#i would sacrifice my firstborn child to you little man! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noritoshiikamo · 1 year

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wake up [childe x reader]

im writing childe again as an annual sacrifice to lose on his banner for c5 jean or tighnari also miss manipulative yet sweet little husband childe [continuation of this]

tagging @cheolinn @duskamethyst @crashed-wing

cw dubcon, manipulative childe, pregnant reader, wee bit of somnophilia, female receiving oral, not so descriptive penetrative sex, mention of breeding kink, stockholm syndromish, homicidal thoughts (childe)

ajax is ridiculous throughout your pregnancy.

you found yourself dodging him ever so often but would it work with your stubborn husband? never. your cold shoulder meant he just had to work a little hard, aggressive with no subtlety. to him, you must just be a little cranky with his busy schedule. serving tsaritsa is might be a priority but for you, he was willing to make an exception.

he’s suffocating.

hovering over you, berating everything you do as if you haven’t been doing this for the past 57 day to be exact. “stop, i’m just pregnant. leave me alone,” you muttered angrily, eyes didn’t even leave the chopping board holding off to the herbs you were about to chop. ajax knew well than to mess with an angry woman holding a knife.

“my love, you are going in your second trimester, you should be resting. what kind of husband am i if i’m not helping my sweet sweet wife.”

you turned around, annoyance was all your face could convey to his nonsense, “well for once, if you would’ve learn to control yourself, i wouldn’t need to be carrying a baby for 9 months.” his laughter echoed the small cottage as you found yourself trapped between the counter, a hard place and your charming husband. his bare hands, sight you rarely seen brushed gently against your cheeks. your tensed body immediately relaxed as if it was trained to respond as such to his touch. “now, now, that wouldn’t be so husbandly of me if i couldn’t get my wife knocked up, wouldn’t i?” his lips brushed your own so lightly but it was your reaction that made the man marveled in excitement. you were reaching for more.

“oh, did my wife miss me?”

you bit your tongue, “shut up and quit bothering me.”

ajax feigned a small pout, fishing for your sympathy as he rested his forehead against yours. his cold eyes were wide with joy, being nuisance to you was his choice of bantering. he missed this dearly, contemplating more sabbatical leaves to spend more time with you. his thumb brushed against your lower lips as his finger hooked under your chin, forcing your gaze up on him. “i told you,” he clicked his tongue, “i will lessen the bothering after our third child. fifth if you want to completely stop, i will definitely shut my mouth.”

he felt something sharp against his chest. looking down, you slammed the knife flat, palm on the handle against where his heart laid. your hand looked so small compared to the knife,“just cook.”

you waddled away, tossing the apron on the counter. you felt his gaze against your body but it was his words that gave you the shivers.

“i’ll still have it, y/n. after our sweet firstborn is out, i will only give you few months of break, and then i’ll breed the second one right back in ya.”

you knew it well that the threat isn’t empty.

it was adorable that 30 minutes later, he found you completely out in the baby room, resting against the nice sofa by the window with a book on your laps. it seemed that the book is reading you and not the other way around. my poor exhausted wife, he thought fondly. he leaned against the door, arms across the chest as his eyes roamed. how could he resist the idea of pumping you full of his child when you look so adorable and cute?

something twitched in him.

his boots creaked heavy against the floor. winter must be brutal on you after years in the land of freedom. you surely missed the sunny breeze against your skin, his finger brushing lightly against your thigh, hiking your dress higher. a soft oh escaped his lips as his eyes widened in excitement. down on both knees, his lips planted butterfly kisses along the inside watching as you squirmed and sighed. the book long forgotten, laying on the floor as he ventured deeper. you must have been thinking of how none of your complaints were heard by him. ajax just didn’t think that it would be true; you’re not just gonna be walking around with nothing underneath just because the waistband hurts. he felt sorry for doubting you, apologizing in the way he knew best with a kiss in your mound.

“sorry baby, shh just sleep,” he hushed as he yanked you by the legs forward, spreading your legs further. you whined, drowsy in exhaustion.

he was sorry indeed. with arms both underneath your thighs, holding you in place, he burrowed deeper. on his archon’s name, he couldn’t understand how you could taste this delicious on his tongue. ajax could no longer go for the soft gentle licks, he was ravishing you. when he was not running his tongue along your slit, teasing your throbbing holes with his pointed tongue, he kept his lips latched around the puffy clit. with every whines and sighs, he kept his grips on your soft thighs tighter.

his heart swelled and his cock twitched when his name slipped out of your tongue so gently. even in your dream, he was haunting you. except this wasn’t a dream and ajax was really going to town. he would kill for you to wake up, listening to your sweet begging of no and not here.

he has no sense of patience and politeness.

he would keep you gagged with his cock down your throat underneath the table, pounding you in the corner of the dark alley of the busiest holiday night in town and here he is, trying to fuck you in your newborn’s room. he lives for the lusty fearful eyes of yours as he drives deeper in you. releasing your clit with a soft pop, his fingers went busy around the belt. he was leaking through the light pants, managed only to open it halfway before giving it a quick tug. he never asked, you knew better than to protest what was his. he rubbed the hardened cock against your slit, watching frenzied in lust as your face contorted in pleasure.

“oh, y/n,” he called gleefully, planting kisses on your nose, “you better wake up or you’ll miss it.”

his kissed ticked your. your eyes opened lightly, startled by your husband’s face directly on your face. “miss what?” you asked confusedly. your pretty voice laced in exhaustion and sleep.

ajax smiled gleefully and your heart sank. “fuck, ajax!”your eyes shot opened as he pushed his whole length in. not giving you a single warning, not even easing in slowly, the fucked up blissed look in his face as he was fully sheathed in your cunt. you came just by his penetration, much to his content. your legs beside his figure trembled as you fisted his red shirt. “fucking warn me first,” you cried, his hungrily lips reached your own. you tasted yourself, face flushing violently as you realised what had happen. your eyed rolled back at the feeling of his tongue brushing against your own. “hm, what about warning me first if you decide to walk around without a panties? what if someone see it? they’ll take advantage of my sweet pregnant wife,” he mocked, withdrawing his hips back and slamming forward, “my poor helpless wife, can’t have people know that they got the tightest cunt in town, can’t i?” you threw your head back in pleasure, tears pooling in your eyes from pain turned into a pleasure down your cheeks. he occupied your neck, lapping and biting your skin. sucking until marks formed where your heart pounded heavily underneath his tongue. until he was satisfied, until his hands took over around the column to bring your eyes back to his.

“don’t. do. it. again,” he hissed, emphasizing each words with the harsh thrust into your cunt, “not when i’m not around. or i will kill anyone who sets their eyes on you. don’t tell me you got off to the thoughts of me killing someone for you, my wife?”

his hips slowed down and you immediately shook your head, tongue building courage to mutter no. you watched as his face softened immediately, happily kissing you with his hips snapping harsh enough you could feel your second coming. he knew it. with the way you were breathing heavily, acting so obediently with his ridiculous orders and the pussy tightening against his cock, you were about to cum. “a-ajax! i can’t,” you whined, gasping for air he knocked out with every fucks. “s-slow down please.” your feet pressed against his side, struggling to slow his pace.

“sorry baby, i want you to cum on my cock. not even a chance,” he chuckled, lapping on the salty droplet against your cheeks, “come on baby, you’re tightening around my cock, give it in.” your cries echoed the small room, sofa creaked against the wooden floor taking the brunt of his harsh thrusts. your dress was like a thin paper shredded, exposing your bare skin he yearned the most. lapping hungrily on your sensitive, hardened bud. with every gaze of his fangs, you cursed him in your mother tongue. it could only make him more feral. you could feel his pelvic grinding against yours.

ajax is attractive when he’s about to cum.

his daze was feral yet soft, glistening with lust. his soft locks stick to his face and every time it became troublesome, he pushed it back. you couldn’t help the stare to count the speckles of freckles that kissed his face and wondered how many times had his past lover kissed him there. was it you? his face softened when your fingers rested itself against his face. he enjoyed it. his smile grew wider and so did the wrinkles around the corner of his eyes. “someone’s staring,” he teased, almost panting the words out of breath. you didn’t say anything, brushing a line you were certain once was a bleeding scar you nursed to heal.

he ruined your life, dragged you back here and imprisoned you but how can you hate him? deep inside you, you knew you made him mad. you drove him away and now his child grew in your womb and your found it more of a bliss than a punishment. your body tensed, nails dug deep in his shoulder blade. you didn’t make a sound, holding your breath. you came again but it almost feel like an out of body experience.

“y/n, come back to me,” his raspy voice against your ears startled you. you didn’t realise how you end up on his laps, on the floor arms tight around him with his hips were more forgiving this time. ajax breathed a sigh of relief, “there you are. wow, you’re so easy to break there, sweetheart, i thought i lost ya for a sec.” his eyes search your face, flushed and full of bliss. “do you want me to stop?” he asked, brushing your drool away, cleaning your face with concern.

“you didn’t finish,” you mumbled, confusion etched on your face.

“i don’t have too, are you okay?”

you pushed him off, watching as his soft ginger locks splayed on the floor. his brows jolted up in surprise, “y/n,” he warned, holding you up by the waist. a soft curse escaped his lips as he felt the walls tightening against his length. you love it, the way your name escaped his tongue. his moans echoed the room now as your hips moved. his cries and the way his grips tightened against your flesh every time your hips snapped up and down. he was getting sensitive, eager to finish, his hips moving upward to match your pace. his hand, it roamed. holding on to your arm, grabbing a handful of your growing breast but when he finally came, it sat against your growing belly. you gasped, feeling overwhelmed and full as he painted your inside wide, not a single drop wasted.

the room was quieter now. you both sat attached, struggling to catch the breath you knocked out of each other. you watched as his fingers trembled around the buttons. he shed the shirt off before sitting up, carefully wrapping you in his warm shirt. you said nothing, letting him rest your head against his chest. you listened to his rapid heart pounded, his fingers brushing your back with every breath you took you swore his heart skipped a beat. you sat there long before he kissed your forehead and sat you back on the sofa.

“stay here, let me grab you some clean clothes and something to clean you up.”

you yawned, shrugging nonchalantly, “nothing with waistbands, no underwear.”

ajax beamed in excitement, his smirk grew wider as he watched your face flushed warmer, “oh, trust me, you are not wearing anything after that.”

#will edit kater when im back from watching black panther hihi #writing: fics #writing: genshin #tw dubcon #tw somnophilia #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin tartaglia #genshin tartaglia x reader #tartagalia smut #childe x you #childe x reader #childe x reader smut #childe smut #tartaglia smut #genshin x y/n #childe x y/n #husband!childe series

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erinnkenobi · 5 months

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I do my best to take care of you | Coriolanus Snow x F!Reader

Warning content: anger issues! stress! between life and death path! angst! blood mentions! Angst!triggering! Friends to lovers to enemies to... Who knows? — pain!wounds! stress edgy ticks! Complicated love story! You're at your own risk! mentions of makin!love.

Words: 7.4k

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader

Synopsis: [District 12] Your father, a studious philosophical man, taught you since you were a child to survive anything, taught you to not believe in anyone, even though you just wanted to read, draw and help your mother to bake and cook, yet there you are, learning not to die. Until Snow appeared into your life, the reaping day and the fortunate news that Coriolanus Snow being your mentor, would you either impress him or make him a fool? You're about to go against what you urged to protect, your morals.

Notes: after this drabble, I changed and added a ton of stuff, I'm almost dying 'n I hope you all enjoy my suffering, besides, I would let my morals off and let him get on top of me.

If you liked, please give me an ♥︎ or a reblog, I love reading your feedbacks. It helps me a lot.

Your name? [Name] Amleth, living in northern extreme side far from the District 12, you grew up alongside your younger sister among your parents, your mother? A good baker salesman door by door, offering great food for a cheap price so you and your family didn't need to pass any day without food or at least, clean clothes, appearance mattered for your mother, while for your father, he needed you to survive and achieve anything if he wasn't there.

You never understood the real reason why, since you were just a little gal, your father did what he did. I am going to tell you, everything what he had done to you, if it was cruel to a scared wee child? You've could say so, but all of this, would eventually help you.

Your dear father taught you how to read 'n write, how to sparkle a fire with kindling, to hunt, even math, oh dear God, you hated, you cried because it couldn't just get into your mind, but you solved some problems he gave you, you always solved them, even in a day where he throws you into a lake, a day you never forgot because you didn't learned how to swim, however, as you almost died that day, he helped you(well, he threw you there, and he couldn't lose you, so of course he got you out of the lake) though the next day, you went to the same lake again, but at least he taught you how to swim, or at least not to die. Father taught you to survive in the woods, but guess what? Yeah, he left you there, you were twelve years old, you felt cold, anger against your dad, hungry and fear, however you found your way home, followed the stars and to deal with the hungry? You killed your first reindeer, but you cried the whole night and even apologised for the animal life:"Sorry...But I needed to eat something, your sacrifice will keep me alive, thank you.." and you broiled the organs from the animals that you would need that night. And when you arrived at home? You cried and shouted towards your father, but he didn't fired back, yet, he was even able to taught you a lesson (well, your mother almost killed your father when she discovered what he did, who leaves their firstborn girl alone of 12 years old in the woods for five days? He said you were at some friend's house, though your mother needed to have suspected, since you didn't had any friends).

Your dad said:" My dear lov, If you thing that tough men are dangerous, wait until you see what weak men are capable of..-He paused to sniff and smile at you.–However, I think, you already saw and even did..Can you give me an answer for what I just said think, my dear."

And it clicked, yet you weren't proud, you felt worse and wanted to cry, curl like a little baby in a corner and cry, but even if you wanted to cry by,now, you faced your father with your eyes burning(cuz you held you tears):"I'm my moment of weakness by fear and...hungry, I took an animal life, his sacrifice kept me alive...It just shows what men are able to commit to anyone, just be alive in later hours.."-then you sniffed trying not to cry, the animal's eyes, so pure and beautifully looking at you, lacerating its body in change of food, you were silently crying.

After that experiences and others lessons that you father made you get through, at least with the animals you apologised. You became a fine hunter of big and small animals, after you father passed away from the flu, just because you couldn't even afford a dammit medicine, life took him away from you and your family, so after you father you took care of all his past burdens, you even trained your sister to hunt if you were able to do so, and in exchange, when you dad was alive, he taught your sister too, she gave you tricks and taught you to difference different plants, flowers and about the colours of venomous animals like spiders, scorpions and snakes.

Since your father were gone, you read all of his diaries and notes on his books, your mother still selling tasty cakes, muffins and even bread, most of them you couldn't even eat, because even a small portion of what she baked, she needed to sell, and now sometimes she mends some clothes, from male to female, to gain extra coins. You had a dream, to become a writer and go to an university, however within this reality, you couldn't dream, so yeah, you kept and saved all of your father's teachings, because...

You would need them, like, right now. At the reaping day.

You were at the last row, hidden by the shadows when you heard your name being chosen by the governor from your district, you looked up at the cameras and at the distance from yourself to where the governor was standing with a goody stupid smile. It wasn't right, how woyldnit be possible? You didn't even communicate with those people from "your district", they weren't supposed to know your name, yet here you are, with slowly steps following thine path towards the wooden stage. You heard whimpers and whispers among the folks, due to your surname, they knew your mother, but they have thought that it was her, not her daughter.

When you wen up those stars passing near the peacekeepers, you say a ginger girl smiling, "this bloody cow."-you thought, last week you saved her ass up, when this bloodly bastard were doing nasty things with the Biddle boy from a lonely wolf, you,killed a hungry animal to save this bastard? Shouldn't you had let the poor animal, that just wanted a good snack, eat alive this witch alongside her stupid boyfriend, should you? Yeah...In this day you said your name when the dumbass Mayfair asked your name, well, ta-dah, this is what you win after saving someone's else ass.

You cursed and fired a bad word, in which, you received a slap across your face from the president, Mayfair's dad, making you stumble, the peacekeepers took the man away from you, while you were processing everything around your surroundings, you lowly laughed, unbelievable, when you stood up and looked at the cam, you controlled your breathing, you were angry, you wanted to strangle the redhead girl, what had you done wrong? When you tried to get down and fly towards her throat, two peacekeepers were needed to hold you up and stop you from killing her, while you were being dragged you screamed that you needed to see your family for one last time, but they didn't granted you this.

The only two things that you were thinking was, 1-your family and 2-your father lessons, you were a tribute now, a turmoil of confused feelings within you and well, the inlu company you would have by now was the boy, from your, supposed, Disctric.

The Reaping Day

During the Academy's mentorship selection

All the students is their bright red uniforms were watching as Casca Highbottom selected their tributes to their selected mentors. Sejanus wasn't in a good mood after Marcus being chosen as his tribute, yet his father, cruel man did this purposeful, however this wasn't a concern for Coriolanus Snow, each time Casca Highbottom passed over the districts tributes, near the 7-8 tribute, Coryo was almost losing hope, anxiety eating him alive.

Coryo mind thinking in any possibilities he could achieve with each tribute that wasn't his, until the 12 district appeared on screen, the male tribute wasn't his, but the girl, that Casca Highbottom put him in. Coryo scowl face with grimace to your face, everyone watching as you were dragged by two peacekeepers away from the daughter of the president, you were a savage. How was he supposed to make you win the Prize Plinth for him and the games? He thought for a sec he was doomed, yet, he doesn't accept failures, Snow needs to lands on top.

So Coriolanus comes to meet you at the train station with a white flower in his hands.

He passes through the others tributes, that were carrying hatred faces here and there, with reason, anyway, he then stops at the wagon that was supposed to be yours and Jesse, the boy from your district.There you are, Coryo looks at you while Jesse tried to help your way out of the wagon, but you declined, you jumped out off the wagon, yet you almost stumbled when your feet hits the floor, Coryo instincts almost touched you to help you stay still, but Jesse was faster.

You thanked him, and then you look up to your other side, trying to tidy your hair unsuccessfully, the tall blond lad caught your attention, you averted his gaze, damn, he is handsome, but unfortunately he was one of them, capitol future leaders, you figured out looking for mere seconds the pin in his clothes.

"Welcome to the Capitol."-he says with a handsome smile, you hesitate to take the flower, the flower wasn't venomous, so no need to attack him, right? Right.

"Mhmm...It seems like you shouldn't be here"-He gives another smile, you father told you, smiles from handsome boys are signal of danger, yet by now, you would ignore his voice inside your mind.

"Well, I shouldn't be here, but I'm your mentor"-he says, and you continue:"And what does my mentor besides bringing a flower to me?" –he quickly answers you:"I do my best to take care of you."

It didn't convinced you, but you took the flower from his hand, anyway, when you all hear a thud on the floor, it was a signal that it was time to go:"I wish you good luck, handsome boy".-As you might die anyway, why not risk saying those bold stuff? it wouldn't hurt anyone.

So the peacekeepers calmly dragged you and Jesse to an another vehicle, and yet fascinated by you, not trying to kill him or even stare weird at him, he finds a way to be in the same vehicle as you, and the others tributes.

Under your breath muttered:"Stupid decision", you can't believe that you mentor was so well committed to you, there's something off, and you will go on with it.

Until the others tribute were eager to kill him in front of you, so you quickly got up to spare the boy far from your mentor, even after Coriolanus mentioned that each one of them received a mentor, they still wanted to get rid of yours:"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid to say that I can't let you kill my mentor, I think I'll need mine, and I'm sorry (not sorry) that yours aren't so committed to show up and well, make a stupid decision to come here and see if I am "safe", so.."-before you could finished it, something happened outside there and Coriolanus quickly held your body, and you lead by uour instincts hold onto him body, when the door were open and all of the other tributes fell, eventually both of you also fell, after hitting a tough surface you and Coriolanus meet the grass, you on top of him.

Quickly you got up and even helped him, you adjust your vision and it was unbelievable, a zoo? Really? You stared now at your mentor, who was lost just like you, but not in the later seconds, the TV was recording right now, he needed to sort things out quickly, so he holds your hands into his, you would shrugg him off you, but under his breath, almost like a serpent he said:"Act up, we're gonna need it from now on, please, listen me carefully."

Everything worked well, too good for you, it felt somehow odd, but for Snow, it was great, he still believes that you might not win the game, if you played it clean, you would need him to set things up for you.

So meeting again at the capital zoo, he brought you food, in which you shared back with him, you even played with his face and criticism against the Capitol about not feeding him well, in which, begrudgingly he lowly giggles, oh God, you can't fall for the way he looks with his lips, "don't be a fool, you're going to be thrown in the arena, to kill or be killed."

The day to discuss strategies, where Coriolanus in a safe distance from you tried to reason, you finally spoke, facing and holding his eyes:—"You need to believe that I have a chance, if you don't believe in me, neither me nor you will have high expectations and hope to keep alive,well, at least me, you, I don't know, but I'm sure you need me to have something, it's all over your face, so go on, tell me what you need, what I'm suppose to do in the arena, I want to live as well as everyone here, you might just win a damn prize, but by your eyes, it seems you need it the same amount as I need my life."

You read him well, in lesser days than most of his classmates, you made Coriolanus think twice before answering you, then he answered you with honesty, what he needed and for what reason, you sympathised with him, so things wouldn't go wrong ,right? WRONG.

When both entered the arena to discuss, you two were right near the center, while the others mentors alongside their tributes were, until you guys were bombed, everything was blurry when you started to run with the others to the exit, but...Coriolanus wasn't by your side, shit, you could just go on and save your skin from the horror of the game, but you were a human being as long as you could remember, so you ran back, you saw Coriolanus, he was hurt and you guys exchanged looks, you came back for him when you could've just let him die there, but you didn't, and with your very being, you were able to get the wreckage from him, he was astonished, he was going to take your hand so both of you could get up and run, but the peacekeepers took you away from him, this was the last time he saw you before he blackout and when he wake up, he was in the Hospital wing with Tigris by his side.

Coriolanus when was aware of his surrounding he got out of the bed, he asked for you, if you were well, if you was hurt, Tigris tried to keep him in bed, but he didn't wanted to be there, because of him you might be hurt o, only God knows...Until you appeared on the screen, in where Coriolanus stopped in his tracks, as well as Tigris and Sejanus and others nurses. You were in the showcase, in front of the microphone, with an awkward smile, you hesitate to approach, but the broadcast man encouraged you, so you step closer and greetings the people that are watching you.

