#only to find that the prim proper princess she was told about was now a feral little thing with no manners
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I, Carrion - Hozier
Daemon Targaryen
5/10 - Unreal Unearth Event
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✧.* word count: 8.8k (long boy)
✧.* genre: angst -> comfort // sfw (but adult themes)
✧.* warnings: slow burn-ish, the reader is female, Otto and Alicent are minor villains, details of sickness (Daemon not reader lmao)
"Leave it now, I am sky-bound // If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me // We'll float away, but if we fall // I only pray, don't fall away from me"
Being the last member of a noble house was difficult, and the fact that you were a woman made it even more difficult. Surprisingly, you've found comfort in the Rogue Prince, and even more surprising when he finds comfort in you. A comfort built on mutual affection and respect, something a certain someone in court feels threatened by
Parts of this story were inspired by The Crucible, you'll know what I mean after you've read the story. Also hiiiii, I'm so happy to be back from my LONG hiatus, I'm feeling a lot better and hopefully will get into the writing groove back!
As always, lyric and story breakdown at the end of the story
Your mother died on the birthing bed, she had fought valiantly, screaming, crying, and clawing at the sheets trying to push you, her firstborn, out.
When you echoed your first cries, your father came into the room, he held your mother’s hand and wept, the last thing she spoke was a plea to your father to love their daughter and to give it a name she chose.
Your father honoured this last wish of your mother as she died.
He raised you with nothing but a doting sort of love but he knew his time was limited.
The Gods had not been kind to him or your mother, you were their first child in over ten years of marriage and in your birth, you had taken your mother. Because of this, your father found no more reason to remarry. His heart belonged wholly to your mother, he gave everything to her and in return to you, the last thing he has of her.
Though that meant the extinction of his house once you marry or pass on, he doesn’t seem to mind it. He did fear for you, now ten and eight years of age.
He feared for what would become of you once he dies, with no more kin to lean on and coming from a house that wasn’t as powerful as most others in your region, he wishes for you to live in content.
So one day when a raven is sent out to many noble houses in search of a lady-in-waiting for the young Princess Rhaenyra, your father jumped at the opportunity. You were close of age to her and her other lady-in-waiting lady Alicent Hightower, though you were slightly older. He found this to be the perfect opportunity.
After consolidating with you, he sends you off to King’s Landing with the hopes of interesting the princess enough that you’d become her lady-in-waiting. Much to his joy the princess was taken by you.
You were straightforward and spoke rather brazenly compared to the other prim and proper ladies. Something Rhaenyra loved. You quickly wrote to your father about how she told you that you amused her greatly and that she admires your sharp words and quick wit.
After being chosen as a lady-in-waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, you came home only to retrieve your belongings before moving to live in King’s Landing. Your father had wept in private with you before you left, you were the last thing he had of your mother and though you did not know her, he says that you were quite similar to her. In that way, he felt if he could give you a content life, he’d be giving an extension of her another content life.
“Promise me you’ll survive there, surrounded by dragons, you have to be strong, my beautiful daughter.” He weeps as he pulls you closer to him.
Your father was old, older than what most men were when they had their firstborn, and so you knew he didn’t have long left. With what little time the Gods give him, you want to make him proud and happy.
“I will father, I will keep both you and mother in my heart.” Your father pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Then promise me you’ll survive no matter what, you’ll live and you shall thrive.” He looks at you with determination shining in his eyes.
“I swear to you, I will not let those courtly dragons drag me down.”
With that, you left your home for King’s Landing.
It wasn’t much different, you weren’t from rigid lands like Dorne or Winterfell, so the weather didn’t bother you much. What did bother you was the social customs that you were expected to adhere to.
Back home, your house was small but highly respected by the common folk around you as well as the other noble houses around you. Seeing as how in, what most assume, a couple of years you will be the last of your house, the noblemen and women of your lands gave you much more freedom than most women.
You didn’t butter your words and spoke with an ardent fever when the topic would land on one of the many you were well-educated in. That was another thing you found ridiculous, the only women that were highly educated seemed to be the highest nobles. And those were Lady Alicent and the Princess herself. Those two were the only ones you found you could talk to.
Whilst the men, as knowledgeable as they were, were rude and distasteful. You had found no comfort in court and found it difficult to hide your sneer any time anyone second-guessed Rhaenyra’s position as a princess and her father’s firstborn.
The two of you shared a bond unlike any other, you were your father’s firstborn, just as she is. But unlike her, you hold none of the pressures she has from everyone around her to rise above her station while sitting prim and proper as the perfect lady. So she blossoms whenever she speaks to you, in you she sees a different side of the coin she resided in.
And when her uncle comes to visit, let’s just say, her interest in you grows exponentially.
“Prince Daemon, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance once more.” You curtsied at him when he caught you walking through the garden.
The roguish prince grinned.
“Might I ask why my niece’s attendant is roaming around without my niece at sight?” He nears you.
“Princess Rhaenyra is studying with her Septa, my prince, during her lessons I am not with her.” You explained to him.
After a few years of attending to Rhaenyra, you have met Daemon repeatedly. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find the prince quite charming, in a sly way. What little conversations you’ve had with him, he’d found humour and entertained your sharp tongue. Not to mention he actually speaks to you when topics of your knowledge come into the conversation. Unlike many of the men here who then go on a tirade about the topic, boasting about their knowledge, completely ignoring any of your statements.
“May I ask what troubles you?” You ask when you see him observing you.
"Do you think Rhaenyra is suited for the throne?"
The sudden serious question caught you off guard. Though you tried to answer as honestly as possible, knowing the Prince would find it more favourable.
"Of course, I do, she is the king's firstborn, knowledgeable, headstrong, and stubborn. This realm needs a strong leader, not one easily swayed by their court,” you paused, deciding to poke the bear, or in this case, the dragon, “I hope I could trust you not to misconstrued my words and twist them in court, my Prince.” You grinned.
Daemon chuckled, letting his head fall back ever so slightly as he took a step towards you.
“Now why would I do that?”
Your eyes focused on him, “Perhaps to take all of the Princess’ attention? I do see the way you look at her, my Prince. I may not be well-accustomed to the queer traditions of the old Valyrians, but I am not blind. Perhaps you are jealous she’s spending her time with me and wishes to rid of me.”
Standing in the deserted gardens nestled deep in the Keep, Daemon takes another step closer to you, pressuring you to take a step backwards. Yet you stand your ground, unwilling to let the invisible strings of tension pull you back as he pushes you forward with his noble visage.
“You are one of the last interesting people in this keep. Dare I say, with a tongue like that and a mind like yours, if you were born a man you’d have been seated somewhere in my brother’s court. But alas, you were born to be the last of your house.”
At the slight snide comment of your house, all but little of your playfulness dissipated. Of course, you understood the dire situation of your house, but you would be a fool to let its name be tarnished and insulted.
“Alas, unfortunately so, if that is all you wish to say to me, then I shall take my leave,” you tilted your head upwards before lightly bowing and turning to leave.
Daemon sighed with a tired smile before reaching out to grab your arm.
“Are all southerners brass and easily emotional?” He remarks, causing a humourless and graceless fake smile to fill your expression.
“If I am as emotional as you say I am I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to roll my eyes at your words. Yet, here I am, still smiling, it seems I’m less emotional than you think I am, Prince Daemon.” You spoke the last words through gritted teeth, clearly showing your sarcasm.
“As much as I do enjoy our banter, I did come here to talk business, though it seems you had distracted me.” At his statement, your brows furrowed and finally, you turned towards him. Seeing as you don’t seem to walk away, Daemon lets go of your arm. “There are snakes aiming to bite at your ankles, little hound. Keep a watchful eye.”
Little hound, the nickname that used to make your blood boil as a child. Your house sigil consisted of the body of a bloodhound, standing regal with its head held up high and one paw in the air. It perfectly encapsulated your house’s longstanding history as a loyal and trustworthy house with a mind unlike any other. Your father gave you the nickname when you were younger as you would play with the pups and dogs near the farms.
Later on, the nickname would catch on through the common folk. Little hound they called you. When Daemon first spoke of it, he spoke as if it was an insult. The little hound, the last of the bloodhounds of your house.
But now it sounded different.
“I would watch your back much closer,” he leaned closer to almost whisper to your ear, sending chills down your spine. “I’d hate for my favourite source of entertainment to disappear.”
As quickly as he got serious, the boyish bravado and ease came back, Daemon pulled away, taking a step backwards to create some space between the two of you. Right before you open your mouth to inquire him about the statement, another voice joins you.
“There you are, I had been looking everywhere for you.”
You quickly looked back at the sound of the Princess’s voice. The young Rhaenyra stood there with a smile upon meeting your gaze, though that very smile dropped into a mischievous glint when she saw that Daemon was with you.
“Uncle, I did not know you had returned from your travels.” Rhaenyra spoke walking towards the both of you.
“Niece,” he greeted, “I had just arrived in port at midday.”
Rhaenyra smiled though it looked more like a mischievous grin than anything. “Ah I see, and you had immediately gone to find my lady-in-waiting have you?”
Ah, the Princess Rhaenyra, ever the lady without a filter covering her mouth. You wanted to grit your teeth and tell her she shouldn’t be saying things so easily, but you knew she’d simply call you a hypocrite.
“I do enjoy seeing her face every once and a while, niece.” Daemon glanced slightly at you before going back to look at his niece.
You wanted to roll your eyes at his flirtatious ministrations.
“Hm, well, if all you wish is to see her face I believe that wish has been granted. Now the lady and I must go.” Rhaenyra took her hand in yours and quickly began pulling you away.
You heard Daemon chuckle to himself right before you were out of earshot.
“Do tell me you aren’t trying to bed my uncle.” Rhaenyra spoke, no sense of malice in her words, only humour.
“By the six, I would never bed a married man, my lady. The Prince is far from my type of men anyways.” At that, Rhaenyra quirks her brows.
“Do tell. What does a lady such as yourself look for in a suitor? Perhaps it would give me ideas for my own dream suitor.” She rolls her eyes at the last part of her statement.
Being by her side all the time and seeing her act regal and noble in front of her many subjects, you’ve almost forgotten that she is still a teenage girl. A teenage girl that bored of her mundane life of being looked down upon by the masses.
“Loyal.” You answered.
~
Ever since that day in the gardens, you’ve found yourself unable to sleep a lot of nights, your mind being flooded by images of Daemon. His whisper against your ear, his body close to your own. You found yourself needing to take a breather outside now and again. Almost always your body leads you back to the gardens.
The cooler air of the night comforted you and let go of any images of Daemon you would have.
Tonight was a tough night to swallow, though not due to the Rogue Prince. Quite the contrary, your mind was filled by your father. Recently you had gotten word that your father had passed in his sleep.
Old age has caught up with him and following his dying wish, his attendants and his beloved subjects buried him in the heart of the forest behind your old estate. The forest which you and your father had tracked down and killed much game before your stay in the keep.
In the letter, it detailed that he had died a few days prior from when you’d received the letter and that the funeral procession had ended. The reason you were not told of the funeral procession was due to your father’s other dying wish. He did not wish for you to be burdened by grief or the past.
He wanted his death to be just another event in your life, nothing major nor anything to bring concern to. Therefore he didn’t want you to travel all the way to your homeland just for his funeral. Something you gritted your teeth over.
How dare he decide what was best for you?
Now you were alone in this cruel and tainted world. A little hound alone in a den of dragons. How curious.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Daemon’s voice behind you was the last thing you expected to hear when you sat down on one of the many marble benches in the secluded garden. He walked towards the bench and sat beside you, watching the same sight.
A gorgeous splitting tree grew in the middle of the garden and in the dark of the night, its white flowers almost glowed in radiance. It reminded you slightly of the prince’s own white hair.
“My father died a few fortnights ago,” you didn’t know what compelled you to open your heart to him at that moment. But you did and there was no turning back, “And now there is one.” You whispered into the night.
“You.” Daemon stated, causing you to nod.
“Yes, me,” a dry chuckle followed after. “What misfortune befell on my mother to have birthed a daughter instead of a son. You were right, my prince, had I been born a man my lineage would continue. Plenty more bloodhounds would be running around my estate and my house would not die out.”
You didn’t want to show weakness in front of the prince, not after all the work you’ve put in to fit into the social quo of the Keep. Yet, Daemon does not seem to care.
“I wouldn’t call it much of a misfortune. If you were born a man, I would not have found you half as beautiful.”
You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips, any other time a little voice in your head would tell you that your tongue would be cut off if you did that. But now you didn’t quite care. Your house was dead, you were just the final piece. Whether you died or lived, what legacy would you bring?
“What glory it is to be considered beautiful by a married man.”
Bitter were your words.
“The bronze bitch is dead.”
At the sudden rashness of his statement, your head whipped in his direction.
“My prince, apologies I did not know such news has befallen you-”
“Hah!” he laughed, “It is nothing more than good news. My marriage to her was loveless and lacked any sort of mutual respect. No,” he shook his head and turned towards you.
Both your eyes met and in a single second, you wondered if his violet eyes lit up in the dark much like the red of fire at midnight. You wouldn’t be all that shocked if Targaryens had that power along with the one to bond with dragons, as Daemon seemed to have another power up his sleeve. Enamouring you with his gaze.
“I came looking for you to ask for your hand.” Your brows quickly furrowed.
Your daze broke almost immediately.
“Pardon me, my prince?”
“I can take you to Dragonstone and wed you there in Old Valyrian customs. You once said you saw the way I looked at Princess Rhaenyra. But it seems you’re blinder than you thought. They weren’t for her,”
The cogs in your mind twisted and turned.
“They were for you.” He closed in.
Your breath was caught in your throat the moment he leaned in. Daemon’s lips were harsh against your own, despite the slowness of his approach he did not hold back in kissing you. In a single moment after you reciprocated, his hand was at the back of your neck, pushing you closer and deeper into him.
Both your eyes closed you could feel lightning striking through both your bodies, as he pulled you closer to him. Though right before your instinct pushed you to open your lips and let his tongue explore, your thoughts crashed into your mind.
You quickly pushed away and stood up from the marble bench, your chest heaved from the lack of oxygen and the adrenaline. Daemon quickly stood up as well seeing your bewildered expression.
“Why?” was your only question.
Why now?
Why me?
Why the haste?
Why-
Too many questions, yet all start with the word why.
You could see Daemon take a second to mull over his words, when he did figure out a response his hand reached towards your cheek. Lightly caressing it, a stark juxtaposition on how he had just been handling you moments before.
“Though I debated on asking for your hand after what you had just told me. I leave for Stepstones at dawn. I intend to make you a bride before then, just as I always hoped for many moons now.” He answered truthfully.
“You intend to fight the crab-feeder with Lord Corlys and his son?” You inquired, to which he nodded, awaiting your reaction.
You thought to yourself for a second then a soft smile crept into your face. “Then do not make me your wife tonight, make me your friend.” You held onto his hand as you continued. “Fate and death have touched my father. I do not wish for it to touch my husband. Wed me when you win the war, that way you’ll perhaps find something to look forward to when you fight against these warriors.”
A surprisingly warm smile befell on the Rogue Prince. He held onto your hand tighter and guided you back to sit down on the bench. An air of comfort and warmth blanketed the two of you in the cold desolate air.
That night, the two of you spent it in those very same gardens, talking to one another. Not a single drop of wine was shared between the two of you and yet your hearts were open. Not in the way of speaking truthfully but in a way much more intimate. As if the two of you could hear what is unspoken and read what was between the lines.
Both your minds and souls weaved together that very night. Entangling themselves into one another before the sun would rise and the spell would be broken. There was no need for a touch of passion to be shared. The company was all that mattered to the two of you.
Just as you were about to leave your room as the sun had just begun to peak from the horizon, Daemon stopped you.
A sense of deja vu rushed towards you, the scene of the last time the two of you were in the garden alone replayed in your mind.
This time no snide remarks were thrown, instead you turned towards him with no malice.
His hand held onto your wrist as he spoke, “As something to remember me by.” He stated as he procured a dainty bracelet with a gorgeous red ruby in the middle, he held your wrist and clipped it on.
“Valyrian steel, it shouldn’t tarnish nor break.”
Speechless, you spoke only what was in your heart. “Come back to me after the war ends and you’ve had your fill of adventure.”
The two of you shared one last kiss before you turned to leave.
~
The many months after went on as usual. Your friendship with Rhaenyra grew even stronger the moment she saw the Valyrian steel bracelet, immediately knowing it had to be from Daemon. She had been delighted to know of your and Daemon’s plans once he wins the war in the Stepstones. She yearns to have a true friend permanently within the court. Especially after Alicent’s marriage to her father.
Unfortunately, it was also due to that event that your relationship with Alicent slowly tarnished itself.
It seemed not only Rhaenyra realised the source of the bracelet you now wore every day. Otto Hightower was one of the many who had his suspicions. Whether you were another one of Daemon’s whores or if the rumours are true and you plan on wedding him. Otto knew you’d be a formidable opponent in his wishes for Aegon to be the king, for his blood to belong on the throne.
So he pulls Alicent away from you, to make what he was about to do easier.
One day a guard had called you over during one of your few alone times, seeing as Rhaenyra was with her Septa. The guard informed you that you have been called to trial under the eyes of King Viserys and the Seven. You didn’t know what was happening, but you weren’t a fool to not comply.
Daemon’s words echoed through your head the longer the walk took from your bed chambers to the small council’s room.
“There are snakes aiming to bite at your ankles, little hound. Keep a watchful eye.”
When you arrived at the small council meeting your worst fears were made into fruition. Inside the room was the whole small council including Alicent, which meant a good majority of them were people who didn’t like you.
Sir Harold called your name as you kept your eyes trained in front of you.
“You are trialled under the eye of King Viserys the first of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and under the watchful eye of the Seven. You are accused of dark witchcraft and conspiracy against the crown. How do you plead to these accusations.”
The suddenness of everything stunned you. Your brows furrowed and your eyes widened as your gaze flickered towards Alicent. She refused to look in your direction and so you immediately turned towards Otto, he was staring dead into your figure.
“Excuse me?” you finally croaked out, “My King, I assure you I have never done witchcraft in my life and I would never plot against the crown. My father died to put me here, I would never do anything that would harm my house’s name as the last living member of it.” You practically rambled feeling panic begin to bubble up against your throat.
There was a great silence in the room as you looked towards King Viserys. Despite being his daughter’s closest confidant, you didn’t have much interaction with the King himself, always so busy being pulled away by Otto. Realising the situation you found yourself in, you took in a deep shaky breath, swallowing the panic down as you gazed forward.
“I plead not guilty.” You needed to regain your composure, all you had to do was convince Viserys, which shouldn’t be too hard.
“I apologise for the formalities, I find this rather unimportant considering half of the things going on at this moment.” Viserys suddenly speaks with a sigh. “It’s clear my daughter’s lady-in-waiting is not a witch, now could we move on?”
“I understand why you might be fooled by her, my king, but as my daughter come forth she will show you undoubtable proof.”
With a sigh, Viserys nodded towards the young Alicent’s direction. Alicent walked with bated breath towards the table without a single glance in your direction.
Like clockwork, she placed a small doll made out of some scrap fabric roughly in the shape of a human proportion. However when she placed it down on the table the doll slightly tumbled forward and revealed its front.
Though there was stitching in the middle of the abdomen, it’s clear that someone had ripped parts of the stitching open, revealing the inside of the doll. Sheep wool mixed with hair, human hair in the same wool’s colour was stuffed within the doll.
This was no normal hair, it was Targaryen hair.
This was no doll or toy, it was a poppet.
“I had saw the increasing distance between the Princess Rhaenyra with my daughter after your marriage, my king, so I sent my daughter to reconcile with the princess. As the princess is usually seen with her lady-in-waiting, I sent Alicent to her room first. She returned to me in haste and panic, she had found a poppet under the lady’s carpet. A witch’s poppet, no doubt used to forsake you and your future male heir, my king.”
“Lies!” You quickly yelled out, causing the entire room to look at you. “I have never seen that poppet in my life!”
Seeing the way Viserys scrutinizes you underneath his gaze, panic bubbled up. Your eyes were blown wide you took a hurried step closer towards the council’s table. In a surprising response, the guards beside Viserys pulled out their swords. The blade aimed towards you. Your heart stopped in your chest.
“Stay where you are, witch.” Otto stated, looking around and seeing no one on your side you took a few steps backwards, going back to your previous position.
“Apologies for my outburst, your highness. But I can assure you, I’ve been framed. I’ve never seen a poppet in my life. I do not even know how to create one. My teachings are well documented by my septa from my homeland, if you wish to know of my good nature, ask my people. They know I would never forsake the throne.” You tried explaining yourself.
Viserys gritted his teeth as he reached out towards the poppet. Silence enveloped the room as people awaited his response. Using his fingers, Viserys pried the front open even more, and there he pulled one of the hair strands. It was long, longer than his hair. He recognised it as Rhaenyra’s. A gasp left you at the sight of it.
“This,” he glared at you, waving the poppet in the air, “This is blasphemy and conspiracy not only towards me but my daughter. You think I’d believe the words of a witch?”
“My king, please! I beg of you to believe me.” Ignoring all kinds of shame you dropped to your knees, urgency clawing at you. “I have been in the Princess’ service for a very long time. I see her as my closest friend, I would never do anything to harm her. If you must doubt my character, do not doubt the maids who clean and tend to my quarters. Surely they should’ve found it had I kept a poppet of the princess this entire time?!”
You tried reasoning with the king, even going so low as begging him. You didn’t know what to do. You knew what was happening, Otto Hightower. That reptile amongst dragons wanted to rid of you. But if you were to accuse him of treason, then your case would not stand. As it stands, Viserys trusted him more than you.
Viserys stayed silent, as did the court. No one spoke to defend you, no one spoke to scrutinize you. Because the end was clear. The king looked at you with contempt.
“Please.” You made a final plea.
“For your crimes, I would sentence you to an execution.” You wanted to scream but your pride wouldn’t let you. “But I appreciate and take account of the many years you have spent under the servitude of my daughter. For that, I sentence you to banishment. Leave Westeros at the first boat towards Essos. I’ll allow a single bag of your belongings to carry with you. What you do then will not be of any concern to me. Leave.”
~
What followed after came in quick succession.
First, all your pleas and desperation dissipated. In its place was hot, flaming anger. Any and all niceties disappeared from you as you walked out of the room with a glare.
Second, your maids were standing waiting for you in your room. Their heads bowed low as they try not to look into your eyes. They know the charges were false, they know you were framed. But they also knew they could not do anything, so you sighed silently and packed what was necessary.
Your father had you taught all the necessary things a lady needed to know. How to sew, how to weave, how to speak, and how to enamour. But he had also taught you all the necessary things a lord needed to know.
With no one else to lend down his knowledge, it was all for you. He taught you how to hunt, how to build a fire, how to fight, and most of all, how to survive.
Third, you were sent off in a boat to Essos to Gods knows where. With only Alicent and Otto to watch and make sure you were truly leaving, your princess on the other side of Westeros finding suitors, and the man you love fighting in a war– you swore to yourself.
You will survive.
~
Daemon returned not a moon cycle after your banishment. Surprising everyone, Rhaenyra came minutes after Caraxes landed in the dragon pit. She had ended her tour early and Daemon had won the war. It was both a momentous and a frustrating day for Viserys.
The war in the Stepstones was won and Daemon had bowed to him in front of his entire court. That very event warranted a celebration.
Almost immediately the kitchens bustled to life, the servants prepared delicacies and parties.
As Viserys laughed at stories from both his and his brother’s youth, Daemon could not help but let his eyes wander. He had known of Rhaenyra’s tour in search of a suitor. He had also known you had not gone with her for reasons unknown. So he had expected you to be here now to celebrate his win.
He had planned on whisking you away in the night like that day he swore himself to you, bringing you to Dragonstone, and finally wed you, just as he promised.
Yet, you were nowhere to be found.
When Daemon found out about your banishment, the Keep found out how irrational the Rogue Prince could be. Not a moment later, he mounted Caraxes and left King’s Landing for Essos, leaving behind an array of shouts and arguments with both his brother and the King’s hand.
Rhaenyra didn’t take it any less lightly either. Though she could not simply fly off to a distant continent, she made sure her distaste and anger were felt across the estate. Any and all attempts of Alicent to speak to her were all brushed away harsher and colder than last time. In a bout of rebellion, the princess halted speaking with her father for a long period of time.
But just as time continues to move on, so do people. After many soldiers and men were sent off to Essos to look for Daemon, the Rogue Prince finally returned. Muck and dirt stuck to his body like skin. From his eyes, everyone knew not to set him off.
The prince wreaked havoc with his gold cloaks not long after. Loyal only to him, the soldiers became increasingly harsher in their punishments, all at his order.
Viserys never knew true anger as when he had thought Daemon had had his fill of violence and asked him to marry Laena Velaryon, to strengthen ties between house Velaryon and Targaryen.
The lady was a friend of his, just as Rhaenyra is. But the anger that overtook Daemon at the mere idea of his brother banishing the woman he loved, only to send him away once more to marry someone else burned within him.
Arguments, insults, and threats were poured upon them like wine on a wedding night. The keep did not know peace for a long time after that.
However what did end up happening was that Laena Velaryon married another nobleman, and from her came Baela and Rhaena. Daemon would stay in Driftmark with Laena, all to cause gossip and havoc within King’s Landing and to cause even more of a headache to his brother.
There he witnessed her husband’s untimely death due to an accident and her own during childbirth. He saw the way Laena’s body burned up in flames, leaving both Rhaena and Baela alone in the world. Just like that, he has lost another friend.
In a single moment, he had thought about you. To the last night, he saw you. The two of you basking in the moonlight as you told him about your mother. Her untimely death. Seeing the way it tore you apart, he took it upon himself to take the two girls as wards of his family. He raised them as if they were his own. A part of him wondered what you’d think of him if he saw you. How he wished sometimes as he looked into the eyes of Baela and Rhaena after he comforted them of their mother’s death, that he was looking into the eyes of your daughters. The daughters he could imagine himself having with you.
Would they have his platinum hair or would they have yours? Perhaps your eyes, though purple would look gorgeous. At night when he slumbers, he imagines and dreams about them.
Children of his own with you. Be it two daughters like Laenas or three sons like Rhaenyra. He imagines them with your smile and mind, soft, comforting, but sharp and precise. From him, he hoped they’d have his tenacity, his edge for battle, his stubbornness, and perhaps his love for their mother as well.
But when the sun rises and he wakes, they stay in his dreams. Forever missing.
Perhaps it was bitterness, perhaps it was anger, or perhaps it was something as simple as pettiness. But he knew the whole reason he pushed Rhaenyra for the war was because he urged for revenge.
Then when that day came, the day when the Gods cried and thunder ripped through the sky, he held too many regrets as he leapt from Caraxes and plunged Dark Sister deep into his niece’s good eye.
The battle above God’s Eye was a brutal one.
Vhagar, a war dragon in her own right, yet slow from age, against Caraxes, the blood wyrm, the only dragon which can match Daemon’s bloodlust and anger, but always blinded by his rider’s emotions.
Then Daemon, the Rogue Prince, fuelled by pure rage and revenge which boiled within him for years before his opponent was even born, against Aemond, the one-eyed-prince, who knows nothing but the desperate and filthy feeling of wanting to make good of his name.
Their fight raged for what seemed like forever.
The sky cracked and burned with lightning and rain. As Caraxes barely weaved through Vhagar’s piercing jaw, Daemon angrily yelled out. He could see no way he would win this, but he would be damned and let Alicent win. He’ll have to take down both Aemond and Vhagar, even if it costs him his life.
Just as Aemond yells out commands to Vhagar, trying desperately to steer her, Daemon prepares his final attack. And when Vhagar’s jagged and sharp teeth finally sank their might into Caraxes’ wings, Daemon leapt.
Aemond’s one good eye widened in fear as he struggled with the many straps that bound him to the queen of dragons. He could not get away.
Daemon rained down on Aemond’s one good eye like the Gods’ judgement. Plunging dark sister deep into his skull, whilst Caraxes’ neck sprawled to bite Vhagar’s neck.
The four of them fell to the raging sea like Gods. Kin killing kin, dragon killing dragon. Blood dyed the sea red that night. Daemon could only hope you would forgive him for his abandonment in the afterlife.
Had he known that was the last night he’d ever seen you, perhaps he would’ve never gone to the Stepstones.
So as saltwater fills his lungs and burns his eyes, he relinquishes himself to death.
~
Deer fur has never been the softest, it’s short, stubbly, and quite harsh on the skin. But it is one of the best to bed with when winter comes. Due to this, a layer of sheep fur is always useful when placed atop of deer fur when one wants to sleep. The softness of the sheep perfectly balances the warmth of the deer.
Warmth, comfort, and the plushness of sheep fur atop deer fur greeted Daemon when he roused.
He had thought the afterlife would be warmer and brighter.
When he opens his eyes, the only thing he can see is a haphazardly made wooden roof, dimly lit by very few candles. One of those candles was beside him, giving off some warmth to the side of his face.
His eyes squinted as they tried to adjust to the dim lighting. When he finds that he can’t he tries to move his limbs. Surely if he was dead then his injuries would amount to nothing.
That assumption couldn’t have been more wrong as the moment he tried to sit up using his elbows, pain travelled through his entire body more painful than anything else he’d ever imagined. Causing him to collapse back onto the fur-lined bed.
He groaned loudly as his senses jolted awake from the pain stabbed within him. Was the afterlife truly this ruthless that it asks him to feel his injuries though dead?
His mind feels muddled as if a haze is crossing his eyes. His vision blurs and returns at random intervals and he feels sick. He knows he has a fever. Daemon feels the heat on his skin, despite the coolness of the air around him.
Once more, he tries to move. This time to do a much less taxing task than the one prior. He tries to move some of the animal pelts around him, lessen the heat surrounding him.
But when he lifts his arm to try, the door to the measly home opens with a shuddering sound.
“Gods, you’re awake!” he hears a voice, though it rings in his head and he can barely make out the words.
Had his head not been spinning and pounding against his entire being, he would’ve looked to his left to see who it was.
“Oh no, please stay still. Your injuries are grave and you’ve suffered so much frost.” The voice returns again albeit he still can’t make out the owner of the voice nor the words they speak.
