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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 15)

When she wakes she isn’t truly so. She is mostly dazed. Dazed with pain and numbness. There is a physical emptiness to accompany it. She can’t feel the baby’s kick. She already knows that she won’t be feeling it again.

She could cry out for help. Could stumble her way out of the house, clutching her bleeding belly. But she doesn’t have a reason to. Instead she crawls over to Atsu and cradles him in her arms. He is so still. She can’t handle it. She carries him over to Hajime and lays him atop the man’s chest.

She still can’t find Caihong. She doesn’t think that she wants to. She nuzzles herself up against Hajime to the best of her ability with those loathsome boulders in the way. And she stays there. For a very long time she stays there. She stays there until an army from Chin comes to survey the wreckage, recover bodies, and rescue survivors.

They rescue her but she wouldn’t call herself a survivor. She thinks that most of her is dead. All of the parts that matter anyhow. Yet they lift her away from Hajime and Atsu anyways with a promise to help her give them a proper and honorable burial. She wants them to pitch her into the hole and bury her with them.

She is mostly delirious. She doesn’t quite remember much of the trip to Chin. She doesn’t think that there is anything to recollect she was too far away for it to have meant anything. And now she is tired. Tired and as alone as she has ever been. No one comes to hold her hand and make her sickbed more tolerable. No one is left to come for her.

She thinks of Min-Min, of her small medicine tent and she wonders if the woman has perished as well. She flexes her ankle. She didn’t think that she would be seeing Min-Min much after than but then Atsu had a fever. And then she...she… She holds her hand to her belly, freshly stitched and bathed. Freshly and suddenly vacated.

She screams. Anger. Terror. Rage. Mostly rage.

She had been okay. She had been better. She was fixing herself. She had plans; perhaps it was going to be years, decades maybe, after the birth of her baby, but she was going to go home. She was going to go home and resolve things left unfinished. She was going to be okay.

Why can’t she be okay? She thinks that maybe it is because she isn’t allowed. She has done too much wrong...killing the Avatar doesn’t make for good karma, even if he ended up living.

She can’t do it. She doesn’t want to. Her fingers graze the stitch work. It would only take one hard yank and...her screams have drawn attention. She feels a hand come around her wrist. “Don’t mess with that.” The woman says. “In fact we should get this bandaged, I don’t know why it hasn’t been already.”

The woman is kind to her. They are all kind and tentative. They tell her their names as they tend to her wounds and make promises that she will be fine in time. They tell her their names, yes, but she makes a point to not remember them. She doesn’t want to get attached. One way or another the things she gets attached to leave her.

The stress and the sorrow make her sick. Physically so, her head hurts constantly and her stomach is always upset. Though that can be the product of losing her baby. She isn’t sure. She doesn’t care. She is ready to be lost too.

On most nights Azula screams. She cries. She has fits until the doctors sedate her, she welcomes it, it is the only peace she can get. And it is a false serenity. A numb serenity. On most nights she relives it all again. On most nights she sees their faces. Hajime’s, Atsu’s, Caihong’s, and Seukhyun’s. Mostly she sees the face of the half-blind soldier and the woman.

She will find them both. She will find them and pick them apart in ways that only the throes of grief-induced insanity can show her. She will kill the both of them and then she will show herself out--let Vaatu tangle her in his coil his dark, spirit tendrils around her and drag her off to his domain.

She grips her face in her hands, nails biting into her hairline. She can’t take it, truly she can handle no more. And just like the first time, there is no one to take her through it. No one to make it better.

And it is her own fault. They would still be alive if she had just kept wandering. She is a beacon for misfortune.

But she was born lucky, she remembers.

That day she learns...what’s the point in learning anything at all if all roads lead to the same dead end?

.oOo.

If she listens hard enough she can still hear them. Mostly they remind her that they love her. Sometimes they blame her. They ask her why she didn’t save them. Deep down, even on the surface, she is aware that they would never say anything of the sort. But sometimes she can’t help but agree with them anyhow.

Lately she can’t get them to stop and so she goes through most of her days quietly, hazily. Exhausted.

“Hi, Azula!” TyLee greets.

Azula goes tense, she isn’t in the mood or place to power through another awkward, stumbling conversation however well meant it is.

“Are you feeling any better?”

She isn’t at all. She starts to nod that she is, but she has hesitated for too long.

“What’s wrong.”

“You can read the journal when Zuko is done with it.” She replies simply. She doesn’t need TyLee to know that she still hears things. She doesn’t need any of them to know that.

“Mai and I were thinking of going to the hot springs today, do you want to come with?”

She supposes that it is better than lingering at home. Maybe she can drown the voices out. Let them rise away with the steam. “Alright.” TyLee grins and flounces off before she can change her mind. Agni, she hopes that no one will ask her about the scar. Maybe she should just bathe in her robe, it will save the serving girls the trouble of one more article in the laundry.

.oOo.

Azula leans back and exhales. The heat envelopes her body and the steam rolls off of her skin--that which is exposed anyhow. She splashes water over her face and tips her head back, back, back until only her face is on the surface. She pulls her head out of the water and lets it run in rivulets down her back.

“It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Refreshing, yes.” Azula agrees.

“Well I don’t see a better way of spending the afternoon.” Mai shrugs.

Azula can’t disagree, the churning and bubbling of the water is rather soothing and the kaleidoscope of soap aromas is charming enough. She relaxes back against the rocks. Her hair fans out and her robe billows.

“Why are you still wearing your robe?” Mai asks.

“It’s comfortable.” She isn’t particularly lying, the fabric drifting and shifting with the flow of the water, quite pleasantly brushes her skin. Watching it ebb and flow is almost mesmerizing. It is lulling, her weary exhaustion metamorphs into a more languid, comforting tiredness. And maybe she is due for a good nap. She supposes that one day away from her rigid firebending regime couldn’t hurt her. In fact it very well may help.

“It looks comfortable.” TyLee agrees.

Azula lifts her arm out of the water and her robe clings to it.

“It might not be as comfortable when you get out.” Mai points out.

Azula shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

For a while she listens to Mai and TyLee talk amongst themselves. There is a sense of distant normalcy in hearing them chatter. She remembers days when they would make idle conversation as she poured over schemes and plans. She supposes that they always had a sort of chemistry that she was just on the outer fringes of.

“Are you okay, Azula?” TyLee asks.

“You seem distant.” Mai adds.

“Just thinking.” She does that a lot. She does that too much. At least this time her thoughts are over things that she has mostly processed and forgotten. Mostly accepted. She toys with the drifting fabric. She is certain that the two of them have grown much closer in her absence. She isn’t sure that she really fits into the picture anymore, she isn’t sure that she ever truly had. She was a leader nothing more, nothing less. There might have been a bond, at least a small one but she hadn’t known how to make anything of it. They have a bond that she can’t...

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” TyLee asks again.

She isn’t. “I’m alright.” Maybe she should tell them the truth. Tell them that she ought to just keep her distance.

“Sokka said that last night was rough.”

“Today isn’t last night. I am fine now.” Maybe she just needs to give it more time. Maybe she is seeing problems where there doesn’t have to be any. She misses Wu-Jing where things just happened naturally. Where they just fell into place.