"Hello, Hi, I guess everybody knows my name after the reaping day, I'm not a performer, but I'd like to sing a song that my mom used to sing for me when she put me to sleep."—Yeah, you sang without a guitar, no strings, but only your vocal chords, in which you bewitched everyone, Coriolanus blinked, you're making him feel disgusting emotions, yet, he wasn't fighting against em.—"Don't you dare look out your window — Darlin', everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps ragin' on... Hold on to this lullaby, even when the music's gone, gone..Just close your eyes..The sun is going down ...You'll be alright...No one can hurt you now, come morning light... you and I'll be safe and sound [...] Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh."-your voice, you sounded like an angel, like your voice could touch people's hearts, indeed, yours touched Coriolanus Snow's one.

Oh dear, you with out your knowledge made Coriolanus Snow make a bold decision, he would do everything to keep you alive in the games, even though you told him to trust you and say that you could do it even without his help, he'd follow his own agenda, do as he thinks its better, Snow wants you to live, and now, its not only for the Plinth Prize, it means something more.

At the night, in your beautiful cage among the others, you heard something, you just wanted to sleep, but a voice keep calling out your name:—"[name] Amleth, Amleth."-you quickly got up and put your head near the bars, in the middle of it, Coriolanus face was near yours, too much near, you wanted to keep distance, yet you couldn't, you needed to hear him well. Caught off guard he asked if you were okay, if you were hurt by the bombs, also you asked the same things about him.

"I don't have much time, but here, take this, its going to help you, it was from my mother, but what is inside of it, it's extremely dangerous, juat a bare sniff and you're dead."-he explains about it and also gives you advices about the tunnel under the arena, you could only sustain his eyes, after he explained everything, both of you being so near each other, tension grows between you two, Coriolanus were changing glances between your eyes and your lips, too much for you disregard, so well, you didn't thought twice, you stole a kiss from him and, oh geez, he leans in, until both of you distance yourselves.

"Tell me, is it real? Tell me"-his face near you, you could feel his rose mouth breathe."if it is real, everything might change for me and you."

What was you supposed to say? Yeah, of course Im going to fall over a Capitol's boy, for my mentor, this is going to keep me alive, right? Holy moly, you wanted to say this, but what about your father teachings and your values, you weren't supposed to believe in people from the Capitol, it's wrong...Though who knoes the aftermath, why not risk it all?

So you answered him in a hurry, staring at him, he was even more handsome at the night's sky.

"Yeah, yes, this is real, you're the first bloody lad I kissed, I don't waste my time in things that means nothing to me so...Yeah, this is real, this is real for you?"

Coriolanus put his hands on top of yours:"This is real and I'll do anything, just believe in me."

"But Coriolanus, I'll ask you something, I don't want to take people's lives."-Snow stiffened looking at you, you weren't being serious, were you? Good, he might be the killer if you don't want it, he'd be for you [and eventually for Sejanus, since well, *spoiler* went to see and care for Marcus].

After the shared kiss — The 10th the Hunger Games starts

The signal was shot and everyone started to run like crazy animal, Snow was watching you in his seats, his blue eyes just had to pierce the television screen when he saw that instead of running straight to the tunnels you went to the center, where everyone went and started killing each other, you didn't want to kill anyone, however that didn't mean you wouldn't try to protect yourself from others and you would show not only the audience, but Snow that you could still, give him a performance, a show.

However, Coral almost hits you with a trident, which you quickly dodge and your parallel vision sees Jesse, you run to him and take his hand and drag him running towards the tunnels, after all, he was from your district, wasn't he?

On the other side of the screen, Snow clutched at his desk, his eyes burning, grimacing anxious for YOUR life, wishing you had listened to him in the first instance and run to the tunnels before getting weapons or saving Jesse, when he thought it couldn't be worse, it just got worsen, at the tunnels from both sides you two were about to get killed, until you quickly entered inside the down door, you quickly got Jesse hands, when one of the districts tried to follow you two, she got killed, so as far it seems, you were safe, for now. Coriolanus were finally able to breathe accordingly, he stayed up and didn't went to his home, Casca Highbottom provoked him, yet he stayed stil, before going home, he was there just to see if you wouldn't die if he returned, he knows you asked him to believe in you, but...There's no but, he doesn't believe fully in you, he doesn't know if without his help you would manage to keep yourself alive, from now on, he hopes you follow what he planned for you to get through this game alive,that well, in parts he helped to plan it.

The night was turbulent: Bobbin was killed, the cameras were frozen for an hour, and Coriolanus Snow received a serious injury to his back as well as a new title on his account, a killer, when he was forced to save Sejanus against his own will. , which until now, is causing more problems than solving them, this made Coriolanus angry, assigned as a babysitter.

The next day, back at his seat, you were still in that area with Jesse, until he noticed that something was wrong eith the boy, no no no, he urged you to go away, retreat or just kill him, but you weren't a killer, damn, you didn't wanted to kill. You tried to reason with Jesse, howevwr you noticed the bat bite, you couldn't let him be near you anymore, if he bite or hurt you, straight in your flesh, you'd be gone too, so out of mercy...You took the bow and arrow that you were able to bring, you killed Jesse in the tunnels, you sent the arrow in his chest, he fell and you felt awful, this was the first human you killed, you wanted to thrown up, but you weren't able to do so, because Coral and her former alliances started to run towards you, chasing you, yet, yu ran like a thunderbolt, no water and no food, what the hell is you mentor doing? Geez, you're alone.

When you were at a good distance from them you shot some arrows, you killed the boy,from the same district as Lamina, there's Coral and another three alive, and others that didint appeared yet, so you shot again, breathing calmly.

One...Two...they're s near you...Three. The arrow killed in the chest a girl, you started to ran again, you couldn't hide, not now, damn it, Coral and the other boy put you in a corner, no way to run out, but fight, the arrow wouldn't help you now, but thanks God you caught two daggers from the wreckage at the center before, Coral scowled face threatened you, Coriolanus that was watching you looked at the screen in front of him and selected multiples drones that would carry waters, since you received a lot of donations, since the day you sang, a lot of people had linked to your cause.

His knuckles were white, his eyes couldn't get off your face, to your figure, until the drones arrived and made all of thise around you,be startled while you ran, when you wete at some distance, out of you,boldness, your arms even tired, due to Coral having hurted you, you manage to throw at her a mini knife that was hidden in your leg, the knife didn't hunted Coral, yet, the knife made a good contact in Coral cheeks, however this just infuriated her.

"Oh shit"-and then you started to run like a mad deer, for your luck or misfortune, Ripper appeared, bullocks, you're doomed, you didn't want to face him, he was the strongest among everyone, due to his tall figure and strength.

"Kill her, she killed the girl from your district!"-Coral screamed at him, you frozen, nah, you,wouldn't let her accuse you in that way with lies.

"Your filthy liar, I didn't! I just protected meself from your allies, and the ginger girl wasn't by,your side, you killed her! She killed her Ripper, not me! Damn, why would I kill someone that was sick?"

Ripper was angry but instead of trying to cut your head, he forgot about it and went after his colleague body, what was he doing? You wouldn't be there to see, because you started running again, since Coral was at your back with another boy, until the boy and her started to argue and well, she killed him too, but when she tried to go towards you, Ripper ripped the flag, shit, something bad would happen, and Coriolanus, his mind raced against the minutes, he knew that Dr.Gaul was going to do something, and this, peharps involved the mutant snakes, Coryo was ready to cheat for you, and he did it, you wouldn't survive the snakes, you might survive Coral, but not the snakes.

Coriolanus knew that something like that would happen, at the first day that Clemsy lied and Gaul showed them her new pets, Snow knew, so fast forward, the handkerchief he used to clean your face and clean your tears, the tears of weakness on front of him, there was your smell, the snakes wouldn't kill you and you would win as well as him, he thought, somehow, after the game your worlds could meet again.

After his cheating move, the serpents killed the rest of the tributes, poor Wovey, you cried when you saw the purest soul part her ways in a cruel way, you feared snakes, you noticed they're mutates, you thought you would be killed too, but no, the snakes curled as if they were hugging them, as if you were their loved one, you knew, that it wasn't lucky, it was Snow, how he managed to do it? You thought again, he cheated, but cheated to keep you alive, it was unfair to others, but here you stand, alive, now when the adrenaline washed her way from you, you cried of pain while snakes, even not biting, but curling around you, in your hips, arms and legs, the places where Coral scratched in your flesh, open wounds that you finally allowed to feel, it felt terrible, you didn't cried your lungs out, but your tears silently, one by one until a lot appeared in your cheeks, turmoil running crazy in your mind, the fear of snakes and them pressing their nasty body around you, it was breaking you, tearing you down. You didn't felt like a victorious person, you took lives, you're hurt, you're afraid and couldn't tell it to anyone, Coriolanus on the other hand, his burning eyes piercing the screen, his knuckles white after he let them go back to normal, he, under his academic clothes, he was sweating out of nervousness, the game has ended, why didn't they take her out of there yet? She's afraid, she's...Is she crying?

Seeing you tearing up, even in,silent, Coriolanus demanded to them to take you out of the arena, the games has ended, he was about to lose it, sinxe everyone was in numb silence, they needed a survivor, they need someone to be a victorious, so he used it against Gaul, using his cunning into his favours, he didnt cared about the Plinth Prize, he needed you to be safe, he have said to you when he welcomed you, he'd take care of you, because he's a good mentor and because...He put you into his cold heart, which only had placr for his dearly mother, his family and now you, would he allow himself to fall for someone? Wouldn't love make him a fool of his own principles?

His colleagues begin to chants, demand that they should take you out of the arena, others commemorate your winning, others wanting to sing again the same song or a new one. While Coryo just wanted to be the first one to congratulate you, however the next day, everything happened so fast, you were sent back home with an amount of money, you weren't able to contact Coriolanus nor did he, he was punished, sent to become a peacekeeper, because Casca Highbottom discovered about his cheating methods, his mother item (that was filled with venom, that you,didn't used, because you used the bow and the arrows, which made him feel proud yet, judge you for being a rascal, and then...The damn handkerchief that saved your life, he wasn't sorry for it, he faced Highbottom terms, unhappy indeed, but he wanted to see it, it was unfair to him that you two couldn't see each other, after all he had done, to keep you alive inside the arena.

Coriolanus Snow wouldn't lie, you surprised him not only once time, but more than twice, he thought you were a savage, a rascal during the time he was sorted to be your mentor, there you surprised him, a bad impression, peharps, but your defiance made others feel jealous of Snow for having you as his tribute, second time: when you gave the cookie to him even though you needed it more than him, but he was just stubborn and selfish, so accepted, third: was when you choose to save him rather than running away, fourth: when you opened your beautiful mouth, with those fancy lips that he longed to kiss after the game, to sing, to sing a comfort song, a lullaby, if most children had a mother or father to sing good lullabies, he'd bet most people wouldn't be monsters, fifth: when you shot the arrow and when you made the whole audience laugh, when you complained about needing your glasses, that you missed them back at your house, you was able to do a good damn it shot without your glasses? How would you be like then, with them? Sixth: when you denied that you didn't killed that girl with breath issues, that you wouldn't kill people with disadvantages, honour? Dumb think, he thought to himself when you said that, yet, he fancied you even more, you weren't corrupted, not as most of em were. Seventh: When you were obviously hit, when you fell sometimes and managed to run, he is not blind, his icy blue eyes, every damn time, when you,were hurted and in pain, if he could, he'd demand to stop the game and sent you straight to the hospital, even if you being one of the districts, you stood up, fighting against your own pain, but the most important detail, the one that caught him off guard is the eighth reason: your lips, when your were pressed against his, how could your damn lips taste so well, and be just like a plumped velvety? For brief seconds, he thought he was in heaven, tasting the good things it offered him. He wanted it more, if only your lips tasted like it...He could even imagine the whole you, what it would do to him, he wanted as much power as he desired for his hands be touching behind your neck, holding you against his body, on the mattress, where he could just stay on top of you, possessing you, power over you, his wills on you.

He subordinated an office official to send him to the twelfth district, he was going to see you again, yet, he'd find a way to come back to the Capitol, not alone, but with you by his side, if you were loyal to your own words, so the kiss you both shared worth everything for him.

Part III:

The Peacekeeper

Sejanus was there with him, this moron, why would he be around him, Coriolanus didn't wanted problems, but well, Sejanus affirmed that everything would be different, that both of em could finally live, be free.

Yet their first day wete brutal, they needed to be still, a citizen, a rebel were sent to the hanging tree, while a woman screamed, Sejanus was ready to go towards her and try to help, but Coryo controlled him, he couldn't let him make a stupid decision.

Finally, he and his others colleagues had the rest of the day off from their shifts, Sejanus invited Coriolanus to a bar, where he accepted, his mind once again thought about you, but until now, you didn't showed up, he wasn't able to find you, not until after a good singer Lucy Baird left the stage, and the blonde girl called a very known name, yours, [name] Amleth, you were shy, just like in the last time he saw you singing, but the band starts to play their instruments and then you followed them, but before you started to sing, you said:" This is a song that I wrote after, well, after the games, hope you all enjoy"

And there you stand, beautifully, with a beautiful dress, your hair down with two braids that meets behind your head, and a rose, a white rose set behind your right ear, just like the time Coryo put the flower in that same place, your voice full of life as well your lips, with a soft red velvet juicy shades, you were using lipstick, Snow mind went feral, he wanted to smash his lips on your, see if your kisses would let his as red as yours. Yet, the song caught his attention, he stopped to drink what he was supposed to drink.

"Let us greet with a song of hope each day, though the moments be cloudy or fair — Let us trust in tomorrow always...[...] yee-hee!"-your smile full of life after finishing the song, until your face froze, you noticed him, finally, are you blind? Snow thought to himself, however due to the affairs of Mayfair and Lucy Gray ex, a fight happened out of nowhere, and to make his pace in your direction, Snow halted to your side quickly, as well as a man all drunk trying to touch yu in the middle of this mess, he wasn't even able to touch you, Coryo blow his strong closed fist into the man face, more than two times, you were caught off guard, the hell?! Nonetheless, Sejanus in a hurry stopped his friend, your lover taking him from over the man that face was dripping blood, they had to run away from the bar, and you by the band were dragged away from the place to safety after other peacekeepers in duty stomped the fight.

Coriolanus wasn't happy that Sejanus stopped him, it was his moment to meet you after the bar, after the game, his grumpy face was kind of adorable, yet not his death stare towards Sejanus, that noticed and shared an information.

"I'd like you to stop looking at me like that, you know, I never thought I'd be the one stopping you from a fight, but here we are."

Coriolanus scoffed, unbelievable.—"What is the information about, does it worth anything?"

"It's about the girl, the girl that seems to haunt your very being or just your icky lips, I'm not blind, I saw you at the bar."

His face fell and a warm sensation start to show up, his cheeks becoming pink.

"What...Tell me, what do you know, tell me'-Sejanus smiles, threatening not to tell him.

"A little bird told me, she would be far in the north of the district, after the lake you mind find a cabin that only she lives, her mother and sister moved to somewhere else, she stills at the house because of the memoir of her father, you might find her at the house or up the Hill near the lake, wish you good lucky"

Coryo thanks Sejanus for the information, thank God, he was eager to see your pretty face again, peharps, things could be different from now on, right? Right.

In the next day, he wears a simple white t-shirt, blueish trousers, his usual shoes whilr using his dog tag, he took the shift off today, he followed what Sejanus gave him of information, he was now in the Hill, it was when he heard a very known voice, humming some lullaby, instead being directed to someone, it was for yourself, your voice humming your father's lullaby.

If Coriolanus could immerse himself in your few songs, he would be addicted; your voice came as a complete package along your lips, so sweet, a a sinful temptation that seemed like a drug

You had your backwards turned to him, but a twig snapped when he makes a move forwards, you quickly became aware of your surroundings, startled; your grimace and frown were incredible, he thought, quite funny to see you like that, he bet you would be willing to scream at him for scaring you.

"Easy, easy, I am not a threat, well, I'm not on duty"-he giggly mocks you, [name] takes a step back, looking up and down, "Last night was real then, he is here in this district, but why?-you thought.

"If you keep looking at me like that this long, I think you might need a photo."

You scoffed at him, putting your hands around your hips, —"he's an unbelievably idiot, but a freaking gorgeous one"-you thought again. Should you just run towards Snow and hug him or just say that he was an idiot for coming to your district and not chose one of the 1 or 2 districts, because Highbottom told you, that because of you and Snow cheating schemes, he was about to be sent away without your knowledge to where, yet, besides all of this, you chose to just trust your guts.

You ran straight to him, quickly jumping over him, in which he quickly grabbed you, smilling and aomost out off air, the hug seemed just one of those hugs that both lovers that haven't been by each other side for a long time.

[GEEZ, I'M GOING TO BREAK THE TIME, BECAUSE IF I DETAIL everysingle thing that my mind wants, this story would take a year]

[Break of time]

Your head was laying on Coryo's legs, it was so comfortable, Snow was stroking your hair strands, caressing your pretty resting face, while he also watches your face while you rested with your eyes closed, "so life is just like that, when there's no worry"-he thinks. However the silence wasn't enough when he suddenly asked you what would you rather have, chose, betwen loyalty to trust or love.

You opened your eyes and then your gaze was upon him, he couldn't decipher what you were thinking and this makes him nervous, he usually previews what people wete thinking ,but not you, you were too good, well, he only knows and read you perfectly, when you want his lips smashed against yours, and it drives him mad, yet curious.

—Tough question this one, but, why not both of them? Why not loyalty in love, Why would I just choose one, when within one, you can have both.-He would explain to you, but you quickly continued.-I know, love, some people might say that love is treacherous, nonetheless, I don't think like that, in my head, within my mind, I believe that if you love someone, so dearly, you're giving your heart to someone else besides you, isn't already too much trust and loyalty, to give your heart for someone, you must trust this person, where you're willing to give what is the most precious thing for you, your whole heart, this is the things we do for love, isn't it enough? Love is not treacherous, but people are.-you shyly hold his hand and look deep into his blue eyes.–I meant it, I don't think you understood me, but I hope dat you do, because, Oh Jesus, I'm awful at this matters, but right now, right, I'm choosing love, the whole package, I'm giving my heart to you, so you can protect it, so you can believe that I'm not lying, I don't know the kind of love you've received and know, but this, this one that I'm offering over you, right now, is everything dat I have, and it's important to know your answer.

Snow was taken aback, again, you surprised him with your words, the way, so in love, so caring, this is too much, you keep making Coriolanus amazed by your acts, the words that you use, the face that you are right now glancing at him, was it love into your eyes?

If Coriolanus Snow knows what love is, it's because of you. Coryo have for the first time found what he can truly. He have found you, so he wouldn't hold back any longer.

Snow gazes locked with yours, and a tender silence enveloped the air, pregnant with unspoken emotions. Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, he leaned closer, feeling the warmth of each other's breath. In that fleeting moment before your lips met, the world stilled, and your hearts beating in harmony. When your lips finally touched, it was an explosion of fervent love—a soft, passionate exchange that spoke volumes without a single word. Both of you poured your souls into that kiss, a tender affirmation of your undying affection, sealing your bond in an embrace that whispered of a love that transcended time and space, yet mainly, Snow ideas, his misconceptions, his skeptical and analytical mind, right now he just wanted to pour more of himself on you, this kiss, dumb child, you took it as his answer.

His strong hand, passing behind your neck, touching part of the nape of your neck, pressing and caressing your hair as well as your neck, Coryo was making you lie down on that soft grass, under the tree, where the sunset was taking place. The weight of his body subtly making you surrender to his command, you didn't complained, you were too immersed already to make him stop, however when you both needed to catch breath, you quickly and sheepishly asked him:—"Then, what is your answer after what I have said? Mhmm?"

You brushed your lips, teasingly, when he tried to capture them, you'd simply turned your face away, Snow scoffs, he couldn't believe you were teasing him, but oh, you was, you would only let him kiss you again if he replied with honesty, and he knows, duh, this idiot handsome man knows really well what you wanted. Coryo left hand smoothed the strands of your hair away from your forehead, his piercing blue eyes stared into your eyes, he said in a low, deep tone, that gave you butterflies in ur stomach as you contained the smile at the corner of your lips. Before he gives you your answer, he brushed his nose on yours, muttering that you were persistent, if only you knew what he was capable of doing if people didn't give him what he wanted, oh darling.

"You want me to be honest, right..."-he hums near your ear.-"It was instinctive, the way you did me fell for you, it was effortless, we never had to force love, I wete drowning in it, the moment I saw you at the station and you wished me good luck, so now, only us two right here, right now, you have what I thought I was lacking, my will to love, the love I restrained and kept to myself, it's yours, you can take it, oh God, you can even break it if you promise me that you would mend it again, I'll have your heart, your love as well as you will have mine, so it means..-"you were ready to interrup him, but he stole a kiss and came back to finish what he was saying.–"I'm yours, but you're much more mine".

You could hear from afar your dad voices deep into your mind, saying that it was too dangerous for you, but what do you just did right now? You picked up your pure morals and put them aside, you freaking smashed your lips against his, well, when you tried to turn him over and you,take the top or dominant position, he was quickly to grab your hips, your body and keep you still, haha, dear, you aren't going to do what you want, he said too much, he will not regret, still, Snow likes to have power, and since you belongs to him now, not only as a tribute anymore, but real his, he will have power and control over you, above all, the time that he was supposed to take you, eat you, it was your first time and it made him feel great pleasure. The first thrusts, passionate, but after 30 seconds, the game changed and you couldn't brush this idea off your mind, but hus thrusts were harder to bear comparing the time you were at the Hunger games fighting for your life against the others tributes, it was strange, but for the sake of your mental health, you were thrilled up, your legs around his hips, his hard thrusts, you were a mess moaning his name as well as he was moaning, he restrained himself a lot, yet he couldn't hold his moans, it was good, it makes him feel prouder, so why he should keep it to himself, right? Right.

[BREAK OF TIME] a/notes: I know, I'm mad for doing it guys against you, sorry(not sorry at all hehe)

Your meetings becomes frequent, both of you end up making love in the dead of night in the hut that belongs to Amleth's family, your family, and that place has become a comfortable place for Coriolanus, it was like a home for him after he was off his duties, including being Sejanus's babysitter. At the night, you and Coryo, mainly you, would share your knowledge, you would tell him what your father taught you and then, he understood why you was so good with daggers and as archery, he pitied you when you told him your father left you alone into the woods and when he threw you into the lake, yet, he saw that your father as well as your mother have cared for you, it made him feel a tinge of jealousy, he loved his ladygrandma'am, yet, not having a paternal and motherly constant figure, yeah, he was kind jealous, yet, if possible, even more delighted by your stories. When was his time to share his past, when him and his cousin were hungry, eating awful stuff, he felt comfortable when his head would be on top of your legs, while you were comforting him and caressing his manly handsome face.

