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dancingkirby · 3 years

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Azula Week Day 4: AU

@azulaweek

This could’ve worked for Day 3 too, but I’m glad I took the extra day to add final details. It’s my first attempt at an ATLA AU!

WARNINGS: Multiple character deaths, and Azula struggling with grief, depression, and paranoia as a result. Mentions of blood, and some brief gory imagery. Vague references to sexual abuse. Azula is possibly not the most reliable of narrators. (There. I think that’s everything!)

Everyone had blamed Father for Zuko’s untimely death, but Azula didn’t get it. How was he supposed to have known that his oldest legitimate child had had an undiagnosed heart condition, and that the stress of the Agni Kai would cause it to give out on him when Father hadn’t even properly touched him with the flames yet?! But he had, and it did, and that was that. He had given Zuzu all the proper funeral rites, and still the nobles were mad at him!

(Azula had only cried a very little bit at the funeral, when Father wasn’t looking.)

Now that Azula was the heir, Father said, she needed extra lessons with him. These sessions were no longer simply practicing katas and memorizing military engagements: now she was to learn how to rule. Father would talk to her every day, and sometimes long into the night as well. There was something almost frantic about the vast amount of information he was pumping into her head, as if he sensed that he had much material to cover and a limited amount of time in which to cover it.

He’d been right.

The worst came to pass on a sunny yet not beastly hot summer day, almost five months after Zuko’s death. Father had decided to reward Azula’s progress in her studies with a walk through the gardens together. There had been more gardeners out working that day than usual, but Azula hadn’t paid it any mind. (Stupid, stupid!) They’d stopped by a rosebush, Father bending over to smell an especially tantalizing bloom, when Azula felt the shadow upon them, saw a glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. She’d barely had time to shout out a warning when one of the gardeners leapt onto Father. Others soon followed. There were so many of them attacking at the same time, dozens of them, with the element of surprise on their side, that he hadn’t been able to inflict more than minor injuries with his firebending before he was completely incapacitated by his wounds. Nobody came to his rescue.

Azula had tried to fight them on her own, but several other men had immediately chi-blocked and grabbed her, working in perfect synchrony. Even with her bending suppressed, she’d kicked and scratched and bit and screamed with all her might, but their hold was too strong for her to overcome. They’d rushed her out of there, carrying her lengthwise and keeping a firm grip on her head, so she didn’t see much of what happened. She only got a quick glimpse of blood and Father’s body slumped over the bush before there was a stinging pain in her neck and everything went blurry.

They’d kept her heavily sedated for the next couple of days; she did attend the hasty funeral, but couldn’t recall any details of it later on. Finally, she came to her senses, only to find herself in Father’s massive suite of rooms, lying in bed. As soon as they realized she was awake, the two servants who had been watching her at the time fell into immediate kowtows at the foot of her bed, and addressed her as “Fire Lord.” All Azula could do was blink at them. Father, that constant towering presence throughout her entire life, was dead just like that. And she, in the span of a few frenzied minutes, had been promoted from Crown Princess to Fire Lord. She was still three months away from her twelfth birthday, yet she was the absolute ruler of fifty million people. Unimaginable power was hers…if she could figure out how to keep it for herself.

Nothing seemed quite real at first. Now that Father’s grueling early-morning firebending demonstrations and late-night quizzes–as well as her obligations to Daddy–had abruptly ceased, Azula had so much more free time that she wasn’t sure what to do with it all. The first day that she was allowed out of bed, she went straight to the Fire Lord’s office. Sitting at the enormous and beautiful mahogany desk that had been built during Fire Lord Zoren’s reign, she flipped through the pile of important papers awaiting her signature, inspected all of the little drawers and secret compartments, held her brand new seal. Her head was muffled as if it was underwater, and she started feeling dizzy. She couldn’t breathe…

(She was told later that she’d been found lying on the office floor, laughing hysterically. Or possibly crying; the servants didn’t all agree on that point.)

As the details of just what had happened slowly leaked out, though, Azula knew she had to snap out of this state quickly. It transpired that a group of assassins had dressed as servants and gotten admittance into the garden. Most of the Royal Guard had either been bribed, or were in on the plan themselves; they’d made certain that the ones who were truly loyal were sent elsewhere at the time. This had been no ragtag group of malcontents who had acted on impulse. The number of people involved had been massive, and the assassination had been coordinated and carried out flawlessly. Even so, to Azula’s fury, their death sentences had been commuted to banishment while she’d still been bedridden. They had obviously had the backing of someone powerful in the palace to be able to carry out the plan like that and escape proper punishment.

Azula knew exactly who that person was…the same man who’d been declared regent before Father’s body was cold. Uncle Iroh. He’d kept his own hands clean, but Azula was certain he’d had it all planned out months in advance; anything to avenge his beloved Zuzu. She highly doubted that he’d have done the same had she been the one to die. Oh sure, he’d put up an act of being concerned about her initially. He’d come to her room a couple times, tried to talk to her, asked if Father had hit her, or had mistreated her in “other ways”. At this last, she had threatened to have him thrown in the palace dungeon, and he made no further attempts.

Obviously, he had expected Azula to continue to be in shock–a shell of herself–and easy to manipulate. He’d let her sit on the throne to receive important visitors, to preside over official ceremonies…but he would hold the real power. And then, as soon as she came of age to dissolve the regency, he’d likely marry her off to one of his supporters, the idea being that she’d be too busy with childbearing to oppose being turned into a figurehead.

Azula intended to prove him wrong. Her first official act as Fire Lord had been to change the lock on the door of Father’s office, so that Iroh had had to go find another room from which to work. Petty, maybe, but satisfying nonetheless. Her second act had been to start forming her own spy network. Ty Lee and Mai would prove invaluable for the latter; no one would suspect a couple of schoolgirls of plotting anything.

(Ty Lee kept worrying about her and asking how she was doing. Mai, as usual, kept any and all feelings to herself. But, no matter how strong the temptation got, Azula could never confide in either of them. That would make them her equals.)

Within a week, Azula had solid evidence that Iroh was holding secret talks with the ultimate goal of ending the war. And he thought everyone would just kiss and make up, and the world would be a perfect place where nothing bad ever happened and everyone would just sit around and drink tea all day? Ha. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remove him from power…not yet, at least. He had too much support for that. What she could do was make his life utterly miserable. Father’s advisors got quite the surprise when she walked into the war room that first time and took her rightful seat on the throne. Regent or not, Iroh still had to bow and otherwise show deference to her in public. And Azula was determined to relentlessly argue every single policy change he proposed until he wished he were dead in Father’s place. Someday, as soon as she was able to rally her own supporters, Uncle would get his wish as he was finally punished for his crimes.

New guards had been selected for her, but she refused to have anything to do with them. There was the possibility that they might turn on her as well, and the certainty that they were reporting back to Uncle. Even the few who had been proven innocent of any involvement in Father’s death had been too trusting of their colleagues. And what about the servants? What if they were plotting things as well? Shiza had taken her children and fled at the first possible opportunity, the bitch. No, this wouldn’t do. Any palace staff that she’d allow anywhere near her would have to undergo a rigorous selection process, run by her and only her.

With all of these pressing concerns, every day seemed like a lifetime to her. Nevertheless, the weeks started passing. Azula made sure that the palace was always ablaze with entertainment. She poured money into the arts like no Fire Lord had done in generations. Erhu and pipa players were stationed in her antechamber all day. She had sleepovers with Mai and Ty Lee and Ruanyu almost nightly, where they binged on sweets and bounced on the mattress of the Fire Lord’s bed until they almost puked. There were lavish garden parties, huge banquets, plays and operas and ceremonial dances. A few foolish people had hinted to her that this might not be the most appropriate course of action in a time of mourning, but she insisted that Father would have wanted it this way. The rest of the court, Uncle included, indulged her. Azula could tell what they were all thinking: Look at our beloved child ruler, so brave after the trauma of witnessing her father’s assassination. Let her have her fun. However, this line of thought was inaccurate in two ways. Firstly, she wasn’t a child, and hadn’t been for some time. Secondly, she didn’t actually enjoy any of it; she just wanted something to occupy her brain, to protect her from her own thoughts.

(The humongous pillows on Father’s…no, her bed were excellent for muffling her sobs at night, once the festivities were over and everything was quiet. She was good at putting up a front for now, but how much longer until that collapsed? How was she supposed to continue like this, without him? She was surrounded by people, yet all alone. It was as if a huge bleeding hole had been ripped into her gut, tearing her internal organs asunder. Would this ever heal? Could it?)

Nearly a month into her reign, Azula was finally crowned. Traditionally, the coronation of a new Fire Lord would occur on the same day as the old one’s funeral. However, Iroh had kept finding reasons to postpone hers. But now he’d run out of excuses, and the Fire Sages assembled at the Coronation Temple for the second time in less than three years. As the surprisingly heavy hairpiece was set into Azula’s topknot, she knelt in the new mantle and robes that had had to be custom-made for her small frame.

“Hail Fire Lord Azula!” the head Fire sage boomed. Azula got to her feet, looking out at the Sages kneeling before her, and then to the crowds of cheering commoners watching from afar.

They all loved her. She felt nothing.

#Azula #Azulaweek2021 #fanfic #short stories about azula

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cluelessgurl · 3 years

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This was requested by the kind @just-my-weirdness-and-i . Hope you like it ! <3

Every way

Pairing- Anakin Skywalker X Female reader Modern AU

Summary- You and Anakin are on your honeymoon, and your previous hen night left some unexpected surprises for the both of you.

Warnings- Slight mentions of some intimate acts, mentions of alcohol (All consensual) :)

Words- 1.5 K

All that needs to be said about your’s and Anakin’s last night of ‘freedom’ is that it was wild. Ahsoka and your friends could not recollect the last part of the night, and Anakin and Obi-Wan seemed far too happy on their arrival home.

After your wedding, which was everything you had ever imagined, you were certain you loved him with every fibre in your body and Anakin knew he’d never live without you. Anakin loved pleasing you, in every way he could, from the way he made you smile, the way he spoke through his low but comforting voice,the way he held you at your weakest moments, the way he proclaimed his love for you like he wasn’t afraid of the world. It all made you feel free, it made you feel deep in love.You and Anakin had been contemplating your lover’s getaway for a long time now, he couldn’t decide as he always wanted what was in your best interest. So, you took it upon yourself to decide for the both of you, Obi-Wan suggested a secluded place away from the hustle and bustle of the city, which interested you. This is how you came to the conclusion that you would retreat to the Maldives.

‘I don’t understand why you don’t like sand Anakin, it’s just sand’ you chuckled ‘Because it’s coarse , rough, irritating and it gets everywhere’ he complained ‘Come on! It will be so much fun and you’ll have me by side, you won’t even notice’ ‘Fine whatever the lady asks for, she gets’ he spoke smiling through his words, ‘You have no idea how much I love you’ ‘Oh no princess, you have no idea what depths I’d go to for you’ Anakin smiled and held you in a warm embrace, holding the back of your head, you lived for his hugs.

The flight there was far too long for your liking, but Anakin seemed content sleeping on your shoulder throughout, watching his favourite movie you’d both watched a thousand times, you kept yourself busy with your nose in a book. Finally, you made it to your hotel in the evening, this hotel was special, it was situated just above the water, barely missing the sand, much to Anakin’s liking. ‘I told you, it won't be so bad Ani’ ‘I never doubted you darling, although let’s go get some dinner before you become a little frustrated let’s just say’ he suggested mischievously ‘You mean before you start to get cranky Ani, it’s never me’ you argued playfully ‘ If you say so’ he smirked whilst he stroked your back, sending gentle shivers down your back. He knew the exact effect he had on your body and mind, he loved the fact that you would still react the same way to his touch, much like the first time he had done so, he loved you with his whole heart, and he knew you felt the same, the wide smile adorned on your face, his wife’s face told him that clearly. ‘Now go ahead, get dressed, I love watching you get ready’ your heart never failed to skip a beat when he spoke to you so comfortingly, it made your insecure mind quieten ‘Alright, as you wish’ you replied as his toothy grin made you chuckle.

Ahsoka had made sure you had taken a ‘risky’ dress as she liked to put it, it was blue, Anakin’s favourite colour, and your body felt comfortable but sultry in it. After you changed,you walked out of the bathroom only to see Anakin in his classic black suit, he looked dashing, almost as good as he did at your wedding.However, he seemed to be fiddling with his tie ‘Ani, let me help you with that darling’ you spoke softly and walked up to him as his eyes locked onto you form. Oh god, she is mesmerising, look at her, she is literally glowing, her beauty is beyond anything I have ever laid my eyes on and she happens to be my wife, I am the luckiest man alive. That dress looks so good on her, hugging her in every right way, all the dips and -Oh she’s fixing my tie, the view from up here is far more tempting than Obi- Wan on the morning of the wedding, scolding me for not being able to do such a ‘simple’ task. All these thoughts, you standing below him, was telling him no, ordering him to take that dress off and caress you in every right way, to worship you. ‘All done, let’s go now I think I am starting to get frustrated, and we're going to miss our reservations if we don’t hurry’ you spoke as you broke his train of thought,Anakin was starting to get frustrated too, just in a different way but he had to compose himself ‘Of course angel, we wouldn’t want that now would we’ ‘No, absolutely not’ you spoke through your red painted lips as you linked your arm into his, Anakin would have to shake his thoughts off as you both set off.

Dinner was exquisite, you and Anakin had the greatest time, chatting and reminiscing about old times and funny moments you two had shared over the years paired with a glass of champagne well, you both had gone through a few glasses. So much so, that you couldn’t help but notice how sculpted Anakin's arms looked through that crisp white shirt now that he had taken the jacket off, or how defined his jaw looked with every word he uttered, his hand wrapped around the champagne glass led your imagination to wild avenues, places they could be wrapped around instead and you certainly noticed how his eyes had darkened ever since he saw you in that dress, you knew him all too well you knew his mind was wandering like yours.

This all led to you being pinned against the door of your room, fumbling to take Anakin’s shirt off ,lips locked, with you both attached to the hip. He was determined to make you understand just how beautiful you are, to listen and tend to every need of your body, to express every way he loved you. Listening to his thoughts from earlier in the evening, he wanted to be the one to take off the dress so,whilst still engaging in the passionate kiss, he wrapped your legs around his waist and set you down gently on the bed. He adorned you with kisses, igniting shivers and small gasps from you, he roamed from your neck to your shoulders, arms, eventually wandering to your legs. He got up in anticipation to take the shoes off your feet, but as he did so he noticed something etched onto the bottom of your foot, he focused as he read out loud ‘Skywalker’, at this point you opened your eyes and sat up to look at Anakin smiling at your foot, feeling quite bizarre you retreated them back up as you spoke with your eyebrows furrowed ‘Huh? Is everything alright? Did you have too much to drink Ani? Do you want to just go to bed darling?’ he chuckled heartily ‘No princess I’m doing just fine, over the moon actually. You seem confused though, maybe you should see this’ your confusion turned into shock as he held up a mirror to reflect the words and as your hands went to cover face in embarrassment; your memories of the last part of your hen night came flooding back.Ahsoka had thought it would be a great idea if you got your beloved’s surname and now yours bear in mind, tattooed, and your highly intoxicated self thought it was a great idea. ‘Oh god, okay just hear me out’ you spoke restlessly as you explained the whole story to him. It had made Anakin laugh full heartedly, as he clutched onto his chest, and lifted your leg up to look at it again a few times. Although, you had not done it level headedly, he adored it, he thought it was very sentimental and only made him feel as though he’d never lose you, it made him feel loved knowing that you shared his surname and were so committed to him that you’d go to such lengths ‘I hope you know, I actually love it. The surname doesn’t only just suit your name Y/N but also looks beautiful carved onto your skin’ he spoke tenderly ‘Really? You really mean that? You asked speaking through your hand that was still covering your face ‘Absolutely angel, your name is etched onto my heart forever and looking at that name, our name makes it even more permanent’ this brought such warmth to your chest, you got up to embrace him and he did not hesitate to reciprocate ‘I love you Anakin’ you mumbled resting on his shoulder, ‘I love you too Y/N, in every way’

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #modern au #reader insert #star wars

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heyyyharry · 4 years

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Chapter 11: Long Live The Queen

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which Y/N tries to prevent a war, and Harry has to move on.

Word count: 6k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

Y/N had thought of all the worst ways this could go wrong. She could be dragged to the throne room for an audience with Her Majesty, before getting locked up in a dungeon. Her father had taught her that the scariest monarchs weren’t always the most ruthless, but often the most naive. Those were the ones who ended up making senseless judgments that would take great dynasties with them to hell. In Y/N’s head, Calanthe was that kind of monarch.

As soon as Y/N crossed the castle portcullis, two royal guards were appointed to escort her to see the Queen. She was treated more like a guest than a wanted subject, which made her fear for what was waiting for her in the throne room. They’d confiscated her sword and dagger the moment she’d unmounted her horse, so if Calanthe’s executioner was waiting behind the door to surprise her with an axe, then all she could do was pray that he would miss. It was a stupid scenario and politically impossible, but she doubted Calanthe knew anything about politics.

“Your Royal Majesty,” the footman announced as the guards open the giant doors, “Princess Y/N of Isolde.”

The throne room was brightly lit by multiple floor-to-ceiling windows on each side, marble pillars holding up the ceiling as it arched high above. Y/N raced through her memories back to the last time she’d been here. She’d been a child running barefoot down this same aisle, up the steps to her uncle’s throne, where he sat with a shiny crown on top of his grey head. He’d let her sit on his lap as they’d listened to music and watched the people dance all around. It had been magical.

This room looked almost the same as the one in her memory, but at the same time, so much different. They had removed all royal gold decorations and replaced them with black curtains to mourn the death of the King. The whole kingdom had to wear black. The whole kingdom except for its new ruler.

The top of the velvet-carpeted stairs was occupied by two thrones; the smaller one was empty as its previous master was now seated in the one for the King. Calanthe, with Edgar’s gold crown on top of her pretty head, was holding a sceptre and wearing a red dress, the full skirt of which was so large it covered half of the throne.

Y/N had heard that Calanthe was beautiful, but standing before Theros’ new Queen, she must say that Calanthe’s beauty was one of a kind. So full of rage, yet so vulnerable. Calanthe didn’t look like a queen; she looked like a sad girl who was forced to wear the crown. After all, Calanthe was just Egon’s age. Harry’s age.

Just the sound of his name in Y/N’s head caused her icy heart to burn. The fire was immediately put out when Calanthe tapped the sceptre on the stone floor. The white-bearded man standing on her right, whom Y/N hadn’t noticed until now, bowed his head as if Calanthe had said something to him, then he turned to Y/N, his frown rather fierce.

“Princess Y/N of Isolde, I suppose you have forgotten courtesy, as you have yet paid respect to Queen Calanthe. After all, you are a guest in Her Majesty’s court.”

“My apology, Your Majesty.” Y/N curtsied despite herself. “I was not aware that I was a guest.”

“How so, Princess?” Calanthe finally spoke, her voice was loud and challenging.

Hands clasped behind her back, shoulders back, Y/N returned the Queen an equally intense gaze. “You have made me a wanted subject and offered a monetary prize for whoever would turn me in. I felt more like an enemy than a guest. But perhaps Theros has conformed with a new kind of hospitality since the King passed away.”

“Insolent girl!” The sceptre hit the floor so loud the sound echoed within these high walls. Calanthe’s beautiful face was taut with anger as she raised her voice, “How dare you stand before a monarch and speak in that tone?”

Y/N balled her fists. “How dare you wear red while the entire kingdom is in mourning?”

She heard the clinking of armours as the guards shifted from their posts, waiting for an order from their queen to take Y/N away. Chin lifted high, Y/N pretended not to know of her offence and stared back at the Queen, as if challenging Calanthe to behead her if she could.

“The dead are dead. The living must go on,” Calanthe said with an expression as cold as ice. “After all, sadness is weakness. I would rather be hated than pitied.”

Y/N almost said that she felt both hatred and pity for the Queen, but she kept that to herself. “Sadness is not weakness,” she said. “Those who accept sadness but not surrender to it are the strongest people in the world.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Princess.” A hidden smile was detected in Calanthe’s mocking tone.

Y/N took a breath and unclenched her fists. “When a man speaks so highly of himself, he’s called brave. When a woman does so, she’s arrogant.” She arched an eyebrow. “As a woman yourself, Your Majesty, you ought to know that.”

The old man – who Y/N believed was the Lord Chancellor – opened his mouth to tell her off, but was interrupted by Calanthe’s raised hand. She gave her sceptre to her footman who accepted it with both hands. Y/N stood still as the Queen rose up to her full height and descended the steps toward Y/N. Calanthe appeared smaller and less intimidating than she had on the throne. She motioned for the guards, the footman, and the Lord Chancellor to leave the two of them alone.

“But Your Majesty…” said the Lord Chancellor, seemingly reluctant as his eyes were fixed on Y/N.

“Don’t worry, my lord,” said the Queen over her shoulder. “She doesn’t have any weapon.”

Y/N flashed a mischievous smile at the old man, meaning to say she didn’t need any weapon to take down the Queen, especially while Calanthe was wearing this ridiculously enormous dress that she could barely move in. The Lord Chancellor frowned ferociously at Y/N but dared not to disobey the Queen’s order.

The doors were shut, and the throne room grew more tranquil than before.

“I know you know I didn’t murder my uncle,” Y/N blurted out, her eyebrows drawn as she watched Calanthe slowly circled around her, eyeing her up and down.

“I don’t know if you’d done it yourself, Princess. But you must have taken part in the murder. After all, the North has been our only enemy for centuries. Even while my dear sister-in-law was still alive, the alliance between our kingdoms felt rather forced.”

Y/N had to refrain herself from rolling her eyes. “The grudge between our houses has nothing to do with my personal feelings for my uncle. I loved him dearly. He was family.”

Calanthe stopped in front of Y/N once again, her fingers laced together resting flat against her stomach. “But your brother had always hated my dear Edgar. Are you telling me you’d betray your brother, your King, for the South?”

“I’m not here to discuss the matter of war–”

“Ah.” Calanthe lifted a finger. “Who said anything about war? Or is that the reason you’re here? To threaten me and declare war if I don’t agree to whatever terms you’re about to offer?”

“Quite the opposite actually,” Y/N calmly replied. “If you accused me of the murder of my uncle, then you’re falling right into Egon’s trap. The North would never start a war with the South for no reason.” I’m that reason, she meant.

“How do I know for sure you weren’t sent here to say these things?” Calanthe stuck up her tiny nose. “For all I know, you could be your brother’s pawn.”

“My brother hates me,” Y/N said with a straight face since it was a fact she’d learned to accept.

Calanthe nodded understandingly, but Y/N knew she had completely misinterpreted Y/N’s intentions. “You ran away with a man, didn’t you? How courtly,” Calanthe said, her lips arched in a ridiculing manner. “With that, I have more reasons to not trust anything you’re saying, Princess.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty–” Y/N’s voice was rough, but Calanthe didn’t let her finish.

“Your brother must have something against you. Perhaps...your lover?” The word stabbed Y/N in the guts, and she believed Calanthe could see it. A smirk stretched the Queen’s dark red lips. “You and your family have so many flaws. The biggest one yet was that you don’t usually use your heart, and when you do, you let it control you.” Calanthe stopped shoulder to shoulder with Y/N, her face so close Y/N could feel the Queen breathing down her neck. “I heard your father died because of a broken heart. Will you die the same way, too? That, I’d love to find out.”

Y/N bit her lip as she clenched her fists, fighting the temptation of yanking Calanthe’s shiny curls and slamming her to the floor.

“I could offer you a deal,” Calanthe said, pulling away. “Be our ally. Tell my court your brother was the one who’d murdered the King, and you’ll be alive to see your lover again. After all, he’s a Southerner, isn’t he? If you’re telling the truth, that your brother hates you, your people probably hate you, too. So you have nothing to hold onto in that rotten kingdom. I take the North, avenge our beloved Edgar, and you’ll finally have the life you want, with someone you truly love.”

A traitorous thought crossed Y/N’s mind, and she almost told Calanthe exactly what Calanthe wanted to hear. But then her mouth clamped shut and she stared at her feet. She would choose Harry above everything else, but if to be with him was to sacrifice the lives of thousands of innocent people, she couldn’t do it. Harry would never let her do it.

“I’d like to refuse that nonsensical offer, Your Majesty.” She wasn’t thinking when she said it with the most condescending tone, but she didn’t regret it. “Unlike you, I cannot accuse anyone of murder without any proof.”

Calanthe gave a mirthless grin. “Then you must not leave my court until the trial and hope we’ll find proof that you didn’t do it. Guards!”

“I’m not your enemy, Your Majesty,” Y/N said as the guards came to take her away. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“Brave of you to tell a queen she’s making a mistake,” Calanthe said over her shoulders and proceeded to ascend the stairs back to her throne. “Escort the princess to her room,” she said, sitting down. “We’ll treat her as a guest until the trial.”

“You don’t hold people hostage before finding proof that they’d committed a crime,” Y/N said when the guards were right behind her, so close she felt the coolness from their armours against her bare arms.

Calanthe looked her directly in the eye, and for one moment, the Queen forgot she was supposed to show no weakness. “Your family murdered mine, you whore,” she hissed, her voice trembling with dark emotions. “You and your brother will pay for the crimes your foolish father had committed.”

Y/N thinned her lips to hold back the curses piling on her tongue, then she let the guards take her away.

“Harry, you need to leave the house,” his sister had said. So he’d listened and left the house.

It’d been a week since he’d lost Y/N and he’d been doing nothing since. He felt numb all over from lying in one place and only getting up whenever he must. He hated this. This whole ‘after her’ bullshit. Sometimes he hated it so much he just wanted to rip his heart out so he wouldn’t have to feel anything again.

He couldn’t even allow himself to think about what she might be doing now, because whenever he started to form a single thought about it, it ended up being bad, terrible, the worst. For all he knew, they might be torturing her. Then he reminded himself that it was better for her to be in Calanthe’s court than in her brother’s. Calanthe wasn’t the best queen, but she wasn’t cruel.

Anyway, tonight, he went out.

There was this tavern that he and Stefan used to visit when they’d been young boys. After the war, he’d come on his own, sometimes with Kenny, and the people there didn’t hate him so that’d be a good start. He mostly fooled the rich, never the poor. So it was better to always surround himself with the ones from the lowest class.