The figure, hazy in colour and shape runs towards him as they fix back his pelts to cover his body. He realises then that he isn’t clothed. He groans when they accidentally place very light pressure on one of his bruises.
“I’m sorry,” they whisper, running towards a table somewhere in the room.
When they return they hold a bowl of viscous liquid.
“Drink it, it’ll help with the drowsiness and the pain.” They speak softly and very slowly.
Though he doesn’t fully comprehend the words, Daemon is too far in his injuries to resist any kind of medicine. The bowl was brought onto his lips and he slowly drinks the viscous and bitter liquid. It burns his throat and tastes disgusting. He almost gags at the feeling of it running down his mouth.
When he finishes the bowl, the figure places it aside and comes back to his bedside.
Slowly, his ragged breathing returns to normal as his head stops its terrible spinning. The fatigue and pain of his muscles and bruises were still there but the burn of them lessened.
When he can feel his throat and mouth again, he trusts himself to speak.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
The figure’s face expresses something, their mouth moves to emote but his vision is still too blurry to know what they are doing.
“I’ll answer your questions once you’ve fully come to yourself. Rest for now, my prince.”
They reach out to brush a strand of his hair that stuck to his sweat-lined forehead. In the corner of his eye, before he succumbs to sleep once more, he sees a silver bracelet. He does not know why he feels safe enough to sleep. But his mind wills him to and his body is too tired to care.
~
In the days that followed, Daemon comes in and out of consciousness. Every time with blurry vision and a pounding headache. The figure aides to him as best as they can, he remembers them replacing the cold rag on his forehead every now and again. Feed him water and broth, anything liquid enough for him to drink and not have to chew.
On the 1st full moon since his first rouse, he wakes long enough to focus on his vision. The figure wasn’t there, wherever they may be, Daemon was glad for the small moment of respite. It gave him time to think about what had happened.
The fight above God’s Eye. Vhagar struck after Caraxes. His blade embedded itself in his niece. Then his fall. How he has survived so far was beyond him. A part of him wishes he was dead. Let the cold water fill his lungs again, let the salt burn against his eyes, let it stop his heart. Let him meet the one he loved.
But no, it seemed the Gods had cursed him with a life longer than he neither wanted nor deserved.
The figure didn’t come back for at least another hour, since then Daemon has found strength within himself to move his limbs lightly without much pain. His body ached from the lack of movement but that wasn’t the thing he was focused on.
With much rest and nutritious broth, the strength in his mind had returned. With it came his clear vision. Clear enough to see the woman who walked through the haphazardly created wooden door, carrying two hares.
Her clothes were ragged, her hair a mess, her skin muddied with dirt and God knows what else from the hunt. Her riding gear was old and tattered, barely holding onto dear life. But he’d still recognise her even if her body was covered with scars and burns. It was you.
Daemon was confident he looked like a buck who’d just realised a quiver was pointed at it with the way he was looking at you. Eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. His eyes focused on you as you huffed your way across this simple home of yours.
Pulling off your shoes and discarding all your gear before grabbing a knife to skin the hares. You hadn’t realised Daemon was awake, he was far too quiet for that. It gave time for Daemon to wonder if he died during his sleep or if you were truly real.
It wasn’t until you’d finished skinning and butchering the hare, placing the skin and organs away for something else and clearing the blood and butchered pieces away that you noticed he was awake. At first, your reaction had been shock, your eyebrows rose and your mouth went slightly agape at the intensity of Daemon’s stare.
But then it softened, and a smile crept its way onto your face. You sighed and placed down your dirty and bloody rag, walking over towards him as his eyes followed you. Your hand, now clean, went over to push away some strands of his hair. Then his eyes caught onto the bracelet once more.
It was you, truly you. You with the valyrian steel bracelet he gave to you so many years ago.
In the choking intensity, Daemon whispered your name once. Like how a devoted disciple would towards his most forgiving of Gods.
“Yes, my love?” You whispered, equally as quiet and reverent.
Daemon choked.
Emotions and years upon years of longing and yearning crawled their way from his heart all the way to his mind a mouth. Rendering him speechless.
“Welcome back, my love.” You repeat, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his forehead.
Not much was done afterwards, though Daemon’s body still pulled him to rest, he tried with all his might to stay awake. Afraid that if he closed his eyes you’d disappear.
But with a soft voice, you coaxed him back to rest. Promising to speak to him once he heals. That was the only thing which allowed him to go back to a peaceful rest.
~
The next time he awoke, it wasn’t a peaceful rouse. Quite the opposite. A loud shrill sound echoed through the house, it shook the windows and burst through the walls. He knew that sound. Caraxes.
With little to no care for his own well-being, Daemon sprung upwards, since he first woke he’d been clothed. Though it was just a simple and thin shirt and pants to cover himself up but not overheat him in case of a fever.
He winced slightly over the sudden action but the sound of Caraxes led him towards the exit. Clutching his side he lightly limped towards the door and struggled to open it.
“Lykiri Caraxes! Lykiri! Daemon is alright, he’s healing!”
You were in front of the blood wyrm, standing between the large dragon and your measly home. What bravery you held to stand your grown though he could tell the way you shivered you were just as terrified as many at the sight of the dragon.
Caraxes had severe scars all throughout his body, many were closed off, but he could see some marks on his wing and leg which had been expertly dressed with soft leaves. Have you been caring for Caraxes as well?
His thoughts were cut off when Caraxes let out another shrill cry, his head lowering to be at the same level as your much smaller form.
“Lykiri Caraxes,” though he could barely speak above his normal tone, both you and Caraxes heard him quite clearly.
At the sight of his rider, somewhat healthy and standing, Caraxes let out another shrill cry. Though you swear this one sounded much higher pitched. All before he himself also lightly limped away and slumped to the ground not so far away from your fireplace.
“Daemon,” you spoke before rushing towards him to support him. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet!”
At the sudden reprimand, he laughed, “And let you be eaten by Caraxes?”
You huffed, “He wouldn’t, I’ve been tending him for far too long.” You took a nervous glance towards the beast, “At least I hope he wouldn’t.”
“He wouldn’t.” Daemon states, leaning his head towards your own. Treasuring the feeling of your body against his. “How?” The question hangs heavy in the air.
“Well he’s been unconscious far longer than you have so it was easy to try and patch by his wounds. My only fear was if he didn’t wake up he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, so every now and again I’d leave dead sheep around him in case he wakes up so he could immediately eat. But for the dressing, I don’t have enough cloth to bandage or do anything so I used soft leaves. It’s what I used when I first got here so I thought it’d be al-”
Though you misunderstand the question, Daemon can’t help but feel amused by your lack of hesitancy in speaking. He wouldn’t expect you to go on a tangent like you do now back when the two of you were still in King’s Landing. Years before the war.
“I mean, how are you alive,” he questions after silence over his laughter cutting you off.
At the question, the mood thickens.
“Let’s talk inside.”
You supported Daemon as he staggered inside the small house. Sitting him down lightly over the makeshift bed you’ve been able to make with cloth, feathers, and several different kinds of pelts.
There when the two of you got comfortable you handed him a drinking bowl of warm tea as you sipped on your own. Only after the two of you finished both your tea did you start.
You told him about your banishment, and how Alicent and Otto Hightower framed you for witchcraft and conspiring against the crown. How it was only due to your connection with Rhaenyra that you were able to miss the death sentence. Then you told him about your life in banishment. Essos hadn’t been too bad.
Of course, it took a lot to learn new skills and put them to work. But there were a surprising amount of kind people in the area, especially the worshipers and monks. They taught you how to survive, but you couldn’t leech off of their kindness forever.
So with what little gold you had from working odd jobs here and there, you left for a stranded area. With what survival skills you’d learn you had slowly built a home for yourself. The beach was what brought Daemon and Caraxes to you. Caraxes had been bloodied and mangled. Yet he desperately held Daemon in his claws as he dragged Daemon’s body across the sand.
It was only when he saw you that he collapsed, leaving both the large dragon and his rider to your care. For the past month, you had been making the trip from your home to the beach to care for both Daemon and Caraxes.
Only today did Caraxes find it in himself to wake and fly, though barely. It was when Caraxes landed on your home did Daemon woke up.
That brought you to that very moment.
After you finished, there was a great silence between the two of you.
Daemon was the first to break it.
“I’m sorry.”
Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, the Rogue Prince, the red wyrm’s rider, amongst his many titles and nicknames, seldom apologised. But with nothing else to his name or on his tongue at this very moment, he thought of the only thing he could say, an apology.
You smiled, casting your gaze to your hands, sheepishly shying away from his intense look as you thought of how to answer him.
“What do you have to apologise for, Daemon?”
His name fell like honey off your tongue, like a choir of songbirds, like the sweetest of fruits from Highgarden. The simple act of it threatened to bring tears to his eyes. How long he had waited for that? For you, to say his name one more time.
He remembered the last time he’d prayed to the gods in his adulthood. It was when he first heard of your banishment. Atop of Caraxes, the beast felt Daemon’s fear and anger clutch against his heart as the red beast ripped through clouds and skies trying to look for any semblance of you. Daemon prayed then. Prayed to find you, prayed to hear you, prayed to see you.
Anything.
No gods heard his plead that night and so he stopped.
But now it felt like every wish he had ever spoken had come true.
There were no words left to speak. Only actions.
Careful and dainty actions, considering Daemon’s physical state. Your lips pressed and moulded against one another. Letting years upon years of pent-up yearning and hopes spill through a single act.
Your heart soared, here was the man you loved, finally in your bed. No more words were spoken that night. Only sighs and soft moans of pleasure and contentment were heard throughout the lone and simple house.
As the two of you lay in one another’s company, new hopes soared between the two of you. And Daemon promises one last thing, a promise he intends to fulfil this time.
The promise of bringing you back home to Dragonstone once Caraxes and he can.
Why Daemon? “Once I had wondered what was holding’ up the ground // But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down // Leave it now, I am sky-bound // If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me // We’ll gloat away, but if we fall // I only pray, don’t fall away from me.” The song references to Icarus and Deadalus, the myth speaks about the Greek value of moderation. Icarus falls because he is so enchanted by his godly visage and his lightness that he’s enchanted by the sun and the wax melts. Hozier talks about an all encompassing feeling of falling in love that encompasses your being so much so that you’d do anything for your love. In more ways than one, both the Reader and Daemon have fallen from grace due to their love for one another. It’s the godly pull they have with each other that leads to Reader’s banishment and Daemon’s belief that she’s dead. The song inspires the last and first part of Daemon and Reader’s romance story, they lean on one another in more ways than one. Reader becomes Daemon’s friend, a true and honest friend built on mutual respect and affection. Whilst Daemon becomes Reader’s confidant, someone to go for comfort and source of joy. By the end of the story, neither thinks about the past, Daemon doesn’t care about the way the Reader has been living and Reader doesn’t care too much about why Daemon and Caraxes’ so injured. The two of them just cares for each other that nothing else matters and I think that’s so fucking sweet.
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon x you#daemon#daemon fluff#daemon angst#daemon targaryen angst
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I got an AU idea that I need to polish but for now here's the raw idea developed from my ramblings on discord and that one Isabela concept art
So: AU in which Isabela runs away after Mirabel's gift ceremony.
Follows the theory that in the canon verse, Abuela started pressuring Isabela even more than before to make up for the fact that Mirabel was giftless. But instead of continuing to put up with it, she runs away to the surrounding forest. Nobody knows where she is (Except Dolores, of course, but she swears up and down Isabela disappeared, knowing what would happen of she actually said where she was).
She used her powers to get by in terms of housing and food, and anything else she learned on her own. She'd have to have left around 11-12 yrs old so old enough that she remembers her life with the fam obviously, but young enough that she's She'd all of Alma's teachings. This Isabela is unapologetically herself and a bit socially awkward, having little interaction with people while living in the forest
Nobody mentions her, much less in the presence of Alma herself. The nickname "bruja del bosque" is quickly donned on her, and people swear they've seen her around, but nobody can actually find her.
So when is she found? When Antonio gets his gift, the animals tell him about this human woman who lives amongst them. He tells this to Mirabel and that's when she realizes her long lost sister is still around. She goes up to Dolores and confronts her and she admits to knowing all that time, but explains why she didn't say anything. And so either just the two of them or all the cousins finally go into the forest to meet Isa and that's when they realize how different she is.
Some Notes:
• Maybe she left with Bruno or he went to look for her and they both live in the forest? Idk
• bonust point that Dolores would sneak out sometimes to check up on her cousin. Isabela loved these visits and they were what convinced Dolores to keep her secret because she could see how much happier isabela was. But they weren't that common because people would get suspicious if they saw Dolores sneaking out into the forest)
• Bringing back the concept idea that she was able to make sentient potato people so she now has a tiny little army that she uses to keep tabs on the town and on her family, especially her little sisters
• Even though her leaving is directly tied to Mirabel's lack of gift, she holds no resentment towards her and is actually kind of grateful that she was finally pushed into being her truest self and stop playing a part for someone else, so she doesn't hold any ill feelings towards Mira in this AU at all.
• on the other side she is pretty resentful to the adults, especially her mother, for not standing up for her to Alma. With Isabela's leaving the adults probably realized "Hey, we have to put a stop to this" and so the other grandkids aren't put under the same pressure she was under.
• This leads to remind trying to convince her that things are different now and that she should come back, which she doesn't like at all, nor trust. Sure, things are different for them. Who's to say the adults and Alma especially would accept Isabela as she is now? And she is unwilling to change for anybody.
#i need to figure out the family's reactions to all of this#for now we're gonna call this#forest witch au#especially Mirabel meeting an older sister she vaguely remembers but has been told so much about#only to find that the prim proper princess she was told about was now a feral little thing with no manners#but shes HAPPY and thats what matters#also her reaction to learning she technically played a part on her leaving#isabela madrigal#disney encanto#dolores madrigal#mirabel madrigal#bruno madrigal#antonio madrigal
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THANK YOU - noodle
You’re the lady of a wealthy estate, so high up the chain your parents saw no need to marry you off, you were taught since day one on how to run an estate and manage everything, so your parents entrusted everything to you in their passing, while you were taught how to be prim and proper, your mother let you choose one thing that you could be taught as a hobby, would it be art? Music? Poetry? You picked sword fighting, captivated by all those fantasy books at a young age, she did agree to allow one thing, so she granted it, but as you got older there came a problem.
Being such a powerful lady, many wanted your hand in marriage or to marry their sons, which you found painfully dull, no one was worth your time, you’ve made friends with some of them, but most? Absolutely not, you could never find someone to mesh well with, and it was getting dreadfully irritating when the same people would make the same offer, eventually you had enough and made an announcement.
“I will only give a suitor a chance if they can best me in combat, if you wish to marry me you must be ready to kill me, I will only entrust those with my heart if they can get a sword to it.”
A bit dramatic but you were truly fed up with it.
You had line after line of people, and each time they failed with ease, their stances wrong, thinking they can just swing blindly like a brute, a few had some knowledge on how to wield a blade but they ultimately failed.
You’ve memorized every suitors face for how often you saw them, but you were surprised when a few commoners joined, you weren’t upset by it, but you were pleasantly surprised when they were better fighters, and you praised them as such, but one question rang in your head.
Who is the masked one? Truth be told he only wore a kitsune mask over his face, and never spoke, always wearing black dress pants, suspenders, a nicely ironed white button up, and a hunting hat, you aren’t well versed with every commoner, you were polite everywhere you went but you couldn’t remember everyone, so who was he?
You wished to know more, he was one of the best you’ve ever clashed blades with out of everyone, while he still ended up on his back with the tip of your sword to his throat, you still praised him, possibly more out of excitement of a challenger, but he never said a word to you, you could hear his breathing but you two fought for a while so it was only natural.
Each time he came back he was a little better, he had obviously taken your praise and advice to heart and trained, you were impressed to say the least, it had been about 1 year and 3 months since this began, and the suitors had dwindled, some finally taking a hint, but this suitor had peeked your interest, but came the final battle, he was back, it was quite the battle, but he manage to knock you off your balance and placed the tip of his sword towards your heart.
“It appears I win little princess.”
Pulls his mask off revealing the most devilish lot handsome smirk, grey eyes locked with your as pieces of his blonde hair fall in front of his face.
“Oh.”It sounded like a gasp with how out of breath you are, he moves the sword to rest under your chin.
“I can get use to this, so lovely, and now all mine, a powerful goddess such as yourself all beneath me, what an honor it is, for a shop keep like me.”
You finally recognize him, shopkeeper Volo, he often had goods from many other foreign places, he was ever the chatter box when you’d walk in.
You want to snap at him but your flushed face has other ideas, an apparently so did he as he thrusts the sword into the ground next to your head and fully hovering over you, sealing it with a kiss, his hand grasps your jaw forcing you to open your mouth and tangling his tongue with yours, you clench your eyes shut, as a soft moan escapes you, such a lewd thing to be doing! You’re only in your backyard, it’s an open area, anyone could walk by to him on top of you like this.
AAHSHSHS OMGG this has full fic potential.
I can really sense the plot of the shopkeeper to King. How he always wanted you but you never even gave him a second glance
You're concerned that he might want power but he just laughs and says
"Haha No my dear i admit having a whole Kingdom at my fingertips does sound...nice, but I want you~"
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Princess {Fred Weasley x Plus Size Reader}
Plot: Requested by anon: Fred Weasley asks you to the ball and treats you like the most beautiful one there.
Characters: Fred Weasley x Plus Size Female Identifying Reader
Part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series.
The Winter Ball was coming up and all over Hogwarts, girls were freaking out about who was going to ask them to the dance. No one had asked you to go to the ball yet and honestly, you weren’t expecting anyone to. You weren’t the typical prim and proper, dainty and petite girl that a lot of boys wanted. You were louder, heavier with rolls of fat and wobbly bits. You’d long since grown used to your body but you knew that a lot of boys at Hogwarts, particularly the shallow ones, really only cared about looks.
Hermione had asked that you go together as friends with Ginny and Luna and a couple of your single friends to make a stand that being single was okay and normal. You agreed, thinking that was a lovely idea. You were in the year above Hermione, Ron and Harry and the year below Fred and George and you were friends with all of them which made for interesting stories.
At Hogsmeade, one of your friends, Esther, helped you look for dresses. Esther had no both finding a dress, she seemed to suit any colour and any style but you... you were a little harder to buy a dress for. You hadn’t wanted anything too tight, although you were okay with your size and shape, you didn’t want it to be on show for the world to see. Esther had plucked various dresses of various styles and colours for you to try. As you looked in the mirror, you tried not to focus on the parts of yourself that you hated but more so the ones you did like.
“What do you think?” You asked, stepping out of the changing room and twirling.
“Bloody hell,” a voice said. You looked up seeing Fred.
“Fred? What are you doing here?”
Fred’s eyes were wide, “Helping Ginny out. You look... Wow.”
“Is it too much?” You asked, looking down at the red silk that adorned your body.
“No!” He exclaimed a little too fast, “It’s... It’s bloody perfect.”
You smiled, thanking him, enjoying the way he gaped at you. It boosted your confidence a little. You had felt a little self conscious about your arms but the way Fred looked at you, you felt a lot better.
“Who’s taking you to the dance?” Fred asked as you looked in the mirror and twirled.
“No one. Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Esther and I are going together as single girls-”
“Let me,” Fred interrupted. You looked at him confused, “Let me take you to the dance.”
You frowned, confused. As far as you knew, you and Fred were just friends. I mean, sure, you’d had a crush on him for years but you knew that wasn’t going to happen so you were over it now... right? “Together?” You asked, “As friends or-”
“Let me take you to the dance,” Fred repeated, stepping closer, “as your date.” He wore that charming smile, a glow in his eyes that you could never say no to.
From behind Fred, you could see Esther bobbing her head up and down excitedly, “I... Yes.” You decided, “Okay, I’ll be your... date.” It felt a little strange to say that about your friend but butterflies erupted in your stomach. A date! You and Fred! A date!
Fred grinned, “Perfect,” he stood up straighter feeling rather boastful now, “Wear that dress, it’s perfect.”
You looked down at it, running the fabric through your fingertips, “I will.” Fred grinned at you once more before turning and going to find his sister.
Esther rushed to you, “Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, “I told you he fancies you!”
Tonight was the night of the ball. Nervous was an understatement; you were petrified, “There should be a potion to make me stop being nervous,” you muttered as you pinned parts of your hair up.
“There is,” said Esther, “it’s called vodka.” You rolled your eyes, continuing to fix your hair nervously checking the time every thirty seconds, “When have you to meet Fred?”
“Ten minutes.” You were excited but you were absolutely terrified. You’d barely seen him in the last week, apparently trying to get everything in order for the dance, George told you. You were confused about what all of this meant. Fred had said it was a date but was it? Were you going to go as friends or more than that? Did he like you? Oh Merlin, you hoped he did but you tried not to think about that so that you didn’t get your heart crushed.
“How do I look?” You asked Esther as you stood up, smoothing down your dress.
“You look lovely,” she grinned, “Oh, he is going to just melt for you!”
“He’s already seen me! He won’t care anymore!”
Esther rolled her eyes, “You’re seriously underestimating how good you look and how much Fred fancies you! Now go or you’ll be late!”
You were meeting Fred outside of the Great Hall so you walked out of the common room and down the halls. You passed by various friends of yours, including Hermione and Ginny, who squealed with excitement and gushed over how good you looked, “Fred’s bricking it,” Ginny laughed, “It’s so funny.” After chatting to them briefly, they sent you to go find him.
And find him you did.
There he stood at the bottom of the steps with a single rose and a wide smile. You walked down the steps slowly, careful not to fall, when he rushed up them to get to you, “Hi,” he said with a smile, “you look... you look like something out of a fairytale, like a princess.”
You couldn’t help but smile widely at him, “You look awful handsome yourself,” you said, reaching out to brush his shoulder off. He must’ve bought himself a new suit and tie. The tie was red, the same red as your dress, and he even bought new shoes, “Did you buy these new?”
Fred nodded, “Yeah, been saving up. I wanted to look good for you.”
“Fred,” you said softly, “you always look good.” You didn’t realise how much that meant to him as he cleared his throat and held out his arm. You gladly took it and he walked you down to the bottom of the steps.
“Oh, this is for you,” he said, holding out the rose, “I bought you a bouquet, I had Esther hide them but when you return to your dorm room, they’ll be there.”
You thanked him, telling him that was too much but he just grinned at you, “Anything for you, princess.”
Together, you walked into the ball. It was beautifully decorated, whites, golds and silvers all around. You pulled Fred to get a drink and bumped into George on the way who winked at Fred and told you that you looked lovely.
The music changed to something slow, of course it would, and Fred stuck his hand out and bowed low, “Can I have this dance?”
Smiling, you put your empty cup on the table and curtseyed to him before accepting his hand and allowing him to lead you to the middle of the dance floor. It wasn’t exceptionally busy yet so the dance floor was half empty but as soon as you and Fred stepped onto it, the floor emptied.
“I don’t really know how to dance,” you said as you held one of his hands and rested the other on his shoulder. Fred’s other hand fell to your waist, it felt like a very natural thing.
“I’ll teach you,” he grinned as you started to dance together. It was a slow song yet had a bit of a build up. Fred led you and as you began to grow more confident, you both got a little bolder. Fred twirled you around, making you laugh loudly as he spun you, that’s when you realised you were the only two on the dancefloor and everyone was watching you both.
He pulled you in close as you said, “They’re all staring at us.” He could see that you were feeling self conscious.
“They’re all staring at you, princess,” he said as he spun you again before dipping you with such ease, “You look absolutely gorgeous and they can’t take their eyes off of you... nor can I.”
You looked up at him, still in the dipped position, feeling that surge of butterflies in your stomach and all you could think about was how bad you wanted to kiss him. Fred looked down at you, eyes fleeting to your lips, realising that you had been staring at his lips the whole time. He smirked before pulling you back up to dance to the final part of the song. He wouldn’t kiss you yet, he wanted it to be more private. You sucked in a breath as you melded into his embrace laying your head on his chest. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as people began filtering back onto the dancefloor. Fred Weasley made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
The song melded into another and another and you stood, slow dancing with Fred with your head on his chest. The tempo was faster and now the dancefloor was flooded with people but you were too wrapped up in your moment together that you didn’t quite care.
“Would you like to go a walk?” Fred asked after a few more songs, “I’d like to talk to you.”
You nodded and allowed him to navigate you both through the crowds before walking outside. The cold breeze hit you hard, Fred was quick to shrug off his jacket and drape it around your shoulders, “You’ll get cold,” you tried to say but Fred shook his head and told you he’d be fine.
You linked your arm through his as you walked before sitting on a bench in Hogwarts gardens, “Why me?” You asked him quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you ask me to be your date? I know Angelina and a lot of other girls were lining up to be your date... They’re much prettier than I am... skinnier too.”
Fred scoffed, “You truly don’t get it, do you?” You frowned, “(y/n), I fancy you. I fancy the absolute pants off you. I’ve fancied you for years! You are the most beautiful, funniest, most down to earth girl I’ve ever met. You’re so kind and helpful, so pretty without even trying. You are beautiful inside and out. I love the way you look. Hell, you could be twelve feet tall and have bogies for hair and I’d still fancy you!”
“You fancy me?” You asked incredulously.
Fred laughed as he nodded, “Obviously! I’d be daft not to fancy you! Add ‘oblivious’ to your list as well,” he teased as he grabbed your hand and pulled you up to dance with him again. You could still faintly hear the music from the Great Hall as you swayed with him. This time it was a different sort of dance. It was more of a sway really but it was more intimate. Your head lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as his hands wrapped around your waist pulling you close.
“You really genuinely like me?”
“Course I do, princess,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “You’re so bloody brilliant and have no idea!”
You pulled your head back to look at him, “I’ve fancied you for years, too.” You told him quietly, “I never thought you liked me back...”
The two of you laughed, “What are we like?” He asked, “Couple of numpties.”
You smiled up at him as he smiled back at you. Your eyes drifted to his lips again and he began to lean in close. He kissed you gently and unusually nervous. You kissed him back eagerly and that’s when he pulled you close and dipped you once more.
You yelped, getting a fright, and breaking the kiss to see him grinning at you, “I know you wanted me to kiss you when I did this in there,” Fred teased as your cheeks burned, “I thought I’d make you wait.”
“Bloody git,” you whispered before pulling him to you to kiss you again. Yep, Fred Weasley made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl in the world.
#one shot#os#prompt#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x plus size reader#plus size series#plus size reader#harry potter one shot#harry potter#hp os#hp#hp one shot#harry potter os
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“The Bigger One”
Heather Tart is used to many things, be it receiving praise, using her charm to sway a situation to her favor, or asserting her dominance as a respected student at Twilight's School of Friendship.
A punch to the face...is not one of those things.
Feat. Star Chime, Heather (Tart) Reed
Related Chapters: Tongue Twister, Honesty, Confrontation
~Destinyverse Archive~
Story and Description Under The Cut
Heather Tart had a plan.
Of course she did. Her meticulous mind could think its brilliant way through anything. Especially when she had a goal so close to her she might just be able to touch it.
As such, she used her natural charisma to discreetly excuse herself out of her afterschool clubroom that day. It was a little earlier than the typical time her Science Club ended. Not that it mattered. Not only did their activities finish early, but in their final moments of leisure time, only one topic buzzed relentlessly around the classroom.
Princess Luna was here, visiting the School of Friendship.
Under what pretense - and for how long - no one knew. Near the end of the day, the regal Alicorn had been spotted by a stray hall monitor. Striding beside Princess Twilight Sparkle, Luna had been touring the school grounds between class periods, quietly observing the students through door windows while they busied themselves with classwork. Yet she was nowhere to be seen once said periods had ended and the hallways bustled with hooves and claws alike. Elusive as ever, their mysterious Moon Princess. One could assume the Princess of the Night had discreetly taken her leave long ago; glorious gossip, however, said otherwise.
Heather's heart had nearly burst when she'd heard the news.
Years of dreaming and the heavenly Alicorns were finally rewarding her. The teenaged Earth Pony resisted prancing through the empty halls in her excitement. Upon trotting out the front doors, Heather scanned the beautiful frontal schoolyard and its glistening pond that surrounded the entrance. The sky was still gray from its brief shower hours before, and with careful hooves, the filly made her way across the damp stones cutting through the pond and around the side of the school. With even more precaution, Heather made sure to avoid the mud in favor of patches of rain-touched grass. She hated nothing more than muddying her hooves.
And if she was going to meet Princess Luna? She was going to do everything to ensure she'd look as elegant and pristine as ever.
Step one: Make her way towards the back, where she knew the school's picnic tables were scattered about just for students during their lunch periods and downtime.
Step two: Grab the nearest table towards the backdoors.
Probability told her, almost without a shadow of a doubt, that this would be the very exit Princess Luna would use if her tendency to avoid crowds and not cause a fuss was anything to go by. It wasn't one hundred percent guaranteed, but the chances were high enough that Heather was willing to take it.
It wouldn't be out of character for her, either. Heather loved sitting at a table on a sunny day to quietly work on homework. Sometimes, as president of her club, she'd even sit there to plan out new fun lab experiments for the Science Club's next meeting.
Studious. Conscientious. Hard-working. She could never get enough of teachers and students alike noticing her and praising her efforts. As they should.
The scenario in her mind played out the same way. She'll be sitting there, hunched over a notebook and mulling over new club activities, when Princess Luna and Twilight waltz their way out of those doors. They'll see her, Twilight will ask her what she's doing, and Heather would yet again demonstrate her leadership and intellect. Twilight will praise her, introduce her to Luna as one of her best students-
And the youngest of the royal sisters will look upon her and remember her name.
Heather could feel her heart racing and subconsciously her hooves picked up their pace. Meeting the other princesses, catching their attention, and standing out amongst the drabble...if she were to be honest, she didn't realize just how much she ached for it. Not until now. Not until it was so close-
Heather turned the corner, honing in on the table she knew would be hers-
Only to find another sitting there.
And oh, at the sight of her, Heather felt her very blood boil.
