasn’t born for her first two and I was just two when baby Daeron died, but I hazily remember the one after him. How she was taken away and I wasn’t allowed to see her.” She sniffed and closed her eyes with a grimace. “When baby Aegon died, I remember Rhae trying to hide me from father’s rage, but we could hear his yells and the horrible things he shouted to her.”

Ned cupped the back of her head and tightened his arms around her as if he could shield her from her own memories.

“After baby Jae died,” Shaena kept revealing, though Ned knew a some of it already. “Father replaced all the servants and lowborn in the keep. Years later, I found out every one of them was questioned, some died during it and the ones who didn’t were banished from the city.”

“I heard of it” Ned whispered.

“Most people don’t know, but mother lost another after Viserys,” Shaena confessed. “I remember the horrible things father screamed to her, the things people say at court, ‘something must be wrong with her’, ‘it’s her fault’, ‘she must do something’.”

Her voice broke and she started crying again.

“I never… never thought how horrible it must have been for her, I only cared what her failure meant to me. The yelling and slights father would direct at me and Rhae because of her. I ne-nev-”

“Shush.” Ned quieted her, holding and rocking her body while she wept. Realising now how terrified Shaena must have been to tell him about their babe. “You didn’t know.”

“What if… what if something is wrong with me too, Ned?” She looked up, her eyes reddened and full of tears. “What if I ca-can’t-”

“It’s too early, the Maester said so,” He tried to dismiss her fears, but she shook her head, “It’s in the Gods’ hands....and if we don’t have children, then Benjen will have to.”

“He’ll hate me.” She sobbed, rubbing her eyes with her arm. “He wants to be a knight.”

“He still can,” Ned pushed her silver her away from her face “but then he’ll have to wed.”

“You’ll hate me too.” Her voice broken.

“How could I” He cupped her face to gaze at her eyes, “when I love you?”

Her eyes widened and she sucked in her breath on a sharp gasp.

“You do?” She asked tremulous and hopeful.

“Aye,”

He did.

He didn’t realise until now but of course he did, and it wasn’t a recent feeling, it had been there for some time. She pressed a shy kiss against his lips.

“I was so happy when the Maester said I might be with child,” She looked down, away from Ned’s eyes. “I thought ‘Ned would love me for it when he came back, and even if it’s only a tiny bit of how much I love him, I’ll be lucky.’”

He tipped up her face, they stared at each other wishfully until they both smiled, before kissing each other senseless.

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

Shaena didn’t miscarriage again, but neither did she get with child. Every time her moonblood came she lost a little more hope, the news of Lyanna expecting her first babe and Cersei’s second didn’t help either.

Nevertheless, she knitted the most delicate baby blankets anyone had ever seen in Winterfell as a present for both babes’ namedays.

Lyanna had a healthy little girl they named Elia.

Ned had feared Shaena would be distressed, so he was understandingly baffled when she didn’t.

Instead, she took his hand, placed over her lower belly, and beamed at him as happy as he had ever seen her.

----------

By the end of 283, Shaena delivered a baby boy.

“He looks just like you,” She whispered, pale and exhausted after a difficult childbirth.

The babe was bundled on her arms and Ned was sat on the bed to look at his firstborn.

He did have the Stark looks, with a wisp of dark hair and a solemn, long little face. His features were, however, more delicate than any Stark could have ever dreamt of. He looked around with pensive, big eyes that were dark, though neither grey like Ned’s nor violet like Shaena’s.

“I hoped he’d get your eyes,” Ned mentioned.

“He has my brother’s,” She pointed. Ned leant his head to look at their son in a better light, while trying to remember Prince Rhaegar’s eyes. “I know you want to name him after Lord Arryn, what do you think about Jongar?”

“Not Jonaerys?” He japed.

“Jonaerys Stark sounds as ridiculous as those Freys named after Rhae.” Shaena dismissed. “Is Jonhar better?”

“Not Jonys?”

She hit his arm in retaliation, he laughed and kissed her forehead.

“Jonhar Stark it is, then.”

----------

Another change to win the fight 1-6: Ned & Shaena (1), Lyanna & Oberyn, Rhaegar & Cersei, Robert & Catelyn, Jaime & Lynesse, Ashara & Elbert

#asoiafedit #gotedit #Eddard Stark #ned x shaena #shaena targaryen #stark x targaryen #asoiaf rarepair #pre asoiaf #pre asoiaf au #another chance to win the fight #shaena targaryen cast as #maddie hasson

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doginshoe · 5 years

Text

The Draconian Huntress XI

summary: In a time where there is an impending war to come, Lucy sets forth to find the draconian people in order to shift the tides against the demon King Zeref that threatens to take over Fiore.

part 11 of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10

read on ff.net here

Natsu vs Gajeel

Lucy couldn’t believe just what was unfolding before her.

It was unbelievable how many people had filled the colosseum in such short notice - like this was a common occurrence in The Draconian Kingdom.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, even as people still filed in through the large gates, as the ominous drum beat thundered throughout the arena.

It called the people in as the match drew closer to a start - the anticipation becoming so thick that even the archer was being swallowed by it. Her heart rate picking up as a knot formed in her belly and her hand clutched at the fabric of her skirts.

“Nervous?” Laxus called, and Lucy looked up to the tall blonde Commander by her side. He stared her down, almost a look of pity on his face.

She looked away from him, her brown eyes being drawn back to the grounds below - the Sanguis Pit. They washed over the grounds, mainly the gaping holes that littered the open space and the blood stains that were splattered across the large stone walls that stretched high above the fighting pit. It looked as if two armies had clashed here… Large armies with Giants and Orcs amongst the battalions.

The destruction was too chaostrophic for meager duels between men. There were even scorch marks that ran up the wall and even into where the civilians sat in the lower levels.

Her stomach twisted again.

“Just what sort of fight is this?”

She deflected his question with one of her own, yet that already gave Laxus her answer. It wasn’t often that outsiders beared witness to a Draconian pastime that dated back to their early ages. It was carnal and savage, just as if they had reverted to the dragons that bestowed their powers upon them. It was why he had asked for them to leave their smaller companion behind to wait with their Healer Grandeeny. He knew she had the wits and care to make sure the little girl was distracted.

“De provocatione ad Throni,” Laxus spoke in the old draconic tongue. “The challenge to the throne,” he paused as he looked to his princess who’s eyes were nearly burning holes into the ground and the dark haired male who looked uneasy beside her. “It’s a battle to the death.”

The winter sprite looked up, disbelief clear in his eyes as Lucy’s shoulders stiffened.

“You’re really going to let someone kill the King?” Gray piped up, exasperated, “I mean I don’t like either of them, but to have a death match with your own King… that’s insane.”

Laxus didn’t even bat an eye at Gray’s ignorance, his expression like stone. “The King is the strongest Draco, only second to his chosen mate. If the King is killed in combat then he was not fit to lead to begin with. That is our way.”

“Even I took up arms against Natsu,” Laxus added, which earned him an even wider eyed stare. “It was when Layla had ran with you and King Igneel had disappeared. Natsu, by expectation, was raised to the throne.”

He gave Lucy a pointed look before he turned to look at ‘The Blood Pit.’

“He was a boy and I was just a few years his senior. It was foolish but I fought with him. Yet, I never challenged him to the Sanguis.” He paused as his blue eyes stretched over the arena, taking in the destruction that marked it’s exterior and gave an opening to the pain and death that had wrecked the old colosseum.

“If I had then, I wouldn’t be standing here today.” His voice held weight with the last line, the blonde commanders eyes pulling away from the pit.

“That’s-” Gray started, but Lucy had cut him off. Her voice interjecting in a loud hiss that sent the winter sprite taking an innocent step away from her.

“It’s barbaric.” She looked back to Laxus. “I’ve known people to be cruel, but slaughtering those around you to get to the top? It makes me sick.”

“Those words ring a bell,” a croaky voice joined in, “I believe they were the same one's your mother used when she had first been let into the Sanguis to witness a proelio mortem between two drakes.”

The trio of warriors turned to the old man that entered the royal tier seating - the Advisor.

Laxus bowed his head, yet Lucy and Gray remained still - apart from the displeased look growing on the archer’s face.

“Lord Yajima,” Laxus greeted, but the old man waved him off.

“It has always been ironic; the history of the Heartfilia’s and the Draconians - bound to us by an old oath, yet always disappointed in our actions.” Yajima walked slowly to the edge of the balcony, his eyes connecting with Lucy the whole way. “It is almost as if their predecessor cursed them to live a life of misery rather than saving them as she intended.”