When he’d left his house, he’d brought with him a bottle of ale he’d stolen from the sisters’ cottage, from Mary, after he and she had done the nasty thing he couldn’t even think about without wanting to vomit. He should have been a better person and appreciated every moment he’d had with Y/N. Most of the things he could recall had been awful. Sadly how those were the memories he had to cling to now that she was gone.

Anger and sadness made him bitter and dramatic. Y/N had told him so.

Before stepping into the tavern, he met a lady who’d arrived in a carriage. She looked like one of those rich wives who had too much time and money on their hands, so they went to these poorer areas to discover what it felt like to truly ‘live’.

Well, bad news for you, lady. It’s not all that great. Harry would trade lives with her any day. Rich people like her could be invited to royal balls and such. If possible, he could borrow her looks to get into one of those parties where Y/N might be and watch her from afar, just to make sure she was happy and well.

Anyway, no more Y/N. Not tonight.

He pitied the rich lady, but when she flashed a shy smile at him, he saw an opportunity. Before he knew it, he’d started a conversation with her, lied that he wasn’t from here, just a merchant passing by, and offered to buy her a drink. He hoped to have stripped off all those flashy jewellery on her flawless body in some cheap inn and left before dawn.

As he escorted the stranger into the tavern, Y/N’s ring on his finger sparkled in the candlelight as if reminding him of what she’d said before she’d left, about wanting him to be a better man. He pushed those words to the back of his mind. What was the point of being a better man if it wasn’t for her?

He drank and drank and realized the lady was a better drinker than he’d thought. Most of the ones he’d got involved with in the past would have dragged him to their carriage already. This one had been ranting on and on about how much she hated her husband, and that she’d only married him because her family had wanted her to. Harry poured her some more ale so she would stop talking; if he felt sorry for her, he wouldn’t be able to steal from her.

For a second, in his mind, Y/N had managed to dig her way up and turned into the lady sitting right in front of him. Y/N would look good in these clothes. Because they were more fitting for a princess. Although he bet the dresses she wore were a thousand times more costly and beautiful. He would never get to see her in them.

The lady opened her mouth to speak. And Y/N disappeared.

As the tavern got more and more crowded, the lady paid for the drinks, tapped Harry on the shoulder, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. She said she’d wait for him in her carriage and go wherever he wanted to go next. Watching her strut back to the front door, he could only imagine one place he wanted to go. Home. With his Y/N-scented pillow. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d been pathetically in love with her.

Discontented and a bit woozy, he got up and gulped the ale from the bottle he’d brought. For a reason he couldn’t explain, it tasted better than regular ale. The only thing he didn’t regret about that night with Mary had been drinking this.

“Have you heard? They finally caught that princess.”

A high-pitched voice caught his attention. He whipped around to find a group of fat old men sitting around a small table. Their faces were as red as the drinks in the cups, and they were laughing too loudly, probably too drunk to care about anyone else.

“She killed her uncle,” one said. “I hope they hang her. The bitch will go to hell for her sins.”

“I heard she ran away with a prisoner,” another chimed in. “She must be a dirty little whore who loves poor men’s cocks.”

"Bet she'd suck my cock. I'd fuck her real good."

Blood rose up to Harry's face as he squeezed his fists too tight they were shaking. He was just about to launch himself at them when a small hand locked around his wrist. He turned fast, about to fight, but then the flicker of fear in Kenny’s brown eyes froze him to the spot. He let her tug him through the crowded tavern, his feet following hers without knowing why. The next moment, they were outside the back door. Though the night air chilled his skin, he felt hot from inside. Just like that night with Mary.

What was happening to him? His heartbeat was as loud as thunder. The scenes around him started spinning. He leaned back against the brick wall. The moonlight was too bright, the muffled voices from inside were too loud. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long breath of fresh air to cool his lungs. When he blinked and his sight was clear, he found Kenny staring at him.

“I saw what you were doing in there,” she huffed. “What happened? Where’s Rain?”

His heart stopped at the sound of her name. It wasn’t really her name. Still…

She was what he saw. She was there in front of him. He clutched her shoulders and yanked her into his arms. She seemed startled but didn’t push him away, so he gripped her tighter.

“What’s wrong?” She sounded different, but every single muscle on his body was aching for her, he couldn’t care less.

“Please come home with me,” he said.

“All right,” she agreed, stroking his back. “Everything will be okay, Crow.”

When Harry woke up, he was almost blinded by the light. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to move his aching muscles in order to sit up. It felt like someone was pounding on the back of his head. His skull hurt so badly he wanted to smash it like a pumpkin.

Before he could wonder if this was a dream, reality, or after-death, he saw Gemma sitting on the mattress right beside him, her legs folded, her chin in her hand.

“What happened to me?” he asked, kneading his temples to ease the headache.

Gemma screwed up her face in question. “Don’t you remember anything from last night?”

“I was at a tavern,” he said to his lap.

“You were going to steal from an innocent lady, Harry.”

Though he wasn’t looking at Gemma, he could imagine how sad and disappointed she looked. He remembered it now. Well, most of it. He’d been at a tavern, with a rich lady, and then there were these men, and then…

“I thought you wouldn’t do it again,” Gemma interrupted his thought. “After you got caught–”

“I got caught for saving a woman from evil men who tried to rape her. I never got caught for stealing and cheating,” he snapped. “The rich aren’t innocent, you know. All the money they got was from exploiting people like us.”

When Gemma exhaled sharply into her palm, he expected her to get up and storm out of the room. But then she said, “If Kenny hadn’t shown up, you would have got into a fight, Harry. Someone in that tavern could have died last night.”

Harry felt a chill coursing right through him. “Kenny?”

Gemma nodded, the corners of her lips turned down. “She brought you back here and left right away. You should apologise. She was very mad.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

He wasn’t sure if he did. He didn’t even know what had been a dream and what had been real.

“You said you loved her,” Gemma cried out. “And you called her Peach and that was awful, Harry. You know she still loves you.”

Harry shook his head rapidly. Impossible, he thought. He’d seen Y/N in the flesh. It’d felt so real that he wasn’t sure if it’d been a dream. One moment it’d been Kenny, then the next he’d found himself hugging Y/N.

Just like that night with Mary.

“The ale!” he exclaimed, making Gemma flinch. “It was a love potion. It made me see things. It made me see her. Those...those sisters have...m-magic powers. They’re real witches.”

“Witches?! Heaven’s sakes! What are you–”

“I have to go.”

“Go where?” Gemma shot up to her feet and chased him out of the room. He was about to grab his sword when she jumped right in front of him, arms spread, panting. “You’re not going anywhere, Harry.”

“I have to,” he breathed heavily, holding her shoulders. “I have to...I have to find the sisters. They can save Peach. They saved her once. They’d do it again.”

“Stop!” Gemma shouted, which wasn't like her at all. He stiffened when she crashed into his, her arms tightened around his waist. “I’m not letting you go again, Harry,” she cried into his chest. “I know you don’t care about your life but Ma and I do. If you leave now, chances are you won’t ever come back. The princess chose her destiny and you need to let her go. You’re hurting yourself and all the people who love you.”

“What if I tell you I must go?” he asked, tears stinging his eyes. “I can’t sit here and...and let her suffer on her own.”

“It’s her fate, not yours,” Gemma trembled as she pulled back to meet his eyes. “You have to choose, Harry. Her or us.”

“Gemma, please…”

“Her or us, Harry,” Gemma thundered, her eyes glossy and sharp. He regarded her face for a long moment while a thousand thoughts raced through his mind.

Gemma wasn’t wrong. If he died from trying to help Y/N, it wouldn’t matter to him, but there’d be no one to look after his family. They would be miserable. He’d promised to let Y/N go and be a better man, so would she be happy if he went against her words, even if it was to save her? Of course not. She might even despise him. She didn’t have a family, and he almost abandoned his.

“All right,” he told his sister, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. “I’ll stay. But can you help me with something?”

“Anything, as long as you stay,” she said with a faltering smile.

“Can you find someone to deliver a letter for me? I’ll write to those sisters in the woods and ask for their help. That’s...the least I can do for Peach.”

“I believe Caleb knows someone who can help you,” Gemma said as she placed her hands over his and squeezed. From the look she was giving him, he believed there was something more. “Talk to Kenny, Harry,” she said at last. “If you care for her, she deserves to know how you truly feel.”

“We’ve already had that talk.”

“When you admitted that you were in love with Y/N?”

“I never–She knew anyway. I-I think she knew,” he stuttered.

Gemma pursed her lips, seemingly not so pleased to hear that. “You can’t expect her to just know what’s in your heart without telling her. If you can’t love someone in return, the least you could do was be honest about it. Talk to her, will you?”

Gemma raised her eyebrows pleadingly. So Harry sighed as he gave a nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to her.”

Y/N had been here for a week or more; she wasn’t sure. She only knew she was going insane. The one person she’d interacted with was the maid assigned to clean her and bring her food. This felt like her childhood all over again. At least when her father had ordered to have her locked up, she’d known she’d be free when the time was done.

This morning, after she’d got dressed, the door swung open and it wasn’t the maid who came in. The little footman she’d seen in the throne room cleared his throat as he stopped in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back. “Princess Y/N,” he announced. “You’ve been requested for an audience with Her Royal Majesty, immediately.”

Two possibilities:

1. Calanthe had finally changed her mind.

2. Egon was here.

However, the latter seemed more likely.

From what she’d heard from the guards attending the door, Egon had been on his way to Theros since he’d received the news of their uncle’s death. He must have done it. Somehow he’d created all this chaos and everyone was playing the part he’d assigned for them. Y/N couldn’t think of any way this could get worse than this, but she knew better than to build her hopes up.

“Has the Queen changed her mind?” she asked the little man as the guards escorted them across the courtyard. He didn’t answer and continued walking ahead of her. Watching his tiny head bobbing as he went got on her nerves. She sucked in a breath and raised her voice, “Or is my brother here to see me?”

The man let out a huff but didn’t face her or slow down. “You ask too many questions,” he grumbled. “Just wait until you see Her Majesty.”

“Why can’t you tell me now? What’s with this dramatic suspense anyway?”

When he finally slowed down and looked at her over his shoulder, it was to shoot her a disapproving glare. If it weren’t for these giants in armours stalking behind them, she would grab his tiny head and bang it against the wall. It was weird how this was the normal way the members of the gentry treated people below them (she was certainly not below him, but Southerners had always looked down on her people), yet she hadn’t noticed it before because she hadn’t met kind people like Harry and his family.

His face flashed through her mind and vanished the moment they entered a long corridor leading to the throne room. They passed a group of men dressed in all black. They might be the Queen’s courtiers. Why were they wearing those mysterious black cloaks with giant hoods that covered their faces? And where had she met them before?

In a matter of seconds, when they crossed paths, one of them lifted his head to gaze straight into her eyes. She nearly gasped out loud as she snapped her head back to watch him walk away. Those scars on his mad face. She’d only got a glimpse of it, but she knew she was the one who’d left those marks. And he was the one who’d attacked her.

She lurched forward in the opposite direction, but the guards caught her arms and twisted them behind her back to drag her toward the throne room. She tried to break free but they were much stronger, it was no use. She would have managed to escape and catch up with those men if she had her sword.

Why were they in Calanthe’s court?

Had one of them murdered her uncle?

Could Calanthe be the one behind all this? What were her motives anyway? Revenge wasn’t worth committing this gruesome crime. Especially when uncle Edgar had saved her life and loved her unconditionally.

“Your Royal Majesty, Princess Y/N is here.”

Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore.

“Go in there and don’t forget to show courtesy,” the man told Y/N as she shrugged the guards away and straightened her sleeves.

This time, she scowled at him. “I never forget. I'd only return courtesy once I receive it.” Then she ignored the startlement on his face and entered the room.

“Dear sister!” Oh fuck. “You’re safe!” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Egon’s arms closed around her, hard. His hugs were the most unpleasant; it always felt like he wanted to strangle her. She believed he might actually do that once they got out of here. Right now, he had to play his part.

He released her from his grip after what seemed like forever, then grabbed her face and swept his eyes down her body with a look of pity. She knew he felt nothing from deep inside. He could mimic human’s emotions but he couldn’t feel them. She’d heard her maids joke that when he bled, his blood turned to ice. It wasn’t until now that she believed it.

Thud Thud Thud

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the sound of Calanthe’s sceptre hitting the floor. The Queen must have seen that reaction but didn’t make any remark about it.

“Lovely,” she said wryly. “However, I believe we weren’t done with our...discussion.”

“Oh, we were.” Egon smiled at the Queen, whose face was taut with rage.

It was only now that Y/N surveyed the room and saw no more than five Northern soldiers. Egon always travelled with at least ten. Maybe he wanted to show that he’d come in peace, which was far from the truth.

“I’m taking my sister home,” he asserted.

“And I cannot stop you,” said Calanthe from her throne. “I just want to make sure that you do realize what it would cost you and your people. In my court, people don’t just come and go as they please.”

“She’s not one of your subjects, Calanthe. She’s the princess of Isolde,” Egon said as he tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N’s face. “Soon to be Queen of Attwell.”

“What?” Y/N mumbled as her heart jumped. Murmurs from the courtiers got her ears buzzing but couldn’t take her attention away from her brother, who smiled devilishly at her. She should have seen this coming.

“I beg your pardon?” Calanthe asked. For the first time, Y/N had to agree.

“She’s going to marry Kavan Gennady, Prince of Attwell,” Egon announced to the whole court. The whisperings grew louder.

“Didn’t she run away with a prisoner?” Calanthe mocked, and everyone started talking on top of each other. The Queen slammed her sceptre on the ground and the room fell to silence once again.

Y/N knew Calanthe had said that to shame her, but she was glad someone had reminded Egon of what she’d done. Maybe he’d reconsider his decision to marry her off to Kavan Gennady.

“After our investigation, it turned out that she was kidnapped.”

Everyone gasped at the same time.

“Were you?” Calanthe’s gaze jumped to Y/N, who hadn’t got a chance to answer when Egon interjected.

“Anyway, my sister’s marriage is none of your concern, Calanthe.”

Calanthe grimaced. “She’s a murder suspect and you’re about to take her from my court before the trial.”

“If she’s a murder suspect, show us all the evidence.”

“There shall be evidence presented at the trial.”

“So there’s no evidence,” Egon proclaimed, spreading his arm as he spun around like he’d just performed a magic trick in front of Calanthe’s court. The audience was awfully quiet. All eyes focused on their new Queen, who was unable to hide her distress.

“If you leave my court now–”

“There shall be a war,” Egon challenged with his nose stuck up. “I think I’m more aware of how politics work. No offence.”

Calanthe slammed her sceptre once again and jumped to her feet. “How dare you say that to a queen?”

“Because I’m a king, Calanthe,” Egon said, his expression stone cold. “And when I’m here, I’m not bound by your rules. Neither is my sister.”

“Are you challenging me?”

Egon gave her question a dismissive wave. “My presence in your court is already a challenge, my dear. I’m taking Y/N with me whether you like it or not. And you and I shall meet again on the battlefield. Ifyou’re going to be there, of course.”

The Lord Chancellor leaned in to whisper something in the Queen’s ear. Nodding her head, she sucked in a breath as anger coloured her face. Soon she was almost as red as the colour of her dress. “We shall,” she agreed. “Your heads will look so good on my curtain wall.”

“Don’t flatter me. Red looks better on you, Calanthe,” Egon said and motioned for his soldiers to escort Y/N out of the room. Y/N shot an apologetic glance at Calanthe before she left, and in that moment, she saw fear crossing the Queen’s tiny face.

As soon as they stepped into the courtyard, Egon smacked Y/N across the face and sent her straight to the ground. She winced, cupping her cheek which burnt after the slap, but she didn’t get up until two of his men hauled her up by the arms.

Egon brushed her hair out of her face and pinched her cheeks hard. “Did you really think you could escape me, you stupid bitch?”

She breathed harshly through her nose, holding his aggressive stare. “Please, Egon,” she muttered. “Don’t do this. Thousands of people will die. Women and children–You might die!”

He tossed his head back and burst out laughing as if she’d just told a joke. “The other kingdoms have turned their backs to Theros,” he said, his face scrunched up again. “Do you really think they would respect a woman as a ruler? Don’t be stupid, dear sister. Just look at the faces in that room. They could not wait to witness her defeat. Most of them might even surrender before we attack this castle. So no, I’m not afraid of death. Death should be afraid of me.”

Y/N tried to turn her face away, but her arms were restricted and Egon was pinching her cheeks so hard her jaw began to ache.

“You see, this is why women don’t rule,” he said through his gritted teeth. “They let their feelings guide the way, let their hearts make decisions. You, just like her, are only a pawn.”

“No,” she managed to speak.

“No?” He squeezed even tighter as if he wanted to pluck her jaw out of her head. “Oh, right. You’re not a pawn, are you? You’re going to be a queen.” His brows drew together as he bared his white teeth like a predator, his hot breath fanning her face, his eyes going dark. “Long live the Queen.”

#tctm series

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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One Day - Part 10

A/N: Dear magical tumblr friends, we’ve reached part 10. I’m sorry if it’s not that good. I was really excited to write it, but today I had to do a bunch of things for my graduate applications and it was just hectic. Still, it is Draco Malfoy’s birthday and I didn’t want to let the day pass without uploading a big, nice chapter. I hope you like it either way.

Also, before we start, I feel the need to express my utter love for Theo Nott and Astoria Greengrass lol. I don’t hate them. In fact, if anyone wants to recommend some Theo Nott fanfiction, I’m all for it.

Let’s do this!

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1921 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist

Enjoy!

3 May, 2009

“What is this?” Draco asked in awe, motioning to (Y/N)’s hair.

“It’s my take on the French bob,” she answered playfully.

Every time he saw her, Draco found (Y/N) more beautiful than before. This time, though, he swore she was actually glowing. She had gotten a haircut and now her locks framed her face differently. She dressed so…French now, which he found adorable and incredibly sexy. And her smile was bigger and brighter than he had seen in years. In general, this version of his best friend made him feel like a teenager again.

Draco had been postponing this trip for weeks now. They had not addressed the issue yet, (when had they ever?) but everyone knew that the moment one of them reached out for the other, things would finally be settled. Their friends were tired of seeing them clumsily stumble through their feelings. That’s why Astoria took Scorpius to the Nott’s chalet on the Swiss Alps and practically forced him onto a train to Paris.

Astoria and Draco were not exactly the closest friends, but they had a son together and for his sake they maintained a more than civil relationship. She had settled down with Theo Nott, marrying him just after the divorce was finalized. They were happy together and she wanted his son’s father to move on as well. She was not only moved by a sense of guilt; deep down, Astoria had always known that the connection Draco and (Y/N) had was deeper than she would ever comprehend.

Whatever the case, the feeling of elation that washed over him as they held each other at Gare du Nord made him grateful for being alive again. He had butterflies in his stomach and a tingling all around. As if their bodies were connected, (Y/N) could also feel something electrifying. They hugged for the longest time, as if they weren’t in a crowded station with people rushing around.

(Y/N) and Draco walked arm in arm to her apartment in Montmartre. He still had a lot of questions about muggles, so she enjoyed pointing things out for him as they strolled. He had been to Paris countless times in his childhood and even once with Astoria, but this felt different. Walking with (Y/N), listening as she told him about the things she did every day, the places she frequented and the muggle history behind them felt like a dream come true. (Y/N) was very excited about taking him to a bunch of places and she numbered cheerfully all of the activities she had planned for them. Draco wished he could live in this moment forever.

“So, you’ve been consistently on the Prophet’s Best Seller list for almost a year and now you’ve won the Beedle the Bard literary prize. Don’t you dare to forget about your commoner friends, (Y/L/N),” he teased.

“You’re hardly a commoner, Healer Malefoy,” she taunted back, using the French translation of his last name.

Draco rolled his eyes playfully. “But really, you’re conquering the world one book at a time and I cannot be prouder…of myself for still having your original poetry saved somewhere at home.”

(Y/N) snickered. “I guess magical readers like the flavour of muggle literature. ‘That Kafka fellow? An absolute genius’,” as she quoted him playfully, Draco’s heart flipped.

When they reached the apartment, Draco observed everything in astonishment. Each little detail around the house embodied her. From the towers of books that flooded the flat to the position of the sofa by the fireplace, the rickety spiral staircase leading to the second floor, the creamy colours of the walls, the muggle paintings – she would later call them ‘impressionist’ –, the huge windowpanes and the mismatched yet harmonious furniture, it was all her. Draco had never seen a place represent a person so well. Even more surprising was the feeling that invaded him as soon as he set foot inside; he sensed that he had finally arrived home. He was Odysseus returning to his beloved Ithaca and he never wanted to set sail again.

They goofed around for a while, talking nonsense as they drank some very expensive wine. They danced around the room, enjoying the different layers to muggle music. Lately, (Y/N) had got then both hooked on muggle jazz. Draco relished greatly how the music seemed to pierce through them as they swayed around the room.

As the sunset painted the sky with colourful swirls, Draco stood by the window, observing the rooftops, the quaint streets and the Eiffel tower at a distance. (Y/N) took in his form. He looked much better. He stood taller; his shoulders no longer sagged forward in defeat. The bags under his eyes were practically gone. She could tell he was eating more. And he seemed generally happier. It made her smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere tonight?” she asked softly, walking towards him.

He turned to face her and nodded vehemently. He knew what he wanted to do. But it was only about an hour later, when they were cuddling in her bed, that he delved slowly into the much-awaited conversation.

Draco’s head laid on (Y/N)’s stomach. He was facing her way, eyes closed as her fingers worked their magic on his scalp. He was thinking about the right way to say it. And it all started off clumsily.

“So, Olivier Flamel, huh?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

For a while, (Y/N) had dated Olivier Flamel, a descendant of the one and only Nicholas Flamel, who, not coincidentally at all, was also a big-shot alchemist. It had ended like most of her relationships and flings in the last few years: casually, easily, no real pain for either part involved because they hadn’t been really that involved.

“Do I have to hex him?” Draco asked seriously.

(Y/N) snorted. “Ron asked me just the same,” she explained when he shot her an amused look, “And of course not, Dray. Olivier is an amazing guy. There was a lot of chemistry between us and we had a very passionate affair. But ultimately, we were just so different.”

Draco was invaded by a horrible feeling of envy when she talked about their amazing chemistry, but he did his best not to show it, to be rational and kind.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, even though he already knew. He needed the confirmation that still didn’t have feelings for him.

“You know it’s fine,” she shrugged, “I guess I’m just shook. For a while there I was half of the ‘it’ couple of the French wizarding jet set. It was a wild ride. Way too much to handle”.

Her cheeky smile then turned into a more concerned gesture. “How are you holding up?”

To say that (Y/N) had been surprised by Draco and Astoria’s divorce was the understatement of the century. The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to see Draco suffer like that ever again. It had made her physically sick, to see him in so broken. She had been there through every stage of his grief. She helped him move back to Malfoy Manor. She took care of Scorpius on the days in which he couldn’t get out of bed. She cried with him. She got drunk with him. She was the big spoon. And through it all, (Y/N) only real target was to help Draco’s heart heal.

“I’m alright now. In hindsight I guess I am not surprised, you know? Our relationship was doomed since the beginning. The most important thing to me is Scorpius and I believe we’re handling it well, the share custody and all. He’s a happy boy.”

(Y/N) kept caressing Draco’s hair. There was a painfully long silence. The feeling of repressed words and feelings clouded the air. They had kissed a couple of times before. Once they had a very heated make out session that almost leads to them shagging. But they hadn’t talked about it. Every time it happened, they would just ignore it and carry on, as if they were not both elated by it. (Y/N) had spent countless nights telling herself that she wouldn’t kiss him again; she didn’t want to be Draco’s rebound.

“We totally suck at this love thing, don’t we?” (Y/N) finally said.

Draco’s heart was beating hard on his chest. It was now or never. “I don’t think we suck at this ‘love thing’,” he pointed out, raising up to face her, “I think we have ignored the right person to do the love thing with”.

(Y/N) regarded him seriously for a second. This is really not how she thought the infamous conversation would go. She was braising herself for yet another disappointment. And now here he was, saying the things she had wanted for so long. A lot of mixed messages were bouncing in her mind.

“You mean us? Together?” (Y/N) sat up, “Dray, don’t you think that boat sailed about a decade ago?”

Draco’s smile fell. He was certainly not expecting that. All of a sudden, he felt an emptiness in his stomach and an urgent need to cry. “D-do you really think so?”

“The timing is never right,” she breathed out.

“Look at us now, love. The timing is perfect,” he said before kissing both of her cheeks.

(Y/N)’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want to be your rebound, Dray,” she softly.

Draco looked at her, his expression softening. “I’ve been in love with you for the longest time, (Y/N). I pushed you away, convinced that I was doing the ultimate sacrifice for you. I wanted to save you from, well, me. You deserved better. You still do”, he heard her scoff, “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

They looked at each other intently. “Now,” he said dramatically, “I’ve come all this way to confess my undying love for you…”

“Idiot,” she muttered playfully, the widest and most genuine smile plastered on her face. He inched forward and kissed her face again: her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. (Y/N) felt like she was floating on a cloud.

“I want to be yours, (Y/N). I want you to be mine,” he whispered in her ear, before kissing her on that soft spot he knew made her breathing hitch.

“Draco, I swear if you hurt me, if you use me as a rebound, I swear to Circe I’m going to hex you and never talk to –“

He shook his head. “I will never hurt you, (Y/N/N). I am in love with you.”

“I’ve always been yours, Dray,” she said, softly.

“As I’ve always been yours,” he answered.

They looked at each other then, eyes full of adoration. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes quickly set on her lips before meeting her gaze again. (Y/N) pressed her lips to his. It was, by no means, the first time Draco and (Y/N) kissed. It was, though, the best one they had shared to date. It started sweet and loving, but its intensity raised as the minutes went by. Their feelings let loose, pressing themselves unfiltered with each caress.

“I love you, Draco,” she said breathlessly.

He pressed (Y/N) to his chest, kissing the top of her head multiple times.

“Say that you love me again,” he almost pleaded, his voice small and a bit ashamed. Draco couldn’t believe his ears and he wanted every confirmation he could possibly get.