Of course she just had to be here. The dullest, most boring-looking Unicorn that had ever insulted Heather's eyes; dull white and cream coat, drab grayish-blue mane, pale and ugly blue irises as narrow as a snake's. And who could ever miss that long, rat-like tail with a tuff of mane at the end, just lying on the bench beside her. She wanted to laugh at this filly's attire too, trying to pass off as prim and proper with an outfit that only made her look like a senile office worker.
Heather knew very well who this was.
And she despised her very existence.
But as a filly of her own standing at this school, she had appearances to keep up. So with the most saccharine smile she could muster, Heather took long, deliberate steps towards the other filly. It didn't take long for the Unicorn to notice her, those snake eyes flicking up from what had to be the most ostentatious book Heather had ever seen; silver and grey with metallic decor on its cover, embedded with one large tacky-looking gem just as blue-gray and washed out as the filly it belonged to.
Heather stopped beside the table, avoiding a muddy patch beneath it, and held the Unicorn's gaze as much as those eyes repulsed her up close.
"Hi there! You must be new around here!" Heather chirped. She gave the filly a chance to at least muster a reply. She should have expected the Unicorn to
cautiously eye her like a socially inept buffoon. After an awkward few seconds, she nodded.
"I am," the filly managed. Good for her.
"Well isn't that nice!" Heather lies through her teeth and a beaming smile. "Then I can't blame you for not knowing! Where you're sitting right now is my usual seat. But hey, now you know, so I'm sure you won't mind moving for me, hm~?"
The Unicorn stared at her. Two seconds. Five seconds. Heather watched impatiently as the other filly swept her gaze across the other empty tables around them, almost pointedly.
'Yeah. You heard what I said.
I'm not being subtle. Get lost.'
Victory was in her grasp, of course. She wasn't the only one here that had pretenses to maintain and denying her civility would only make this filly look like the asshole of the two. And that wouldn't make the Unicorn much of a role model, now would it?
Heather's innocent smile stretched expectantly, taking in the Unicorn's deadpan expression boring into her. Another annoying second later and the other filly finally shut her book tight, sliding it to one side without breaking eye contact.
"No. I don't think I will."
Heather's smile twitched.
How she didn't take into account a lack of even the most basic social courtesies from this filly, she'll never know.
"Well that's a little harsh," Heather feigned hurt, disguising the simmering fury just beneath her skin. "I just wanted my favorite seat for my studying. Is that really too much to ask for?"
An unwavering, distrustful narrow of those eyes was the Unicorn's only response. So. That's how it was going to be.
...yet face-to-face with such blatant defiance, Heather - for the first time - was at a dead end. There was no sweet talking that face. And with no one around, there was no leverage here for her to turn the tables.
Behind pursed lips her jaw clenched and her teeth grated. Pathetic. Pathetic. It infuriated her how rapidly the power had shifted - power taken from her in the one place Heather had worked for it.
Power THIS outsider didn't deserve.
It was then that Heather's eye honed in on a certain pretty little book, teetering near the edge of the table.
Ah. Okay then.
Heather could take a loss. She could take a small, minuscule hit to her pride. No one was there to see it. Her goal was still in reach, so long as she kept up pleasantries and proceeded with her plan at the next table over.
Heather, however, wasn't above taking small, subtle, petty victories. Anything for the satisfaction of reminding others where she stood around here.
"That's too bad...but I understand." Heather sighed and hung her head. "I won't bother you."
She turned her body, then. Too quickly. Or just fast enough to make the harsh bump of her flank against the table's edge at least semi-believable. She listened for it...
SQUISH
A gross squelch cut the silence, a sound that was beautiful to her ears. As she had hoped, turning back around revealed the plummeted book, lying delightfully amongst the brown patch of muck below the table. Despite her gasp, Heather could barely stop herself from grinning at her success.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, and it was just as difficult to stifle a much-needed laugh, especially with how much this Unicorn's face had slackened at the sight beneath them; silvers and greys, now smeared with dark mud. The other filly took in the filthy book with dim eyes. Poor spoiled girl. "I'm so sorry! Let me-"
Heather's hoof was inches away from picking up the book to present to the Unicorn - a grand power move in her head - when a sourceless light blinded her. The Earth Pony barely had time to react before something solid rammed straight into her face.
All she could do was squeal and tumble back into the ground at the excruciating pain and the sheer force of the impact. There was a wet slippery slide of the earth below her, displaced by the collision of her body. She didn't even know she was holding her stinging face until she pulled back trembling hooves from it, furiously blinking her blurry vision back into focus. Her head throbbed, the blood rushing into it
pulsing loudly in her ears.
While her world was reassembling itself, Heather felt the fabric of her torso become seized and in moments her entire body was being pulled up by a shocking amount of strength. The open-air was suddenly freezing against her pelt, forcing her delayed senses to fully experience the scorching hot pain spreading through her muzzle and cheeks. Her left eye especially struggled to stay open, even as another face shoved itself into hers.
The filly before her breathed shallowly against her nose, wild and unhinged eyes resembling a beast now more than ever.
"That," the Unicorn heaved out in a heavy, shaking breath. She renewed her grip on Heather's dress, expression distorted into a monstrous snarl. "Was father's you heartless wench!"
Heather felt like a ragdoll, swaying on weak, dirtied hindlegs, one hoof pathetically draped over the vice-grip holding her in place. Her brain felt shaken, thoughts racing. And her blood ran cold when the other filly let out a quiet, humorless laugh at her.
"Oh, I know your type..." the Unicorn whispered breathlessly, those venomous irises burning holes into her. "Thinking you're the biggest fish in the pond. Like you can lord over everyone else without consequence. You think no one can stand up against you."
Heather choked on a sound as her face was pulled in further, a breath ghosting her muzzle even hotter than before. Her panicked magenta eyes darted up to the Unicorn's horn; what was already glowing a haunting silvery-blue now crackled violently with energy, stray white sparks searing into her exposed skin. A primitive growl ripped out of the other filly, and in those ferocious eyes, Heather swore she saw bloodlust.
"How's it feel to meet a bigger fucking fish?"
Heather screamed.
It was something raw and primitive of her own, and she thrashed in the other filly's hold to no avail. She didn't know how long that went on for, wasn't sure how much time was passing as she waited for another strike-
"STAR CHIME!"
A booming, commanding voice filled the space, powerful enough to tremor the ground beneath them. Her ears only then registered a number of other voices rising in volume and proximity. The rigid muscles in her neck ached when she finally turned her head just enough to see out of the corner of her eye.
So many heads were sticking out of classroom windows, no doubt stragglers from clubs that surely have ended by now. Amongst those faces, she could recognize a few teachers, and to the right...
Princess Twilight and Princess Luna, with the backdoors thrown open around them.
Her attacker jerked away, releasing Heather to let her fall onto her forelegs. As soon as she was released, a blur of movement rushed out from the creatures gathered behind the two Alicorns.
"Heather!"
The Earth Pony almost instinctively flinched away, but was immediately soothed by the familiar arms of her best friend, Amber Shine, cradling her form. It amazed her how the Pegasus filly was willingly angling her body to both support her weight and shield her if need be.
Despite the protective walls surrounding her, Heather still had a clear view of the princesses. Twilight looked absolutely horrified. But clearly someone else here held the most oppressive presence and authority.
Princess Luna looked upon the scene with a frigid death stare that would cut through anyone. And it was trained on one single filly.
"What is this?!" Luna demanded, her deep voice rumbling the air like thunder. When she strode forward, not even Twilight dared to stay in step. She trailed behind the other princess with shock etched into her youthful features.
The Unicorn shuffled, and Heather watched Star Chime's newly distressed visage come to life. Her long tail lashed behind her like an agitated cat.
"She knocked father's tome into the muck, mother!" Star shouted, eyes darting wildly from Heather to Princess Luna. The Alicorn's expression actually faltered for a second before her sharp blue eyes landed on Heather. And Heather's heart jolted in terror.
'No...no!
Don't you dare ruin this for
me!'
"It was an accident!" Heather wailed back, letting every ounce of emotion pour into her voice. Near-instantly, Star Chime whipped towards her with a scowl.
"You LIAR!"
"ENOUGH!"
Star Chime's head snapped up to look at her mother, as Princess Luna now stood a mere tail length before them, dark blue wings flaring out behind her. "That does not constitute violence against a defenseless subject, Star Chime!"
And as the lunar princess seared those harsh eyes into her daughter, it dawned on Heather the advantage she had. The position she was in, with her face undoubtedly swollen and appearance soiled by the assault of that horrid young princess.
She was more grudgeful now than fearful, though she couldn't deny the tears of pain and prior-fear-for-her-life that had left streaks in their wake. However, there was room to play it up further.
So focusing on the pain and just how overwhelmed she felt? A hiccuping, sniveling mess she became.
"Y-you didn't even let me pick it up for you!" Heather sobbed out, pressing her wet cheek into her friend's warm chest. The sweet Pegasus comfortingly stroked her hair. She could just imagine the pity on Amber's brow. "You just attacked me out of nowhere! E-even after I apologized!"
Murmurs. Sweet murmurs of concern and disbelief sounded from the far-off onlookers. They knew her; thoughtful, honest Heather, who got along with everyone and had a spotless record. In the face of unnecessary violence, they literally had no reason to doubt her.
Besides, how was she supposed to know that garish book was from the late King? Not even the Alicorns above could claim she was lying here.
"Oh Heather..." Twilight murmured compassionately, and that alone filled her to the brim with glee.
Checkmate.
"M-mother, please, I just..." Star Chime begged uselessly. Oh, begging suited her. Too bad she had nothing to excuse her brutishness. She lost this battle ages ago. Heather knew, because Princess Luna could only exhale deeply, her countenance a storm of emotions that the filly was honestly clueless to identify.
What Heather hadn't seen coming was the sudden shift in the Moon Princess' expression from there; from rigid and grave to sheer exhaustion and sadness.
"I thought we were past this..." Luna whispered, so quietly that Heather had nearly missed it. The true proof that those words were even spoken was the way Star Chime recoiled as if she had been slapped.
Heather jumped as feathers slid over her back, only to realize Princess Twilight had moved forward to reassert authority. After shooting her a gentle glance, she returned her attention to the other princesses. She hesitated before opening her mouth to speak-
Luna beat her to it.
"I have changed my mind, Twilight." Luna began, collecting herself just as quickly as the shift had happened. "Star Chime will not be attending your school after all."
Heather would have whistled were this not an inopportune time. She simply sat back and enjoyed the unfolding drama as Star Chime looked at her mother with wide, shell-shocked eyes, frantically searching Luna's face for an answer already before her.
"Mother," Star Chime's voice cracked, desperation seeping through. "No, please, let me prove myself-!"
"There is nothing to prove." Luna quietly interjected. Her general demeanor was no longer of disappointment or even judgment, but somber patience of all things. "I realize now that you require more of my attention than what little I have given you...perhaps in the future you may return to Ponyville. But now is not your time."
As if to make her point, Luna subtly swept her gaze across the onlookers, and Star Chime followed her line of sight. Heather had to agree, Princess Luna was practically showing her mercy. Imagine attending classes here after making a first impression like this. She'd be the talk of the halls. Every soul in Twilight's School would know of the violent princess who punched one of their top students square in the face (and Heather would absolutely make sure every ear knew of it).
Little miss Star Chime was better off being pulled
out of this school before she even started. It'd give Heather less of a migraine and save her the humiliation.
Just like...
"Allow me to extend my deepest apologies in place of my daughter," Luna said towards Heather, whisking away every other thought in her mind. While she began to buzz in delight, that buzz slowly died down at the unreadable expression the Moon Princess wore. She was as formal and distant as ever. Almost...scrutinizing her? Where was her sympathy? "I will be holding a very thorough discussion with her over these events, and I intend to offer reparation to you and your kin."
"Heather's parents aren't here in Ponyville," Twilight finally found an opening to speak, taking on the tone of a responsible princess. "But Applejack is her guardian, so I'll be contacting her soon to pick Heather up."
"Very well. I will return shortly to speak to her, then, and recompense will be sent to the family." Heather perked up when the royal addressed her once more. "I understand that you are distressed. I will be escorting Star Chime away from here, and you will have time to recover with your friends. I hope you do not mind."
Heather sniffled and swiped a hoof over her face. "I don't mind...thank you, princess."
Luna's attention left her too quickly for Heather's liking, focusing on the Unicorn princess instead. "Come, Star." Luna called in a hushed voice, taking her exit with grace and purpose. Heather's focus shifted to Star Chime just as the Unicorn's horn lit aglow with that very same eerie silvery blue, levitating the grimy book out of the sludge. As parts of the wet mud slipped off in thick glops, the Unicorn gave the book's cover a weak swipe of her hoof, only managing to smudge muck further into its intricate crevices.
While Luna departed with the elegance and power of true royalty, Star all but dragged her hooves after her, gaze downcast and mouth pressed into a firm line. Unsurprisingly, she shot one final scorching side glance at Heather Tart through her draping bangs. It lingered until Heather left her periphery and the Unicorn could only trail after her mother like a helpless foal.
Pressing her head further into her friend's chest, Heather sneered at the filly's retreating back until she rounded the corner and out of sight.
'That's what you get, rat princess.'
"Heather, are you okay? What did she even do?!"
Now that the immediate threat was gone, her colt friend Arctic Bolt was charging in from the small crowd, nearly slipping a few times in his scramble over. Oh great. Heather wasn't sure if she was in the mood for the buckball star's overdone jests and witty quips at this moment. Yet she couldn't reject the amount of attention and concern she was receiving.
"Gods, I think she gave you a black eye." Amber Shine fretted. The filly helped Heather sit up, but the moment she even tried to brush a hoof near the Earth Pony's left socket, Heather flinched away and grunted.
"Punched me." Heather forced out through gritted teeth once Arctic had slowed to a stop before them. "Fell to the ground..."
"Geez, it's like your dress took as much of a beating as you did..." Arctic muttered. And as much as she wanted to roll her eyes at his dumb remark, looking down proved that the joke was more accurate than she'd realized. Red fabric was now stained with mud and grass and stretched out past its limits by the iron grip of that wretched beast. Or maybe it didn't look so bad! MAYBE that was just her, peering at it with one eye while she held shut the one that was throbbing and bruising over.
Yeah. That remuneration better come fast-
"Heather, I am so sorry."
Twilight's voice promptly grabbed her attention. The Alicorn mare bent her legs to meet her height, looking to her with so much guilt that one would think the perpetrator had been one of her own family.
"This shouldn't have happened. Star Chime has been working hard through some of her...habits, and while she's made progress she's also very emotional at heart and then after losing her father-"
This was very new and very disconcerting, watching Princess Twilight Sparkle actually fumble through her words and appear rather flustered over the situation. Heather felt her jaw clench. The two had to be pretty close for Twilight to feel this compelled to defend the girl. "That said, harm should have never come to you, especially on my premises. I just...I hope you won't hold this against her. If circumstances were different, I really think you two would have gotten along."
Oh. Heather could not stop her face from screwing up at that. Twilight noticed (Heather for once hoped she did, God forbid the Friendship Princess actually tried to forcibly mend this atrocity) and her shoulders noticeably drooped. "But I completely understand if this has damaged those chances."
Twilight took in a healthy breath of air and straightened back up. While she once again spoke with calm and control, the way her ears remained pinned back was hard to miss. "Please head in and wait outside my office whenever you're ready, Heather. I'll let the nurse know to prepare an ice pack for you before I get in contact with Applejack. This'll definitely take some time, so please bear with me."
Ugh. Applejack. As if her voice wasn't already annoying to listen to on a daily basis. Now the older mare was going to fuss knowing her overprotective nature and Heather wasn't looking forward to having her ear talked off on how slices of raw potato and toothpaste were the grand answer to healing her face or whatever ridiculous ideas those country bumpkins had in their screwy heads.
Moving out and away from the farm life couldn't come sooner. But there were bigger things to focus on in the present.
It wasn't until Twilight had walked off, exchanging words with the last few students who were being herded away by the remaining school staff, that Amber Shine voiced a question that had been on Heather's own mind.
"What did she mean by...'working through habits'?" The orange Pegasus uttered slowly, eyeing the backdoors as the final student filed in after the princess. "That was way more unsettling than it had to be."
"Oh...oh Gods it's all connecting..."
Both Heather and Amber turned to Arctic, who was now holding his head between his hooves in what appeared to be either alarm or a headache. Ever the dramatic one. Heather would have been tempted to snap at him for obnoxiously drawing the suspense out, but thankfully Amber was faster and more patient.
"Uh, mind sharing?" The Pegasus cautiously prodded, now giving her friend a hesitant glance-over. Arctic's wide blue eyes flashed back into focus and he began wildly gesturing with his hooves-
"Okay listen- I have this friend in Canterlot whose cousin went to Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns with this other guy, right-"
"The friend of a friend's cousin." Amber repeated, and oh, Heather recognized that tone as the filly already being half-done with the conversation. Bless her. "Easy to follow. Carry on."
"No, seriously listen!" Arctic hissed quietly, and for the first time since Heather had met the silver Earth Pony, he actually looked like he was being serious. "My friend told me this story about how apparently, Princess Star Chime got pulled out of school for completely thrashing that cousin's friend! Said there was blood and teeth everywhere and she beat the poor guy until he was begging on the floor!"
Heather could feel her visible eye nearly bug out of its socket.
"And they tried to let someone like THAT come HERE?!" she near shrieked. Her friends were lucky that she had already spent her vocal cords not too long ago.
"It IS the School of Friendship. Guess they were hoping to make her less punchy." He muttered out one of his wisecracks. Heather's head was whirling too much for her to admonish it. How close had she just come to being battered into a stain on the grass?
Wait...actually-
"Okay, but why are we only just now hearing about this?" Amber, ever a kindred spirit, inquired the very same disbelief in her own mind.
"The newspapers would have blown up over a royal scandal like that!" Heather agreed. And if she had possessed this knowledge just a little earlier, maybe she would have treaded just a bit more carefully. At the very least, she would have been able to figure out a way to use it to her advantage...
"Well for one, it was like, two years ago... and apparently not a lot of ponies got to witness the attack. But-" Arctic leaned his head in, head whisking about in search of eavesdroppers before dropping his voice even lower. "It sounded like Celestia and Luna covered the whole thing up and made everyone involved agree to keep the information private. So most of the public has no idea what happened, but obviously whispers managed to slip through a few mouths in upper Canterlot..."
"Wow..." Heather whispered. Yeah. That was probable. The princesses
had the power. And while Heather knew anyone else would have been a little frightened over the influence their rulers had, whether for the sake of a nation or for their own means...Heather herself was sort of amazed. As if she could actually blame them for going to such lengths to conceal the shame that girl would have brought to their exalted family otherwise.
"But even before that!" Arctic swiftly continued. "Apparently the kids at the school were already dubbing her the 'Delinquent Princess' behind her back! My friend's cousin never knew why until...y'know."
"Delinquent Princess." Amber repeated back. "What a...stupid name."
'And I think it's fitting...' Heather was tempted to add but miraculously toned her spite down.
"...I mean Ithoughtitsoundedbadass- but only because I thought the whole story was just some elaborate rumor!!" Arctic threw up his hooves. "I didn't think someone from the royal family could be that crazy, yet here we are! So don't talk like it's nothing but made-up gossip after what just happened!"
"...you're not wrong." Amber muttered, and her wing pulled Heather closer into her side. The earth filly welcomed the warmth, though she didn't like the look of discomfort on her friend's face. "In other words, we're talking about violent habits. And from a princess of Equestria...that's awful."
"Yep. She is. But let's stop talking about her for now" Heather muttered, feeling both sets of eyes fall on her. The more she heard, the more that resentment deep within her grew. And the more that grew, the more her temples ached beyond the limits of what she was willing to deal with. "I think I'd like that ice pack right about now."
"Oh crap, right!" Arctic jumped, urgently motioning for the fillies to walk ahead while he kept the rear. "Got a little carried away. We'll stick around until Twilight gets back!"
"Yeah. Twilight did say it'd take a while." With a comforting smile, Amber Shine squeezed Heather's shoulder with her wing feathers. "I say it a million times, but just as a reminder; we've got you, girl."
And she appreciated the encouragement. She really did. But Heather found it incredibly hard to muster more than a ghost of a smile when she found her legs on autopilot while her mind was elsewhere.
'Stop talking about her" she'd said. Yet she couldn't even bring her own brain to shut up. When it came to the very thought of that Unicorn princess, ugly green thorns never stopped digging their way into her ribcage. But after today...
Heather's inner snarl rang with unconcealed bitterness, louder than ever before.
'How?
How does someone like her get to be a princess?'
_________________________________________
Officially introducing Star Chime! Daughter of Luna, sister of Prince Amadeus, and youngest royal of the five royal Equestrian children (Princess Flurry Heart, Princess Lumina, Prince Amadeus, Prince Nova Spark, and Princess Star Chime, in that order)!
Though by youngest, she's probably a year or two younger than Nova Spark.
I'm excited that she's ready to officially be a part of the cast!! I've considered her and Dream Flow the future main protagonists of present-day story. One day she'll meet her partner in crime. One day...
Also, very fun to write a chapter exploring Heather's psyche! In no way am I advocating for violence against misbehaving kids, by the way. I know people will see this as Heather "getting what she deserves" - and wanting to see karma get her is valid - but just know the purpose of this chapter wasn't me trying to take pleasure in physically "punishing" this kid, back when she was a youth with very misguided values. Just wanted that to be clear!
#mlp#mlp art#mlp oc#My Liittle Pony#Heather Tart Reed#Star Chime#Princess Luna#Twilight Sparkle#destinyverse#story
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If you're up to date with my posts, then you know what's about to happen.
I've read the books, WE'VE ALL READ THE BOOKS, but this is a somewhat fun switch-a-roo.
Expect a BUNCH of changes that I'll try justifying, especially painful ones, so bear with me🙏
OTP SWAP PART 1: THE CRUEL PRINCE!!!!
I'm starting with the first book for obvious reasons
Like before, we start in the mortal world with Ashley Duarte(yes, human!Cardan's last name is Duarte, but like I said, bear with me) making tacos in the kitchen while one of the MANY dogs and other animals wait for her to drop some food. Baby boy Cardan and his older half-sister Rhyia are watching some human stuff, maybe Looney Tunes or old Mickey Mouse cartoons, when the door is knocked on, which alerts the animals and wakes a half asleep Cardan; Rhyia does not wake up.
Cardan answers it and finds a cloaked Madoc at the door. Rather than ask who he is or call for his mother, he stares at this man, who kneels and asks as evenly as possible if his mother is home.
Cardan slams the door in his face, which prompts Ashley to ask why he did so.
Madoc BANGS on the door and shouts, "Asha!" and Ashley pales as she realizes who is at the door.
She demands Cardan to go upstairs as Madoc kicks the door open and walks inside, giving the same speech as the original, that Balekin told him she'd ran away with his daughter, that she killed a woman who was just as pregnant as her, that she ran away and married some lowly farm hand and blacksmith. He thought it was a lie, but nope. Here she stands.
Asha(which is her real name) is deeply ashamed at his words, and tries to pull Cardan away; an angry Madoc is an unstable Madoc.
Like before, Justin rushes in to save his family, but ends up getting kebabbed with his wife.
Rhyia does wake up to see both and Madoc spills the tea that she's his and needs to pack her bags because they're leaving, and Cardan's coming with.
Cardan, despite being seven, is outraged and tries to kick Madoc into oblivion with no avail. Rhyia, however, swears that she'll never love a monster like Madoc, who simply scoffs and tells her to wrangle the human and gather her things in half an hour, because they're leaving for Faerie.
Reluctantly, they do and they never see the mortal world again for a very long time.
Jump to the present day as Cardan, a now seventeen year old human heart throb, is getting prim and proper for a revel. His hair is getting styled nice, he's in a nice suit, he's wearing a cool belt that makes him look like he has a tail, and has ear cuffs that make his ears look pointed like a faerie.
He also has rowan berries on his wrist, because he doesn't want the necklace to be easy to see as a lot of his shirts show his chest.
He's dolled up and meets Locke, his brother that came around when Madoc married Oriana and had Oak. The two did not get along, at first, but they began to tolerate each ither as they realized they were the only humans in Faerie that were gentry kids.
Locke is more of a bard or a poet, always seen with a little book, and doesn't wear the same stuff Cardan does, so no pointed ear cuffs for him. He's also more accustomed to Faerie, being good with half truths and minor deception. He's on good terms with both Madoc and Oriana.
Cardan, however, is not on good terms with either of them, as he has tried multiple times to leave Faerie, with and without Rhyia with him, and every time ended with Madoc outside scowling at him and leading him back to his room. Still has that 'no kill' rule, but he's better with sneaking and a sword, having been able to lighten his steps so he could sneak past Madoc and his guards whenever he tried to leave. He's not bad with a sword, but he still has a lot to learn, being 17 and all. When he doesn't have a sword in his hands, he has an animal in them, i.e. a foal, a dog, or, at one point, a skunk that was calm enough to not spray him. Yeah, animal lover that can hold his own.
The two exchange banter and Locke shows show rare excitement for this revel, saying the two will have the time of their lives. Locke, who isn't as close with her, wonders where Rhyia is, but Cardan reveals she's not attending, instead going to visit some friends in the mortal world.
Her funeral as the boys saddle up with Oriana amd Madic and go to the revel.
Similar events occur, like Oriana telling the boys to be careful, Madoc talking to Dain and Balekin, and Locke leading Cardan through the revel so they can have a good time.
IT GOES DOWNHILL WHEN THE GREENBRIAR TWINS AND THEIR FRIENDS ARRIVE. Jude, her older sister Taryn, and their friends, Edir, a bard that can sing and play anyone under the table, Valerian, who's a sadist, and Nicasia, the princess of the Undersea.
Jude and Taryn may have the same face and body, but don't be fooled, Jude has horns, always wears a sword, and will slap you in a dress and then set it on fire without a second’s hesitation. Taryn, however, always has a bunch of flowers in her hair, always wears a dress, and uses words as her weapon. Did you know that she broke on of the most boisterous men in Faerie qith nothing but her words? True story. Edir is the guy that keeps them both in check, an order of Balekin's, which we'll learn later. He is also more of Jude's friend and Taryn's bed buddy, in SFW terms. Nicasia is Jude's friend, like FRIEND, and Valerian is the same, really, just more of an ass now that he has more even targets.
Everyone bows to these guys, even Cardan and a smirking Locke. That smirk vanishes when Taryn winks at Cardan, who Jude GLARES AT.
Locke feels the same way, cinfused and angry, but no time to think in it because Valerian storms toward a confused Cardan and grabs him by the collar, snarling that he can play dress up and make believe all he wants because it won't hide his plain hair or round ears or barn dog smell, so he shouldn't even bother.
Valerian throws him back and Locke rounds on Cardan, asking him what the hell that was between him and Taryn. Cardan brushes him off, as it was just a wink, not a lap dance. Before they can REALLY go at it, crying draws their attention and see that Jude just pincushioned someone who didn't bow, said someone nkw having a hole in their stomach and a slash across their torso. Taryn is annoyed, Nicasia and Valerian are trying not to laugh, and Edir, who's embarassed, is scolding Jude for losing it at a revel.
Jump to after the revel and the day of school. The boys do indeed get dirt kicked on their food, but instead of 'make me,' Cardan snaps, 'TRY me,' because Nicasia asks if he's as filthy as other human boys. Locke talks him down, but Valerian, kicking more dirt and even throwing some IN Cardan's face, asks if the two qould like them for friends.
Locke apologizes for Cardan, but Jude commands he prove it by dropping out of the tournament, it'll be less embarrassing than getting his ass beaten in front of everyone.
Nicasia spots one of the ear cuffs and pulls it off, asking if he stole it. Big mistake because the cuff burns her hand, as it is iron and iron hurts Faeries.
Cardan smirks and the group leaves, Locke scolding him for being stupid.
Later, at dinnner, after talk of Dain's coronation, Cardan, despite some minor objection from Rhyia, asks Madoc a question: May he please have a green sash for the tournament? Why? He would like to be a knight, please and thank you. Madoc chikes on his wine, Locke coughs to hide a laugh, Rhyia winces, and Oriana os shicked into silence.
Madoc gives it to him straight: he's not bad with a sword, he's good on his feet,and he's the best damned rider that anyone's ever seen, but no. He cannot compete for knighthood, on the count of being the furthest thing from a killer imaginable and just being in over his head.
Cardan protests that he can do just fine, but Madoc warns him to stop before he gets himself thrown in a dungeon instead if his room until the coronation of prince Dain.
Cardan relinquishes and we get the salt prank like before, except Locke is pissed beyond all reason at his foster brother. Cardan doesn't mind until he's grabbed by Edir and Valerian, Locke being pulled by the hair by Jude and both are thrown in the river, which has Nixies in it.
Thier supplies get yeeted, Locke gets pulled out by Valerian and is made to kiss Jude on the lips and both her horns, but, when asked, Cardan does not give up, vowing that he will never give up, which makes Jude laugh and the group leave.
Locke and Cardan walk home, get some baths, and go to bed, except they go to the mortal world with Rhyia and meet her friends Vivienne and Heather at the mall. Vivienne apologizes for Jude's behavior, and we learn that Rhyia is planning to leave Faerie, and is probably going alone.
The boys return and endure a lesson, but Jude pushes Locke's buttons, so Cardan pushes her into a tree. Challenge accepted.
TOURNAMENT TIME!! Cardan fairs wellin that Valerian is lazy, Edir is out of shape, and Jude got cocky, so he wins.
Jude fumes at him, later grabbing him by the tail on his belt amd demanding he beg for her forgiveness. He does... NOT! And spits in her face that she may push him down, but he'll pull her down with him, and it will hurt her like hell.
Taryn approaches him and expresses interest in him, saying that she once took both Edir and Nicasia from Jude because people just like a sensitive girl.
She leaves and the tournament eventually ends, which leads Cardan to return hime and meet Dain, who requested one of Madoc's people to tell Cardan one of Eldred's children had come for a visit.
Dain and Cardan get talking and Dain offers him something that isn't knighthood: spying. Plus one wish.
Cardan knows what he wants: to not be controled.
Granted, but Dain can still control him and the fruits of Faerie will still effect him.