Lucy’s thin brows pulled down. “What do you know about the history of my family?”

“I’m the advisor of the Kings and Queens. It’s my duty to know the Kingdom and its history. In fact, I remember teaching it to you when you still ran about these castle walls.” He spoke before halting by the large rail that surrounding the top tier and slowly raised his hand, bringing the entire crowd to a hush. “But, I’m afraid I can’t retouch on our lessons right now. There is much more important matters at hand.”

The drums slowly faded to a low beat, the dull thud repeating in a monotonous rhythm that slowly declined in octaves.

“Wait-” Lucy called and reached for the old advisor, but a large hand captured her shoulder, halting her movements. She looked up to Laxus and he shook his head.

“It’s not time for that. Natsu is the one who needs you right now.”

Lucy’s face contorted into one of anger. “What? Get off-” she yelled as she threw herself from his grasp but Laxus only pulled her back again.

“When you’re Queen you’re going to find out everything you want to know,” Laxus voice turned into a quiet hiss, “but if Natsu loses today then that’s not going to happen.”

Lucy's eyes widened as he turned her to the arena.

“You’re his mate - his life - as he is yours. Haven’t you sensed it? Feelings that aren’t your own.”

Her mind flashed to when she had first seen Natsu. The excitement and flush that had first dawned on her before her fear finally took over.

“When they step into the arena, your faith in him alone can be his strength. It’s all up to you if he wins or not. That’s why he ordered for you to be here.”

The drums died on a quiet thump and the silence fell over the colosseum, yet it barely lasted a second before Yajima pulled his hand down and the first gate crashed to the ground. A figure walking out in a steel suit of armour - but it wasn’t like any of the knights she had seen.

The steel was jagged, like waves, and consumed nearly all of his face. The thick metal stretched over his arms where the waves carved out more, the edges beginning to glint like sharp swords all the way down to his hands that were left free. However, Lucy could tell it wasn’t a vulnerability in the armour as it gave way to the scales that climbed up his hands and the claws that extended from his fingers.

Gajeel let out a roar and his black wings expanded from the space where his armour didn’t reach, where it then wound down to make thick shields for his legs. The only place on the armour that wasn’t made of steel was on his stomach, where it became a crystallized form of the black stone; the material that the walls were made from.

He looked to be impenetrable. Yet, Lucy knew that it was weighing him down. The only fault of such quality armour that seemed to defend as well as attack, and while Gajeel looked strong, there was only so much movement he was allowed.

He planned to finish this quickly.

The archer felt the twist in her gut again as the crowd boomed out a loud cheer. The drums picking up as Gajeel stepped further from the gate and into the centre of the blood pit. She flicked her eyes to Laxus again and he only gave her a stoney gaze that Lucy couldn’t decipher. She noticed he wore it often.

When she turned back to the crowd it was growing quiet again and she took a step closer to the rail, her hand coming up to tight around the bar as she kept her eyes on the other gate. If what Laxus said was true, then she needed to give her strength to him. Not only to get her answer, but for the war that was to come. It was Natsu who agreed to fight against Zeref and if Gajeel were to kill him now then there wouldn’t be any assistance to aid Erza.

Not to mention she doubted that the Lieutenant would even keep herself, Gray and Wendy alive.

Natsu had to be the victor and so Lucy swallowed hard.

“Try not to be nervous,” Laxus spoke up from behind her. Yet, Lucy couldn’t help it bubbling up in her stomach as her knuckles turned white from her tight grip.

“He’s right,” Yajima added and she jerked her head towards the older man that was by her side. “You are twined together. Everything you feel he feels. Everything you sense, he senses. Natsu can even feel the beating of your heart at this moment. Although, it might not be as strong for you, the drake is completely overwhelmed by their mate when their in close proximity.”

“Your anxiousness will become his anxiousness, so try not to let the feelings overwhelm you. I’ve seen Draco’s fall in this arena from a distressed mate.”

Lucy shook her head, “but how can I? His survival is dependent on everything.”

“Draw it from him.”

The blonde looked down as the hum of the crowd began to fade. There was uneasiness coursing through her entire being. Just how could she stop it by drawing it from something she hadn’t even been aware of before?

Her brown eyes look up as Gray leaned on the railing beside her, his hand reaching out to rest on her arm.

“If anyone can do this then it’s you, Lucy,” he encouraged. “Even if you can’t feel whatever they’re talking about, you’ve seen and fought in battles that had cost everything before. Just breathe.”

Gray smiled and Lucy couldn’t help her lips twitch up at the corners of her mouth. With a soft nod she turned her eyes back to the gate before closing them, her chest heaving with a deep breath as the colosseum died to silence once again.

When she opened them again, the gate dropped - the flare sparked and Lucy felt a rush of adrenaline fill her veins.

The audience took a collective gasp as Natsu leapt from the darkness of the passage, his wings expanding in a fiery display as he kept himself stationed in the air. With each beat of his wings, Lucy found herself resembling them to a burning flame - the chaotic reds and oranges, streaked with an angry purple becoming a bonfire of colour.

His abdomen was dawned in a golden array of metal covers that came all the way up in a point to his solar plexus where two chains then stretched out to join with the metal that garnered on his chest, and then flared out to create heavy padding on his shoulders. His gauntlets carried the same waveform as Gajeel’s armour, the edges also sharpened to a deadly blade and capped with the dark stone. On his lower half he wore loose beige pants that met shin pads much similar to his gauntlets.

Lucy noticed his head was left unprotected, as two horns rose out and curled like a demon. His face was nearly completely covered in dark lilac scales and that stretched over his arms and down his back where they met his wings. When his eyes met hers they were golden rather than his usual olive green.

They nearly took the air from her lungs as he stared down at her, his gaze looking savage and wild before he turned it to his opponent. The entire arena stayed in silence as the two drakes glared at each other - the anticipation in the blood pit turning to tension as they locked gazes. It wasn’t until Gajeel let out a short laugh that the arena could stop holding their breath.

“What’s wrong, Salamander? Lost that fire of yours already, Ghi-hi?” the drake sniggered as his own wings expanded behind him. The jet black colour a stark comparison to the array of warm tones amongst Natsu.

Gajeel stretched out his arms as he grinned, “Or maybe I just haven’t hit the right nerve yet. He rolled his shoulders, the steel clanking against steel as he shifted his position before leaping into the air towards Natsu.

“I’m sure this will fire ya up,” he yelled and pulled back his fist that came barreling towards the King at unimaginable speed.

Lucy’s mouth dropped as Natsu pulled to the side, the punch just barely grazing his shoulder, the armour scraping all the way up Gajeel’s gauntlet. It wasn’t possible, she thought. A man of that size with all his armour to move at such a speed… It wasn’t human!

The crowd roared as Natsu spun in the air as he turned, his leg coming down to deliver a blow to the top of the dark haired male’s back. Yet, he made no signs of even feeling the kick as he twisted and aimed another blow to Natsu’s head - the punch inches from his face before he grabbed hold of Gajeel’s hand.

“And to think I thought ya were going easy on me with that first hit,” Natsu grinned and his eyes glinted as he squeezed down on the other drake’s hand, steam rising from where their skin met.

“You bet I was. Thought ya weren’t paying attention to me cause you’re too busy staring at that Lady Heartfilia, Ghi-Hi,” Gajeel smirked as he pushed his fist harder into Natsu’s grip. “Is only right for me to give my opponent a little wake up call.”

Natsu brought up his own fist and swung it toward the dark haired draco, who caught it just as swiftly. “Watch yourself, Gajeel. I mean, we don’t want this fight to end too quickly, now do we?”

Gajeel knocked his forehead against Natsu’s - a trickle of blood beginning its descent down to their eyebrows. His lips twisted into a wicked smile as he gave his snarky reply.

“No, I guess we don’t.”

#fairy tail #fairytail #nalu #natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #ft fanfiction #Nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #Nalu fanfic #gajeel redfox #laxus dreyar #gray fullbuster #the draconian huntress #my writing #doginshoe

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adriata-archive · 6 years

Text

i’ll put my future in you (feysand)

To my mate, @helloetherealsunshine: For your day of birth, have a fic about the events leading up to the birth of Feysand’s baby. I love you to the moon and back, darling.

AO3

Devlon had frown lines.