However, things were starting to seems odd, as if an eerie song around were giving you an alert. Sejanus started to act strange, Snow doesn't likef it, and then the moment of betrayal happens, with an inconsequential decision Snow makes, a horrible decision that resulted in the death of his friend, Coriolanus was a mess, he was destroyed, even saying that he only tolerated Sejanus, it was a lie, he kind cherished, deep down his friendship, yet, he was fed up with Plinth weird behaviour, here and there, he made a move, and this move costs Sejanus life.

Coriolanus reunited with his love, you consoles him, but you doesn't know anything about Plinth death, so you suggests that you two should run away from there, far away from the District 12, go as far away from the districts as possible, to live care free, no worries, a humble life, however, somehow you couldn't believe in it either, Snow wouldn't be happy, he wasn't made for this kind of lifestyle.

Although Snow feels guilty and regrets, for his friend's death, he was also due to the connection he had with Tigris, his grandmother and she were evicted from their old house in the capital, he needed to help them, they were his family, he had a duty and an opportunity given by the official, he couldn't miss it, though, he couldn't leave you too, he needed you, the way you know about politics, history, arts, your creative mind, you were a source of extra knowledge for him as well as, his only source of true love...

Despite of his agenda, he agreed to meet you behind the hanging tree, whereas you two were suppose to ran away together.

However, Coriolanus behavior seemed strange; you know that something was wrong, odd though. You heard really well that recording tape, you're not a fool — you wished you were one. While Sejanus was brought to his death stance. Then later, after the idea of running away with Snow, you made a move, an act of both selfish and mercifulness towards your love...

You leave him, you leave a letter for him, saying that you know what he have done, that it wasn't right, and even though it wasn't right, you still loved him and longed for his love.Nevertheless his family needed him, and it was okay; you're gonna leave his life without him asking you to do so, without giving him the chance to stop you and him trying to put on you; "some sense into your mind". Your morals were killing you inside, and it hurt as hell. You left him, you gave him a goodbye last kiss and even before he fell asleep, you sang him the same song your father's sang to you before going to somewhere better than this world, what a liar you were, safe and sound, mhm...

Next morn', when Coriolanus woke up and complained for not feeling your warm body by his side, in the eventually day that you two were supposed to ran away together, you weren't there, but your letter with your well-known handwriting.He went crazy about this, he tried to find you in the woods, hills, but without success. He returned and went back to his place among the others peacekeepers, soon leaving the 12nd district, he hated that place now than ever, he hated districts people, you lied to him, you promised and you have broken it, if only he could see you again...We don't know the odds, what would he do, what he was capable of doing so after seeing you, after you broke his heart, after you made him feel like a fool that fell in love.

He took the train, hoping for the job offered by the officer. However, he went straight to Dr. Gaul's hands, if only you'd knew about it...Where she made him her protégé, pupil, for the games design and all management, and well as his college being paid for by President Plinth since his believes that Sejanus and Snow were best friends...Guilt ate him alive, each day, but with deceit and ambition, he wore masks every day, making room for ambition and power in his core, his existence depending on it.

Still, the- mere-memory of your existence haunted and chased his thoughts when night fell, you were there, by his side, in his dreams, your laughter, your freaking stupid face, your awful lips that tasted like heaven itself, your letter and he waking up every morning looking around his surroundings, to make sure that none of this existed anymore...

He didn't have the power to go after you yet, but he tried to use what he had, his betrayed heart, betrays his own mind restrains, it longed for your homecoming, his other half, you broke his heart, the poor thing that still waited for your, that didnt allowed none other women, besides you, to be by Coriolanus side, Snow hated it. Besides guilt and anger for what he did to Sejanus, he replaced that and distilled the anger and resentment towards you.

After becoming the president of Panem at such a young age, 23, that was his last year looking for you. He expelled any mere thought about you(though his heart did not, it denies every day).

You opened a hole in his core, a hole so deep that he couldn't close it, no matter how many girls he could be with or date. His heart, even broken, only wanted one, one that haunted and destroyed him.

You two could have worked; you would have been the triumph of everything he could have accomplished. He would share everything with you, especially his successes. He didn't commit failures, yet the only failures he committed, you're the only one who knows and could use against him, but you never showed up all these years.

And that drove him mad, the mere thought that you were murdered or died, with nothing to send to him, to know if you were still around or that you cared for him.. Acceptance was difficult. However, he couldn't even support the thought of you having another love, oh dear, if he knew and found you that you were loving someone else, he'd kill the man, he would be willing to put his bare hands on the man that pursuit you, kill him, it was not an option, so to not go insane, he wouldn't even think about it, the thought of you be gone, it was better, though... Accept the facts of your fate and his, was, unbearable.

....

"It's the things we love most, that destroy us"

Part IV:

The Hunger Games continues

You were well alive, living a good life with your mother and younger sister, and well, with a five years old boy, Thomas Amleth, piercing blue eyes and the looks, that the resemblance was just alike the new president of Panem.

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#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #snow x reader #the hunger games #imagines #coriolanus snow fanfiction #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #f!reader #the hunger games imagines #the hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x f!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds & snakes

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chibimyumi · 3 years

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What do you think about OCiel and Vincent? What is their relationship? When we see Vincent he is always with RCiel and he hug him and not our earl, and when OCiel talk about Vincent he call him his predecessor and not his father!

Dear Anon,

That is a very good question because that is indeed very hard to tell. The Book of Flashbacks did last for very long in real time, but we actually only saw the interaction between Vincent and O!Ciel sporadically spread across 4 chapters.

Though it had been short, in the very least there is some level of objectivity because the flashbacks are being told by the omniscient storyteller. It could not have been O!Ciel, R!Ciel or Takana’s subjective pov, because in most scenes at least one of them was missing. However, that it was told by the omniscient storyteller doesn’t mean we have seen everything. Yana does leave things out when its unnecessary like a competent storywriter would. We don’t need to know everything. In storytelling often “less is more”.

Now with that caveat established, let us look at whatever interaction we do see. But before we do so, we must first discuss what “parental love” even is.

What is parental love?

In the flashbacks Vincent’s affection is indeed mostly for his firstborn son. Even though we want to believe all parents love all their children equally and naturally, sometimes parents just love one child a little bit more. Even if parents do love all their children equally, it is also nothing weird that they “like” one child more than the other. Not unlike any other relationship, love between parent and child is also something that grows from building and investing in. Parental love is not a magically natural element in our DNA after all, as researched by Prof. Sarah Blaffer Hrdy on the “social construct of parental love”. Don’t worry, no need for moral panic; that parental love is socially constructed doesn’t make it any less deep or real. It’s just that because parental love too needs building, the more positive interaction you have with a child, the stronger the bond often.

Because O!Ciel was so sickly from age five on it hindered him from normal participation in family activities. Therefore it is only normal that Vincent could bond less with him, making his greater closeness with his elder son quite inevitable.

Vincent’s closeness with R!Ciel is in fact more out of the ordinary for their time. At least until early 20th century fathers did not have a parental role as we know it now. They were responsible as the “legal owners” of the child, but “parenting” was not part of their duty. It is not for nothing that when we hear “mothering” most people think of “child-rearing, raising and loving”, but when we hear “fathering”, it’s just... impregnating someone. Because that had been the actual definition for centuries!

Vincent’s parental love?

In chapter 131 I would argue we get the best indication of how far Vincent’s love goes for his second son. They had a family trip planned, but due to illness O!Ciel could not participate. In the back Vincent does look appropriately concerned, but we don’t know about what exactly. Put a pin📌 in there, I will come back to this a bit later.

Rachel judged O!Ciel’s condition too ill to go, and suggested postponing the boat trip, not Vincent. (In Japanese “we can go another time” was spoken in a speech pattern Vincent doesn’t use, so it’s definitely Rachel talking.)

Vincent doesn’t say anything so we don’t know what he thought about his wife’s proposal. Meanwhile, his seven-year-old had already selflessly offered to stay behind as not to spoil the fun of others.

What really caught my attention was how there was so little attempt to include O!Ciel. Rachel only said one “but...” and then immediately gave in to a seven-year-old.

Vincent did not even attempt to not exclude his son. He was like:

That is what I meant earlier by: “we don’t know about what exactly [he is concerned about]” where I asked you to put the pin📌. It might as well have been:

Vincent and Rachel are rich adults, they should be able to judge that them skipping one boat-trip is something they can get over with. Leaving a young child behind who is regularly excluded from everything and clearly so upset having to be excluded again was apparently a less bigger deal than skipping something they could easily afford again. O!Ciel was so used to being excluded he had normalised that for himself, and was forced to learn selfless sacrifice. That is not healthy for any child that young!

If you can’t tell that this poor child was lying about “everything being fine” you’re actively unseeing it. R!Ciel is but a seven-year-old, so he is blameless. Papa, mama, looking at you though! ( Ò_Ó💢) I mean, dear readers, would any of you have left a sick young child behind to go on a trip??? It could be that Vincent really wanted to bring his recovered wife on a trip and that’s important to him, but to sacrifice your sick child for that?

We have not seen everything to judge whether in total Rachel was more, equally, or less often ill than O!Ciel. However, from what we have seen, every time O!Ciel was excluded, Rachel in the very least was doing better. This really paints a picture that overall, Rachel misses out on stuff less often than O!Ciel had to. And again, unlike young children, as an adult you can rationalise that. In my opinion if you’re unwilling to reschedule a trip to include everyone while it is within your ability, you are selfish parents. R!Ciel wouldn’t have thrown a tantrum, but even if he did, it’s your literal job as parents to rationalise that with him. So doing it for R!Ciel is no excuse.

“Predecessor” instead of “father”?

Yes that is indeed an interesting point you bring up! After O!Ciel returned as the Earl he indeed only referred to his parents as “father and mother” at the graves one last time. Afterwards she has consistently referred to Vincent as “predecessor”.

I however would argue this has nothing to do with his bond (or lack thereof) with Vincent. He also refers to R!Ciel using the formal term for brother (兄・ani) instead of the better-known “niisan” (big bro). And we know for a fact that they did have a deep bond. I would say that O!Ciel calling Vincent “predecessor” is because he does not wish to be seen as childish because he is trying to be taken as an adult.

In Japanese “father” as used by O!Ciel is “otousama” (お父様), which is polite but a bit childish. “Otousama” is vocative, meaning it is a word you use to call your own father; like “papa”. In formal company you won’t say to someone: “my papa said...” That sounds very childish and unprofessional. People nowadays do use the common version “otousan” to refer to their own father to others, but that is generally only acceptable in casual company. To my friends I might say: “my papa (otousan) said”, but to my superiours I would NEVER.

As O!Ciel never again addresses his father (because he is dead), it is only logical that he stopped using the vocative “otousama”. For nobles when talking about their late fathers, using “predecessor” is actually standard in Japanese culture. It is just one of the things that are natural in Japanese but get clunky in translation.

Conclusion

For Victorian standards Vincent’s involvement (or lack thereof) with O!Ciel was actually entirely normal. It was his involvement with his elder son that was quite exceptional. Judging from his lack of attempt to not exclude his sick child however, I would say Vincent didn’t love O!Ciel as much as he did R!Ciel. (Or... he just hated missing out on fun more than he loved O!Ciel, which is possible too). Not saying he did not love O!Ciel, just not as much as he did others.

Vincent was raised in a male-supremacist, ableist society, and was probably unaffected by these problems being an able-bodied, smart man himself. We know Vincent is a terrible exploiter and how he treats others, and therefore it would be unsurprising if he would hold his “disabled” male child in lesser regard than his “able” male eldest child. We don’t know why Vincent married Rachel or why he liked her, but women being frail was in fact considered no problem or even “attractive” in the 19th century (as long as she could get babies). For men though? SHAME!

#Vincent Phantomhive #father #O!Ciel #R!Ciel #Rachel #Relationship #Parental love #Parents #Oh my goood honestly rereading these chapters for this post was ughghghg #Dayum Rachel and Vincent - don't pretend your boat-trip was a once-in-a-lifetime-chance #What adult actually indulges in a 7 y/o's self sacrifice for your own LUXURY!?!!! my godssssss

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little-chattes · 3 years

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Ok so I’ve done a complete re-read through and one thing that kept nagging at me was how little Gideon and Harrow’s relationship makes sense given its quite frankly abusive origins. Harrow spends her whole life making Gideon’s a living hell and Gideon just… forgives her. Total and complete forgiveness for an irredeemable girl.

At first I took the sudden shift in their relationship as lazy writing to rush along the end of the story, but that didn't make any sense either. Muir strikes me as an intensely purposeful writer. Then I remembered that Muir is also an intensely Catholic writer and it hit me. Muir isn’t writing a story about a healthy human relationship, oh no, she’s writing a story about Christ’s relationship with The Church… if Christ was a sword toting butch lesbian and The Church was a sardonic bone witch. Call it tender blasphemy.

Now Gideon’s role as a Christ figure is fairly easy to parse out given that her dad is… God. But for the sake of self indulgence (I have to put my 15 year long flirtation with Christianity to use somehow) I’m going to go through all the parallels anyway. There are a LOT of them.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Miraculous Conception

Luke 1:34-38

34 But Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I [e]am a virgin?” 35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason also the [f]holy Child will be called the Son of God.

Gideon is conceived by artificial means when one of God’s own servants (Mercy) delivers a sample of John’s genetic material to Wake, a ‘normal’ human woman who chooses to carry Gideon in her womb. Notably, the sample lives far beyond its point of expected viability, thus making the conception somewhat miraculous (“Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact” HTN 441).

The Cuckold

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the [a]Messiah was as follows: when His mother Mary had been [b]betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, since he was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her, planned to [c]send her away secretly.

Gideon the First decides not to kill his lover, Wake, and releases her out the airlock (AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE SAW ME AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME” from Harrow’s vision of Wake’s note, HTN 124) just as Joseph took pity on Mary, his betrothed, by deciding to divorce her quietly instead of making her infidelity public which would condemn her to death by public stoning (Deuteronomy 22:21). Gideon the First knew that Wake was pregnant and didn’t tell John because he thought the baby was his. Similarly, Joseph goes on to raise Jesus as his own son.

The Birth

Luke 2:7

And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a [f]manger, because there was no [g]room for them in the inn.

Neither baby Jesus nor baby Gideon were given a proper cradle, one being laid to rest in a manger where the animals ate and the other stuffed in a transplant bio-container (GTN 23).

The Dead Children

16 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

King Herod intends to kill the prophesied King of the Jews and instead of finding the specific baby, he just has a bunch of them slaughtered. However, Jesus escapes the slaughter of the innocents by Herod when his parents secret him away to Egypt.

When the great aunts gas the nursery and kill the 200, Gideon is meant to die along with them but escapes her fate.

Now this event has a completely different biblical connotation for Harrow.

Firstly, the murder of the 200 children represents Original Sin. In the bible, Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, and as their descendants, all of humankind is doomed to also bear the weight of that sin from the moment we are born until the day we die. This is a fact that is drilled into Christians as soon as we’re able to understand it, we are born wretched and unworthy sinners, and there’s nothing we can do ourselves to fix that.

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

Harrow is a multitude, she is 200 children, the entire future of her house. Shes not just one human being,, she’s the whole damn church.

Naz/Nav

he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene.

Although Gideon is not from the Ninth, she is given the Ninth name Nav when she arrives as a baby. Similarly, Jesus is known as Jesus of Nazareth, though that is not where he was born.

The Poor Bondservant

Jesus' role as a servant is emphasized many times in the bible. He was a carpenter's son born in a stable

Philippians 2:5-8

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

Gideon is described as being made “a very small bondswoman” (GTN 24)

The Sword

Matthew 10:34

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

The Wretched Sinner

Harrow is wretched, self loathing, and cruel.

She is in thrall of the enemy of god, a figure who was once gods most favoured warrior, cast into hell.

She is like the depiction of the sinner who loves the devil

It's important to note that Harrow isn’t a single person, she is a multitude, the entire future of her people condensed into one body.

The Enemy of God

20 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, nholding in his hand the key to othe bottomless pit1 and a great chain. 2 And he seized pthe dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and qbound him for a thousand years, 3 and threw him into othe pit, and shut it and rsealed it over him, so that she might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while.

Before the fall, Satan was described as a “guardian cherub” who resided in the garden with God (Ezekiel 28:14)

(a funny aside, in the bible the devil is known as the great deceiver but in HTN Muir specifies that Alecto is incapable of lying)

A Life of Abuse

Isaiah 53:3

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,

a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

he was despised, and we held him in low esteem”

They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff" (Luke 4:28–29).

Gideon lives a life of mockery and is abused by Harrow.

An Unlikely Savior

Despite the fact that Gideon does not fit the expected image of a Cavalier, Harrow chooses Gideon to be her sword and protector.

Despite the many openings Gideon has to make Harrow pay for the pain she caused her, she remains loyal to her

Trust

Harrow realizes that she cannot face the lyctor trials without Gideon, and places her trust in her

Christians are told they must place their trust in jesus in order to reach salvation

Purifying Water

Acts 2:38

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Harrow confesses her sins to Gideon and puts herself at her mercy

Gideon forgives Harrow totally and completely, she baptises her

One Flesh

Mark 10:8

and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.

“The imagery and symbolism of marriage is applied to Christ and the body of believers known as the church. The church is comprised of those who have trusted in Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have received eternal life. Christ, the Bridegroom, has sacrificially and lovingly chosen the church to be His bride” (x)

Ephesians 5:25-26

25 gHusbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and hgave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by ithe washing of water jwith the word,

They take the vow of necro and cav, one flesh one end

Gideon’s forgiveness of Harrow is reaffirmed

Harrow risks her life to stay and fight with Gideon, even if it means her death and thus the destruction of her death. Her love for Gideon is now greater than her love for the Body.

The Sacrifice

John 19:34

Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.

They will look on the one they have pierced'" (John 19:36–37).

Gideon chooses to die for Harrow, death by piercing

and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

In order to complete the lyctor process, Harrow both physically and spiritually consumes Gideon

Because of Gideon’s sacrifice, Harrow attains eternal life at the right hand of god

The Tomb

The Resurrection

1On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Harrow turns her body into a tomb for Gideon, a tomb fashioned after that on the Ninth

Resurrection on the Third Day

Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. Luke 24:46-47

“So many months had passed: and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again.” (HTN 374)

Just in case you missed this important piece of information, Muir repeats it three times.

Go, and tell them, then, that he that was dead is alive, and lives for evermore, and has the keys of death and the grave,"

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rosego1dd · 3 years

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TECHNO’S BACKSTORY (or at least how I see it)

PART 1

TW for violence and a little abuse. Part 2 HERE

Alright, so, In my last post (which can be seen HERE), I had a headcanon that Techno was 70% human, 30% piglin. That being said, I have a feeling that the features of that 30% aren't really visible until he was like, 14 or 15, so he could easily pass off as a relatively normal child (appearance-wise, at least). However, I also said that he's 100% cursed. I'm going off on a tangent for a second, but recall the phrase 'Blood for the Blood God'- it's pretty iconic, so I don't think anyone hasn't heard it at least once in this context. Anyway, many believe that Techno is the blood god, which, given, makes sense if we take the little information about his character and piece it together, but I think that the blood god is, rather than Techno himself, a separate entity entirely that fuels itself via violence and chaos (also may or may not be tied to the egg, more on that in a separate post). So, back to Techno. His parents made a pact with said blood god and offered their firstborn (Techno), in exchange for strength and power and stuff under the impression that it was a sacrifice and he'd just die. Haha w r o n g, instead of killing him (bc that would be boring), he was cursed to become a hyper-violent warrior due in no small part to the voices. Initially, they were pretty quiet and easy to ignore, especially as a toddler, but... Remember how once on stream, Techno said his parents were torn to shreds by orphans, which is why he hates them so much? Let's say these orphans aren't children, but fully grown adults (I'll call them 'huntsmen' for now) that were sent by the government to get rid of the piglin groups that were terrorizing nether travelers, killed Techno's family + the rest of the 'tribe' (Because piglins are typically found in groups) that he lived in. They spared him specifically, however, because at the time, he looked like a normal kid. So, after being taken to the overworld, the voices got louder. Mind you, Techno is still a small, impressionable child (around 5 or 6), so he doesn't know what he's doing is wrong, and even if he does, he doesn't have the self-control to keep himself from succumbing. This is, of course, a problem, and by the time he's 10, he's switched schools over 5 times because of his behavioral issues. The voices like, regularly encourage him to hurt people, so he either listens (by hitting, say, a classmate, or killing some small animal), or taking it out on school property. It's to the point where he has someone follow him around so that he doesn't do this stuff. This is where Philza comes in. I imagine that a younger Philza would be out and about, probably trading gold/diamonds/what have you, when Techno and his supervisor pass by after the former very recently got expelled from another school, so this dude is popping off and ranting to an 11-year-old about how much of a problem child he is. He doesn't give half a shit, and Piglin brain sees shiny stuff and goes 'take', so Techno shimmies on down to snag a gold nugget or something, even though he's terrible at it and gets caught almost instantly. Apologies ensue, Techno gets scolded, 'blah blah blah this is why you got expelled, etc, etc' but Phil isn't mad. Not mad at all, actually. Instead, he comments about what terrible condition he's in and asks Techno for his name/where his parents are. Supervisor man tells him that he doesn't have either because he's a bad kid and a pain in the ass to watch over. Philza goes 'ok fuck u too I guess' and offers to be Techno's mentor since he isn't currently in school. He's sus as hell but it beats being with the other dickwad so he goes with Phil (also because he likes the shiny stuff but shhh)

#dream smp #dream smp theory #dsmp techno #technoblade #Technoblade theory #Sbi #sbi family dynamic #sbi headcanon #Technoblade headcanon

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conaionaru · 4 years

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Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

The plan of the Gods

Synopsis: Vanya has some doubts about her path. Which creates some drama between her and Ivar (only slight we will take it one drama at a time).

Warning: angst, fluff, mentions of manipulation, description of poor people, orphans, Ivar, toxic family

Tagged

@shannygoatgruff @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @lol-haha-joke @queenbeeta @didiintheblog

P.S.:

Anything written in bold and cursive is a flashback.

Anything in cursive is in Old Norse.

My writers block is over for now. So hopefully it will keep away for at least three chapters.^^

I don't own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.

When Vanya was young, her father attended meetings with the council every week. Every seven days, he spent three hours locked inside the throne room, talking to wise men. She remembers the day he allowed her and Silas to attend too. She was so excited to see all these important men made big decisions.

"King Osmond of Slegia, son of King Eadwine the Brave, second of his name. His wife, Queen Siflæd, Princess of Wrosan. Their firstborn Prince Silas and his sister Princess Vanya." One of the councilmen announced their arrival at the meeting with foreign royals.