Screwy, but deal, he's a spy now
STAY TUNED FOR PART 2!!!!!
#the cruel prince#the cruel prince trilogy#folk of the air#cardan greenbriar#jude duarte#locke#taryn duarte#otp swap#jude x cardan#jurdan
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Sonia & Yasuke
Summary: Sonia Nevermind’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. FUCK YES. A slightly divergent take on the originals.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Language. Brief discussions of cults and kidnapping.
Notes: Sonia was neck and neck with Tanaka for the poll and I was going to do hers soon anyway, so I just went ahead. Sometimes, life just shakes out that way. I really do love Sonia so much. The bias is strongest for Sonia, so I really hope I did her justice. Only the best for our kween. (Btw, the formatting for this couldn’t fully carry through so some stylistic choices on Ao3 are absent here.)
Read this fic among others HERE
Main story is HERE
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He supposed he had been in an antsier mood than usual. In one hand, he read his manga. In the other, he played with and twirled around a pen. He’s practiced enough that he doesn’t need to look. It’s just something for his other hand to do. Something that would, ideally, work off some jitters.
He had almost been too worked up to read. Unfortunately, he’s still having a hard time trying to get into the book. He can’t tell if it’s because the story is dragging itself or because he’s just not in the right headspace. What a nuisance.
He catches the pen between his knuckles, tapping the end against the table. A surprised gasp. A round of applause. Matsuda glances over his book to meet the beaming face of a certain princess. Even in a hotel this cafeteria this tacky, she shone like a precious jewel.
What a nuisance. Except—
“So impressive, Matsuda-san!” she squealed. “You truly have fury skillz, yo!”
I guess of all the people here, she’s the most tolerable.
“Impressive, huh,” he mused. “I could probably twirl a scalpel, too.”
“Ooh!” Sonia clasped her hands. “Matsuda-san! Will you perform?!”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to risk cutting my fingers just to show off. I’ll twirl the pen some more.”
“Oh, I understand...” Quieting, Sonia still watched him twirl with intent eyes. It’s like he’s center stage at an opera house. Sonia hums and her fingers even twitch along. “Matsuda-san, such talented fingers... I truly do applaud you.”
Matsuda flipped the pen, catching it before it fell to the ground. Sonia let out another gasp and clapped some more, giggling.
“Bravo, bravo!”
Jeez. She’s so likable that it’s sickening.
It’s almost like he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter should the two of them become friends.
I guess...there are worse relationships to be forced into. Even if I already have a headache.
Still, the mood couldn’t help but be lightened whenever Sonia laughed. Scary.
--
His fingers were a bit aching, and holding a cold drink alleviated some of the stinging. Sonia, ever the prim and proper young lady with her mouth shut, simply sipped tea from across the table. The picture of elegance. Even in a cafeteria this tacky.
But it’s not like any location short of the azure sky and sapphire ocean could do someone like her justice.
“This island truly is sublime,” Sonia hummed. “The weather is always so serene, and the ocean is as blue as it is endless! Truly! It’s a perfect resort, wouldn’t you say, Matsuda-san?”
“I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say perfect,” he replied. “There’s a little too much fucking walking. I’m not big on sweating.”
Even if big hospitals had fancier equipment, I still hated having to rush back and forth.
“To be more contained can have its benefits,” Sonia agreed good-naturedly. “Still, I must say I am quite happy with what we have.”
Matsuda hummed right back.
Happy...
“Situation could be better,” he said. “Would really fucking love if we weren’t being held hostage by a homicidal fucking bear.”
“Indeed,” Sonia agreed solemnly. “Quite regrettable.”
Matsuda waited for her to continue, but she merely took another elegant sip. Still the picture of calm. Sonia’s eyes do flicker open and it’s then that Matsuda takes notice of the color. They’re a clear, soft green. It’s a unique shade. One he thinks he’s only seen in...
“As long as no murders take place, everything will be alright,” Sonia spoke with conviction. “What happens next...will depend on our own inclinations and choices.”
I shouldn’t compare them too much.
“That’s a reductive way of looking at it,” he said. “Even if we have the resolve, I don’t doubt that our hands are going to be forced.”
Sonia slammed her cup onto the table. It cracked just the slightest bit.
“Then, we should cooperate with one another so that we can return home as quickly as we can,” she said sunnily. “Matsuda-san, I trust you to tell me any ideas you may come up with. I shall do what I can.”
“Well...” Matsuda directed his stare towards one of the security cameras. “We’d first have to come up with something to do about those.”
“If we simply shattered them, we would get punished severely,” Sonia recalled, lamenting as she did. “We would have to act... And perhaps...”
She dropped into lower mumbles that Matsuda couldn’t make out. Perhaps out of precaution, in case they were being recorded. Matsuda watches her sink deeper and deeper into thought.
Even she can’t be serene and optimistic all the time. She’s still managing better than anyone else here.
“Do you understand, Matsuda-san?” she asked, tone serious. “Or must I repeat myself?”
“If you did, it’d have to be a little louder, so it’d be better if you could write it down discretely and pass it to me later,” he said, sighing. “It’s a little too risky discussing anything out in the open.”
Sonia clapped with glee.
“A handsome remark! This is why I know I can rely on your intelligence and wit, Matsuda-san.” She gave a few nods of approval. “It might be better for our moral to chat amiably for now.” With a dazzling smile, she then inquired, “Is there anything you’d like to ask of me?”
Matsuda blinked at her.
“Not really.” I am curious about one thing. Given the circumstances, it’s best to hold off on that. “What about you?”
“There is something! That I AM quite curious about!” Sonia exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Who has captured your heart? And who do you plan to settle on?!”
Matsuda stared.
“...?”
His head tilted in confusion, so Sonia went on to explain.
“This situation—it is similar to The Summer Story of Seven Men and Seven Women, wouldn’t you say?! The standard practice, then, is to start wavering and swapping partners!”
“The...J-drama?” he asked, no less confused but Sonia was more incited regardless.
“No just the J-drama, the legendary J-drama! The original trendsetter! Starting with an upbeat tone... Before shifting to surprisingly serious!” she swooned. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and yet I couldn’t look away! Momoko’s feelings...! Wow, so intense!”
“Uh-huh...” Matsuda’s eyes rolled back. “Well... I’m not sleeping with anyone on this stupid fucking island, so it’s not going to be that similar. That, and there are more guys here than girls to begin with...”
“That is true!” Sonia gasped. “Someone will have to be unlucky! I wonder... Who it will be...?”
Didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to...? Not to mention some of the guys flat-out wouldn’t be interested. Although I don’t think that’ll keep someone from being unlucky, huh...
It looked like he wouldn’t get in another word in edgewise.
This still isn’t going to fix the declining birthrate.
At least Sonia seemed to be having a hella time theorizing. Matsuda just let her...do that.
--
“I managed to find a couple of books on Novoselic,” he said, setting the stack of books on the table before a sparkly-eyed Sonia. “Since we don’t have the internet, this was the best I could scrounge up and even then I don’t know if they’re all that accurate.”
“Oh, Matsuda-san, I would have told you anything you needed to know!” She does take one of the books. “That said, I recognize this author. You can trust them! Oh, but this one...” She takes another, frowning. “If I recall... No. You should not trust this one at all. In fact, I would burn every copy of this book.”
“I could kind of tell from the tone,” Matsuda hummed, setting it apart and pushing it far away. Sonia’s frown was still a deep mar on her face. “So, these books are accurate?”
“As I have said, Matsuda-san, I do not mind telling you about my country,” she said, smiling again. “Or! Is this courting? I’m afraid I will have to sadly decline, much as this feels like something out of a J-drama...”
She says while looking disappointed in herself...
“It’s more that I thought you should know what other people are writing about your country,” he said. He paused. “Ah, I guess that was pretty presumptuous of me.”
“Not at all!” Sonia shook her head. “Awareness and control of the media are essential! Not to mention you have informed me of quite the pressed issue! I will have to take care of it when I return...is what a responsible, attentive ruler would say.” She sighed. “Sadly, I will have to inform others and hope for the best.”
She has said in the past that she’s more of a figurehead than a leader.
“That’s a part of being young,” he remarked. “Don’t let it get you down too much. Just prepare for the future to the best of your ability.”
Sonia does giggle at that.
“Matsuda-san... Sometimes, you remind me of the male lead in a J-drama.”
“No comment.”
She laughs again. “In my humblest opinion, the best J-dramas are the ones aimed at women between the ages of 20 to 34. Just before Japan’s economic bubble burst! You would not believe how many times I have seen I Will Arrest Your Eyes! Why, when I first arrived in Japan, the first thing I did was run across the Spain-zaka!”
As fascinating as that all is, what gets my attention is...
“Hold it. Were you calling me mature or were you suggesting that I speak like an old man?”
“You certainly do have a worldly weariness to you, Matsuda-san,” Sonia went on to sigh. “Broody and broken down by life... While it would be attractive on the screen, it is worrisome and exhausting in person.” She perked right back up. “But have no fear! For a fairly dreamy maniac will someday come into your life! And the two of you can partake in the ritual entrapped within the blizzard!”
“I hate the cold,” is Matsuda’s only reply to whatever the fuck all of that was.
“Then when will you cuddle under a blanket in the nude?!” Sonia gasped, aghast. “Will you do so at a different temperature?! Is the blizzard not necessary after all?!”
“First off, you’re referring to a cliché rather than a ritual,” Matsuda said, waving his hand. “Shouldn’t the fact that it was happening during a damn blizzard tipped you off? Not every couple is going to go to the fucking mountains.”
“So...” Sonia quieted. “It is not like the Makango?”
The Makango? Matsuda remembered. Ah, the Makango.
“We don’t have anything like that as far as I’m aware,” he said. “Mind you, I’m...not aware of much...”
Thinking about this gives me a headache. Actually, it really, really fucking hurts right now.
“I see...” Sonia pursed her lips. “So peculiar. Oh!” She blinked, realizing. “Matsuda-san, you look pale.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead with a wince. “I think... I’m gonna check out.”
“You should check out what’s wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “Do better for yourself, Matsuda-san!”
“...right.”
On that note, there wasn’t anything else to do but stumble out.
--
It’s another calm day at the library. Sonia, however, snaps up immediately when Matsuda walks inside. It’s scary how alert the princess is, but that was probably a good thing considering her situation. Matsuda sighed, waving and taking in how she lit up and eagerly saluted him.
He also takes notice of the book that Sonia had been reading. The cover—looks quite gruesome.
“How are you feeling?” Sonia asked kindly. “You are not in pain, yes? Matsuda-san?”
“I’m doing fine,” he said, stretching as he makes his way over. “I’ve been dealing with headache after headache since I got here, so I’ve gotten used to them.”
“I see,” Sonia murmured, downcast and sympathetic. “I will trust you to your own mechanics.”
“Devices,” Matsuda corrected without thinking as he seated himself. “Anyway, I’ll be reading. Don’t mind me.”
He does pull out a manga he brought with him—the library was just a better environment for reading than the cafeteria hence him making the trip. He cracks it open, but he doesn’t get very long to enjoy it. He gets maybe five minutes before there’s a nudge at his side.
He ignores it, but Sonia elbows him with enough force that he nearly yelps. With a now throbbing side, his gaze drops to see a folded-up piece of paper tucked between Sonia’s delicate fingers. Her nails are perfectly manicured yet polished to give off the illusion of natural beauty.
Hm.
He takes the paper, unfolding it and—
What do you know about the occult?
Sonia is feigning innocence. She’s scarily good at it. If not for the flicker of her intense stare to his, he wouldn’t have suspected a thing. That...and his side still...stings. Seriously the princess had a bony fucking elbow.
“Princess. What the hell is this?”
“Shush!” she ordered and he dutifully shut his mouth without a second thought. Sonia looked around discretely, lowering her voice as she leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Any information you have on cults would also be appreciated, Matsuda-san.”
No, seriously, what the fuck?
He does try to make sense of it. If Sonia felt the need to convey these questions inconspicuously, then, maybe—?
He takes out a pen and writes down his response. He hands it under the table for Sonia to read.
Do you think our kidnappers are part of a cult?
“Oh!” Sonia gasped. “I never thought of that! What a fascinating theory!”
Guuuuuuess not.
“If it just interests you, you don’t have to be so fucking secretive,” he griped. “Just ask me outright like a normal fucking person.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I truly didn’t think the way I was conducting myself was...regal. They pass notes like so in the dramas. Is that not normal behavior, Matsuda-san?”
Oh.
“I...no, actually...” Matsuda shrugged helplessly. “I...guess that is in fact a way high schoolers communicate sometimes...”
I haven’t gone to a normal high school...or a normal middle school for that matter.
“It is quite—unheard of if not prohibited for a princess to have such interests,” Sonia sighed. “But even if it is forbidden, my heart still longs for more when it comes to the subject of Freemasonry! Oh, but it’s purely academic!” She looks quite serious as she insists, “I could never dream of conspiring against the government.”
“A lot of people do find that stuff interesting,” Matsuda said. Sonia lit up only to deflate when he added, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”
“No?” Her head tilted. “You think it...kiddy?”
“In a way,” he admitted. “Cultism comes about through societal failings and instability. Political turmoil, lack of education, paranoia, peer pressure... People long for a sense of community by nature and they’re drawn to a charismatic figure who knows how to prey on the insecure and vulnerable. People just want someone else to tell them what to do, what to think, like fucking children and obviously, obviously, they get taken advantage of by the worst fucking types...”
Sonia’s eyes were wide.
“Oh! Matsuda-san, have you been in a cult before?!”
Matsuda immediately jolted. For some reason, he broke into a sweat. For another, his head hurt so much that he wanted to shut down then and there.
“...Matsuda-san?”
He needed to grip his hand and will them to stop shaking.
“...I... No.” He shook his head firmly, digging his nails into his arm, would’ve raked them through the flesh if not for the sleeve of his coat. “It’s, uh, just something I read one time.”
“You are looking quite pale,” Sonia remarked worriedly. “I apologize, Matsuda-san. I—think we should drop the subject for now. I do not wish to cause you untoward pain any longer.”
She draws back from him as if he’s too fragile to be near. It’s seriously annoying, especially when not only does Sonia look stricken with guilt, she also looks lonely.
“I...” He swallowed. “While I don’t think much of it, I do think it’s important to understand. It isn’t productive to just...dismiss it wholesale.”
Sonia does perk up.
“I agree,” she says, albeit tentative as she does. “To dismiss a different sense of values due to ignorance is foolish. Such ignorance leads to bloodshed. And—it is important for a member of the royal to expand one’s knowledge.”
He nods.
“I just...” He wants to bite his tongue clean off. “I guess it’s a sore subject for me...”
But w̴̟̹̠͐̿̋ḧ̶̟́y̷̘͓͛?
“I understand.” Sonia nodded back. “I apologize.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Just...do what you can to guide your people right.”
With that, he gets up.
“Sorry,” he said, acting on autopilot now. “I need to go.”
He doesn’t look back.
--
“Oh, Matsuda-san!”
As usual, Sonia looked delighted to see him.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she exclaimed, every word dripping with sincerity. “Come, come! Sit with me! There is much I wish to discuss with you!”
“Yeah?” The closer he comes, the more she can see her stack of books. Quite a few of them have been shoved away, but the other titles—there actually seemed to be a couple of romance novels and recognizable manga. “What about...?”
Those are titles that have been adapted into TV dramas.
“The friendship between men and women as depicted in Turn On The Heart,” she explained. “If you do not know that title, then will a different J-drama suffice? Perhaps one of these?”
She offers one of the manga. Her intentions are clear, and he truly appreciates the gesture—but he’s read that title. It was one of the worst fucking things he ever skipped through. The love interest in it was just scary. And he was a spoiled rich brat. Urgh.
But the princess really isn’t that bad. She’s really trying to get along with me. Not a lot of people have done that unless they wanted in my pants or something.
He’s not so fucking full of himself that he’d assumed a goddamn princess would be interested. That, and he’s conscientious of that shit to begin with. Sonia was just friendly, not flirty.
“I do mostly read manga,” he said. “I guess I could recommend a title or two that’s been adapted?”
I haven’t watched a lot of dramas actually. I’ve had them going on in the background, but that’s...
His sharp eyes do notice the titles that Sonia had pushed away. They were various studies on cults throughout history. And an anthology on ghost stories.
“Matsuda-san.” When Sonia spoke, her tone was low. She stood up and bowed, making him jump. “I wish to sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart! If I could, I’d throw myself at your feet! Alas, it’s improper for a princess...! I’m so fucking sorry!”
“Wow.” He didn’t even know how to respond. “If this is about what happened last time, it’s fine. It’s water under the bridge. I...”
I actually—don’t remember what happened. I ended up taking a lot more pills than I should’ve.
“Still!” Sonia exclaimed, shaking her head. “I asked you a very inappropriate question! It was quite uncouth! Thus—I wish to make out with you for it!”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, meaning it figuratively and literally. “It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?!” Sonia’s frown deepened. “I... Despite my status, here I would like to be equals, Matsuda-san. Is that not possible?”
Equals, huh.
“When I came to Japan, I thought I could be considered a normal girl,” she said, and it sounded like a confession. “Perhaps...that had been...immature of me.”
It is immature, Matsuda agreed with as he bit his tongue. It’s beyond fucking immature. Even if you learn the language and go along with trends, you live in a fucking castle, Sonia. That’s not normal at all. Normal people are one bad fucking month away from losing everything they care about. It’ll take more than a damn month for a monarchy to topple. Especially one that’s absolute.
“If you insist so much, can I ask you a question?” He studied the way she perked up. How annoyingly eager she was to hear it. And how he—“It’s not going to be a pleasant one.”
“As long as it is about my personal inclinations or government secrets, I am willing to speak about it,” she told him, smiling sweetly.
She really was so painfully sweet sometimes.
Ä̷̮̖͇́̅̅͝ ̷̬̎̽c̴̨̛̥̳̙̔̈̊ͅo̵͕̤͠ṃ̵̻̒ͅp̸̭͕̽͝l̸͍͈͎̀è̶̛̝̫̒͗͝t̸̗͒̂̐e̴̛̳͔̾͐ ̵̧̼̐ô̸̞͇̖͋̽̀́ͅp̵͉̘͗̅̍͝p̴̖̙͑̊̒̆o̸̧͙̹̘̠͂s̴͈̀̕ị̶͇̅͛͝t̶͉͊e̴̲͈̩̫͠ ̴͔̺͔̙͗́̓̓̋f̶̺͂̚͘r̴̛̘̾͝o̶͍̭̯̖͐̐̓͛m̶̳͑̋—̷̱̘̩͙͓̇͒̏̋̉
“This isn’t your first time being kidnapped.”
It hadn’t been a question, despite himself. But a statement. A statement that drained all that sweetness from Sonia’s face, leaving behind calm stoicism. She looks so at ease and unshakeable that Matsuda could draw several conclusions if he wanted to.
But it seems tacky to make assumptions about what were traumatic experiences, regardless of those involved.
“I’ve read up on your country and there were reports of the royal family being abducted by insurgents,” he said, keeping his voice level. “It hadn’t mentioned those affected by name...but you were among them, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Sonia spoke as if she were untouchable. “I was.”
“No wonder you’re so damn calm about all this,” Matsuda went to remark. “It’s not your first time. And...quite fucking frankly, this is literally the Bahamas of hostage situations.”
“Haha, I do not think we are in the Bahamas, Matsuda-san,” she replied, casual—but still with that flaring distance. “I believe we are in the middle of the Pacific, rather.”
...hah.
“That’s not important,” he snapped. “What was important was... Clearing the air, so to speak.”
“I see.” Sonia agreed with him like he’d kill her if she didn’t. “Then, have I been to your satisfaction, Matsuda-san?”
Matsuda stared at her. He reached out, and she didn’t even flinch. Not even when he snapped his fingers in front of her. Impressive, honestly.
She’s completely shut down.
“Do you want to talk about dramas? I kind of enjoyed Hana-Kimi.”
Sonia blinked, and it was like nothing happened at all. Especially with how she went back to smiling as she always did, dazzlingly open and amicable.
“I haven’t heard of it! Please tell me all about it!”
“If I remember correctly there were like, four adaptations, the first Taiwanese and the most recent a K-drama, actually, so...”
The two of them chat lightly like this for a while. Like a normal pair of high schoolers.
--
“Greetings, Matsuda-san! I have read the illustrious Hana-Kimi! And! I enjoyed it!”
“Good to hear...”
“There is much I wish to discuss about it!” Sonia exclaimed, but there was something strange. Her smile was so wide it looked strained. She was wearing more makeup than usual, especially on her cheeks and around the eyes. “I would also like to hear more recommendations, so...”
“Rough night?” Matsuda asked, and Sonia shut her mouth.
For a second, Sonia looked lost before she gave a weak laugh.
“Ahaha, I should’ve known that Matsuda-san would not be fooled. You’re quite sharp, after all. It’s one of the reasons I admire you.”
“Did you want me to pretend nothing was wrong?” Matsuda huffed. “I’d rather you not have to force yourself around me. With how shitty my attitude is, I’d be a hypocrite if I expected everyone on their best behavior....especially in this situation.”
“Truth be told, I do not mind it,” Sonia murmured. “In a way... I find it refreshing. Around Matsuda-san, I can just scream at the top of my lungs—Jesus Fucking Christ Bastard Of A Fuckity Fuck Bitch! And you wouldn’t bat a tongue-lash!” She took a deep breath. “That said...if we are to discuss further. I’d prefer we do so in my cottage.”
“Fine by me,” was Matsuda’s immediate response. That was all there was to it.
Without another word, he followed Sonia to her cottage. She led him inside, and the interior was so fancy that he felt like he’d be stoned if he didn’t remove his shoes right away.
Polished floors, elegant rugs, ivory silk sheets, and plush furniture—even a damn chandelier hanging about them... It at least looked like the inside of a high-end hotel suite. Even the way plants were arranged from the ones hanging from the wall to the potted plant in the corner and the vase on the table by a wide-screen television felt so prestigious and artful.
“Would you like a seat?” Sonia asked, indicating a loveseat that definitely costed more than he could get selling his ass on the street for a week. He sits down on it anyway. It’s annoying supple, and he can’t help but relax. Sonia is giggling at him, “I apologize for any messes. I am still getting a handle on cleaning as it were. And the shower.”
The rug had been a little damp under his feet. She must’ve accidentally flooded the floor. He should probably help her wash it so that it didn’t contract mold, but... There were more pressing matters.
Sonia clearly wanted to speak to him, but she was just standing there. Fidgeting and wavering.
“Nightmare?” he guessed. “Homesickness?”
“Both,” Sonia replied, chuckling a little. “As well as—that conversation we had earlier...weighing on my mind...”
Matsuda clicked his tongue but said nothing. Gave Sonia the time to take a deep breath.
“Back then, I was not permitted to show fear for my people’s sakes,” she recounted. “I was, after all, a princess before a person. But here... I do not know what I should do. Must I wait in silence for rescue? Shall I allow myself to scream and cry?” She was fidgeting. No, she was trying to distract herself from how badly her hands were shaking. “Say, Matsuda-san... You are...quite intelligent. And you never—you do not sweet talk. Tell me...what I should do.”
Matsuda stared at her. She kept her head bowed.
“Fuck if I know.” Matsuda sighed loudly. “Like holy shit, why you think I’ll know what to do? That’s illogical as fuck. You’re just being a coward by forcing someone else to make the decisions, princess.”
“I am aware,” she whispered.
“I’m not Togami,” he said. “I’m not going to seize control and tell everyone that it’s going to be fine. I’m...”
...not going to lie about that shit.
“I thought not.” Sonia laughs again. It’s almost an ugly sound. Scratchy and unbalanced, completely unbefitting and yet—perfect in this situation. “Matsuda-san, you may have the signals of a legendary hero... But, in reality, your scowling face is too remarkable.”
...
...
...
...
...
...
What the fuck did that even mean?
“The legendary hero of legend,” Sonia reiterated with the utmost seriousness. “The only fault with that—is your face, Matsuda-san! It’s not just remarkable, it’s beautiful!”
What the FUCK is she talking about?
“I would still like to take you with me to my kingdom, once we escape from here,” Sonia went on. “Even if you are not a destined one, you would make for a wonderful advisor and companion. I wish to continue our conversations—and even if it is cowardly, I also wish to look towards you in times of need.”
What the fuck is going on?!
“I...” He’s confused. He’s so hopelessly confused. And yet... And yet... “I heard the medical practice in your country is nothing to sneeze at...so I can’t deny being interested.”
“Splendid! Then—let us continue working together, Matsuda-san!” Sonia clapped her hands. Another dazzling smile, an even more radiant laugh. Just like that, she was back at peak princess. “Ho, ho, hey!”
“Hey, hey, ho...”
Despite that, there’s a lot unsaid. We haven’t really talked, either. We’re just pushing on with forced optimism, filling our heads with empty reassurances and promises in the hope that it’ll be enough to carry us through.
It could very well be. In a situation like this, keeping ahold of one’s morale was pretty fucking prudent. Even if he and Sonia knew shit all about how to lead, they had no choice but to keep stumbling and scrambling. Hoping for the best.
Sometimes... That’s all we really need.
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Intended: Chapter 3
warnings: uhhh really nothing here's the end!!! finite!!!
--
“What do you think you’re doing here, you villain?” That's what he is, isn't he? He kidnapped you, he meant to kidnap Ciri, he was employed by the Nilfgaardian Emperor himself and given the title of Count. He was part of the army that destroyed your home. But to you, in the woods? He was the first person he thought you could really love, someone honest and helpful and charming despite his steely and quiet exterior. You shift your weight to the foot closest to him, standing as tall as you can about ten feet from him with your boots sinking into the mud and dagger brandished and pointing at him. You don't intend to use it, in fact, you don't think you could even if you tried. Not against him. Never against him.
“Tell me to stay,” he begs, doing everything but dropping to his knees, “Or tell me to go, but hear me out before you make the decision.”
His eyes are wide, wild and desperate. If you felt compelled, you realize, he would probably let you plunge this dagger, HIS dagger into his neck and he would probably thank you as he bleeds out. He’s dirty, he looks as if he hasn't slept since you left, and something about that is extremely attractive to you. Had he slept? Or had he sat up hoping you'd return? Or had he slept, but you plagued his dreams like he mercilessly visited yours?
“Well, you couldn't stay,” you say, and it's the truth. Cahir has no name or titles here in Brugge, he’s more than likely to rot in a prison cell or meet the scaffold than be with you. “So there is only one option for you.”
“Is that what you want? For me to go?” he asks, and you want to nod. You want to nod. But you don’t. Your hand holding the dagger twitches with something between the urge to drop it or use it. Your silence fills up the space between you, tangible before he continues.
“Or you could go with me.”
Go with him? Cahir takes your continued silence as a means to continue and you hope that he didn't see your flinch at the suggestion
“It won't be an easy life,” he begins, “I’m a fugitive. Nilfgaard knows I am alive, they know I’ve defected. That is because of you, because of the love you've given me, but also because of Cirilla.”
This surprises you, but you try not to let your eyebrows rise to show him.
“If she is alive, I want to help keep her safe. I know of a witcher outside the city limits that has the same goal. Whatever the Imperator wants her for is not good.”
He’s right. You have to concede that point. But if he wants to dedicate himself now to helping the little princess, where do you fit in?
“I would abandon that duty if you ask me to stay, but might I suggest?”
You nod, encouraging him.
“If you do not wish me, a Nilfgaardian fugitive to stay in Brugge, might you come with me?”
“Come with you?” you parrot his words, voice betraying you in shock because his second time suggesting it means you know its a serious suggestion. To go with him… To be in the woods with him again, this time for a long time. Beneath the stars…
“It would not be an easy life,” he repeats, almost more to himself than you this time, “I could not keep you as nicely as they've kept you here.”
He takes the time to look you up and down, not being bashful or hiding his gaze. In truth, it's been a few days since he last bathed and you look clean and prim and proper. Looking like that, he thinks the men of the castle have probably been chasing you the entire time you've been here. Giving you looks he gives you, vying for the attention he wishes was his.
“But I could keep you. Keep you safe and teach you how to master that dagger, buy you the sword I promised. I will spend the rest of my life atoning for what I've done to you. I am at your command.”
You let the wind pass between you, quiet and dark as the night. You imagine the panicked people of the castle looking at you, their eyes on the rogue warrior in front of you and the doom his presence represents.
“Well, I’m afraid you have to go. You cannot keep me, for I’m already a kept woman.” Your head is held high, gaze steel ahead but refusing to meet his eyes, looking behind him just behind his shoulder into the woods. Looking far enough that maybe you could see through them, to the clearing and the next town.
“You are…?” his voice trails off, flat and defeated.
“Yes, betrothed. I am betrothed.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, “but he's Bruggian. He will make me Bruggian. He will be old and probably make me miserable and have numerous affairs, or worse, he will be attentive and disgusting. Nevermind what we might want…”
Cahir doesn't hear the rest of your ranting. What we both want. It might have been a slip of your tongue but it was enough for him.
“...So no matter who the repugnant oaf is, I will be kept. I’m afraid no matter what I might want, I’m spoken for and you must leave forever,” you finish with the slightest hint of a smile on your face, feeling oddly comforted being able to voice your frustration at your situation. To be honest about your feelings for the first time since the last time you saw him.
Cahir is taken aback, he would think this is something you would hate, but yet you smile? Is that actually something you’d want? Something you'd even be willing to resign yourself to?
“So go,” you say to his surprise, and your smile grows. You hope he catches the hint you're giving. You can't tell him you want him. You can't ring any alarm bells or alert the nobles nervous in their castle or jump into his arms. But you can tell him where to go.
“Go,” you repeat, emphasizing your words carefully, “Go and be in the clearing before the next town to the east. Be in the clearing by dawn and never look back. Go away.”
Go to the clearing. He hears you. Be there by dawn. You have a plan. He nods, a thin smile spreading across his sharp features, the one that used to make you blush. You sheath the dagger back in your dress as you watch him take a step back, and then another.
“I shall bother you no more, my lady. I will go east and not look back just as you command.” with that he turns sharply on his heel, collects and mounts his horse, and rides off. East.