While uncommon, it wasn’t impossible for fae to develop wrinkles over time, and Rhys knew all too well the various forms of scars that war could leave. And, if he was being honest with himself, it would be the Illyrian war-lord who would bear the tell-tale lines of someone who looked perpetually displeased.

Once Rhys noticed the frown lines, it only added to the already difficult task of listening to Devlon debrief him on the new training program for young Illyrians, male and female alike. His was about to send a wave of amusement and an image of Devlon’s face down the bond before he remembered that Feyre wouldn’t be able to receive it.

They were doing important work, the both of them and their entire Inner Circle, but that didn’t stop Rhys from desperately missing his mate.

He should have been relieved and even proud of how strong and steady Feyre’s shields were as she navigated her way through a meeting with the High Lords of Prythian, how she had come to master her emotions in Tamlin’s presence and refused to bow to anyone, physically and emotionally, but all he could think of was the number of days left until they were reunited. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time they’d been separated for more than a week in the twenty years since Feyre had accepted the bond, and now they were nearing three. The ache shouldn’t have been as strong after all that time, but Rhys was still counting down the days until he could see his mate again. He’d promised her a vacation, once everything was settled at the Illyrian training camp and Feyre managed to finalize her negotiations with the other High Lords, and that vacation couldn’t come soon enough.

The bond was quiet between them, but its unwavering presence was enough to reassure Rhys - for now. That didn’t stop him from wanting to throw Devlon off of the mountain.

Rhys’s spine stiffened as he felt a gentle tug on the bond, his eyes narrowing of their own accord before he rearranged his features into a blank but interested expression. Yes, darling?

There was no reply.

Feyre?

Rhys had to remind himself that sometimes they reached for the bond subconsciously; Cauldron knew he’d done it plenty of times, even in sleep. And yet, even when they were fully occupied and their attention was elsewhere, the two of them always acknowledged the other somehow.

Feyre.

A sliver of an opening appeared in his mate’s mental shields and Rhys threw himself at it, only able to glean a hint of sharp anxiety before he felt Feyre collapse.

Rhys’s head snapped up, the tension that was no doubt surrounding him catching Cassian’s attention until his commander general casually wandered to his side. Even Devlon seemed to notice, his speech faltering a bit as he took in the sheer panic and fury at war in Rhys’s eyes.

“I think you should show me the progress everyone is making in the sparring rings now,” Cassian said mildly, though they all knew that he was not merely making a suggestion.

“Yes,” Devlon agreed slowly, “I think that would be best.”

Rhys winnowed before Devlon finished his sentence.

-/-

No matter how unpleasant her current company was, there was something about Summer Court that soothed some of the frayed edges of Feyre’s soul. She could credit the effect to Tarquin and the easy friendship they now possessed, but she thought it had to do more with Adriata itself than anything. As soothing as the call of the sea was to her, though, she still wanted to use the nifty trick she’d learned from her mate and rip away Tamlin’s ability to speak.

The word echoed in her mind, over and over again: Whore.

Twenty years, one war, and countless negotiations later, Tamlin still got under her skin. But with that time and experience, and no small amount of help from Rhys, Feyre had been able to grow in her confidence until she could respond to Tamlin’s petty jibes with grace and dignity.

That didn’t mean they didn’t bother her.

She could tell that they bothered Tarquin, too, despite his best efforts to remain the neutral, pleasant host. Viviane, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

“You would do well to remember that you are speaking to the High Lady of the Night Court,” Viviane said coldly, subtly angling herself so that her shoulder brushed Feyre’s. Not for the first time, Feyre was glad that it had been Viviane, and not Kallias, who had come to this meeting.

Whatever animosity he felt towards Feyre, Tamlin knew when he was outnumbered, and settled into a sulky silence. Tarquin cleared his throat and went back to discussing his plan on tracking down the last of the mortal queens turned fae, effectively drawing all attention away from Feyre. And it was a good thing, too, because she was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

It was no wonder, really; her rage at Tamlin’s words had caused her skin to prickle, her power threatening to surge out of her at any moment, and it had taken no small amount of restraint to hold herself back. Even now, Feyre felt the draw of her power manifest as a light pull in her stomach.

One moment, she was sitting in her chair, and the next, she was slumped on the ground, Tarquin and Viviane kneeling over her as she struggled to regain consciousness.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” Tarquin asked, eyebrows creased in concern. “I’ve already sent for a healer, but perhaps you should return home.”

“I think that might be best,” Feyre said, wincing as she sat up. Cauldron only knew what Rhys would do if he stormed into Summer Court now.

“Are you alright to winnow?”

Feyre, darling, what happened? Are you alright?

“I’ll manage,” Feyre reassured both Tarquin and Viviane. To Rhys, she said, Just feeling a bit lightheaded is all. I’m returning to Velaris now.

I’ll send Madja to check on you at the townhouse. Feyre hid her frown and started to protest, right as Rhys continued, And no buts.

Feyre rolled her eyes and bade the remaining High Lords and Lady farewell, apologizing for her unexpected early departure and the inconvenience of having to meet again at a later date. Tamlin snorted at her apology, but rather than address him, Feyre disappeared into smoke and shadows.

-/-

Rhys was waiting for her when she got home, and was so busy pacing across the living room that he almost didn’t notice her arrival. Feyre’s smile was the one she reserved for her mate, and only her mate - her friend, her equal, who respected her enough to step back and let her do things by herself, but was always there to catch her if she fell.

“You’ll wear a hole into the carpet,” she commented, leaning against the doorframe. A frustrated noise escaped Rhys as his eyes caught sight of her, and he was in front of her before she could blink.

“What happened?” Feyre could hear the strain in Rhys’s voice as he tried to mask his worry, and reached up to cup his face in her hands. He covered her hands with his own and took a deep breath, shifting so that their foreheads touched.

“It was probably my exhaustion catching up with me. I’m sure Madja will have something to help,” Feyre said, then added, quietly, “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

The corners of Rhys’s mouth tugged up at that, but it was a testament to his concern when he failed to answer with an innuendo. “I assure you, the feeling is very mutual. Now off you go, Madja’s waiting upstairs.”

Feyre stood on her toes to kiss Rhys once, his hands sliding down to the small of her back and holding her there for a lingering moment before he turned her around and gently pushed her towards the stairs.

I’ll be here when you’re done.

Promise? Feyre smiled over her shoulder at her mate, his mere presence doing more to soothe her own anxieties than any reassurances she could have thought up herself.

Always.

-/-

Feyre stared at Madja in shock; if she hadn’t already been sitting on the bed she shared with Rhys, she would have fallen to her knees. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe or trust the healer, but she was having trouble comprehending what, exactly, had caused her to faint.

This hadn’t been planned. She hadn’t discussed it with Rhys; they hadn’t broached the topic for a few years now, with their entire inner circle spread out around Prythian and the continent, tying up loose ends and ensuring that the peace persisted. But as unexpected as the news was, Feyre couldn’t suppress her joy.

Rhys was going to be a wonderful father.

Feyre kept her shields carefully intact as Madja told her how far along she was and other instructions to ensure that she and the baby remained healthy. She wanted to see Rhys’s face when she told him that she was pregnant.

Madja left her with a wide smile. “Congratulations, to you and the High Lord both.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, beaming.

As soon as Madja was gone, Rhys took her place, kneeling in front of Feyre. Feyre bit her lip to keep her grin from showing, her fingers sliding into Rhys’s hair as he stared at her, completely and utterly bemused. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be overjoyed, even if the pregnancy hadn’t been planned.

“We’ve been rather busy lately, haven’t we?” Feyre mused.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to Feyre’s game. “That we have,” he drawled.

“So busy that I can barely remember my own name when I finally drag myself to bed.”

“I think we’ve earned a long vacation,” Rhys agreed. He moved closer, nuzzling against her stomach, and for a moment, Feyre wondered if he could somehow smell that she was pregnant.

“We’ve been so busy, in fact, that I can’t remember what happened the last time I saw you. Do you think you can jog my memory?”

Feyre felt Rhys’s lazy smile against her skin, the thin material of her sweater doing little to separate them. “If I’m not mistaken, there was a wall involved. Several times, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Feyre said, as if recollecting the memory for the first time. “I’m pretty sure you exhausted me so thoroughly that I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed the next morning.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Definitely not a bad thing. Although, our reunion was so unexpected and sudden that I don’t think I took the tonic before or after,” Feyre continued. “I think I forgot about it entirely.”