The room was filled with men, old or young, all looking serious. Her father sat down on his throne with their mother next to him and her and Silas sitting on little chairs on her left. Her father told her it was a crucial meeting, and it would be better if they were all there. Even if they just sat there and smiled at some people.

"My dear lords, thank you for coming. I called you all here to talk to you about the threat that has plagued England for some time now." King Osmond said in his grave, commanding voice that sounded so different as to when he spoke to Vanya. It wasn't a king's voice that showed affection. It was cold and to the point.

"And what might that threat be, my king?" The lord who asked the question was old and bald. Next to him sat a younger boy, maybe of fourteen.

Osmond scoffed and glared at the stupid man. Of course, he knew what he was talking about. "The Northmen--"

"The Northmen are no threat. Ragnar Lothbrok was defeated and hides somewhere nursing his pride. He has for three years now." Another visitor cut off Osmond, waving his hand around like it was no big deal.

Osmond leaned forward in his seat and stared at the men before him with a cold gaze. "Ragnar Lothbrok may be hiding. But his heirs aren't. What of his son and his wife? What of his other sons? They aren't hiding. They are biding their time, and we must be prepared when they attack. We can't ignore the threat that grows stronger with time. When his sons are grown, they might invade England in their father's name. What of the settlement in Wessex? The slaughtered Vikings. The Northmen are loyal; they will try to avenge their own. I can feel it. And we must be ready; we must heighten our defenses, ready our soldiers."

The room grew so silent you could barely hear the breathing of the twenty men, one woman, and two children. Vanya watched the quite royals thinking the words over. They held no fear anymore, ever since the Vikings stopped raiding with Ragnar, they felt safe. They got comfortable.

"We should attack them!" Cried out the fourteen-year-old boy at the table. Everybody looked at him, some shaking their heads other agreeing. They were men of honor, stupid men, but men of honor no less. They thought war was the answer to everything, even if it is a lost war.

"Why can't we make peace?" Vanya asked, looking up at her father from her chair. The room got quiet again. Some men sneered in disgust at the child's simple words. Siflæd rolled her eyes in shame while Silas glared at her as if his gaze could set his sister on fire. The King looked at her with a blank face instead.

"Tell me, Vanya... How should we do that?" Osmond asked her, humoring his youngest child despite the group of councilmen before him.

Vanya bit her lower lip and twiddled with her fingers nervously. "We could give them something and ask them to leave us alone." She suggested hoping her father would like the answer. The wet nurse always told her that if she wanted something, she should ask politely. So it could work with these strangers too.

Osmond chuckled and mentioned for Vanya to come to him. He pulled her onto his lap and showed her the cross around his neck. "This is a cross my father gave to me when I was your age. He told me that God could protect anyone who needs help. But those men you want to negotiate with don't pray to this cross. They don't see faith and protection; they see gold. And if I were to collect all the gold, silver, and crosses in this kingdom and offered it to them, what do you think would happen?"

Vanya thought hard about her father's words. But before she could answer, he cut her off. "We are a small kingdom, Vanya. We can't offer them how much they want. They are greedy men. And they could go back on their word and attack us anyway. God wouldn't help us if we tried that. No matter how many golden crosses we might give them. It would save lives, yes, but negotiation isn't always the answer. We are a small kingdom; they wouldn't negotiate with us. It would be easier to fight us instead. It's noble for you to think of peace, but not everyone thinks that way."

After he finished his speech, he sat the eight-year-old redhead back down and sent her back to her chair. Silas sat next to her watching her every step with a hateful look, gripping the armrests tightly. When the meeting was over, Siflæd left the two children behind and returned to her chambers. Silas ran after her stomping his way and huffing like an angry bull. And so Osmond was left alone with his daughter.

She looked up at him with sad eyes. The young Princess hoped there was a way for peace. She didn't want him to go to war. People die in wars; her father didn't deserve to die. "You are a good girl, Vanya. One day you will make an excellent Queen. I am sure of it. That's why you should learn the ways of a ruler. We don't just make deals, little Spark. Sometimes fighting is necessary, that's why you should know to pick your battles. Fight every battle in your mind first, then move to the battlefield. Don't just jump into action; it could cost you your life and your people's lives. You are the daughter of a king, a small king, but a king nonetheless. Be smarter than your enemy. Bargain when needed and to fight when necessary."

Vanya looked at her father, curiously. It made no sense to her. "The wet nurse says the men fight. I am not a man."

Osmond chuckled and led her to a map on the table where the councilmen sat not so long ago. "Do you see this? Silas will rule this kingdom one day. He may be only twelve right now, but soon he will be a man. And men fight wars with other men. He is too quick to go into battle. Too eager to sacrifice his men in any fight. He will need a calm woman by his side to make him reconsider his choices. Some queens secretly pull strings. They whisper words into their husband's ears and make them think they were their thoughts. You will be somebody's wife one day. The wife of a king, perhaps."

Vanya watches the borders of Slegia surrounded by the woods and other villages and cities. "So, you want me to whisper to my husband?" She asked, confused, not understanding what he wanted.

"Maybe you will have to do so. Maybe he will be a smart man. But it's better if he has an intelligent wife too. A silent little mouse isn't always the answer. So be smart, Vanya. Clever people make it further."

Vanya kneeled on the ground on a hill, praying to the Norse gods for guidance. She had been kneeling there for the past hour. Her knees hurt from the hard ground as she waited for answers or a sign. Yet nothing came—nothing from the Norse gods or God himself. She was at her wit's end.

Vanya was not Queen material, no matter what anybody might say. When Silas became the King, she swore she would never be like him. He was cruel and didn't care about his people. No matter what Silas might have said when her brother sent her away. He would have sacrificed his subjects if he didn't need to rule over somebody. Silas cared more about the title and crown than about anybody else.

But if Vanya ever were to be a queen, she would care for her people, protect them from harm, and make them love her. That's why she helped the people of Kattegat. She wanted them to be happy and not obligated to support her. In her eyes, the enemy weren't men with swords and armies. Those were her brother's enemies; the enemy of the people is poverty. And she will fight a battle against it in their name. That's the battle she chooses for herself. Let men fight their wars with steel and blood. Her fight was against hunger, the cold, and illnesses. She will continue to be the Princess of the people.

"There you are, I have been looking for you like mad." A voice startled her from her determined thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to see Ivar crawling towards her, annoyed. He froze when he saw her kneeling position. "What are you doing?"

"I was praying for wisdom," she explained, turning towards him and sitting down with her back against the stone she prayed against.

Ivar huffed and crawled in front of her, glaring at her for some reason. "And to who were you praying? The true Gods or the imaginary Christian one?" He spat the words at her making her flinch.

Vanya clenched her hands and frowned at his tone of voice. "Honestly... Both. I'm hoping for answers, but mostly, I just think in silence."

Ivar scoffed and looked away from her as if he couldn't bear the sight of her. Vanya reached out to her husband, but he pulled his hand away and glared back at her. "Of course, the gods don't answer you. You are praying to that filthy Saxon god!"

"I am praying to him because I need guidance, and I always prayed to him before I met you. It's a habit, Ivar. I am not Christian! But he was my father's God; he is my family's God!"

"Yes, the God of the family that hates you and sent you away. The God of your dead father, what a useful God he is!"

"Stop it! I don't want to fight! I am sorry, just shut up!" Ivar growled at her bold tone of voice and slithered to her like a snake waiting to strike. The Viking got face to face with his wife and pierced her with a cold gaze. His eyes reminding her of the sea at the brink of freezing over.

"What could be of such importance that you would dare to pray to him? Huh? What was so pressing you had to pray for wisdom?" He hissed at her making her shake in her spot in fear. She was afraid of him. How fast the joy faded from their relationship.

"Your mother told me things that made me question my faith. I already doubt myself with every step I take. And I needed answers that no one could give me. So I ask both my old God and my new gods."

Ivar pulled away from her with a frown on his handsome face, the coldness in his eyes slowly fading. "What did my mother tell you?"

"She wants me to use people to manipulate them by being nice to them. To help you and your brothers raise in the world. I am not a liar, Ivar. That is not my way." She revealed her hands clasped in fists with her knuckles white. Vanya felt her fingernails digging into her soft skin leaving behind a stinging pain.

Her husband stared at her, blinking but not giving anything away. His face was better guarded than Kattegat itself. "Why did you come to pray then? If you know that, that's not your way."

"I don't want to disappoint her! I admire her. But I can't pretend to be someone I am not." The ginger blurted out her eyebrows drawn together, a pout on her lips as she loosened her fists.

"Then, don't pretend," Ivar responded like it was that easy. If it were that simple, she wouldn't be on top of a hill with sore knees. "Ignore Mother."

"It's not that easy. I can't just do whatever I want to do, Ivar. It's expected of me to listen." She tried to explain to him, her voice getting higher and higher with every word—all of Vanya's recent decision gone because of Ivar's interference.

Ivar sneered at her and looked over his home. He watched the people walk around, going about their day. "You are my wife. Do whatever you want to do as long as it's not praying to false gods. If anybody says anything to you, you tell me, and I will take care of it. You don't want to manipulate people, then don't. It is that easy."

Vanya gazed at the side of his head with wonder. She expected him to yell at her some more for going against his mother's wishes. Yet there he sat, calmed down, encouraging her to be herself. He had a temper, but he also had a brain. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Next time you want answers, ask the Aesir or the Seer." He ordered ready to leave when he saw Vanya check her palms and hiss. Ivar crept towards the ginger and pulled one of her palms towards himself.

Her palms held bloody half circles from her nails that stung a little bit. Ivar looked them over with his brows knitted together in concern. The Viking observer her defeated and ashamed front.

"I hate the Christian God, that won't change. You said yourself that you don't believe in him. But I am sorry for yelling." Despite the sincerity behind his words, it was evident to Vanya that he had trouble apologizing to her. But the fact that he did it anyway warmed her heart. He truly regretted his earlier tantrum.

He then looked back down on her hands and cupped her smaller palms in between his calloused ones. He then bought them up to her lips and gave them a kiss in apology. "Never hurt yourself again."

Vanya nodded at his pleading and smiled a little smile at him. She made her choice, and after some arguing, she had a supporter. The Princess would be herself. She had no desire to manipulate people, if her kindness did attract people to the Ragnarssons side, then so be it. But she would never intentionally do it.

Vanya stood up with Ivar's support and walked by his side to the chambers to take a bath and get ready for bed as the sun set behind them. They were quite the vision, the girl with flaming hair, and her head held high and a boy crawling by her side with eyes crafted of bright skies and frozen seas.

#Vikings #ivar x oc #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #original female character #original character

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

now everything is easy ‘cause of you

In which a baby is dropped on Acatl’s doorstep, and he becomes Dadcatl. Teomitl helps.

Also on AO3!

It was the screaming that woke him.

Acatl was off his mat and on his feet in the next instant, one hand scrabbling for his knives and the other shoving his hair off his face. He didn’t need to waste time wondering what it was; he’d been around crying infants most of his life, and Mihmatini had spent her first five months screaming at everything that moved funny. But small children belonged in the calmecac, or the palace—Teomitl had swarms of small cousins—or in the homes of people with families. Not his courtyard.

He stumbled outside, squinting in what little light there was. It wasn’t even dawn yet, and everything was gray and misty. The screaming hadn’t abated, but he couldn’t see—

There, under the tree. A woven basket, and a wiggling hand. A chubby wiggling hand; the part of his brain that wasn’t numb with shock noted that with some relief.

He dropped to his knees beside it and pulled back the rest of the rough maguey fiber, bleached white by the sun, to reveal a still-squalling and quite naked infant. The part of his brain that noticed things woke up again, taking inventory—female, all limbs and digits accounted for, dark eyes that focused on him and found him distinctly wanting. Magic lay just under her skin, wisping up like smoke in plumes too thin for him to see details.

The rest of him was already in motion, scooping her up in his arms and rocking her back and forth. His mouth moved without him really being aware of his own words, only conscious of the need to get her to calm down so he could think again He needed to focus. Why was she here; where were her parents—? “Shhh, shh, it’s alright, it’s alright...”

The wailing slowly tapered off. She blinked huge eyes at him and said, “Bah?”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. There was already a headache building behind them. “Gods,” he muttered, “what do I do with you?”

Well, first things first. He’d have to question his priests and see if anyone knew who might have left a baby in his courtyard. He’d have to find her a wet nurse, and blankets, and toys—she had to be less than a year old, she wouldn’t be up for anything more than a soft cloth doll, maybe—and a bigger basket to sleep in, because the one she’d been left in had a hole in it a kicking foot might widen accidentally. He’d have to figure out what sort of magic was hanging around her, whether it was a curse or something worse—

Conch shells blared. He winced. The girl started fussing again. She needed a name.

And he’d have to make his devotions to the gods, too.

By some miracle—maybe the Duality was taking pity on him—the child eventually fretted herself to sleep, and Acatl was left with enough free time to eat something, put his cloak on, and cut down her maguey blanket into something he could wrap into a diaper. He made a silent promise to get her a better, softer one later, only to grimace as the implications of that wish swept through him. I’m already thinking of her as mine. I shouldn’t get attached. The gods only know who put her here, what all the magic around her means...

He eyed her. He’d emptied out the basket that usually held his clothes and lined it with his cheapest cloak before laying her in it. Even swaddled and sleeping fitfully, he could see the twisting scarlet energy coiled over her skin like a lazy snake. It didn’t have any of the same markers as a curse, at least not yet. The gods only knew what it would turn into. Aside from that, she seemed perfectly healthy; if he hadn’t been a priest, he might have said she was no more likely to die than any other baby.

He’d once had two older brothers. Nezahual, born between him and Neutemoc, hadn’t survived his second year. For the first time, he wondered how his parents had felt.

Enough. He shook his head to clear it. He had to get to the temple. Scooping her up in the sling he’d made out of the rest of the maguey blanket, he trudged out into the morning sunlight.

Beyond his courtyard, the Sacred Precinct bustled as it always did. The citizens rushing back and forth, the merchants with their wares, priests devoted to other gods with their sacrifices...it was all the same. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the mingled scents of blood and incense and lake water. Alerted by the movement of his chest, the baby stirred. “Gah?”

He set a hand on her head, stroking the short locks of impossibly soft hair. “Shhh.”

“Bah,” she said sleepily, and nestled against his chest again.

He risked an exhale. She didn’t move. He realized he’d been standing stock-still while she cuddled against him, and made his legs move again. His temple wasn’t far.

Of course, because the gods were not nearly as merciful as he would wish, he ran into Ichtaca nearly the same instant his feet crossed the threshold. “Acatl-tzin, you’re—” He blinked in confusion as he spotted the infant, but instead of the shock and outrage Acatl had expected, he only frowned. “...I was under the impression your family had enough hands to watch all those nieces and nephews without you.”

He fought the urge to curl around her, perhaps tuck his cloak around her to hide her from sight. “They do. We need to discuss this inside.”

He was no leader of men, but nevertheless by the time he made it to the nearest reception room he’d amassed a small audience consisting not only of Ichtaca but also Ezamahual, Palli, and a handful of transfers from Coyoacan whose names he was still getting confused. He had a hard enough time with the idea that they’d wanted to serve in this temple, under him, on purpose. Still, they were quiet and didn’t startle the baby, so he supposed they were alright.

He sat down on the gray-striped mat and explained, as clearly and quietly as possible, what he’d woken up to, giving it a moment to sink in before he started in with what had to be done now. “We have to find who left her here. Alert the rest of the priests as well; I can’t imagine it was a greatly stealthy operation, and anyone might have seen or heard something.”

One of the Coyoacan transfers—Acatl really needed to learn his name—was brave enough to speak up before he departed. “My lord, what will you do with...with the child?” He sounded hesitant even to speak of her, and Acatl couldn’t blame him. She only looked like any other baby until you engaged your priest-senses, and since crossing the threshold to his temple complex the magic within her had seethed.

Acatl blinked at him. “I’m keeping her, of course.” It wasn’t planned. It was, in fact, a terrible idea. He knew it was a terrible idea even as the words left his mouth. A sensible man would have regretted them, would have recanted them immediately and handed the girl over to the priestesses of Xochiquetzal or the elders of his own calpulli, for surely he was in no fit state of life to raise a baby girl.

She stirred, blinking huge brown eyes, and he shifted his weight to rock her back to sleep.

Ichtaca recoiled. “Acatl-tzin, you can’t...”

Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her. “She was left on my doorstep,” he growled.

“...Well,” Ichtaca began, and stopped.

He gestured with the arm not supporting her head. “Besides, the spells around her need to be unraveled. We need a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with.”

“You’re better at that than me,” Ichtaca groused, and then hastily added, “My lord. She appears normal...”

Acatl studied her face for a moment with his priest-senses. Parrot-red energy drifted over her skin, bright and clean and almost familiar. “Only on the outside. Normally I’d suspect a curse, but if it was, I doubt she’d be so...vocal. I’d want to examine her now, but...well, she’s finally asleep.” He definitely hadn’t missed that part of looking after an infant; Ichtaca winced sympathetically as he continued, “She’s sure to be hungry when she wakes, but I don’t know anyone who can nurse her on such short notice.” He spared a moment to wish this had all happened last year, before Ollin had been weaned; Neutemoc had been so relieved he’d freed the wet nurse almost on the spot.

Ezamahual cleared his throat. “I have a sister. She’s recently had her firstborn.”

He blinked. He hadn’t realized, somehow, that his priests surely had sisters or nieces or cousins. Hadn’t given a thought to their families. The knowledge of his own carelessness sat like a bad meal in his stomach. “Thank the Duality. How soon can she get here?” After a moment, remembering his manners, he added, “Congratulations.”

Ezamahual blushed, muttered something approximating a “Thank you,” and eyed the position of the sun. “Within the hour. I’ll fetch her.”

Something in his stomach unknotted. “Please.”

As he left, Acatl turned back to Ichtaca. The still-nameless girl stirred in his arms, but mercifully slumbered on. “After she’s gotten some milk into her, we’ll see about her magic.”

Ichtaca was still frowning. “What color?”

“Red.” That narrowed it down a bit, admittedly, but he was sure it couldn’t be Xochiquetzal’s. She didn’t feel excessively warm, which probably ruled out Huehueteotl or Chantico. Who was left? She wiggled a little in her swaddling cloth, as though she could tell he was thinking about her, and he shook his head. It doesn’t matter just yet. “She seems healthy, at least. For now.”

“For now,” Ichtaca echoed. “Acatl-tzin, are you sure you should be getting attached?”

He looked down at the baby. Her little face scrunched up in sleep, and he had to fight the urge to stroke her downy head. I think it’s too late for that. “Hm.”

Ichtaca’s eyes unfocused briefly, and Acatl knew he was gazing at her with his own priest-senses. “...Odd. Very odd. I’ll check our archives and see what I might find.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

And then Ichtaca left as well, and for the moment, he was alone. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, wishing he’d picked a seat closer to the wall so at least he’d have some back support. He’d forgotten what carrying a baby was like; he was sure Mihmatini hadn’t been this heavy when he’d been pressed into watching her. His nieces and nephews might have been—Ohtli in particular had been a large infant—but he’d always been able to hand them back to their parents when his arms grew tired. There would be no such relief for him with this child, if he kept her.

If. He snorted softly to himself. There wasn’t a choice. She’d seen to that the very moment when she’d taken advantage of a moment’s inattention to grab for a loose lock of hair and give it a solid yank. I thought I would never have children, and the gods—or a desperate mother—dropped one practically into my lap.

He hoped it was a desperate mother. When he closed his eyes, he remembered the way Tlaloc had sought to force His way into the Fifth World. He remembered Mazatl—Popoxatl’s—blood spilling like a black cloud in the waters of Tlalocan, how his flesh had parted like paper at the touch of his blade. He remembered, far too well, the faces of those Tlaloc had slain. If this girl-child was another foray into the world from a different god’s loins...if he was forced to slay her as well...

He shuddered, realizing he was squeezing her a bit too tightly only when she whined. Hastily, he started to rock her. It seemed to help; she stared at him in blank curiosity a few moments longer before closing her eyes again and falling back asleep in that utterly boneless way only puppies and small children could ever manage. Maybe the spells around her can be separated. Maybe they won’t affect her, and she can grow up like any other child.

Admittedly, it didn’t seem especially likely. When was luck ever on his side, after all? He gazed down at her with a sinking feeling in his chest. “Child, you are going to be trouble.”

Of course—speaking of trouble—that was when Teomitl arrived.

“Acatl!”

He would have recognized the cadence of those footfalls anywhere, but it was still a surprise when Teomitl turned the corner into the room. At least, he named that feeling surprise. It was as good an excuse as any for the way his heart leapt. “Teomitl—” he began, but then the baby whimpered and he hastily dropped his voice. “Keep it down,” he hissed instead.

Teomitl slowed, eyes widening. “I—I saw the commotion, and—is that a baby?”

He nodded, feeling heat rise in his face and flood across his skin. “She was left in my courtyard this morning. It’s...a long story. What are you doing here? It’s not nearly noon yet.” He’d been looking forward to the lunches they’d started to share more and more, at least as much for the food as for the warmth of Teomitl’s company. It was...well, nice to sit and bask in bright smiles and animated conversation that demanded nothing but his willing ear, to soak up court politics at a safe remove, to vent their true opinions of their colleagues together. But Teomitl was a busy man, especially as the season for war approached; he might be able to carve out an hour or so in the afternoon, but surely there was a meeting or something he should be at.

If there was, Teomitl didn’t seem to care. He crept closer as though he was approaching an injured deer, gaze alighting tenderly on the baby in Acatl’s arms. “...I didn’t know what was going on, but the temple looked like an anthill,” he said quietly. “I thought you might need my help.” And in a quite different tone, he added, “Oh, she’s adorable.”

He didn’t even bother to try hiding his smile. “Isn’t she? But shh, she’s fussy.”

Teomitl settled onto the mat next to him, close enough that their thighs and shoulders pressed together. Acatl shivered, acutely aware of the heat of his skin, but Teomitl didn’t seem to notice. All his attention was on the baby, who blinked sleepy dark eyes at him. He beamed softly as he reached for her, but his hand stayed hovering in the air instead of daring to make contact. “Hello, there.” He wiggled his fingers, occasioning a flood of curious babbling.

“Shhhh,” Acatl murmured. His heart felt so full he could barely get the words out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d loved anything so much. “This is Teomitl. You’ll like him.”

Teomitl chuckled quietly, shifting his weight so that he nestled more fully into Acatl’s side. Acatl found himself leaning into him, the better to relish the affection evident in his voice. “I hope you do.”

Slowly, he exhaled. Gods, he’ll be a wonderful father. Before he could think better of it, he shifted her weight in his arms. “Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” Teomitl blurted, and then flushed. “I’m not sure how...”