You all but panic shoving your belongings into the sack you plan on bringing, not caring now about the stirrings of the Bruggians. While the Nilfgaardian left they were still preparing for battle, and this was good. You did not tell them otherwise. So let them panic. They will be prepared if the Nilfgaardians actually do come. In all of their battle preparations, the buzz before warfare, who would notice one woman leave? None of them. You were little more than a pawn to them anyway. You tuck dresses, blouses, trousers and stays as much as you can into the back that you fasten and sling behind your back. You make sure his dagger is carefully tucked into your dress as you prepare to leave, and you make sure to take the darker corridors on your exit.
For the second time tonight, your boots sink into the mud. This is something I’ll have to get used to, you think, as you walk on into the woods due east. The clump and suckling noise of the mud becomes a steady rhythm beating out through the trees, catching your hair and skirts on twigs as you go, but never stopping, never pausing.
First light breaks just as you reach the clearing, and Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach is exactly where you told him to be. The sun kisses his skin as it rises and you cannot help but quicken your pace, needing the space between you to close. He helps finish the distance, stepping forward until his hands can grab your hips, pulling you into him in a bone crushing hug. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile, truly smile as your head comes to rest against his shoulder.
“Where to, my love?” he whispers in your ear.
“Let's find Ciri and that Witcher,” you mumble, kissing him through his shirt. Kissing him on the mouth, again and again until he leads you to his horse, and then again after he helps you mount the horse with him. And you ride, due east.
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Just Five Minutes (A Silvaze Oneshot)
Heavy was the head that wears the crown, both due to the burden carried by its owner and the lack of sleep that accompanied it. Blaze the cat was known for being a workaholic, friends and colleges alike has claimed such and made efforts to curtail her tendencies. To some extent her overworking was indeed self-imposed, it was in her nature to take on burdens and the work of others, but it wasn’t solely her own fault. As the singular monarch of the Sol kingdom, she worked long hours with little hope of respite.
One o’clock was nearing, it was only fourteen minutes away, yet Blaze had already sat through two meetings totalling almost four hours between them. The day had started at half past seven with some additional reading and preparation, she was supposed to have had a pair of hour and a half long meetings yet both had seen fit to overextend by around fifteen minutes. It wasn’t that these meetings were unimportant per say, the first had been regarding a foreseen bumper crop while the second had concerned utilising more modern defences to protect the Sol emeralds, but both of them going into overtime was taking its toll.
The twenty-one-year-old princess was supposed to have a half hour break between each meeting, supposed to being the operative words. A half hour break cut in half once more, it’d be comical if it wasn’t such a common occurrence. Even if there was no break whatsoever between these discussions, she was supposed to retain a prim and proper attitude whilst her visitors could yawn and slouch without risk of it being taken as an afront. Even doffing her usual guardian’s outfit, her robes and tights, risked being viewed as some sort of afront. As she walked the palace halls, now free from that stuffy meeting room, she knew that she was stewing on this much too intently. If she kept this up, she wouldn’t enjoy this brief hiatus and her patience would wear thin when the next meeting undoubtedly exceeded its allotment.
Groggily, she shouldered her way through a set of old double doors and into the library. The scent of old paper and stagnant air hit her, but it signalled a sort of sanctuary. She moved quickly across the emerald carpeted floor, breezing along the great wall formed by the historic fiction section. The massive room was like a labyrinth lined from floor to ceiling with books, but she knew her path through it better than anyone else. It didn’t take long for her to notice that a few tomes had been lifted, a pair on specific pirates and three more containing hyperbolised accounts of the island’s early history. If she hadn’t known he was here, then that would be a clear indication of his presence.
She coasted along the next wall, passing by historic poetry, before crossing by a section filled with pure historic nonfiction. The old wooden shelves that framed her surroundings were surely soon due their monthly dusting, a job that her partner had taken on with gusto in an effort to make this space nicer for the pair of them. As she snuck past yet another library shelf, she swore she heard him snort. With no more than a parse at the row upon row of encyclopaedias, she rounded the final corner and her eyes fell upon him.
Lounging on their shared couch at the heart of the library was Silver the hedgehog, three days into his return from the other world’s future. Both of them had dramatic burdens on their shoulders, she had a world to run while he was tasked with saving his, but to say that he was enjoying his rest would be an understatement. Books were piled on the coffee table before the psychic, claiming residence beside a filled fruit bowl, and he was currently nose deep in a newer retelling of Jet the Second of Babylon’s exploits. He’d taken on clothes too, adding to snug display. She’d stolen the maroon hoodie he was wearing on a number of occasions and his ability to wear baggy grey tracksuit bottoms as he pleased was making her quite envious.
Sneaking behind him, she placed her chin atop his head and draped her arms across his chest. Though she felt him shift, he quickly seemed to relax as he realised just who was holding him. Her eyes dared to close as she took comfort. He’d arrived in as messy a state as usual, smelling of old sweat and thoroughly filthy. Three days deep into bathing though, he smelt of pines and was unbelievably fluffy.
“You look too comfortable, mind if I join you?” She heard the tone of a princess in her voice and winced, “Sorry I’m late.”
“You sound tired,” She felt his hand reach up and his thumb caressed her cheek, “Did everything go okay?”
“We just ran over time, it was as mundane as ever,” She sighed, pulling herself away and rounding the couch. She shrugged off her purple robe, revealing the white tank top beneath, but knew she wouldn’t be free for long. In an attempt to make up for lost time, she immediately lay across the couch and set her head in his lap.
His book was quickly put aside, and their eyes met for the first time today. Age had certainly treated the hedgehog kindly, granting him a height that she couldn’t match even in heels. His shoulders had broadened, and his voice had deepened but that innocent spark still lingered in his piecing yellow eyes, reminding her of what an innocent he was. Casually, she sank a hand into the small plume of chest fur that had escaped him clothes and watched his smile grow warmer.
What they were to each other now had gone unspoken for months, if not years. The nature of their relationship had only ever been confronted through actions like this for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which were their duties. Still, that made things fun, it meant she could perform actions like this and watch as he struggled to react. Blush had claimed his cheeks and he’d quickly broken from their stare-off. She had won, as was so often the case.
“Are you hungry?” He asked, his gaze having undoubtedly fallen on the fruit bowl.
“Famished,” She replied, yawning up at him.
With a whir of psychic energy, Blaze watched a bunch of grapes drift into view before arriving in his hand. He gently lowered his hand and, without so much as blinking, she bit one from the vine. He’d probably filled the bowl himself before coming, the hedgehog had a serious sweet tooth, but she’d started to wean him off of chocolate and towards fruit as of late. His sugar intake was still ludicrous, but he was on the path to improving at least.
“I’m sorry it’s not a proper lunch, Marine needed more help that I’d thought,” He claimed a grape for himself. They’d intended to meet during her first break but a call from the raccoon had dashed that plan, “Apparently her ship had sank an hour before she called me in, but she didn’t want to admit that.”
“Hush,” She commanded, claiming some more fruit, “If you’re that worried about it then you can make me something in time for the next break. A little sugar boost will more than get me through,” The feline elaborated, “Did you manage to fish it out the ocean?”
“I did, and it’s mostly patched up, but I think it’ll take her another day or so to get it ready. She had a bit of a pre-emptive launch,” He explained.
For a while they simply lived in silence, quiet and calm. Moments like these were still rather new to them, intimate in a way they hadn’t really experienced. The fact that they could just exist like this for a while, sharing food and unwinding, was wonderful. He hadn’t known comfort in this lifetime, just as he hadn’t the prior, but she was here now to make certain that he did. They were together and they were safe; in moments like this, she could thing of nothing else.
Blaze found herself snuggling deeper into his lap, relaxing her shoulders and clasping her hands. Soon the sound of her purring came to fill the air, overwhelming the silence. This was the closest to the traditional view of a princess that her life got. It was all work, none of what the storybooks had told her. She worked constantly and fought to defend her world, she was born into a position of equal proportions servitude and luxury. At least Silver could open her eyes to the latter, even whilst the former hung over them.
She swallowed another mouthful, realising that a thought wriggled its way to the forefront of her mind, “What time is it?” She was ruining what little time they had but she had to know.
Silver glanced over his shoulder toward the library’s ancient grandfather clock. It had been introduced when the castle was first built but, gradually, none of the original remained, “Five minutes to one,” He glumly responded.
“Only five minutes left already,” She mused, “More like three, considering the walk.”
She heard him sigh, “It’s not fair…”
“It’s the path I’m on, there’s no escaping it,” She eased him, biting another grape off the vine, “In a handful of minutes I’ll be back in that room, discussing the construction of a new graveyard and replacing old tombstones.”
“A handful of minutes…” He hummed.
Blaze looked beyond the bushel and found that a quirk had entered his expression. Silver and new ideas were a paring that often mixed strangely. The hedgehog wasn’t unintelligent but his still relative inexperience with social situations and the nature of the modern world had led to some rather embarrassing situations. Innocently embarrassing of course, but certainly still worth avoiding.
Pushing the grapes aside she looked him in the eye, “What are you thinking, Silver?”
“What if that handful of minutes didn’t have to be just a handful?” He thought aloud, allowing his hand to mingle with his chest fur and quickly finding hers, “What if that handful of minutes could be as long as you wanted it to be?”
She flipped her right hand, interlocking her fingers with his, “It’s important work, I need to get back to it. There’s no way of changing the system to make that go away. You know how important my role is.”
“I know it is but,” He squeezed her hand, “You’ve already missed half of your break today, you deserve that much at least, right?”
“You’re so naïve,” Blaze yawned again, “I’ve missed it, so it’s gone. Rushing through meetings, or avoiding them to steal it back, isn’t an option. Let’s just enjoy the time we have.”
“But what if you could have it…” He hummed again, releasing her hand, “What if I could get you it…” Blaze sat up, turning to face him only to find that he’d looked away. Before she could open her mouth again, he’d jumped to his feet, “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, I can do this.”
“Silver,” As the hedgehog went to stand, Blaze caught his hand. While she had an inkling of what he was going to attempt, she just didn’t know how safe it was, “You don’t have to overdo it, not for me.”
“You’re clearly tired and I want to help you, Blaze,” As he smiled down at her, speaking so honestly, she couldn’t help but feel a butterfly flap in her stomach, “I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it only changes things a little,” She let go of her hand and his smile grew even bigger, “I��ll be right back.”
The hedgehog took off like a shot, vanishing amongst the bookshelves, but Blaze didn’t hear his footfalls for long. There was a flash of cyan light, accompanied by a rumbling like thunder, and then the hedgehog was gone from the library, likely even from the entire castle. The princess glanced to the library’s grandfather clock. Her next meeting was set to start in three minutes. Had he not just run off then she would be preparing, hurrying back in the hopes of brushing up on the itinerary.
Her gaze dropped to the bunch of grapes he’d left but, just as she was about to pluck one, another thundercrack rolled through the library. Blaze looked up only to find that a portal had manifested in front of her, a bright cyan disk that washed the table, couch and her in its psychic glow. Just as quickly as it had manifested, Blaze watched as a hand with a familiar circular symbol reached through and into the library. She rose quickly, grabbing her robe before stepping over the table and toward the gateway. She took one last glance at the clock; she only had two minutes left, but how long did he plan to make those last? Blaze took his hand, closed her eyes and, feeling his tug, stepped into the warbling energy wall.
A change in air pressure immediately greeted her. The feline felt a gentle breeze blow through her fur, yet sunlight was shining warmly upon her. A stumbling step that brought her fully free from the portal lead her to discover the thick grass underfoot, matched by the mixed scent of countless wildflowers. She blinked away the difference as, in an instant, her world had gone from being lit by electrical lights to basking in a sun shining overhead. Around her, and even from far afield, Blaze could hear the hum of insects mixing with all manner of marvellous birdsong.
Her eyes fell upon the hedgehog who’d brought her here. In what had been mere seconds to her had been long enough for him not only to choose this location but his garb entirely. The hedgehog stood before her dressed in a short sleaved, open-buttoned, teal paisley shirt with accents of orange and white throughout the pattern. A set of still comfortable looking black trousers had taken the place of his joggers and he’d donned a set of hiking boots. As nice as his clothes were though, they couldn’t hold her attention like the overexcited grin on his muzzle.
He stepped out the way, revealing both a picnic spread and a far better view of their surroundings. Beyond the woven basket and tartan blanket, Blaze could see tree after tree stocked with ripe peaches, on the verge of dropping, and rolling green hills that spanned out towards the horizon. She soon however found herself becoming lost in the smaller beauties of this band new landscape. Lavender, crocuses, violets, bluebells, buttercups and countless other species of small flower covered the ground but around them were also foxgloves that harboured blundering bumblebees and wild sunflowers on magnificently tall stalks. The sight of a green hummingbird, daring to fly so curiously close out of blissful innocent, pulled her from staring at their surroundings.
There was no one else here, it seemed like no one had ever been here. When the hedgehog has left, she’d known his plan was to travel through time and find them a peaceful spot, but she’d expected to arrive somewhere in the reccent past or the other dimension. This must have taken far more effort than that, it absolutely had to. Not only had he found a place so wonderful but he’d found it on a day that the sky was perfect, errant clouds were drifting through the sky but never lingering too long in front of the sun. The grass wasn’t wet, rainfall must have been days prior, and yet the world around them was so vibrant.
“Silver, where are we?” She asked, her mouth agape.
“Where? We’ve hardly left where you were sitting,” He cheekily answered, wandering back to sit on the far side of the blanket, “We’re now on a simple grass plain on an undiscovered island, you’ll sit on that couch, around about where we are now, in a little under two thousand years.”
The feline walked to the edge of the blanket, “How long did it take you to find this time? How many days did you cycle through?”
“Well, I got us a good while away from the folks first landing on the island and then kept trying this same day every year until it was nice,” He answered casually but his blush betrayed how proud he was of this plan, “I think I went through a couple hundred years before picking this one.”
“And I take it this safe?” She lowered herself to sit, still eying him intently, “There’s no chance of a time paradox?”
“As long as we don’t do anything to disrupt the land, nothing should change. The timeline seems to do what’s easiest, it can stomach a small change like this,” He promised, opening the hamper with a wave of his hand, “Picking the spot was the last thing I did, gathering and cooking everything took way longer.”
Silver began to waggle his fingers in the air, almost like he was pretending to conduct. Blaze watched as shapes began to dance free from the basket. First came a large, sealed, pitcher, plainly filled with raspberry lemonade and still containing a half dozen frozen ice cubes. Next came a large silver serving dish which, upon landing, removed its top to reveal a spread of far more sandwiches than they could ever hope to eat. From tuna and cucumber to cheese and tomato, all manner of fillings had manifested in the blink of an eye. Soon after followed a troop of cupcakes set atop a two-tier stand, each iced a different colour and decorated from sweets ranging from lemon jelly slices to maraschino cherries to give each cake their own theme.
Silver the hedgehog could make wonderful use of a minute, that much was more than clear, but how long had that minute lasted for him?
“Just how long did you spend on this,” She squinted at him, causing the hedgehog to break eye contact.
“N-Not longer than eight hours?” He gulped.
“Silver!” The feline shouted, genuinely shocked. She’d expected a couple of hours, three at most, but eight?
“I can rest up and everything will be fine, we can stay here for as long as you like,” He promised, “As long as you don’t plan to stay for more than two hundred years, then we might bump into your ancestors.”
“I should have you send us back right now, this is far too much of an effort and I didn’t contribute anything,” She was flustered, again slipping into the voice she used to rule, but she was anything but upset with him.
“You just being here is more than enough on its own,” Silver responded, clearly growing flustered himself, “I-It’s not like I did this all totally on my own, I went to the other dimension and Amy let me use her oven. I didn’t want to go back and use mine in case I encountered Marine or messed something up permanently.”
In a lot of ways, Blaze knew she was exceptionally lucky to have Silver in her life, let alone to have a relationship like this with him. For as mundane as the cooking behind his effort was, and as normal as their prior time in the library had been, the hedgehog was anything but regular and so casual in how he showed it. No one else could ever have come remotely close to what she was experiencing right now, no one else had a partner who could stretch a minute into eight hours before whisking them away for as long as they liked. The feline almost felt selfish for keeping him all to herself like this but she knew that, fundamentally, that he did this because he cared. He’d seen how bedraggled she was and wanted to make her happy, to shirk this opportunity would be foolish. That and, well, he’d set this up for her to take advantage of. Blaze could tease him to her heart’s content, and no one was around to catch them in the act.
“We can eat, we can rest, we can explore,” He offered, awkwardly smiling at her again, “We can do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want, hm,” The feline pawed her way across the blanket and toward the hedgehog, “I think I’d like to retake our prior position.”
With half a yawn and no further warning, she pushed her way to rest her head atop the hedgehog’s lap. She’d always known that he made a good pillow but something about this position, coupled with the warmth of the sun seeping into her fur, was truly blissful. Their cloistered times in the library were wonderful, but there was something entirely heavenly about doing this so publicly yet not having to worry about the prying eyes of others. There was no chance of rumours, no potential for tabloids, just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company. The sight of the blue sky above as they did this too; something about it felt so liberating.
“You said you were famished, right? I managed to get fresh salmon,” As he babbled, she glanced up at him. The hedgehog had used his power to draw one of the triangle-cut sandwiches from the tray, “I guess that’s not much of a feat when you can time travel but-
Before he could undersell himself, the feline reached up and shooed away his glowing aura. The sandwich retrieved, she only spoke two words, “Thank you,” That alone was enough to restoke the fire on his muzzle.
The clink of ice filled her ears as she took the first bite, signalling that he was pouring them drinks through the use of his power. Seared salmon and baby spinach in a delicately creamy sauce, the flavours mingled to perfectly. If every single one of those sandwiches had this level of effort put into them then the long hours he’d mentioned more than made sense. It’d be akin to making four or five separate dishes and then reshaping them to suit sandwiches, atop that even crafting the cupcakes and drink.
As a glass filled to the brim with a faint pink liquid drifted towards Blaze, she looked up to him again, “You really did go too far with all of this. You know I was expecting to arrive in the other dimension or the past, to step into some kind of café or a different library.”
“I may have gotten a little overexcited, Amy did tell me I was going overboard. Even if she then insisted that I go all out…” He admitted as she took a sip. It was frightfully sweet, as one should anticipate a concoction made by the two hedgehogs would be, but surprisingly subtle in its flavouring. The lemon only faintly undercut the primary raspberry taste, “I kind of owe her now. I promised to help her do something similar for her and Sonic…”
“Well, it does seem that you have a knack for this,” She complimented him before taking another sip, “I’m sure she’ll be more than pleased with wherever and whenever you send them.”
“She already has ideas, but I’m scared of granting her free reign in the past,” He cringed, “I need to find a middle ground between an interesting place and somewhere it’d be difficult to change the future,” She watched as a cupcake flew through the air, the hedgehog hadn’t had a sandwich yet but she was too comfortable to scold him, “I was thinking about letting them go on a winter date in the middle of summer… she seemed to think that was a great idea.”
“That does sound rather romantic. Very unique,” Blaze responded, before a likely truth ran through her mind, “Although, she’ll probably want you to surprise him with it. If you do that, she’ll surely be ready for the cold while he won’t be. It’ll be an opportunity to get closer to him, in more ways than one.”
“She wouldn’t let him freeze, right?” He asked, so very innocently.
“No, she certainly wouldn’t,” The pyrokinetic half-joked, “But I think, deep down, he’d enjoy that just as much as her.”
Conversation ebbed and flowed, just as the tide or changes in the clouds. One moment they would be discussing the food but the next they would be simply holding each other and enjoying their serene surroundings, only to later end up laughing about their friends’ potential antics. They were never quiet for too long, but conversation never felt forced or as though it was some sort of requirement, it was allowed to come and go as it pleased. Silver’s pointing out of a cloud shaped like Cream’s head led to a long span of time where they stared to the sky, occasionally pointing out the strange forms they observed. It was all so regular, so fundamentally plain, and it brought her nigh unending peace. Though she yawned throughout their meal, Blaze never found herself falling asleep.
His arms had found their way to hold her, clasping just above her bellybutton. This had been intended to relax her, but the princess couldn’t help but take in how peaceful her partner looked. He’d been so overexcited, but he’d equally worked so hard. It wasn’t surprising to see him so tired. After another long bout of silence, the hedgehog began to shift.
“Well, the food’s done,” He hummed, beginning to return the crockery to the hamper. In truth, they hadn’t managed to entirely finish all the sandwiches but she’d long since expressed her fullness, “We should probably head back, right?”
It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say, but she fundamentally understood it. He was trying to be mature, trying to match the seriousness she so often displayed, but Blaze had been spurred on by their surroundings. If they truly were outside of time, able to return to it at any moment, then what was the rush? Why would she ever waste a day as perfect as this. Just this once, perhaps only this once ever, Blaze the cat, the guardian of the Sol emeralds and princess of the Sol kingdom, decided to be greedy.
“I don’t think two hundred years have passed yet,” The pyrokinetic hummed, sitting up stretching.
“Eh?” He was clearly caught off guard.
“I thought I got to decide when we went back?” She teased, now fully rising to her feet. Blaze turned to him, “If this is my kingdom then I would like to see it.”
The hedgehog stumbled to his feet, beaming, “R-Really? I didn’t look around too much, just in case you wanted to. I just took a bit of a glance around from above, made sure everything was as it should be.”
She brushed past him, taking the hedgehog’s hand and feeling her tail wrap around his waist, “Shall we stroll then? Take in this island, unsullied by others’ footsteps?”
He squeezed her hand, bundling their picnic spread into a neat pile and setting her royal robe atop it, “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
That stroll quickly evolved into a frankly stupid dash through the woods. Hand in hand soon turned to arm in arm as they leapt through the thick bracken of the underbrush. Though the hedgehog apparently had some knowledge of the layout, the feline soon ended up leading and racing to reach spots she knew would be transformed with time. A great peach tree forest presently stood, proud and strong, where the royal gardens would eventually take root. The feline had known that these trees were native to the island, but not that they were nearly so plentiful. In her time, only a few remained on Southern Island, one at the heart of the aforementioned garden and another near the town centre. Both were said to be centuries old but now Blaze knew that was certainly true.
Beyond those trees were a swamp, now the site of southern island’s main shopping district. The countless croaking of frogs proved to her that this part of her kingdom had always been loud, but seeing it in such a natural state almost made Blaze wish it was still in such a state. Still, that feeling was quickly washed away as Silver went to pick up a small amphibian only to tumble over himself. Though he managed to psychically keep himself from falling, the response from all the frogs was to leap from the brackish liquid and scatter in all directions. The cacophony of croaks was only rivalled by the sound of their slippery forms crashing back into the water and against the ferns of the undergrowth. The sight of him, bashfully hanging there as if he’d been ensnared in some unseen trap, was more than enough to make her laugh. In an instant, the hunter had taken the place of his supposed prey. What he’d intended to do with a frog if he’d caught it, let alone why he’d tried to catch one with his hands, Blaze had no idea, but it’d only added to the enjoyable mundanity of the day.
No reason, beyond the virtue of freedom she felt welling in her chest, led Blaze to break from staring at him and, still grinning from ear to ear, take off running. The hedgehog gave pursuit, for once not so oblivious as to think this was more than a mere game. Blaze jumped over roots and weaved through trees, running just out of arm’s reach ahead of the psychic. Her heart pounded as though this was some harsh battle, some life-or-death scenario, but she knew it’d only been stoked by the childish part of infatuation. She couldn’t do this in her time, not without feeling the eyes of her people scrutinising her every movement. Even when she was in the other dimension, the presence of so many people made her feel as though her every movement was being analysed. This was freedom, a form of release from her inhibitions that she’d never experience otherwise. It was as though they were in that destroyed future again, still children who were oblivious to how the world was supposed to be, but free from the pressures that world had forced upon them.
She ran and ran and ran until the trees were no more, until the grass vanished from under her and stone took its place. Blaze found herself at the edge of a bluff, overlooking the beach and the sea just beyond it. The feline knew this rockface well, she and he had enjoyed many picnics atop it. Though it was open and exposed now, it would with time become one of the most secluded and private places on the entire island. Panting, she drew the back of her hand across her brow and threw a glance back to him. Cyan light was glowing from the trees, he was in pursuit but had perhaps lost her.
“Silver! This way!” She called out before quickly turning her attention back to the view.
To Blaze, the value of the sea had been lost to her life spent on an island nation. She’d come to take the waters for granted, it was all she’d known for much too long, her relationship with the ocean had been a rather dull one. But now, seeing a beach devoid of people and waters more pristine than ever before, the beauty of the view took her by force. An untouched driftwood barrier formed a long yet broken line along the shore, protecting and simultaneously buffering a wide collection of rocks and shells of all different sizes and shapes.
She heard him land at her side; the key reason that she could stand heights like this. Across both lives, he’d helped her overcome that fear of falling. That alone was a miracle, she couldn’t believe she’d overlooked his potential for quite so long. What had once been a power she was equal parts captivated by and envious of had quickly become a rather romantic tool, a key part of unspoken his arsenal. Though this was the first occasion he’d taken them out of time for such a casual reason, he’d so often and so casually snuck her gifts with his power and carried her for miles above the ground. With the wave of his hand he could sweep her off her feet, not that he would without checking in first.
“It’s beautiful. This spot reminds me of when I first arrived in this world, everything looked so incredible. Undamaged, untouched,” The hedgehog thought aloud, “Do you want to head down there?”
Her tail had already snuck its way around his side again, but she knew that wasn’t enough of a hint for him. She had control, the almighty time traveling psychic was practically wrapped around her finger. It was probably due to their lonely situation but, now that they were away from the forest, it was as though the pair were more isolated than ever. She couldn’t help but feel just a little more confident than usual.
Yawning, mimicking the kind of movements she’d only ever seen in movies and read of in books, the feline stretched her arm around his far shoulder, “I suppose I might.”
Beet red colouration rushed to colour his cheeks as she stepped closer and allowed her right hand to sink into his chest fur, “I-I’ll take you wherever you want to go…”
She raised her leg and he quickly caught on, using his psychic pull to bring her into a bridal carry. This position had taken on different meanings across their lives. While once the feeling of his arm beneath her knee was a sign that they were retreating, it now signified a journey toward something. Be it the peak of a mountain or deep into a valley or simply further in their relationship, this position was a sign of movement. Gently, casually, she let herself lean into his shoulder.
Plainly trying to ignore his blush, a sheen of cyan overtook the hedgehog’s body as gravity abandoned them. With a single step they were floating above the abyss, but he didn’t stop there. As if walking on any normal road, the hedgehog paced further and further forward. With each step they would descend as far down as they did forward. Despite their relatively slow pace, Blaze lost track of time as she stared up at him.
There was something about moments like this, when that psychic glow coated him and his quills hardened in response. It contrasted so heavily with the childhood view she’d had of him, of an adorable ball of white fluff who was far too serious for his own good. Places like this brought out the best in him, let him be more casual and match his inherently soft aesthetic. He could be harsh and strong when he had to be, but she knew this was his closer to his natural state.
As his feet met the ground his eyes crashed into hers. She opted not to step out of his grasp, “S-So, um, we’re here.”
“I’d noticed,” She hummed, scanning their surroundings. He’d landed them on the inner edge of the driftwood barrier, where shells had gathered for years on this untouched land, “Shall we sit?”
“If you want,” The hedgehog struggled to respond, lowering the pair of them to the ground. Naturally, she maintained her position in his lap and atop him.
So very casually, or at least as casually as she could manage, the pyrokinetic cast a glance to her surroundings. The crashing of waves was somehow clearer than it typically was in her time, perhaps due in part to the lack of individuals intruding upon the ocean’s path. The sand was especially smooth, perhaps a result of the ocean’s efforts going entirely unhindered. She blindly stretched behind her, feeling her way through what few shells were in reach. They were cockles, as was supposed to be the case on the island. She had a meeting regarding their harvesting later today or, rather, in almost two thousand years.
She caught sight of his staring out of the corner of her eye. He was looking out to sea, but the remnants of his blush still lingered on his cheeks. Her only regret in all this was that she hadn’t seen his reaction as he first laid eyes upon this untouched world. The hedgehog had grown such an affinity for nature, a want to both experience and protect. It’d become an additional aspect of his role defending that other world, making sure that nature continued to thrive. From gardening to birdwatching to hiking, he’d fully embraced what he so often had to go weeks without.
He would leave again soon to perform that duty, she had to take advantage of what they had both here and now.
“You know, this has all been quite the flagrant misuse of your powers,” She tutted, shifting her weight to push him backwards as she broke the silence, “Very irresponsible.”
It was hardly the most scathing of her taunts but, perhaps due to the physical act that had coincided with it, her words it clearly snatched the hedgehog’s attention. His eyes flickered up to her, wide with surprise. The term your highness, or any of her royal titles for that matter, didn’t much appeal to the feline, but turning her learned regal traits on the hedgehog was an endless source of fun. She watched as surprise was gradually overcome by what little defiance he could muster; she already knew what he was going to say.
“W-Well,” He stuttered, trapped beneath her, “I thought it was for the best? It’s not like I only use my powers to save the world, I used them to pass you grapes before we left.”
“Ah yes, how long ago was that? More than ten minutes must have past by now,” The feline felt a smirk grow on her face as the hedgehog squirmed, “You’ve made me late.”
“We’ll be back on time, I promise,” He managed to reply, struggling to meet her gaze, “I-I’ll drop you right into the meeting room if you want, we can even arrive early. Your past self will be in the library for ten minutes before it starts, you can spend all that time getting ready for the next meeting.”
“How naïve, making such decisions for a princess,” She sat up straight, shuffling off of him a little.
The hedgehog managed to rise just a little, though his blush hadn’t cleared in the slightest, “Y-You’re happy to be here though, right? You’re happy to have this break?”
“Am I?” Blaze turned away from him and smirked toward the sea, “Whyever would you think that?”
“Y-You’ve been smiling,” He stammered, she could imagine the worry on his face without even glancing his way.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” She lied, still looking out to sea. Far away, she could see where the waves dipped beneath the horizon. They really were alone out here. Playing with him like this in such a public space was truly liberating, “Though I supposed I have enjoyed this, somewhat.”