“Would you even tell us if something was wrong?” Mai sighs.

Azula is quiet for a good while. “No. Not yet.”

Mai nods. She doesn’t like the look TyLee gives her. The concern and the hurt. Even if trust wasn’t a factor she isn’t sure that she’d be able to talk about it a second time. She has ruined a perfectly relaxed mood. She dunks her head under the water again. “I am going to dry off.”

“Okay.” TyLee smiles. “Maybe we can try this again when you’re feeling better.”

“That sounds nice.”

.oOo.

“How did it go with Mai and TyLee?” Sokka asks.

“Well enough, I suppose.” She draws her legs onto the sofa and sits upon them.

“You’re soaking wet.” He observes.

She ought to change her robes and ring her hair out. But she has already sat down. “We went to the springs.”

“And you left your robe on?” He quirks a brow.

“TyLee would ask.” She shrugs. “About the scar.” She rubs her thumb against it. “I don’t want to answer questions.”

“Okay, no questions.” He fixes her with a look, a strange one. Perhaps something mischievous. “Actually, one question. Do you like your pancakes with or without little smiley faces?”

“I like my pancakes served at breakfast time, not lunch time.”

“Okay, but let's just say that some dashing, hilarious, and very charming fellow has made some pancakes. Do you want it to have a smiley face made out of fruits.”

She rolls her eyes. “He can have full creative control.”

“Smiley face it is!” He declares.

She clears her throat. “While you do that, I am going to…” she gestures to her robe. He gives her a thumbs up and she makes her way to her bedroom. She discards her waterlogged robe and slips into a particularly oversized shirt and baggier pants. They are comfortable enough.

She fixes her pendant around her neck and tucks it under her shirt. She picks up the stone next and rubs her thumb over its surface. She thinks that she will have it sewn into the badgermole. She thinks that she will sew it into the badgermole. But she doesn’t know how to sew. She scoops the stone and the badgermole up and places them on her bed.

.oOo.

“This would taste much better if it were breakfast time.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “It would taste just the same!”

She shakes her head, “my sense of taste is the strongest in the morning.”

“That’s not even possible?” But she says it with such a confidence that it might just be. “Did I do a good job?”

She looks down at the pancake. “This eye is lopsided. But it is fine. Also, this strawberry chunk isn’t in line with the rest of them.”

Sokka sighs and pushes that chunk slightly upwards. “Better?”

“Significantly.” She replies. He watches her pour a small helping of syrup over it. “Do you know how to sew, Sokka?”

“I know enough to patch up clothes if I have to. Why?”

“I have a project that I would like to work on. A patch will do just fine.”

“Finish your pancake and I can get working on it.”

She shakes her head. “I want to do it. You show me how.”

“Okay, I can do that.” He smiles. He hadn’t expected her to return the smile. She has a nice smile, a soft, pretty smile. He hopes that he can make it last.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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hurt-care · 4 years

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I’ve had a hard time writing anything of any length lately, but this one sort of tumbled out of me tonight. It’s pretty gratuitous....some historical porn with some light plot and no editing...18+ at the end. F, allergies. Set around 1909ish.

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“Please pass along my regrets. I will not be able to attend any social engagements for several more weeks, I fear."

Katherine Hastings lowered her chin and closed her eyes momentarily as the maid stood opposite, waiting.

“Your mother, madam...” the girl began but Katherine raised her hand and opened her eyes once more.

“Forgive me, Mary,” she said. “I feared another spell might overcome me but it has passed. Please have my regrets sent to the Millers and tell my mother that she can come see me herself if she does not believe the severity of my condition.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mary said, bobbing slightly with a curtsey as she turned and left.

Katherine sunk back into her chair with a sigh and touched her nose with her ever-present handkerchief, careful to avoid irritating the raw skin of the area too much. For weeks now she'd been holed up in her chambers, afflicted with a spell of the rose cold that kept her in fits of sneezes and with wheezing breath. Her eyes, normally rich chestnut brown and cheerful, swelled and itched and ran with tears so often that she was forced to spend hours each day with a compress covering them. The affliction was such that might progress to a bit of clear-headed peace enough to allow her to take afternoon tea with her mother but by evening, it would return with its swollen grip and send her sniffling and sneezing into her rooms once more.

Her mother was profoundly irritated by the situation, as Katherine's husband was overseas on an extended business trip and as the lady of the house, it was Katherine's duty to be keeping up with the social elites of the area. They'd moved into the estate after Katherine's marriage to James Hastings and it was the first spring in the new home. Instead of enjoying the gardens and the tea socials held at neighbouring estates, Katherine was forced to turn down all invitations in favour of spending her day in her bath, reclining on a divan with cool towels draped over her face or otherwise trying steam treatments to ease her breathing. Once, Katherine had dressed fully for an attempt at a tea social in her own parlour with a young woman from a nearby home and was forced to retreat to her rooms with her maid halfway through the service, desperate to have her corset unlaced as she sneezed fitfully, unable to get a full breath with the restricting garment.

The village doctor had been consulted and could offer no remedies beyond a course of quiet rest and a solution of quinine to be applied inside the nostrils with a small brush. It offered little relief, so Katherine abandoned it along with the bitter lozenges that the doctor offered up for her occasional coughing. For weeks, Katherine had been playing out scenarios in her mind about her husband's return and how she might explain to him that their new home did not agree with her. They'd been married only two months when he'd left on the trip to Austria and he was due home soon. Their last correspondence from him had been three weeks ago when he'd written to say he was to make the last crossing to England on May the 6th.

It was nearing the end of the month and in spite of her congested head and weeping eyes, Katherine ached for his return. Perhaps, with his gentle spirit and guidance, she might find relief from the condition at last.

There was a knock at her chamber door and she sat up taller, giving her nose a cursory dab to relieve it of any lingering moisture.

“Yes?” she said. The door opened and her mother entered followed by Mary carrying a tea tray.

“I thought I might join you for your breakfast,” her mother said, sitting down opposite Katherine at the small table in the bedroom's adjacent parlour.

“Mother,” Katherine began, but her nose flared with a sudden insistent tickle and she took a small, fast breath before turning away, shielding her face with her handkerchief.

Eh'tshchHTT! Ngh'TSCHHI!

She pinched her nose hard to try to stop the itch but succeed only in stifling another sneeze.

Ngh'GXT!

Her mother frowned and made a soft tutting noise.

“I wonder what James will make of all this when he returns.”

Katherine sneezed a final time and wiped her nose gingerly before turning back to her mother.

“I suspect he will feel a great concern for my suffering,” she said, reaching for her teacup as Mary finished pouring. She took a careful sip of the hot liquid, willing it to soothe the deep irritation in her throat and nose.

“I maintain that you are just too high-strung and you are bringing this condition on yourself. If you would only accept your position and enjoy these socials, you would find you do not suffer so.”

“You want me to leave this home and socialize with a nose as pink as a cherry and eyes weeping with tears non-stop?” Katherine snapped. “I would certainly be a topic of conversation. I can barely stand to wear a corset; my lungs struggle so. And ten minutes out-of-doors sends me straight into spasms of sneezing. You have seen it yourself, mother.”