Rhys stilled, and when he looked up and saw Feyre’s playful grin, he said, slowly, “And you forgetting is...good?”

“It’s great.”

“Feyre, are you - are we - are you pregnant?”

Feyre nodded, laughing as Rhys scooped her up into his arms with a whoop of glee. She twined her arms around his neck as he twirled her around their room, peppering kisses into her hair when he finally set her down again.

“I love you,” Rhys breathed, a gentle hand against Feyre’s stomach as he processed the news.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys grinned and kissed Feyre. “I was actually talking to our baby, but it’s good to know that my mate and the mother of my child loves me.”

“Prick,” Feyre scolded, but she was smiling as she said it. She wondered if she would ever be able to stop smiling.

(It turned out that she wouldn’t, not really, and when Larissa was born eight months and ten days later, both Rhys and Feyre were beaming at each other through their tears.)

#my writing #feysand #acotar #feysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #bond tag #happy birthday <3 #feyre archeron #rhysand #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #feysand baby #feysand fluff #*writing

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beingevil · 6 years

Text

stardust, Doctor Who AU, Time Lord Yang and Companion Reuenthal

title: stardust

summary: Doctor Who AU, Time Lord Yang and Companion Reuenthal.

Reuenthal can’t go home again. Not really.

Bilingual Bonus summary: You can’t step in the same 银河 twice.

background: Like this story, this is the sequel/postcanon fic/continuation my fevered mind imagines to Linc’s and at the end of time.

pairing: Reuenthal/Yang

Warnings: AU.

Rating: Let’s just call it a R for Really?! Another AU?

Characters: Reuenthal and the Mittermeyers, really.

wordcount: 1,484

author’s notes: For @fortress-of-iserlohn / Linc.

“Are you all right?”

It’s the third time tonight Mittermeyer has openly asked the question, and that doesn’t include the countless worried looks he and Eva have shot Reuenthal over the course of dinner, or the well-meaning, concerned questions about whether he’s been sleeping and eating.

Reuenthal sighs, which makes Felix stir in his sleep. Everyone, Reuenthal included, freezes momentarily.

But Felix only buries his face further into Reuenthal’s shoulder and continues sleeping.

“That,” says Mittermeyer, gesturing at his sleeping son and then to Reuenthal, “Would never have happened before you disappeared.”

Unspoken is the almost-accusation why won’t you tell us what happened to you?

Reuenthal does not think there is any way he can tell Mittermeyer, without causing him even greater concern, that Felix’s steady breathing, the solid reality of the boy on his shoulder centers him, somehow.

So strange that the weight of a human life should feel so slight.

It grows late and Reuenthal makes his excuses to leave. Mittermeyer and Eva take turns to persuade him to stay, then repeatedly invite him back for dinner when he won’t be dissuaded.

Getting Felix out of his arms and into Mittermeyer’s calls for some tricky manoeuvring, but they manage it, despite a close call where Felix, still blissfully asleep, manages to snatch a handful of Reuenthal’s shirt.

Eva hugs him as they show him to the door, rising up on her toes to put her arms around his neck. Something in her eyes makes him think she might understand, as she smiles so very softly at him and touches his hand.

Mittermeyer rests his hand on Reuenthal’s shoulder. Their faces then are so alike in their shared concern. It’s touching, even though he knows there’s no cure for what he has.

How could he even begin to describe the Hyperion, how could he even start to tell them about Yang?

He spends yet another night on the rooftop, gazing up at the endless stars, long-abandoned wineglass at his feet.

There is no earthly intoxication equal to Yang.

He was a fool to think that leaving Yang would be the end of it.

Even as he was kissing Yang goodbye in the rain, he had already known in his bones that would be no leaving Yang Wen Li.

He had to try, anyway.

Yang had put him back in his life mere weeks after whisking him out of it. He knows he’s been very fortunate – Yang could have easily chosen to put him years or decades or even centuries out of time, but he hasn’t.

Reuenthal goes back to his life. Or tries to, at least.

It’s only been a few weeks since he stepped into the Hyperion and away from this world, but in his absence, Mittermeyer has managed to alert every police department in every country Reuenthal could conceivably have been in, every hospital he could have possibly expected to end up in, and every financial institution who’s ever had the most tenuous of relationships with him. It’s also how he ends up living with the Mittermeyers for the first few weeks after his return, with Mittermeyer alternating between yelling at him and watching him like a hawk.

Eva was much calmer, although visibly displeased with him for making them both worry.

Felix, of course, doesn’t care, greeting him with the same delighted smile, tiny hands reaching out to him. Reuenthal isn’t above using Felix as a shield from the Mittermeyers’ questions – only an idiot would miss the way they both go soft when they see him with Felix in his arms.

In the midst of appointments with lawyers, police officers, and an endless stream of relationship managers, Reuenthal can’t help but think proving that he is indeed alive is so much harder than simply disappearing off the face of the earth.

In retrospect, he really should have put more thought into making arrangements before leaving with Yang.

It’s a slow and painful return to his old life when the echoes of Yang are everywhere.

Yang’s absence is like a crack in the wall, a rip in space time. A void in the centre of his universe that won’t go away, no matter who or what he tries to fill it with.

Some days he watches the city lights from his window and thinks of galaxies light years away. On others he makes himself tea and remembers everything that he walked away from, but can’t seem to leave behind.

Often, he finds himself back on the rooftop, losing himself in the slow dance of the endless stars.

The Mittermeyers call, visit, and ask him over often. On some level he thinks they know that they are one of his few links to this world. Sometimes he forgets where he is and he’s back in another place, another time; sometimes it almost feels as if Yang is just in the next room, around the corner, waiting for him to turn around. It takes Felix opportunistically grabbing a fistful of his hair, Eva’s gentle hand on his shoulder, Mittermeyer’s voice to rouse him out of the dark place that’s all too easy to slip into.

The days pass and Reuenthal slowly begins to realise there is no forgetting Yang.

Yang comes to mind in the strangest of moments.

Running through the Mittermeyers’ garden after Felix, who is surprisingly fast for a child who has only recently learned how to walk, puts him in mind of racing through the starfields with Yang. Brushing past the tall sunflowers that are Eva’s pride and joy makes him think of everything else in the universe searching for its lost sun.

He already knows there is no sun in all the galaxies that can compare to Yang’s smile.

He hasn’t brought anyone home since his return. He knows what it is to kiss Yang on the edge of wild space, and now no other kiss in the world can compare. Sometimes he suspects that whatever wildness, whatever magic is out there in space and time, has made a home in his blood and bones, sunk its fingers deep within him and will never let him go.

He gets better, or so he thinks. He returns to work after an extended leave of absence. His colleagues don’t treat him like glass the way the Mittermeyers do, which helps. They are just as curious, but they leave well enough alone when he asks for space.

Eva and Mittermeyer both take turns to conveniently be in the area for lunch, or be around his office when work ends for the day. Sometimes Felix is with them too, and it causes no end of speculation at work.

The end of the year approaches, marking nearly half a year since he last saw Yang. Work winds down and his colleagues slowly start disappearing off to various far-flung locales. Mittermeyer and Eva try to persuade him to come with them on their Christmas trip back home. He eventually manages to put them off it after weeks of hard work, including promising that he’ll see them after the new year.

He makes arrangements for a trip to somewhere he’s never been with Yang.

Mittermeyer calls every day. Eva sends photographs and videos of Felix and tells him that he is missed.

It’s… sweet, how hard they are fighting to keep him here.

New Year’s Eve finds him walking down a barren headland, wind whipping his hair, as star trails unfold above his head.

It is so very quiet, and it is almost as if he is the only one left in the universe.

And then, suddenly, he is not.

He knows this as well as he knows his own mind, the rip in space-time, the universe bending just that little bit to let Yang in.

There’s his Magician, looking almost exactly the same as the day Reuenthal last saw him, if a little worn around the edges, nervous smile playing around the edges of his mouth, as if unsure of his welcome.

“I tried to stay away from your homeworld as long as I could…” Yang’s voice trails off. If he says anything further, the wind snatches his words away.

Reuenthal can’t seem to stop looking at him, drinking up the sight of that beloved face. He realises distantly that a part of him genuinely thought he would never see Yang again.

“But what, Yang?”

Yang’s smile wobbles for a moment, then slides off his face.

“I missed you,” he says, quietly.

Reuenthal can’t help himself, then, as he closes the distance between them, tipping up Yang’s chin to claim his mouth and pour all the longing and regret, and yes, love, into a kiss.