Acatl felt something in his chest go soft and warm. No, Teomitl wouldn’t have spent that much time around infants—even Ollin had been older than this girl when they’d met—but it was never too late to learn, and some small corner of his heart lit up with joy at the thought that there was still one thing he could teach his former student. He handed her over with a smile. “Here, like this—support her head more, there you go.”

She waved a chubby fist at Teomitl as he gathered her up, blinking rapidly at this new shape in front of her eyes. Acatl wasn’t surprised; while his temple was all soothing grays and whites and ink-black, Teomitl wore gleaming jade earrings and a lip plug of bright gold. “Baaa...”

“Oh,” Teomitl breathed, eyes shining. “Acatl...”

He swallowed hard. Over the months, he’d gotten used to Teomitl addressing him by name, but that in no way prepared him for the way it sounded now. Awestruck. Tender. Enraptured. “I think she approves of you.”

“She’s smiling.” Probably in response to Teomitl’s delighted grin, for which Acatl couldn’t blame her. It was delightfully infectious.

“Mm,” he hummed, feeling absurdly proud. That’s right, my child. Your future Emperor is holding you like you are made of jade. You had better smile.

Experimentally, Teomitl poked her little fist with a forefinger, beaming when she latched onto it. “What a strong little jaguar cub you are! You’ll be the terror of your enemies someday, I just know it.”

She waved her fist—and Teomitl’s hand—excitedly, chanting nonsense syllables in what Acatl supposed was agreement. “Bababa!”

It was the most adorable thing Acatl had seen in years, but something cold twisted his guts as he took it in. Even without looking for it, he knew that the magic in her was leaping up like a fish to greet the Southern Hummingbird’s heat overlaying Teomitl’s skin. She wasn’t a normal child, and no amount of wishing would make it so. “You shouldn’t—”

Teomitl blinked at him. “Hm?”

Acatl bit his lip, hating what he was about to say. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen to her. I told you it was a long story, but...”

“I have time.” Teomitl settled back on the mat, gazing at him just as attentively as he had when he’d been Acatl’s student—or, actually, moreso. With a baby in his arms, he couldn’t fidget as much.

For the second time, Acatl explained the story. Waking up to screaming with—now that he thought about it—not even footprints in the dirt outside. A basket and a blanket such as any peasant might use, nothing inside to hint at her origins or even give a clue to her name. The magic that hung around her like a too-large shroud. The way her presence had divided his priests. Unspoken but lingering in every pause was the truth: I don’t know what to do.

Teomitl said not a word until he finished, and by then his gaze had dropped back down to the baby. He tapped her nose gently, and she tried to grab his hand again. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sure. “...It sounds like you have a daughter.”

He made a noise that wasn’t a word, throat working uselessly before he could speak again. “I don’t—I shouldn’t—” I can’t do that. I’ll only be tearing my own heart out of my chest later. I shouldn’t even have picked her up in the first place. But even as he thought the words, he knew that there hadn’t been another choice. That he didn’t want another choice.

Teomitl was frowning lightly, but he took his words at face value anyway. “You don’t want her?”

He sucked in a hard breath. It’s not that I don’t want her. The words lay on the tip of his tongue, but they went no further. It’s only...it’s only... Only that he remembered his own parents far too well. Remembered his own father, and how he’d always been the disappointment. What kind of legacy was that to leave a child? And yet...he wanted so badly to try. To be better.

His turmoil must have shown on his face, because Teomitl’s gaze softened and his lips curled in a faint, encouraging smile. “...That’s a no, then. Did you name her? You should, if you’re going to be her father.”

“I...” Such was the father’s prerogative, yes, but with the utter chaos of her arrival into his life, he hadn’t thought of a name. Her birthday? No, that was a mystery. A name after one of his aunts? A possibility, but he hadn’t spoken to any of them in years and to pick one would surely make an enemy of all the rest. His mother? That last sent ice through his heart. No, absolutely not.

“And she’ll need...things. Blankets. Toys to play with. A sleeping basket. Probably food; I don’t know how old babies have to be for solids, but—”

As if he hadn’t thought about any of that. He straightened up, the better to glare at him. “I know how to look after an infant, Teomitl!” Granted, he’d been far from the only caretaker, but he’d spent enough time around his younger siblings not to be completely useless.

Teomitl dropped his gaze, lips thinning. “You said there’s magic on her.”

Another thing he was unlikely to forget. Another complication he didn’t need. He crumpled the hem of his cloak in his fist and hastily smoothed it out again. “There is.”

Jaguar-bright eyes flicked to Acatl’s again. “So, won’t you need me? I can keep you both safe.” He smiled down at the girl, all his old confidence no longer careless but just as strong. “You hear that, little jaguar cub? I’ll protect you and your papa with my life.”

Acatl fixed his gaze on the far wall, knowing that he had to be blushing. Between Teomitl’s nearness and his words, it was just too much. I know you would. I know you would, but I couldn’t live with myself if you were injured on my account. And besides... “You might not be able to. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

“But—” Whatever objection Teomitl was about to raise, Acatl would never find out, because the baby chose that moment to screw up her face and begin wailing.

Loudly.

At any other time, the look of terror on Teomitl’s face probably would have been hilarious; now, with his arms full of a steadily angrier infant, Acatl couldn’t help but feel an acute pang of sympathy. To his credit, he didn’t drop her into his lap. “Oh, gods, what did I do?”

Acatl edged away from him, though regrettably not far enough to spare his own eardrums. Texcoco might have been far enough, but he wouldn’t have bet on it. “She’s hungry.”

With the din she was making, he almost didn’t hear the approaching footsteps, but fortunately Ezamahual was quite good at pitching his voice to carry over any sort of localized cacophony. It was just as useful with crying infants as it was with the rowdier calmecac students. “Acatl-tzin!” rang out from the next courtyard, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the Duality,” Teomitl muttered.

Ezamahual strode in as though a beast of shadows was on his heels, only belatedly remembering to bow to Teomitl as he gestured to the woman trailing in his wake. “My sister, Mixcatl. I’ve explained the situation to her.”

Looking at her, Acatl could see the family resemblance. Mixcatl was closer to Teomitl’s age than his own, but the shadows under her eyes spoke to many sleepless nights, and her blouse and skirt had the slight sheen that suggested a great deal of aggressive cleaning. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your own family.”

“It’s an honor to assist you, Acatl-tzin.” Mixcatl sat down, smiling wryly as she added, “Your daughter certainly has healthy lungs.”

Teomitl rubbed his ear. “We’ve noticed.”

Her warm look had nothing to do with the young and handsome Master of the House of Darts deigning to speak to her and everything to do with simple camaraderie. “Give her here, I’ll feed her for now.” Teomitl handed her over with an expression of barely-contained relief, and Mixcatl winced as she latched on. “Have you tried her on atole yet?”

Acatl shook his head, half-distracted. My daughter. I have a child to raise. “She seemed interested in my breakfast, but I didn’t think about it. I should have.”

Ezamahual cracked a smile very much like his sister’s. It was oddly heartening. “She was something of a surprise, my lord.”

“...Indeed,” he muttered belatedly. Duality preserve me, I’m a father now.

“An adorable surprise,” Teomitl added, with a degree of frankly unwarranted smugness.

It would have annoyed him more if he didn’t agree.

To his considerable relief, the baby—his daughter? His mind seemed stuck on that point—proved to be a voracious eater with no complaints about being fed, burped, and swaddled tightly to encourage her to sleep. Mixcatl thought it likely she was around half a year, a trifle early to be weaned, but that was all to the good; it meant he wouldn’t need to hire a wet nurse. But nor could he take her with him everywhere he went, and so after she was fed he took a boat to Neutemoc’s house. His brother had enough slaves to look after one infant girl for a day or two while he did his job.

And he would have to do his job. As cute as the girl was, her innate magic only surged when she was pleased; on a full belly and drowsing contentedly on Mixcatl’s shoulder, his priest-senses had shown him crimson smoke writhing like a nest of coral snakes across her limbs. Mixcatl—who had no magical training whatsoever—had commented on her pleasant scent. He’d smelled poinsettias and roses, and said nothing. Xochiquetzal Is banished. But if she’s trying to come back, to make another bid for the Fifth World...

He buried his nose in his baby’s downy hair, breathing in. She smelled like milk again, and he took comfort in that.

As long as he held her tight, he could ignore the simmering tension rolling off Teomitl where the man was tucked into the seat behind him. He hadn’t spoken much since Mixcatl had arrived; plainly, he was still sulking over his protection being denied. Palace guards had a less belligerent glare. Acatl almost pitied anyone who disturbed them.

He should probably apologize, he thought. It was hardly Teomitl’s fault that the machinations of gods tended to get average mortals killed. Nor was it his fault that the idea of losing him made Acatl’s throat seize up in sick, vicious terror. He was trailing his fingers in the water, unafraid of the dark shapes below, and he looked remote and untouchable as the sun.

Acatl took a deep breath. “Teomitl, I...”

But before he could finish his sentence, the junior priest polling their boat came to a stop at Neutemoc’s house, and the moment was lost.

The guard on duty took one look at the bundle Acatl held close to his chest and his eyes went almost comically wide; as he opened his mouth, Acatl cut him off. “Is my brother home?”

The guard nodded rapidly, probably more out of fear for Teomitl’s glower than any respect for his master’s little brother. “I’ll take you to him.”

Neutemoc was in the main receiving room, glaring at a ledger as though it owed him money. Acatl briefly felt bad for him; he’d never been good with numbers, and it had been Huei who’d dealt with the household finances. When Acatl entered—alone, since Teomitl had taken up a position in the courtyard that suggested he expected an attack from the heavens any moment—he looked up with a furrowed brow and a question on his lips.

Before he could voice it, Acatl spoke. “I need your help.”

“You—why do you have a baby?” Neutemoc eyed his expression a moment longer before finally shaking his head and gesturing to the nearest mat. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

He’d barely taken a few dozen steps out of the boat, but it was amazing how much of a relief it was simply to sit down when he was carrying a six-month-old. He’d thought being hunched over a codex was bad for his back. This was worse. But he couldn’t bemoan his aches and pains forever, because Neutemoc was waiting for an answer. “It’s...” He sighed. “She was left on my doorstep. I don’t know what to do.”

Neutemoc sat back, raising an eyebrow. “I know you know how to take care of an infant, Acatl.”

“That’s not the problem!” he huffed.

“What is it, then?” Neutemoc leaned in, peering at the girl. Acatl noticed he was careful not to get too close. “Is there something wrong with her?”

Unconsciously, he lifted a hand to shield her. “She’s healthy, physically. But she’s covered in magic, and I need to find the cause, whatever it takes. If it’s a repeat of when Tlaloc made His bid for the Fifth World, I...”

Neutemoc’s gaze slid past him to the open doorway. “Teomitl won’t let that happen.”

He felt his face burn. All of a sudden, he couldn’t look at his brother anymore; it seemed vitally important to trace the weave of the mat below him instead. “He said he’d give his life for us,” he murmured.

There was a faint rustle as Neutemoc sat back on his heels and let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “...And this is a surprise to you? Do your eyes not work?”

He sucked in a too-fast breath, choked on his own spit, and had to clear his throat several times before he could splutter out a response. That wasn’t—Neutemoc couldn’t mean—Finally, he choked out, “I—what—”

“Acatl,” his brother said simply.

He couldn’t find anything to say. He can’t mean that Teomitl—he thinks of me as a brother, surely. As a friend, if I’m lucky. Not as...I know he’s protective of the people he cares for, but it’s not like that. It can’t be like that. His marriage is going so well now, surely he doesn’t think of me in that way. He would never. And a traitorous voice whispered in his head, You wish he would, don’t you?

Finally, he muttered, “It’s...it’s not...”

Neutemoc sighed again, shaking his head. “Give her to me. I’ll watch her while you do what you have to do.”

She was warm and heavy in his arms, and her presence was soothing. But Neutemoc was right; it would be good to have some time without her. Feeling a little reluctant—not very, she smelled like she needed to be changed and a man had to have some limits—he handed her over.

Neutemoc scooped her up with the air of a man who had plenty of practice. He didn’t need to worry about dropping her. “I’ll put her in with Ollin.”

He nodded. He still wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak. Teomitl’s just...overprotective. That’s it. That has to be it. I’m a fool to think there’s some deeper emotion to it. Surely he’d do the same for any member of his family; it’s not as though Neutemoc is the greatest judge of intent there. But nor was his brother prone to exaggeration or flights of fancy, and if he’d spoken about Teomitl’s feelings as though they were supposed to be obvious...

Voices from the courtyard intruded on his spiralling emotions, and he fought the urge to freeze like a rabbit when he realized one of them was Mihmatini’s. It wouldn’t help.

“...I thought...”

“...probably a good thing...”

And then his favorite sister was coming in with Teomitl on her heels, and it was too late to do anything but nod at them. At least she pulled him out of his own head. “So, what’s this about you having a daughter?”

Then of course, he had to explain the whole thing all over again. At this point, he was starting to wonder if he ought to have written it down to save his voice. By the time he was done, Mihmatini had folded her arms and was frowning thoughtfully. “Hm.”

“He said he didn’t want our help,” Teomitl muttered. Oh, he must still be upset about that.

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t know if this is something you can help with. Not when I might have to...” He shook his head. If she was another vessel for a god’s power, the way Tlaloc had tried to claw his way into the world, then she couldn’t be allowed to live—but every fiber of his being rebelled against that conclusion. No. No. She’s mine.

Teomitl saw what he couldn’t say, and his mouth set in a thin line. “I know. It won’t come to that if I can help it.”

“Teomitl...” He risked setting a hand on Teomitl’s forearm; his skin was warm under Acatl’s palm, and he didn’t pull away.

Mihmatini’s eyes narrowed. “Did you think we would let you do this alone, Acatl?”

He couldn’t look at either of them. His chest felt too tight to possibly allow him to speak. “I...”

The jangling curtain announced Neutemoc’s return to the room, blessedly accompanied by slaves bearing food. “She’s down for a nap now. I thought you’d be hungry—Mihmatini! It’s good to see you!”

He was hungry. They all were. Lunch was grilled frogs and honeyed agave worms, and as he ate he felt his equilibrium being restored. So everything had changed. So he had an infant girl to take care of now, one who babbled and smiled and pulled anything within reach including his hair. So there was the slimmest of slim chances that the feelings he thought he’d buried might be returned. On a full stomach, with his family around him, it all felt bearable again.

Not least because he didn’t have to carry the conversation. It shifted seamlessly around him, from Mihmatini’s training as the Guardian (frustrating) to Necalli’s current tasks at the House of Youth (he seemed to be doing very well there, but with him out of earshot Neutemoc was free to admit to a father’s worry) to the campaign planned for the upcoming dry season (which segued, thanks to his own entirely innocuous comment, into an impressively lengthy rant from Teomitl about his fellow officials’ brainpower, courage, and likely parentage).

When Teomitl paused for breath and another handful of agave worms—he would have singlehandedly demolished the plate if left to his own devices—Mihmatini commented, “They can’t be that useless,” but her heart wasn’t in her words.

Teomitl made a face. “Mazatl would be better at their job, I swear. The baby would be better at their job, and she can’t even talk yet. I should get back to the palace, but I don’t want to leave. Are you sure she’ll be safe?”

“Go,” Mihmatini said, not unkindly. “Our little quetzal feather will be fine for a while.”

He got to his feet, flashing a brief, questioning look at Acatl. When Acatl nodded at him—gods, he hoped it came off as reassuring, the last thing he wanted was to distract the Master of the House of Darts when he was preparing for war and needed all the advantages he could get to counteract having Tizoc for a Revered Speaker—he forced a smile. “I’ll see you later, then.”

With a last look at Acatl, he went.

Lunch got much quieter after that. There was still half a grilled frog on Acatl’s plate, but he found he didn’t want to eat anymore. He picked at it anyway to be polite.

It didn’t fool Mihmatini, who frowned at him. “You need to keep your strength up, Acatl.”

He sighed. “I know, I know, the skin-and-bones look is not compulsory. I’m eating!” He took another bite. It was hot and juicy, but it still tasted like ash in his mouth.

“And taking care of babies demands a lot of energy.”

“Just wait until she’s walking,” Neutemoc added with a wistful smile.

He studied his plate again, carefully pulling away the parts of the frog he’d nibbled on. Someone else could eat the rest. “...I know.” If she lives that long.

Neutemoc patted his shoulder. “You’ll be a wonderful father, Acatl.”

One of his slaves chose that moment to poke her head around the curtain, sparing him from having to respond. “Ah, sir? Mazatl wants to know if she can see the baby.”

Neutemoc set his plate down. “If she’s watched.” Unspoken but clear was that he would be the one doing the watching. He nodded at Acatl as he left; Acatl supposed it was meant to be encouraging. He didn’t feel particularly encouraged.

With their brother gone, Mihmatini didn’t press him to keep eating. She studied her own plate for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before asking, “I know you don’t like surprises, but...you do like children, don’t you?”

Everything he’d eaten threatened to come back up. Under the table, he dug his nails into his own thigh and let the pain center him. “That’s not it. You remember Tlaloc.”

She was silent for a while. He’d told her about that fight in Tlalocan eventually. He’d told her what he’d had to do. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “...I do. But that’s not what I’m asking. Do you want this child?”

He inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. Finally, he nodded.

“There you go, then.” She flashed him a small smile. “Welcome to fatherhood.”

“I don’t—” he started.

She cut him off ruthlessly. “You deserve to be happy. Your vows don’t preclude that. And it’s not like you’ll be doing it alone; you’ll have us. Teomitl met your daughter for half an hour and he talks about her like she hung the moon.”

That’s part of the problem, he thought with a shudder. “I—I can’t ask him, or any of you—”

Glaring, she slapped his shoulder hard enough to sting. “We’re volunteering. You’ve given your life to the gods, Acatl, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some joy in it for yourself.”

He couldn’t look at her. “...I know,” he muttered finally. “But I—it feels selfish of me.”

“Acatl,” she said. He still couldn’t lift his gaze from his plate, but he didn’t have to; he could feel the heat of her barely-suppressed frustration. “It’s not selfish to live the life you want.”

All unbidden, a thousand memories of Teomitl’s smile sprang to the forefront of his mind. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. What if the life I want includes your husband? What would you say to me then, Mihmatini? “But,” he began, and stopped.

She reached for him again, but this time it was to take his chin and lift it until he was forced to meet her eyes. They were fierce as eagles, with a light in them that made a sliver of fear lodge itself in his heart. “The will of the Duality granted you one life, Acatl. It’s too short for you not to take advantage of whatever joy you find, do you understand me?”

He swallowed hard. “...I do.”

“Good.” She released him abruptly, sitting back with a thin smile. “Let’s go play with the children while we’re here, alright?”

“...Alright.”

At least his niece and nephew were uncomplicated.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Acatl barely noticed. His noble intentions—he would leave the girl with Neutemoc while he got on with the search for her origins—evaporated immediately, because three hours into his investigation of Xochiquetzal’s last known address he found the thoughts he’d shoved into the back of his mind were all clamoring for the light of day at once. Does she miss me? Is she eating? Is Mihmatini keeping her occupied? I need to check up on her, just to be sure. So of course he had to go back to Neutemoc’s house, and when he left again it was with the girl in a sling on his back, a whole list of suggested names from both his siblings, and half a dozen slaves carrying all the things a baby would need to stay with him at least part-time. They were terrifyingly efficient; there was nothing he could help with there, and nothing stopping him from returning to work.

Except for the fact that his priests wouldn’t let him. They’d united in a rare show of force; Ichtaca arrived mid-afternoon to inform him in no uncertain terms that they could handle anything that came up, they were all hunting for anyone who might have dropped off a suspicious bundle that morning, a team of no less than a dozen of the best were combing the archives and tracing any sign of suspicious activity, and all he had to do was stay close to home so they could alert him of any new developments. At any other time, it would have been infuriating, but now it was oddly touching.

He had a daughter. She could eat atole, and fruit if it was mashed up very small, and he discovered that he hadn’t forgotten how to change a diaper or three. The room next to his bedchambers, which he supposed had been intended as a reception area—it had a particularly grim fresco of the Plain of Knives on one wall—would be made into a place for her to sleep when she got a little older; for now, her basket was in his room, where he could hear her in the night. Ollin was not inclined to share his toys with his new cousin, but Mazatl bravely donated a wobbly deer on wheels. Teomitl was freed from his meetings eventually and all but ran back to Acatl’s house to see her; Mihmatini joined them for dinner, and together they managed to change the girl again and give her a bath. By the time he found his mat again, he was ready to drop.

The morning after the gods had dropped his daughter into his lap, he found himself eating breakfast with an audience. It was easiest to get himself ready for the day if she was distracted; luckily, Teomitl had shown up at dawn to help wrangle her. To his relief, she’d slept through the night, but she’d still woken him before the conchs for a meal. Now, freshly changed—Teomitl had helped, though not without a grimace when he’d thought Acatl wasn’t looking—she wanted to play.

Fortunately, it seemed that being bounced on someone’s lap while they made silly faces was enough to do the trick. “Bah!” she said, and clapped her hands.

Teomitl beamed and scooped her up to bump noses with her. “Can you say papa? Can you do that for us, little flower?”

“Babah!”

There was the faintly strangled squeak that Teomitl made when he was trying not to giggle, as though it was possible that a laugh could impugn his dignity. “That was close! Acatl, did you hear?”

Acatl grimly chewed another mouthful of day-old flatbread. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten to stock up on his own supplies; he would have to fix that later. “I’m sitting right here,” he reminded him. “I don’t think she’s up to speech yet.”

“It won’t be long,” Teomitl snapped. “She’s a smart girl! Look, can you say uncle?”

Her little face screwed up; Acatl braced himself for a wail, but all that came out was, “Gaaah.”

“Hmm, I suppose not. How about...Mictlantecuhtli?”

“Now, I know she ca—” Words failed him midsentence; Teomitl, still bouncing the baby on his lap, took a moment to realize why. Then he saw what had struck Acatl speechless, and his eyes went wide.

His daughter was laughing, that odd burbling sound all infants made. An utterly normal noise. But no normal infant’s laugh could make wildflowers burst from the dry dust of his courtyard, pink and purple and white blooms covering the ground in a dense, springy carpet. The magic that had lain dormant for most of yesterday surged up again, red as blood where it curled around her little chest and shading to pitaya-fruit pink as it twined down her arms and hands. It didn’t seem to bother her; she chortled, clapping her hands again, and petals drifted down from her fingers onto Teomitl’s arms.

Teomitl was the first to regain use of his tongue. “...Xochiquetzal?”

No. It’s not Her. He shook his head dully. “Your brother banished Her, remember? There’s been no sign of Her since. I checked.”