“I only think that holing yourself up here in your rooms every day has done little to alleviate things. You have become a recluse at twenty-three, Katherine.”

“I would love to be able to be visiting dear Celia and Vivienne and Edith, but I-- heh'TSGH!”

Katherine was interrupted by another volley of sneezes. She stood up with her handkerchief held to her nose and rushed off to her adjacent washroom, shutting the door behind her. The cavernous bath chamber echoed with the fit as she sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, head bobbing with each small outburst.

Heh-TSGHT! Tsh'CHT! Ngh'TSCHT! T'CHTT! Ehh—TSCHHTT!

When she'd stopped the sneezing, blown her nose as politely as possible, and splashed a bit of water onto her swollen eyes, she emerged into her bedroom to find her mother gone.

Katherine didn't much feel like eating and the congestion of her nose made everything taste bland anyhow. She sipped at her tea and then rang to have a bath drawn.

An hour or so later, when the water was cooled, she dried off and slipped into a fresh lounging robe and let her hair loose down her back. Just as she was considering sitting in her parlour to read, she heard a great ruckus and voices downstairs in the main entrance of the house. There was a knock on her door and Mary came in, smiling widely.

“Mister Hastings has returned, ma'am,” she said. “Just pulled up in a motorcar from the station.”

Katherine felt her heart skip a beat.

“Oh, Mary!” she said. “Will you help me? I should put on something else.”

“The purple tea dress,” Mary suggested. “No corset needed for that and it's perfectly suitable.”

“You're divine, Mary,” Katherine said gratefully, stepping out of her lounge robe as Mary gathered up the silk dress and helped her into it.

“I'll pin up your hair if you sit a moment,” Mary offered as she fastened the back of the gown.

“Please,” Katherine said, taking a seat at the vanity and reaching for a fresh handkerchief from the pearl-inlayed box that sat nearby. She pressed the white cloth to her nose and inspected her reflection in the mirror.

“I do not know if I can stand to powder it,” she said, gazing at the bright pink nostrils in the centre of her face.

“He will be more delighted to see the whole of you than one little pink nose,” Mary assured her, pinning the last of her hair up. “Put on the necklace he gave you before he left and let's be done with it.”

Katherine fastened the gold and emerald locket around her neck and stood for a final inspection.

“Radiant,” Mary declared. “He'll be in the library. I heard your mother call for brandy.”

Katherine tucked her handkerchief into a small beaded handbag and descended the stairs towards the library. As she approached, she could hear her mother's voice.

“I swear, it's half in her head. She gets herself into these endless fits and she is exhausted by the end of it. If you ask me, it's hysteria that's led her to this. I hope that your return will bring some sense back into her head and rid her of it. She's been an invalid for near a month now.”

Katherine felt herself flush with anger to hear her mother tell it. If she'd had any control over the miserable state she'd been in all spring, she would have cured herself long ago.

Steeling her nerves, she walked into the library.

James was seated opposite and he looked up as she entered, his face splitting into a wide smile. She felt herself grin in return.

“James,” she said breathlessly.

He stood and strode across the room to embrace her.

“Dear heart,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he hugged her close. “Your mother says you've been so unwell. You didn't have to dress on my behalf. I was coming up to you soon.”

“I couldn't wait when I heard you were back,” she said into his shoulder. She could feel tears in her eyes, but whether they were from joy or her rose-cold she did not know. The coarse linen of his coat rubbed against her irritable nose and she knew he'd been travelling for a long while in the garment. Whatever damnable particles caused her to react so violently to the outdoors seemed to cling to his jacket and she pulled her face back, nose wrinkling as she struggled to get into her beaded back.

“James,” she stammered, trying to pull further away. “I'm sorry, I--ehhh-TSGHTT!”

She was unable to get her handkerchief in time and settled for turning her face away from the present company and sneezing into her wrist. She felt the gentle press of his hand as he withdrew his own handkerchief and offered it to her. She had no choice but to take it and she sneezed into it loudly, with a sound that make her blush to be heard.

Hurhh'TSGCHHHTT! Ehh—hehh-TSGHHT! James' hand rested on the small of her back as she bent fully in surrender to the attack.

“Do you need to sit?” he asked gently. She nodded, feeling faint as the sneezes tore out with vicious energy.

Ehh-TSGH! Nh'GHT! TsGHTT! GHXHTT!

She stumbled into the waiting armchair and fitted desperately, tears streaming from her swollen eyes.

“My love,” James whispered, crouched at her side. “My dear heart. You poor thing.”

She took a shaky breath, managing to stop sneezing long enough to look at him.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “It gets like this sometimes.”

“Would you be more comfortable in our chambers? Can I ring for Mary to come and escort you upstairs?”

Katherine nodded.

“I think that's-- ehh-TSGHT!-- I think that's wise.”

He kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, “I'll be up soon, I promise.”

Mary arrived shortly thereafter and guided the teary, exhausted Katherine back upstairs and into the safety of the bedchamber. Katherine sat on the edge of the bed as Mary gently unfastened her necklace and gown, helping her to change into her nightdress and robe. Then, with the practice of several weeks of care, Mary guided a wet cloth across Katherine's face, wiping away the gathered tears and congestion.

“That's better,” she said gently. “Why don't we get you into bed with a compress for your face?”

Katherine nodded silently, imagining the reaction of her husband entering to see such a pitiful sight. Still, her swollen face demanded it. With a mound of pillows at her back, Katherine reclined slightly in bed and allowed her face to be draped with the cool cloth.

“Rest well, ma'am,” Mary said as she took her leave.

Katherine tried to relax but the sudden attack of sneezing had congested her sinuses to the point of a dull, throbbing headache. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come before she had to face James in this condition, but no sleep came.

The bedroom door opened quietly and James slipped inside. He sided up to the bed and gently removed the cloth from Katherine's face.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

She blinked open her eyes.

“Hello.”

“Don't you move one bit,” he said, leaning in and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I'm going to dress for bed and then we'll talk.”

She watched through half-lidded eyes as he removed his suit and shirt, revealing familiar olive skin that made her curl her toes with the memory of its touch. He put on a lightweight pair of pinstriped pyjamas and came to sit on the bed at her side.

“Now,” he said, reaching out and curling his hand into hers. “That's better. I missed you.”

“I missed you,” she repeated back. “I wish I was in a better state to say it.”

“Any state is fine so long as I'm here in this room alone with you,” he replied with a grin. She felt herself blush at his boldness.

“May I?” he asked, reaching for the covers to pull them back. She nodded and he slid back the quilts, gently gliding his hand down the length of her leg. As he reached the edge of the fabric, he curled his fingers across her skin, sliding the nightdress up.

Katherine's breath quickened and she coughed softly.

James turned his leg up over hers, coming to sit straddling her lap. He leaned in to kiss her and she returned the kiss briefly before pulling away.

“I want to,” she said. “But my nose is so clogged...I can't breathe.”

“I know,” he said gently. “It's okay.”

He kissed each cheek and then her forehead and her chin and down her neck, pausing to nuzzle his nose against her breasts before continuing down. He pushed the fabric of her nightdress up further and parted her legs, touching her briefly with his fingers. She almost objected, fearing her was about to enter her too suddenly, but instead he lowered his face and his tongue slowly stroked across the rise of her. She made a sound of surprise and heard him laugh.