Yang’s arms settle around his shoulders then, pulling him close. It feels once again as if all the shards of his universe have come together at last.

Together, they watch the year turn as the silent stars go by.

#legend of the galactic heroes #oskar von reuenthal #yang wen li #reuyang #wolfgang mittermeyer #evangeline mittermeyer #my fic #for linc #linc

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gwepisode50 · 7 years

Text

GW Short Fanfiction: Future snapshot of Heero and Relena

This was, in part, inspired by @graydama‘s post about her OC Helena. Got me thinking about what responsibilities any children by Relena may inherit.

The days had been getting longer and the weather so much warmer. Sitting upstairs in the nursery, behind closed glass doors and shielded from any heat by the central air, Relena propped up her feet on the lush ottoman. She curled her toes, stretched them out and felt how she was finally experiencing the adverse side effects of pregnancy.

It was a swollen day, quite literally for her. Everything felt bloated; her feet, her hands, her legs, and yes of course her stomach. It was huge. Like huge. She had only three months left, and the baby was active. Their girl moved with Relena, matched her stamina, rested when she rested, like they were in perfect harmony; or at least that’s what Wufei said when she mentioned it. Everyone was quite excited for the arrival of Relena Darlian’s daughter. The little princess of the Sank Kingdom.

Yes. Little princess indeed.

That morning, the much expected, much dreaded, letter finally arrived. Heero would like it as much as he liked public parties. This conversation was going to be rough, cyclical, and drawn out. But no matter, her dear, loyal, watchful subjects of Sank already put it in motion.

Holding the letter in hand, she read it again, passed her fingers over the delicate watermark and the ridiculous flourish of the hand that wrote it. Sigh. A commotion floated up from downstairs as security saluted and went at ease and gave updates to the current situation.

Nothing to report, sir.

Thank god. That would have involved at least twenty minutes of Heero’s time. But all was well and the security, except for the exterior night crew, went home. Alone together at last.

She heard Heero coming up the stairs and dropping his bag in the master bedroom before coming to the nursery. The carpet masked the soud of his slippers, but she saw him anyway. (Everyone insisted that they started wearing slippers in the house. Did they know what germs they tracked in on their shoes?!).

“How was the office?” She said with a gay little smile and as much sarcastic cute as she could fit in her voice. He only grunted as he sat on the ottoman, but she relaxed and smiled. “Honestly, Heero, half days for parental leave isn’t that bad. Imagine if Une made you take off the entire day everyday!”

He knew she was teasing, that earned her a glare anyway.

“You’ll need to take a few weeks off once she’s here. It’ll be a madhouse, or at least that’s what all the baby blogs and magazines say.”

He started to massage her calves. She groaned in satisfaction and held a thumb up. He grinned.

“Poo doesn’t bother me,” he said.

“What doesn’t bother you?” She said with a laugh.

“Poo.”

“What?”

“Poo. Poop. Doo doo.” And with that he squeezed just a little tighter. She gasped and tried to swat him, but of course her belly was too big to get around.

“I’ll make sure you do all the diapers,” she said with a pout.

He shrugged. “No problem. Girls don’t have the mechanism to projectile shoot their waste.”

She shrugged. He would see for himself.

“What’s that?” He said, pointing his chin at the letter.

She turned the paper over in her hand. “Oh, this. It’s…it’s from Lord Jespen, about the baby.”

Heero was silent, but the massaging stopped.

“They want to reinstate the monarchy, as a figurehead of course.”

“But still a monarchy,” he said. His voice had taken a dark and serious tone.

“See for yourself,” she said and handed him the letter.

His eyes grazed over the words, darting back and forth in that quick way he read. The frown on his face went deeper as he continued. There it was, the ‘hn’. Definitely displeased.

“They want to declare her ‘heir apparent’. From birth she’ll be titled as ‘‘princess’ and hold all the privileges of that station’. She’ll be crowned as queen when she is of ‘legal age’.” He read on in silence, but grunted again. “It’s a ‘‘valuable’ boon to the restoration of our dear country’s identity and sovereignty.’ An unborn child is an asset. Property.” It all came out matter of fact, but Relena didn’t miss his sarcasm.

“An unfortunate choice of words,” she said.

“Or portentous. Prophetic.”

“Heero, please.” Her voice was quiet, but just enough exasperation seeped out. She didn’t need his stern attitude tonight.

He turned towards her, staring, and the barely noticeable astonishment rolled off his tongue as he spoke. “You want to say yes.”

She paused, look up towards the ceiling. “I want to hear more.”

He continued staring.

She shifted her glance down. “And possibly negotiate.”

He closed his eyes and sighed the slightest sigh, but that was emphatic from him.

“Relena.”

“It would be a good investment,” she offered. He grunted.

“It’s a country that has barely recovered after the war. The Romefeller occupation was brutal and they nearly went bankrupt. With the World Nation, and states, what is she going to inherit?”

Relena scoffed, not every trying to hide it. She looked away and shook her head. He didn’t understand. No, he wouldn’t understand. This had been simmering for months, since she first told him she was pregnant. No, since long before that. Since they went public as a couple. Even before that. The princess and her head security agent. Scandalous. How could that ever work? Years on and the entire sphere still won’t let go of that question, of children and Sank. In every interview and debate, as the subject of chat shows and gossip rags; her womb was dragged through it all and now their daughter would be too. Of course Heero wanted to say no. He was only being protective. But...

“Please,” she said, turning back and holding up her hand. “The Sank Kingdom is doing just fine. You know that I still hold legal ownership and I would never let them fail. You know this.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, still so matter-of-damn-fact. “Ten years and they can’t get themselves right.”

Correction: she couldn’t get them right.

“Same with nearly every other state affected by the war,” she interrupted, but he continued on.

“And now they want a baby as their figurehead? There’s a lot of questions I’d have.”

“That’s why we need to speak with them.”

“What do they want from her? Is she going to live there? How much power will they give her? What will they make her do?”

“I don’t know!” she said, throwing the words out just to shut him up. “I don’t know! I just want to hear more.”

The sudden silence beat between them. She used to be so good with patience. Everything was coming to a head; the baby, the questions about how it would affect her work, the constant fussing about her from everyone, and now this.

But he didn’t say anything. He was waiting for her to continue and complete her thoughts and vocalise what she was really thinking. He was always so annoyingly efficient at coaxing things out of her.

“This is my family, Heero. My legacy.”

He was silent.

“I left them in the hands of Romefeller. I...” she started, though they had been through this line of thought before.

“It doesn’t mean you owe them your child.”

Looking down into her hands, she sighed, heavy, and let all the tension exit. Shame and regret were left.

“I know,” she said. “But handing over ownership, giving her something to hang onto, to fall back on; She should have options.”

He took her hands, pulling her upright until their lips met. Soft, supportive.

“She’ll have all the options known to man. I don’t want her beholden to a gang of old white men.”

Relena had to smile at that.

“I’ll start dinner,” he said as he stood and walked to the door. “They must be desperate if they’re willing to ignore her paternal lineage.” And he left the room.

Holding back another scoff, Relena released herself to the plush cushions of the armchair as she stared at the door, marvelling at what she just heard.

That was a very ‘Duo’ thing of him to say.

#gundam wing #fanfiction #relena darlian #heero yuy #1xr #relena peacecraft

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phoenixtakaramono · 7 years

Text

What is your favorite piece of dialogue from a fanfic you have written or read recently?

My. <3 Thank you for the tag, @curiousbecuriousblueram!

Rules:

1. Tag anyone you would like to know better, follows you or you yourself follow 2. State the name of the fic and if it is your own piece or someone else’s 3. State the pairing and fandom if you find it necessary

Fic name: Green and Gold

Written by: PhoenixTakaramono

Pairing: Harry James Potter/ Lord Sesshomaru

Fandoms: Harry Potter, InuYasha

Tag: tag yourself~! Have fun!

(Just remember you don’t have to do it if you do not wish to.)

Dialogue excerpt:

He exhaled, easing up on the punishing grip he’d shackled around a striped wrist. The glow from the wand ceased, and he shifted into a more open and honest stance.

He began cautiously, “Sesshomaru, what happened to your hands?”

As if sensing Harry’s lack of ill will, the tall figure emitted a rumbly sound that came from deep within his chest. He bent his head. Long, fair hair fell forward as a cold nose trailed along the Head Auror’s sweaty skin, making the wizard inhale sharply from the unexpected action.