“I love you, Dray,” she said, pecking his lips, “I love you.”

tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23 @winnsmills @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx @animelover09556 @hopplessdreamer

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raendown · 4 years

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For the @madatobiweek prompts generation swap au and fairytale au.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 9590 Rated: T+ Summary: Tobirama doesn't have much in life, just a younger brother to protect and a job that doesn't pay enough to feed them. He knows that hunting in the king's forest is forbidden but for Hashirama he would risk everything. In the forest he finds meat to put on the table for the last living member of his family.

And in the forest he finds a tower, a boy imprisoned, and a future he could have never dreamed of.

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I Never Asked For My Pedestal

If one asked the local authorities they would say that Tobirama had no good intentions in the forest that day. Hunting in the royal forests was expressly forbidden, an edict passed with no explanation only a year or two after Tobirama was born, but for the families as poor as his there was often little choice but to take that risk. It was the thought of seeing his younger brother going hungry that drove him in to the trees week after week in search of a meal he could not legally afford on his own.

Once Tobirama had been the third son of four, had reveled in the guiding love of his older siblings, happily joined in the doting when another was born and he wasn’t the youngest anymore. Then sickness had swept through their village and while the lords and ladies locked themselves away safely in the castle Kawarama and Itama, his two beloved elder siblings, took themselves away to die quietly in the forest where they would not infect the others. And from that day Tobirama was left with nothing but his own two hands to work and feed his baby brother Hashirama.

Like so many other days in the years since they had been alone, Tobirama’s job working for one of the local farmers couldn’t quite pay enough to feed them both. Hashirama, wonderful smiling Hashirama, was an innocent young lad who lived with his head constantly lost in daydreams and greeted his brother at the end of each day with a hug and a hundred questions. Were they situated anywhere else he would have been forced to find work himself no matter Tobirama’s urges to baby him but with the forest behind them and the guards growing lax in their patrols it had become almost routine to find dinner through other means.

Not, of course, that such conditions had ever convinced him to grow inattentive himself.

Tobirama was only moments from loosing an arrow to take down a buck which would have kept them well fed for several weeks when he heard the sound of hooves. He cursed himself for a fool as he lowered his arms and cast about for somewhere to take cover. It made sense to hunt in a different place each time he came here. Even a skilled woodsman like himself left some traces of his passing and traversing the same paths over and over could only make it easier for someone to catch him in his lawbreaking. But he should have known better than to come here so far beyond the woods and fields that he’d spent the last decade mapping out in his mind. This area was largely unknown to him. Promises of new and unsuspecting game had drawn him farther from home; now he was paying the price for answering that siren call as he realized that he’d forgotten in his hunger to scout an escape route first.

Desperate for any way to return safely to his brother at the end of the day, Tobirama leapt for the first place he saw that looked as though it could conceal his over-average height. The boulder was tall, if not very wide, and the small pocket of space behind it could really only be seen if one walked right up to the cliff it sat at the base of. With his heart in his throat he threw himself behind the rock.

He was immediately forced to bite his tongue to keep from crying out in surprise when he fell through the screen of ivy he’d thought was covering solid stone.

As soon as he figured out which way was up Tobirama did what he could to resettle the ivy so it hung still, less evidence of his presence. Then he turned to stare down the cavernous emptiness of what looked to be a passageway carved through the mountain. Since there really were only two options, forwards or back out in to the open, he hurried on in to the darkness. It wasn’t entirely dark, actually, some kind of light was clear at the other end, but with the ivy blocking out any light from this end made the passageway feel twice as long as he was forced to feel each step out before setting his weight down. Even using such caution he nearly rolled his ankle several times.

By the time he reached the other end Tobirama was close to cursing out loud. His eyes had only just finished adjusting to the darkness when he finally stepped out in to the light again, squinting with his chin tucked down to make the readjustment easier. When it felt less like tiny knives digging in to his eyeballs he gave a few experimental blinks then raised his chin.

Only to drop his jaw and let it hang loose as he took in the sight before him.

What he had taken as a pathway underneath the mountain was in fact the entrance to a hidden oasis in the very center, a field hidden on all sides by the cliff that Tobirama had always believed to be just one solid peak. Crystal blue water sparkled in a small lake, untouched grass grew lush and green, yet all he could see was the massive white stone tower that rose from the very center of the clearing. So tall it would have been visible from the outside with only a few more feet, the structure was made entirely of pale granulite and stood alone with no other buildings nearby. At the base he could see where there had once been an entrance but it had since filled in with stones and boulders. Who, he wondered, would build such a graceful monument to loneliness only to seal it up in such a manner?

He very much intended to find out. The bricks were pretty but their cut looked rough and uneven, perfect for a man in good fitness to scale his way to the top. He had only just shifted his weight to step forward when movement caught his attention and sent him scrambling back in to the safety of the dark passage.

Not a moment too soon, it turned out. As he watched, a woman stood from where she had been crouched next to the lake, hair white as his own and a sweeping robe to match blending in with the shine of sunlight on water. Her face was severe enough to make him grateful he hadn’t accidentally caught her attention but instead was able to observe from afar the way she floated across the field and stopped at the base of the white tower. There she tilted her head back to look up at the very top.

“Madara,” she called, a melodic voice that for some reason turned his stomach. “Let down your hair.”

Before he could wonder what the hell that even meant Tobirama bore witness to the single most baffling sight he had ever seen. A face came to the window high up in the sealed tower, man or woman he couldn’t tell from this distance, and struggled to lift something over the wooden sill. Then coil upon coil of hair the color of the darkest night came spilling down, down, down until the very end of the impossibly massive braid jerked to the end of its length just an inch or so before it would have brushed the ground. Seemingly unimpressed with this incredible phenomenon, the woman took hold of the braid with both hands and called out above once more. Then she was rising in to the sky as ostensibly whoever had thrown her the pseudo rope was now reeling it all back up as well with her weight added on.

Tobirama waited but neither the woman nor the other figure appeared at the window again and before long he realized that he didn’t truly want either of them to catch him there where he was so clearly not supposed to be. And besides that he had a brother waiting at home with an empty belly. None of this was any of his business. With one last long glance at this new mystery Tobirama told himself to forget what he had seen and turned to head back in to the forest, hoping against hope that whoever had sent him scurrying in to the unknown had moved on as well.

He did what he could to put the oasis and its wonders out of his mind in the days that followed. Seeing the light in his brother’s eyes when he came home with the deer he’d finally managed to take down was enough to keep him content for a day or so but the morning beyond that he found his thoughts wandering. Who was that at the top of the tower? How did they come to be in such a place? With the bottom sealed up it was obvious that the figure with such fantastically long hair would have no way down. Tobirama couldn’t help but wonder if they had chosen to shut themselves away from the world or if that sickeningly beautiful face were perhaps more sinister even than he’d first imagined.

There was only one way to find out.

For nearly a week he managed to resist before the pull of the unknown drew him in just the same as the thick tomes he studied in the public library whenever he had a chance. Strictly speaking it would be at least a few more weeks until he needed to hunt again; after salting and curing most of the prime cuts they could rely on venison whenever there wasn’t money for other foods. But the mountains in the distance called to him, whispering the secrets that only he knew of, and Tobirama could only resist for so long before he found himself asking Hashirama to be safe while he was gone and heading in to the trees once more.

It felt strange to traverse these fields and forests with no bow upon his back, although he supposed that it was nice not to worry for once about leaving tracks. There was nothing illegal about walking in the King’s woods. Without the need for his usual caution he was able to make the journey in about half the time it might have taken him on any other day, the sun barely at its zenith by the time he crested a small hill and began to look around for the sheet of vine concealing the entrance he’d fallen through before.

Were he any less alert his future might have gone very differently from that moment – or perhaps been deleted entirely. Only his sharp reflexes sent him whirling behind the closest tree when he spotted a flash of white from the corner of one eye. He was out of sight not a moment too soon as the woman he had seen calling up to the tower emerged from the hidden passageway and set off through the forest with a rather annoyed looking expression. In one hand she carried an empty basket that Tobirama would have bet his last penny she intended to fill by either foraging through the woods or making the journey in to the village. Whatever the case, she would likely be gone for several hours.

Oh how the fates had smiled upon him. Now was the perfect time to sate his curiosity. Feeling almost gleeful for his good luck, Tobirama forced himself to remain still for several minutes past when the woman was out of sight just to be sure and then dashed towards the ivy. In his enthusiasm he very nearly forgot to step carefully along the dark uneven ground but there was at least no one around to watch him wobble and stumble as he hurried along until finally he was stepping back in to the bright midday sun. Somehow the massive white tower was only more impressive at a second glance yet he wasted very little time in admiration, moving forwards until he had reached the base where stones and mortar sealed what would have been the easiest way in. After a quick circuit around the whole thing he concluded that his first guess had been correct. He would have to climb.

Luckily he had come prepared for just such an activity. He stomped both feet to settle them in his sturdiest shoes and shook his hands out to loosen the muscles, wary of a cramp at just the wrong time. Then he paused the moment he laid his hands on the rough hewn bricks. Head tilting back, eyes squinting above, Tobirama considered the call he had heard before.

There was no one here, he reasoned with himself again. If he looked a fool then there was no one to carry the tale of it. With that in mind he cleared his throat and firmly reminded his voice that now was not the time for nervous cracks.

“Madara,” he called loudly in a false soprano, “let down your hair!”

Even as he winced at how terrible his impression had been there came a movement at the window above. Then suddenly coil upon coil of midnight hair came tumbling down towards him only to snap taut just before the ground. For a moment he could only stare. It was hard to believe that had actually worked. Then he paused a moment longer to wonder if his weight might hurt the scalp on the other end of this incredible length. Only when the pseudo rope gave an impatient ripple did he suck in a deep breath, reach out with both hands, and begin to scale the tower at a much quicker pace than he’d been expecting to.

With his feet walking up the side to keep him straight and arms strong from years of hard labor Tobirama was scrambling over a wooden windowsill almost in no time, taking in the petulant figure several feet away, hair anchored and knotted around a hook so as not to pull on his head and arms crossed over his chest while he pouted towards the floor.

“You sound like you swallowed a frog,” the man growled. “What’s the matter, hit yourself with one of your own curses, witch?”

Tobirama could only stare, unsure of what to say. In a word the man was gorgeous. Skin china pale without the sun’s rays, broad shoulders thick with muscles from dragging around the weight of so much hair, and a face with almost delicate features that still somehow screamed of masculinity. He was a masterpiece. When his pout deepened the expression only served to make him look more adorable in the sort of way that made Tobirama’s heart flutter traitorously in his chest.

“Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it finally shriveled up and fell out from all the acid lies you spit.”

Such antagonism could only mean that his residence here was not a happy one, though it still remained to be seen whether or not he was being held against his will. Clearly he wasn’t the biggest fan of the woman he was expecting to come up to him.

“Real mature, giving me the silent treatment. Didn’t you just leave? Thought I’d have the whole afternoon without your evil stench. I hope you didn’t come all the way back up just because you forgot something, I could have thrown it down. At your head.” With a snort and a faintly vicious smirk as he presumably imagined throwing something at the woman’s head, at last the strange man looked up – then gasped and attempted to reel backwards with fright in his eyes. “Who–!?” Before he could even finish his startled exclamation the anchored hair jerked him to a stop and he froze in place, trembling from head to toe.

“I apologize, I did not mean to frighten you,” Tobirama murmured. His voice, if possible, seemed to startle the man even further.

“You’re not the witch! You’re…like me. A boy!”

Considering he was well in to his second decade Tobirama gave some thought to correcting that. He was a man, not so much of a boy anymore. Now was hardly the time for semantics, though, so he let that go in favor of inching a single step forward just to test the waters. When the other man trembled again he angled his body to make it as clear as possible that he was heading towards the hook built in to the floor.

“My name is Tobirama,” he said as non-threateningly as he could. “What’s yours?” He already knew that, of course, obvious from the words that gained him entry to this tower. It was just polite to ask really.

“None of your business!”

“I see.” He hadn’t really expected politeness in return.

The closer he got the more worried the man looked until with carefully projected movements he bent down and freed the massive braid from the hook trapping its owner in place. As soon as he was free the man scrambled backwards, though Tobirama noted that the worry was colored now with a sort of curiosity he knew all too well.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Tobirama admitted truthfully. “I stumbled upon this place a few days ago and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There was a woman – is that the one you call a witch? – she called for you to let down your hair and I wanted to know what sort of person could have such impossible locks. They’re impressive. What’s your name? You know mine, it’s only polite to share.”

For a moment the man hesitated. Then he asked very quietly, “Is it? I wouldn’t know. Will you do anything bad with my name?”

“Anything bad?” Tobirama repeated, baffled.

“Well I don’t know! I’ve never met anyone else before!”

“Never!?”

Sticking out his bottom lip in another pout only brought this fascinating stranger back to be cute. “I’ve spent my whole life here in the tower. Well, I suppose I wasn’t born here. That old hag certainly isn’t my mother but she did explain to me once how babies are made so I suppose I must have been somewhere else once.” He considered his very first visitor with deep gravity. “My name is Madara.”

It was a good name, strong, the sort of name that wouldn’t be common in the lower classes. For whatever reason it sounded almost familiar but Tobirama couldn’t quite put his finger on why and he was hardly going to waste his time digging through memories just now. Trying to remember the manners classes he’d taken as a youth from a friendly neighbor, a poor imitation of the gentrification proper noblemen were raised with just in case he somehow encountered one of the royal family, he tucked in one arm and spread the other wide in a clumsy bow.

“Your acquaintance is my pleasure to make,” he said. The words felt too large and fancy in his mouth and halfway through the sentence he realized he’d said it all wrong. Madara didn’t seem to mind.

“What now?”

“How do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to know who was up here and now you do. So what will you do next?” The straightening of his spine spelled confidence but the way he reached out to take a solid grip on his heavy braid just in case was more obvious than he probably thought. Someone who spent all their time away from other people probably hadn’t had many lessons in being sneaky.

For the first time Tobirama allowed his eyes to slide away from the figure he’d gone to so much effort to meet, gazing around the room to take in all he could. Basic furniture and sparse entertainment options made the place look even more like a prison than the sealed exit at the bottom. He noted there seemed to be no exit from here either. However one was meant to travel down the tower when it was built, the way appeared to have been cleverly hidden from view now. For Madara there truly was no way out. He could have climbed his own hair, of course, but doing so would have left him stranded at the bottom with no one to unhook him from the anchor.

All of this combined with the way he spoke of ‘the witch’ left Tobirama with only one choice, a stupid choice, a choice that would surely put him in to danger.

“I could take you away from here,” he said. Phrasing it like a suggestion felt safer for the psyche of a man who had never left his prison but in his heart he knew that he couldn’t leave Madara to his fate, not now that he knew of the situation. Stolen away as a child so young he remembered nothing but the tower that caged him? It might not be Tobirama’s responsibility but he would never sleep again if he walked away now.

Clearly Madara was not well versed in the art of kindness judging by the startled look on his face. Not a big surprise there.

“A-away?” he asked.

“You’re clearly not here of your own free will. I intend to come back and, if you wish, free you from this place.”

“Free…” Brows furrowed, Madara worried at the loops of his makeshift weapon. “Isn’t it…isn’t it terribly dangerous outside of the tower? When I was young I used to plan how I would run away from here but I never did – and lucky for that! The world is so dangerous! All of my books have stories to tell about bandits and people with bad magic; there’s just too many people who would try to steal me away!”

Tobirama cocked his head to the side. “I assume you believe they would steal you for the same reason the witch keeps you here, whatever that may be?”

He almost regretted his words immediately as Madara's eyes narrowed in suspicion. It only became obvious that the man had slowly begun to relax when he tensed up again at the idea of giving away what must be some sort of secret. Knowing he needed to tread carefully if he wanted to build any sort of trust, Tobirama very carefully did not react to that expression and did his best to give the impression he wasn’t interested himself in this secret.

“I believe I can keep you safe from anyone who might want to hurt you,” he declared instead. He might not have been the most refined peasant but his skill with a blade could rival that of the royal guards themselves. Or so he’d been told him once by an uncle who served in the palace until an injury left him unable to carry the buckets for cleaning or fetch the arrows for lords too lazy to walk across a field and fetch their own. Unless they encountered a magician of some sort he truly was confident he could protect this man. And since the only magician he’d ever seen round these parts was the wizened old woman who performed tricks for the court the odds felt pretty low on that happening.

“What’s it like?” Madara asked. “The world?”

“Very big. Full of different things. Scary at times but if you use your head you can usually think your way out of things.” That was how he’d gotten through life, anyway.

“That sounds terrifying and wonderful all at once.”

Clearly he was considering it but it was just as clear from the wary hesitation in his eyes that Madara had no intentions of following through on the offer. After spending his entire life locked in the same tiny space Tobirama couldn’t really blame him for that, either. He would have been frustrated if he hadn’t already expected that answer, planning ahead in his mind for when he could make the trip out here again.

“I can ask as many times as it takes for you to be brave,” he promised.

A promise rashly made but it was one that he kept. Though he could not stay for long that day Tobirama was in the woods and calling for Madara to let down his hair only a few days after. Hashirama, the understanding brother that he was, simply waved from the doorway and told him to enjoy whichever adventure had captured his attention so.

Their visits were all quite the same at first. Before he left the first time Tobirama instructed Madara to hang something in the window whenever the witch was gone so he would know it was safe to call up. Each time he scaled the tower and crawled over the sill Tobirama then happily spent however many hours he could spare answering all of Madara's questions about the outside world, asking his own questions in turn about life here alone. He was pleasantly surprised to know that his new friend had been provided books on mathematics and spent quite a lot of his time rereading the few novels he was allowed to have. Stifled as it was by isolation, it was obvious Madara possessed a mind just waiting to flourish.

Watching confidence grow in his friend week by week was a special sort of joy that Tobirama would almost liken to how it had felt to raise Hashirama on his own – except he’d never been struck by the beauty of Hashirama's face in a beam of sunlight or listened rapturously to the rolling timber of his brother’s voice.

Falling in love was, perhaps, not of his smartest ideas. Of all the people he might have taken an interest in Madara was the most dangerous. Not because he thought the younger man could hurt him but because at the moment he was the only person who had ever been kind to Madara and it would only be too easy for such affections to be misplaced. The last thing he wanted would be to take advantage of someone who had put so much trust in him.

With caution in mind Tobirama came back to Madara knowing that he himself was growing only more and more attached with each visit yet also knowing that he could not in good conscience abandon anyone stuck in this situation no matter how it all ended. There was no doubt in his mind that eventually it would be his own heart that came away with a wound but to know that Madara would find a better life than the one he had so far led, well, he couldn’t say that didn’t make this all worth it. Even if he had despised Madara to the bone he would still have come back to help. No one deserved to be kept locked away and never feel the kiss of freedom.

Even destitute as they were, Tobirama appreciated the freedoms he and his brother enjoyed now more than ever.

It took until the first time that Madara very nearly worked up the courage to follow him out of the tower for the man to trust him with the secret of his servitude. For all the many times they had spoken for hours upon end it had been difficult for Tobirama to bottle his curiosity, to allow such a sensitive subject to come to light on its own, and his patience was rewarded at last on the day Madara hung his feet out the window and stared at the ground so far below them.

“How would you get down?” he asked as though it had only just occurred to him. Their plan had been for Tobirama to remain behind and free the long hair from its anchor once the other had reached the bottom.

“Don’t worry about me,” Tobirama soothed him. “When I first came upon the tower I had planned to climb up with just my hands. I’m sure I could just as easily climb down.”

“All that way!?”

“It isn’t so far. When I’m out on a hunt I’ve scaled cliffs twice that height with half as many good handholds.”

Trusting Madara with the knowledge that most of his food came from illegal poaching in the royal forest had been an easy choice. Not because he doubted the man would ever truly work up the nerve to escape but because he believed in the seeds of loyalty that grew and flourished with every day their friendship strengthened.

“You know…I used to dream about the world when I was younger, about making some daring escape on my own. I would have done it back then for sure. Too innocent, too ignorant of all the darkness that’s out there. But even if I had known about bandits and knights and all the ways I could hurt myself without anyone there to help, the one thing that held me back was…myself.” Madara reached up to play with the shorter hairs growing around his face. “She stole me for the power that I was born with and I hate her but she’s never tried to hurt me as long as I stay. What if I ran and got caught again by someone who didn’t treat me as well?”

“Keeping you locked in a tower doesn’t really strike me as treating you well,” Tobirama murmured under his breath. When Madara flashed him a grin he knew he’d been heard.

“Of course that’s the part that you would comment on. You’re a good person. From what I know of people, anyway.”

As careful as he had ever been, Tobirama took a step forward to bring them closer. “In what way?”

“Don’t play coy, we both know you’re curious as hell about why that witch keeps me here. I mentioned flat out that I have some kind of power and you still don’t ask. You’re always so careful about making me feel safe.” Madara's lips twisted in a wry expression as though acknowledging his own vulnerabilities.

“Your secrets cannot be my own unless you choose to entrust me with them.” There was really no point in denying that he was curious but even as he realized that he hadn’t been quite as subtle as he imagined Tobirama hoped to impress that he had no intentions of forcing anything the other didn’t want to tell him. He had learned a long time ago that trust was something earned, not asked for.

His efforts were clearly appreciated. Swinging back from the window, Madara set his feet on the floor and smiled warmly. The expression suited him probably more than he’d ever been told.

“I trust you with my life,” he declared.

“Poor taste,” Tobirama couldn’t help but tease. He smiled to himself when Madara roared with laughter.

“Maybe. But they’re my secrets and I’ll give them to whoever I please, so there!”

Just hearing those words sent the heart in Tobirama’s chest galloping double time and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward on to the balls of his feet as the mystery he had turned over in his mind a thousand times unfurled itself before him.

“You might have noticed that my hair is just a little long,” Madara began with a touch of sarcasm. “She won’t let me cut it. I don’t know how or why, she’s never bothered to explain, but my hair has some kind of magical properties – healing properties – and the longer it is the more potent the magic becomes. If I cut it short I would be able to heal small cuts and scrapes. With it long as it is now the power is so strong that my healing reverses the signs of aging.”

“Sweet flame…”

“It’s why she keeps me trapped here. She might look young but that witch is ancient, old enough to be my great grandmother. But with the power I have in me she can stay young and beautiful. Or at least she thinks she’s beautiful.” He snorted in obvious disagreement.

Completely unsure of how to respond, all Tobirama could think to say was, “She’s not my type.”

Madara blinked. Blinked again. Then his head tilted back and once again he roared with unfettered laughter. It was far from attractive, brash and quite similar to the bray of a donkey, and Tobirama admitted with the solemn taste of defeat on his tongue that he had never been more in love. It was a laugh that had never been taught shame or self-consciousness, beautiful in its innocence.

“Good to know that you have no plans to use me as bait,” Madara declared when he was able to draw breath again.

“Setting aside the vomit I can feel rising in my throat at the very thought, I would never use someone in such a deceitful manner.” Reaching up to tug at a lock of his own hair, Tobirama eyed the dark braid so long it could loop several times around the entire room. “So. Magic hair. I really should have been expecting that and yet somehow I was not.”

“I guess it’s nice to be the one with new and interesting information for once.”

The two of them shared a look and from that moment on something very subtle changed between them.

Meat had never been so plentiful in their home as the days now with Tobirama making the journey through the forest every chance he had between working for the farmer who paid him so little. It didn’t occur to him how deeply he’d buried his head in the clouds until Hashirama greeted him home one night and asked with a grin if he would ever get to meet the one who had captured his aniki’s heart. Tobirama had made a point of holding off on another visit the next day just to spend some time with his sibling. Sweet Hashirama was such a good little brother. It was hard to believe he had ever done anything to deserve a love like the one they shared.

Over the months that followed Madara very nearly followed him away from the tower on three different occasions. Though he never quite made it past his own balcony Tobirama could see the way his gaze lingered on the snow drifts with curiosity and wonder, how he traced the shapes of spring with naked longing in dark eyes.

“What’s really holding you back?” he asked one day when he had stayed perhaps a little later than he usually would have.

“Her,” Madara whispered. “I want to leave and never come back but…what if she follows? What if she finds me?” He paused and looked away with something like pain etched in to his features. “What if she hurts you? After everything you’ve done for me I can’t imagine repaying your kindness by leading her straight to you.”

“I can protect myself,” Tobirama reminded his friend, daring to step close enough for their arms to brush together. Small touches were all he ever allowed himself.

The minutes passed but he held his silence, allowing the other to follow whatever paths his thoughts had led him down. When their eyes met again he was surprised to see that all gravity had faded and instead a mischievous grin was looking back at him.

“Can you protect yourself from this?” Madara demanded, both hands raised as though to give a solid shove.

He was frozen halfway through the motion by a voice calling out from below.

“Madara, let down your hair!” Both of them looked at each other in panic even as Madara slid off the windowsill and moved towards the anchor on muscle memory alone.

“She’s supposed to be gone for hours!” he hissed. “What do we do?”

“Don’t keep her waiting. Keep her attention away from the window once she’s up here so that I can slip out. I’ve told you before I can climb down on my own, don’t worry.” Tobirama make shooing motions with both hands to hurry the other along. Only when Madara finally leaned down to begin looping the end of his hair around the metal ring did Tobirama turn and madly search for a place to hide.

There wasn’t much, even less that was close enough to the window that he could sneak out undetected. For once in his life he cursed his own tall stature as he discarded a standing mirror that would have been perfect were it not two heads shorter than him and too thin to crouch behind. To the other side of the window there lay a sizable storage chest he might have fit in but the noise he would have made climbing out vetoed that option even before he checked whether there was enough room inside. A frantic noise from behind sent Tobirama scrambling in to the only viable hiding spot he was able to see.

Usually it was children who hid themselves behind the drapery and thought themselves concealed. He could only pray that the witch didn’t think to look down at her own feet lest she spy his.

Forcing himself to keep still as he listened to the sounds of the witch he’d heard so much about clambering in to the dungeon she had created was probably the hardest thing Tobirama had ever done. Her weight made less noise than the voluminous robes he had once seen her in, silk and satin whispering as they dragged across the wooden frame. Her shadow fell over him and for a single heartbeat he felt the very blood in his veins go cold thinking that she’d seen him. Then it moved away and Madara's voice captured her attention, his only opening.

“You said you’d be gone longer,” his friend snarled.

“It isn’t for you to wonder at my comings and goings.” Her voice was melodic in the way Tobirama had always imagined an evil witch’s might be, honeyed and soft to draw you in until the frost hidden in her words bit and snapped, striking just at the moment one was foolish enough to trust her.