“Just relax,” he said.

A sensation rippled through her unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She spread her legs wider, pressing eagerly into his touch. He increased his speed and she could not help but make a sound as her body responded to him. Her nose, so clogged and irritated, began to shift and clear. And then, like a wave, a sensation hit her so strongly that she gasped and her arms trembled.

She went boneless, giggling as he raised his head and looked at her.

“Any better?”

“I might need a handkerchief,” she said, blushing as she pressed a wrist to her newly-streaming nose. “But yes....better.”

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fan-writer02 · 5 years

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Need a prompt? Maybe Hiccup and Astrid collecting flowers for their wedding and then a freak spring snow comes on the day of their wedding or something???

Crown

Hiccup flicked a piece of clover at the Astrid’s cheek, where it harmlessly bounced off. She blew a piece of hair out of her face and give him the stink eye.

Hiccup giggled before stumbling out of the way as an entire bouquet of alfalfa flew past him, falling in a confetti of purple.

“We’ll never get enough if we keep goofing off.” Astrid stated, although she was laughing, too. “Get to work, Chief.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hiccup chortled. Bending down, he began plucking a bunch of white flowers he didn’t know the name for. He knew they weren’t poisonous, so he figured they’d do well enough. Clover was about as far as his knowledge on flowers went.

The spring flowers were scant and few. The ground was still wet from the melted snow, and the flowers were so dainty they were easy to snap off. Hiccup glanced up at the blue sky, and the soft warm breeze that fluttered through the short green grass. It did feel like spring, but Hiccup never liked to not be prepared for a late snow storm. Nature had fooled him far too many times.

But surely, they wouldn’t get any snow between that afternoon and the following. Surely.

He chose not to worry about it, and continued his groomly duty.

Astrid fell back in the grass, her lap filled with a variety of flowers. Hiccup followed her to the ground, where he leaned back on the palm of his hands and closed his eyes against the sun. They were near a cliff-side, and the smell of salt was carried by the wind. It felt crisp and free, and for a moment, he could pretend like he was flying.

Astrid interrupted his musings by tapping on his arm. He gave a little jump.

She held up a white flower crown. “This is what we’ll be wearing tomorrow.” She grinned and plopped it on his head. He tilted it to the side and gave a grin.

“I suppose that means I’ll have to brush my hair.”

Astrid laughed. “Well, I’ll brush mine if you brush yours.” She paused, and began braiding his hair. Again. But he only leaned his head back into her lap, so he lay prone on the ground, his hands folded on his chest, while she cured her weird (but cute) habit of braiding his hair at random. “I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t brush your hair, I like it messy.” She commented.

It had tamed a lot in the past two years. From the lack of him wearing a helmet as often as he had before… well, before… Anyhow, it had fallen straight, and the color had faded as it was exposed to more sunlight. He still wore his helmet on occasion, if he used his flight suit, which was rare. It was hard getting back up a cliff when you didn’t have a scaly friend to fly you.

“Mom will make me brush it.” He mumbled, letting a smile twitch his lips.

“Aye, she will.” Astrid said quietly, imitating Valka’s accent. They both chuckled.

They sat (well, Hiccup laid) there for several more moments, just enjoying the quiet peacefulness of the day. Hiccup had dozed off by the time Astrid started to stand up, spilling him out of her lap.

“I suppose we should finish, Chief Hiccup.” She offered him her hand and pulled him up, before bending down and grabbing the discarded flowers. “You have duties to attend to.”

And as luck would have it, the next morning- their wedding day- Hiccup awoke to see a fluffy layer of snow coating the ground. Yet somehow, the flowers had survived.

Not that Hiccup minded. If worse case came to worse case, he’d marry Astrid in a thunderstorm if that’s what it took to make her his wife.

#mywriting #hiccstrid #post httyd 3 #dragons #hiccup #astrid #how to train your dragon #httyd #httyd drabble #hiccstrid drabble #httyd one-shot #thanks for the prompt!! <3

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

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Fic: Nocturne (30/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

“You know, maybe I ought to be the one in charge,” Aulea says, reclining on the bed to stretch out her hindlegs and forelegs, smirking at Regis as she does. “If we’re putting a regency in place anyhow…”

“My love,” Regis says, lifting her hand and kissing it. “You’re already in charge.”

She laughs. “Maybe I want formal control,” she says mischievously. “You can be my Prince Consort, how do you like that?”

“Does that mean you can take afternoon court and I can – oh, wait, you attend afternoon court with me as it is,” Regis sighs dramatically as Aulea snorts. “For shame. And here I’d been imagining a life of leisure.”

“Fat chance,” she giggles. “But look on the bright side: I could shake all the hands and sign all the formal documents, while you could be in charge of hosting all the parties.”

“I’ve seen your parties,” Regis says dryly. “I’ll take the shaking and the signing.”

Aulea hums in agreement. “It’ll only be worse now that we’re making peace with Niflheim, you know. There’ll be food requests. Weird new customs to adjust to. Seating charts.”

“You’re not making this whole Prince Consort business sound very appealing, you know,” Regis tells her. “What must a ‘taur do to get a nice, stress-free position in this government?”

“Not be in government,” Aulea laughs. “For a start.”

“Think we can get Clarus to do it?”

“Regis!” Aulea smacks him lightly with a pillow.

“We are discussing a regency!” he laughs. “We could put anyone there – after all, I’ve abdicated! I’m an ex-king!”

“You know, I think you’ve already found what may be the one government position in which you don’t have to do anything. And yet here you are, giving it up.”

“I’ve clearly gone mad,” Regis says.

“Clearly,” Aulea agrees. “Which means, of course, that it’s only right for me to take the throne.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, catching her around the waist and pulling her closer. “I’m going to coup you and seize power from under your fingertips in order to put myself in as regent.”

“You monster!” she mock-gasps. “Stealing the power away from your only son!”

“Mmm,” he says, nuzzling her cheek. “You know, ever since the Ring was destroyed in that final confrontation with Ardyn, I’ve been feeling positively peppy – we could always see about fixing that ‘only’ business –”

“Why, Regis, you old tomcat–”

“I think that’ll do it,” Clarus says, putting his pen down and looking at the newest version of the peace treaty that he’s marked up with satisfaction. “We’re getting close to something that may even be sustainable.”

Cyrella snorts, flicking her tail in his direction. “Really, Clarus? Optimism?”

He shrugs. “It’s a new age. I don’t see why not.” He grins. “Besides, if they disagree, our armies are in a far more equitable posture at the moment, and with Tenebrae demanding actual independence in exchange for refereeing this agreement, even if they do pull a draft, we’ll have early notice of it.”

“There is that,” she says, smiling. “But a preliminary question: do you think they’ll sign it?”

“That may take a bit more doing,” he concedes.

“Well, if they don’t, I’ll hit them with the Sword of the Tall until they agree,” Cyrella says, sounding very pleased with the idea.

“Not very diplomatic of you,” Clarus says. “Also, shouldn’t you give that back at some point?”

“I don’t see why.”