“Gods, don’t remind me how stupid Tizoc is. But...if not Her, then it must be Her consort.” Teomitl looked distinctly uncomfortable at that prospect, and part of him wondered why.

The rest of him was almost relieved. Dealing with the Flower Prince wasn’t ideal—He was known to be especially capricious, and Acatl had never had the courage to call on Him even for matters of his own heart before—but at least he knew what they were up against. “To the temple of Xochipilli, then. We’ll have a word with His High Priest.”

Teomitl bit his lip as the baby hiccuped, a squeak of a sound that jarred her out of her laughing fit and had her glancing around anxiously for the cause. He gathered her against his chest, holding her with a tenderness that threatened to melt Acatl’s heart. “Oh, little jaguar cub, it’s alright. We’ll be back soon.”

They dropped her off at the Duality House, where Mihmatini was preparing for her own long day. She took the news of the child’s powers with a stormy look that promised retribution even for a god, but all she said was, “You’ll need offerings. Take them from our stores; we have all the flowers you could want, and last week we got in a pair of parrots for the feathers.”

“Thanks,” Acatl replied, with a calmness he didn’t feel. Teomitl said nothing. His fingers rested on the handle of his sword.

The temple of Xochipilli didn’t loom nearly as large as the Great Temple in whose shadow it lay, but it was brightly painted with lovely frescoes of birds and flowers. Here and there Acatl caught the gleam of gold. Teomitl had insisted on carrying the parrot cages, leaving Acatl with the flowers. He tried not to dwell on the soft, wistful glance he’d caught out of the corner of his eye while selecting an armload of poinsettias, nor on the way it had made his heart do somersaults in his chest.

He wasn’t a coward, but there were some things he simply wasn’t strong enough to face head-on without time to prepare. The urge to hold Teomitl’s hand as they walked was one of them.

But then they were crossing the threshold of the temple complex, and he had more pressing matters to attend to. Priests in flower-bedecked robes and parrot feathers passed by on their own errands; Teomitl, by his side, went very still.

It didn’t take long for them to be noticed. Before he could even call out, Xochipilli’s Fire Priest was approaching them. Though he was a fairly young man, the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes made him look even more exhausted than Acatl usually felt. Under his elaborate headdress, his gaze was sharp as a hawk’s. “Fire Priest Zolin at your service, Acatl-tzin.”

A spark of recognition lit Zolin’s eyes where they met Teomitl’s, but Acatl didn’t have time to worry about that. “We need to have words with your High Priest.”

Zolin glanced to Teomitl again, so briefly that Acatl wondered if he’d imagined it, but his words were directed at both of them. “He’s at the top of the temple. Come with me.”

They ascended the steps together. There were enough of them that Acatl had time to think, and he sort of wished he hadn’t. Flowers spring up where my daughter laughs. Teomitl made her laugh, made those flowers grow, and I...and I...gods, in that moment I would have died to kiss him. He was achingly aware of how far apart they were; when the wind caught Teomitl’s cape so it billowed against Acatl’s side, his breath caught in his throat.

The inside of the temple sanctuary was dark and cool; High Priest Nemalhuilli was perusing a well-worn codex, his back to them. When they reached him he froze, the codex falling from his hands.

“Nemalhuilli-tzin—oh.” Zolin swallowed roughly, taking a step back.

That was all the warning any of them got before the god’s power slammed into the room, thick and heavy as a steambath in summer. Acatl’s blood pounded with something caught between pain and desire; dimly he registered that he’d fallen to his knees, but his impact with the stone and the jarring screech of the parrots as Teomitl dropped the cage was a distant concern next to the sight of Nemalhuilli turning, eyes bright and ageless and not his own, not mortal at all, to regard them like dogs who had just done a clever trick.

Xochipilli, Flower Prince, god of youth and love and the vilest diseases, grinned maniacally at them through mist that was crimson as fresh-spilled blood. “I see you’ve found My daughter. And you’ve brought such lovely presents to thank Me!” One beckoning gesture, and the flowers Acatl had dropped rose on a petal-scented wind to flutter down over—no, into—His skin. Another, and the parrots’ screams cut off in a gout of blood.

Your daughter. Your daughter? His limbs shook, and it wasn’t from lust. He felt his lips draw back like a dog’s; he still couldn’t meet the god’s eyes, but there was nothing stopping him from glaring savagely at His knees. “What are You going to do...with her?”

“Me?” He sniffed. “Honestly, You do one girl a favor and everyone looks at You like you’re planning a takeover of the Fifth World. Do I look like the Storm Lord to you? Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question.”

Acatl tried to take a deep breath, but it only made him more lightheaded. “Then...why...?”

Xochipilli shrugged. “I told you. A favor. A girl wanted a child, I gave her one. It’s not My fault she didn’t think to tell anyone.” He paused. “Well, perhaps I could have met her in the flesh instead of dropping it into her womb. But it’s certainly not My fault she died, or that you have such a reputation for dealing with unwanted magic.”

Teomitl doggedly pushed himself upright, snarling like a jaguar on the hunt. He was too smart to make a grab for his sword, but the way his fists clenched said he was sorely tempted anyway. “Unwanted magic?! That’s your child!”

The Flower Prince appeared gently amused. Acatl wanted to punch Him. “Hmmm. Well, technically...” He tapped his butterfly nose ring, deep in thought. “Oh, why not? She can have three fathers. I only want her to grow up well.”

Acatl was fairly sure he wasn’t breathing. Suddenly, all he could see was Teomitl dropping to his knees again beside him, all the fight gone out of him as his rage transmuted to a bone-deep shame he knew too well. He saw it in his own reflection. From what felt like the very depths of Mictlan, he dredged up his voice again. “...Three?”

“Oh.” The Flower Prince smiled evilly. “You mean, you didn’t know. Shame on you, Ahuitzotl; did your courage fail you?”

Teomitl made a strangled noise. Words seemed to have deserted him. “I. Uh. Ngh.”

Horribly, Xochipilli’s smile turned smug. Acatl had seen exactly that expression on Quenami when he was getting his way, and it wasn’t any better on a god. “It seems that it has. And after such devotion in My temple!”

His heart felt fit to escape its prison of ribs, but he had to say something. Defend Teomitl. Ask questions. Something. But his mind seemed frozen in contemplation of devotion in Xochipilli’s temple and so all that came out was, “What?”

The god leaned forward, as though imparting a great secret, but His whisper was nevertheless pitched to carry. “Your pretty little student has been praying for—oh, for years, that you would look upon him as a man. As someone you might desire. As someone you might even love. Such riches he has given Me in hopes of My aid! I can hardly wait for him to become Revered Speaker, and I’m sure you can’t either.”

Oh, for a moment there he definitely wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t thinking, either; Xochipilli’s words had effectively obliterated every thought he might possibly have had. Teomitl wanted him. Wanted him badly enough to pray for it, as though he wouldn’t—as though he thought Acatl might not love him anyway, as though that was even possible. “Nnh.”

Xochipilli cackled, clapping His hands. “Ohoh, look at that blush! I see I was right.”

Teomitl squeezed his eyes shut. “Acatl,” he whispered. “I...”

Enough. Acatl sucked in a breath that rattled his lungs. “My lord,” he ground out, “I thank You...for the knowledge You have shared with us. The girl, Your daughter, will she...?”

Eyes like a crow’s lighted on him. “Hm?”

He could barely get the words out. “Will she...live a normal life?” Will she be Your pawn? Will I have to fear every day that the gods will use her in their games? Will she marry, have children, grow old?

An expansive shrug. “As normal as she can be with you two for fathers. She’s mostly mortal, after all; I only gave her a sliver of My power. Her birthday is Seven Flower; you may light incense for Me. Good luck, little mortals!”

And then He was gone, His divinity evaporating like smoke, and His high priest was clutching the edge of the altar with white-knuckled fingers. He was barely holding himself up; as he staggered, Zolin ran to his side. “My lord...!”

Nemalhuilli grunted, scrubbing at his eyes with a hand that came away bloody. “Duality, I hate when He does that. I think He thinks it’s funny. No, don’t hover, I’m fine. You two—ah, it’s Acatl-tzin and young Teomitl. Are you well?”

Acatl swallowed. He was once again exquisitely aware of Teomitl by his side; the sound of his breathing was erasing his thoughts. “...As well as can be expected. Forgive us for...for taking up your valuable time.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that. Nemalhuilli apologized again, and they turned and left, making their way back down the temple steps in silence. Teomitl kept shooting him nervous glances out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t attempt to speak until they were at the bottom of the stairs.

“Acatl-tzin.”

He drew in a breath, dropping his gaze to his dusty sandals. He prayed to Xochipilli for me. For me. That I would...gods. His chest tied itself in knots, and he couldn’t tell whether it was from joy or terror. Probably both. It simply couldn’t be real that he could have what he wanted. The world wasn’t that kind to him. “I’d.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I’d rather have this conversation in private, if you don’t mind.” The priests of Xochipilli were as inquisitive as his own, and he was horribly aware of their curious whispers and the speculative way they were eyeing him.

“...Right,” Teomitl repeated dully. “In private.”

Silence fell again, but this time it was tinged with anticipation. They would go back to Acatl’s little house, and they would talk about this. He just had to put one foot in front of the other. He barely noticed the bustling precinct around him; Mihmatini’s words had come back to him, and now he thought he understood the determination in her voice.

His house seemed too quiet with the baby still at Mihmatini’s, but it was impossible to forget her presence with the wildflowers still carpeting every inch of his courtyard. He went in first and took a moment just to look at them. The Flower Prince’s daughter, he thought in wonder, and then defiantly, No. Mine. Mine and Teomitl’s, if he’ll be there for her. If I have the stones to ask him.

Teomitl was standing next to him, not touching. They still hadn’t spoken. Heart in his throat, Acatl turned to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he said finally. “We should talk.”

Teomitl’s face was a mask of obsidian, set to shatter at the slightest impact. “We should.”

Now that he’d made up his mind to begin, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to go on. He couldn’t have looked Teomitl in the face just then for all the gold in Tenochtitlan. “About...what Xochipilli said...”

“I love you,” Teomitl blurted out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—gods, I’m a fool. But you should know that the Flower Prince was telling the truth, that I—that is—oh, never mind!”

You love me. It didn’t seem possible, whether he’d heard the words from a god’s lips or not. He couldn’t be that lucky. The world simply didn’t work that way. His heart was racing so fast he thought he might faint. “You love me,” he said out loud, and got a miserable little nod in response. Emboldened, he said it again. “You love me!”

It was too much. He started to laugh, and he knew Teomitl was staring at him in injured confusion but he couldn’t make himself stop; for a moment, he was afraid it might tip over into hysteria. Finally, he got his breath back and stepped forward, reaching for Teomitl’s hands where they hung in tightly clenched fists at his sides. “Teomitl,” he said quietly.

Their eyes met again. Slowly—infinitesimally slowly—Teomitl’s fists unclenched, his stance relaxed, and his gaze grew into something soft and hopeful. “...Acatl?”

He wasn’t sure which of them closed the distance first. Their mouths met, and nothing else mattered. Teomitl’s lips were soft and warm; he kept the kiss light at first, as though he was afraid to scare Acatl away, but then Acatl’s hands slid up his arms and pulled him in closer and he threw caution to the winds; his arms went around Acatl’s waist, hauled him in tight with fingers tangling in the ends of his hair, and when he slid his tongue into Acatl’s mouth he couldn’t stop a moan from reverberating through them both. He thought dizzily that he could probably do this forever.

Or until he remembered he needed to breathe, unfortunately. Even when he broke the kiss, he couldn’t stand to go far. He was finally in Teomitl’s arms, and that was where he’d stay. “I love you too,” he whispered.

“Mmm.” Another kiss, slow and sweet, and when Teomitl pulled away he was smiling. “You have a daughter,” he whispered back, as though afraid to raise his voice lest the moment shatter. “And I’m going to help raise her.”

Joy bubbled up in his heart like fresh water from a spring, erasing all lingering doubts. So what if Xochipilli had sired her? It didn’t matter. He and Teomitl would be her fathers, and they’d see to it that she grew up well. She’d never wonder if she was loved, never be a disappointment to her parents. To any of them. He grinned down at Teomitl’s smile. “You will. Duality preserve me, you will.”

Abruptly, Teomitl snickered. “And she still doesn’t have a name!”

Ah. Right. “...I was...” He cleared his throat, knowing he was blushing again. “I was hoping you would name her. I can’t give her my mother’s name—I mean, you’ve heard about her—”

Teomitl grimaced briefly. “I have. In great detail. But...” Oh, no, he was biting his lip and looking shy. It tugged on all Acatl’s heartstrings at once. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re her father...”

“As sure as I am of death,” he said simply.

“Gods,” Teomitl murmured, and then fell silent. After a pause too short to have been considering it for the first time, he continued, “I was thinking...maybe...Atotoztli?”

He pictured that name-glyph, yellow-headed parrots over water. Something bright and clean and lovely. “A beautiful name.”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to start blushing. “It was my mother’s regnal name. I wanted to pass it on.”

“Oh, Teomitl,” he said breathlessly.

Then Teomitl beamed at him and, of course, Acatl had to kiss him again.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #neutemoc #ichtaca #paladin writes stuff

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random-rendezvous · 3 years

Text

Like the Wind on a Dry Branch Chapter 1

#001 A Harsh Season(1)

Count Casarius caught the plague and died suddenly.

He left a will asking for Rietta—the beautiful young widow in his county whom he tried to take as a concubine when he was still alive—to be buried alive with him.

Just before Rietta is buried, Grand Duke Axias who is known as a cruel tyrant, turned up at the county to get back the huge debt that Casarius had delayed paying day by day.

Rietta Tristi was a beautiful woman.

Either tied or released, her blond hair with thick waves shone beautifully, her nose and lips were feminine and had pretty curves, and her deep and elegant eyes always caught people's attention.

Her white skin, which did not easily get a sunburn, was rare among the commoner.

The most special thing was her pupil. Whenever the light shines, her eyes shine with bright sky blue color, sometimes with elegant blue glass color, making her pure beauty even more mysterious.

Even the flowers and stars would lose their light when Rietta smiled like a fresh spring with her pretty eyes.

Everyone who first heard she was married and even had a three-year-old daughter, lamented and envied her husband saying he probably had saved a country during his past life.

That was the story of four months ago before her husband passed away.

***

After Rietta's husband suddenly died of a mysterious illness, she lost her smile.

For a powerless commoner woman, her beauty was more of a curse than a blessing.

Even before the flowers scattered at her husband's funeral wither, Casarius, the lord of their land, started to force Rietta to be his concubine.

Rietta refused at first. Putting aside the fact that Casarius was old enough to be her father, it was less than a month since her husband's death.

As Rietta turned a deaf ear to his request, Casarius got into a fuss and took her daughter away. Her daughter was barely three years old. A young daughter who did not even understand the concept of death yet and kept on asking Rietta the whereabouts of his father.

Rumors have begun to emerge that Casarius sold Rietta's daughter to a slave dealer.

Poor Rietta was almost out of her mind and accepted that she would become his concubine on the condition that her daughter is returned safely to her.

However, Casarius who suffered from the plague that struck the Empire died without getting Rietta or finding her daughter.

But he left behind a nasty will that requested Rietta to be buried alive with him.

***

It was a harsh season.

Only groaning and grief were left behind in the Empire where the plague and demons made a return.

Weeping sounds and the flames of burning bodies were endless everywhere.

The ground became dry and people fought among themselves for food.

Some lands even offered sacrifices to appease the plague demon.

So in this situation, it was possible for a mere commoner woman to be buried alive at a noble funeral.

The day has been decided for her death.

It was the funeral day of Casarius Sevitas.

***

On that day, the Grand Duke Axias appeared in Sevitas County to get back the huge debt Casarius Sevitas owed him.

“At that young age... What should we do with that pitiful woman?”

“Tsk tsk... It's useless for a commoner to be beautiful. Her fate will only go wrong."

“I know, right? It's too bad. Even God has given up on her."

Even though Rietta wore a luxurious dress that she had never worn since she was born, there was no smile on her face.

Rietta was beautifully groomed with a ceremony dress made of soft black silk, a black veil covering her sky blue eyes and her braided hair was decorated with white flowers. She looked so beautiful that anyone looking at her could only lament.

In front of the Sevitas Residence, where the funeral of Count Casarius is being held, on a temporary altar, she sat kneeling on a carpet that was more expensive than her worth, waiting for her turn.

In order to be buried alive without pain, Rietta drank allucino that had an anesthetic effect from dawn. Although it was difficult for Rietta to move by herself, there were handmaidens on her side and guards surrounding her to keep her from running away.

The crowd was saddened to see the beautiful woman facing her unfortunate fate.

A middle-aged woman clicked her tongue and mumbled.

“God has not given up on her. What’s the point of being cast with blessing? Look at Casarius who ended up with the plague. He was actually being punished by Heaven!”

The man beside her snickered and answered her.

“Rather than God taking care of her, the God of the plague is taking care of her.”

With same mind and same will, everyone cursed Casarius and sympathized with Rietta.

But no one stepped up for her.

She was an orphan in the first place and her husband--the only one who protected her--was already dead.

“How dare he made a pass at a young lady younger than his son. He dragged Rietta with him even when he’s dead. He’s really terrible.”

“Hush. Lower your voice. They can hear you.”

After the priest’s eulogy ended, the count’s handmaidens helped Rietta up from her side.

Rietta, who was intoxicated by the allucino, got up slightly muzzy, staggering into the hands of the handmaidens.

It was her time to go to her family on the other side of the world.

Dry snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky.

It was late snow in April.

Looking at the snowflakes that were about to stop, she thought of her little daughter’s last whine.

All winter, she waited for her dad who left as soon as winter came, her dad who will never come again.

Her daughter kept whining about the snowman.

Adele.

Rietta called her child’s name for the last time in her heart with a tear trickled down her cheek.

If this snow piles up...We can make a snowman together.

Now...the three of us…

Both the deceased and the one who was about to die were silent.

Those who remain also kept their silence, with their thoughts in their hearts.

The procession of the quiet funeral began at a staggering pace.

The bereaved families of Casarius began to take their feet off after the beautiful human sacrifices who followed the coffin with the help of the handmaidens.

***

When the graveyard was only a little ahead, a small turmoil broke through the slow procession.

A servant was rushing toward their procession in a hurry.

Casarius’ eldest son, Frederick, who wanted to finish the funeral as quiet as possible, kept a calm face on the outside but felt irritated.

He was hoping for the tactless servant to not come to him, but the servant managed to push his way through the crowd to go to Frederick with a rough breath and shook his head.

“My Lord...! We have an important guest!”

Frederick frowned and snapped at the servant.

“This is a funeral. Don’t behave rashly. Don’t you even know how to guide a mourner?”

The servant flustered and stammered.

“H-he’s not a mourner. G-grand Duke Axias is here!”

Hearing the servant’s announcement of the visit of Grand Duke Axias, the bereaved families turned pale. A quiet disturbance spread out.

Frederick, who had forgotten what to say for a while, bit his lips.

“Killian Axias is here?”

The late Casarius was deeply in debt to the Grand Duke Axias.

It had long exceeded the repayment deadline.

Sevitas' family had to hire priests and pay a large sum of money to the temple to recover from the plague and the sudden death and funeral of Casarius had almost destroyed the county’s financial condition.

They had no way of paying back the debt they owed to Grand Duke Axias right now.

They even covered up Casarius’ death from the outside to avoid giving him an excuse to visit.

Frederick chewed his lips.

“How did he know that father passed away?”

“I was just passing by and suddenly remembered my old friend whom I hadn’t heard for a long time. So I just came here to ask for debt.”

A cold voice interrupted with a heavy sound of horse’s hoofs.

Everyone’s eyes were on the voice’s owner.

A man with a daunting atmosphere and shining red eyes on top of a huge black horse came slowly.

Every time he moved, his pitch-black hair waved gently with the horse’s mane.

Killian Axias tilted his head sideways and smirked. The people who were watching held their breath with a gasp. It was a gruesomely beautiful and terrifying smile.

“I didn’t expect my friend’s funeral to be in progress.”

A cold sneer.

No one could blame Killian Axias’ disrespect for breaking into the funeral procession while riding a horse.

Although he looked relaxed, the guards instinctively swallowed their saliva and strained their shoulders when they saw he was totally prepared that he would hold his ground even if a sword fight were to break out immediately.

Killian Axias.

He was the most influential savage man in the Empire.

He was the firstborn son of the Emperor but became a dethroned Imperial Prince about a decade ago for beheading his brothers and throwing them under the feet of the Emperor and the Queen.

According to Imperial law, the death penalty was inevitable due to the murder and defamation of the Imperial family.

The Emperor who felt it was a waste for his talent, could not bear to punish him and instead drove him away to Axias, the bloody wasteland in the far north with all his titles and rights as an Imperial Prince stripped away.

But the young dethroned prince, who seemed to have lost everything, reclaimed the ancient Axias, which was not allowed to humans for hundreds of years, from the beasts and began to transform the whole wasteland into a place where humans could live.

Within a few years, Killian took control of the vast territory and reigned as the ruler of the north.

He even discovered the most precious mineral on the continent—Adamantite—in the huge snow mountain in his area.

Axias accumulated enormous wealth with laborers, mercenaries, craftsmen, and artisans flocking for beast hunting and Adamantite.

Axias developed at an explosive rate.

A city was built at a rapid pace on the land that used to be a wasteland.

The house of peers changed its attitude and got agitated to grant him a peerage and he needs to fulfill his duty of paying taxes.

Eventually, the Imperial Family officially granted him the title of Grand Duke Axias and recognized his control over the land. Although he was not a prince, the Imperial family acknowledged his title and rights as a Grand Duke.

Killian accepted it without much feeling.

Until here, it was a story known by any citizen of Lilpayum Dimpel.

Thirteen years after he lost his name as the Imperial family and was driven to the far north, Killian Axias has never appeared in the society, but his name has been constantly mentioned by the nobles.

To the commoners, all sorts of false rumors were added and exaggerated, making him cruel and violent that he was viewed as almost like a monster, not a human.

The story that he went out of his mind was basic, the story that he was possessed by a demon, the story that he was cursed were really ordinary types.

From the type of story that he will kill if someone looks at him, he will kill if someone brush against him, he will kill if he feels bad, he will kill if he feels good, he will kill if he likes it, he will kill if he does not like it, he will kill if he is not satisfied with his woman, he will kill if to get a part of the body if he likes it.

To the type of story that he eats human flesh, he drinks blood and he collects human fingers, ears, and eyeballs. No one can tell how far the stories are true. But everyone knew of all the eerie, bloody rumors he was carrying around,

Those who were on his way stepped back with pale faces and the road opened by itself.