Harry had turned to crane his neck away when a soft wetness laved up his throat, roasting him to his bones, burning like a brand. He couldn’t help the knee-jerk stirring of arousal in his loins and, horrified, he recoiled back against the wall. His face and ears scorching hot, he seized, “Stop, stop whatever it is that you think you’re doing. Snap out of it!”

The menacing growl picked up again. Rhythmic puffs were ghosting along the slope of his skin.

Nuzzling against his neck, Sesshomaru was reverberating huskily, “Not all of this blood comes from this Hari. Yet this Hari had sustained injury, when you’d deserted this Sesshomaru.”

A cool hand was sliding down Harry’s chest, and the Head Auror sucked in a hiss when fingers pressed a spot over his solar plexus. Sesshomaru’s hand stopped.

Closing his eyes, Harry grunted, “I think an elbow hit me when I stopped someone from fatally electrocuting a troll. I didn’t notice.” Reopening his eyes, he glared down at the hand over his coat. “Do you mind?”

“One cannot be aware of the extent of their injuries in the excitement of combat,” Sesshomaru stated. Yet his claws had released Harry’s shirt.

The dog demon took Harry by surprise when, instead of drawing back fully, he took the opportunity to stroke a calloused thumb over the path his tongue had traced, making Harry shiver from the sensation against the side of his vulnerable throat.

His deep brogue wielded as an intimate caress, Sesshomaru murmured, “Small and inconsequential, but a wound nonetheless. This Hari was careless.”

The heat was spreading throughout his body, making his toes curl. Harry swallowed. He tried not to give away how he’d felt the instinctive ache of need beginning to kindle in him like embers preceding a fire. He raised his hand in resignation, his palm and five fingers splayed out flat. His hand made tiny pushing away motions in the empty space between their torsos with each syllable uttered. “Y'know what? Forget it. It’s fine. Back up.”

Sesshomaru’s molten gaze was fixed on the dried blood encrusted over the back of the leather glove. “There is a smell of death and yōki that cling to this Hari, in the castle grounds that you’d absconded to.”

The persistent challenge to his authority made the primeval, animalistic side of Harry want to unleash his own testosterone-filled snarl, but in his dizziness Sesshomaru’s last words vaguely registered in his brain. He embraced that clarity of thought like a friend, anchoring his passions at a much safer level.

With another annoyed exhale, he peered at Sesshomaru somberly. Brusquely, he conceded, “You remember what I said about our fugitives running amok? These wanted insurgents sought to tarnish the remains of a powerful Light wizard…who I suppose I’d considered a mentor. I didn’t lead you to his gravesite. It was very important that I stopped them.”

Harry’s expression darkened upon recollection, which seemed to inspire a shudder rippling through Sesshomaru’s muscles.

He’d noticed Sesshomaru’s reaction. “I’m not going to apologize for responding to my Auror’s summon. Not when there were innocent lives at stake.” Harry’s brows creased into a troubled dip. “But, job or not, I realize I had a lapse in judgment. I should’ve notified you before going ahead.”

His mouth was flattened into an uncertain, grim line. Gloved fingertips settled carefully above the demon’s knuckles, barely skimming the skin.

Sesshomaru’s gaze lunged down to stare intently at their hands, his head tilted and his expression almost that of curiosity and wonder.

Harry was analyzing his naked features, measuring the depth of the raw emotion that was transparent on the demon’s face. He didn’t say anything, merely taking the time to look at the bone structure and physical appearance of a man designed to stop someone in their tracks. He tried to look past the characteristics that’d marked Sesshomaru as an ancient magical creature. His lack of stubble on that graceful jawline, the soft curve of the demon’s cheeks, and the incredible set of eyes finally drove it home to Harry that even with Sesshomaru’s five hundred years of existence, at heart he was also a mature but uncertain young man comparative of nineteen-years in age.

Noble or sovereign, outside of warfare there was a high possibility that Sesshomaru could be inexperienced.

The confidence and the sobriety that came with this epiphany almost did him in. After a pregnant silence, with calculated delicacy Harry brooked, “I haven’t known you for long, but this…loss of composure seems rare, of you. Even with the odd moments we’ve had. Is this related to my sudden disappearance? Or is there something else sincerely troubling you?”

That seemed to derail the moment they were having. Invisible walls were slammed down over the dog demon’s expression, shuttering closed like blinds had been drawn. He denied, “Nothing distresses this Sesshomaru.”

The demon lord finally pulled away, allowing them a larger breathing space between them. His head twisted to peer over his shoulder.

His eyes remained trained on Sesshomaru, even as a perturbed frown sliced across his face. Harry smoothed out his rumpled shirt and coat. He dragged the back of his hand against his throat, and then down at the side of his trousers to rub off the dried brown flecks.

The insight was a crescendo swelling in the forefront of his mind, but he tactfully withheld himself from making it known. His eyes having adjusted to the dim light, Harry raked his gaze around Sesshomaru.

He recognized the Shield Charm variant that had been erected over the far entrance. There were claw marks gouged into the shield, and this shot a spike of terror down Harry’s spine at the thought of the cacophony that might’ve occurred had it not been for his timely arrival back.

“This is the Protego horribilis. Did Doge cast this?” His eyes beheld Sesshomaru’s slightly singed fingertips. “Is that the reason why you’d attacked him?”

“Attacked?”

His knees involuntarily buckled as a swathing heat unloaded over Harry’s neck and shoulders, encompassing him from the boa’s surprising heaviness. Startled, Harry began pulling at the pelt—fingers burrowing into the soft furriness—and stopping only when an iron grip clamped down on Harry’s shoulders.

Sesshomaru’s expression was screwed as if he were highly dissatisfied by something the wizard had committed. The dog demon expounded, “Calm. This Sesshomaru is simply displeased by how this Hari smells. This Hari reeks of death.” The two trailing ends of the fur were dragged closer underneath Harry’s chin. Although the intensity of his frown had lessened, he sneered, “Your hanyou—as well as being a coward, he is a proficient storyteller. That is his claim?”

“Then let’s say you’re telling the truth. The handprint around his neck and the state of the room I’d found him in seems to corroborate his side of the story.”

“He sought to prevent this Sesshomaru from pursuing this Hari.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry said, his disbelief amplifying, “that preventative measures were taken against you? That Doge willingly raised his wand?”

Actually now that he’d said it, Harry could imagine how it could’ve gone down in his absence. It was more conceivable Doge’s endeavor had been done on good intentions, than imagining the five-hundred year old magical creature had freaked out over his disappearance and then went on a mindless rampage.

Bringing a hand to massage the bridge of his nose, he muttered to himself, “He was an old Advance Guard. He can’t be entirely useless.” There hadn’t been any physical tells on the lord indicating to the Head Auror that he was right to suspect dishonesty. That tone of indignation was also unfeigned.

He drew another deep breath, before he said, “Your hands.” He’d glimpsed the clenched claws near the sides of his jaw. Deciding to be altruistic, he crooked his fingers, having slid an arm out from underneath the pelt. “I could heal the burn wounds. It’ll only take a couple of seconds.”

Sesshomaru blinked upon the change in subject. There was softness in the molten gaze as he replied, “Your concern is unnecessary. The skin will mend by itself.” Sesshomaru stepped back. His long sleeves fell down, secreting his hands away from Harry’s sight.

With the refusal and lack of distractions, Harry’s mind could only focus on the man before him. The glow of the magical barrier behind Sesshomaru enveloped his silhouette with an orange light, emanating an august tinge to the pale hair—almost like a shade of blond. The feudal lord’s overall impression was certainly less imposing without the gigantic shoulder-piece to add onto his height, but without it there was now an aspect of relatability he didn’t possess much of before.

Harry’s eyes roved down. The pelt Sesshomaru had adorned and was now placed on him seemed rare for its coloring and for its quality of fur.

Childlike in his wonder, Harry rolled a clump between his thumb and pointer finger, gazing at the texture curiously. Rubbing it between his fingers absently, he commented, “Is this a stylistic choice or is it tradition for you to wear…a boa? It’s soft like fleece. But the fur doesn’t come from any sheep or goat I’ve seen. It moves like a sentient magical creature’s.”

The Adam’s apple in Sesshomaru’s throat jerked. Perhaps it was that or the flicker of his lashes that Harry spotted his change in demeanor, however subtle it was. In a gravelly timber, he professed quietly, “Mokomoko-sama…is mine.” The way he’s said it so casually, imparted that the dog demon clearly expected this tidbit of information—however unnerving and upsetting it was for Harry to hear—to be of the norm.