“Cyrella.”

“Don’t you ‘Cyrella’ me,” she says, pointing at him. “I just helped save the world. The least I deserve for my active participation is a sword as long as I am tall that is absolutely badass.”

“You’re absolutely badass enough on your own, you know.”

“Thank you. Still not giving it back.”

Thinking to himself that it would be wiser to withdraw from this field of battle, at least for now, Clarus decides a change in subject is called for. “You know, when this is done and Regis is re-installed as monarch – or, at least, as regent until Noctis is appropriately of age –”

“Which, if we leave the choice up to Noctis, won’t happen until he’s at least forty,” Cyrella opines.

“…you’re not wrong. But as I was saying, when this is done, Reggie is going to be reigning over a peacetime kingdom for the first time in his life.”

“So?”

“So, my dear, that means he doesn’t exactly have much immediate use for his War Minister, does he?” Clarus asks, arching his eyebrows at her. “Or, for that matter, his Shield.”

“Clarus Amicitia,” she says. “Are you suggesting that we might take a vacation?”

“I am indeed,” he says.

“And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well,” he says, smirking. “You did seem like you liked the way I described Galahd…”

Her tail flicks again, this time with interest. “I did,” she says. “Gladio sounded like he liked it, too.”

Clarus arches his eyebrows at her. “Are we lacking for babysitters now? I was thinking we’d leave him here.”

“With who? Regis and Aulea are going to be thinking the same thing, you know; you so much as as hint at a vacation and they’ll sign up right alongside.”

“Yes, they will,” Clarus says patiently. “But you know who isn’t?”

“…Cor.”

“Cor,” he agrees.

“He’s going to kill you,” she predicts.

“Well,” Clarus says. “Luckily for me, my wife’s just come in to ownership of this sword – long as she is tall, I’ve heard it said – ‘absolutely badass,’ even –”

Cyrella laughs.

“I cannot believe you!” Libertus bellows. He’s gotten pretty good at it. “You were supposed to be at training! You were supposed to be leading training!”

“I’m sorry!” Nyx yelps. “I didn’t – I was just –”

“In the storage shed?!”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing!”

“With Aranea Highwind?!”

“Hey, I’m a member of the Crownsguard Aerial Corps,” Aranea says, flicking her tail smugly. “You have no authority over me.”

“And yet, oddly enough, you’re on the Kingsglaive training field right now,” Libertus says. “Besides, weren’t you going out on a date with his sister the other day?”

“…maybe.”

Libertus crosses his arms. “Stop screwing my lieutenants. Or else.”

Aranea crosses her arms. “Or else what?”

“Or he’ll hand you over to me,” Cor says mildly from behind her, causing both her and Nyx to jump into the air. “Or would you say I also don’t have authority over you, Crownsguard?”

“Um,” Aranea says.

“I have more pamphlets,” Cor adds cheerfully.

She turns pale.

“You seem to have gotten the idea behind the whole asexuality thing,” Cor muses. “But maybe a few on healthy sexual practices –”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Aranea says hastily. “Libertus, I accept whatever punishment you choose to bestow.”

“I thought I ‘had no authority’ over you?”

“I’m willing to put that aside!”

“Oh, one thing,” Cor says. “Before you impose punishment, Captain –”

Libertus winces.

Cor smirks.

“– I think you should consider expanding that punishment to three.” He reaches down with one forepaw and stamps on the ground.

There’s a yowl and Hemera leaps into the air, clutching her tail.

“You too?” Libertus howls.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” she signs quickly. “I came to argue with Nyx!”

“Over?”

“Well, see, I thought it was my turn, and he thought –”

“You’re all on punishment duty! Now!”

Luna’s having a pretty good day so far.

School’s let out early, she’s going to meet her girlfriend for a nice lunch, and – she’s never going to get over this – they’re not at war.

She has a delightful spring in her step as a result, kicking up her heels cheerfully as she trots along, turning the corner to go around the Kingsglaive training grounds – she likes taking that route, even if it is a bit longer, because it provides such delightful eye candy.

(Yes, she’s dating Cindy, but Cindy of all people understands the importance of some good eye candy.)

“Hey! Luna!”

Luna blinks and looks around when a new Kingsglaive trainee appears in front of her in a burst of warping.

Dark hair, dark eyes –

“Crowe? What’re you doing here?”

“They opened a junior wing for the Kingsglaive, since it’s still building up,” Crowe says, beaming at her. “We come here for the last few years of school and part-time with the Kingsglaive, getting us ready to join on the officer track. They’re hoping to expand.”

“That’s – great,” Luna croaks.

She hasn’t seen her in years.

Crowe’s grown.

She’s lean and dark and her eyes are flashing and her cheeks are flushed and her maned fox hindquarters are lean and sharp and –

Oh dear.

She’s very attractive.

Luna, you have a girlfriend, Luna reminds herself desperately. And Crowe is dating – uh –

“How’s your girlfriend?” Luna blurts out. “Back in Galahd?”

“No idea. We grew apart and ended up breaking up,” Crowe says cheerfully, totally unphased. “It happens. How about you? You seeing anyone?”

“Uh – yes – there’s this girl –”

“Heya, bambi girl!” a familiar voice trills out. “You ready for lunch?”

“Cindy!” Luna exclaims, relieved. Show, not tell; that will surely make this conversation easier.

Right?

Cindy hops over. “You were running late,” she says with a grin. “Oh – and who’s this?”

“Crowe Altius,” Crowe says, sticking out her hand, her eyes going a bit round in appreciation, which is pretty much everyone’s usual response to Cindy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Cindy Aurum,” Cindy purrs. She’s got a surprisingly good purr for a jackrabbit. “And darling, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

Luna’s in trouble.

Good trouble, bad trouble, she’s not sure yet – but definitely trouble.

“You’re – you’re serious?” Ravus says, staring at his mother over the dining room table.

“That the ruler of Tenebrae has always been the Oracle is more tradition than any legal requirement,” Sylvia says, smiling at her son.

“Trust me, I’ve checked,” Scientia interjects. “At length. With some difficulty, because your libraries are still being reconstructed.”

“It’s unseemly to brag about doing your job,” Sylvia jibs back, rolling her eyes.

Scientia sniffs. “I didn’t have to take the job.”

“Why are you even here?” Sylvia complains. “I know we agreed to have joint family dinners, but Luna’s off on date night and the younger children are all sleeping over somewhere –”

“I always could go, you know,” Scientia says. “I’ll just be taking the food I brought with me.”

“You can stay,” Ravus says quickly.

“Ravus!”

“Sorry, Mom. But the food is really good.” He shrugs when she glares at him. “It is!”

“Well, yes, it is,” Sylvia concedes. “But we’re getting away from the point.”

“That you still owe me one?” Scientia coughs into her hand.

“One day you two will have to explain that,” Ravus says. “But first – you actually want – you want me to inherit the throne of Tenebrae?”

“You’re my eldest son,” Sylvia says. “And you love the blue hills of Tenebrae as much as I do. Luna – well, Luna’s young. She may yet grow into the role, but I don’t think so. Right now, she wants to explore, to travel – she wants to be a healer, not a queen, and she’d never have the patience for all of hard work of ruling a country. You do.”