“I’m glad,” Like a switch had been flipped, he was beaming again, “You looked so tired back in the library. I know I can’t do much to help with your work but, if you ever need something like this again, you only need to say.”
“We can’t do this every time, Silver. There will be occasions when I’ll want to, but I know we shouldn’t,” His smile wavered, she cupped his cheek. He was so genuine, so sweet, so naïve, “Just having you by my side is more than enough,” She allowed that hand to slip to his quills and ruffle them, “Although, that’s not to say I won’t ever take you up on that offer…”
For a long while, surrounded by this serene scene, they simply sat and enjoyed each other’s company. Blaze found herself not sleeping but simply snuggling into the time traveller, burying her head into the crook of his neck before lowering to reclaim the pillow that was his chest. Eventually though, the feline knew that she was as comfortable as was possible, that all her relaxation had reached its climax. Pushing herself from his frame to loom above him once again.
“We should probably head back,” She snorted, as he fumbled to his feet, “Or, I suppose, head forward in this case.”
“If you’re sure you’re ready,” He double checked, only casting his hands skyward as she nodded.
Psychokinesis whirred and hummed, a great blue pulse left the markings on his hand only to soar above and beyond the cliff-face. While that energy was racing towards their belongings, the hedgehog’s face took on a frankly goofy expression. Despite how casual this situation was, his commonly serious demeanour had leached through to make him look rather foolish. His very colourful and uniquely patterned shirt certainly wasn’t helping matters.
In no less than a minute, Blaze sighted a glowing bundle soaring over the bluff’s lip. Like some kind of soft meteor, the wrapped-up picnic basket crashed towards them, only just stopping before it could hit the hedgehog in the chest. As the pile swept past, she plucked her robe from the top and shouldered it.
“You’re sure that you’ll be able to get us back to the right time, aren’t you?” The princess asked, dusting the sand from her tights.
“I promise,” He smiled, floating the bundle behind them before stretching his hands forward. From the quills at the back of his head, a well-cut green stone flew to hover in front of them. A chaos emerald, his preferred source of energy.
As though he was washing a window with sponges strapped to both of his palms, the hedgehog began to wave his hands in repeated circles. More energy began to pool in front of him like a warbling plate, it quickly grew from the size of a droplet to become far larger than either of them. The outer edge of the disk gradually ceased in their shifting and the hedgehog’s hands fell to his sides. The effort did seem to take it out of him a little but, with them now both bathing in the light of transportation, he wouldn’t have to work again.
“After you,” He gestured ahead, plucking the emerald from the air.
Blaze, entirely trusting her partner, stepped forward. Shifting across time and space was, by now, practically second nature to her. Once upon a time she’d struggled with the instantaneous shift from one place to another, her first arrival in the other dimension had left her dizzy and exhausted. Now she knew some best practices; to close her eyes, hold her breath and keep her balance.
She stepped off of sand and straight onto hardwood.
The strong scent of coffee struck Blaze first, the only true amenity in the room was a small coffeepot set on a small side table. That much was enough to let Blaze know that they’d arrived. No wind rustled through her fur and the room was lit by a series of electric lights that had been plugged into the celling when she was five. They were at the heart of the palace, there were no windows for the sun to breach. Just a boring wooden table with reflective varnish. He walked in behind her, sealing the portal with no more than a wave as he finished arriving.
Compared to the world they’d just known; the silence of the meeting room was deafening. She already missed the breaking of waves and the ticking of the room’s clock wasn’t a worthy replacement. They’d manifested at the head of the table, her position, and were faced with six empty seats. A glance to the wall proved that Silver had stuck to his word, it was exactly ten minutes till one o’clock. On the long stretching desk, directly in front of her seat, was a bulky binder filled with notes and opened to the hour’s itinerary. Ah yes, she’d gone from running through forests, trudging through swamps and having a heart to heart on the beach to discussing where to bury the dead in no more than a moment.
How long had they spent away? She’d assumed that it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours but, in truth, time had been rather lost on her. Despite his intent being to create a time for resting, they’d ran and acted in such a wild manned. Instead, he’d energised her in an entirely different way. He’d brought her excitement; he’d given her the strength to carry on and get through today. How could she even begin to repay that?
An idea wriggled its way into Blaze’s head.
Nonchalantly, the feline redonned her robe and neatly fastened it before retaking her seat, pretending to scan her notes, “Well, everything seems to be in order…”
“I told you that I’d get us back on time,” She could hear the joy in his voice.
“You certainly did,” The princess squinted at the page, placing her finger beneath a chosen random word, “But it does look like the timeline has changed, ever so slightly.”
“W-What? It has?” He rushed to her side, leaning over her shoulder to look at the papers, “Blaze, what are you talking about? This is still all about refurbishing gravesto-
The moment he turned from the page to look at her, Blaze’s hand sunk into the quills on the back of his head and pulled him in just a little closer. He surely knew what she was about to do, she’d done it often enough, but that didn’t seem to stop him from becoming flustered. After a moment of staring, taking in his blushing face, Blaze closed her eyes and closed the distance.
Feeling him shudder at the first contact, wanting to return her efforts but being restricted by her hold, brought the princess endless jubilation. Blaze’s heartbeat shot up, as she pulled him in and offered him the slightest of opportunities. He hurriedly took it, pushing to further close the distance as is such a thing was possible. The taste of raspberry lemonade on his lips was just an added bonus. Feeling him grow tense beneath her touch, knowing that, despite his capacity to take her back in time, she had this power over him, was incredible. A might not born of her royal position or pyrokinetic might, but love.
The kiss didn’t last for long, of course. Not only did she have work to return to, but Blaze knew it was best to leave him wanting more. As she pulled back, her eyes reopened and his bashful face filled her vision. Eyes lit like overexcited lighting bolts, cheeks like poppy petals and a thorough look of overexcitement had claimed his face.
“S-So, I take it the timeline hasn’t actually changed then?” The psychic eventually asked.
“Not that I’ve noticed,” She smirked, “You’re the same naïve hedgehog you were when we left.”
“That’s good,” He struggled to reply, “I-I think.”
For a moment longer she simply stared into his eyes and watched him squirm. The princess didn’t especially wear makeup but the idea of leaving a lipstick stain on him had crossed her mind a handful of times. He probably wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. But, alas, similarly too late, they’d been lingering together for much too long. The pair of them had just spent hours together, she’d decided it was time to go, and yet she didn’t want to release him. What foolishness…
“I’ll see you in an hour and a half, perhaps a little longer,” She mused, still holding the back of his head, “If you can make such good use of two minutes, what can you do with so much more?”
“W-Well, um,” He squeaked, “I guess I’ll try to think of something?”
Her fingers uncurled from his quills but the hedgehog, plainly stunned, didn’t move, “I’m sure you will, but, for now, we must part.”
“O-Oh, right, yes, um,” He shot up straight, quickly looking away, “Good luck with, um, t-the graveyard people.”
“You’ll need to get used to this eventually,” She rolled her eyes. Despite the rarity of their kisses, given only when she was certain no one else could see, she’d thought that he’d have grown a little bolder by now. Despite the smallness of her action in comparison to his, the hedgehog was adorably lovestruck.
“I don’t know that I can do that in an hour and a half, even with time travel,” He mumbled, tugging at his chest fur, “And an extra fifteen minutes probably won’t change that.”
He could be so naïve, so blunt and oblivious. Without a second thought, Blaze rose from her seat and took him by the collar. Uttering nothing more than the word “Well, if you can’t manage that,” For the second time in so many minutes, her lips found his. The ticking of the wall clock filled her ears as they parted again, “Just brace yourself for when I finish up.”
#silvaze#Blaze the Cat#Silver the Hedgehog#sonic the hedgehog#Amy Rose#i guess the latter two are just mentioned but oh well#Marine The Raccoon#fanfiction#sonic
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I feel like you'll have a hilarious and hot take on this question, so I would like to know: What do you think would be the most obnoxious Christmas traditions of the main RiverFamilies? Feel free to imagine a time before serial killer dads, drug dealing mothers and of course - horror of horrors - Hiram getting sick (I mean, thank the lord he is okay #prayforHiram).
#prayforHiram You’re killing me! 😂😂😂 What an incredible ask! I feel that whatever these people are doing, it must be obnoxious! I can’t possibly do this justice, but I’ll try my best! Thank you so much, @lucivar ! I hope you enjoy it!
Obnoxious Christmas Traditions of the RiverFamilies
The Andrews’ Christmas Gifting Tradition
In an effort to instil the true meaning of Christmas to little Archie, the Andrews are regularly participating in the Southside’s toys for tots drive, by sharing little Archie’s 3 favourite things. Which, at the tender age of 5, were: empty pens (for spitballs!), potato stamps and paper cup phones (Betty showed him how to make those and they’re totally AWESOME!). Archie continues this honoured tradition when he has his own family. When Veronica offers to foot the bill for 5th Ave. FAO Schwarz’s best toys, Archie explains to her how the Southsiders would be very offended if they thought they were given “handouts”. Judging by their looks, Veronica thinks they already find the Andrews’ gifts quite obnoxious.
The Jones’ Christmas Decoration Ride
Before Gladys took Jellybean and fled to Toledo, she and FP used to get drunk on spiced store-bought eggnog and ride to the other side of the tracks to ruin join the Northside’s Christmas Parade, jackets and bikes ludicrously decked with Christmas lights. It may or may not have been the reason the Neighbourhood Watch was created. When Jughead is an adult (and maybe a bit bitter that Yale didn’t give him a spot after Bret got to prison), he revives the family tradition and rides around Yale campus during winter break with his helmet decked with two shiny red Christmas balls, green garland around his neck and Betty at his back, prim and proper in her pink peacoat and lavender earmuffs. He feels ridiculous but also quite smug and decides to keep it up. A few years later, it becomes a huge success with four-year-old Julie Rosalie Jones. It’s another matter altogether for sixteen-year-old Julie Rosalie. Jules doesn’t know what’s worse: her dad’s traditional Christmas riding apparel (that year consisting of a plastic blinking snowman glued on top of his helmet) when he rides home from work at the exact same time that Tobby Davies comes to pick her up for the Winter Formal. Or her mom discussing curfew with Tobby while polishing her Glock P80 with her Christmas apron (the one with the little frogs with the Santa hats).
The Blossom’s Christmas Carol Panto
As proposed by @lucivar herself: “Cheryl and Jason doing like a feral Dickensian Christmas play with heinous costume changes”. Cheryl gets the idea at the age of eight. It’s a Charles Dickens meets Phantom of the Opera meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre kind of thing. Penelope regrets making Cheryl sit through the latter. Or allowing any of the former really. Cheryl and Jason play all the roles. All the costumes are in shades of red. It’s a pantomime. It becomes a fixed feature of the Riverdale Christmas Tree Lighting at Pickens Park and everyone is expected to applaud. When Cheryl becomes head of the Vixens, the entrance of the Ghost of Christmas Past is revised into an elaborate cheerleading routine. (Polly was very excited about it, until Jason disappeared and she was sent to the Sisters of Quite Mercy.) After Jason’s death, the Christmas Carol Panto is the thing Cheryl misses the most. She is ecstatic when she discovers on senior year that, thanks to taxidermy, she can finally share the experience with her beloved Antoinette. Afterwards Toni makes sure every little bit of Jason is burned to ashes. When Juniper and Dagwood are eight, Polly revives the tradition.
The Coopers’ Christmas Carol
Nothing says passive-aggressive better than Hal and Alice dragging little Betty and little Polly to go banging on doors at 7 o’clock in the morning on the day before Christmas with manic smiles on their faces in order to “regal” their neighbours with their special arrangement of “Away in a manger”. Betty wouldn’t have continued with it, if Alice and Polly hadn’t told young Julie Rosalie all about it. So now Betty and Jughead make sure that every Christmas Eve Jules wakes up grandma Alice and auntie Polly by singing out-of-tune on the phone any and all Christmas carols. Young Jules is a fast learner with a powerful set of lungs and if Betty uses FBI resources to mask the caller id so that her mother always picks up, that’s nobody’s business. When Jules is seven, they even spend the holidays in Riverdale, so that Jughead can film Alice waking up screaming Jules singing for granny Ali for posterity.
The Lodge’s Reindeer Sleigh (with real reindeers)
There’s nothing Hiram Lodge loves more than flexing his muscles, both literally and figuratively. So, when his little princess asks for a Christmas ride down 5th avenue “in Santa’s real sleigh, daddy!”, a new tradition is born. (Of course, if Papa Poutine had agreed to take the reindeers back, it would have been just a one-time event). When Hiram returns to Riverdale, this tradition evolves into the Lodges riding their reindeer sleigh at the head of the Northside’s Christmas Parade. Which wouldn’t be so bad but for the horrendous smell or reindeer shit left behind. After Hiram’s final conviction and imprisonment (#prayforHiram), the city council asks Veronica to retire the reindeer sleigh. She refuses to budge in the face of such blatant sexism (since only female reindeers keep their antlers in December, Santa’s reindeers are all girls) and counter-proposes to hire unemployed Southsiders to do the clean-up. Archie thinks it’s an excellent idea, which should have been enough warning.
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#thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda
@intangiblyyourswrites‘s prompt:
The real reason Zelda initially shows such a abhorrence to Link is because she’s secretly heads-over-heels for him and refuses to show it. Her pride is on the line, after all.
Rules:
Must be set in the BotW timeline
When it’s set is up to you (e.g. Pre-Calamity or post, pre-Blades of the Yiga or post)
No chronology enforced, but I’m interested to see if we can get a somewhat coherent story out of this!
You may do however many posts/drabbles you’d like
Tag #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda so we can find your story!
Below is my contribution to this prompt! Timeline-wise this is set between Urbosa’s Hand and Blades of the Yiga. I hope you enjoy it!
A big thank you to @airplanned for reading the not great first draft of this, giving super helpful feedback, and helping my wrangle this into what it is now!
Shifting Sands
Word Count: 3322
Rating: T
Posted on: AO3
The glare of the sun overhead is strong, but Zelda is certain that the glare she’s currently directing at him is fiercer.
How dare he?
She’d come to the Gerudo Desert to escape his constant presence, not to be dogged by him as she has been for months and months now.
To make things worse, Urbosa aided and abetted him in this! To think that Zelda considered Urbosa to be on her side when it came to her appointed knight. But no! For shame! Urbosa betrayed her yesterday: as rude an awakening as Urbosa’s fury was, it was a great deal worse to come to the understanding that Link’s presence last night on the Divine Beast was Urbosa’s own doing. The Gerudo Chief herself sent word to him. She instructed him to come and collect Zelda after she successfully evaded him for two full days.
And then this morning, Urbosa pulled Zelda aside. She leveled Zelda with a meaningful stare. Her words still ring in Zelda’s mind, “You should know, Little Bird, that I put in a good word for you with your appointed knight. Give him a chance. You never know: he may very well prove to be a good friend.” Zelda scoffed. She proceeded to ignore Urbosa for the rest of the morning until she and Link departed from Vah Naboris.
Today he insists on leading the way out of the desert, citing a heightened Yiga presence as his reasoning. But Zelda suspects another motive: perhaps he’s finally frustrated with her. Perhaps he no longer wishes to trail her, to have his gaze settle upon her as he follows in her footsteps. Good. Let him feel that way. She’s told him countless times that she does not need him to act as her escort. If he’s finally beginning to understand this, then all the better!
While walking behind him, Zelda does not study the broadness of his shoulders nor the pleasing taper from those shoulders down to his waist. Zelda does not think about how the tunic, the one she crafted with her own two hands, fits him so well. While it’s true that the Royal Blue suits him and that the cut of the tunic accentuates his form in a way that she knows many others seem to find pleasing, she herself does not find it so. Zelda of Hyrule is not so easily taken in by such things.
No. Zelda doesn’t spare a thought for them. She’s pleased with her own fortitude as she resolutely keeps the ire of her gaze focused on the back of his head.
She will concede that there is some distraction in the way that the hot desert winds pull at his hair, in how the sun causes his sandy locks to shine.
But thankfully it’s easy to shake such idle observations when he’s just so utterly frustrating. He wasn’t supposed to be here! He wasn’t supposed to know she was with Urbosa. And yet, here he is.
Zelda hopes that he can feel her glare, fixated as it is on the back of his head. Zelda hopes he can feel her anger and how it’s roiling just under the surface. Zelda hopes-
Link stops abruptly and turns to face her. Zelda, steeped in her own anger, realizing this far too late, barrels straight into him. She lets out an inelegant squeak as she collides with his chest.
The shifting sands of the desert are unkind in circumstances that require balance, and this would certainly be one of them. Link alone, as frustratingly perfect as he is, may have been able to remain standing on his own two feet. But Zelda, ever the unfortunate one out of the two, completely loses all semblance of balance. Her cursed forward momentum works against them both and with that, the two of them topple over, falling in the sand in a tangle of limbs.
There’s the inevitable jolt as Link’s back connects with the ground, and he lets out an “Oof.” Zelda ends up feeling little to no physical discomfort for he has managed to break her fall.
For a moment, neither of them can seem to move. Zelda’s heartbeat is loud in her ears as she stares at a world suddenly turned on its side. With how her cheek is squished against Link’s chest, she can both feel and hear his breathing.
And that’s not all: Zelda can feel the heat of him through his tunic. By Din’s fire... he’s so warm. Far too warm for the desert. It’s uncomfortable, and yet she finds herself frozen where she is. It doesn’t help matters that he has an arm wrapped loosely around her, his palm pressed against the small of her back. She’s feeling altogether too warm, as though she’s on the verge of overheating.
Link sucks in a sharp breath and shifts underneath her, and that’s when she realizes something: her leg is wedged firmly between his. And his own thigh is pressed between hers.
Zelda’s eyes shoot wide. Her hands scramble to find purchase on the ground and she attempts to push herself up and off of him. But once more, the accursed sand is unforgiving as it shifts beneath her palms and she slips forward and falls back down, cheek pressed once more to his chest.
It’s now that Zelda realizes that not only is he far too warm, but he’s also… Well, he’s sweaty. This is bothersome in a number of ways, but none more so than the fact that she can smell him. And that itself leads to an even more bothersome realization: she finds that his scent is not unpleasant. A traitorous part of her mind even suggests that it’s rather nice. Augh. Of course, even when he’s dirty and sweaty, the Goddess’ Chosen Hero still manages to smell good. Curse him...
But all thoughts in this regard are banished when she feels a quaking in his chest. She raises her head off of him once more, her gaze snapping up to his face to find that...he’s laughing. Goddesses, Link is actually laughing.
In other circumstances this would be fascinating, for she’s never seen Link laugh before. But any wonder is immediately dampened, for she’s certain he’s laughing at her.
The intensity of the glare she levels at him causes his soft laughter to subside. There still seems to be some amusement in his eyes when he says, “Here, allow me to help you up, Princess.”
Zelda’s ready to be rid of him, so she gives him a curt nod. He braces his hands against her upper arms and lifts just a bit and in doing so he provides her with just the sort of leverage she needs to finally free herself of both him and the desert sands.
If she scrambles off and away from him a little too quickly, he seems to have the grace to not laugh once more, thank the golden three.
Settling on the ground a safe distance from him, Zelda finally takes stock of her person. Even though her pride is a bit bruised, she appears to be uninjured. Her leggings are sandy where her legs pressed into the ground. She goes to work wiping the sand away.
Link sits up with huff. He rests his elbows on his knees as his gaze rakes over the desert. He takes in a deep breath and then lets out a sigh.
Zelda eyes him curiously. How he’s sitting right now is entirely at odds with the stiff and prim postures she’s accustomed to seeing from him. In this moment he suddenly seems to be less the silent, proper, and reserved boy she’s known for the better part of three years. At this moment he’s a bit disheveled: some of his hair is matted against his forehead, no doubt from sweat on his brow. Yet more of his hair is sticking out at odd angles, likely from how he fell down into the sand.
It’s all so strange and noteworthy that she realizes far too late that she’s staring at him. And he, seeming to sense the weight of her gaze, turns and catches her in the act. When their eyes meet, she is quick to look away, quick to make a show of redoubling her efforts to remove the sand from her person.
A few moments later, Zelda chances a furtive glance at him to see that he’s taken out his waterskin. She watches, oddly transfixed as he throws his head back and drinks out of it. She studies the long line of his neck, studies how his throat bobs as he swallows.
Suddenly, an odd flush comes over her face. And in watching him drink...she’s made keenly aware of her own thirst...
Link lowers the waterskin, his gaze focused out on the dunes, and he takes in a deep breath. That’s when he glances at her and, curses, for the second time today, he’s caught her staring.
But this time Zelda doesn’t have a chance to look away for he holds the waterskin out to her. He clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything. Yet his intentions are clear, for he’s offering her his water to drink.
A beat passes as she stares at the proffered item, and then her eyes travel up the length of his arm to scrutinize his face. While she is used to the weight of Link’s gaze, this is something different. There’s an openness in his eyes…And dare she say that there is something there akin to curiosity?
Zelda realizes she’s left him waiting for an answer when his eyebrows raise in question. She flushes anew. Ah, right, he’s offered the waterskin.
In truth, she’s parched. For a split second, she considers taking him up on the offer. But... goodness, no! To share a drinking vessel of any kind with anyone would be unrefined at best and unsanitary at worst.
A small voice offers up another thought along these lines: if she were to take it, Zelda would be putting her mouth where Link’s has been.
For reasons she cannot explain, Zelda feels her face redden yet again. She’s not precisely sure what the source of her reaction is. Perhaps it’s embarrassment, indignation, anger...?
Whatever this feeling is, it’s frustrating and so her answer to his offer comes out swift and final. “No. The chilly elixir is still serving me quite well. I have no need of your water.”
Link’s eyes widen slightly. “Chilly elixirs combat the heat, but do nothing for thirst.”
There’s a pause as Zelda attempts to read into his tone. It’s baffling, as the timbre of his voice is less formal than what she’s used to hearing from him. But the difference becomes clearer when she observes amusement dancing in his eyes. Or, at least, that’s what it seems to be. But Zelda wouldn’t know, for Link’s never been playful like this around her before.
“Yes, well--” The irony is not lost on Zelda when she must pause to swallow due to the dryness of her throat. “We shall pass through the bazaar soon enough and I assure you that I will properly hydrate once we’re there.”
Link’s stare remains fixated on her for another few seconds before he nods. She watches as he proceeds to put the waterskin away and then stand. She watches as he walks a couple of steps toward her and holds out his hand.
Ah. He means to help her stand. Curiouser and curiouser. Her brows knit in confusion, but she takes hand, regardless.
Once Zelda’s on her own two feet, he takes a couple steps back. She watches, transfixed once more as he raises his hand to pinch at the front of his tunic. He pulls the fabric in and out and mutters, “Hylia preserve me, I was not made for this heat.”
Well. She would have to agree. He was rather hot to the touch moments ago. For once, she’s at a loss for words and so she settles on an awkward laugh.
Whatever Link’s laughter and teasing and complaining of these last few moments add up to mean, it is all so at odds with what Zelda’s accustomed to. She has no idea what to make of him right now.
Link’s expression is suddenly serious as he scans the desert, turning on the spot. Ah, now his constant seriousness is certainly familiar. In the same moment, she can see how there’s sand all down his back, on his tunic, his trousers…
And before Zelda is able to think through what she’s doing, her two feet propel her forward, her hand reaches out and then she’s brushing at the sand on his shoulder. Link startles, twisting slightly to look at her, his eyes wide.
What has possessed her to do this, to touch him in this manner? Perhaps she’s not thinking clearly? Perhaps her need for water is more desperate than she realized?
Link is still looking at her over his shoulder as she continues to wipe away at the sand, briskly working her way down his back. His expression is open and, dare she say, surprised.
Zelda frowns. “Come now, you look ridiculous. You’re positively covered in sand and your hair’s a right mess. I simply cannot have my appointed knight present himself in Kara Kara Bazaar in such a state.”
Her words actually cause his cheeks to redden, another notable, yet not entirely novel reaction. She has seen him embarrassed before, like that one time when he was thoroughly dressed down by her father for getting into a scuffle with Revali. Or all those times where he’s been fawned over by the ladies of the court.
Link allows her to keep swiping the sand clinging to his person, but eventually she gets low enough down his back to realize she really ought to stop.
Withdrawing her hand and stepping back, Zelda crosses her arms and pointedly fixes her gaze on the tops of palm trees of the oasis, just barely visible over the horizon. “You’ve sand all over your posterior and your legs. I trust that you can see to that yourself.”
A quiet huff is all that she hears by way of a response. Perhaps it’s meant to be a laugh, but she wouldn’t know, for she resolutely refuses to look at him.
Instead, Zelda takes to pacing, being sure to keep him out of her line of sight as she does so.
Finally, Link clears his throat. “Does Her Highness find me to be presentable now?”
Zelda stops her pacing and shoots him a look out of the corner of her eye. Link turns about on the spot, offering her an inspection of him from all sides. Hmm. Yes, he appears to be far more presentable than he was moments ago. Her eye catches a spot on his rear still covered in sand, but she takes a deep breath and decides it’s best to not comment on it.
But his hair, now that is still a problem. His fringe remains plastered to his forehead and that simply will not do. Once more, her traitorous feet move on their own accord. Her hand reaches out, and Zelda brushes at the offending hair. Link, for his part, simply stands still, his eyes flick up to watch as her fingers deftly work to separate the hair from his forehead.
It’s rather pointless, really. She finds his hair, which is sleek and soft, is wet and therefore refuses to cooperate. This is distasteful on a number of levels, and therefore she withdraws her hand. She makes no attempt to hide how she scowls as she wipes his sweat away on her leggings.
“Sorry,” he murmurs in an uncharacteristic show of what Zelda might call embarrassment. He turns away to brush a hand roughly through his fringe.
“It’s… it’s fine,” she lies. It’s not fine. He looks terrible, and normally she’d relish in him being less than perfect, but for reasons she cannot explain, today she doesn’t have the will for it. Today has been, so say the least, strange.
“Your Highness, we really ought to keep moving,” Link says softly as he lowers his hand. His eyes track over the dunes once more as he says this.
Zelda draws in a deep breath and stands tall, raises her chin a bit. “Very well.”
Link holds her gaze as he nods. And then he turns on his heel and continues toward the oasis.
The oddness of the day continues to plague her. Zelda stands frozen, watching his retreating form and finds that her eyes are once more drawn to that line that goes pleasingly from his shoulder down to his waist. Goodness. This makes no sense. She shakes her head and then jogs a few steps to catch up with him.
Within a couple of minutes, the palm trees that grow around Kara Kara Bazaar come into full view. Thank the Goddess... the oasis is a refuge, a place of respite. Here she’ll be able to finally quench her thirst. Here she’ll be able to ease her running mind by conversing with literally anyone else besides him.
This is when a single word bubbles up in her mind. It’s a word that could spell a different kind of relief for her: escape. Among the hustle and bustle of the Bazaar, perhaps she can slip away? While he’s been uncharacteristically amicable today, perhaps what she really needs is to distance herself from him?
And it’s notable that of late, she’s become rather adept at outsmarting him.
A plan formulates before she can really stop it. She needs hydration and she will find it at the oasis. Yes, yes! She’ll make a big fuss over how the water must be chilled. She’ll demand that she must go into the Inn to find it. Once inside, she’ll slip out another entrance. Then she’ll be rid of him and his distracting presence once more! This next bit will be a stretch, but if she can beat him to the Gerudo Canyon Stable, then she’ll be able to prolong their separation.
Another thought rises in her mind and to her consternation, it’s in Urbosa’s voice: Little Bird, you know how dangerous the Gerudo Desert can be! Is this plan not foolish?
No, not in the least! Or, well...hrmm. Zelda frowns. She will concede that perhaps there is some foolishness in this plan, but she’s so, so close to the stable that she ought to be able to pull it off!
Besides... the quickness of her heartbeat, the heat of her cheeks offer all the more reason to escape.
It’s settled then. She must be rid of him, for there is simply no other option at this juncture.
Zelda sets her gaze once more on the back of his head. As her plan to escape him continues to solidify in her mind, she cannot help the wicked smile that grows at the thrill of it.
Link, ever a bastion of calm waters, continues to walk toward the Kara Kara Bazaar. This Hero, this one who’s blessed by the Goddess, remains oblivious. Once more, he’s none the wiser to her scheming, and she relishes in this.
Onward then, to the oasis, for Zelda is thirsty and she will not be denied her cunning escape.
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The Private Eye and the Princess - 7
Kristanna au NYC 1989
Rated: MA
WC: 3611
Chapter Index
~Anna and Kristoff growing closer as they attempt to uncover the truth.
------------------------------
Anna watched him from the corner of her eye as he sat at the table with his back to her, chain smoking his fourth cigarette. It was the first time he had smoked in her presence since the night before when she asked him not to.
Anna’s heart softened further for the big blond man.
Sven butted his head against her thigh at the sudden cease of her affection. She began petting him again while she started to wonder things in the back of her mind.
First and foremost, was how goddamn good it felt not to have all that makeup on. She felt more like her old self… the carefree one. The one she was before she met Hans and became the epitome of prim and proper.
It was all wine and chocolates and seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses with Hans at first. Then things settled back down to reality and were simply as they were. And she had accepted it for a long time. Now, being in Kristoff’s apartment, Anna realized that she wasn’t all that happy with the life she had been leading.
Not that she would he happy with this one. Absolutely not.
But she would be happy with a man like Kristoff.
You mean with Kristoff…
She fought back a heavy sigh, not wanting to startle Sven away. His constant purring was very calming and her mind was certainly in turmoil right now.
Hans wouldn’t allow her to get a pet, even though she had practically begged. They were too messy and made the house dirty, he said. Not worth the trouble, he said. Plus living with an animal was below them… he said.
How many nights might she have stayed in with a faithful companion like Sven instead of clubbing with her so-called friends even when she didn’t feel like it because she really hated being alone since that shit she went through with her sister.
If only her Queen could see her now, in an apartment in a questionable neighbourhood with a strange man who led a very strange life, petting his cat and waiting for some kind of food to be delivered before she went on a stakeout, of all things.
All to catch her fiancé cheating.
Anna did sigh this time, thankful at least, that Sven stayed right where he was.
*****
It was pouring rain as Anna waited in his car.