Everyone bowed their heads for fear of eye contact with him.

By the time Grand Duke Axias has stopped in front of Frederick, the funeral processions had already stopped.

“...it’s been a while, Grand Duke Axias.”

“Yeah, Frederick. Or is it Count Sevitas now? Why didn’t you tell me? If you had done so, I wouldn’t have done this kind of disrespect of asking for debt in a funeral.”

Killian smiled coldly and gracefully. He still had not even gotten off his horse.

Frederick replied with a smile.

“What do you mean disrespect? Certainly not. Since he died of the plague, we wanted to send him quietly without accepting mourners. It’s my fault.”

“Really?”

Killian laughed.

“I thought you hid the news because you didn’t want me to come.”

The nobles who stood as the bereaved families were frozen due to the frankness of a man who never cared about anyone else and had no relationship with the society.

Hearing the remark that hit the target, Frederick, who grew up in the society, could not answer right away.

He was thinking of denying him, but he made a decision that admitting it was rather better and bowed his head.

“...my apologies.”

As a result, his decision was not wrong. Killian grinned and turned his head indifferently. He looked at the coffin of the Lord Casarius and muttered.

"Easy to give, not so easy to get back. Isn’t that right? He always made excuses. Now that he was already in the coffin, I can’t even pull him out.”

Killian gave a sharp comment and jumped off his horse.

“Nonetheless, as I’m already at the funeral, I should show my respect. I’m sorry you lost your father.”

Grand Duke Axias took off his hat, put it on the head of his black horse and handed the horse reins to the knight who belatedly followed him. He naturally joined the funeral procession.

People opened their eyes wide and looked at Grand Duke Axias after listening to his normal remarks that were somewhat different from the rumor saying he was a lunatic. Some of them exchanged glances and whispers.

“Is that true? Is he THE Grand Duke Axias?”

“He doesn’t look like someone who would eat human meat…?”

In addition, the crowd looked at the Grand Duke Axias with shocking faces because of his terrifying beauty.

Although he called Casarius Sevitas his friend, Killian Axias who was about the same age as Casarius’ eldest son, Frederick, was a cold guy with a cool and relaxed atmosphere.

His blood-colored eyes and cold eyes created a sharp atmosphere, but his eyes did not seem to be obsessed with madness.

At least judging from what he’s doing now, he did not seem like a madman, let alone a murder maniac.

Even the nobles who roughly filtered out the false rumors among the commoners and roughly knew the truth were surprised seeing the appearance of the Grand Duke Axias that they saw for the first time.

As he had traveled for a long time with his horse, the appearance of him wearing a dusty gray robe was different among the people in black mourning clothes, no one thought he was not polite for his beautiful appearance.

His black hair spreading over his refined and classy face was splendid and dignified than any other ceremonial dress. It made it hard to believe that he beheaded his brothers, mercilessly slaughtered terrifying beasts in the far north, and developed a vast territory.

He was a perfect match for black hair and the black horse.

He naturally blended in as if he had been walking in memory of the deceased from the beginning and bowed in silence to Frederick’s wife and brothers.

The Sevitas nobles carefully exchanged silent greetings with him and resumed the funeral.

Rietta who had stopped for a long time at an unexpectedly delayed funeral stumbled and fell.

The handmaidens in mourning dress were flustered and helped her up.

Killian frowned slightly and looked at the woman with drowsy eyes who followed the coffin ahead of the chief mourner.

“Who is she?”

Read Like the Wind on a Dry Branch on Naver Series: Naver Series

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alottanothing · 4 years

Text

Left to Ruin: Chapter One

Summary: When a son is born to the King and Queen, Kahmunrah cannot help but to feel as though he has been tossed aside. Merenkahre is joyous upon his son; Ahkmenrah's arrival and gifts him with a magical tablet and a loyal Medjay to watch over him.

Previous Chapter: Prologue: The Boy Who Wanted to Be King

Word Count: 4069

Warnings:none

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: I want to thank everyone who commented, liked or reblogged the prologue last week! My heart is full and I am so very grateful the beginning went over so well. Nothing but love for all of you! Also, I’ll post the summary of the next chapter on my masterlist as a sort of sneak peak to the next installment. Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The celebration that Merenkahre threw to honor the birth of his new son was the greatest feast Egypt had ever seen. A great many prayed for the boy’s arrival, none so much as the pharaoh. For Kah, all the revelry managed to do was drive that gnawing sense of jealousy and bitterness deeper. He could remember each of the celebrations that had accompanied the births of his sisters. Comparatively, they had been trivial; a mere few hours of merrymaking over dinner and nothing like the feast to honor Ahkmenrah.

Noble houses from cities up and down the Nile were invited to join in on the splendor; mayors and governors, who brought trinkets and finery as gifts for their new prince. It all made Kah’s nostrils flare, and his teeth grind. Shepseheret, his false mother, paraded the boy around like some sort of prize, and all the women fussed over his dark curls and wide eyes. “How handsome a prince he will be!” they would exclaim, and Kahmunrah’s anger rooted deeper. The boy was less than a week old, and Kah hated him.

Kah sat slouched at a table with his sisters, watching and radiating the ire cumulating inside of him. His sisters knew better than to involve him in their excitement, sitting far at the other end of the long table. He made sure to remind them—often—that he never wanted to have anything to do with them---they were beneath him. They too fawned and prattled about their new baby brother, smitten just like everyone else in attendance, making Kah that much more irritable.

“I remember when you were born,” the pharaoh's voice startled him out of a wrathful stupor, and Kah turned to look at his father who had placed himself in the adjacent chair. “Your mother paraded you around just as proudly but refused to let anyone touch you. You were so very precious to her.”

Some of the anger fizzled out of him, the pang of grief much too sharp for anything to hinder it. Even so, Kahmunrah said nothing.

“I know she would be proud to see the man you have become,” Merenkahre patted his son on the back. “Badru hopes to name you Consul of War in his stead when he steps down—a great honor. It will bring me joy to see you in a seat at my council.”

Kahmunrah nodded, “I look forward to that as well, father.”

The pharaoh lingered, watching the jovial commotion from afar, his hand still resting on his eldest son’s shoulder. Without another word, Meren stood, cast his son a small smile, then strode back to his wife and new son.

Kah did want a seat at his father’s table—the highest seat. However, that future he had always wanted suddenly lost its guarantee. That little boy in the queen's arms had more power than Kah ever would. Merenkahre could smooth over anything, but Kahmunrah knew; his brother was going to take the one thing he had always wanted.

Kahmunrah hated him.

The party droned on well into the night, the sky sinking into an inky black canvas of glittering stars and silver moonlight. To most, it would have been a beautiful sight, but to Kah, that dark heaven was a mirror of his own fortune.

“My friends!” the pharaoh’s voice rang out over the garden festivities in a robust timbre that quieted all the merrymaking. “My lovely queen and I wish the thank all of you for your kindness, and your gifts, and for partaking in this celebration to honor Prince Ahkmenrah.”

A slight cheer resonated throughout the crowd in a wave of smiles, and Kah sneered.

“Before this night ends, I would like to bestow upon this precious child a gift of my own.” Merenkahre turned and gestured for the robed priests to step forward.

From a distance, it was difficult to see what they held, a parcel of some kind covered with a bit of cloth. Kah watched with furrowed brows at the exchange happening between his father and the robed man with the gift; he was chanting something, but not loud enough to hear. When his lips stopped their moving, a flash of golden light radiated from under the piece of cloth, and the priest bowed and handed over the parcel.

“My son,” Merenkahre smiled, artfully removing the cloth to reveal a piece of solid gold. “I present you with The Tablet of Ahkmenrah-- blessed by the great god Khonsu; may it’s magic guide and protect you, in this life and the next!”

All at once, that jealousy burning like dying embers inside of Kah ignited, spreading throughout him in a ravenous wave that cast everything he could see in hues of red. That gift was the evidence he needed to know that he would always be the lesser child. Merenkahre had never given him an elaborate, magical gift; the pharaoh had handed him off to Bardu, under the guise that training would make him a better king. It was clear his father was just biding his time until someone could replace him. Ahkmenrah would surly be crowned, and Kah hated him.

***

The night was in its adolescence when the festivities began to die out. Families staying at the palace slowly found their way back inside, while others made their leave with the entourage they had arrived with. Merenkahre sent them all on their way with well wishes and his thanks before he too wandered back into the grand halls of his palace.

The corridors were mostly vacant, apart from the household guard, when Merenkahre took his time strolling back to his chambers, reveling in the joy that encompassed him, thinking about his son. He was grateful to the gods for sending him Ahkmenrah and vowed that his second son would be raised to show kindness in all things for the good of himself, and the good of the people he would one-day rule.

A small part of the pharaoh hated to deny his firstborn what, by birthright, belonged to him, but Kah’s demeanor would cause the land to suffer. A king who thought only for himself would lead their empire to ruin. A sort of selflessness went into ruling, and his eldest son would never understand that sort of sacrifice.

Meren gestured for the two Medjay guards standing sentry outside of the royal bedchambers to follow him inside. The interior was lit dimly, the distant fragrance of lotus and jasmine coloring the air from the gardens beyond the open balcony. Shepseheret smiled as he entered, gingerly clutching the sleeping prince to her chest. His wife was never more beautiful than when she was radiating the joy of motherhood. She was ethereal each time and Merenkahre always found himself utterly spellbound by her every movement. He kissed her softly, his hands resting in feather-light touches at either side of her face. Her smile grew when they parted, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she gazed at him from under her long lashes.

“My king?”

The Pharaoh turned to find the two men he’d ordered to follow, dutifully waiting to be given orders. He almost forgot about them, and his eyes fell upon the tablet hidden under a thick cut of linen on the table at the center of the room.

“Ah, yes,” Meren said, offering them an apologetic smile.

He quickly crossed the room and retrieved the golden gift and handed it to one of the Medjay.

“Will you see to it that this is placed in the temple- under the shrine of Khonsu, where it will be safe? The power bestowed upon these golden plates must never be misused.” A twinge of fear seeped into the pharaoh’s voice as he spoke; the very same fear that inspired him to have such a curio forged. The fear that his darling son's life would be cut short.

“Of course, my king,” the man bowed his head and held the tablet close.

“Thank you,” he inclined his head approvingly. “Also, bring me that boy we spoke of earlier, Kamuzu, I believe was his name. I have a task for him, should he choose to take it.”

Both Medjay nodded their understanding and left without saying another word. Meren watched them go until the doors were shut, and he was alone with his queen. After a night of jubilation, he took a moment to rejoice in the tranquil quiet of his private bedchamber—Shep's gentle humming the only sound.

“Did you speak with Kahmunrah?” his queen asked gently, her focus still on the boy sleeping in her arms.

“I did.”

“I am worried about him,” a hint of sadness touched her voice, and she glanced up to meet her husband's eyes. “He has never really taken to me as I had hoped.”

“His mother coddled him too much,” Meren said pragmatically. “As a result, he expects all things to be handed to him, and when they are not, he acts out.”

The pharaoh paused, methodically removing the golden bracers from his wrists as he thought.

“I fear to think how he will react when I refuse to hand him my throne," Meren spoke more to the table than to his wife, setting the jeweled cuffs in the place the tablet once occupied.

He hoped his son knew already the path he would lead now that another son was born. Yet, Merenkahre knew Kahmunrah would cling to the diminishing hope his mother planted in his young mind until the very end

“It is wise, Meren,” she said gently, reaching to caress his arm. “I would have no quarrel if Kah were to be king over my children, if he was a man like you.”

The pharaoh rubbed his naked wrists until the phantom feel of his heavy bracers no longer weighed on him. He had been auspicious in marrying a woman who was so kind with a heart large enough for so many, including a boy who was cruel to her. Often the pharaoh felt undeserving of her benevolence when so much of his youth had been shrouded in violence. He fought wars alongside his father. He had killed men—enjoyed killing men—for the sake of Egypt.

Kah is a man like me…

A knock on their chamber door plucked the pharaoh from his thoughts, and he turned as he spoke, “Enter.”

A young man with dark skin came into the room unaccompanied, dressed in usual Madjay uniform with a khopesh hanging from the belt of his sherndyt. He was lean and muscular, with his hair pulled into neat, long braids. He kneeled before the king and queen in greeting and made no utterance.

“You may rise,” Meren told the boy, motioning that he step forward.

The young Medjay named Kamuzu did as he was asked, but kept a respectful distance and his head bowed.

“What is it that I may do for you, your majesties?" he asked in his deep voice.

“First, might I introduce to you my son, Ahkmenrah,” Meren smiled at the boy still soundly sleeping in Shepseheret’s arms; his hand clasped around one of her fingers.

“The prince is healthy?” Kamuzu asked, watching Ahkmenrah with attentive, dark eyes.

“So the healers say,” the pharaoh mused, hoping they were right.

Merenkahre turned back to Kamuzu, straightening his posture and getting to business. “How long ago was it that you joined the sacred order of the Medjay?”

“Five years, my king—the start of my fifteenth year”

“Your brothers in arms have told me that you show outstanding skill for your age as well as bravery and loyalty—all fine feats for a Medjay.” Merenkahre smiled at the young man.

“Thank you, my king.”

“I have asked you here, because it is my wish that you take these attributes and use them to watch over my son. From this moment, until your dying moment, would you protect the Prince Ahkmenrah?”

It took a moment for the pharaohs request to register and finally Kamuzu dropped to his knees.

“You honor me, my king,” he said. “I vow to watch over the prince, from this night, and for all the nights to come.”

The pharaoh motioned for him to rise, and he could tell there was something the boy wanted to ask, but his training and his dutifulness kept him from saying anything.

“You may speak freely,” Meren urged kindly.

Kamuzu pursed his lips and hesitated, all while keeping from meeting the king's gaze, “I do not mean to offend, but why apply such watchful protection over this child and not your others?”

Merenkahre remained quiet for a long time, sifting through the sands of his thoughts, glancing back to his wife than to the young man. There was more than he wished for Shep to know, sorrows that he would fight to keep from his queen, to save her from the weight Meren felt on his shoulders and the knots tangling in is gut.

“Walk with me,” the pharaoh gestured, placing a gentle hand on the young man’s back and guided them into the hall.

He let the boy's question linger long after the chamber doors had closed, and the two were strolling quietly and absently through the halls.

“There are two concerns that haunt me, regarding my son’s well being,” Merenkahre confessed, speaking softly. “The first, I admit, is out of my own paranoia.”

Kamuzu’s dark eyes were watchful and attentive, and from that singular look of silent compassion, the pharaoh knew he had chosen the right man to protect his son.

“The night Ahkmenrah was born, I dreamt of a time of great sorrow in Egypt, and a boy lying on a funeral slab under a shroud of gold.” Meren’s face crinkled as the image flashed so vividly in his mind it pained him. The vision never revealed the boy’s face nor the reason for such an untimely death, but the thought still haunted Merenkahre.

“The second reason, is my son, Kahmunrah.”

A look akin to understanding flitted over Kamuzu’s features hearing the second concern.

“My first son, I fear is plagued with bitterness and jealousy. He sees no threat in his sisters, but a brother?” Meren paused, taking a deep breath. “Should that envy manifest—”

“I understand, my king,” Kamuzu said gently when the pharaoh couldn’t go on. “You may rest easy. I am honored to protect the prince from any threat. I will gladly lay down my life for him, should the time ever come.”

A sigh of relief escaped past the pharaoh sturdy composure. Knowing Ahkmenrah would always have someone to look out for him put to sleep many of the nagging fears raging inside Meren’s head. He didn’t care if he was being over cautious, it was for the sake of his own heart and the good of the empire to protect the son, he, and Shepseheret shared.

“It is you who has honored me this night with your loyalty, Kamuzu,” Meren shook the young man’s hand firmly, casting him a closed-lip smile. “Thank you. The gods will sing you praise.”

***

Ahkmenrah grew up, healthy and strong; hardly fussing and always smiling. For Kah, his baby brother delivered him a unique challenge. Every accidental glimpse of the child riddled him with hatred and envy, and the reminder that he was not the golden son his father longed for. He avoided the boy at all costs in an attempt to reign in his own jealousy. Kah hoped, that by burying that fury and keeping his focus on the task’s Badru assigned him, Merenkahre would see that he would always be the optimal son.

At 20, Kahmunrah held a significant rank in the pharaoh’s army, had fought numerous campaigns throughout the land, and finally got a taste of what real power could be. He had men who followed him; advisors respected his council and even his father cast him a proud smile the day he was granted a seat at the pharaoh’s counsel table. It was enough to sate his hunger for a time, but Kahmunrah would never truly be happy until he held the crown.

***

At the age of four, Merenkahre could see a world of difference in Ahkmenrah. At the same age, Kahmunrah was already bossy and cruel, with a temper only his mother could soothe. Ahk was all smiles, profoundly inquisitive and as kind as his mother. He toddled after his sisters, giggling wanting to play, and to learn. Traits that the pharaoh watched carefully, and encouraged so that as he grew, the prince would never lose them.

On the eve of the beginning of Ahkmenrah’s fifth year, Merenkahre called a special meeting with his council, early one morning before most of the palace had woken. The men at the table greeted him with practiced bows and offered him their unyielding attention—a collective question on each of their brows: why were they there?

“My friends, the queen, and I have come to a decision, that I now bring to you out of respect; so that I may weigh your thoughts with my own.” Merenkahre’s voice never stuttered or lost it’s robust bravado as he spoke. He knew in his heart that his ruling was wise.

The pharaoh’s team of advisors remained silent. The unspoken question pressing deeper onto their expressions as they waited.

“Come his fifteenth year, I will step down as pharaoh, and Ahkmenrah will be crowned king of this mighty empire.”

“You plan to deny Kahmunrah his crown?” it was Badru who spoke- Consul of Montu, and the man whom Merenkahre had charged with training his eldest son.

“I do,” the pharaoh said firmly. “Kahmunrah does not possess the traits of a good king. His feats are best used where he is. I will name him to my counsel, but nothing more."

“He will not take kindly to this, my king,” Badru said, his tone steady but free of contempt.

“I know,” Meren sighed. “Which is why no one is to tell him; to save us and to save him from the bitterness that will surely plague him—for as long as we can.”

A hush fell over the interior of the council chamber as every man considered the pharaoh's new ruling.

“For what it’s worth,” Badru spoke up. “I think it’s wise to name your youngest, king. Our people will thrive. But I fear for him too.”

Meren’s throat grew tight hearing the man’s warning, and he was reminded of the vision he’d had the night of Ahkmenrah’s birth: the boy under the golden shroud. He chased it away, however; along with the sick feeling that had accompanied it and went about the rest of the meeting, gaining nothing but support for the future Pharaoh Ahkmenrah.

***

In the middle of the prince’s fifth year, Merenkahre and Shepseheret welcome their last child, another girl, Shetshepsut. In some regards, little Set was Ahkmenrah’s twin; they shared the same smile and features: pouted lips and wide eyes, except hers were dark, but just as inquisitive. The prince was fascinated by his tiny sister, spending every moment around her and their mother; even begging to sleep in her crib so that he may keep her safe from everything that could harm her.

“I have to protect her,” Ahkmenrah told his mother sternly as he clung to her leg while she laid the sleeping infant into her cradle.

“And why do you feel like you must protect her?” Shepseheret mused with a smile, tucking in her daughter.

“I am her brother,” the prince stated dutifully. “Her big brother.”

The smile on the queen's lips grew tenfold, and she picked up her boy, kissing him on his cheek and hugging him.

“Oh my sweetest love,” she sang wistfully. “Your little sister is lucky to have you.”

Ahkmenrah smiled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and wrapped his tiny arms around his mother’s neck. He nestled himself there, and she held him even when her arms began to tire from his weight. Shepseheret loved all of her children, but Ahkmen’s gentleness made her heart swell to an impossible size every single time she witnessed it. He would surely do Egypt some good; as long as Kahmunrah did not try to take it from him.

Shepseheret willed those thoughts out of her mind and pulled her son away enough that she could look into his big, blue-grey eyes. “Your father, told me today that he wanted to speak to you in the throne room.”

Ahkmenrah’s face lit up.

“Do you think you can get there by yourself while I stay here and protect your sister?”

He nodded, “Yes! Kamuzu will go too.”

The queen kissed his cheek again and sat him back on the stone ground, “Mmhm, Kamuzu surely will.”

The little prince had always been taken with his Medjay protector. For a long time Ahkmenrah thought he was his big brother until Merenkahre informed him the only brother he had was Kahmunrah. That truth had put a frown on Ahk’s face, claiming that Kah did not like to play with him and watch out for him like Kamuzu did.

Merenkahre was seated in his throne, his only company the legion of Medjay guarding the room. He had spent the better part of his day fighting off a twinge of guilt that had been writing in his gut since he’d woken with the notion of finally telling his second son that he would be king. Kah had been pleased enough to be given a seat at the council table, but something told Meren that taste of power would only make his son more envious when he learned he would never hold Egypt.

The sound of the throne room door opening pulled Merenkahre out of his thoughts and quirked his lips into a smile as his young son came running to him. Quickly, he pulled Ahkmenrah into his lap and the look on his son's face was enough to steer away that lingering guilt.

“Tell me, Ahkmen, what do you think it takes to be a king?”

The smile on the prince's face faltered slightly, and he shrugged.

“Well, then let me teach you,” Meren gave his son a quick smile that Ahkmenrah returned, his wide eyes twinkling with the want to learn. “A king must be wise, and strong. He must take into consideration the thoughts of his councilors and act on not merely his own. And he must also be kind- there is power in kindness, Ahkmenrah. You must always remember that.”

The prince nodded, “Are you all those things?”

Merenkahre sighed, “I try to be—”

“I think you are a good king,” Ahkmenrah said with a sure grin.

“I believe you will be far better,” the pharaoh said, watching his son’s face to see if he understood.

Ahkmenrah’s tiny features contorted with confusion before settling on a look of gentle awe.

“I can be like you?” his wide eyes danced to the crown on his father’s head with wonderment.

“Would you like that?” Meren tested.

Ahkmenrah nodded, still transfixed with the golden headdress his father wore.

The pharaoh stood and placed his son on the throne, the sudden movement causing a slight giggle to sound from Ahkmenrah’s lips. Meren removed his crown and placed it on the prince's’ head. He giggled again when the wide rim fell almost to his nose—swallowing most of the boy’s head and the curls on top of it. The sight prompted a deep chuckle from the pharaoh’s chest, and he quickly committed it to his memory.

“Now, we mustn’t tell your brother, Kahmunrah, about these conversations that we have,” Merenkahre said sternly, placing his crown back onto his head. “Understand.”