“And you don’t – what I did –”

“You need to learn to forgive yourself,” Scientia says crisply. “Accept your failures, understand them, decide not to do them again, and move on.”

“Are you the one with experience ruling a country here or am I?” Sylvia asks acidly.

“Were you going to give him any other advice?”

“That isn’t the point –”

“What would I have to do?” Ravus interrupts, looking at his mother with wide eyes. “Going forward?”

“Not much different than what you do now,” Sylvia says. “You stand by my side, you watch and you learn – Tenebrae’s going to be independent now, and that’ll be a learning experience for both of us. You’ll have a lot more classes in a hundred different subjects – but you’ll have me to guide you through it. Is that something you want?”

“Yes,” Ravus says, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts. “Yes. I do.”

“All right, you’ve got the set up down, right?” Noctis says into his headset microphone, looking around him to confirm that everyone else on his side is set up, too.

Prompto gives him a thumbs-up and Gladio grins.

Ignis just stares at his screen, but that’s okay; he always does that right before they go in. Prompto likes to joke that he’s calibrating.

Noctis doesn’t really care, since whatever it is, it seems to work. Ignis is deadly.

“Yeah, we’re good, assuming your pathetic connections can keep up with ours,” the voice says over the headset, snotty and arrogant as always.

Ugh, Noctis can’t believe they’re friends with this jerk.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Loqi,” Gladio replies. “We’re gonna kick you and your friends’ hindquarters even with you Niffs tearing down all our towers to get yourself a leg up.”

“Yeah, right,” Loqi snorts. “You just want an excuse to explain how bad you’re going to lose.”

“You wish.”

“Enough chatter on the lines,” Ignis says, his voice dark and somehow incredibly intimidating. “Let’s get started.”

“What Iggy said,” Noctis adds, to help fill the cowed silence in the wake of Ignis’ declaration. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“I’m just happy that they finally expanded this MMORPG to be cross-border,” Prompto says happily. His tail is wagging like mad, but then, he’s always been remarkably unaffected by Ignis’ unparalleled skill at trash talk. “It was getting boring just fighting Lucian teams all the time.”

“No kidding,” one of Loqi’s friends – Noctis doesn’t know her name, just her user handle – says. “The league in Niflheim has been dull as dust ever since Gralea basically dropped off the usenet for a while there.”

“Consider less censorship,” Gladio recommends.

“Says the people who weren’t allowed on the network at all for how long?”

“We were on a different network, moron.”

“I still think we should be allowed to bring in an electronic avatar version of the Kaiser Behemoth,” one of the other Niff kids says.

“You’re not allowed to,” Prompto says. “You just be glad we let you keep the Kaiser Behemoth. The real one, I mean.”

“The Kaiser Behemoth’s pretty awesome,” the Niff – presumably from Gralea – concedes.

Noctis decides to ignore them all and click on the loading screen. Everyone quiets down as soon as they see it, mentally planning their first moves once their avatars all get dropped into the same landscape – chosen at random, as is only fair.

The best part of this, he thinks happily, is that he can even tell his parents that he was ‘fostering a further relationship with peers in Niflheim’ or whatever they’re calling it nowadays.

The screen finishes loading.

“Glory to the empire!” Loqi shouts gleefully, his character leaping forward.

“Long live Lucis!” Gladio shoots back, his own character jumping up to intercept.

"Long live Eos!" Noctis laughs.

And the game begins.

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

A/N: And that's all she wrote, folks! (Literally.) I hope you enjoyed the story!

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brian-wellson · 7 years

Photo

“Do you miss it?” asked Osprey. She was sitting on the bank of the channel near their camp. Her legs, caked with peat, were drawn up to her breast.

Kestrel tugged on his fishing line, urging the earthworm he had on hook’s end to wriggle beneath the murky water of the swamp. Frogs and peepers had begun to sing, their voices ebullient in the onset of spring.

“What’s that?” replied Kestrel. He stared out over the water; his face warm in the afternoon rays of the sun. Osprey let her long legs unfurl toward the water. Dried peat flaked off into the water before them; minnows picked at it, their bodies betrayed by tiny ripples and air bubbles. She picked at a stray blade of grass dried to her leg-holster. She frowned, atypically introspective.

“The business, the house … a bed,” Osprey said. She stretched her arms out behind her to support herself. She exhaled: “Your name…”

Kestrel chuckled. He could feel a fish nibbling at the earthworm, not enough to swallow it whole, but enough to pick it apart. He glanced toward her.

“I did,” said Kestrel. His voice was soft, restrained. He turned and let his face bask in the golden rays of late afternoon. A warm breeze wafted over them; the scent of peat and smoke and fish came and passed.

They sat in the quietude of the Wetlands for a few minutes, Osprey picking at her armor, Kestrel knowing this cast would render him nothing.. He kept the line in the water, anyhow.

“I did,” he said once more, this time with a bit more emphasis. “While you were … away, in the Cathedral and then the Abbey, I wrestled with it.” He looked down at the scattered minnows. “But despite all of the loss, all of the anger, all of the betrayal … despite not having a certain fate, I came to recognize that that person – the Lord Doctor? – he died months ago.” Kestrel shrugged.

They sat next to one another, each the shadow of the other, staring out over the still, black waters. Flycatchers would dip down from the sky every now and again, catching wayward insects, before darting away, ready for another pass. In the distance, a green heron stalked through a stand of cattails.

“I suppose he did, didn’t he?” asked Osprey. She itched her neck before swatting at the cloud of gnats mere inches from their faces, held off by the faint scent of vanilla beans and vinegar they had rubbed onto their skin.

Kestrel began to pull the fishing line toward the shore, ready with another earthworm. The line pulled back. He blinked in surprise and jerked the line, setting the hook. He started to reel it in, wrapping the line around the small stick he had used as its improvised core. Osprey looked over, amused. The more he spooled the line, the harder it fought, until – for just the briefest of moments – they could see the fish’s belly, mottled in grey and green as it breached the water. He kept pulling on the line, winding the spool, until after a lengthy five minutes, he landed the fish – an 11 inch pike. He smiled to himself:

“I do miss the bed,” he replied as he dropped the fish into the kettle they had brought with them. “The sheets, the duvet – you know, all of that comfort business.” He wrinkled his brow. “I do miss the work I had started, the good I had wanted to do…” Kestrel finished spooling the line; they had caught five fish, more than enough for a fish fry.

Osprey smirked. “You still can,” she said.

Kestrel handed her the spool. He pushed himself off the ground, running his fingers over his torso. “Doubtful,” he said.

Osprey stood as well. She tucked the fishing line away in her satchel and picked up the bucket. She started to walk back toward camp.

“Nobody dies,” she called over her shoulder. “You only reach a new level of vision.”

Kestrel watched her as she walked away. He could see Lark anxiously awaiting her return; he could hear Albatross griping about something; he could smell the tea Miss Magpie had brewed for Swan. He dusted his hands together; peat and moss fell to the ground. He scratched at his arm and clicked his tongue.

Maybe she’s right, thought Kestrel. He took one last look over the peaceful channel; at the birds as they swooped and fed; toward the long shadows of the cattails in the bog. He scratched his arm once again. Perhaps it was time, he thought – just perhaps.