Kristoff was across the street talking on a payphone. She could barely make out his form through the obscured windshield, wondering what he was being told.
He had filled her in on what whet on in the hotel when he retrieved her bags, even though she had no idea what to do with the information. She just filed it away for now and concentrated on what was to come; trying to discover if her fiancé was cheating.
Anna was genuinely surprised to realize that now there was a part of her that hoped he was. Regardless if they ever caught him or not, or even whether he was or not, Anna suddenly couldn’t see much of a future with him anymore.
Perhaps it was sitting in Kristoff’s little apartment eating Chinese takeout. It was strange to Anna. The food was foreign to her, but she loved it. Wanted to try more of it. And it wasn’t just that. It was the company too. Kristoff was quiet, she pegged him as such on the first day they met. And yet he still struggled to find small talk, thinking – knowing – that she liked it, even though he must be aware that she knew he hated it.
He knew a hell of a lot more about her than the other way around, after all.
Not to mention the jolt that shot through her body when he gently grabbed her hand to show her how to grip the chopsticks. His hands were so big against hers, the contrast was a little startling. He wasn’t even annoyed that she insisted to use the little wooden sticks instead of the fork and knife he had initially offered her. Had she done the same thing to Hans, he would have rolled his eyes with a huff and told her to be civilized and use proper cutlery. Kristoff on the other hand, smiled at her and told her ‘No worries. I’ll show you how to hold them.’
And he had with his tender touch.
He seemed to be a man with a short fuse for certain things, but not for helping people in any way he could. Surely that was why he did what he did? Why else would he put himself on the line like that to help people that felt they had their backs against the wall.
Anna had never met anyone like him before.
He was very rough around the edges, even if you didn’t count the smoking and the drinking. Yet he was also ruggedly handsome with beautiful brown eyes that conveyed his brazen compassion.
Anna had never met a man like him before. Hell, was all man, in Anna’s opinion, right down to the way that he let emotion come to him when it was hurting too much to bottle up.
She had also never been as attracted to a man as much as this before. Fantasies had started to creep into her mind about what it would be like to be intimate with him. It didn’t take a genius to read the signs that he was attracted to her and she had to wonder, when this was all over, where the two of them would stand.
~ ~ ~
The street was dark and empty. It was unusual for the time of the evening for it to be so quiet. Perhaps there was an aura about the night that made people feel like they should stay in. Kristoff certainly felt it.
Headlights glared on the wet street as they passed, making him squint his eyes. Nothing about this felt good. His mind was a wreck. Anna was sitting beside him, in silence, and he was acutely aware of how on edge she was.
Hans had left the charity ball, smiling and laughing surrounded by a large group; lots of men and lots of women. They all piled into his waiting limo.
Kristoff tailed the long car to the hotel where he parked quickly and took photos of all the passengers as they exited and went in the front doors. He asked if Anna recognized anyone, but she shook her head and admitted it was too hard to catch a glimpse of all the faces of the women through the group of people.
Now they just sat and waited. The air in the car was tense with all the unspoken words between them. Kristoff had to wonder if Anna felt it as much as he did.
At least she seemed to be in the clear regarding her short stay a the Gramercy Park Hotel. Greg had called the number on the card at seven p.m. on the nose. Kristoff was already waiting at the payphone, chasing away anyone who thought to use it with a look of malice. After the young manager assured him that no one had remembered seeing the woman, and more importantly, had any dealings with anyone asking about her, he promised he was going to go home to get some sleep and check with the two other aforementioned employees and would call the next night at the same time.
Kristoff exited the phonebooth feeling only the slightest sense of relief. It was still a goddamn loose end. He nodded to Earl where he made his bed every night between the bench and the corner of a building, and slipped a twenty-dollar bill into his outstretched hand. He had known the homeless man since he slept in his own car. Earl always answered the payphone at seven if Kristoff wasn’t around – under the guise of Det. Anders partner – and reliably passed on any information he was told in exchange for some food money.
There was a deep sense of dread in the pit of his gut that there were a million things he should have picked up on by now; suspicions, ideas where to stick his nose to get leads, something that stuck out, someone he could recognize… This case was as frustrating as the feelings that were keeping him from making it clear.
“I lied… before.”
Kristoff looked over to the sudden break in silence. Anna had the corner of her lip pinched in her teeth.
God that beautiful freckled face…
“About what?” He decided to go through the motions, even though he knew.
“When I decided to tell Hans that I was going to visit my sister for a week. I… I was going to try and spy on him on my own.”
Kristoff could only raise his eyebrows, realizing he was too tired to pretend to be shocked.
“I didn’t think it through. Much like I didn’t think going to that hotel through. I should have though. I mean, there was a reason I came to you in the first place, right?”
“To appease your sister, if I remember correctly.”
Anna’s cheeks reddened at that and he could just not stop staring at her face. Her eyes dated between him and the front door of the hotel, where his focus should be.
“Right.” Anna remained quiet after that, keeping her gaze forward where he could not seem for the life of him to do the same.
“Do you still think he’s being unfairly targeted?” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but he heard his own voice speak it softly in the space between them nonetheless.
Her stare forward did not waver, even if her eyes widened slightly. “No,” she said after a long moment.
Kristoff looked back out the windshield and kept his feelings to himself, not able to understand how hard this whole ordeal was for her. Truth be told he had never dealt with anything regarding royalty before. Celebrities a handful of times, and he imagined it was perhaps something slightly akin to being royal, but he really had no idea. There was no way in hell he could relate.
He tried to put himself in her shoes many times. Every time it was impossible. Much like it would be for her to put her feet in his.
“I’ve never seen him grin like that before.”
Kristoff looked back over to her and met her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“That grin. That… air about him. The way he was interacting with… everyone. I’ve never seen him act so carefree before. If I’m honest, he looked like a completely different person than the very proper one that I know.”
Kristoff didn’t speak. He had no right to.
“Even the other night I thought there was something off about him even though he was alone,” Anna continued. “I guess it was the way he carried himself?” She shook her head. “Ah, that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t, Anna. It sounds like someone who tires very hard to keep his true nature at bay when he needs to.”
She gave a half-hearted huff and looked forward again. “I’m a fool.”
“No. You are not. Not even close. You are a strong and intelligent and fearless and… beautiful.” He shook his head quickly. “But Anna, men like Hans can see the weakness we often miss in ourselves and know how to exploit it. He saw someone who was lonely and took complete advantage. He manipulated you.”
“A fool easy to manipulate,” Anna repeated with tears in her eyes.
“Anyone can be manipulated, Anna.”
“Not you, I’ll bet.” She put her face in her hands.
Kristoff turned his attention back to the front of the hotel. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
He sensed that she looked over at him but he kept his gaze forward.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
He sighed, not sure if he was even right. “I think… I think that maybe Betty manipulated me.”
He left it hanging, wondering if he should continue, if Anna wanted to hear more about his fucked-up past. He certainly wouldn’t if he was her.
Then her hand was reaching across the bench seat of his car, touching his shoulder tentatively. He was all too aware of how he reacted the last time she had done, and remained perfectly still.
“Something occurred to you?” she asked softly.
He nodded but didn’t look at her. “It was Sven, actually, that made me run through it all in my mind again and again… even though I really didn’t want to.”
Anna didn’t answer, she just waited with her palm on his shoulder. Kristoff took a deep breath and continued.
“Sven didn’t like her. I honestly didn’t think anything about it at the time. The cat was a little traumatized when I took him in, as I told you, and I don’t have visitors. Well, until you. But I took him to my office for a few days and he reacted really poorly when she was there. Then I saw Sven with you and how much he liked you… I mean, it was almost a year before he ever even purred in my presence….” Kristoff shook his head. “I guess I just realized that Betty and I didn’t know anything about each other. Or rather, I knew nothing about her.
“We would talk sometimes, when we weren’t… you know. And I always felt that we were on the same page, but thinking back, it was me doing all the talking. I was telling her things about myself and she would make comments that made me feel like we were one and the same. I realize now that she was just saying what I wanted to hear. To this day I could not tell you a single thing about her aside from what she looked like.”
He sighed, eyes wandering passively over the entrance of the hotel. “I think… maybe she just saw me as the way out? Maybe she truly cared, I don’t know. But she had this way of… I have no way to describe it… blocking my intuition? She could keep things from me that I am easily able to read on other people. I couldn’t even tell you what her favourite colour was. I knew yours after our very first meeting, but her… she just, made it impossible for me to read her. And I have no idea why it took me so long to realize all of this.”
Kristoff sighed again, debating weather or not to continue with voicing his thought process when Anna spoke.
“What is it then?”
He finally looked at her. “What is what?”
“My favourite colour?”
Her voice was so soft, her expression one of genuine curiosity and something else that he couldn’t figure out. Huh, fancy that. Here he was just telling her that Betty had him blind and Anna was now doing the same thing. What was it with him and beautiful women that came to him for help?
“Now I’m worried I got it wrong,” he admitted quietly.
Still, Anna waited, her eyes glued to his. This was stupid, he should be watching the fucking hotel even though it hadn’t been all that long since Hans had gone into it.
Finally, he whispered, “Green. Sea foam green.”
Her soft smile and the incredulous shake of her head told him he was right. “It sounds like you were doing a lot of soul searching these last few hours.”
“I guess so,” Kristoff answered after a moment. “I just don’t know what to think anymore. It pisses me off that I’ll never know the truth.”
“I can understand that. But it’s in the past, Kristoff. It’s impossible to change what happened.”
“I know that.”
“But you don’t know how to move on from it.”
“I know that, too.”
Anna paused briefly. “I think maybe you need to start by not blaming yourself.”
Kristoff gave her an exhausted huff of breath. Not news to him.
“Can I tell you a story?”
He could already hear the pain in her voice. “Yes,” he managed, even though his mind was telling him that he still needed distance from her to get through this. His heart, however, had other ideas.
“I went through a lot with my sister when our parents passed away.”
“I’m sorry.”
Anna shrugged, looking back out the windshield. “A lot worse happens to better people. It was just that my sister was so closed off from everyone, even before they died. She had a lot of issues and she struggled with them. I always felt like my parents paid extra special attention to her and I was always on my own.
“It got worse for Elsa after my parent’s accident, which meant it also got worse for me. Being stuck in limbo until she was old enough to take the crown… those were the darkest days of my life. They insisted to lock us down, make sure we were protected until my sister was of age. I spent so many hours alone… so many hours with only myself to keep me sane. I… I know I shouldn’t complain, but it was so hard.”
“It would be very hard to be so isolated,” Kristoff offered, his heart going out to her again.
She looked at him. “Maybe not for someone like you, though?”
“Maybe,” Kristoff conceded. “But I can’t pretend to understand what you went through even though I can see it in your eyes. I am sorry I cannot empathise. I do however, offer my sympathy.”
Anna gave him a soft smile of gratitude and continued her story. “The thing that hurt the most about that time, was that Elsa and I used to be best friends when we were kids. Then her issues started and I felt like it was all my fault. I blamed myself. No one told me what was going on, not even my parents. No one explained to me why things had changed so drastically. I spent years wishing I could have taken back whatever it was that I did to drive her away to her room.
“And then my parents died and I thought maybe she would forgive me, but she wouldn’t emerge from her room. She wasn’t even at their funeral! She couldn’t even get out of bed to pay respects to her mother and father…”
Anna started to cry softly. “The council finally forced Elsa to get help and I tried to be there with her every step of the way, but she always forced me out, making me blame myself even more than I already did. I mean, if she didn’t want me to help her with this then she must still harbour some very ill feelings towards me, right?
“Then I met… him… and was swept off my feet in a way someone who has experienced hardly anything can be, and Elsa laid into me about him, making me feel as stupid as ever. Despite how foreign of a feeling it was, it made me appreciate the attention I was getting from him even more.”
“He saw that and he took advantage of it, Anna.”
She looked pointedly at him, a final tear coursing down her cheek. “And I could blame myself for that right now, couldn’t I?”
Kristoff paused, closing his mouth. He knew where she was going with this now.
“But I don’t blame myself anymore.” She sighed, wiping her cheeks dry. “The longer I stayed with him the more Elsa seemed to come around and we started talking and we began to get closer. It felt wonderful, like we could eventually get back to where we were when we were kids. Things are still difficult between us but I can see it getting better all the time, even though I have to admit, I did bristle pretty badly when she insisted that I find a PI.”
“And look how that turned out.” Kristoff frowned, looking down into his lap.
“Kristoff…”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Listen, I know there doesn’t seem like there’s a point to this story, but there is. When you told me that you knew what my skin really looked like even through all that makeup, it made me realize how stupid it was to compromise myself that way in the first place and I blamed myself for it even thought it was him who wanted me to be different.”
That brought him to look at her again, admiring her natural skin like the first time he had seen it, taking his breath away all over again.
“Then I thought about it, and the reasons I had done it in the first place, are no longer valid. I won’t blame myself for them. I will only learn and grow from them and move on.”
“Sounds like you have been doing some soul searching too,” he said softly.
“I guess I have.” Anna smiled.
“Your situation is a lot different from mine though,” Kristoff pointed out.
“Blame is blame. The severity of the situation doesn’t matter.”
“Same could be said about guilt, which I have in spades.”
Anna conceded. “That is true. Guilt is a tricky bitch.”
Kristoff couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly to hear the Princess swear. She was becoming more and more of her true self the longer he spent with her. It was wonderful to witness and at the same time a new kind of terrifying for what it might mean for whatever his outcome was going to be when this was finished.
--
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#the private eye and the princess#cee wrote this mess#kristanna#kristanna modern au#kristoff#anna#apparently my mind is unable to write fluff when i am anxious#i am however on chapter 13 of this thing#so#*shrugs*
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introducing....
THE ICELANDIC ROYAL FAMILY
Geraint Win Davies as King Magnus Karlsson (b. 1957)
Carole Bouquet as Queen Consort Ros Petursdottir (1960 - 1995)
MAGNUS KARLSSON is the eldest of a set of brothers, born just four years before egills. he was relentlessly prepared from a very young age for his life as a future monarch of iceland. his childhood was filled with training, instilling in him a sense of duty that would prevail above all else. when it came to what he wanted: he could never show who he truly was or admit what he needed, while his younger brother was allowed all the freedoms he was never given. they grew into enemies, eventually, and the two brothers would never reconcile before egills’ death in 2010. once, magnus was a man who never allowed himself anything, all in the same of duty. that all changed somewhere down the line.
if there was one thing he allowed himself, it was affairs. women were easy to find, easy to waste his time with. he met ROS PETURSDOTTIR in reyjavik, just outside the palace grounds. she was the first person who he had the urge to spend time with, to chase. and so he married her, as quickly as he could. it wasn’t difficult, ros’ already well-off family singing his praises as the future king and magnus throwing his considerable wealth around to try and convince her. she was headstrong, yet still kind. the exact kind of woman you wanted to sit on the throne.and things were well enough for a while, the two liked each other, but the love that you want in a marriage was never truly there, no matter how much they pretended.
even if he’d found the perfect queen, the desire for her faded as quickly as it did for the others. by the time natasja was born, ros and magnus were not even on speaking terms, and they rarely shared a room. she always knew, somewhere deep inside, that there was someone else. someone not fit to be queen but fit to be the one who held magnus’ affections. ros stayed because she adored her children, and she protected natasja to her last breath, bracing the four year old princess from impact in a car accident. magnus played the part of the grieving husband in the public, but aleksander watched his father turn it on and off at will, and his image of the king was irreparably shattered when he was very small.
Kit Harington as Crown Prince Aleksander Magnusson (b. 1988)
Alicia Vikander as Princess Natasja Magnusdottir (b. 1991)
ALEKSANDER MAGNUSSON was their perfect miracle, the child they’d tried for since the moment they were married. and perfect he was, a little boy to carry his father’s name and keep iceland safe from all enemies. and while he was a perfect prince for the photographers when he was a child, he grew into a person that magnus could never hope to control. maybe magnus saw a little too much of himself in aleks, gave him a bit too much room to grow into his own person. whereas magnus had been molded into the perfect child, he’d accidentally created his own worst nightmare in aleksander, and there was only one way to make up for it.
NATASJA MAGNUSDOTTIR wasn’t so much of a miracle as she was their saving grace. when she was young, she was easily manipulated, easy to make into exactly the image that magnus wanted in a princess. ros hated the idea, but she was gone before the plan truly came to fruition. natasja grew up in the shadow of her mother and under the thumb of her father, never allowed to have her own opinions or feelings before she moved off to boarding school. her entire life had a point: she was meant to be the best iceland had to offer. but there was a downside: she’d only meet her potential through a marriage. a childhood betrothal that failed led to a string of engagements that made her famous. and when worst came to worst, natasja finally decided to flip the script and be her own kind of princess.
the two siblings have a relationship based on competition. every moment of their life was a race to see who could do things first, do them better, make a bigger scene. while they like to pretend they’ve grown up, the two of them still bicker like children constantly. deep down, though, it all comes from a place of love. from the moment aleksander announced he didn’t actually want the throne, they have both mellowed out considerably, especially now that natasja will do anything to keep her half-sister out of the family’s affairs.
Jodie Foster as Queen Consort Kristin Bjornsdottir (b. 1963)
Brie Larson as Duchess Talia Kristinsdottir of Kopavogur (b. 1991)
magnus met KRISTIN BJORNSDOTTIR two years into his marriage. he only wished he’d met her first before ros. but that hope passed when he realized they never would have been allowed to marry. still, they fell deeply in love. she wasn’t fit for rule, no matter how much he loved her. his people never would have approved of him marrying a random woman from eskifjörður, a fisherman’s daughter without anything to her name. no, ros was perfect for being the queen, but kristin was perfect for magnus himself. it was a real love, not like the fleeting love he felt for ros, or the relief he felt when she gave him a son. but things went downhill faster than he’d expected. when kristin told him she was pregnant after a visit to the north, magnus panicked and disappeared from her life.
TALIA KRISTINSDOTTIR was born in reykjavik, just ten days before natasja would be born in the same hospital. magnus didn’t know until after the fact, was never involved in talia’s upbringing. talia grew into everything natasja wasn’t allowed to be: a free spirit, someone who chased happiness more than anything else. and she never knew that royal blood was in her veins, had no idea that she was different from the other kids in her neighborhood. she thought the idea of royalty was vain, even a little stupid in the modern age. when she turned five, magnus began to pay for them to live comfortably in kopavogur, but that was the extent of their contact until talia was nineteen.
with aleksander and natasja out of the palace, magnus felt like he could reconcile with kristin. he still kept it as quiet as possible, but he was comfortable with the way that people seemed to pay more attention to his children than him. and it had been so long since ros died, since he’d had anyone near him. the reasons to actually just marry kristin won him over after years of talking about it, and they were wed on a cold october weekend with talia as their witness. his children were, naturally, pissed. but there was nothing that could be done about it. all natasja could do was worry about her own place in the line of succession, and aleksander to support his neurotic sister through the worst of it. the thing is: even if talia were a legitimate heir (which natasja claims she is not), there is no universe where she could see herself as the queen of iceland. not that natasja or aleksander would know that, they simply assumed her motives and never bothered to ask.
Ethan Hawke as Prince Egills Karlsson, Duke of Akureyri (1961-2010)
Uma Thurman as Duchess Eyja Sigmundsdottir of Akureyri (1960-2010)
Maya Hawke as Duchess Ripley Egillsdottir of Akureyri (b. 1993)
Jade Bird as Duchess Randy Egillsdottir of Husavik (b. 1996)
when they were little, magnus and EGILLS KARLSSON got along like a house on fire. they were children, then, still allowed to truly be kids. but then their father chose magnus and never gave any attention to his spare and egills never truly forgave either of them for it. he met EYJA SIGMUNDSDOTTIR in downtown reykjavik, while he was drowning his sorrows at the nearest bar. she was everything, offering him a love that his family had convinced him he didn’t deserve. he married her, even if his father hated the idea. and then he moved to his duchy in akureyri, and never looked back. when the two died in a boating accident in 2010, they left behind two young daughters who had to figure out their own way in the world of politics they were unprepared for.
RIPLEY EGILLSDOTTIR is the eldest, the very definition of a spitfire. everything about her can be boiled down to the raw aggression that she approaches each situation with. while the nation had hoped that someone who was two deaths away from being queen might have a better temperament, ripley didn’t care to please the people around her. she approached her critics with the same attitude: a middle finger up to show that she didn’t care one bit about what anyone had to say about her life. and maybe she was raised like that, with a father who always felt he was never allowed to be his own person. she was seventeen when their parents died, and she had to harden her heart even further to hold onto her place as the rightful heir to the duchy of akureyri, while also securing the duchy of husavik for her sister. it’s the fire that runs in her veins that made any of that possible.
RANDY EGILLSDOTTIR, on the other hand, is her sister’s antithesis. she’s prim and proper, the duchess of husavik who represents her duchy with pride. she was always soft, always a little bit too much like her mother in every way. while many would expect the two to butt heads over it: they both understand each other. they were born to parents who told them to be themselves first and foremost, and to quit caring for the product of appearances and worrying about titles. it’s their loving upbringing that keeps them together, and the two are still very close, even if they make an unlikely pair. they are also very close with natasja and aleksander, their cousins, because all four of them don’t wish to repeat the mistakes of their parents.
#NOT me making manips for natasja's parents out of pictures taken 30 years ago#hshqtask011#anyways this took 5ever and i got lazy and just went w maya's actual parents for her parents JFSKLDFJ#also shoutout eliza for proofreading this bc i cannot . spell#task
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GoChi Week 2020: Day Two: Villain Goku and Saiyan ChiChi
Deception
Only the sounds of pants, slaps of bodies and a creaking bed was heard in the room. This bed has been the home of many sexual romps but with the constant groans of the mattress and creek of the bedframe it was in its last days.
ChiChi gripped the sheets with each sway of her breasts, with each pound of her hips. The pleasure was intense; the pain was worth it as her sweaty body was slammed again and again. A human could never give her this pleasure. They were all so much weaker than her, hardly a challenge.
“Ah!” She screamed as a firm hand whap her backside.
“You know you love it,” a heavy voice whispered over her. Another hard thrust shoved her forward so hard her head almost hit the wooden headboard. “Say it!”
“I…..” ChiChi gasped. “….Can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” A hand reached between her legs and squeezed her clit. “Do it!” he ordered.
“Spank me!”
On command, a hand slapped her firm rear again. “That’s right, Princess. So prim and proper when you secretly love it hard, don’t you?”
“Yes. Harder, love…..”
He smacked her ass again. “You love what I do to you.”
“Yes!”
Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled, “You desperately desire dominance and the love of a good cock!”
“Only yours!”
That rewarded ChiChi with another firm thrust. “Damn right. Mine.” Gripping her hips, he pulled out his soaked cock and slapped it in ChiChi’s body. In and out, faster and faster he smashed her body against his. Fuck,” he cursed feeling the tightness in his cock. “I can’t hold it anymore.”
“Fill me,” ChiChi begged. She desperately wanted that hot liquid filling her. Her fingers slipped between her legs and quickly became coated in her and her lover’s wet juices. She was so close herself. A few more thrusts. A few more strokes.
ChiChi gasped as a furry tail worked its way between her fingers and clit. With her lover’s long, thick cock firmly in her wet, hot body and a furry tail rubbing against her weak spot, ChiChi snapped. A moan she couldn’t stop escaped her lips. Her lover knew exactly what he was doing to her; knew exactly how to get her to submit to him and Kami help her, she loved every moment of it.
****
“When will I see you again?”
It was a question Son Goku asked every time their sexual romp was over; every time ChiChi left his home on Mount Paouz and return to her life as princess and Saiyan warrior. He sat up with the sex stained sheets resting on his upper thighs watching ChiChi as she dressed.
“I don’t know. Maybe a week.” ChiChi sighed as she slipped her dress over her head. “My father wants me to visit some potential suitors.” She rose from the bed, walked to the mirror and examined her appearance. ChiChi grimaced. Goku left his mark on her in several places. “I have to visit martial art students from the Crane and Turtle school. I think one of them have three eyes.”
“You don’t need to search for potential suitors,” Goku growled. “I’m right here.”
ChiChi turned to Goku. She understood why this angered him. She didn’t like it either. “I want to tell my Dad, but I’m not sure how. He doesn’t trust a Saiyan suitor.”
“But you’re a Saiyan,” Goku argued.
ChiChi returned to bed and sat on Goku’s lap. “I know but you know my history.”
“And you know mine, ChiChi. I grew up on Earth like you. I don’t know anything about the Saiyan way of life. And,” he frowned at her, “you didn’t want to tell your Dad about me.”
“Because I believed what Dad said. I know better now.” ChiChi kissed him. “You know that right?”
Goku cupped one side of her face and kissed her. “I do. I just…. it’s frustrating. I knew I was different. I didn’t know how until I met you and saw you had a tail like me. Then the more we got to know each other, the more I like you.” He scratched the back of his neck with his eyes looking away from ChiChi. “I don’t understand, ChiChi, but I want you to be mine. The thought of you with anyone else makes me mad. I never felt this way before.”
“It’s your Saiyan nature,” ChiChi explained. “I don’t understand it myself. I only know of what my Dad told me.” ChiChi wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I’ve enjoyed discovering our Saiyan nature.” She rubbed her nose against his, “Especially on a full moon where we are both insatiable and can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“Me, too.” Goku settled his arms around her waist, his tail intertwined with ChiChi’s. He rests his head against her breasts. Goku’s eyes fell on his nightstand. He smiled at the small corked bottle. “Today’s not a total loss. We have the last dragon ball.” ChiChi picked up the orange ball and stared at it mesmerized. “Any wishes you want to make?”
ChiChi shook her head. “No. I just want to protect them. Someone used these years ago to revive King Piccolo after my father killed him. My father died because of that evil wish.”
“But he was revived.”
That was true. If it wasn’t for Goku, ChiChi never would’ve known about the dragon balls and never would’ve been able to revive her father.
“I will protect them from evil,” ChiChi vowed.
Goku took the dragon ball from her hand. “I’ll hold on to this one.”
“Why?”
Goku shrugged. “Sentimental value. My gramps had the four-star ball. I want to protect this one.”
ChiChi saw nothing wrong in that. “Then I’ll protect the rest.”
“Which is?”
“They’re safely locked in my room.”
“Your room?” Goku didn’t like that idea. “That doesn’t sound safe. What if the servants there find it?”
“I trust them and even if I couldn’t, the dragon balls are in a safe where only a person with Saiyan DNA can open it. So, that’s you, me and my Dad. With us three knowing, there’s nothing to worry about.”
****
ChiChi gazed out her window as her airship descended towards her palace. Sometimes she really didn’t understand Earthlings. Years ago, her father, Gyumao left Planet Vegetasai. He did not support Freeza’s rule or King Vegeta’s incompetence in letting the Saiyan race fall under Freeza’s command. Fearing the worst for his race under Freeza’s rule, Gyumao escaped Planet Vegetasai. He staged the death of himself, his wife and daughter to make it appear as an accident. The plan was perfect until on their trip to Earth the pod of Gyumao’s wife malfunctioned and blew up, killing her instantly.
Only Gyumao and ChiChi arrived on Earth. For a year, Gyumao remained in secret; feared he would’ve been searched for by his kind or Freeza. As time passed, Gyumao grew more comfortable that he will not be found. He settled into life on Earth but his Saiyan nature took over. Saiyans were fighters; conquerors and landing on this docile planet Gyumao decided to take it for himself. For years, he had to follow the orders of other; of King Vegeta; of Freeza. Now on this weak planet, Gyumao had a chance to be in control and rule. With his Saiyan strength, his intimidating height and massive power, Earth easily fell to Gyumao’s hands. Earth’s armies and warriors fought their hardest, but they were no match for Gyumao.
After King Furry surrendered Earth to Gyumao, Earthlings initially feared Gyumao would unleash horror on the planet but the fears were squashed when Gyumao allowed Earthlings to continue their life without interruption. Gyumao wasn’t an evil ruler who killed for joy or pleasure. He allowed Earthlings to live as they want if they acknowledge him as their king. Some Earthlings still had doubts until Gyumao saved the world by defeating King Piccolo. It was only after this defeat, the people of Earth officially crowned Gyumao as King of Earth and his daughter, ChiChi, Princess of Earth.
A castle was built in their honor; treasures and money were given to Gyumao as a sign of peace and loyalty between Earth and their Saiyan rulers. Gyumao’s daughter and only heir, ChiChi, was doted on. She was educated by the finest scholars on Earth, but she also trained in the Saiyan ways of fighting and spent several years traveling the world to build her strength and skills as a Saiyan warrior.
At twenty, Gyumao thought it was time for ChiChi to marry and produce an heir. ChiChi honored her father’s request to meet the suitors but they weren’t what she was looking for in a husband.
They weren’t Goku.
As she stepped out of her airship, ChiChi noticed the tall, massive imposing form of her father approaching. From the look of his face, ChiChi knew he wasn’t happy.
“ChiChi, I heard from Master Crane and Master Roshi.”
“That’s not important, Dad---"
“It is important!” Gyumao cut her off. “You turned down a proposal from Tienshinhan of the Crane School and Yamcha from the Turtle School.”
“Tienshinhan has no interest in me, Dad. He’s focused on his martial arts and he can’t beat me in a fight. He barely made me sweat. Yamcha is interested in me but he’s not strong.” It bothered ChiChi her father was more interested in her suitors than the dragon ball. “And that’s not important considering I collected another dragon ball.”
Gyumao turned away as he walked to the palace. “I understand collecting the dragon balls are important to you, ChiChi, but there is nothing to worry about. I killed King Piccolo.”
“He was mysteriously revived by the dragon balls and killed you three years later.”
“And you killed him, avenging me but you spared his son.”
“I had no choice. King Piccolo’s son is tied to the dragon balls and we might need them again.”
Gyumao shook his head stubbornly. “A true Saiyan warrior doesn’t rely on anything but their skills to win a battle. You should not be reliant on the dragon balls.”
“I’m not being reliant. I’m being proactive. We need to keep the dragon balls out of the hands of evil and keeping the dragon balls in our possession help prevents anyone from using it against us.”
Gyumao disagreed. “You’re thinking too much like these Earthlings. You’re losing your Saiyan edge, ChiChi.”