“Hmph, I’ll wonder at whatever I please.”

Praying that his friend wouldn’t go overboard in his attempts to keep drawing attention, Tobirama peeked around the curtain and barely held in a sigh of relief to see that the coast was clear. He wasted no time slipping over to the window and sliding on to it, movements as fast as he dared to make them without allowing his clothing to give him away with their rustling. Madara's eyes flicked over to meet his own in farewell but it was only a moment. As he turned himself around to descend feet first he could hear the other man give vent to a loud grumble.

“And how many new babies did you kidnap while you were away today? None? Ah, I suppose you stopped and gobbled them up for your lunch then. Is that why you’re back so soon? Too full from your snac-!”

His voice cut off with the ringing sound of a slap and Tobirama went still just out of sight, eyes wide, glaring at the stone between him and the woman he so desperately wished did not exist.

“Do not forget that I hold your life in my hands,” the woman’s voice hissed, all softness forgotten. “It is only by my mercy that you aren’t chained to the walls with only bread and butter to soothe the aching emptiness in your belly – or would you rather a taste of such a life to remind you of your place?”

“No,” Madara surrendered. Even without being able to see him anymore Tobirama could hear the defeat in his tone. Fingers clenching against the bricks until they scraped and bled, he clung to the side of the tower and wished death upon the evil within it. Never had he hated another person so much. He wasn’t even sure she truly qualified as a person, barely human in his eyes after all the things he’d heard of her, and that opinion was only solidified as he bent all of his willpower in to convincing himself not to climb back inside and give her a taste of his bloodied fists.

Only the knowledge that doing so would make things worse for the one he wished to protect held him back.

“Say my name,” the witch purred. “Go on, answer me properly this time. Would you like a taste of what you truly deserve, my little magic boy?”

“No, Kaguya-sama.”

“Ah, I do so love the sweet music of obedience when you say my name. Go. Begone to your room. You may count yourself lucky if I see fit to bring you your dinner after such offensive behavior.”

Though he waited Tobirama heard nothing more after the sound of Madara freeing his hair and dragging it all with him to one of the walled off areas that Tobirama had never asked to see. Bedrooms were private places and for someone afforded so little privacy he’d never seen fit to invade Madara's.

Climbing down was as arduous yet uneventful as he imagined it would be. By the time he reached the bottom his arms were nearly ready to fall off and his fingers had all gone entirely numb. After shaking out his limbs and resting until the sensation came back Tobirama considered whether he should wait a little longer until darkness fell, dark skies offering what little protection they could against wandering eyes that might look out the window at just the wrong time. In the end he decided that it would be just as easy to spot him then as it would now and someone who just returned home was less likely to be gazing out at the world than someone settled in for the evening. His heart hammered in his throat as he took off across the hidden grove like a rabbit fleeing from a wolf’s jaws.

Hashirama greeted him with a smile when he came home, stumbling through the front door with no memory of his journey back through the woods. Worry replaced his usual cheer as soon as he took in the expression on his brother’s face.

“I’ve just made tea!” he said. “Come, sit! What on earth is wrong?”

Like a little mother hen the younger man fluttered around their modest kitchen, cups rattling together when he pulled out too many for just the pair of them, lips pursed anxiously until he finally made it back to the table with the promised tea. With all his running around it had probably gone half cold but Tobirama found he didn’t mind. It was nice to be cared for, even in the moments like now when he felt a little guilty about it. He should have been the one taking care of Hashirama as the older sibling.

“You look like you’ve been summoned before the royal court!”

“Worse than that.” Tobirama gratefully accepted the tea that slid across the table towards him. “I just came face to face with the urge to take the life of another human being. And I know that I would have felt no guilt for it.”

“Oh my…” Hashirama swallowed but – bless his soul – there was no judgement on his face.

Unable to look away from the dark liquid steaming before him, Tobirama drew in a breath and let it back out slowly. “I should have been honest with you a long time ago. Will you listen to my story?”

“Always. You’re allowed your secrets Anija!” His brother’s voice was so full of love and understanding that it made him ache. “If you trust me with them I would love to hear what you have to say.” When he finally looked up Hashirama was beaming as though to share things between them was a great gift rather than simply the way it should have been from the very start.

So Tobirama told him the truth about where he had been disappearing to over the past year. He told Hashirama about the young man he had met locked away in a tower, though he did not reveal why. That was not his secret to tell. He described the witch who kept his friend locked away and admitted that he hadn’t the faintest idea of what her true powers really were. When he had said all the words that he could force along his tongue he fell silent and waited to hear the verdict, the opinion, of one who thought so differently than himself.

He was startled by the hand that reached across to take his own.

“You love him,” was the first thing his brother said.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Tobirama murmured. “How you just look at someone and see how they feel even when they don’t say it.”

“Well of course you never have to say anything, Anija, I always know what’s in your heart!”

Hashirama squeezed his fingers a little tighter and Tobirama the sensation deep inside his chest.

“This world does not deserve you, Otouto. I…you’re right. There might be some feelings on my part. But you understand why I can’t say anything to him?” He was both glad and disheartened to see the other nod.

“Do you have a plan?” Hashirama asked.

“Yes.” Tobirama chewed his bottom lip with thought. “I knew the moment I heard his story that I wanted to help him escape but of course he’ll need somewhere to go. I want to bring him here. My hunting can keep us all fed and if I’m not traipsing through the forest so often I’ll have time to see about picking up extra work somewhere else. You would like him. And if there’s anyone that would be a good friend for someone in his situation it would be you.”

“I can’t wait to meet him!”

Chest spasming with the clenching of his heart, Tobirama bowed his head. “You’re okay with this?”

“Of course! Goodness, I can’t believe you haven’t spirited him away already and hidden him under your bed!” While Hashirama's mouth turned up with a little giggle Tobirama felt his cheeks grow warm. Just imagining such a scenario had him forcibly moving his thoughts elsewhere. He didn’t want to think about how much he would enjoy Madara in any sort of context concerning his bedroom. Not with his little brother right there.

Knowing that he had Hashirama's blessing was a weight off his chest that he hadn’t acknowledged was even there until it was gone. The two of them had always been close enough that keeping any sort of secret felt wrong no matter what the younger said. Freeing himself of that guilt made each step lighter as he disappeared in to the woods the next time he was able to slip away, mumbling promises to himself under his breath that the next time he entered these trees it would be in search of food and nothing more.

With his head so lost in thoughts of the future and all the many ways it could play out his trip to the hidden oasis flew by almost without notice. His feet tread along the familiar path on muscle memory alone while he tried to imagine what expression Madara would wear the first time his feet touched grass, how quickly his body would tire when travelling long distances for the first time, what expression he might wear to see the hustle and bustle of a real village after a lifetime of quiet solitude. It was hardly the first time he had fantasized about such things but they had never had such an immediate taste of anticipation before.

It was only when he had made his way through the passage and looked up to see a familiar blue strip of silk hanging in the window that he realized how lucky he’d been with his timing, how carelessly he had crashed through the forest in his rush to get here. All it would take would be one unexpected meeting with the witch and everything would be ruined. Neither he nor Madara knew where she went during the times she left him alone in the tower but neither truly cared to know. She was gone. That was all that mattered.

“Madara,” he called up, excitement tight in his voice. “Let down your hair!”

He only needed to wait half a minute before coil after impossible coil came flowing down to brush the earth, a scant few inches longer than it had been the day he first made this climb. After the amount of times it had been since then Tobirama’s arms were stronger than ever and he pulled himself up the side of the tower with a speed that would have impressed himself but a few months before.

Full of hope and happiness after speaking with his brother, it felt like nothing less than a cold knife in the heart when Tobirama crawled over the windowsill to be confronted with the sight of a purpling bruise on Madara's cheek. His friend stood tall and proud in the face of his stare, undoubtedly aware of why, refusing to be ashamed of his own situation. It wasn’t the first time Tobirama had seen a mark like that on the other man but it was the first time he’d understood that it wasn’t a result of clumsiness or any sort of accident. Just the sight of it had his blood boiling with rage all over again.

“I know what you’re going to say–” Madara began. Tobirama cut him off.

“Come with me.”

His words gave the other pause. “Okay, so I didn’t know you were going to say that. I should have, you’ve said it before, but I thought…”

“You don’t need me to tell you that how she treats you is wrong, you’re not stupid.”

“Damn right!”

“Please,” stepping forward, Tobirama dared to be so bold as to take his friend’s hand. “Come with me. My brother has already agreed that you can stay with us. I can show you anything you want to see and teach you anything you want to learn. Come with me. Let me take you away from here.”

To his great surprise Madara did not pull away, only turned his head to look out the window with a familiar distant gaze. He wanted to, that much was obvious, wanted to know what it was to be entirely in control of his own destiny.

“I would stay with you?” he murmured.

“For as long as you want to.”

“You don’t think you’d get tired of me pointing out when you’re being a boor?” Madara's grin was sharp and yet so very fragile, steel encasing glass so ready to shatter.

“I could never tire of you in any way,” Tobirama admitted. It was perhaps a bit too honest but if it got him the results he’d been trying to achieve for an entire year then it was worth the pain of laying his heart bare. Madara's freedom was worth everything he had to give and more.

Much to his pleasure he was not met with disgust or dismay or even the sort of hesitance that comes before rejection. Instead he was blessed with the sight of a warm pink spreading over Madara's pale cheeks, chin ducking in to his wide collar almost shyly and then immediately jerking upright in defiance of his own emotions. Watching him navigate the roller coaster of his heart would always be a pleasure and an amusement both.

Breathing deeply with determination in his eyes Madara took a single step forward, bringing them closer than they ever had been before, close enough to feel the heat of each other’s bodies, sharing air as their gazes locked.

“Ask me one more time,” he demanded.

“Come with me.”

“Okay.”

Unlike all the other times they had spoken these exact same words there was something different in him now, a straightness in his spine, a steadiness in his voice. Tobirama felt almost as though his heart were fluttering in his throat. Difficult as it was he managed somehow not to float straight off the ground as a pink tongue flicked out to wet Madara's lips and then his friend was leaning forward, closer than close, brushing their mouths together with all the innocence of one who knew nothing of the world but the feelings he carried in his heart.

“You’re sure?” Tobirama whispered.

“Of you? Yes.”

While he was still trying to breathe past the thunder in his ears he found himself rather pleasantly distracted by the touch of lips against his own once more and this time he had enough wits about him to respond in kind, drinking in the sweet sounds that followed like fine wine. He had only kissed one boy before. Puberty had left him restless, curious, all too aware of the way some of the eyes of others near his age had followed him around. His explorations then had been chaste and unsatisfying enough that he turned his attention away from any sort of intimate pursuits – that is, until the day he realized exactly how attached he had become to the boy in the tower.

He was still flying high with his head in the clouds when they parted, Madara's hand tightening where they were still linked between them. Nothing in his life so far had ever quite compared to the joy he felt when he saw his friend, his most precious hidden treasure, move to anchor his hair in its usual place. When he secured it through the ring bolted to the floor he did so at the opposite end from his own head to allow himself a rope with which to climb down.

“You’ll follow after?” he asked, already moving to the window.

“Always,” Tobirama promised. “Wherever you go, so long as you’ll have me, I will follow.”

“Here’s hoping you enjoy the view from behind then.” Filled with the wild energy of escape, Madara sent him a wink before clambering up and over the sill. He waited just long enough to look back and make sure that Tobirama had taken the ends of his hair to lower him down with.

Then he took a tight grip with both hands, closed his eyes, and with a smile unlike anything Tobirama had ever seen before he put his trust in to another’s hands along with his weight. Watching his head disappear from sight was sweet. Hearing his voice give a triumphant crow only moments later was even sweeter. The strain on his muscles was next to nothing as Tobirama fed the massive braid of magic hair downward bit by bit; strangely he found the most difficult part was convincing himself not to cry. An odd feeling. He’d never been the type to get overwhelmed by his emotions like that.

It took several minutes longer than his own descent would have for Madara to reach the bottom. Tobirama made sure the journey downward remained slow and steady to make him as comfortable and unafraid as possible. Only when he felt the line go slack did he allow his stance to waver and his arms to relax and the second he was sure the other had reached the ground he was dashing over to the window to look down.

Madara's neck craned back to look up at him, on hand cupped around his mouth while the other waved madly through the air.

“Tobirama,” he called, “let down my hair!” Then he looked down at his own feet and even from so far above his voice could be heard crying out with excitement. “It tickles! The grass tickles! This is amazing!”

No matter how quickly he was able to tear his eyes away Tobirama was doomed. There was no denying the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes any longer, though he consoled himself that they were at least tears of joy. Tears for the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. In this moment he could not imagine anything else that he could possibly wish for.

He should have known the universe would prove him wrong. After freeing the hair from its anchor for what he hoped would be the very last time it was only one quick-as-possible climb down familiar stones before he too was standing in the lush grass and admiring the wonder on Madara's beautiful face, laughing at the way dark hair dragged along the earth unattended. Though he knew that they should hurry away from this place he couldn’t quite bring himself to break the moment until finally the other’s eyes returned to him and pale hands reached for his own.

This, this was the moment in which he could ask for nothing more, he realized. With Madara's fingers between his own he had everything he could ever need.

“I did it.” Words whispered thick with disbelief, sharp with joy, lighter than the air they breathed.

“Welcome to the world,” Tobirama whispered back.

“Take me away from here,” Madara demanded. “Take…take me home. I’ve never had a home before.”

“You can have one with me.”

Where the witch had gone they did not know. How she would react to finding her captive missing they had no idea. Tobirama knew only one thing for sure as he slipped off his shoes to offer the other and led them towards the passageway in to the rest of the world.

He would protect this man no matter what. Whatever the future held he would fight to protect this precious treasure that he had found, that he had freed, that he had fallen in love with and never looked back.

#rae writes #madatobiweek2020 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #fairy tale au

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rex101111 · 4 years

Text

She Is The Moonlight, Shining Down On Me, Chapter 1

BOY DID THIS TAKE A WHILE.

Hey guys! This is a bit different than my usual fair, in that I actually planned this out and had a beta! That’s right. @imbeccablee actually sat down with me and pointed out all the tiny little mistakes in grammar (of which there were over a couple dozen), tenses misplaced (all of them), and in general helped me clean this up and make it much better than it would have been otherwise. So you really have her to thank for how good this is!

Anyway this is a fantasy AU inspired by one post from a few weeks back calling Miruko a moon goddess. Literally that’s it, hope you enjoy it! I got some GOOD STUFF planned for down the line ;D

Princess Fuyumi's kingdom is burning.

That's the nightmare she'd been waking up from for weeks now, the sight of her home crumbling and her people screaming at her to help them. Their faces swirling into ash and fire before she would bolt up in bed, her hair plastered to her brow with sweat and her heart pounding.

Every few days it would come to her again, the fires burning bright and the screaming louder, the last time it happened she swore she could smell smoke. She manages to keep it from her brothers and father, washing her face with ice cold water and having her handmaidens put an extra layer of makeup to hide the growing bags under her eyes.

Though they do not miss her requesting more and more patrols on their borders, nor the way she furtively looks out windows looking for war banners on the horizon. Her dreams are glad to provide her with all the ways her kingdom would burn, but fall smugly silent whenever she tries to see the enemy that will light the torches.

She refuses to let that hinder her responsibilities; still she goes out to the people near the castle grounds, still she takes a tour of the knights training, still she keeps up her visits to her mother and her tutoring of her younger brother.

She feels foolish, allowing a nightmare, even a reoccurring one, to haunt her as it is, but every time she takes a moment to catch her breath, the sound of fire and screaming invades again.

Old wise women speak highly of dreams, of how they are messages from the gods above, signs to prepare and pray and hope for aid, and nightmares as omens of impending doom.

Fuyumi grew up on tales of gods and heroes, same as almost any child growing up under the light of the sun, tales of the unparalleled strength of the mighty king of gods and his once mortal wife, legends of the god of wind flying with his mighty red wings, and myths of the moon goddess with beauty unmatched and courage unrivaled.

She heard stories of demons too, creeping things of mangled flesh and rotten souls, things told to children to make them behave and go to bed on time.

Before she thought legends were just that and nothing more, that there was no king of gods, that the moon was not some heroic maiden, and that demons did not hide under her bed to make sure she didn't sneak off to the library after her parents had retired for the evening.

(At least she never saw any when she did, perhaps the space under her bed was too small, perhaps demons had bigger things to plan…)

She thought that up until soldiers came back from their western border, barely twenty men injured and limping that used to belong to a battalion of some of her father's most elite guard.

They whimper of monsters encroaching in the capitol, twisted shadows riding during the fall of night with their sights set on the lives of everyone they come across. Panic sweeps across the city, people abandoning their homes to run, knights being drilled night and day with no breaks, her father spending every second of waking planning and strategizing with his advisers.

She overhears them speaking of plans to spirit her and her siblings away to a neighboring kingdom, to fulfil the promised union between her youngest brother and the only daughter of king Yaoyorozu a full decade early, to cut Shouto's childhood tragically short, to put her so impossibly far away from her mother.

Her nightmares worsen. Now shadows lick at the walls of her home along with fire, and the shadows have jagged teeth and rotten flesh like all her forgotten childhood memories. She stays in the fire longer, long enough to see the walls of the city crumble and the shadows rushing forth to devour all she holds dear.

And right before she wakes up, she would look up at the sky, and see the moon.

Glowing a brilliant ivory, it's shine blinding the stars, looking down at her as if it is waiting for something.

Waiting for a prayer.

Gods descending from on high to save mortals in their times of greatest need, that was another one she heard frequently. Is that what the moon wanted from her, a request for aid? A hope and a wish for her family to be saved? Is that all she needed to do? Simply ask?

But nothing is ever simple with gods, the tales where they rescued kingdoms and kings never ended there, there was always a catch. Gods do nothing for free. Prices were steep, deals set in stone and enforced with blood.

If the lives of thousands hung in the balance, what could her kingdom possibly offer the moon in exchange?

She didn't have long to wonder, her worsened nightmares only had three days to fray her nerves before the omen came creeping over the horizon.

It is late at night, a full moon hanging in the middle of the sky, just low enough for Fuyumi to see it from her window as she packs her bags. The monsters are closer now, far too close for comfort as far her father saw it, and so her and her two brothers would pack light, dress like commoners, and flee before the hell nipping at their heels closes its teeth around their feet.

She's nearly done packing her things, her hands shaking and her heart heavy, eyes glued to the bright moon outside her window as her mind got pulled in a hundred different directions. Would King Yaoyorozu be faithful to his promise? Would Shouto be able to handle that responsibility so soon? What would become of Natsuo in all of this? Would he be stubborn and try and stay and fight?

Will she ever see her mother again?

Fuyumi's kingdom may be strong but her house is a broken one, one brother dead, the other endlessly angry, and the last scarred and destined to be bargained off. And she herself lost in the middle, reaching out to them and their father to try and salvage what she could of her family.

It's what defined her, she kept busy to keep herself sane, doing a million things a day so her mind wouldn't wander down dead ends. But now she's limited in what she can do, only pack her bags and keep her guard up; her family will be forever torn to pieces and there is nothing she can do about it besides hope that whatever is left of it will not slip through her fingers. And perhaps for some divine salvation.

"What would it cost?" She whispers as she closes her travel case and stares at the moon through her window one last time, "What do I need to give to save my home, my kingdom, my family?" She bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling sick to her stomach, "Please, tell me what I need to do."

The moon simply shines down quietly among the stars, refusing to answer so easily.

She's on the verge of getting on her knees and praying when Shouto bursts through her doors in a panic, his usually stoic face shivering and eyes wide with alarm. He grips the door frame with whitening knuckles as he breathes heavily, "Fuyumi, you need to come with me, now."

She's flat footed, so suddenly torn from her thoughts and shocked at the face her brother was making, "S-Shouto what are you-"

He grabs her hand and begins yanking her out of her room hurriedly, his steps harsh against the marble floor as he quickly stomps towards a tower on a higher floor of the castle, overlooking the city and the hills outside the gates.

"Shouto! What is going on?!"

"We were too late."

She feels her stomach sink through the floor, hoping against hope that she is sleeping, simply tossing and turning in her bed as her mind ties itself in knots over childhood nightmares.

Shouto squeezes her hand, one of his nails digging slightly into the skin of her palm making her wince in pain.

Awake now, fully and completely, Fuyumi Todoroki, beloved princess of the Endeavour kingdom, watches a hoard of snarling shadows crest the horizon of a hill. Her brother says something, something about calling the army back, calling Natsuo or their father, to do what she isn't sure.

She turns to him, sees him full of panic and alarm, and she feels a familiar strength raise in her, a strength she only found when he came to her late at night because of nightmares. She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently and keeping her gaze locked with his, and said, "Everything is going to be okay." The words come out with no real conviction, but it is simply the only thing an older sibling can say when the world is ending, "Shouto, find Natsuo and father, it will still take them about half an hour to reach the walls, and our walls are strong, do you remember how strong they are Shouto?"

He looks aside at the gathering hoard, but she puts her hand on his chin and pulls his eyes back to her, her grip firm until he starts talking, "…As strong as a mountain," He recites from memory, a thing she had him remember whenever he had nightmares like her own, "our walls reach to the sky…" There is barely conviction in his voice, but the tremble subsides for the moment as he takes a breath, "Fuyumi…"

"Natsuo and father," She repeats firmly, the soft smile on her face thin as paper, "go to them and have them evacuate as many of the people as they can, I'll do the same and be waiting for you all by the back exit of the city." She lets go and leans away, and she can see in his eyes that he doesn't believe her at all. She swallows back the bile in the back of her throat and forces her smile again, so weak she isn’t surprised her little brother can see right through it, "I'll come find you once things calm, now go."

Shouto could be oblivious, bless his soul. He says his piece and takes situations as they appear, no more and no less. More than once she and his other tutors had to hold back a groan when he ignored court niceties and continued on as if nothing happened. But he is no fool; no, the crown prince is still a sharp young man, and when you lay the pieces before him he is very capable of putting them together.

Which is why his stricken face doesn't surprise her. She expects him to object, to grab her by the wrist and drag her to father so they can all flee together, but she stares him down and he folds. He grits his teeth regardless, "I will see you at the back entrance." He says stubbornly, almost petulantly, but she simply keeps smiling. "Promise me."

Lying always leaves a poor taste in her mouth, but she has grown used to ignoring it to keep her family happy and advisors appeased, "I promise." Her words feel weightless as she says them, and again Shouto seems to know, but he nods and turns to run to the throne room, leaving her on the wall alone.

She turns away from his shrinking form to walk to the rim of the wall and stare out at the horizon again, the mass of shadows growing steadily bigger, the sounds of gnashing teeth and scraping claws slowly gaining volume.

She reaches into her jacket, and pulls out a small knife. It's unassuming in every respect; a simple wooden handle, a simple iron blade, but it's adequate in doing what every blade needed to do and that is all that will ever be required of it.

It's an old blade, given to her ages ago by Natsuo a few weeks after her mother was sent away. She never really knew what he expected her to do with it, she never so much as threw a punch by the time he gave it to her, but it was a gift from her brother regardless, so she sharpened it and polished it and kept it clean merely on principle.

She never had to fight anyone, never had to defend herself or her loved ones outside of a throne room or courthouse, but still the knife remains near her, more as a reminder of what she had to protect than a weapon she ever intended to use.

It has a use now, but still not what Natsuo probably thought it would be, at least not for now.

Every part of her reoccurring nightmares is creeping towards the city, every sinking feeling she's had for the past few weeks is going to be proven true within the hour. But there is one part she has yet to figure out, the shadows and the flames and death she has already puzzled out.

Only the moon remains.

A beacon in the night sky, a light house in a sea of stars, only its purpose remains vague to her. But she does have an idea, an idea born from dusty old tomes that she read ages ago when she still believed in fairy tales and legends.

In those legends the gods saved mortals from danger as often as they damned them for their hubris and disloyalty. More than once she read of the heavens parting and a gracious figure resolving a trouble far beyond mortal ken. But never for free, never without a price, never without a demand.

A deal is always needed; a god does not leave their perch in the clouds without reason. Fuyumi supposes that is fair enough. How many screamed at the gods to save them from disaster, betrayal and death? How many of those prayers and pleas went unanswered?

…They always answer in the legends though, every myth is about when a true believer was rewarded, every legend, every fairy tale, every old story she read is about a time the gods showed some measure of benevolence.

She's now in her own little myth it seems a kingdom long plagued by a severe king and his broken family, soon beset by a hoard of monsters, only to be saved by an act of sacrifice. Or at least, hopefully saved.

And she's ready to sacrifice anything.

She looks up at the moon, the shadow across its face (some call it a man but she only ever saw a rabbit) unmoving as clouds pass it. She squares her jaw, unsheathes her knife, and grips the naked blade in her bare hand. "Please save my kingdom."

The glow of the moon remains silent, so she grips the blade with more force, a sting and a pearl of blood quickly following.

"Please, save my kingdom, my people, my family!" She grips the blade harder, more and more blood trickling out. "I'll do anything! Give you anything! It doesn't matter what you ask of me! It doesn't matter what you demand! I'll give it! I'll give you all I am worth!" Tears start flowing down her face, the sounds of the demons howling and snarling barely half a mile away, "Please! Help us!"

She bleeds, and cries and pleads, but the moon says nothing.

Her blood forms a small pool at her feet, staining her shoes and beginning to soak her socks. Her tears turn to sobs as she lowers her head from the moon in the sky to look down at the pool she formed to see her own despairing face, the drops flowing down her cheeks and into the crimson blood on the floor, disturbing the mirror image of the moon reflected in it.

The ripples her tears kicked up slowly die, and the shadow of the rabbit on the moon blinks.

She freezes at the sight of it, her grip on the blade of the knife easing off as she stares at the reflection in the pool. Just as she's sure she imagined it, the head of the rabbit moves, moves to look at her directly, blinking with eyes of pure starlight.

She looks up slowly, her heart picking up speed as she tries to grasp what is happening. When her eyes reach the true moon in the sky she sees it is no illusion dreamt up by blood loss and desperation. Indeed, the rabbit on the moon is looking at her, looking directly at her even though it is a million miles away.

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but words fail her, her mind simply cannot reconcile what it is seeing with the reality she knows. Myths and legends are for children needing a good night's sleep, and yet here she is, staring up at an image she never even saw in paintings.