(( Mentioned: @justinegrotius, @juniper-rose-blower, @malorincan, @heyzailene, @monettemason; Pertinent: @quai-mason ))

#Wellson #Blackbay #Alliance Primary Academy of Letters #Justine #Eastern Kingdoms Campaign

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lilyleely · 7 years

Text

The Other Woman (Part 5)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, Jensen x Danneel

Word Count: 3028

Summary: You were a good girl. But how did you end up as the other woman?

A/N: This took longer to write than the few chapters back and honestly, I don’t think I can live up to what I wrote in the first few chapters. Anyhow thank you for waiting!

Tags: @nanie5 @supernatural0826 @padackles2010 @holdyourselfinmyhands @remybosslika @jensen-gal @barricade-ghost @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrstheorossix3 @tas898 @darkx143 @emilypkuzu @sortaathief @anokhi07 @to-the-starss @relationshipyard @isabelaelisa @hibaabdo @artprincessbree @anxuanpham @trashytears @lalakawe @but-like-dean-tho @evelinakikoum @skathan-omaha @soobi89 @mommatoni @son-of-a-horse @se-lestiles @jensen-jarpad

MASTERLIST

You were sitting bleary eyed at the kitchen island, a bowl of cereal sat in front you now soggy from the long soak. You were simply too tired to even eat. You eyed the coffee still steaming in your favorite black mug, the aroma almost making you sick. You were never a big fan of coffee but you figured you really needed it this morning to survive through the day.

More like the rest of your life.

It had been an entire week since Jensen had permanently taken his bed back; a week since you had a good rest. While you tried your hardest to ignore the way the linens captured his scent, you had to remain unmoved. The lack of decent sleep was showing on your face and it had been noticed by the usual neighbours you’d bump into at the supermarket, who’d asked if you were falling ill.

You were, but asking for help after denying it seemed pointless now. Stupid even. You too were avoiding looking like a sick little girl in front of Jensen, not that he in any how was interested in your whereabouts during the day. He was never around, only appeared on the other side of the bed at night. The conversations would end short. More often than not it was just to tell you to turn the lights off.

You decided you had to end your days early so that you could shower before he showed up; that, or you purposely stay out late playing with the cats and wait for him to hit the hay first. Most of the time it’s the second choice.

Most mornings you would wake up to no longer feeling the sinking on the other side of the bed, or the light snores you hear around the room. The sheets on his side of the bed cold with his scent tainting the pillows that he left.

You couldn’t help it, you were curious. Bless your soft heart. It was embarrassing actually, how easy it is to love someone that smelled so good as he did. What would you ever do if he happened to come barging in and see you slinking towards his side just to lay your head on his pillows?

You would probably die right there and then.

With spring now here, you can’t help but feel giddy. It was your favorite season, something about seeing the dreary, glum streets decorated with flora of different colors had always excite you as a child. It was the season that she could relax and focus on the beauty of her homeland’s nature despite living so modernized. You loved the parties that people would host for the season, the crows of flowers your mother would often teach you how to weave for you and your sister, and of course, the spring parties.

You remembered the one time you had been invited to an annual lavish Ackles’ Garden Party to only have it ended with Charlie punching someone, which in turn had you and her promptly escorted out. Your parents’ invitations seemed to get lost after that. It wasn’t all that bad. The parties your father had thrown in your own estate were far better, in your opinion.

Now, you were not only invited to the Ackles’ Garden Party, but you were an official host on the invitations. Something you had only been informed of this morning over the phone. It baffled you when they asked for the party to be held at your current home instead of having it at the usual place, at the Ackles’ estate. The party was in a few days, but you knew that the family’s party planner has been making arrangements since the last one. Your only role was to pick the flower arrangements, food choice and sign off another couple few party arrangements.

The afternoon, you were graced in the presence of Mark Sheppard - an advisor and long trusted friend of your husband. The fact that Mark’s intense gaze never really landed on you, but rather past you, unnerved you and had you uneasy.

He handed you a stack of papers, requiring your signature, and a pen, before he leaned back on his chair and sipped his cup of coffee. You were seated at the back porch, overlooking the now colorful green fields behind the house. You looked over the papers and struggled over how immensely complex the writing was considering it was for…

Catering.

You gave a small chuckle, meaning to clear the somewhat awkward air that had settled between you three. “I guess catering is a big deal if it requires this much worth of papers.”

Mark’s sharp eyes slid over in your direction, setting down the porcelain gently.

“Even matters such as the food one serves at a party can affect the impression of a company, so yes, catering is a big deal.”

You sighed, eyes scanning over the paper. It was 3 pages worth of legal jargon and full of terms of agreement, a full menu and you signed the line at the bottom of the third page next to the Ackles’ Firm logo. The next paper was over for lighting.

You squinted at the paper and resisted the urge to sigh again.

Mark seemed to have sensed your painful reaction to having realized how much wording was involved in the process of signing papers was. He crossed his arms and said, “As the advisor to both you and Jensen, you can rest assured that I do read and revise every document that will land in your laps. Technically you don’t have to read anything, but if you feel the need to look over the terms, you are more than welcome.”

Your eyes flickered up towards him and you realized he was smirking, smugly. You signed the form and responded, “So I suppose any life threatening decor or possibly offensive material in these contracts that may have been present, have been fixed by you?”

“I suppose, but as I said before, you can always read them yourself. I won’t stop you.”

You looked back at the stack of papers on the table and rested your chin on your palm, fingers pressing against your lips. It wasn’t as though you mistrusted the man’s intelligence or decision-making, you simply mistrusted his position in your life. Not as an advisor, but as a friend of your husband. Mark had made no intention clear of being as friendly and understanding as Jared or Misha.

You could admire his loyalty and commitment to his friendship, but it only made you hesitant. He could easily arrange for you to be kidnapped before dinner time, but instead he picked his cup up and stated over the rim of it’s porcelain lip,

“Worried that I’m plotting against you?” He raised a brow and you could see the upturned corners of his lips. “I’m not here to put you in a position that might be unpleasing for you. I may be a friend to Jensen, but I make it my business to not mix business with pleasure. I have the best interests of the firm in mind, and I haven’t slipped you anything that might endanger the new addition to the Ackles family.”

A warm smile etched on your face. Your fingers traced the edge of the paper and you moved to finish signing the papers without question. The paranoia dying down if only to end the meeting as soon as possible. You handed both pen and stack to him, a smile closer to an actual smile crossed his lips and he thanked you for your time.

You were left to your thoughts.

Your boredom was flaring up again and you settled your chin on your hand, watching the wind blow the tall grass gently. There had not been much for you to do, and you were beginning to understand why people took up activities like fencing, horse riding or gardening as hobbies to fill their time.

You could use a hobby. Something more exciting than reading, maybe? The day you had gone to shoot with Jared and Misha had been the most fun you had in ages and you wish Jensen hadn’t stolen them away from you. Perhaps you’d take up gardening like you had done in the past, or maybe learn an instrument. You had been dying to learn to play the guitar.

“Or I could just rot away from boredom,” you sighed. The minutes ticked by, a little piece of your dull life fluttering away into oblivion as boredom settled.