Harry was battling between being both gobsmacked and appalled, and being horribly captivated by what’s around his shoulders. Eyes wide, he blurted, “This is yours? Someone skinned you?”

“As all inuyōkai have, this Sesshomaru is also born with one,” Sesshomaru assured, perceiving Harry’s mixed expression. “There’s no pain when it detaches. This Sesshomaru has full control over it.”

It was incomprehensible. Harry stared at Sesshomaru for a moment. Then, without dropping his eyesight, he murmured,“ So, if I do this?” Gently, as if afraid to make contact, he slowly spread his hand out, his fingertips barely touching. Then his hand was stroking the fur softly through the thin leather of his glove, deliberately meant to stimulate.

Magenta flashed over eyelids; having closed his eyes. The resultant shiver that’d ripped through Sesshomaru’s body made Harry want to brush that long hair behind a pointed ear and to glide his lips along a striped cheek. Down at the demon’s sides, his hands were curled into fists. The marks on his face and hands were also becoming slightly jagged.

Harry’s hands faltered. His mouth dry, he stopped what he was doing and apologized, “I’m sorry, I was unaware.” His face and ears were flushed a deep red as he recollected, with startling acuity, every time that he’d come into physical contact with it. His skin was tingling with imperceptible energy. He swallowed. “I won’t do it again.”

He lifted the pelt away from him, with the intention of gifting it back, but Sesshomaru’s fingers settled over Harry’s wrists and pushed them back down.

Golden irises were peering at the wizard earnestly. He leaned in close to say, “This Sesshomaru…doesn't…mind, purely…if it’s this Hari.” His hands squeezed. His eyes now flashed in warning. “Provided that this Hari does this privately. And sparingly, lest this Sesshomaru kills you.”

That sounded less like an exaggeration and more of a genuine promise. Harry grinned shakily, but he nodded.

Sesshomaru searched his face. Eventually he turned on his heels. “This Sesshomaru is in a generous mood,” he said, his back to Harry. The volume of his voice was dulling the further he stepped away—like he were suddenly submerged in water—and Harry realized this was the effect of whatever magic Doge had thrown over the room. That had to be why the demon had seemed reluctant to give them space before.

Sesshomaru was saying faintly, “This Hari may borrow mokomoko-sama for now. Until the smell dissipates.”

Harry grasped his sleeve. “Wait!”

Both stiffened as the oppressive, heavy atmosphere lifted, and the return of their senses rushed back in as if they’d inhaled a sprig of medicinal peppermint.

Harry had propelled himself off the wall, just as Sesshomaru had drawn a sword. He’d thrust his hand against an iron breastplate, shoving Sesshomaru behind him, his eyes forward. He parried off a bright scarlet stream with a lightning-fast disarming charm, redirecting the two spells away to explode elsewhere midair. The flare-up chased the shadows away, and illuminated a weathered face and theirs. The wall that was conjured was gone, and so was the Shield Charm behind the two lords.

#Harry Potter #sesshomaru #inuyasha #Crack shipping #phoenixtakaramono #writing meme #green and gold #I admit I was tempted to put the 6-pack dialogue from Finders Keepers #because that was shorter #From FK's ch 3 #but this was a favorite from G&G #because I'd struggled with this scene for so long #I jogged around my neighborhood FOR NIGHTS #and this came into fruition #I was so relieved and over the moon #especially since ch12 became #an important turning point for their relationship #bc of this dialogue scene #Phoenix Talks

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dfroza · 4 years

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Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for Tuesday, march 24 of 2020 with Psalm 24 and Proverbs 24, accompanied by Psalm 6 for the 6th day of Spring and Psalm 84 for day 84 of the year

[Psalm 24]

A song of David.

The earth and all that’s upon it belong to the Eternal.

The world is His, with every living creature on it.

With seas as foundations and rivers as boundaries,

He shaped the continents, fashioned the earth.

Who can possibly ascend the mountain of the Eternal?

Who can stand before Him in sacred spaces?

Only those whose hands have been washed and hearts made pure,

men and women who are not given to lies or deception.

The Eternal will stand close to them with blessing and mercy at hand,

and the God who redeems will right what has been wrong.

These are the people who chase after Him;

[like Jacob, they look for the face of God].

[pause]

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal who is powerful

and mightily equipped for battle.

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal, Commander of heaven’s army,

He is the glorious King.

[pause]

The Book of Psalms, Poem 24 (The Voice)

[Psalm 6]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the lyre.

O Eternal One, don’t punish me in Your anger

or harshly correct me.

Show me grace, Eternal God. I am completely undone.

Bring me back together, Eternal One. Mend my shattered bones.

My soul is drowning in darkness.

How long can You, the Eternal, let things go on like this?

Come back, Eternal One, and lead me to Your saving light.

Rescue me because I know You are truly compassionate.

I’m alive for a reason—I can’t worship You if I’m dead.

If I’m six feet under, how can I thank You?

I’m exhausted. I cannot even speak, my voice fading as sighs.

Every day ends in the same place—lying in bed, covered in tears,

my pillow wet with sorrow.

My eyes burn, devoured with grief;

they grow weak as I constantly watch for my enemies.

All who are evil, stay away from me

because the Eternal hears my voice, listens as I cry.

The Eternal God hears my simple prayers;

He receives my request.

All who seek to destroy me will be humiliated;

they will turn away and suddenly crumble in shame.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 6 (The Voice)

[Psalm 84]

For the worship leader. A song of the sons of Korah accompanied by the harp.

How lovely is Your temple, Your dwelling place on earth,

O Eternal One, Commander of heaven’s armies.

How I long to be there—my soul is spent,

wanting, waiting to walk in the courts of the Eternal.

My whole being sings joyfully

to the living God.

Just as the sparrow seeks her home,

and the swallow finds in her own nest

a place to lay her young,

I, too, seek Your altars, my King and my God,

Commander of heaven’s armies.

How blessed are those who make Your house their home,

who live with You;

they are constantly praising You.

[pause]

Blessed are those who make You their strength,

for they treasure every step of the journey [to Zion].

On their way through the valley of Baca,

they stop and dig wells to collect the refreshing spring water,

and the early rains fill the pools.

They journey from place to place, gaining strength along the way;

until they meet God in Zion.

O Eternal God, Commander of heaven’s armies, listen to my prayer.

O please listen, God of Jacob.

[pause]

O True God, look at our shield, our protector,

see the face of Your anointed king, and defend our defender.

Just one day in the courts of Your temple is greater

than a thousand anywhere else.

I would rather serve as a porter at my God’s doorstep

than live in luxury in the house of the wicked.

For the Eternal God is a sun and a shield.

The Eternal grants favor and glory;

He doesn’t deny any good thing

to those who live with integrity.

O Eternal One, Commander of heaven’s armies,

how fortunate are those who trust You.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 84 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 24]

Don’t envy the wealth of the wicked or crave their company.

For they’re obsessed with causing trouble

and their conversations are corrupt.

Wise people are builders—

they build families, businesses, communities.

And through intelligence and insight

their enterprises are established and endure.

Because of their skilled leadership

the hearts of people are filled with the treasures of wisdom

and the pleasures of spiritual wealth.

Wisdom can make anyone into a mighty warrior,

and revelation-knowledge increases strength.

Wise strategy is necessary to wage war,

and with many astute advisers

you’ll see the path to victory more clearly.

Wisdom is a treasure too lofty for a quarreling fool—

he’ll have nothing to say when leaders gather together.

There is one who makes plans to do evil—

Master Schemer is his name.

If you plan to do evil, it’s as wrong as doing it.

And everyone detests a troublemaker.

If you faint when under pressure,

you have need of courage.

Go and rescue the perishing! Be their savior!

Why would you stand back and watch them stagger to their death?

And why would you say, “But it’s none of my business”?

The one who knows you completely and judges your every motive

is also the keeper of souls—and not just yours!

He sees through your excuses and holds you responsible

for failing to help those whose lives are threatened.

Revelation-knowledge is a delicacy,

sweet like flowing honey that melts in your mouth.

Eat as much of it as you can, my friend!

For then you will perceive what is true wisdom,

your future will be bright,

and this hope living within will never disappoint you.

Listen up, you wicked, irreverent ones—

don’t harass the lovers of God

and don’t invade their resting place.

For the lovers of God may suffer adversity

and stumble seven times,

but they will continue to rise over and over again.