She fails at her words long enough for something even more impossible to happen. The rabbit on the moon glows, its obsidian body shimmering a brilliant silver. The glow grows brighter and brighter, so much she has to shield her eyes from it, and in the distance she hears the demonic hoard reel back in alarm and pain.

She dares to open her eyes to the blinding light just in time to see the rabbit leap out of the moon, to see it transform into a ray of pure ivory light and race across the sky towards her. Some deep seated panic raises in her chest and she takes a step back, but before she could back away further the light lands on the wall she had been leaning against a second before in a blast of air that knocks her off her feet and onto her backside. The knife clatters out of her hand, and the light kicks up a cloud of dust as it lands that made her close her eyes

When she opens her eyes again, she is met with the most striking sight she has ever seen.

A woman stands on the wall, surrounded by an aura of ivory light. Her stance is confident and proud, one foot planted on the ground while the other curled up, her skin a brilliant bronze shining in the star light. She's dressed in a silver garment that hugged her figure, showing off curves that makes Fuyumi blush like a teenager whenever her eyes rest on one spot for too long.

A golden crescent moon adorns her chest, the garment leaving her arms completely bare, displaying an ample amount of muscle, and her legs are covered in a shimmering black silken fabric that seems to merge into her skin and hide nothing of the sculpted build of her lower body. Her feet are long, furred, and padded like a rabbit's.

Her most striking features, however, are further up. A pair of cotton white rabbit ears where human should be, with silver hair flowing down her back and passed her hips, eyes whose shade matches the crimson blood she spilt to summon her, and a smile, full of gleaming teeth, sharp like a wolf looking at an especially tasty morsel.

Fuyumi could recognize her anywhere, her visage adorning temple walls all around the continent, her likeness and deeds immortalized in countless books and endless folk tales.

In front of her is the brilliant Moon Goddess Miruko, she who challenged the sun, the bravest warrior of the heavens, tales of courage and brutality following her in equal measure. The unbeatable, merciless, unstoppable Miruko.

She is beautiful.

She is terrifying.

She is walking towards her.

Her steps are dew drops on the grass, not a sound is made as she draws closer to the princess, her razor sharp smile unmoving. Fuyumi's heart speeds up more and more with every step, the pain in her palm ignored as every nerve in her body is focused on making sure no movement the goddess makes is missed.

Soon she is above her, her strong figure casting a shadow over her as her smile shines with starlight.

The first sound she hears the goddess make is a deep throated chuckle, making her bones tremble and her heartbeat skip, before at last Miruko speaks, "Anything?" Her voice is strong and clear, cutting through the air like a moon beam, "Is that what you're offering me, Princess, anything?"

The way she said Princess makes something curl up and burn in the pit of Fuyumi's stomach, a hint of amusement at her predicament that doesn't sit well with her at all. But she swallows her sudden indignation with practiced ease born from a lifetime of royal matters and nods gravely, putting pressure on the wound she made in her hand with Natsuo's knife, "Yes my lady, I offer you all I can give, if you would save my kingdom…I will pay any price you wish to name."

Her smile turns sharper, the sight of it nearly enough stop Fuyumi's heart, and then she laughs, the sound echoing deep into the night and reaching the hoard of demons now knocking on her city's gates. "So brave! Been a while since I even heard of a mortal ready to throw everything away like this, so noble! So selfless!" She continues to laugh, the sound harsh but honest; there is no mockery in her for the Princess it seems, only condescension, "What else am I to do but answer in kind? I think I like you, Princess, so I'll take you up on that offer."

She turns away, Fuyumi suddenly able to breathe now that the weight of those crimson eyes is absent, and begins walking back to the edge of the wall, the sounds of demons banging on the steel gates increasing in volume. Somewhere to her left, she can vaguely hear the sounds of hurried footsteps getting closer.

The goddess jumps up on the rim, the muscles of her legs tensing under the fabric, her shoulder bunching up to gather force as she moved her weight to the tip of her toes. Looking at her from behind Fuyumi could see a small ball of fluff under the small of the goddess' back, a rabbit tail to complete her image.

Of all the things that she has seen so far, to see a goddess with a smile like a drawn blade and legs strong enough to crush a boulder sporting a bunny tail is nearly too much, and so, nearly hysterical at this point, Fuyumi can't help but crack a tiny smile and giggle softly at the sight of it.

One of Miruko's ears twitches and she looks back, just quick enough to see Fuyumi's smile before the Princess nearly swallows her tongue in fright. To her surprise the goddess apparently isn't insulted, instead flashing her sharp smile again with a low chuckle, "Oh, you and I are going to get along just fine, Princess."

Fuyumi barely has a moment to ponder what Miruko means by that, the smile promising something she feels she's wholly unprepared for, before the sounds of footsteps finally reach the both of them. She turns to see her brothers and father standing flabbergasted as they stare at her and the radiant figure standing on the wall.

Her father is the first to gain his bearing, stomping forward past his sons with a stiffness in his shoulders. "Fuyumi!" He bellows, stealing furtive glances at Miruko as he looks down at his daughter and her bleeding hand, "What is the meaning of this? What have you done?"

"She saved your asses is what she did, jackass." Miruko laughs with a snort, "While you chicken-shits were shaking in your boots, she came up here and actually called for help from someone who can actually do something."

The whole crowd turns to her as one, Fuyumi feeling her face heat up at hearing a goddess speak such foul language, her father's chest puffed out almost on reflex, "Who are you to speak to me like this? What is-"

"Father!" She shouts at him, finally getting back on her feet, panic surging some power to her core, "Calm yourself! This is the moon goddess!"

She can hear Shouto gape and Natsuo chocking on his spit, but her father's reaction is what captures her attention. Some deep dread flickers across his face, a mix of wounded pride and disbelief flashing in his eyes before he grits his teeth and his signature glare places itself on his features again.

"She's-" He sounds choked, like he can scarcely believe his ears, looking between his daughter and Miruko at a loss, "That-that can't be!" The screech of bending metal sounds from the direction of the city gate, howls and screaming beginning to ring in the air. His face twists in a furious scowl, bending down and screaming at her, "Fuyumi forget that, what are you still doing here?! You should have left the city ages ago! You and your brothers could die if you delay them any longer! There's nothing for you to do here! This isn't one of your damn fairy tales!"

"On the contrary!" Miruko exclaims, suddenly between of the irate king and the panicking Princess in a flash of moonlight, "It’s a brand new legend your Majesty." Despite barely reaching his chin, the broad shouldered king can only take a step back from the goddess as she speaks down to him, "Years from now, future generation are gonna be telling the tale of how the valorous moon goddess descended from on high to defeat a hoard of ravenous demons about to kill a thousand innocent people."

She takes easy steps, almost casual in her gait, while the king nearly scrambles back from her whenever she got too close, her aura of light burning bright with each word she speaks until it nearly hurt to look at. Eventually the king is with his back to the wall, and far away from Fuyumi, his anger wilting in the face of uncompromising divinity.

"…Of course, they'll only do that if you get out of my way." Miruko's voice echoes through the crowd, the sound reverberating near the end as Enji takes careful steps aside from the goddess' path. Miruko turns her head to follow the king, Fuyumi catching a glimpse of a glow in her eye when she did, before the goddess scoffs, "Good job, your highness."

She can practically hear her father grinding his teeth from where she's standing, but her father does nothing more rebellious than clenching his fists and glaring with all his might at Miruko, the act being repaid with a smug, unaffected grin.

"Now," The goddess rolls her shoulders idly, hopping back up on the rim of the wall facing the quickly deteriorating city gate, "What was I doing?" She looks back at Fuyumi with a smirk, one hand on her hip, "Well Princess? Does your offer still stand after all of that?" She points at her fuming father, who says nothing in return.

After a moment of catching her breath and exchanging a quick glance with her brothers, who are stunned silent this entire time, utterly at a loss at what to do, she wraps her still bleeding palm in the fabric of her cloak, "Yes, it does, if you will save us from these demons…I will honor it."

Natsuo speaks up at last, the sight of her wounded hand stirring him into action, "Fuyumi, what happened to your hand?" He stops, his breath hitching, before he throws a glare at Miruko, his hand reaching for his sword, "What did you do to my sister!?"

"Natsuo don't!"

His sword flies out of its scabbard and he runs towards Miruko, lifting his weapon into the air with a savage cry. He swings his blade down with all his strength, blood in his eyes, but just before the blade meets its target, the goddess catches it between two fingers. It stops dead, like it's embedded in stone, and refuses to budge no matter how much Natsuo tries to pull it free.

"Seriously kid?" The goddess smirks, a tone of amusement in her voice, like a lioness being challenged by a mouse, as she casually moves the weapon in her grip from side to side like a blade of grass. Natsuo is pulled along with it like he weighs nothing. "I came here to kill demons, not waste my time with royals who have a death wish." She pulls the sword closer with a laugh so she and Natsuo are nose to nose, her brother ceasing his struggle out of shock. "I didn't touch her, Princess over there did that to herself."

"She-what?" Natsuo pulls his head away from her to look between Miruko and his sister in confusion, "Fuyumi why-why would you do that?"

"To prove she was ready to make a deal," Miruko answers for her, letting Natsuo go with a toss before turning back around to the hills outside the wall once more, leaving him to nurse his aching wrists, "that she was ready to pay any price I care to name so long as I take care of your little demon problem."

Shouto finally comes to his senses, rushing over to Fuyumi while ripping his shirt to make a bandage for her hand, "Fuyumi…" He mutters as he wrapped her bleeding palm, "How did you know that would work?"

She didn't, but she doesn't say it out loud; she can't tell her little brother that little plea of hers was born of overwhelming desperation, he deserves a sister stronger than that. As he finishes wrapping her wound, she looks at the back of the goddess as she looks out at the demons, clenching her muscles.

"And since she gave me her word, I intend to keep my end of this little bargain." She clenches her fists, crouches, and looks back one more time, straight into Fuyumi's eyes, the look conjuring something between dread and hope in her stomach, "Be right back, Princess."

With a flash of light and a jump that shattered the stonework she was standing on, she flies into the sky, whirling in the air for a quick moment before she races towards the outside of the city wall, crashing into the demon hoard with whoop of victory.

The sounds of demons attempting to break down the iron gates halt almost at once. After a brief moment where they are apparently stunned at the appearance of a god, they howl as one with a war cry and advance away from the city. The goddess is the bigger target, her glow visible even above the high walls of the city.

Very soon, the roars of violence are replaced with cries of horror and panic.

Fuyumi can feel the impact of every blow Miruko struck all the way from the tower. Every crack of breaking bones and every sickening sound of flesh torn like paper. The demons, the very same monsters who had plagued her dreams for days on end, seem like ants fighting a forest fire.

Above the sounds of violence, the roars and howls of the goddess are the clearest. She mocks the demons like they were children as they are crushed under her blows, she screams her triumph with every earth shattering attack and never does she ever sound like she's even trying, much less in danger.

She is doing her part, just as she promised, and just as Fuyumi pleaded for her to do. She is every bit as amazing as the legends told, she flies and soars through her enemies with grace and ease. And she laughs too; her laughter is a war drum, echoing high above the battleground and making Fuyumi's ears ring and ache.

It is vicious, a bloody cackle to rival all the gnashing teeth of the shadows in her nightmares.

People begin flooding the streets, on their knees praying in thanks to whoever called the wrath of heaven down on the demons. She can hear, very faintly, the sound of a chorus of her people calling out to the gods, calling out for their savior's victory.

Fuyumi is frozen on the spot, her heart beating loudly in her ears. This is what she prayed for, what she begged for with every ounce of her being. It surpasses every hope she had, utterly dwarfs every childhood fairy tale of divine victory her mother ever told her.

She can imagine her, ripping apart the demons with a flourish, that same razor sharp grin adorning her features as she did. This is a goddess, every bit as awe inducing as she hoped and more so, it is almost too much to believe.

She should be relieved, her city is being saved, her people will no longer need to hide away in their homes, she has succeeded. But the longer the fight drags on, the more the goddess howls and laughs, the more doubt begins gnawing at the pit of her stomach. This is the one she has bargained with, this feral rabbit goddess cracking skulls and ripping flesh outside her city walls. She has promised her all she can give, all she has, and she is sure that she has nothing that can possibly satisfy someone who laughs louder than hell.

But it's too late for regrets now. Fuyumi knows this well, knew it from the moment she had drawn her knife. She will not turn away from her fate now. She will look it in the eye with a proud heart and strong spirit, no matter who will deliver it.

Soon the sounds halt, the battle much shorter than Fuyumi ever hoped it would be, the last demon breathing their last breath at Miruko's hands. A moment later a light suddenly appears far above the battle, a round ball of ivory moon light that houses the silhouette of a powerful figure with rabbit ears. Fuyumi can hear people begin to cheer at the sight of it, many recognizing it from tales they heard when they were children much like she did.

Natsuo stares wide eyed at it, utterly taken aback by how thoroughly Miruko had vanquished a foe that had completely decimated their elite forces with so little effort. Shouto bites his lip quietly and looks at his sister from the corner of his eye, as if he can see past this display of victory.

Their father's face is empty of expression as he stares at the goddess as she takes in the praise, but his fists are shaking quietly at his side. He turns fully away from the light and walks to the opposite rim of the wall, showing nothing but his back as he leans heavily on the stones with a sigh.

Fuyumi can only focus on her people, happy and alive.

The feeling of dread and fear that had gripped her beloved city vanishes in an instant as the sight of the moon goddess triumphant above the demons glowed in the sky. Fuyumi smiles at the sound of them giving praise, the sight of men, women and children standing in the street and on their roofs to cheer Miruko.

This happiness, this small moment of relief and peace, if that is all she will accomplish with this choice, then she will be content with it.

The light floats there motionless for a moment, as if to fully soak in the praise the people shout and cheer. If Fuyumi strains her eyes, she can barely see the figure, Miruko, crossing her arms with a grin.

And then the goddess turns back to the princess, and Fuyumi straightens her spine at the sight of it, taking in a deep breath to steel herself for her part of the deal. She puts a hand Shouto's shoulder, giving him the same paper thin smile from when she told him to leave her on the wall, before slowly stepping towards the light as it began to race back to her.

Within a moment, the goddess is in front of her again, her silver hair in disarray from the fight, her smile feral with adrenalin, but otherwise completely untouched and unharmed, the breeze high in the air apparently doing the most damage to her out of anything else that night.

"Woah!" She cries out in delight, all her teeth on display as she laughs lowly and catches her breath, "Man, those guys were angry! Haven't had this much fun fighting demons in centuries!" She smooths her hair down with a hand and lets out a breath, her wild grin shrinking into a more controlled smile as she looks back at Fuyumi, "Well then, I did as you asked, Princess, you know what that means, right?"

She nods quietly, trying to stop her mind from racing to a conclusion as to what the goddess might possibly ask in return for her help, "Yes, my lady, you saved my beloved subjects, my family, and so I stand to honor our deal, please," she bows deeply at the waist, her eyes closed to stop the tears from flowing out, "name your price."

Gods ask for many things, riches from kingdoms, children from heroes, complete devotion from priests, and everything in between from everyone else. She does not know what she will need to give to Miruko, but she offered all that she could give, and so the goddess can only ask for what Fuyumi has in her power to bestow.

If her father had somehow been convinced to swallow his pride and ask for help from the heavens, the entire kingdom could have been the price demanded. Her brothers might be forced to give up their futures for one dictated by a god.

But her? The Princess of the Endeavor Kingdom? She who snubbed countless offers of marriage to princes and heroes alike? The one with her nose stuck in books since she was six? The teacher, the quiet sister, the smiling face in the public square feeding birds and talking to the merchants about the little goings on in the capitol?

She has nothing for the goddess to take, not really. All her money is from the royal treasury, she has no power despite what people believe her to possess, she has precious few things that she holds dear and has the authority to give away.

Her diary, her flowers, a toy bird her mother gave her when she was an infant.

Nothing of the sort a goddess would demand, nothing that equals the value of a deal that saved tens of thousands of people. No, the goddess can take nothing from her kingdom, nothing from her family, nothing from her people, the only thing she can take from Fuyumi is something she was always willing to give for the happiness and safety of her family.

The only thing the goddess can possibly ask for is Fuyumi's life, and that she was ready to surrender from the moment she looked up at the moon and cut a blade across her palm.

But she forgot one thing about gods, they never acted as they should, never as mortals thought they would, so when Miruko puts a gentle hand on Fuyumi's chin to lift her eyes, meeting the goddess' gaze as she kneels before her with a pleased smile, what she demands next comes as a complete shock.

"Princess Fuyumi, eldest daughter of King Enji Todoroki," Her smile becomes a grin again as she declares confidently, all her teeth gleaming with starlight, "You requested a deal between gods, and so you have declared you are prepared to pay me my due."

So far, it was all as Fuyumi expected it to be, excepting the rather distracting finger on her chin, but something in her gut is telling her that things are taking a turn, the only thing she can do is nod quietly to Miruko's words and await her demand.

The goddess draws closer, until their noses touch and all Fuyumi can see is the crimson sky in her eyes, "Fuyumi Todoroki, my price is thus;" The Princess holds her breath almost painfully, wishing for her to simply take her life and get it over with- "You are to come with me to the heavens, to spend eternity with me, as my bride."

A stunned silence drops on the crowd like an anvil, Fuyumi finding it impossible to breathe all of a sudden. She can feel the blood leaving her face, and in her surprise she was absolutely sure she had misheard, but the goddess goes on, heedless of the fear and terror no doubt building on the Princess' face.

"To repay me for saving your kingdom, my demand is this," Her grin grows feral again, and this time Fuyumi does not shrink away, "I want you to give me your heart."

#My hero academia #Rumi Usagiyama #Fuyumi Todoroki #fuyumi x miruko #MiruYumi #snowbunny?#whatever the hell is their ship name #stuff rex wrote #She is the moon #miruko

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foolgobi65 · 4 years

Text

careful man’s careless daughter

@philtstone prompted: Anne/Gilbert babysitter au fake dating prompt #5 let’s go laydees “you have the emotional capacity of a brick. that slate I broke over your head.” (we’re pretending people still use slates now....american schools have no money...its possible ok)

k so i was trying to figure out how to work in the babysitter + fake dating and ... like a flash the plot to this old telugu/tamil movie i love missamma/missaimaa came to mind -- its not quite the same because they’re two people pretending to be married so that they can make money as school teachers/live in tutors for a wealthy family’s daughter but it works just enough that i decided to roll with it lol.

this technically isn’t the actual babysitting, nor the fake dating which I actually turned into a fake marriage lol, but i hope u still like it, even though it is all over the place and a general wreck because i wrote it straight through without any editing or thought towards pacing/characterization bc i havent written in forever lol!! im not even sure what the time period setting is lol, and i dont think my translating of the anne events into a semi modern day even works but w/e lol.

u are the truest of friends, the light of my life, and have certainly heard more than your share of my mental breakdowns both in the last month and the last few years lol. u deserve all the good things, all the good fic, all the time.

title is a perversion of a tswift lyric because it came up on youtube. if anyone wants to send in prompts from here

---

“You owe him how much?”

Anne sighs, crossing her legs to hide how uncomfortable she is in this moment -- here she is in the park, fifteen thousand dollars plus interest in medical debt for Marilla’s eye surgery and being hounded by Roy Gardner, ex boyfriend apparently turned loan shark who was on his knees proclaiming both love and loan forgiveness should Anne just accept his proposal.

Here Gilbert Blythe is, sitting on a park bench after two years without contact, watching the whole thing.

“Marilla doesn’t have health insurance,” Anne says, eyes on the ground as she uses the toe of her shoe to grind a leaf into the sidewalk cement. “Even when I was teaching, the union plan didn’t let people add parents on as dependents.” She sighs. “With everything happening with the farm, she couldn’t afford to put money towards a plan and so when her eyes got bad....”

For a moment, there is silence. Anne can almost hear Gilbert’s jaw clench “That’s just wrong.”

Anne laughs, and because her eyes are averted she doesn’t see Gilbert flinch. “That’s America, Blythe.”

“Well,” she hears him say, tone just dripping with what Mrs. Rachel would call the Blythe Stubbornness, “It shouldn’t be.”

She won’t ever admit it, but there’s something Anne has always found deeply compelling about Gilbert when he gets into these moods -- all righteously indignant in a way that Anne feels inside of her own body. Or felt, before Matthew died and left behind debts not even Marilla had known about, and Marilla’s eyes worsened around the the time Anne was let go from her teaching job and even if she had had the job it wouldn’t have mattered, she knows, but still. Beautiful, wonderful, beloved Diana had offered to help, of course she had, but Anne knew that Fred’s business wasn’t yet where it should be and that the parents Barry were still unimpressed with their son in law to be’s financial acumen. So she’d had to go to Roy, who had of course lent his beautiful Anne the money, and of course had arranged for Marilla to be treated at the best hospital in Toronto, of course had set them up in the apartment of a friend of his right in downtown where the rents were a thousand maybe two per month. He’d popped the question for the third time the second Marilla had been released back into Anne’s care.

Almost as if he can hear her thoughts, Gilbert speaks -- “Gardner shouldn’t be harassing you like this either. Who ever heard of charging interest on a loan to a friend? And what on earth does he think he’s going to take from you if you just don’t pay?”

Anne burns. This, she hasn’t told Marilla, nor even her darling Diana. For some reason, it seems alright to tell Gilbert. “The farm,” she mumbles.

Gilbert snorts. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. Are you saying that Roy Gardner, heir to one of the biggest fortunes in Boston and your ex boyfriend, took your home as collateral on a loan for money you needed to pay for your mother’s surgery?”

Anne says nothing. She still hasn’t looked up at him, hasn’t been able to meet his gaze since she sat down on the bench and told Roy to get up off his knees and wait two months for either his money or her affirmative answer. She blinks, having mercifully forgotten that Gilbert was present for that last bit. She hopes he’s forgotten too.

“And wait, before he left you said....” No such luck. “Anne!” Anne’s sure her entire head must be flame as she closes her eyes, bringing her knees up on the park bench and burying her face into her own lap. “Anne you said you’d marry him if you couldn’t get the money!”

“There’s no debt between spouses,” Anne mumbles. “We’d get to keep the farm, and I wouldn’t ever worry about Marilla’s health again.”

“But you don’t love him!” She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Gilbert sound so scandalized.

“I used to!” she tries to retort, but even Anne knows that her voice betrays her when she tries to speak this lie. “I used to think I was,” she amends, “and maybe that’s as close as I’m allowed to get -- he’s rich, handsome, he even loves me! What more could I ask for?”

“Coercing you into marriage, demanding interest on money that we all know is just pocket change for someone like him...that’s not love,” Gilbert Blythe responds, with all that....that all-knowing Blytheness in his voice that Anne has hated since she was 13 years old and the new kid in a class of people who had always known each other just as easily as they had known themselves. “Love is selfless, Anne, strong and kind. It makes you better for giving away your heart, even if the one you love doesn’t give you theirs in return.”

Gilbert Blythe, always acting as if he knows something Anne does not. He speaks as if he’s been in love, at some point over the years since he was last in Avonlea and for some reason Anne absolutely burns with that knowledge. Ooh she just hates him, now at 24 just as easily as she had at 13!

“And what exactly is love worth if it means I just lose the farm trying to pay for Marilla’s surgery, and still have nothing for the next time she’s sick?” Suddenly Anne is on her feet, hands on her hips as she glares at Gilbert looking quite alarmed as he still sits on the bench. The words she has kept locked on the inside, too private to even be written in a diary, come pouring out in one big rush:

“Three of my four parents are already dead, Gilbert Blythe.” Her voice hitches, to her horror, her sudden fury vanishes as she has to blink away the tears she has kept at bay since she and Marilla buried Matthew. Damn Gilbert, for bringing this out of her as well. “I can’t...I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.” Her lips thin, and with a breath, her voice steadies. “I don’t care what you, or anyone else thinks about my choices if it means that I can take care of Marilla.”

Gilbert’s eyes have the sheen of his own tears when he stands, his own lips wobbling just slightly. “I...” he swallows. “Of course, Anne.” Something Anne recognizes as self hatred passes briefly over his face, but she doesn’t understand. “I wish I had money like Gardner to give you, I really do.”

Anne gentles, even if something inside her twists to be the object of the long-old guilt mixed with pity, much less Gilbert Blythe. Since Matthew’s death, every person in Avonlea it seems has sat with Anne and Marilla and offered their deep condolences, their absolute shock at the pair’s financial state of affairs, how much they wish they could help but sadly cannot, what with the way the bank’s collapse has hit their own finances. Only families like the Gardners survive economic crashes with money to burn.

“I wouldn’t have taken it even if you had,” she offers instead, shrugging casually.

His eyes flash. “But you took Gardner’s?”

“I thought he loved me!” Anne closes her eyes, somehow feeling her cheeks flush even deeper. This is why she’s avoided all mention of Gilbert Blythe so strenuously since high school graduation, because more than anyone else he is the one who drags out the words she is always learning to keep inside. Here he is, somehow pulling confessions Anne hadn’t even dreamed of telling Diana, confessions that make her seem small, and stupid, lost in a world so much more complicated and treacherous than she can handle all on her lonesome.

Well, she thinks, in for a penny --

“I thought he loved me,” she says, “and that he had the money to spare. I didn’t realize...” She looks away again, so that she never has to see him react to her folly.

“Oh Anne,” Gilbert says, for some reason so soft and stricken that Anne’s knees go weak with her sudden desire to fall to the ground and weep. “You deserve so much better.”

And now she’s angry again. “What would you know about what I deserve?” Anne spits, “you haven’t even been home since you started med school!” Vaguely, Anne thinks that Gilbert hasn’t been home since she and Roy had gotten serious, serious enough for her to bring him to Green Gables and show him the place that had been her very first love. Coincidences can be so strange.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, glaring again at the ground. “None of this matters. I’m just going to go home” Anne clenches her jaw, knowing that when she gets back to Green Gables she will go into her room and play every excruciating part of this conversation back in her head, again and again until she throws up or passes out at dawn from sheer exhaustion. Maybe both, if she’s lucky. She leans back slightly and manages to turn around on her heels, a trick Gilbert Blythe had always pulled at school and had had girls thinking he was so cool.

She’s five minutes away from the park bench when suddenly she hears him call out her name.

“Anne,” he shouts again much closer, bending at his waist to balance his hands at his knees as he pants. “God, it really has been two years since I was on the university football team.”