The joy waned on his son's face, and his tiny brows stitched together. “Why?”

So inquisitive-- the pharaoh mused, “Because your brother needs to focus on his own lessons.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one. Merenkahre did not have it in him to tell his son the entire truth--a child need not know of their enemy so long as their parents were there to protect them.

Ahkmenrah accepted his father’s explanation without pressing the matter further and hopped down from the throne, toddling off with Kamuzu in tow. As Merenkahre watched his precious son leave, the vision of the boy under a funeral shroud filled his mind with fear

Next Chapter-> Chapter Two: The Girl in the Garden

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah fanfiction #rami malek character #rami malek character fanfiction #NATM fanfiction #NATM #Rami Malek

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thefangirlofhp · 4 years

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Ok, mid reading Ruin and Rising here. Small rant:

Why, the, fuck, is Alina in love/wants, Mal?? You got two fuckers like The Darkling and Nikolai, both of whom would make her Queen, and this bitch is yearning for that lad Mal? Whhhhhh-yyyyyy? One of them is a dubious little shit who 99% wants her only for her power, ok, but the second one? Let's examine Nikolai and why choosing him would be better:

-he's a fucking charmer with a sense of humour that made me grin immediately despite myself amongst these depressing fuckers.

-he's a g.e.n.i.u.s?????? Braaaainnnnnsssss. Whyyyy are they so underrated in romance???

-literal Prince and future King???? Dafuq, that doesn't ring a bell?

-can read her like a fucking book????? He says shit like "When you're ready" offhandedly and doesn't make it a show of himself sympathising with that (looking at High Lord of the Night court Rhysand bitch here)???

-is an awesome king??? Like, he's a bastard prince that served in the military and is genuinely a good person regarding his soldiers and people.

-a patriotic piece of shiiitt. WHO DOESN'T LOVE THAT? WHO WOULDN'T LOVE A MAN WHO'S FIRST LOVE IS HIS COUNTRY????? RAVKA COMES FIRST FOR NIKOLAI, YEAH NO SHIT, IF I WERE ALINA I'D TAP THAT DUDE JUST FOR THAT! I DONT WANT TO COME FIRST, I WANT SOMEONE ENAMOURED WITH A HIGHER PURPOSE, A MOTIVATION, A THING THAT KEEPS HIM G.O.I.N.G. I'd sacrifice my firstborn child if necessary in joining him on serving the country if needed!

-he's not a sappy teen with a ten feet pole of angst shoved up his arse! He's a cunning strategist, a brilliant snake, an opportunist, arguably the only other person who does shit!

-he's normal! He's a normal guy, working on nothing but what he has! He's not possessing of special power like the Darkling and (I'm assuming, cause the tracker thing is mentioned too much to be a coincidence) Mal! He's normal and plain in terms of power but he's an actual opponent of the Darkling! He's got braaaaiiiinnnnssss!!

-he's not a romantic lead by his heart! He's goal driven, task oriented, he has a big dream and he's getting that dream done! He's not in love with her so he can't be betraying her or tricking her! He's -relatively- honest.

-and honestly, I think he earned the right to order everyone around and be the Boss. Sometimes I grow weary of the dynamic (especially in a potential ship) where the dude is the brains and the source of order and the girl is just there to snap at him and tell him "you're not the boss of me! Fuck you I make my own decisions, you don't order me" in which such case, I'm like "honey, stfu, he's the only one working in this story, making actual progress, is the pillars upon which your sappy ass flaunts her angst and indecision, saving all yall asses AND looks good while doing it. He can be alpha male."

-honestly, the more I think about it the more it makes sense to me. I want this to happen, not cause of the romance. At this point I don't think Alina will be with anyone and remotely enjoy it or be happy so like what's the point? Just be with the dude with whom you have the potential for a perfect future. You live longer, great! You'll rule alone. You hate court life but somehow you lust for power? Great! Get all those amplifiers, make a purely political match with this more than decent fellow who's better than what you'd expect normally, rule over the court. THIS IS THE GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY FOR YOUR GROWING DREAMS OF POWER GIRL DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT TO YOU AGAIN????

-I would go on and on but I think that sums it up.

#alina starkov #sankta alina #the grisha trilogy #the grisha series #the grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #mal oretsev #the darkling #ruin and rising #spoilers #i guess #grishaverse spoilers

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inreviewofitall · 3 years

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CHARLES “ENTERTAINMENT” CHEESE IS A HACK FRAUD

Allow me to preface this by extending a personal screw you to the good people over at at CEC Entertainment Inc. for having the audacity of owning not only one “Chuck E. Cheese”, but all six-hundred twelve known instances of the location as I write this. Me? I’m a simple man, I don’t believe in excess. I don’t think I’ve ever owned six-hundred twelve of anything for as long as I’ve lived. Have you ever counted from one all the way to six-hundred twelve? No. You didn’t have to, but these morons do every time they have to do a headcount for just how many Chuck E’ Cheese’s dare to exist on the planet. I guarantee they’re spending far more than six-hundred twelve dollars on gas alone having to drive from location to location simply to make sure one hasn’t been burned to the ground by the local populace finally taking matters into their own hands.

If I could afford a felony, I would follow the lead of said fictional populace and purchase a baker’s dozen of molotovs (I know a guy) and torch the place. Only problem? You can’t mail-order U.B. Funkeys from a prison cell and that’s not a sacrifice I’m willing to make quite yet. So for now, it remains standing.

You might think my fervent hatred of the entertainment center is misplaced, but I assure you, it isn’t. See, I had a friend back in the fourth grade, let’s call him “Greg”. Greg went to Chuck E. Cheese on the regular, he loved it. He’s always trot around the schoolyard flaunting prizes of little green army men and plastic rainbow Slinkies that existed solely as misrepresentations as to what a “Slinky” should be. Then, one day, his parents left him there. I don’t know if it was something he’d said, or done, or if they both just hairpin turned on the opinion of their firstborn child and simultaneously decided he sucked eggs, but Greg was left to fend for himself within that putrid cesspool of cheese and ski-ball. It wasn’t until three months after he’d disappeared they’d found his plastic-logged corpse at the bottom of the ball pit during its bi-yearly pressure washing.

Greg died scared, alone, and fifty pounds heavier than when he first went into the building (on account of the excess of pizza, obviously). I wouldn’t wish that cruel a fate for anyone, excluding Nolan Bushnell.

FINAL RATING: TWO GREG CORPSES OUT OF FIVE

I despise everything they stand for and Greg is a cheesified mummy to this day, but the chicken wings are pretty alright and they’re the only place in town with a Metal Slug 4 cabinet.

#review #chuck e cheese #writing #arcade #pizza

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axwalker · 4 years

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One decision

Book: The Royal Romance (half AU/half canon or my HC anyway…)

Pairing: Drake x Mc

Disclaimer: Drake, Liam and Valtoria belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: This is Prompt #31 “You should’ve told me earlier. I could have helped you” from @emceesynonymroll Wacky Drabbles (Thank you for hosting this!)

Word count: 1100 (Sorry! I really tried)

Thanks to my awesome and supportive beta reader @pedudley Love you :)

Drake and Alexis (Mc) reluctantly accepted Liam’s offer to run Valtoria and make their firstborn the Royal Heir...

Drake woke up feeling tired. He had spent the previous night in yet another endless gala in her daughter’s honor, and now he had to wake up and go to the Royal stables to do the job he actually loved.

Before leaving, he stopped to watch his wife still sleeping. His heart tugged when he noticed that she was as far from his side of the bed as possible. For the first two years of their marriage, they had slept every single night as close as they could and lately, they spent their nights fighting or not speaking. Their last fight had definitely been their worst one. As usual, he had let his bad temper do all the talking, while Alexis usually calm, had yelled horrible things at him.

As much as he adored his wife and their little girl, he loathed the man he had become. A man forced to smile, feign, pretend and bow to a bunch of people he despised. Someone obliged to be ‘diplomatic’ with the noble who was trying to marry his one-year-old little girl for political reasons.

The worst part of it all was not knowing if Alexis was as miserable as he was.

When they had left Cordonia to travel, she had been incredibly happy and free, bubbling with ideas for books, and so happy to move to his cabin with him that her excitement had been contagious. They had talked about their future lives on the wonderful, sleepless nights they had shared under the stars in Guatemala and she had decided that she was going to reject the duchy. She loved their freedom and had a lot of dreams that had nothing to do with being a noble. Drake wanted to make changes in his life as well, so he decided to give Liam his resignation as soon as they arrived, his dream had always been to open a veterinary clinic, and now with Alexis’s support, he felt like he was capable of anything.

However, all those dreams had started to die the minute their plane had touched land in Cordonia. The press was waiting for them at the airport and she was already being addressed as “Duchess Alexis”, even if her appointment had never been made official.

When they met with Liam, he had told them that the country was going through a crisis and that he desperately needed their support, he had almost begged them not only to take the duchy but also to accept making their firstborn the Crown’s heir. They saw him so desperate, they had accepted, still feeling guilty about the way their relationship had started and how insanely happy they were.

At first, it had been manageable; they were crazy about each other and accepting the duchy had become a challenge they got to do together. They loved to escape parties and make love in the most improbable places, joke together about the other nobles, and explore Valtoria’s lands every chance they got. Their complicity had seemed unbreakable. They didn’t enjoy a lot of things about their new titles, but their love made up for everything else.

Sadly, reality started to catch up with them. Drake hadn’t been able to resign his position at the Royal Stables, not if he wanted to keep on being a veterinarian and a Duke, it would have been crazy to open a clinic at the same time they were trying to learn how to rule an estate. Alexis was so busy managing it, getting lost in all the paperwork, rules and duties that she hadn’t had time to write a single sentence, letting all of her ideas collect dust in the notebooks at her nightstand. She didn’t want to admit it to herself or Drake, but she hated the title a little bit more every day and it was making her bitter. As soon as she had gotten pregnant with Helena things had gotten better and worse at the same time. They were ecstatic at the idea of being parents, and for a while, their domestic bliss had come back but after Helena’s first months, they started to become more and more aware of everything that implied to raise a future princess, of the real extent of their sacrifice.

When he was about to leave their room, he heard Alexis crying and turned to her.

“What’s going on, O’Brien?”

“Oh, nothing!” She took a sharp breath “My husband hates me, my daughter will become a rotten, spoiled child before her second birthday and will be married to an Auvernal fucking heir before her eighteenth, while I feel so trapped that I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes”

He sat at the bed next to her and took her chin between his fingers “I love you, baby, don’t ever say that I hate you, you know it’s impossible”

“Is it?” She cried a little more “after everything you said last night? After saying that if I hadn’t accepted this fucking duchy, you could be happy?”

He took his wife in his arms sitting her on his lap “You said some pretty horrible things to me as well, Lexie. We were both mad, but I love you so much it hurts sometimes” He pulled her waist to him and kissed her hungrily until they parted breathless “I want so badly to make you happy, but I don’t think I can anymore”

Her heart tightened “I love you so much too, Drake” She stroked his cheek “and of course you make me happy, it’s this life. I hate it here! I hate so much being a fucking duchess! I just want us to have a simple life where you can open your clinic and I can write, and our squirt can run around and be a normal little girl” She seemed completely lost.

He cupped her face “You should’ve told me earlier. I could have helped you. I could’ve helped us!” Suddenly the decision he should have taken months ago seemed obvious “I still can”

“How?” She looked at him with desperate eyes “What are you going to do about it now? It’s too late”

“It’s not, I refuse to give up on us, on our love. I’ll do whatever it takes” He placed a kiss on her cheek and hugged her tighter “I’ll fight for you, Lexie. I’ll fight for us and Helena. Nothing is more important than you two” He looked at her determined “I’ll talk to Liam today. He’s going to have to find an heir for the throne and new dukes for Valtoria” She smiled through her tears making his decision surprisingly easy “We’re done, baby”.

#drake x mc #drake walker #trr

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 216: Romancing Magic

Cora stared at the golden thread he'd spun in his hands and then finally grabbed it herself to examine. He watched as she rubbed it hard between her fingers as if searching for paint or some other trick to explain what she'd just seen. Finding none, she looked back up at him.

"You want to help me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I want you to help me. And you will, because the future…is my gift. Well, in a manner of speaking." It was the first time since he'd inherited the ability that he actually thought of it that way, but he wasn't willing to relinquish this lead he had on his son now! And better yet, he had the feeling Cora was not willing to relinquish this hope she had that her life might not just be spared but improved. A fine bed over a cot of hay would be appealing to any man or woman…didn't he know.

"What could you possibly get from me?" Cora demanded with a roll of her eyes as if she thought the entire thing was ridiculous. If only she knew just how long he'd waited for this moment.

"Funny you should ask. Can you read?"

With a snap of his fingers, he crafted a contract, one that Cora was eager to take in her hands and begin skimming. The jolt she gave when she got to the fine print was small but still present. But the look she gave him as she held that contract in her hands…it was suspicious.

"My firstborn child?"

He nodded, moving around the little stool to stand beside her. "She is quite important."

"She?"

"Yes, I see the future. Weren't you listening?"

Cora's eyes drifted away from him, and she let out a small sigh, almost one of relief. He supposed it could be emotional for a woman to hear news of her first child and also painful for someone to suggest they would take it away, but fortunately for her, that wasn't what the contract stated and nor would he do such a thing. He wasn't an idiot. Now that he had something of a timeframe, there was too much to do in order to get himself together and find Baelfire. He didn't have time to raise a child. He'd leave that to her mother. All he wanted was the ability to be in her life and teach her magic, that wonderful, glorious power that quivered just beneath her mother's skin. But only if she accepted this deal!

"Anyway, I only get my payment if you live past tomorrow."

"You can turn all this straw into gold by morning?" Cora questioned.

He nodded. "And you can parade in front of the royals and demand the hand of the dimly lit Prince!" he pronounced. "And have them kneel before you. That's what you want, eh? You want them to kneel-"

"No."

"-I… No? What?" he questioned, turning back to her.

No? No, to what? No to his offer? Or no to his deal? It was a critical question! And he was more confused than ever because he couldn't understand the answer of "no" to either of those? No to one and she died, no to the other, and she'd never get the respect she deserved at had to undoubtedly crave after the life that she'd led. No? How could she turn him down?

"Teach me," she finally requested gently but with insistence. "Don't just do it. Teach me. Make it part of our deal."

Well…wasn't this an interesting twist of fate. It was his job as the Dark One to be the tempter, to be cunning and clever to suggest the best deal that would give him what he wanted while letting her feel like she had just won. There were no negotiations involved, and yet…

The power within her burned bright, like a beacon in the distance that issued warnings, it called to him now, tempting, desirable, and the skin on her shoulders didn't exactly hurt either. So, this was what it felt to be tempted, to feel want for someone other than his son. She was a worthy opponent. But he wasn't going to be fooled. He wasn't going to be caught up in her twice. He needed Regina, not Cora. Cora's knowledge of magic would only make the hold she'd have on her daughter stronger than his own, and he couldn't have that. Besides…she was nothing next to his Belle.

He let out another small laugh. "You are a spicy one, aren't you? But look around you, dearie, you're in no position to bargain. It's my way or no deal."

That was what he should have said to her. That was what he should have insisted upon when Cora asked for magic. He shouldn't have taught the bitch as much as he did, he shouldn't have had an affair with her, he shouldn't have ever come so close as to nearly give a piece of himself away that was reserved for his True Love.

That memory with Cora wasn't his best to look back on…but it was certainly one that he wished he'd seen through more than others. Especially because of the heartache she'd caused him but also because he was certain if he'd been allowed to have a hand in training Regina, she wouldn't have been as needy as she was today.

Another visit from the former Evil Queen. It figured. She went around acting as though she was powerful, but at the first sign of trouble, it was right back to him. She'd slipped in with dinner, but this time she hadn't used a camouflage spell, but rather one she'd fixed on the outside. She'd shifted her appearance into that of a mouse, started nibbling on an apple he'd taken a bit of that morning, and then tossed out of the cell.

He knew it was her and not an ordinary mouse because he could smell magic on her, powerful Dark Magic like he hadn't been in the room with for years but would always recognize. It was the same magical signature that his Curse reeked of. He could feel it giving him power, overcoming the magic of the mines. He could leave if he wanted to with that magic. He could end this torment and go back to his castle. Live out these days before the Curse in comfort. Oh, how he longed for the comfort of home! Of anything beyond this! But the magic he had was here for another purpose. He had to store it away.

When the guard left, it was just the pair of them in the cell, but he waited until he heard the footsteps fade farther down the hall. "It's just us, dearie," he muttered. "You can show yourself."

In a cloud of black magic, she was suddenly standing before him again. She moved her neck to one side, excising the last of the uncomfortable magic before she stepped forward.

"That Curse you gave me," she explained, holding the scroll he hadn't been in the same room with for years up in front of him. "It's not working."

And somehow, that made him angrier than anything inside this cage. She had all she needed to cast that Curse; why wasn't she doing it?! What was taking her so fucking long to do it! Oh…he knew, or at least he could take a guess. But with any luck…he could light a fire under her and make it so that she finally moved!

"Oh, so worried," he smiled, tapping his fingers together. "So, so worried. Like Snow and her lovely new husband."

"What?!"

"They paid me a visit, as well," he smiled, stepping up to the bars. "They were very anxious…about you and the Curse."

"What'd you tell them?!" she roared, stepping up to the bars.

"The truth! That nothing can stop the Darkness!" he announced with a flourish before sneering down at her again. "Except, of course, their unborn child." Regina balked, her eyes opened wider, and he felt her heartbeat quicken. Nothing like the promise of losing everything to force the little witch to get a move on it. "You see, no matter how powerful, all curses can be broken. Their child is the key. Of course, the Curse has to be enacted first."

"Tell me what I did wrong."

"For that, there's a price."

"What do you want?"

"Simple," he spat. Being in here had given him time to think, time alone in his own head as he hadn't had for over a century, and he knew what he wanted from it. He never wanted this again. He wanted resources, and he wanted power in any way that he could get it! Fortunately, after a talk with a werewolf about this new place they were going to, he knew how he needed to get it. In a World Without Magic, there were two ways to get what he wanted. The first was money. But the second was to have power over the one who had power in the first place. And his student was suddenly desperate enough that he thought she might give it. "In this new land, I want comfort. I want a good life."

"Fine. You'll have an estate. Be rich."

"I wasn't finished!" he snapped. "There's more!"

"There always is with you," Regina sneered, shaking her head. He ignored her comments and climbed the bars, standing high above her for his final most important request.

"In this new land, should I ever come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request. You must do whatever I say. So long as I say…' please'!" he shrieked, laughing at her, letting her think he was going mad because sometimes he felt like he was. But if she thought he was going mad...the request would seem less harmful than it actually was, less suspicious.

She sighed without interest, unaware of what she was about to give away. The realm may not have magic in it now, but one day it would; the Curse would bring its own magic with it. Not much, not until he'd finally enacted a spell to bring it into that land, but it would be there. And he wanted to use as much of it as he could. "You do realize that should I succeed, you won't remember any of this."

"Oh, well, then...what's the harm?"

"Deal."

He snorted as he backed away from the bars. It was done. All he needed to do was give her answers, and he'd be ready for the new world. He prayed it would come soon.

"What must I do to enact this Curse?" Regina questioned.

He couldn't be entirely positive where she'd gone wrong but seeing as how she was still standing there, without tears in her eyes, he could think of one significant thing she'd either skipped over entirely or chosen to half-ass out of love. "You need to sacrifice a heart," he instructed.

"I sacrificed my prized steed," she interrupted.

He flew at her. Launched himself at the bars of his cage, reached through and grabbed her by the neck, taking in the wonderful sensation of Dark Magic flowing from the Curse, into her, and now into him. Oh, it was just as seductive as the first day he'd touched it. It deserved the finest of everything to come to fruition! If she thought that her horse would do…she clearly had no idea how to romance magic.

"A horse?" he growled, letting the magic flow into him. "This is The Curse to End All Curses. You think a horse is going to do? Great power requires great sacrifice. The heart you need must come from something far more precious."

He'd attacked her, but her heartbeat evened out as she listened to him…but now it was pounding again, pulsing so wildly he could feel it in her neck. "Tell me what will suffice," she ordered with a calm voice.

He grinned, looked her in the eye, and whispered, "The heart of the thing you love most."

She snatched him by the wrist at his declaration and pulled herself free. "What I love most died because of Snow White."

That was true…years ago! Now she was all grown up, and there was one she loved even more, one who had shown her loyalty beyond measure despite what she had become. He smiled, recalling the vision of her looking at her father through the bars of her own cell, "the one I love most." That was where she'd gone wrong. Love made people truly blind.

"Ooh. Is there no one else you truly love?" he asked, dragging the back of his fingers over her perfect cheek. He'd done everything that he had to do to get her ready, but this was the final test he couldn't pass for her because he hadn't! He'd had the Curse in his grasp, and he'd had someone he loved in the dungeons! He'd let her go, let her die because he wasn't strong enough to kill her himself. Regina had to be! She had to want it more than she wanted the man she loved. He was helpless to do anything else but wait.

"This curse isn't going to be easy. Vengeance never is, dearie. You have to ask yourself the simple question. How far are you willing to go?"

The Evil Queen stepped forward so that she put her own face between the bars of his cell. "As far as it takes," she whispered. Good.

"Then please don't waste everyone's time and just do it," he begged. "You know what you love. Now go kill it."

Without another word, she turned, transformed herself back into a mouse, and walked out of the cell, leaving him behind. She'd taken the Dark Curse and all the magic it offered with her, but his skin still hummed with it. Now! He had to do it now! Before he gave in and used that magic to leave before he lost his opportunity.

He flew to the wall where the parchment was and held it between his hands, and then he transferred it. He used every ounce of energy and magic he had to push all the magic the Dark Curse had given him into that parchment until it glowed with blackness and burned his hands. He dropped it in the dirt with a shock when it ended. Behind him, he could hear guards walking in the outer corridor. He didn't know what time it was, but he wasn't going to take any risks. He scooped up the burning parchment, took out the magical quill and the squid ink, and retreated to his little alcove. He dipped the quill into the ink, and it provided enough power for the quill to absorb the energy of the Curse and transfer it into him as he wrote one word over and over and over again.

"Emma."

It was his trigger word. Now, when the day came that he heard that word again, it would be in the other world. He would wake. He would help her break the Curse he'd worked so hard to create. Much to Regina's displeasure, he'd remember the deal they'd just made, and he would be sure to use it.

He wrote the name until there was no longer any more space left on the paper, and power buzzed through him, tied him to the curse and now to this cell. The magic spent, there was no leaving now. He had only to wait.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Golden Heart #Regina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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