It was only when a message tone came up cut you off of your spacing, Skimming the message, you choked on the realization that the message had came from the same name on the marriage license. The contents requested for you to join your darling husband and his parents for dinner tonight.

Dinner could not arrive any slower. Surely, you would be joined by Jensen’s friends, right? Maybe even their girlfriends too! There wasn’t any cause for you to be so nervous, you hoped against hope that your gut was right.

Cliff had picked you up from the farmhouse and brought you to your in-law’s Texas family home - scratch that. It’s a mansion. You had to forcefully drag your being to get out of the car and walk into the house. If you had any bit of Charlie’s rebellious nature in you, you would have refused the invitation entirely, but you wanted so desperately make this arrangement tolerable.

A bit of you yearned for a silver of peace between you and your husband.

The click of your heels stopped when you entered the dining area, Cliff now standing beside the door, stoic and silent. Your eyes scanned the room.

The chairs remained empty except for one.

Your cheeks were colored red before you could try and stop it. His eyes were shut and from the small movement of chest, you could tell his breathing was even and slow. Alan or his wife was not present yet and while you looked for the servant for guidance as to where to sit, he decided for you. His hands wrapped around the back of the chair adjacent to Jensen and you quietly thanked him.

Inwardly, you screamed.

You were seated right next to the man who hated your very position in his life, and you should’ve been scared for your life. It was impossible, though, with the way he leaned on his first, completely asleep. The servant had left, probably to inform Alan of your arrival and to bring food out.

The silence was deafening.

You hands went from your lap to the table, then underneath your thighs, fidgeting, unsure of how to proceed in such an awkward situation. You cleared your throat, quietly not even really effectively clearing your throat but to simply make a noise. When he didn’t flinch or make any attempt of waking from your tiny efforts, you changed your ways.

Your fingers found his arm that was resting on the arm rest, limply with a small poke, you retreated quickly. Still no movement.

You repeated your actions with more pressure this time. He slept like a rock, you thought.

How cute.

“Jensen…:” You whispered, leaning forward to catch his ear. He didn’t do much to acknowledge you except furrow his brows like he was deep in thought. You leaned back, afraid if he woke up and see how close you were getting to him. You didn’t know much about his personality and you wondered what kind of person would he be if he was rudely awakened. It didn’t help your cause that you were probably the last face he would want to see.

“Jensen?”

His skin looked too soft for someone so abrasive and it made your throat dry. You lamented that you must’ve been the worst kind of person in your past life to deserve to be married to a man who looked so handsome and not show any affection towards you. It was a punishment.

There were details on his face you had never noticed before. Jensen looked nothing like the storybook princes you dreamed of. They all had light hair and bright blue eyes or soft long brown locks that fell over rich warm eyes.

Nevertheless, the more you looked upon his sleeping face, a soft pout on his lips, you couldn’t help but think he was perfection. It was unfair that he should look so sinfully beautiful and have such a horrible attitude towards you.

Your fingers reached out again, hesitant and shaking from the thought of touching such soft skin. When you kissed him on your wedding day, you remembered how your heart kept into your throat and how you could feel yourself melting into your heels.

Everything was soft in your mind but you wanted to feel it all again. Was it all warm and tender as you remembered?

“Mrs. Ackles, if I may?” The servant from before had returned with 2 others, all carrying silver trays covered but the smell sneaked under their covers and you could tell it was gonna be a scrumptious dinner.

You jumped in your seat, finger retreating back to your lap as if they’d been burned and you let your dinner be placed in front of you. It looked divine and the smells that wafted upwards had your mouth watering. Jensen remained sleeping.

“Mr. and Mrs Ackles informed me they wouldn’t be able to attend dinner tonight,” one woman, curly hair tight in a bun informed you.

“That’s alright then,” you smiled, inside screaming and cursing at your in-laws for putting you in such an awkward situation.

The woman bowed in acknowledgement and with the others left you to finish the food before you.

“Jensen..” You spoke louder this time, with as much strength as you could muster, hoping it would coerce him from his rest. You picked up your utensils and sighed before placing them back down again. You could just eat without him; you weren’t rude.

You mustered up all your courage to reach over and shake the sleeping figure by the arm. “Wake up!”

He jumped. A red indent on his flesh as he composed himself of his surroundings. His mouth slightly ajar as she blinked and took in where he had fallen asleep. You clammed back up as his eyes landed on you.

“Wha - oh, right,” he frowned, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. He didn’t look at you after that.

If there was a world record, something along those lines, of how long two people could sit in complete and utter silence as they ate their food, you’d be excellent contenders. It was strange. You never spent such a prolonged time at a dinner table without saying anything, it was always lively when you still lived with your parents.

As you slipped a chunk of potato past your lips, you couldn’t hold back the tiniest moans. Charlie had always joked on how you loved food to the point where it could make others uneasy if you didn’t remain conscious. You were usually careful, but something about the seasoning and the texture of your food was making it hard to keep a solid composure.

It might have gone unnoticed in a normal dinner setting, one that was busy and bustling with conversation and the clinking of silverware but it was pin drop silence.

It was one thing to moan because of food alone, but it was another to moan because of food in front of him. If he noticed he didn’t say anything, yet you couldn’t help but feel like combusting on the spot.

You made the mistake of looking upwards in his direction. He wasn’t staring at you, thank god, but he was removing every vegetable off his plate onto a smaller one. You furrowed your brows, a little confused.

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t stop yourself, simply because it was mere habit that you ask about an odd action.

He stopped and gave you a look. Not an annoyance but of guilt, like he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. The look disappeared as he stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken. “Nothing.”

“You don’t like the food?”

He ate the bite and waited to swallow before answering you with a nonchalant tone, “I don’t like vegetables.”

“They’re good for you though.”

“So you’re going to be the one to tell me what’s good for me? My savior of a wife?”

You put your utensils down, lips in a thin line. “You don’t have to be rude to me. I was just trying to be helpful.”

He scoffed. “Don’t try to be anything you’re not. You’re not helping me.”

“Why do you think I’m out to get you? I’m stuck in this too, if you haven’t noticed.” You replied with less resentment than he did. You were helpless in your position. You couldn’t complain openly about this mess. You were supposed to be the calm one. “I just want to go home.”

Jensen looked at you now. Your head low and a frown on your lips, your eyes glossy with tears that threatened to fall. If you were acting, you deserved an award for this display of helplessness. He sneered at how you could possibly feel like a victim. You were just like the rest of those ladies, parading around hoping to land a spot in a higher position. What he forgot for a moment was that your family’s wealth stood up to par to his and you by no means would you need him to rise higher in the social status.

“Then leave. I don’t want you here either,” he spat before pushing himself from the table and leaving.

You waited until the doors slammed before letting out a deep sob. The maids who came to collect the plates dare not say anything as you wept, only threw pitiful glances at you.

Jensen wasn’t in your bed that night. He was right in a way. You weren’t helping anyone. You were just a dumb little girl with hopeless dreams that were dashed far too soon.

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x danneel #jenneel #janneel #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester #mark sheppard #danneel ackles #SPN Reader Insert #spn fanfic

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