Despite the roiling emotions of five minutes ago, Anne’s lips quirk. “I can’t imagine you all practiced very much to end up near the bottom of your league every year.”

Gilbert’s eyes widen, and for some reason he flushes. Maybe he’s so out of shape that it’s from exertion? “I didn’t realize you kept up with my matches.” Ah. Anne, it seems, will experience nothing else but one long sustained flush as long as she is in front of Gilbert Blythe. “You know,” she tries to say casually, “you hear things here and there. Diana told me the village gossip.”

Gilbert opens his mouth, but then suddenly shakes his head, like a dog trying to dislodge water from its fur. “I have...” he frowns. “I have a proposition for you.” Anne raises what she hopes is an elegant eyebrow. “Oh?”

He grimaces. “There’s a boarding school, a Catholic one, that’s asking for teachers over the summer for a few of their select students who want to be coached for college admissions. Essays, standardized tests, everything. They’ve got heaps of money, and are willing to pay salaries up front. Plus, they cover all your expenses while you’re there!”

Anne blinks, feeling the beginnings of hope gather as kindling at the very dredges of her heart. Once, both Anne and Gilbert had competed so well against each other that they had both gotten into Harvard. Then, Matthew had died, and Anne decided she could just as easily get a teaching degree at the state school and stay closer to Marilla too. Gilbert alone had had the distinction of being the first from Avonlea to reach such heights, and had reached even higher when he had been accepted again to Harvard Medical School.

But at one point, both Anne and Gilbert had taken their SATs. They’d both written their application essays. They’d both gotten in. Anne, even, had been offered a full ride compared to Gilbert’s only partial scholarship, so there could even be an argument that of the two, Anne had been the one on top.

And if nothing else, Anne is even better at teaching than she was at taking tests.

“I’ll do it,” she says firmly. “Where and when do I need to report, and how much money are they offering?” For a second, a bright, dazzling grin paints Gilbert’s face. “Really? Ten--” he coughs, “Twenty thousand.” Anne frowns.

“Each?” It sounds like a dream come true. Five thousand more than Anne needs, and paid upfront. She could save the farm, and put away five thousand towards the farm’s debts. “That sounds....exorbitant.” He nods, suddenly more confident. “Yep! Twenty thousand for sure.” He laughs. “I know Gardner was supposed to be slumming it at state school, but you really can’t be surprised at how much money rich people are willing to throw at a problem.”

“The problem being...their children.” Gilbert’s grin turns wicked. “The problem being their children’s SAT scores, and lack of compelling anecdote to base an admission’s essay on, yes.”

Anne laughs, wicked in this moment as well. She wishes in this moment, fiercely, as she has many times over the last few years, that she had been able to go to university with Gilbert at her side -- as the friends they had slowly begun to be after years of one and two sided enmity, before time and distance had turned them into near strangers. She doesn’t regret staying back, not really, but there is a part of her that no one had ever understood half as well as Gilbert Blythe, who had, after the Harvard interest meeting, drawn and pinned up a schedule for practice SATs that took into account both his and Anne’s often conflicting life schedules.

“What’s the catch,” she asks, grinning when Gilbert chokes “come on, Blythe, there’s always a catch with offers like this. Is it across from a waste manufacturing plant? Is the principal a pervert?”

Slowly, Gilbert Blythe is turning red. “Ah,” he says, shuffling like he never did even when he was an errant schoolboy. “Well,” he says, and....is that his voice cracking?

“Gilbert,” Anne says, trying to reassure him, “I grew up in the foster system, I can handle much worse than bad smells and pervert principals, I promise.”

He frowns. “It’s not that,” he says slowly, “but basically they’re looking for two teachers, a man and a woman to manage the boys and the girls while the rest of the staff go on vacation.”

Anne smiles, trying to ignore the jolt of her heart at the thought of an entire summer with Gilbert, studying like they used to but as friends. Her old dreams, finally coming true. “That’s perfect then, you take one job and I’ll take the other! It’ll be like old times, kind of.”

He smiles faintly, as if, even after locking horns with the best and brightest at Harvard, Anne is still the person he wants to be trading barbs with over the heads of high school students for months on end. “I’d like nothing better, he says, except...”

“Except?”

Gilbert inhales. “ExceptTheSchoolWillOnlyHireAMarriedCoupleSoThatTheyDon’tHaveToWorryAboutOutofWedlockSexorTeachersHavingSexWithStudents.” All in a rush, and now Gilbert is the one who can’t apparently handle eye contact.

“What?”

“The school,” Gilbert says to his shoes, “since it’s Catholic, and also since they’re lazy, only want a married couple so that they don’t have to have anyone watching to make sure the teachers aren’t having sex with the students. Or each other.”

Anne blinks. “But we’re not married!”

Gilbert grimaces, opening his mouth, but then just biting his lip. They could be, Anne thinks, only a tad hysterical. Only all of Avonlea was matching them up all the years of high school, and even the years after until she’d met Roy. It would be so easy to get a certificate. They could get a divorce by September, even annul their marriage since they definitely wouldn’t be having sex.

Twenty thousand dollars.

“So what you’re saying,” Anne says slowly, her lip curling of its own accord “is that after all that talk about what love is and isn’t, and telling me that I shouldn’t marry Roy for the money he’d give me, your blockheaded solution is instead, for me to marry you?”

Gilbert looks up. “Well when you put it that way--” Anne sees red, even as she already sees herself in one of her old white lace dresses, standing with Gilbert at the courtroom and signing. “Gilbert Blythe I don’t believe you! Sometimes, I think that you really do have all the emotional capacity of that slate I broke over your head!”

“I know,” he says tone heavy with something so sad that Anne’s hearten softens a bit of its own accord. “But you really need the money, and I promise we’ll get a divorce by September.” He smiles, but there’s something bitter at the corners that Anne has never seen before -- she almost raises her hand to rub the strand of emotion off his lips. “And you’re not the only one who needs the money. Will you do it?”

Twenty thousand dollars. The farm, Marilla, an end to the eternal pity of Avonlea. And also, a small part of her suggests, an opportunity to finally spend time with this new Gilbert Blythe who went off into the world and left her behind.

She sighs. “I vote that you be the one to tell Mrs. Lynde.”

#obviously gilbert's been in love with anne this whole time #not in a really creepy way just a realization that no one he meets compares #a gentle longing for an unrequited love hes accustomed himself to #the salary is originally 10k each but he decides to give her his and cut a deal with the people to put it all in anne's name #which theyre fine with bc theyre married and hes like oh the debts we have are in her name lol #in this au since he didnt give up the school for her this salary thing is probably that equivalent?#anyways anne and gilbert fall in love while teaching annoying rich kids who get a transformative summer that helps them become good people #they reconnect talk about their past their present their futrue #fall in love thinking the other one could never feel the same #good stuff #aogg #anne of green gables #anne shirley #gilbert blythe #maya writes

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lukatheselkie · 4 years

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June 17: Letters

This is based in a Royal, Cinderella-like AU of a fanfic I’m writing but haven’t completed to post yet lol. Basically all the women in the land were invited to a masquerade for Prince Kiku to find a wife. Plagued by poverty, Mathias, Berwald, Lukas, and Emil all agree Tino is the most feminine in appearance of them, and send him to the masquerade dressed as a woman. He and Kiku fall in love immediately, and revealing he’s not a woman only makes Kiku happier, as he didn’t want a wife. A jealous party-goer overhears and rats on him, causing him to get thrown into the palace dungeons. There, our story starts, months into his imprisonment.

My dearest, most beloved Tino,

I am working night and day to get you out of there. You may have claimed my heart, but what you did to claim it was illegal. There is only so much of that I can fix without going into dangerous territories myself. If I weren’t prince I would break you out on my own, but as of now that will not set a good example for my citizens. They always come first, no matter how much I want my love back. And, believe me, I want you back in my arms. So very much. I dream of dancing with you again. Literally and figuratively. I promise I will get you out of there. No matter how much I have to sacrifice. I love you so very much. My bed awaits you. I await you.

Love always, Kiku.

Tino sighs heavily after reading the letter. As always, he wants to write one back. But receiving them is already suspicious enough. Thankfully, the guards don’t know they’re coming from the prince. But they do know they’re sealed with the royal crest, which is why none have dared open them yet. Yet, because he knows they’re super curious, and it wouldn’t take much to get them to tear into his letters. He crawls under his bed, and tugs up a loose floor tile. He brings the letter up to his lips, closes his eyes, and kisses the paper lovingly. “I won’t let you do all the work,” he mumbles. He opens his eyes slowly, and places the letter under the tile, with all the rest of them. He removes the one previously on top, and stares at his own handwriting in the gloom. He’s been writing on it every time he receives a letter from Kiku. Only a sentence at a time, but he’s gotten so many the entire page is nearly full. He’ll never let his prince see it, of course. It’s entirely too cheesy, and not at all put together well. It’s mostly flirtatious lines, but there are some of how much he misses the prince. He takes a deep breath, and adds I await the day I can be in your bed with you as well.

He hears steps coming down the hall, and shoves the letter and tile back into place. He withdraws from under the bed, and hops onto the dusty covers of it. He coughs softly, swatting his hand in front of his face to clear the air a bit. A guard shoves a tray of food into his cell. “Who’s sending you letters from the palace?” Tino’s head snaps up, and he snarls at the guard. The man laughs softly, then lowers his voice. “Relax. Prince Kiku sent me. He can’t stand not hearing from you any longer. He wants you to write a letter. I’ve got the supplies. No other guard will be down this way. They were ordered to leave you be until you finish your meal. I was instructed to stay until that happens. Of course this was a placement from the Prince, but they don’t know that. So take as much time as you need. Here.” He hands him a cloth bag, smiling slightly. “I hope you don’t mind using the same type of parchment he does.”

“Of course not. I’m actually really happy I get to use it!” He laughs, opening the bag excitedly, food forgotten. “I miss him a lot.” He frowns deeply. “We probably sound crazy. We knew each other for a few hours before deciding to get married. Then, they discovered I was in disguise.” The guard shakes his head.

“You’re not crazy. You’re in love. Love at first sight is a very real thing. I found my own at a similar party. It wasn’t a masquerade though, so our meeting wasn’t as mysterious. But it was just as perfect.” He smiles at the Finnish man. “And, in your defense, the masquerade was so he could find someone to marry. He was supposed to find a woman, which is why you wound up down here.”

“I know.” He sighs softly, closing his eyes. “They wouldn’t have let me in if I weren’t dressed as a woman though! I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with Kiku. And I definitely wasn’t expecting him to fall in love with me back.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t want a wife. He was so happy when I told him I wasn’t a woman. Why did no one listen to him?”

“He’s our prince. It’s tradition he marry a woman. But he’s threatened to run away and live with you as a peasant if he has to, the moment you are released. He’s brought it up to next week.” He brings a hand up to his mouth. “I’ve said too much. Write your letter and eat. I will give it to His Highness as soon as I can. And if there is anything you wish for me to tell him without putting it in writing, lest it get taken from me, I will relay that information to him as well. We are very close.” Tino opens his eyes slowly, and looks up at him. He nods solemnly, and gets to work writing.

My beautiful, kind love,

I am so very thankful you have been sending me letter after letter. They have helped keep me company in this lonely place. I can almost hear your voice in my head as I read every perfect word. You have an elegant way with everything you do, especially writing. I only wish I had a sliver of that talent. All I can do is write how very much I love and miss you. Perhaps I could send you some tales of my time here? But my love first. I adore you. I have since the first moment I saw you. I wasn’t looking for love at that moment, but I could no longer deny it when I saw your eyes. They may be what most would consider a boring colour, but brown eyes show the most emotion. Even with your expression set firmly, I could see the curiosity dancing in that brown. Such a wonderfully infectious curiosity. And the trust. I have learned you do not trust easily, but there was so much of it on the night we met. You will never know how much that means to me, but I will try my hardest to show you, once I am out of here.

Speaking of here, it’s been… interesting. The guards gossip a lot. The halls echo, but the cells do not. The guards cannot say anything we all do not learn. But there is other knowledge here. Knowledge the guards do not know of. It is incredibly easy to spread information within the cells. The further back you go, the less likely you are to be overheard. Everyone here is bonded. From what I can gather, they have all done trivial things. Any serious criminals seem to go deeper, or get sentenced to death. I have made a friend I wish to speak with you about releasing, once things have settled between us. I do hope we can settle things. We are still supposed to marry, aren’t we? I know I am no woman, but I will love you with everything I have. I already do, so even if we cannot marry I will love no other. I shall wait for you.

Eagerly awaiting your company,

Your dearest beloved.

“Please inform him I kept it vague so he would not be tried if it falls into the wrong hands. No one can trace who it is to for certain, and it will be difficult to trace it back to me as the sender, but not impossible. I have someone in mind if I am asked who it is to.” He folds the parchment carefully, and hands it to the man.

“I am sure he will be thankful for that. Eat now, so I can return with an empty tray. But please, try to hurry. We have already taken enough time to become suspicious.” He nods, and hurries to eat the food offered to him. It tastes better than normal. He doesn’t ask what was done to it; he’s too hungry. Decent food is leagues better than the horrible slop he’s been given up until now. “This will be your best meal until the prince can get you out of here. He was able to distract the guards with his orders long enough for me to be able to slip some spices onto your food. He loves you very much, and thought this was the least he could do for being the reason you are here in the first place.”

“Thank him for that. Please. This is gourmet compared to what I’ve been given. When I am out, I plan to take over cooking for them. I know what each one is allergic to, what they love, and what they hate. I know which cells they are in as well, so it will be easy to have it delivered to the proper place, if I cannot do it myself.” He bows his head shyly. “If Kiku will allow it.”

“I am sure he would be more than happy to allow that. You have taken your time to get to know them, despite being put in here wrongly.” Tino shakes his head quickly.

“I am not in here wrongly. I believe this was the reason I was caught. I was meant to improve their lives.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, smiling sheepishly. “We are an unofficial family now. And I won’t stop fighting for them.” He nods confidently, then holds out the empty tray that previously held his food. “Here. Hurry. Thank you for all you have done.” He watches the man leave without a word, and falls back onto his bed, letting his eyes fall closed. Maybe he’ll get out, one day.

A week later, the door to his cell opens, and a hooded figure makes their way inside quickly. Tino tenses up, fear coursing through his body. Who on Earth could it be? “Beloved?” The anxiety leaves him in a rush. He throws himself into the man’s arms, pushing the hood away from those beautiful black locks.

“Kiku,” he breathes out, before kissing him passionately. He’s never felt more free.

@aphrarepairweek2020 I had SO MUCH FUN with this one!

#aphrarepairweek2020 #finpan #day 4

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

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Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Twenty-Six:

"E-D-I," the cheerleaders led the cheer, "S-O-N! Edison Eagles Soaring Again!"

Bouncing a fussy Holly on his hip, Bucky cheered along with them, "E-D-I! S-O-N! Edison Eagles Soaring Again!"

Sharing the non chili-cheese covered crinkle fries with Holly, Steve chanted along with the next cheer, "Hey! Hey, you! You know what to do! You gotta bounce with the blue and --" even swiveling his hips the same way the cheerleaders did "-- wiggle with the white!"

Feeling Bucky's eyes on him, Steve glanced up at his handsome husband. His handsome husband who was shamelessly checking him out. Not that Steve minded. Not like Steve, himself, hadn't done so once or twice… or fifty times before. Instead of rolling his eyes like he normally did, Steve waited until their eyes locked and leaned in to kiss him.

When Steve pulled back, Bucky opened his mouth. Silently asking for a fry, and who was Steve to deny him? Making sure that it had plenty of sauce and cheese, Steve lifted it up and placed it into Bucky's mouth. As Bucky chewed the crinkle fry, Steve mocked Bucky's voice, "Thanks, babe." Then, he replied to himself, as himself, "No problem, dear. You know that I live to serve you."

In reply, Bucky rolled his eyes before he winked. All the while, Holly talked her baby gibberish with a messy face and the fry smushed and soggy in her little fist. Steve encouraged the ten month old, "Yeah?"

"Come on, Eagles! What's our battle cry?!" The cheerleaders started leading another cheer.

Steve kept his attention on the baby girl, making faces, while chanting along, "V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! That's our Eagle battle cry!"

Earning a smile and a giggle from Holly, Steve felt accomplished and redirected his attention to the game. It was getting close to halftime, which was the real reason why the Barneses were there. In his anxiousness, Steve shoved more greasy fries into his mouth.

"Eagles! The Best of the best! Here to shine! From now till the end of the line! We've down it before! We'll do it again! Come on, Eagles! Bring home the win!"

Both Bucky and Steve turned to look at Jonas who knew the cheer word-for-word. The pair exchanged a look when the young man cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "LET'S GO, EAGLES!"

Chuckling, Steve turned to press his forehead into Bucky's broad shoulder. Shaking his head because he loved their son and his enthusiasm.

Then, the whistle blew. Steve peeked up to watch the football players head over to their coaches. As they started for the locker rooms, the halftime show performers made their way for the field. Worrying his lip, Steve located Luke and hoped his son knew that so many people were routing for him tonight. Hoped he knew that even if the performance wasn't as perfect as Luke always wanted everything he did to be, that his family was so proud of him.

Steve watched as the color guard dressed in Jack Skellington unitards carried out their flags, setting them where they needed to be for the show. The dance team in asymmetrical Sally tunics carried out their own props of foam tombstones, causing Steve's brows arched curiously. But it was the drum majors pushing along a custom podium with a familiar paper mache mountain with a swirled top, that got Steve and the rest of the Barnes family excited for the show the students would be performing.

"No way!" Tibby excitedly turned around to face Steve and Bucky as she accused, "You didn't tell me they were doing this!"

"We didn't know," Steve defended them while Bucky clarified, "He was trying to keep it a surprise."

"At least now we know why he kept it a secret," Jonas shrugged.

"Guess so," Steve scoffed, eyes scanning for his son.

"Let's hear it for the four time Super Regional Bands of America Champions, the Soaring Eagles Marching Band!" The announcer introduced them, "Performing The Nightmare Before Christmas. Led by the drum majors, Harley Keener, Betty Brant, and Cindy Moon!"

Sophia excitedly gasped at hearing that and turned to look at her dads, "The Nightmare Before Christmas!"

"That's what they said," Steve smiled, taking a step closer. With Sophia standing on the bleacher seat, she was almost as tall as Steve. "Look at their costumes! They're pretty, huh?"

As Steve wrapped his arms around the eight year old, Ethan shouted, "Look, papa! There's Luke!"

Looking behind him to where Ethan was on Jonas's hip, Steve followed where the six year old was pointing and found Luke. Not being able to do anything except feel so proud of the freshman.

"Go, Luke!" Steve cheered while his brother-in-law, Danny, loudly woo-hoo-ed.

Steve wasn't even sure if Luke could hear them from his spot closest to guest bleachers. Of course, that wasn't going to stop them from cheering for him though. The Barneses were already a loud, lively bunch long before Steve met them, and with them growing up and having kids, it only made them louder. Especially in regards to their children. Even Wanda and Vis were enthusiastically cheering for Luke.

Once everyone was in their starting position, Harley turned on the top of the creative platform. Giving the signal to the announcers that they were ready. Steve's gaze went back to Luke as the band started playing The Nightmare Before Christmas overture. It was almost impressive how in sync they were, but Steve knew just how much time Luke put into his part, so he could only imagine how much everyone else did.

As the band continued playing, they started marching, forming rows that moved so fluidly that it was almost hypnotizing. The color guard picked up their white flags, revealing that they were meant to be the beloved ghost dog, Zero. With floppy ears and an orange light-up nose, and everything. Twirling the flags and tossing them high in the air. Marching and moving along with the band as they made their way over to the faux graveyard.

The color guard members leapt between the rows of foam tombstone. Each one they passed, a person from the dance team popped up. Jumping into the air as they kept their legs parallel to the ground and were able to touch their toes. Once the color guard was out of the way, the dance team performed a series of back handsprings.

"Well, shit," Bucky commented, and Steve nodded; also impressed by the precision.

"Papa, I want to do that!" Sophia told him, her jaw open in complete awe as she slightly turned in Steve's grasp to look up at him.

Steve couldn't blame her and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head as he agreed, "Okay. I'll look into some classes."

"Okay!" Sophia exclaimed. In silent reply, Steve held his finger up to his lips to shush her and pointed to the football field.

When Luke came into view, Steve whispered in her ear, "Look! It's bubby!"

Sophia wiggled in her excitement and shuffled her feet as she danced. To make sure that she didn't fall, Steve tightened his grasp around her torso and swayed them from side-to-side. It was a little off-beat to the marching band's rendition of the beautiful Jack and Sally Montage, but Steve wasn't necessarily known for his rhythm.

Content in the moment, Steve kissed Sophia's temple and watched the interpreted choreography tell the story of the music. Every so often, Steve's gaze would search for Luke and smile. His son was healthy and happy and doing exactly what he wanted to do. And with all of his kids there, he knew that same was true for them as well.

Reaching up, Sarah rubbed Steve's back. Not for the first time, Steve understood what Sarah had to be feeling every time she saw him succeed. He got it. Long after his angsty adolescence and almost entirely done with his short temper, he got it. Why it hurt Sarah when he was hurt. And more so why Sarah was happy when he was.

Removing one of his arms from around Sophia, he wound it around Sarah's torso and brought her in. Thankful for everything that she had taught him in life and how many more lessons he could still learn from her. And instead of teasing Sarah for crying at watching her grandson perform in the high school marching band, Steve leaned over and kissed her cheek. If a tear escaped his own eyes at seeing his son perform, then that was his own business.

#a place to fall #jump then fall #those who fall #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #domestic life #fluff #smut #otp

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k-renne · 5 years

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LONG LIVE EMPEROR REN

SUMMARY: You dream every night of the same mysterious man, of power and wealth, of love and devotion from your raven haired prince. But every day you wake up in the First Order, and dreams seem far away when you get closer and closer to death by the Supreme Leaders hands.

A/N: Warning! this contains sm*t, Kylo using the force on you, and face s*tting. I’m thinking about making this a series of loosely connected one offs with this au in mind, for now please enjoy!

You knew better than to cross paths with Kylo Ren, a fact that had not changed since he became Supreme Leader. Despite this you seemed to be running into him a lot lately, and you were surprised that he had not killed you by now for the amount of times you had gotten in his way.

You could still remember the feeling of walking into into him, a hard wall of muscle. He reeked of power, his breath crackling through the vocoder as he looked down at you. You scrambled to apologize, gather your things that you had dropped and surprisingly he reached down to help you. The Supreme Leader helping a clumsy medic, of all things. It was not what you were expecting for today. A part of you questioned why as a force user he had let you do that, but you didn’t think much of it. The bigger question was how you were still alive.

You blamed the lack of sleep, lately you had been having the strangest dreams which kept you up thinking in the late hours of the night. Dreams of a ruling by the side of a dark haired man with a handsome face, devoted to you as you were to him. You had more power than you’d ever imagine holding over the galaxy, so beloved by your people. Perched on a throne overlooking your conquests, in the lap of the Emperor.

Some nights you’d see riches, power, and glory while other nights you’d have dreams of being fucked mercilessly by this same man, his dark voice so clear in your mind you heard it in your waking moments. “You’re mine sweet pet, don’t forget it. No one else deserves such beauty.” His claim is what always surprised you, as exciting as it was to be someone so desirable to such a powerful man you just couldn’t see it, as much as you wanted to give yourself entirely to this man in your dreams.

Still these vision like dreams were so vivid that whatever feelings you felt in your sleep followed you when you woke, leaving your mind confused as you try to catch up with reality. Sometimes it left you horribly frustrated, on the cusp of an orgasm that your lover was teasing out from you. And you’d try and try to find some relief afterwards, but it wouldn’t be enough - it was as if you needed him to finish what he started, the delicious stretch of his cock that your finger mimicked poorly.

In your waking hours you’d go about your day in a haze of need for this fictional man, you wondered if you were going so mad with loneliness that you had crafted him to fill this need you had. Yet you had no desire to pursue anyone else, as if you felt some sort of unspoken devotion to a man that didn’t exist.

It was in this haze that you had stumbled into the Supreme Leader, again, not fully paying attention to where you were going. “Oh stars, my sincerest apologies Supreme Leader. I-I was not paying attention-” Your eyes trailed up to his mask. But you stopped when you noticed something, the distinct copper smell of blood filled your senses as you noticed the way he was clutching his hand over his abdomen, standing strong but still wounded. He was hurt, and he looked as if he had just come fresh from battle. Maybe, maybe you could help him.

“Let me get a medical droid, that looks like it will need some stitches.” You blurted out, letting your tongue get the best of you.

Static crackled through the mask, “No!”

“But Supreme Leader-” You shook your head, you knew he could be stubborn but this was your job, and you wouldn’t let him throw his health away.

“You will be the one to fix this,” His modulated voice demanded, and he grabbed your wrist.

You were afraid as he was tugging you along, was he going to kill you for speaking out? How had you let yourself be so foolish, you had one rule and you had tested it too many times already. Now you were going to be added to the long list of others killed by Kylo Ren.

Kylo stopped suddenly, making you slam into his back with your hands bracing themselves on his strong torso. He looked over his shoulder down at you, “Foolish girl, I would never hurt you.” A deep rich voice said into your mind, the same voice that haunted your dreams.

You were so shocked you barely paid attention as Kylo began to tug you along to his quarters, moving those in his way with the force to make a clear path. Parts of your neatly pinned hair was coming undone, but you didn’t notice that either. Maybe you were just projecting your desires onto that voice, still what if it was really him? How could you dream of his voice when you had never heard it before? It didn’t make sense, you were thoroughly perplexed by it.

As soon as you enter his quarters you stop in your tracks, your face feeling hot at seeing the same bed that you had been fucked on many times in your dreams. Desire came crashing over you and your legs felt weak, visions of being pressed against that very mattress and pounded mercilessly till you came over and over again.

“I can hear your thoughts you know, especially when you broadcast them so loudly.” Kylo reminds you.

“O-oh, sorry. Let me stitch you up,” You suck in a breath, trying to clear your mind.

The Supreme Leader takes off his mask, dark locks come tumbling out, dried with sweat. His face is dirty but there’s no mistaking that this is the same face of the man that you dream of, so handsome that you can’t help but stare. You try to collect yourself as you gather some medical supplies, only to gasp when you’re met with his shirtless well muscled body. He’s so big, he could crush you.