But the unrighteous are brought down by just one calamity

and will never be able to rise again.

Never gloat when your enemy meets disaster

and don’t be quick to rejoice if he falls.

For the Lord, who sees your heart,

will be displeased with you and will pity your foe.

Don’t be angrily offended over evildoers or be agitated by them.

For the wicked have no life and no future—

their light of life will die out.

My child, stand in awe of the Lord Jehovah!

Give counsel to others,

but don’t mingle with those who are rebellious.

For sudden destruction will fall upon them

and their lives will be ruined in a moment.

And who knows what retribution they will face!

[Revelation from the Wise]

Those enlightened with wisdom have spoken these proverbs:

Judgment must be impartial,

for it is always wrong to be swayed by a person’s status.

If you say to the guilty, “You are innocent,”

the nation will curse you and the people will revile you.

But when you convict the guilty,

the people will thank you and reward you with favor.

Speaking honestly is a sign of true friendship.

Go ahead, build your career and give yourself to your work.

But if you put me first, you’ll see your family built up!

28 Why would you be a false accuser and slander with your words?

Don’t ever spitefully say, “I’ll get even with him!

I’ll do to him what he did to me!”

One day I passed by the field of a lazy man

and I noticed the vineyards of a slacker.

I observed nothing but thorns, weeds, and broken-down walls.

So I considered their lack of wisdom,

and I pondered the lessons I could learn from this:

Professional work habits prevent poverty from becoming

your permanent business partner. And:

If you put off until tomorrow the work you could do today,

tomorrow never seems to come.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 24 (The Passion Translation)

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stephenaltrogge-blog · 6 years

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Life has felt pretty crappy lately.

Now let me just say that, in the grand scheme of things, my life is pretty much cupcakes and bounce houses. In a world filled with Boko Haram, school shootings, cancer, and a thousand other heart-wrenching tragedies, my life is pretty cushy.

Nevertheless, it still feels…hard.

For the last three months, we’ve had a least one child sick and home from school almost every day. On top of that, my old nemesis depression has been dogging my footsteps, making me feel like I wake up under a dark cloud.

It’s been hard to wait for the Lord to bring relief. Rest. Peace. Joy.

And I know I’m not alone. All of us have something we’re waiting for the Lord to do.

To bring a spouse.

To give life a barren womb.

To save a wandering child.

To repair a once-treasured, now shattered relationship.

We know God is faithful. We know that he’s good and the loves us. But it’s so excruciatingly hard to wait for the Lord to act. To move. To deliver. To rescue.

Thankfully, Scripture itself is a story of waiting. Abraham waited for a son, Joseph waited for deliverance, David waited to be made king, Israel waited for a Messiah, and we all wait for the return of the serpent crusher.

God’s word has much to say about how we wait. Biblical waiting isn’t passive, like waiting for a train to arrive. It’s an active, aggressive sort of waiting.

So how do we wait for the Lord in a way that honors him, fills us with hope, and gives us strength to carry on even when we feel like we’re in the dark?

Here are four ways.

#1 – We Wait For The Lord In Faith

There are two types of waiting.

The first type is unsure, fearful waiting. We’re not sure if God is going come through, as if he’s some sort of unreliable parent who forgets to pick up his kids at soccer practice.

We hope God delivers us…

…but what if he doesn’t?

This kind of waiting is displeasing and dishonoring to God.

The second type is waiting in strong faith. We’ve run all the numbers, calculated the odds, and can’t figure out how God is going to come through for us.

Nevertheless, we trust him because we know his character. We know that he’s infinitely good and loving, and that he will deliver us, even if that deliverance isn’t the kind we expected.

Proverbs 3:5-6 spells it out clearly:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

When life is in shambles, one of our greatest temptations is to lean on our own understanding. To try to figure everything out. To play out every scenario in our heads and determine which one is most likely.

We become like divine weathermen, trying to map out which way God’s providence will blow.

But when we wait for the Lord in faith, we make a conscience effort to reject our own understanding. Our understanding is extraordinarily limited.

I mean, seriously, think about it…

We’re aware of about 1/1,000,000,000th of what is happening in every circumstance.

God knows everything that’s happening in our lives and HE knows exactly what he will do.

Waiting that honors God is characterized by faith in his character.

#2 – We Wait For The Lord Loudly

Have you ever noticed that when David was waiting for the Lord to deliver, he was very loud about it?

For example, in Psalm 35:17 he says:

How long, O Lord, will you look on? Rescue me from their destruction, my precious life from the lions!

David waited in faith, but he certainly wasn’t quiet, meek, and mild while he was waiting. He was constantly crying out to the Lord for deliverance. At times, you could even mistake the intensity of his requests for irreverence.

But David knew that God was good, faithful, and kind. He knew that God loved to give good gifts, including deliverance, to his children. And so, like any child, he asked for that deliverance repeatedly and loudly.

Jesus reinforced this truth with the parable of the persistent widow. She pestered and harassed the unrighteous judge until he couldn’t take it any longer. If even a corrupt judge will respond to persistent requests, how much more will our loving God?

Waiting that honors God is characterized by persistent pleas for deliverance.

#3 – We Wait For The Lord Patiently

When it comes to waiting, I am the world’s least patient person. They could make a reality show out my impatience. When traffic gets congested, I transform into Jeff Gordon, cutting left, zagging right, anything to make forward progress.

If a YouTube video buffers for more than 3.2 seconds, I’m gone. Heck, I even watch some YouTube videos on 2x speed (IT’S A SICKNESS, OKAY?!!).

When it comes to waiting for God to deliver me…

…again, not so patient.

To quote Queen, “I want it all and I want it now.”

And, of course, God always gives me what I want, when I want it, because I know what’s best for me.

Except that I don’t, and if God did give me everything I wanted right when I asked for it, I would probably be dead or living in a van down by the river (See: Matt Foley, motivational speaker).

Psalm 84:11 is a sharp reminder of how God operates:

For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor. No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly.

If something is good for me, God will give it to me at the appropriate time. He’s not going to hold back a single blessing from me, and he’s going to give them to me when I’ll get the most goodness from them and he’ll get the most glory.

It was good for David to be king of Israel, but first he had to hide in the desert caves.

It was good for Abraham to have a son, but first there needed to be no doubt that both him and Sarah were completely barren.

It will be glorious when Christ returns, but first the full number of people must be saved.

God doesn’t serve up undercooked blessings. When the time is right, he delivers the full course meal.

Until then, we’re called to wait for the Lord patiently.

#4 – We Wait For The Lord Dependently

The Apostle Paul knew a thing or twenty about waiting. In 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, he wrote about his thorn in the flesh:

Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

This thorn in the flesh was no joke. Paul was no pansy. He had been tossed in prison, almost stoned to death, beaten with rods, pursued by people who wanted to kill him, and shipwrecked, all for the sake of the gospel.

And yet, this thorn was so bad that Paul pleaded with God three times to take it away. Whatever the thorn was – blindness, persecution, demonic attack – it was made Paul feel desperate for deliverance.

There’s no indication in scripture that God ever removed the thorn, but what we do know is that while Paul was waiting for deliverance he depended mightily on the sustaining grace of God.

Paul’s thorn forced him to throw his entire weight on God’s sustaining grace and power. That was the only way he could survive.

The same is true for us. The only way we can survive in our waiting is to throw ourselves fully on God. We are completely and totally dependent on him.

If we don’t wait dependently on the Lord, we end up bitter, dried up, and hopeless. The only way to survive the long dark is to cling to Christ, the true light.

We wait for the Lord dependently, relying on his power and not our own.

Don’t Just Stand There, Get Waiting!

There are few things harder than waiting for God to deliver us. But it’s crucial to remember that even when it feels like absolutely nothing is happening, God is working.

I’m reminded of the scene in the C.S. Lewis book Voyage of the Dawn Treader when the ship sails into an inky black cloud. They encounter a man who tells them that they’re in a place where their nightmares come true.

Just when things seem to be at their worst, Lucy calls out to Aslan, asking him to deliver them. Suddenly, a brilliant, shining albatross flies over the ship and around Lucy, who is standing in the crows nest. It leads them out of the darkness and back into the light.

Lewis then writes:

But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart,” and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan’s, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

You may be in the dark, and it may seem as though it’s never going to end.

But take courage, dear heart.

The post How To Wait For The Lord When Life Feels Like Garbage appeared first on The Blazing Center.

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