“What? Did you expect to fix this with my clothes on?” He tilted his head. His face showed no expression of pain, even with blood dripping down his torso. In fact, he’s smirking at you, like he’s proud.

“It’ll be easier if you lie back,” You gently direct him and he complies with no resistance.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? My hands aren’t as steady as a droid, it might hurt more,” You pause for a moment.

“Do you doubt my judgement? Are you not one of the most skilled medics on this facility?” Kylo questioned you. Even lying down you felt intimidated by him, meek and shy.

But he was right, you were good at what you did. “You’re right.”

He gestured for you to continue. He watched as you diligently worked to clean and stitch his wound, you could feel his dark eyes on you. You were so nervous your hands were shaking, “Relax,” He told you softly. You looked at his face and his eyes were reassuring, there was something powerful to the confidence he held in you.

“There. That should hold but you’ll need to rest and be careful, it’s a deep wound it could tear.” You instruct him.

Kylo shakes his head, “I can never rest, it could be the end of me.”

You scoff at him, that idea alone was ridiculous. “If you never rest it will be the end of you.” And you weren’t exactly too keen on that happening, even if he was terrifying you much preferred his leadership to Snoke.

“How sweet of you to care for me,” He hummed. “I’ll rest but only if you keep me company.” He crossed his arms behind his head, nestling himself on silken pillows.

“I don’t know…” As tempted as you were you had work, and you were sure if you’d stayed a moment longer you’d do something embarrassing.

“Your duty is to your Supreme Leader first and foremost, besides I think that there’s something we need to talk about. Come now,” He patted the space next to him.

You sat on the bed next to him, holding back a sigh at the softness of it. A force pushed you back against the bed, making you lay down next to Kylo. You made a little squeak of surprise and Kylo laughed.

“There, get comfortable. If I have to rest so do you.”

It was a strange feeling, having him use the force on you. What surprised you the most was how gentle it was. You adjusted yourself and turned on your side to look at him. “Supreme Leader, you’re nothing like I would’ve expected you to be,” You sighed.

Kylo shuddered at you using his full title, everything about you was arousing to him and now finally having you this close...it already felt so good. He reaches his fingertips to brush over your cheek, “Call me Kylo.”

“Kylo,” You repeated his name.

“This feels familiar doesn’t it pet?” Kylo asked you, gloved hand cupping the side of your face.

“Strangely yes, it does.” You lean into his touch.

“The dreams, they weren’t dreams. They were visions from the force. I saw them too.” He explained.

Your face turned hot, “Even the ones where…”You trailed off, you couldn’t say it.

“Where I fucked you very way imagineable? Yes sweet girl, even those.” Kylo smirked. He contemplated something as he gazed at you, “I’ve tried to stay away, I didn’t want to drag you into this, risk your life for my own selfishness. But it seems as if the force has had other plans, even when I tried to avoid you it’d always bring us together.”

You felt it, you knew what he was talking about. There was something electric between you two, this familiar energy that washed over you when you were near him. And it felt so right, balanced.

Kylo lets out a deep sigh, “I can’t fight it anymore.”

You smiled softly at him, placing your hand over his. It felt so right. “Then don’t.”

Kylo leaned forward while bringing your face closer to his, kissing you passionately and delving his tongue into your hot mouth. He breaks away to say something, “There’s still a chance, I can put you somewhere safe. Far away from all this.”

“Kylo, you know we could never be happy like that. I’ve already accepted this.” You shook your head.

“If something were to happen to you...” He sucked in a harsh breath, frowning. “No, I won’t let it.” He kissed you roughly, his lips slanting over yours.

“Kylo be careful,” You gently pressed your hand against his chest.

He kissed along your jaw, grumbling as he lay back. “Come closer then, you’re too far.” He pouted at you. Only when he had you in his arms, laying across part of his chest was he satisfied. “Everything is going to change for you, I need to have you close to me. You must be protected. I have too many enemies right now.”

You sighed, “Will you ever rest?” You gently brushed back the hair on his forehead.

Kylo just grinned, “No, how can I with such a lovely angel in my arms?” He lifted his head to kiss your cheek, trailing his lips back to yours.

You pulled back beyond his reach, making him pout at you. You laughed at his expression, before giving him the kiss that he wanted. His strong arms held you close, his hands wandering down to your hips and grabbing your ass. You kissed him lazily, but his lips were always hungry for more.

With your sweet body pressed against his like this he could feel your breasts, more than he ever could all those times that you ran into him. He loved feeling your soft hands on his chest, sliding over his skin. He could sense your arousal building the more he kissed you, his thigh slipping in between your thighs to rub your pussy over your pants. You let out a needy little moan for him and he knew he had you. He could feel the blood rush to his cock, hard and throbbing in his pants.

You were his sweet torture. It was easy to ignore any pain when you were with him, this was the most time he had ever really spent with you yet you already consumed him. He wanted to deny it, say that you were just a product of his own desire. But you weren’t, you were something else entirely, something spectacular.

He remembered the first time he ran into you, brushing past you as he walked a brisk pace on the bridge. The feeling of just brushing against you was so powerful he stopped in his tracks, looking back to watch you as you walked further away from him. He could sense your fear, it made him feel lonelier than he ever had before. Fear was powerful, but it’s not what he wanted from you. He wanted your love and devotion, he craved to feel your touch.

In his search for a greater truth he had isolated himself to a select few, gone without many comforts like he had in his days of being a Jedi. He realized he was stuck in the past. Passion was power, and Kylo embraced his lust. He wanted you desperately, and while sometimes he did try to avoid you other times he couldn’t resist. If only you could see how much of a mess he was under his helmet when he saw you.

But he couldn’t risk Snoke finding out, he knew he’d use you against him, probably hurt you for the sake of unleashing his anger. He cared too much to let that happen. He kept his desires hidden, spent countless nights awake protecting your visions from being seen. It was exhausting, yet the payoff in the end was insurmountable.

With Snoke gone, he could have you. Finally stake his claim, feel the touch of a lover. But as a new ruler, it would be too soon. He had to build a sense of trust, secure his title and keep you far away from his enemies. Now, it was at the point where he couldn’t wait. Even if he hid you in the farthest reaches of the galaxy he’d still chase after you. He pressed a hard kiss against your mouth and swallowed your moans with his tongue. He needed more, Kylo let out a growl in frustration.

“It’s not enough,” He panted.

“Hmm?” You were in a daze from his kisses.

“I want-I need to taste you.” He rasped, licking his lips.

Your face felt hot at his words, his hungry eyes searching your face, “I don’t think you should be doing any strenuous activity.”

Kylo rubbed his hand between your legs in protest, making you whine. “It won’t be if you sit on my face.”

You squirmed, while it seemed exciting the idea of it was so dirty. It wouldn’t be something you’d suggest on your own. But you needed him, he could bring you the relief that you’d been so desperately chasing.

“Just think pet, my tongue in your sweet pussy as it drips into my mouth. I can’t think of a prettier sight.” Kylo purred, his hands running along your sides. You couldn’t help but kiss him, undoing some of the buttons on your shirt.

His eyes widened as you exposed your breasts to him, his hands eager to help you undress. “Yes! look at you, so beautiful.” He placed kisses over your skin as he unclasped your bra. Kylo couldn’t resist burying his face against your chest, his thumb rubbing over a nipple as he kissed and nipped at your soft skin.

With his mouth on your breasts he slid his hands down your bare sides, giving your ass a quick squeeze before he began to pull down your pants. You threw your clothes to the ground, with Kylo gazing at you ravenously. You were so beautiful to him, almost completely exposed. He licked his lips eagerly awaiting what was next.

As you peeled off your panties Kylo settled himself back against the pillows, patting his chest for you to sit on him. “I can smell your sweet cunt already pet, just waiting to be tasted.”

You sit yourself on your knees before him, unsure for a moment. “Please,” Kylo pleaded with you, his eyes full of longing. You couldn’t say no to such a request. You positioned yourself over his chest first, Kylo shuddering as he felt your hot pussy against his skin. “Is this okay?”

Kylo simply nodded, bringing his hands on your hips to pull you to him. You squealed as suddenly you were over his mouth, his tongue dipping up to taste you. “Relax, you won’t crush me.” Gently you lowered yourself closer to his mouth, bracing yourself on his headboard.

You moaned as his hot tongue flicked inside you, the filthy sound of it made you squirm. Kylo bucked his hips as his senses were surrounded by the taste and smell of your cunt, grunting and groaning at the taste of you. “You taste so sweet, so good.” He praised you, his rich voice speaking to your mind through the force.

He reveled in the feeling of your thighs on either side of his face, soft yet powerful. You were his goddess and he would worship you, just lucky enough to get a taste. He lapped and sucked on your clit, his hands holding your hips. Wetness dripped down his chin and onto his chest, his tongue trying to taste as much of it as he could. His cock was burning in anticipation, his hips rocking trying to find some sort of stimulation.

You were so lost in your own pleasure, the sensations of it all. You were grinding your hips against his face, unable to help yourself. You looked down to see Kylo looking back up at you, admiring the sweet expressions of pleasure you made. He adjusted you slightly so he had better access to your clit, sucking and lavishing your bud as he used the force to rub the inside of your walls, filling you and stretching you for him.

He could feel more of your weight on him as you got weaker, getting close to your own orgasm. “That’s it pet, cum for me. Cum right in my mouth.”

Your hips finally stilled as you came, Kylo moaning as he tasted your sweet cum. You hopped off him, and he looked absolutely debauched. His chin and heaving chest covered in your arousal, lips pink and shiny with cum, his hair mussed from your hands. His voice was husky as he spoke, “I can’t believe I’ve deprived myself of such sweet pleasure, denied myself of you.”

You placed a soft hand on the side of his face, “You don’t have to anymore.”

“No, never.” He wouldn’t be alone anymore.

#kylo ren x reader #filth #kylo ren

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kittensjonsa · 5 years

Text

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU (with a slight deviation from the actual movie)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Jon had just turned sixteen when he received news of his parents' death. It was a car accident that took their lives instantaneously. He could still remember being called to the principal's office one sunny afternoon, sitting in that uncomfortable chair whilst the police officer broke the news to him.

He did not remember crying much but he did remember the people who came for the funeral, a good-sized turn out, paying their respects to Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. Everyone was cordial, kind and concerned. All he did was shake hands with them and telling them he was all right, and that he was getting the help needed. That was the only memory growing up that stayed with him, sad as it was, being around that many people who knew and loved his family. Jon loved his parents and they adored him that much he knew but being left alone and on his own, truly changed his world. He had to do everything himself, apart from the lawyers who helped with the estate, he had to figure out life on his own. It was difficult at first but soon enough, it became comfortable. His solitude became a sanctuary; a soft-padded cell he enjoyed retreating to and quite often.

But that was almost twenty years ago. A sad memory he associated with family. A social event he wished he didn't have to be a part of and since then Jon had grown accustomed to avoiding any large family gatherings or any gatherings at all. He grew comfortable living in a huge house alone, got through university alone somewhat breezily thanks to the lack of social distractions. He had the time to hone his writing, an outlet that healed him and thanks to it, eventually went on to be a reporter, the kind whose articles touched the outside world. And with that, surfaced a chance meeting with Jeor Mormont of the renowned Mormont & Sons Publishing, in whom Jon found his family.

Family, Jon thought. For fifteen years or so, it was word that rarely came to mind.

And now here I am. Jon watched as people stopped them to greet and hug Sansa as she made her way to the house. Jon could tell she was very much loved in Winterfell and it made him wonder why Sansa would want to leave all of this behind.

“So, you ready?” Sansa's voice broke through, waking him from deep thought. Jon afforded a smile and a shrug. “Here we go.”

“Hey, look who's here everybody!” the announcement was barely needed.

“Ahhhh! SANSA!!”

The collective squeals and shrieks of joy were deafening and perhaps startled him a little as Jon stood back and observed the throngs of people heading his direction and huddled around Sansa. Beloved Sansa.

“Oh my god! You're back!”

“It's been so long!”

“ You look amazing!”

“We missed you so much!”

The showers of love kept on coming for Sansa and though he was mostly invisible, which was understandable, Jon quite enjoyed watching as it all went on. Sansa took the time to hug every single one them and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen her entire family yet. Did it say anywhere in that file how many siblings she had? Jon made a mental note to remember these things. After all, it might turn up during the inquiry with the Immigration Department.

The excitement eventually subsided and Jon found himself face to face with a crowd of curious onlookers. Jon figured he probably looked out of place, with his formal suit on and not being recognised as someone from Winterfell.

Sansa was quick to pick up and as always, the well mannered lady she was, stood next to him as everyone gathered around them.

“Everyone, this is Jon. And Jon, this is everyone,” Sansa began with the introductions. Jon gave his best smile and shook hands with everybody. No mention of fiancé yet, he thought. Keep mum and follow her lead.

“Sansa?” a small boy peeked out from behind one of the guests. He had blue eyes and dark auburn locks just like Sansa.

“Hey buddy! Oh my god! I missed you! Look at you! You're so big now, Rickon!” Sansa swooned as she lifted the boy in her arms.

Another boy, this time brown-eyed with the same copper hair jumped in. “You're back, Sansa!”

Sansa gave them each a kiss on the forehead as they held on to her tightly. It was a lovely private moment Jon felt he wasn't privy to and his insides were twisting a little, reacting to emotions he had not experienced for a very long time.

Sansa wiped away a stray tear. “Hey guys, I want you to meet Jon.” She didn't have to, Jon thought.

Jon knelt down and extended his hand to them. Family. Her family.

“Hi guys. I'm Jon. What are your names?”

“I'm Rickon and he's Bran," the younger boy pointed to himself and Bran. “Are you Sansa's boyfriend?”

Jon had to laugh. He had skipped all of that when he fake-proposed to Sansa eighteen hours ago. “ Well, yeah I guess.”

Rickon made a face. “Eww.. don't kiss okay.”

“Rickon!” Sansa chided him. Jon guffawed. Nope, buddy. No kissing expected. Bran had his face in a palm, obviously embarrassed by Rickon's forthrightness. “Oh my god, Rickon! You can't just ask people stuff like that!”

Sansa giggled at the exchange. “They're my little brothers. Rickon is six and Bran is ten. They're just curious so don't mind them if they keep asking you questions.”

“That's all right. They can ask me anything,” Jon winked at them. For a moment, flashes of his own childhood came flooding back. I was once like them too.

“There she is.” A young man appeared squeezing himself in from the group, this time much older than the boys. He had the same blue eyes and auburn hair.

“Robbie! Lisa!” Sansa held out her arms once again, to him and the lady who accompanied. Sansa was beyond ecstatic having everyone she loved surrounding her.

“Oh my god..” Sansa gasped the moment she saw the noticeable bump on Talisa. “I'm going to be an aunt?”

Talisa nodded excitedly, stroking her belly. “Yep. To twins.”

Sansa sniffed, the tears were coming hard and fast. The welcoming party isn't so bad after all. I miss everyone so much.

“Congratulations,” Jon added . Then, he forgot they haven't been introduced.

“Oh hi.. you must be-”

“Jon. Pleasure,” Jon introduced himself to them.

“Nice to meet you Jon. I'm Rob and this is my wife, Talisa.”

“I'm guessing Sansa's older brother?”

“That obvious huh?” Robb chuckled.

“The eyes and the hair,” Jon smiled.

Sansa cleared her throat. She forgot for a second that Jon was here with her, and why. Rip the band aid. Do it.

“So, guys.. he's my fiance. S-surprise.”

There it is. Jon bit his lip.

The smiles on Robb and Talisa's faces dropped. Jon guessed that would be the general reaction to the news so he'd might as well get used to it and perhaps, practice his best ‘surprise fiancé’ face.

Sansa and Jon both grinned nervously, watching both Robb and Talisa slowly come round from their initial shock.

“I.. I heard from Dad about a guest but… well, this is news! Congratulations to you both,” Robb finally said. Talisa eyed them curiously, wearing a polite grin but leaned in to whisper to Robb.

Jon had to get used to that too for the next two days. Talk of the town.

“But we thought… Jon is.. kind of your boss?”

Bingo. Cue the Q&A. Sansa was about to face the firing squad and she hoped Jon had well-prepared answers like she did.

“Well, yes but you know.. things happen,” Sansa lied, shooting a warning glance at Jon.

“Right. Of course.” Robb and Talisa paused for them to continue.

Think of something.. quick!

“I guess all the late nights at the office, the weekends working together.. I mean, she was practically glued to me,” Jon quickly added, though it made things worse.

“So is that why you said you couldn't come this weekend, Sansa?” a voice called out from behind them. A lady with long dark red hair and fierce blue eyes approached them. She was beautiful and elegant. A lady of the house. It was unmistakable who she was and didn't take long for Jon to guess.

“Mom,” Sansa greeted her. Jon watched as the two of them hugged. It wasn't quite as warm as he had seen with the rest, and Jon noticed how Sansa pulled away almost immediately.

“You must be Jon. The boss she had been talking about lately.”

She made him nervous. Jon smiled and nodded, holding his hand out anyway.

“Well, I'm not surprised. I hope it has all been good.”

She eyed him up and down, the upturned corners of her mouth faded the moment she met his eyes. Jon regretted immediately just breathing in her presence.

“I'm just glad she decided to come. I guess you must be the one to thank then.. Jon, was it?”

“Jon, this is Catelyn, my mother,” the introduction by Sansa was unnecessary.

“But you may call me Mrs Stark,” Catelyn advised. Jon gulped.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Stark. Y-you.. have a beautiful house.”

Catelyn looked around at the people from around town that she had invited for her father's eightieth and Sansa's long overdue homecoming. And here was Jon. A complete stranger who kept her beloved daughter away for far too long. Keeping her composure, she had promised Ned to be at her best behaviour, especially after he shared with her the shocking news. It wasn't the homecoming she was looking forward to.

“Thank you. Please do make yourself comfortable. Seeing you'll be joining us for the weekend.”

“Thank you… Mrs Stark.”

A chime of the doorbell and a cacophony of voices joining the fray caught Catelyn's attention, before she could continue. Saved by the bell, Jon watched as Catelyn gave Sansa and him a nod before greeting the guests who had just arrived.

If hell froze over, it would have been right at that moment, as Jon exhaled, a long breath he didn't realise he was holding.

“Interesting,” Jon remarked, giving Sansa a questioning look. Robb and Talisa were similarly reeling from the chilly encounter but deflected well, excusing themselves and shuttling the younger boys away from Sansa and Jon.

“Well, it's clear your mother doesn't like me very much. I wonder why,” Jon nudged Sansa into a quieter corner. “Is there something I should be warned about?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa bluffed.

“Okay so I haven't been the best boss, I know that but I am trying my best as I promised you. We're in this together so help me out here. What am I missing?”

Sansa couldn't look him in the eye. “She kinda hates your guts.”

Okay not really a surprise. “Because?”

Sansa groaned. “ Because! Well.. because I left Winterfell right after graduation and got a job in the city! And I then told her you were kind of a dick. That's why.”

Jon sighed. “Great. Just great.”

“Well, you asked.”

Sansa continued. “Since I left and started working for you, I haven't really visited home.”

Jon was confused. “And why didn't you? What has that got to do with me?”

Sansa stared at him in disbelief. Three years I have given to you. That's three long years I haven't seen my family. “I have not had any vacation days since I started working for you, just to jog your memory a bit. So yeah, she kind of blames you for taking me away from her.”

Oh. And him being here, as Sansa's fiancé was a slap in the face, Jon surmised. “Right. So.. there's no way to fix this?”

Sansa shook her head. She really didn't expect her mother to act out the way she had with Jon. But it was unavoidable, the tension brewing from day one, what with all the heaty exchanges on the phone with Catelyn demanding why Sansa hadn't resigned yet if she hated her job and boss so much. And now, imploded with Sansa returning home with him as her fiancé. Sansa was well aware how she herself had caused it but simply had no clue on how to fix it. She hadn't thought that far yet. All she wanted was to get through the weekend without the family drama.

“Sweetie, do you want to put your bags in your room?” Ned's soothing voice was just the escape both Jon and Sansa needed. Yes, they were tired, exhausted already from the charade and some time away from lying to people would be a welcome change of pace.

Jon followed Sansa upstairs where Ned, Robb and Talisa led them to their room for the night. Jon noticed there were many rooms in the large house, he had hoped it would be one with a comfortable bed at least. And as far away from the family as possible.

“Oh, my old room! You still kept it like before?” Sansa cooed as she dropped her bag on the floor. Her bed and the comfy couch were still in the same spot as was her desk and dresser. The posters were long gone and probably for the better but the nostalgia got the better of her.

“Yeah, Mom wanted to keep it in case you returned home. You know how she is. But anyways,” Robb said, draping his arm around Sansa's shoulder. “Welcome back, Sans.”

It was all very nice and warm to observe but Jon couldn't wait to see his room. Sansa's had a fantastic view of the snow capped hills that Winterfell seemed to have so many of and he didn't mind waking up to the same.

“This is nice. Well, I do hope mine is half as nice as this.”

Robb and Ned turned to him, puzzled at his statement. A nervous chuckle escaped Ned, as he scratched at his beard.

“Well, this is weird for me to say in front of my daughter but I am under no illusion that you two have shared a bed together. I mean we are all adults here, we can understand how two people engaged to each other sleep.”

Oh dear god. Jon and Sansa exchanged looks of horror.

“Besides there is only this room. The guest rooms are being renovated at the moment,” Ned added.

“Right.. okay.” Jon gave up.

Can today get any worse?

“The towels and sheets are in that cupboard over there if you need them. And, oh,” Talisa walked over to a wooden closet and took out a thickly folded hand made quilt.

“This should keep you warm in the cold Winterfell weather,” she smiled and handed it to Jon.

“Oh, lovely. Thank you so much.” It looked nice and comfy, just what he needed since he didn't quite pack proper sleep wear.

Talisa giggled, then whispered to Sansa and Jon as she pointed to the quilt. “That blanket is also sort of a Stark tradition. It's called the Baby Maker, you know.” Talisa cheekily pointed to her burgeoning baby bump.

Oh god, no. Jon flinched and tossed the blanket aside. “Well, we gotta be extra careful with that one, right there.”

Sansa was aghast. “Yeah, super extra careful.” Goodness.

“Right, okay we'll leave you two love birds to take a break. And umm.. maybe keep it down eh?” Ned joked awkwardly. It was disheartening to see his darling girl all grown up.

“Oh my god, Dad!”

“Okay, okay we're leaving,” Ned yielded as he made his way out.

“Do come down in a bit for snacks and say hi to the guests if you can. Seems they're all curious to meet you,” Robb suggested, giving Jon a wink and Sansa a kiss on the cheek.

Sansa and Jon watched as Ned and company left their room. Sansa quickly shut the door and locked it before anyone in her family barged in. In that room and only in that room were they Jon Snow, Editor-in-Chief and illegal immigrant and her, Sansa Stark, executive assistant and accomplice. Just two people brought together by a set of very strange circumstances and ill-thought decisions. The brevity of the situation wasn't lost on Sansa as there stood only one bed before them. Yeah.. nope.

“You're taking the couch.”

Jon groaned. He wanted the bed. If he had stayed at the hotel, he would've already been in bed now, all tucked in and snoring away. “This is not how I planned the weekend.”

“Well, too bad. Unless you want to all this to blow up in everyone's faces and we're found out because of your brilliant idea, we have to stay here, like it or not. In my old room. And no, I am not sharing my bed with you.”

Fair enough. Jon couldn't insist on taking the bed nor share it with Sansa. There were clear boundaries he had set for himself, unspoken but unquestionable. This was a fake engagement, they didn't have to actually share anything at all. Besides, Jon had slept in worse places before, recalling the futon from his old college dorm. Sansa's couch looked bigger than the futon and far more comfortable.

“Fine, take the bed.”

The rest of the evening was more of the same - Sansa and Jon introducing themselves to the rest of the people who were either neighbours or childhood friends. Winterfell seemed like a large town where the Starks knew everyone. Well, they are well to do, Jon understood that was expected. Catelyn was still giving him the cold shoulder and Jon found solace in playing UNO with Sansa's kid brothers at the kitchen table. Sansa was still catching up with everyone else and it was only right that she did, so Jon didn't want to intrude.

“Hey guys, think maybe it's time for bed?” Jon asked, seeing the large yawns that took over the boys. It was their fourth hand in the game and though Jon enjoyed their company immensely, he too was tired.

Rickon rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Okay but only if we play again tomorrow.”

“Promise,” Jon held out his fist for a bump. The boys waved good night and Jon drank the last of his juice as he compiled the cards into a neat deck. The house had gone quiet with the party guests gone, save for the quiet hum and rattling of dishes in the dishwasher. It was ten and high time for a hot shower and then crawl into bed. In Sansa's room. Great.

“Knock, knock. Everyone decent?” Jon had to make sure.

“Yeah,” Sansa answered. She was already dressed for bed and tucked in under her covers, scribbling thoughtfully on her notepad she had propped up on her knees.

“Whatcha doin?” Jon cringed. He had never made any small talk with Sansa before and it showed.

Sansa's eyes never left the notepad. “Just a script. Sort of I guess.”

“A script?” Jon took off his coat and hanged it neatly in the empty closet. Sansa obviously hadn't unpacked yet, seeing her bag was only half open.

“Yeah. I mean I have to say the right things when my family and people start asking questions. At breakfast, at dinner. We're going to be surrounded by family if you haven't noticed. Maybe you should do one too?”

“What's wrong with going with the flow?” Jon wondered. He thought today had gone pretty well, considering.

“Well, my mother for one and two, I'm really bad at lying if you can't tell already.”

Oh dear. Jon sighed as he removed his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. Though, a script didn't sound half bad. Charm might not work so much in the North.

“But I'm drawing blanks. I really don't know what they're going to ask,” Sansa tossed her pencil in frustration.

“Maybe it's best not to overthink it. Say what comes naturally. We'll figure it out when we get to it, okay?” Jon suggested. He didn't want to overact his part, he'd look and feel awkward and that would only make it worse. He needed to sell it and sell it right. Jon sighed as he pressed on his temples. His head was pounding from the amount of quick thinking and shrewd planning he did today. All he craved for now was a hot shower, to wash the day away stinking of lies.

The steam and the hot water did wonders in soothing the tense muscles he didn't realise he had. He was wound up so tight from all the interactions earlier than day that his shoulders and neck were as stiff as concrete. Can't wait to get into bed. No, Jon thought. Couch. Dammit. Jon didn't want to leave the shower but any longer he would've used up all the hot water in the house. I miss my bed.

“Umm Jon? What are you wearing?” Sansa narrowed her eyes at him as he came out of the bathroom. He felt the chill seep right through his bones. Note to self, buy pyjamas.

“ What? This is what I wear to bed.”

“Boxers? You're going to freeze in your sleep.”

Jon was fully aware and accepted his fate, that it could happen but he didn't have much of a choice now.

“Well, the idea was to have a nice warm bed all to myself in a hotel. But... here we are.” The cancellation was uncalled for but it wasn't her fault.

Jon glanced at the couch. Sansa had already placed pillows and a blanket for him but Jon had an inkling they wouldn't be enough to keep him warm. But he'd make do. One night down. “Good night Sansa.”

Sansa shrugged. “Good night Jon. Don't die on me, okay?”

Whatever. Jon ignored Sansa and rested his head on the pillow, pulling the sheets and blanket right up to his neck. He still felt cold but he would try to endure. Shutting his eyes, Jon counted to a hundred. It was a coping technique his grief therapist recommended, especially useful during uncomfortable situations and for whenever Jon needed to get his bearings. Also, he didn't want to think about dying frozen in his sleep, no thanks to Sansa.

Jon sighed as he reached sixty, his eyelids were getting heavier and the cold wasn't nipping at him so much now. As he gently drifted off to sleep, Jon made a wish, for warmer weather the next two days, the only remedy he'd ask for to get through the weekend.

Stay warm, stay warm.. stay warm.. must keep warm..

And indeed it was. Jon wriggled, his body welcoming a lovely warm sensation that enveloped his chest and legs. Slowly, it covered him more and more, causing Jon to stretch his arms as he adjusted himself, wallowing in the sudden warm, comfy bliss. It was so soft and cozy where he laid, pleased that the weather gods had heard his wish. Jon wanted to remain just like this for as long as he could.

“Mmmm..” A groan.

A rustle.

But Jon didn't move an inch. He didn't want to. Another groan heard and then the warmth he felt, shifted. Why is this couch moving?

Reluctantly, Jon opened his eyes, squinting as the bright rays broke through the crack in between the drapes and slowly came into his line of vision. Jon shut his eyes again. All he wanted to do was sleep in. It was the weekend, after all.

Weekend... Sansa.

“Oh my god!”

“Jon!”

“Why are you in my bed?!” Sansa shrieked.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #the proposal au #modern jonsa au #fave movies au #fic trope: only one bed #jonsa fic

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nekoabiwrites · 5 years

Text

Of Princes and Potions - Chapter 13

The ball is here! And it’s the final chapter!! Of this part, at least!!! I have plans for a sequel that gives pay-off for all the Yitra stuff I teased throughout the whole fic!

AU: Royal/Fantasy Pairing: Logince Words: 3295 Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Roman’s Ball is here and Logan is in attendance.

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Roman stood poised just behind the doorway, watching as his father and brother descended the stairs before him. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or pure excitement that was causing his pulse to raise to abnormal heights, but it didn’t matter once he heard his cue to enter. The large spotlight contraption shone brightly at him, making him that much more visible. The gathered guests who crowded on the floor beneath him applauded as he took a practised route down the stairs. Just as he reached the landing and took his stance in front of his family, Logan’s firework potions erupted into a bright, colourful display at either side of him. Some of the audience gasped and flinched away, but most were entranced by the beauty. The royal family stood for a few moments longer, before Patton took up the space beside his son.

“My gathered guests. We thank you for coming this evening to celebrate the coming of age of my beloved son, Crown Prince Roman Sanders.” Patton announced with perfect projection. The crowd applauded politely at his name, but Roman could feel his stomach churn for a moment as the reality of it all came back to him. Thankfully, his father continued after placing a comforting hand upon the small of his back, “We invite you all to take your seats, as a light dinner will be served before the main event of the ball commences. I wish you all a wonderful time celebrating his birthday alongside us.”

After one final round of applause, the guests returned to milling around. Roman shared a glance with Patton, who only smiled and nodded before lightly putting pressure against his back. Roman took the hint and descended the final flight of stairs. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the castle wizard huddled in the corner. Perfect. Just where he’d wanted him to be.

Roman didn’t even manage to take a single step after reaching the ground before he was accosted by several familiar looking people, most of which were from the nobles he’d been unfortunate enough to read the letters of. While in the past he’d not have called their motives into question, now Roman wanted nothing to do with any of them. Unfortunately for him, as all of their parents were of a high status in the kingdom, all he could do was politely converse with them. He simply answered their questions with a well-practised fake smile, though it was clear none of them noticed.

It didn’t take long for a few servants to come and approach those surrounding him, leading them away to their seats. Roman could finally breathe again and he took up his own designated seat at a table that sat close to the stairs. It was sparsely set, as he’d drawn up the seating plan and made sure his closest friends were to be sat alongside him. Roman felt far more at home once they’d all taken their seats and were speaking with him, treating him no different than any other time.

The crown prince kept close attention on how the two Raussier daughters treated him, seeing if they would be the ones to change due to their parents’ letter. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to be listening to the request made of them, as they actively complained about it – more Valerie than Dahlia, but that was also just as normal. Roman relaxed once the food was being served, safe in the knowledge that at least his friends were not about to turn upon him.

Throughout the entire meal, people were constantly approaching the table and attempting to talk with Roman. He was unable to turn them down, but only engaged in polite small talk for a few moments before thanking them and turning back to his table. Many of them took his brushing off with dignity, some even seemingly thankful that they no longer had to try with him, but there were some who were unhappy with him. They stalked off with their noses in the air; Roman watched them all with an amused smile before ignoring them once more.

Roman was pleased when so many of the guests only came to congratulate him on his birthday. It alleviated his deep fear that all of them would approach to attempt to woo him and allowed him to be far more himself than he ever expected he could be.

By the time dessert was being served to them all, the crown prince had returned to his normal boisterous, confident self. Even his friends commented on it, causing Roman to simply wave away their concerns, “Oh, I was just warming myself up, my friends. Not everyone can handle me at my best, after all.” He preened a little but ended up pouting playfully as his friends laughed at his antics.

Oliver eventually approached the prince, “Your highness, the band wanted to know if you had any specific requests for a piece to play for the first dance.”

Roman, despite knowing that Oliver was only doing what he was required to do by protocol, still pouted, “My father has the information. Go and ask him for it. I allowed him that much.”

The servant bowed low in respect, before doing a loop of the table in order to collect the plates. As he leaded down beside the prince in order to reach the table, he muttered quietly, “Of course, Roman.”

Roman was shocked for a moment. He hadn’t expected Oliver to address him by his name at this moment, but it had him breaking out into a huge grin. He watched the servant take the plates away, but was distracted when one of his friends asked, “Why are you grinning? Did that guy say something to you?”

The prince chuckled and allowed his grin to fall a little, though there was a pleased softness to his eyes, “Oh, it was nothing really. Just him fulfilling a request I gave to him.” His friends remained interested, but Roman was not divulging any information to them. If he were to tell them that he wasn’t fond of his title, they might call him out on it or begin to feel guilty for using it. Right now, in the presence of so many, it was going to be what most of them were required to use in order to be seen as respectful and Roman understood it. That didn’t mean he had to like it, however.

A voice called across the room, quietening the noise from the chattering guests once more.

“As is tradition, the one who we are here to celebrate will have the first dance of the night with one whom they choose. If Prince Roman would please accompany me over here in order to announce who he is to pick.”

Roman steeled himself. It was time. He stood with his radiant smile once more, looking over to the head servant who was standing before the band. With effortless movement, Roman walked over to the space where he was, once more, the centre of attention.

The prince cleared his throat before speaking to his captivated audience, “My dear guests. I appreciate you all attending this evening, and I do hope that not a single one of you harbour any ill will towards me nor my dance partner after I announce my decision.” A low murmuring of voices started up, as many of the guests began to wonder about who it would be. Roman paused, allowing them all time to speculate – as well as to calm himself for a moment. He was still able to see the wizard in his line of sight, still standing in the same space as before. It was all going to plan, but now for the part Roman could only hope would follow his expectations.

He took a deep breath before speaking once more, “I would love to invite a very special person, someone who is extremely dear to me, to join me in this first dance of the evening.” Roman turned his full attention to Logan, who’s eyes were now fixed upon him, “My dearest Logan, would you do me the honour of joining me?”

At first, the room fell into a shocked silence as all the attendees caught up to what had just been said. Heads turned, all looking the same direction as Roman, all staring towards Logan who was as still as a statue.

Logan had not expected this. How could he go through with this? But then, could he say no? Would it be seen as a sign of treason if he refused the prince’s request? What would all these guests say, especially each of the ones who were here with the specific intention of winning over Roman’s favour? His mind raced, and his pulse skyrocketed once more. A hand lightly grabbing a hold of his own brought him out of it all, having his eyes lock with gorgeous golden ones that he’d been admiring for some time.

“You can dismiss my request if you wish, Logan.”

The wizard had to bite back a whine as his name fell from the prince’s lips once more, and in such a soft tone. It made him weak. It also broke his barrier. Before he even knew what he was saying, the words came out of him.

“I would be delighted to join you, your highness.”

The embarrassment and deep blush was all worth it as Roman’s face lit up brighter than Logan had ever seen. The prince, still lightly holding his hand, led him to the centre of the dance floor. They were surrounded by all the noble children and visiting royals, yet something kept Logan from feeling self-conscious.

They settled into a hold as if they’d been dancing together for years, the slow music began and the two followed it with their dance.

Logan was sure it was impossible, but the world around them fell away as they swirled around the floor. His face with a dark red, his legs were still shaking uncontrollably, his hands held a little too tight to the prince, and yet… everything felt right, in a way. It was like they were meant to do this, meant to be this close and dance together. Neither had left the other’s gaze as they danced. Time slowly began to lose all meaning to Logan and he relaxed into it, his worries fading, only to be replaced with what he could simply describe as love.

There was no other word for what he felt. Admitting it in a thought to himself made him smile fondly at Roman, who returned the expression in kind. It was perfect. Though, Logan could think of only one thing that could improve the situation.

Just as it crossed his mind, Roman smoothly executed an elaborate yet slow move that ended with him dipping Logan in his arms. A silent question came through his gaze as Logan stared up, opened mouthed and breathless at the prince. A single, imperceptible nod later and the prince’s lips were finally pressed against his own.

Logan was entirely overcome with emotion. Everything at once felt like it was filling up and draining from his body. The intensity was diminished slightly, but everything was real. Suddenly, Logan’s eyes snapped open and Roman pulled away from him with a surprised expression.

“Of course!” Logan exclaimed, his eyes looking at nothing as his brain ran through the events. He was put back onto his feet by Roman, who watched him with worry.

“Is everything alright?”

The wizard laughed aloud, a wide smile crossing his face, “Everything is more than alright, everything is back to normal! I should have known that a kiss would have been the antidote!”

“Antidote?” Roman’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Logan opened his mouth to explain, but then he remembered where the two of them were. Stood in the centre of Roman’s ball, all the guests eyes staring at them with varying expressions. After a second of consideration, Logan closed his mouth and smiled softly, “I shall explain everything later, but… may I ask one thing of you, Roman?”

The prince’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, which Logan immediately found endearing, “Of course, my love.” He reached out and held both of Logan’s hands ever so carefully, placing kisses atop both of them, “Anything you wish.”

It was Logan’s turn to blush once more, though he hoped that it would be a far less frequent occurrence in the upcoming months. With the gentlest smile he could muster, Logan quietly asked, “May I bother you for another kiss?”

Roman broke into the widest grin before he laughed, “It is no bother.” He said before pressing a feather-light kiss to the wizard’s lips once more. After pulling away, he raised his voice, “I have yet another request of you, Logan.”

The wizard fought hard to not roll his eyes at the showboating, “Whatever could it be now, your highness?” He asked, a gentle mocking hint behind his voice.

“Would you, Sir Logan Pendry, allow me the highest honour in the world, and permit me to enter a romantic relationship with you?”

A gasp rippled around the room. All the guests seemed scandalised by the sheer thought of the crown prince beginning a relationship with the royal wizard, who undoubtably had some bad blood within him, and yet all the knights, servants and other inhabitants of the castle seemed all too relieved that the question had been asked. To some, it came across as thought they’d all been waiting for this moment for a long time.

They didn’t have long to ponder about that, however, as Logan quickly responded. “It would be my honour, Prince Roman, to accompany you in a romantic relationship.”

After the announcement of the new couple, which Patton was far too excited to show off to the entire visiting audience even though they’d just witnessed their union, the ball continued. Music began and many of the guests took to the dance floor. Those who’d approached Roman prior and been upset with his treatment of them either chose to remain seated or had themselves escorted to their homes by the royal guard. It surprised no one that all of these children were from the nobles who lived in the capital and almost every guest that stayed was pleased to see them go.

Roman and Logan did not leave their new partner’s side for the rest of the night. Many came to congratulate the couple; some stuck around to ask questions but others were content with just a quick exchange. Either way, the couple were more than happy to accommodate all of them.

Roman’s friends were persistent in their teasing of the crown prince, poking fun at the fact he’d had a crush on the wizard for years now – something that someone around had clearly told them without Roman’s express permission. He fought back vehemently, defending his actions by insisting it was for the ‘good of their relationship’ or that it ‘would not have been the spectacle he wanted had he confessed earlier’. Logan simply quirked an eyebrow good-naturedly when Roman turned to him for assistance.

“Of course! Even you, my beloved, are against me! The betrayal!” Roman exaggeratedly fell into an empty chair nearby, falsely crying out to the ceiling. His friends crowded around and playfully teased him some more.

Logan stood by, his arms folded. While he may have fallen for every aspect of the prince and had agreed to begin a relationship with him, that didn’t mean he was going to help him in his acts. As he waited for Roman to finish, Logan caught the eye of Virgil from across the room. The two friends shared a smile and a nod, before the mage was called back to the scene before him.

Virgil snickered as he watched Logan be pulled into Roman’s lap and almost smothered in a hug. It was going to be a little different around the castle, but it was surely for the better. The knight returned to surveying the room, keeping an eye on all of the guests for any signs of trouble. His gaze fell on the young Prince Thomas, who was dancing with his dad nearby. Virgil managed to hear a small part of what was undoubtably a longer conversation.

“Papa, do you think I’ll be in a romantic relationship like Ro and Mr Magic?” Thomas asked him innocently.

Patton smiled warmly and continued to dance a little awkwardly with the short boy, “Of course you will, Thomas. You’ll find someone and, when you do, you follow your brother’s example. Don’t let anything get in the way of what your heart wants.”

Thomas’ face lit up and he left his father behind as he ran around the edge of the room towards Sara, who was stood in her given position. Both Virgil and Patton looked at each other, exchanging shrugs as they looked over at the conversation.

Had they been able to hear what was being said, they’d have understood why Sara began to laugh.

“Oh, young Thomas, I don’t know if that is what you want.” She said, crouching down to be at his height.

“But Papa said to follow my heart! My heart loves you, Sara!” Thomas repeated, grabbing a hold of her hand as he stared up at her with determination blazing in his eyes.

The young woman couldn’t help the fond smile. She laughed again before nodding, “Okay, how about we wait until you are the age of your brother. See if you still feel the same way, hm?”

Thomas nodded furiously, “Yes! I promise! I’ll still love you as much as I do now!”

“Of course, your highness.” Sara spoke softly before standing back to her full height, “I think your father is waiting for you. How about you go back to him?” She went to pull her hand back, but found Thomas still grasping a hold of it.

“Sara, come with me! Dance with me! Just once? Please?” The young prince stared up at her with large, pleading eyes and there was no way the servant could say no. She accompanied Thomas to the floor and the two danced under the watchful eye of Patton and Virgil.

Just through the doors, Demitri stood against the door frame. He had been keeping a low profile at the back of the room, just in case he needed to have a quick getaway, but thankfully everything had gone smoothly. He went to turn and head back to his room, when a hand stopped him. Demitri turned and saw Patton standing there.

“Why are you leaving now? You haven’t had a dance yet.” The kind said with a wide grin that had an air of childishness.

Demitri huffed in amusement, “I wasn’t asked by anyone, and I and I certainly don’t expect it to happen at this point.” Patton’s hand moved off of his shoulder and Demitri expected him to let him go, but instead the man grabbed a hold of his hand. His eyes flicked downwards and back up to the reigning king, a look of shock plain as day on his face.

“Please, share this next dance with me?” Patton asked.

The animal handler searched the man’s face for any ulterior motives, yet he found none. He eventually gave in and playfully sighed, “I suppose I could, just this once. Only for you, old friend.”

The two walked towards the dance floor and fell into a clearly practised routine. The night ended with all of them retiring to their rooms, happy smiles on their faces as they drifted off to sleep. Peace had returned to the castle once more and all was well.

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ghostmartyr · 6 years

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Fic: A Terrible Idea [13/?]

Fandom: Attack on Titan Title: A Terrible Idea Author: Immi Rating: PG-13 Summary: Ymir’s pursuit of the hot cheerleader was meant to stay strictly lustful. But it’s a high school AU with a ship tag, so you know, fuck that. Notes: This chapter was going to be longer, but it got split for reasons I’m still not sure on.

Segment summary: They should probably have a candid conversation or five. But consider this: They could also not.

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII

Ymir and feelings had a great relationship. They said hi, they did Sunday brunch, smiled for the camera, then went on their merry way. No muss, no fuss, no clubbing anyone to death in a back alley.

That didn’t mean she wanted them for a house guest.

Porco, in typical Porco fashion, wasn’t helping.

“You kept saying you didn’t like her.”

“We’re a little past that, try to keep up.”

“But you said—”

For someone who’d been so offended by the idea that a person could want a strictly lustful connection with someone, he was taking the idea that Ymir might have been underselling the value of Historia’s pretty eyes very hard. Ymir could have mustered up an imitation of sympathy, but he was supposed to be helping her, and his current level of contribution was making his eyes go as wide as his mouth. Besides that, the other exciting new developments a new dawning school day was lobbing towards them made her problems way less fun.

First though, there was the morning after. Enter Ymir having finished up brushing her teeth in the cramped bathroom and while she gave her beloved housemate a few token moments that more awake people would appreciate for thinking.

“So,” Porco had said, speaking through gravel, “you like her.”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Historia.”

“Are you going to be like this all day?”

Porco had dunked his head in the sink and came out splashing water all over both of them. Marcel had crashed so hard his bed was still buffing out the dents, so for a brief segment of time soon to be all but erased, all this was his fun to miss. With a breath Ymir hoped he’d found fortifying, Porco wiped his face raw. “How badly did you screw up the kiss?”

Ymir rolled her eyes and came up with several biting retorts that made him cry, then they never spoke of it again.

If fucking only.

Instead, what had actually come out was, “I didn’t screw it up, I was savoring it. Standing still for romantic moments is what you’re supposed to do.”

Porco mumbled something which the record could not verify was actually, “Not that still,” so murdering him would not be the easily excusable brand of crime Kenny let slide, and Ymir still, in theory, had someone to bounce the wondrous trauma of emotion off of.

“Did you even talk to her after?”

“And ruin the mood?”

Porco had dropped his towel and looked close to a stroke. “Are you for real?”

“Between the two of us, my date’s the one that ended on a kiss.” A kiss which, Ymir had found out at that point, was not a good thing to reference if she needed more words to complete a burn. She rallied like a champ, though. “Unless you’re holding out on me, you don’t have much room to criticize.”

On another morning, the pale look of panic that bunny-hopped across Porco’s face would have been of interest. In a twist of very bad luck for one of them, they’d been living through this particular morning, where Ymir was trying not to hit the ground too hard from cloud nine, and Porco had not yet been embarrassed into silence.

“Maybe you should check your phone,” Porco had said, sure to have nightmares about the suggestion for another week. “Thing’s almost surgically attached, she might’ve sent you something to work with.”

All previous arguments to the contrary, Ymir had known by then that she was in some massive fucking trouble with the Historia situation. Her brain periodically turning to sappily romantic fuzz all night long when she was supposed to be sleeping was a good hint.

But when she’d turned her phone back on and found a waiting link to Pieck’s homecoming photos, she’d fallen down a whole new rabbit hole of emotion, and fuck Pock’s comments, if Historia had been in the room, she would have kissed her until she was the frozen one.

Needless to say, the conversation took a turn after that.

A turn Porco was still trying to skid out of as they walked to school the next morning.

“Your girlfriend,” he said acidly, for the fifth time, “told Pieck she could collect the Homecoming Queen crown for her. Pieck’s legs were acting up, so she gave it to me, and the King and Queen dance is traditional. It has nothing to do with anything!”

“Oh my gosh you two are so cute together,” Ymir said for the seventh time, scrolling delightedly through the shots Pieck had collected of the crowned royals dancing through the night.

Pock made a failed grab for her phone.

“Aw, and here your boyfriend is with Marcel. It’s so nice when everyone gets along.”

That locked Porco’s jaw right up, along with his fists and his gait. Probably because he could see the same smitten look Reiner was wearing in the Marcel pictures as he didn’t see in their pictures together.

Ymir didn’t mean to have a feeling about that, but she cuffed Porco on the shoulder anyway. “Don’t be like that, they’re best friends. It’s easy for a budding relationship to feel threatened by that kind of love, but I have faith—”

“Enough,” Porco said.

Ymir shrugged as gaily as she did everything. “Suit yourself. You should thank Pieck; she made sure to get your good side.”

He would, knowing him. With her around to nudge the thought into his head. Some of the stony redness taking over Porco’s everything backed off to plain ol’ redness. With an extra shoulder hunch for pity points.

Ymir didn’t need the pictures to know that he’d failed completely to turn his date into a date. She also didn’t need photo evidence to know that didn’t mean anything, because Pieck took care of Pock’s heart the way more sensitive people looked after a baby bird, but Porco didn’t know a thing about relationships. He’d be riding the sad until the next time Pieck smiled at him.

Or the grudgingly bitter. “What are you going to do about Historia?”

Ymir kept her eyes on her new prized possession. Pieck had caught the one nanosecond of Porco actually smiling when Reiner dipped him. “Are you back on that?”

Porco had the herculean nerve to roll his eyes. “Like you ever left?”

There was also a great shot Pieck had convinced Marcel to take of all three of them, both boys playing diligent honor guard to the lady joining their midst. The angle wasn’t perfect, but Pieck’s contented smile and Porco’s dopey one next to Reiner’s bursting grin made up for it.

“You barely even thanked her for those things,” Porco was saying. “Do you have some sort of plan?”

Ymir pulled a wrinkle out of her sleeve absently. “Things have been going fine so far. Why would I need a plan?”

The flummoxed silence was gratifying, but it didn’t last.

“You like her,” he said, more confused than horrified for once.

“Right.”

“…Shouldn’t you tell her that?”

“I don’t think dodging a confession for over a decade makes you an expert.” Ymir kept going before Porco’s softened nerves could pick up too bad of a bruise. “Look,” she said, “it isn’t something to rush into. I’m not gonna switch gears on her out of nowhere. She might not even be into that.”

The photos on her phone lost some of their luster with the words. To go with the excruciating pang in her heart saying them caused. The least punkest of rocks.

Porco, responding the way he usually did to being mined for mockery for a solid day due entirely to his own actions, said, “You mean what if she’s been a pervert all along who’s only interested in you for your body?”

“Hey. Hey. Hey Pock. Fuck off.”

----

She was not going to make it weird.

There was no reason for it to be weird.

The whole school already thought they were a thing.

They’d done it last week and no one cared.

Ymir was standing at the end of the fucking cafeteria line, wondering why in the fuck her legs couldn’t seem to move. Her only answer was an image in the back of her mind of what happened at one of the dances she’d actually attended, watching Porco watch Pieck. She didn’t care for it.

Historia was already seated, and looking at her was on par with how multiple lightning strikes probably felt.

The last time they were in the same room they’d kissed.

…Fuck.

How the hell was this doing this to her? Historia had always been beautiful. Her hair had always had that shine to it. Her legs had always gone on for days despite being a modest half-day, at best. Her arms always looked incredible. The very faded blue face paint on her cheek hadn’t been around long, but there wasn’t anything uniquely special about it. They hadn’t even kissed that time. Wanted to, very much, and oh hell that just put the time the want had entered reality back, and—

She always looked up and let the world stop when she saw Ymir.

So it was just going to be fucking weird.

Okay.

Ymir made her legs work. She made them drag her over to the table, and she made herself sit down, and she didn’t make herself stop thinking about kissing Historia because having all the romo didn’t mean she was suddenly a saint.

“Hey,” she said, sliding across the bench. “Thanks for the pics.”

“No problem,” Historia said.

Her phone wasn’t in her hand. The Tamagotchi was.

Ymir had a very serious problem. One the giant lumps taking up root in her throat were not helping with. Such a problem. A problem an overabundance of bad pop songs were written about.

Historia wasn’t going to bring it up. Ymir couldn’t call that a good thing, but she wasn’t going to complain. Who was to say there was even a reason to bring it up, when the whole stated excuse had been getting under her parents’ skin. A kiss here or there in the pursuit of pissing people off wasn’t anything at all.

What the hell was she supposed to do if Historia believed that?

What else was Historia supposed to think, when she went for a kiss and got jack back?

What if pissing people off was the only reason she’d gone for it?

How did people do this?

“Did you have a good… yesterday?” Historia asked.

“Yep,” Ymir said, like it was easy. “Bothered Pock, went for a run. What did you get up to without me?”

The somehow living bit-creature in Historia’s hand waved. “Not a lot.” Historia shifted slightly on the bench, putting their knees within a hairsbreadth of touching. Ymir could feel them both watching the splice of space, and it brought some very vivid memories back. “My life’s pretty boring without you.”

Was that flirting or just the truth? Both?

“I guess I should find more excuses to stick around, then,” Ymir said.

They were sitting too close for the kind of eye contact that brought on. Ymir tried not to look at Historia’s cheek. Barely any of the wing left, glitter lurking invisibly, and it gave her a thrill that went down to her toes.

Historia looked at Ymir, and Ymir could see stars in her eyes.

“You should,” she said.

#yumikuri #yumihisu #shingeki no fanfic #fic #mine #this and the next one were originally part of the same chapter #I don't follow my usual chapter rules for this story so #I don't have any clue how to organize any of it #thoughts would be welcome

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