How ironic ChiChi thought. “That should make you happy since you want me to marry an Earthling and not a Saiyan.”
“There are no Saiyans here and if they are, I wouldn’t trust them.”
“Why not?”
“If a Saiyan is here, then they were sent to plunder this planet. That means they still work for Freeza and you don’t want to ally yourself with anyone serving Freeza. If a Saiyan had good intentions, they would’ve revealed themselves by now, but that’s not possible because Saiyans intentions aren’t good.” ChiChi opened her mouth to argue but Gyumao put his hands on ChiChi’s shoulders. “You grew up on Earth, ChiChi. You grew up with kind and honorable people. You didn’t grow up on Vegetasai. Saiyans, our people, aren’t like the people here. We will betray each other to save our own skins. Our people don’t have honor or camaraderie like Earthlings do. I rule fairly here but I was selfish in obtaining that goal to be King of Earth. I overthrew the world’s army; killed so many to get what I want and I made enemies. I never should’ve been revived.”
“Dad---”
“No, I’m right, ChiChi. When King Piccolo killed me, it was karma for my own sins. It was balanced when you killed him, but it became unbalanced when I was revived.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” Gyumao was firm, “but that’s not important now. What is important is you finding a suitable husband and producing an heir.”
“I don’t believe this,” ChiChi muttered stepping away from her father. She ignored her father pleas for her to stop. She didn’t want to hear this.
****
ChiChi headed to her wing of the palace frustrated. Her father didn’t listen to her at all! He didn’t care she collected all seven dragon balls. He only cared about her finding a suitor and producing an heir. Right now, her father was probably in his office making calls to set up another meeting with a potential suitor and ChiChi was sick of it.
ChiChi shut her door of her apartment sized bedroom. She pressed her head against the door and closed her eyes.
“He’s never gonna approve of me.”
ChiChi turned, her heart skipping a beat at the man standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
“Goku!” ChiChi ran and jumped in Goku’s arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she showered his face with kisses. “My love, I missed you!”
Goku stumbled backwards into ChiChi’s bedroom. “Not as much as I missed you.”
“It’s been hard on me, too,” ChiChi nibbled his neck as her hand open his blue obi. Her hands rolled his shirt up his chest and over Goku’s head. While her hands were busy, her tail slipped inside Goku’s pants and gripped his penis, stroking it to hardness.
“Ngh,” Goku groaned at the double attack of feeling ChiChi’s tail stroke his most sensitive area and ChiChi’s mouth biting his neck. ChiChi was hungry for him! So was he. He returned her kinky assault with kisses and bites on her neck. In between his kisses, he told her, “How did you think I felt knowing you will be seeing suitors and knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do if you marry them?”
ChiChi grinned slyly enjoying seeing this jealous side. “You would hate it.”
“Of course.” ChiChi laughed. “What’s so funny?”
ChiChi unwound her legs from Goku’s waist and hopped down. “If you miss me that much, show it. Show how much you love me.” After her talk with her father, ChiChi need a fun distraction. “Show me how passionate and intense a Saiyan love can be.”
Goku stared at ChiChi blankly. “How would I know that? I grew up on Earth like you.”
ChiChi pouted playfully. “I guess you don’t love me so passionately then.” She walked away from him feigning disappointment. “I think I shall tell my father I will accept courtship from the one called Yam---”
A firm hand gripped ChiChi and yanked her body to Goku’s. Her lips slammed against Goku’s. This wasn’t like the gentle kisses Goku gave her in the past. He devoured her lips as if she was a meal. Her lips parted under his persuasive tongue and her body clung tightly to his as she felt him awakened between his legs. Goku’s right hand slid up ChiChi’s pants and ripped the seat of it. His tail quickly found a home in her moist heat.
ChiChi moaned in his mouth as Goku’s tail stroke ChiChi’s insides faster. Not willing to be the only one lost in desire, ChiChi’s tail wrapped around Goku’s harden penis again squeezing it so tight, liquid pearls of arousal leaked from him.
Goku broke the kiss with a loud groan. ChiChi smirk as she squeezed him harder. Gaining some control, Goku mirrored her smirk plunging his tail in and out of ChiChi in rapid succession. “You’re soaking my tail. You’re squeezing me to tightly. You’re gonna cum before me.”
She would and they both knew it but Goku wasn’t going to relieve ChiChi yet. Instead he carried her to the bed and dropped her on the mattress.
Momentarily dazed, ChiChi stared at Goku confused. She sat up on her knees. “Why did you—”
Goku gripped the top of her cheongsam and ripped it splitting her clothing in half. Her breasts bounced free from the confines of her dress and Goku’s eyes darkened. “No bra.”
ChiChi didn’t understand why that bothered Goku. “So?”
The low growl in his voice, the intense, pleasured gaze in his eyes caused ChiChi to lick her lips at Goku’s Saiyan nature awakening. “I should punish you.”
Feeling aroused herself, ChiChi removed the tatters of her clothes until she was naked before him. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her legs. “Then punish me with your tongue.”
Goku shoved ChiChi, pushing ChiChi on her back. “All right,” he answered while removing his pants. Before he crawled on the bed, ChiChi pressed her foot on his chest and pushed Goku down. The sudden push knocked Goku on his butt.
“No,” ChiChi sat up before him. “Kneel.”
“What?” Goku’s voice rose challenged.
“On your knees,” ChiChi repeated.
Goku narrowed his eyes briefly before slowly kneeling before ChiChi. He’ll let ChiChi have her way… for now.
For a moment, ChiChi swore Goku was angry. Surely, he understood she was being playful. Not discouraged at Goku’s brief annoyance, ChiChi widened her legs. “Now, serve me.”
Gone was Goku’s initial annoyance. He found her ordering him arousing. Try as he could, not even he could resist this lust of Saiyan nature when aroused. “As you wish.” Goku grabbed ChiChi’s legs, spread them wide and smashed his face against the wet curls of her sex.
ChiChi sank her nails into Goku’s hair and her head fell back at the wonderful sensation of Goku fondling her most sensitive area with his tongue. Eyes shut, ChiChi shrieked, her body shuddered and squirm delightfully as Goku licked and sucked ChiChi, as his tongue vibrated against her clit and his hands moved up to grab her breasts, pinching her nipples and massaging the soft flesh mounds with his hands.
“Don’t stop,” ChiChi whimpered. “Please don’t stop.”
Goku was all too happy pleasuring ChiChi. Her soft moans echoed over the room and her body writhed in need. Her taste so sweet; her scent so strong; cause his own desire to swell. It was nearly too much to bear and his hunger for ChiChi was almost too overwhelming for him. He needed relief himself. One of his hands slipped from her breast and reached between his own legs to ease some of the pleasured tightness between his legs.
ChiChi’s fingers continued to massage Goku’s wild hair. “I need you inside me, Goku.” Patience for more wore thin as Goku suckled her mercilessly. “I need you now.”
With a jerk, ChiChi pushed Goku off her. He landed on his back with a thud. Before he could react, ChiChi straddled him. Her nails dug in his chest as she centered her body over him. “My turn at your body.”
Goku’s breath locked in his lungs as ChiChi slammed down on him. Being shield so tightly in ChiChi almost had him spilling in immediately. He was powerless to do anything other than watch ChiChi’s parted lips, see the desire in her eyes as her plump breasts swayed over him as she rose up and down. Goku reached up to take a harden nipple in his mouth and was promptly slapped.
Goku blinked, stunned. Did ChiChi hit him?
Above him, ChiChi’s faced flushed with arousal as she moaned. “I’m not done.”
To prove her point, ChiChi pinned Goku’s arms down, raised her hips and slammed down on him again and again. More moisture spilled from her legs, coating his shaft and balls. He tried to move but ChiChi tightened her hold over him. With force, he could break her hold but once again Goku found himself relinquishing control to ChiChi. Having ChiChi ride him, watch her breasts sway without him touching her was sweet torture for Goku. He was never restrained before or slapped like this and it made his cock swell further inside ChiChi and his orgasm building. Unable to resist, Goku broke ChiChi’s pin, grabbed her hips as his thrust up further into ChiChi as he succumbs to the needs of his body and let ChiChi’s body milk him dry.
****
ChiChi laid on her stomach gazing at Goku who laid in bed with his arms behind his head staring at the ceiling. ChiChi hugged her pillow not believing what she did. She and Goku made love in her bedroom, in her home, where her father was around and could knock on her door at any moment! And that aggressiveness! Where did that come from? Usually it was spark during a full moon. Not in the middle of the day!
It would’ve been embarrassing if ChiChi did this with someone she didn’t love but with Goku, it thrilled ChiChi. For Goku, she’d do anything for him.
“You make me happy, Goku. I love you so much.”
ChiChi expected Goku to smile at her and say he love her, too. Instead, he said, “You’re gonna make me happy, ChiChi.”
“Make you?” ChiChi took his right hand and brought it to her lips. “Don’t I already make you happy?”
“You’re a good fuck,” Goku confessed as he rolled on his side. “Best I’ve had.” He touched her lips with his fingers. His words didn’t feel warm at all. It felt oddly cold. ChiChi noticed a change on Goku’s face. Something was wrong. “You’ve given me so much already. You told me things I didn’t know about being a Saiyan.” He kissed her. His lips were warm but the emotion behind it left her cold. “You’ve awakened things in me that I’m finding addictive. You’re gonna be a strong Queen for me.” His finger trailed down her lips, down ChiChi’s breasts to her stomach. “You’re gonna give me strong children.” Taking her hand in his, Goku kissed the palm of it. “And we’re gonna rule this planet with an iron fist.”
ChiChi eyes went up to Goku’s. What? The change on Goku’s face was now complete. He looked absolutely sinister. ChiChi pulled her hand from his as a cold shiver ran down her back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m gonna be King of Earth and you my Queen. Thanks to you, I have all the dragon balls in my possession. No one can make a wish against me.”
Why was Goku looking so evil? What was going on? “You don’t have the dragon balls.”
The chilling smile Goku sent ChiChi left her stomach twisting in nervous knots. “I don’t?”
Scared, ChiChi scrambled from the bed and raced to her closet. She checked her safe where she kept the dragon balls and found it empty. The dragon balls. All of them were gone. Where did they go? When did Goku---
ChiChi put a hand over mouth. She knew.
Goku took the dragon ball from her hand. “I’ll hold on to this one.”
“Why?”
Goku shrugged. “Sentimental value. My gramps had the four-star ball. I want to protect this one.”
ChiChi saw nothing wrong in that. “Then I’ll protect the rest.”
“Which is?”
“They’re safely locked in my room.”
“Don’t worry,” Goku said as he stood naked in the doorway. “They’re in a safe spot.”
“What did you do with them?”
“As I said, they are in a safe spot; far from here; far from you.” ChiChi’s face went from shock to anger. He could feel her Ki rising, see her fists clench. “Are you really gonna fight me in your condition?”
ChiChi stilled. What did Goku mean about that? She placed her hand on her stomach. Goku could not be saying……
“I wasn’t sure myself but there’s a definite fluctuation of your Ki centered around your stomach.” Goku laughed. “After all the fucking we’ve done you can’t be surprised.”
There were so many times; last week; last month during the full moon; the months before that. “You used me,” ChiChi accused him. “You used me to get the dragon balls. You never cared about me.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not immune to Saiyan nature and their feelings for their mates. I do desire you. On nights of a full moon, I want to fuck you to exhaustion. Your taste and scent are addictive. It’s maddening how much I’m drawn to it but I also desire power and complete obedience.” He grabbed her hand and yank her to him. “You are mine; our child will be mine and I’ll kill anyone who will try to take that from me. That includes your father if he doesn’t immediately surrender his throne to me.”
“My father was right,” ChiChi whisphered. “Saiyans can’t be trusted. But…..” she tried to understand. “You grew up on Earth. You shouldn’t be like the Saiyans my father told me about.”
“I was sent to Earth as a baby. I took a huge lump on my head but I didn’t lose my memory. I remembered my mission; my Saiyan name: Kakarrot but that’s it. As I recovered, from my injuries, I realized it would be smarter if I let my caretaker Gohan think I changed.” He laughed wickedly. “I fooled him well. For years, he thought I was a sweet, innocent boy who just want to help people and get as strong as possible. He thought when I changed into an Oozaru and crushed him, it was an accident.”
“It was deliberate?”
“As deliberate as my rescuing you from King Piccolo and his son.” He pointed to himself. “You see, I gathered the dragon balls and revived King Piccolo so he’ll kill your father. I knew you would immediately trust me when I told you about the dragon balls and how it can help you revive your father.”
ChiChi stepped back horrified. “You…. You were the mysterious person who revived King Piccolo. Why?”
“Like I told you, I was programmed to kill everyone on Earth. However, that lump on my head did affect me. So did your arrival.” Goku could see ChiChi didn’t understand. “After I killed Gramps, I traveled the world, fought different opponents, befriended others for my personal gain.” His sinister laugh sent a cold chill down her spine. “I got rid of the Red Ribbon Army because they were a threat to my plans but everyone thought I was helping the weak. I played that part of hero well. I even used the dragon balls once to revive a kid’s father. I only did it because I wanted him to die at my hands. It was my intention to kill everyone but when I learned about your Pops killing King Piccolo, everything change. I battled King Piccolo and almost died but your Pops won. You were a threat to me so I had to study you and find a weak point.”
“Me?” ChiChi realized. “I was the weak point.”
“A sexy and alluring weak point.” It was meant as a compliment but the words fell flat to ChiChi. “I know more about by my heritage thanks to you.”
“You’re not welcome.”
“You’re angry,” Goku observed. “I understand. You can be angry for now but you better get in line,” he warned her. “Your Pops had enough time ruling. Now it’s my turn and I will rule this planet as a Saiyan was meant to rule.”
“I won’t allow it.” ChiChi made a mistake falling for Goku but she wouldn’t let the world suffer for it.
“Oh, you will.” There was no doubt in Goku’s mind. “For that babe growing in your stomach and for the life of your father, you will allow it.” Goku gazed at ChiChi’s angry eyes. Even in a losing situation, ChiChi had wills of steel. She will curse at him, hit at him but Goku knew ChiChi knew she couldn’t beat him. “For now, you have no choice but after the child is born, you will plot some escape or someway to defeat me. I can already see the plan forming in your mind. You’ll train in secret; befriend more people on this planet to defeat me. You’ll try, but you won’t win,” Goku promised. “I’ll see to it.”
That’s what he thinks. If he can spend years plotting, so can she. “And I’ll see to it,” ChiChi vowed, “that one day, I will kill you.”
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talk | kim dongyoung
pairing: prince!doyoung x princess!reader
words: 8k
prompt: anonymous sent: For the Valentines day request may I request one w nct Doyoung? (also if you can, an au where he's a prince and reader's a princess?)
genre: royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, fluff, hurt/comfort
warning(s): a tad suggestive?
gif credit
You’re not exactly someone to bow your head and agree to a command. You weren’t raised with a lot of freedom, but you sought it anyway, and the mere taste of it never let you live the way you should be.
Princesses aren’t supposed to be like you—they’re supposed to be prim and proper, smell like roses and all things rich and wonderful, they’re supposed to smile and laugh with the princes, hold their head up with dignity but bow when they’re ordered to. They’re not supposed to sneak out at midnight to stargaze, or get their knees scraped climbing trees, they’re not supposed to scowl or make ugly faces at any advances from the opposite gender, and they certainly aren’t supposed to keep disappearing, especially during important dinners.
The news had your insides crumbling when you heard it, when your mother notified you with a look of disdain, scolding you for being absent from the palace almost all the time. Her words only seem to reproach your actions, conveniently missing the point that maybe, just maybe you aren’t at fault at times. To be robbed of freedom, to be married to a man you’ve hardly glanced at, to be treated as if you aren’t a person at all—it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth at best.
You’re often told you have a lot of independence. It doesn’t make any sense to you, just how anyone could have the audacity to tell you that. They’re not the ones caged by societal rules, rules that require the binding of your soul and the full capabilities of your body. You can’t count the number of times you’ve physically restricted yourself from screaming, or just punching someone in the face (you wish you knew how to without damaging your knuckles, but you’ve been denied that lesson several times). You’re not purely hot-headed, or impulsive, but you’re allowed to at least have these thoughts, right? Or are you supposed to keep a check on your thoughts, too?
When you see Kim Dongyoung in his navy blue suit, the golden twigs and leaves etched across the shoulders and the sleeves, you hear your mother sigh beside you. You sigh too, but for a different reason altogether. The princesses across the entire continent would love to take your place; you know your friends would, after they gasped and laughed in joy, congratulating you after you told them, missing the point like everyone else. But they make some sense, of course. He’s handsome, ethereally so, and he’s rich. Moreover, he’s known for his failproof war strategies that men of ordinary intelligence don’t usually come up with. But that’s all you know of him. You don’t know if he has any passions, or if he’s a puppet like you and other people in your position. You don’t know if he’s kind to the poor, or if he likes walks through gardens. You don’t know if he likes to read, or if he has a favourite smell, favourite food, favourite colour. All you know is an image other people have painted of him, and you’re meant to spend your life with this hollow shell of a man you don’t know, who you now won’t let yourself know, purely out of spite.
You sit at the wooden bench in the royal garden, awkwardly playing with your hands. You’re left with Doyoung, as he prefers to be called, and you’re meant to talk to him. It’s a freedom your families have given to you, to get to know each other before your lives are intertwined forever. Sunlight streams in, and the browns of his eyes vaguely remind you of the woods on a spring afternoon.
“You probably hate this as much as I do, ” he says, cutting the thick silence, no sign of humour in his tone. In fact, his lips are pursed into a grim expression quite possibly reflecting yours.
“Probably more,” you grumble. As a lady, you’ve been taught to never use that tone. But as you, you can’t care less, now that you know he feels the same.
Doyoung scoffs. “More?”
He turns to look at you, the expression on his face more begrudging than anything. His shoulders are tense, or maybe he’s been taught to sit with them straight. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying his time with you.
“What?” you laugh. “You want to turn this into a competition to see who hates it more?”
You think Doyoung might have cracked a smile from the way his lips twitch, but he maintains his mildly annoyed expression, refusing to continue the conversation. The seconds drip slowly, and every time you hear a rustling from behind the entrance pillars, Doyoung reluctantly inches closer or you start giggling as though he’d said a really funny joke. The dishonest atmosphere of friendliness you delicately put up with your words and actions might as well have brought you closer—after all, you’re on the same boat, doing the same thing—but at the end of it, the prince of the north leaves with an empty smile, and you do the same.
You lie to your mother about how wonderful a man your fiancé is, and how you’re glad she’s chosen such a fitting suitor for you. You feel a little sick uttering the words but you don’t show any signs of discomfort, as your mother’s face brightens. You don’t lie very often, but the nervous crack in your mother’s voice and her shaking eyes tell you that you should be a good daughter for once.
When you enter your bedroom, you think you’ll cry. You’ve never been very fond of this room, always comparing them to a prison but now that you’re aware you might not see it again, you feel some sort of indescribable regret in your chest. Were the walls always this shade of green? Weren’t they blue once? Is your new bedroom going to have the same shade? Will you even be able to sleep there? There are so many questions you have, and none of them have a hint of optimism in their essence. It’s just a spiral of terrifying thoughts only someone who’s been drowning can understand, someone who’s been stolen from, someone with too much on their mind.
You meet Doyoung once more, three weeks before your scheduled wedding and you end up arguing, much to the horror of your mother. It wasn’t necessarily your fault, but when is an argument ever the fault of only one? Doyoung and his sharp words leave you annoyed and you shoot back with words equally prickling, and the entire situation turns messier than ever. You don’t even remember what it was that set you off; maybe Doyoung was picking a fight on purpose as a last attempt to refuse this marriage. Either way, it ticked you off and you’re more unwilling than ever to partake in the sacred bonds of marriage with this man, this entitled prince, this smartass who thinks he knows everything.
In a way, you’re glad your differences come into light so early—maybe your parents will call it off, maybe they’ll realize it’s not wise to marry you off to a foreign land. But of course, when the entire country is at stake, what does the life of a little princess matter? No, the marriage is still to take place in three weeks, and it needs to be for the sake of peace between nations, even if it is at the price of yours.
It’s strange to be the centre of attention at a wedding. You would have almost forgotten it’s your own were it not for the several congratulatory messages you keep receiving, and Doyoung’s arm placed gingerly on your waist. His tight-lipped smile at the guests, the one you know is not real, unnerves you because you display the exact same one. The irony is high, as the day celebrating love and joy is taking away yours completely.
The atmosphere is meant to be bright and cheerful, with the gold chandeliers and painted glass that impresses everyone entering the hall. The musicians play a soft, but festive melody and you would doze off if it weren’t for Doyoung’s tight grip over your hand. You glare at him every time his hold gets too strong, or after he makes someone you hardly care about introduce themselves to you. So you’re more comfortable in your new home. How laughable. Maybe he likes the way your temper flares red and shows up across your cheeks. Hopefully you’ll be able to ignore it with time, his meaningless jabs. You cringe when the thought flashes through your mind, how you’ve already started planning your days after, how you’ll spend it with the man beside you. It brings you dread and you try to ignore it best as you can, for at least this day.
Doyoung leads you to the middle of the hall, one hand on the small of your back and the other intertwined with yours. Having to dance under the prying eyes of an audience adds to the painted blush of your cheeks, and the only way you can calm is by looking at Doyoung’s face. You almost step on his foot once or twice, but you’re glad no one notices the prince’s mild winces. You think Doyoung is probably going to scold you afterwards, and you let yourself frown a little. You aren’t a child, but well, this isn’t exactly what you had prepared for; dancing has never been your area of expertise, especially with a partner, and you find yourself counting the seconds till this is over.
“Why are we doing this?” you whisper to Doyoung.
“It’s called a waltz,” he replies, nonchalantly.
“I know that,” you glare at him. Seriously, you can’t be that bad. But you’re relieved when it’s over.
The sunlight streams in and forms perfect patterns on Doyoung’s face, the pretty curve of his lips or the sharp bridge of his nose highlighted for you, and all others to see. Some glare at you or sigh as if wishing they were in your place. You could almost laugh. You wish you were in theirs. It’s no doubt Doyoung looks better than most princes, but the resulting grudge of being enforced to do something blinds you to it. You’d never admit it at this point—after all, will it give you your freedom, your happiness? So you shut your mouth and smile every time a lady passes by to compliment him, or tell the two of you how sweet a pair you make.
You cry to sleep your first night after getting married, sleeping as far as possible from the man you’re bound to. You think Doyoung might have heard your whimpers, but you don’t care. If you’re going to be miserable either way, what’s the point in hiding it? The pillows wet with your tears and the cold prickles your cheek, and you flip it over for a warmer, dryer part to rest on. This exchange goes on till you tire of crying, till your eyes run out of tears. You don’t think you’ve cried this much in quite a while, but the feeling doesn’t reduce with time. Tiredness might just be the only thing to lull you to sleep.
Doyoung had probably fallen asleep far before you realize; you don’t feel him shift or move and the only sound coming from him are soft, steady breaths. You fall asleep to Doyoung’s breathing, the only thing to ease the grasping feeling in your chest.
You might have felt a ghost of a touch across your cheek in the morning, but you refuse to believe it was Doyoung’s or any attempt at comforting you on his part.
It’s freezing in the mornings and at night—curse the Winter Palace to be perched atop a hill; the clouds occasionally kiss the palace towers, its icy breath shrouding the area. Doyoung tells you it’s one of the warmer regions of the north, and you’d find the harbour further south. The prince of the north knows how to handle cold, and you’ll have to learn too. In fact, you have a lot to learn. You know the kingdom ends at the ice wastelands at the north and the harbour at the south, but you hardly remember the rest of its geography despite your old tutor’s best efforts. So even if you were to try sneaking away to be with yourself, somewhere far for even a little while, you wouldn’t know where to go. You’re too embarrassed to ask Doyoung, and he doesn’t seem like he’d be willing to answer you without some snide remark.
Homesickness comes in waves, and leaves you a little nauseous, a little in despair. It shows on your features, the circles under your eyes, your parched lips, the hollowness in your eyes, or the slowing of your pace. Sometimes you take aimless walks in the evening, sometimes you struggle to breathe at night. The glances from Doyoung don’t scream worry to you, but they aren’t completely at peace either. Perhaps he feels sorry for you. Whatever it is, you don’t need his pity—you’re not a child nor a slave, and you’d rather he look at you as an equal, capable of the same things he is. It is perhaps your work that keeps you sane during these terrible bouts of homesickness—the planning for the trade between kingdoms, the right policy to adopt for the people, how to enhance the economy. You have a say in all of these, and you’d claim to be even better than Doyoung if you hadn’t seen him at work, his thinking sharp and detailed.
If there’s anything you love about the Winter Palace, it’s the view from your room. You can see the far ocean between the two rising pieces of land, the small hills always reminding you of the flower fields in your kingdom. The hills are coated in various hues, and it’s a marvellous sight during different times of day, with the changing moods of the sun. Doyoung occasionally stands beside you to admire the sunsets, but you barely exchange any words, before any one of you goes inside. Sometimes he looks as though he wants to say something, but the silence stays, only broken by the call of the birds or a particularly strong breeze.
The Winter Palace, ironically, faces the mildest of the northern winter. The ones further north aren’t as lucky as you, to survive winter with just a few thick coats and warm boots, and you’re almost glad the capital is here. It could have been closer to the harbour, in your opinion, but that made it vulnerable to spies and attacks from foreign countries. You still hate the stupid weather.
Doyoung might as well represent the climate with the cold words that come out of his mouth. He doesn’t like to appear soft or sweet or helpless in any way, and it irks you. He speaks too bold, too loud even, and he likes making his disapproval obvious. You’ve had arguments with him before on how one should behave in a public setting, so you let it go occasionally but sometimes it just blows out of proportion, how he can get away with whatever he wants. You know it’s not completely true, but the thoughts cross your mind anyway.
As the days leap forward, it seems as though Doyoung and you have made a silent pact to stay at least half a metre away from each other. His touch would be too foreign, and a kiss even more alien, even if it is to prove your sham of a marriage as true. The last time you felt the fleeting touch of his fingers was perhaps at the wedding. You hear rumours now; the people don’t believe in your ‘love’, or the treaty, and if it progresses into further unease between the nations, you’re done for. After several arguments, you adopt a policy with Doyoung of at least linking arms in your monthly strolls through the city.
The war might have died, but there’s still a long time to go before the people accept each other. Doyoung and you still struggle to deal with the aftermath of your grandparents’ actions, and the progress occasionally gets delayed. But Doyoung and you were trained better than this, and you might even come to pride yourself on what you’ve achieved so far. Doyoung still holds his frown during council meetings, but you’ve seen at least a ghost of a smile across his features at your unorderly remarks.
“I don’t understand why the princess must be present during these meetings,” the head of the treasury had once commented.
“It’s Queen for you,” you had retorted, “and if the presence of a woman makes you so uncomfortable, I think you’re underqualified to be in this position.”
Some had snickered at the treasury head’s red face, some had solemnly agreed with you. But Doyoung maintained that neutral expression of his, urging the council to move with matters more pressing, and you still think you had imagined the corners of lips curving upwards. It doesn’t make sense to you how that thought actually gives you a strange flickering hope. The thought of making him smile makes you strangely excited, and a little happy even.
“You don’t like them?” you ask Doyoung, nervously glancing at the palace guard dogs.
“What? They’re alright,” he says, looking the other way.
“You’re scared of dogs?” you ask, amused.
“No,” he presses, his eyebrows knit together. “I’m not afraid of dogs.”
“Whatever you say,” you smile, and make your way towards the dogs, one hand raised to let them know you’re no enemy.
The dogs love you, and the whole palace knows it by now. They sprint across the garden and into your arms, and you’re almost knocked over by the force they arrive with. You scratch the back of their ears and brush your fingers through their fur. Doyoung looks at you, confused but approaches carefully.
“You know they’re trained to kill, right?” he tells you.
“And we’re trained to be fake, but that doesn’t sound too fun, does it?” you reply, not taking your eyes off the dogs.
Doyoung crouches beside you, still beware of the dogs and looks at them. Maybe you’re imagining things again but Kim Dongyoung actually smiles, his gums showing and a little laugh escapes his mouth. It sounds wonderful to you, and you let your smile grow into a wider one.
“That one has funny ears,” he comments.
“Well that one actually chewed off a man’s arm last week,” you inform.
“Oh,” Doyoung retreats his hand that was about to pet the dog.
The two of you laugh and the dogs join in with their little howls, and it’s the first time you feel as if the world isn’t against you.
Months pass by and it is enough to discern rumour from truth for the man you call your husband, the first being his cold-bloodedness. Even you might have thought that of him at the very beginning, but heartless? Doyoung is anything but heartless—you’ve seen the way he treats his subordinates, the council members, his people, even the way he offers a sliver of kindness to prisoners who do not deserve it. He might have been cold towards you but it’s only the ice that forms naturally in a forced relationship. He talks a lot to his subordinates—he talks a lot in fact, but not to you. Well, he does but it’s not enough. He usually initiates small talk in an attempt to make you feel comfortable; you know it’s only for your sake and you are grateful, but it doesn’t feel enough, doesn’t feel whole. Do you expect more from him simply because he’s your husband? You probably don’t deserve it when you haven’t shown him kindness of the same.
Doyoung’s habits worm their way into your subconscious near the end of a year, and you don’t feel any change adjusting yourself to him. It’s a thing you never thought you’d be able to do—to leave the comforts of home and find a new one in a man you barely knew. But now you recognize him through the tone of his voice, the twitch of his lips and the light in his eyes. He hates walking all the way to the courtroom every day, and he especially hates running or any other form of physical exertion. (“Because sweating is disgusting.”) He prefers studying in the library to fencing out in the fields, yet he is still an above average combatant. He can never handle spicy food and it had taken quite a while to cure his hiccups after trying the gifts from the southern prince. Doyoung likes his sleep, and he prefers finishing work early to go back to your bedroom and rest. At least there’s one thing you have in common, and it’s your love for sleep.
Doyoung can’t sleep without a pillow. The first night you’d wedged a pillow between the two of you and he’d narrowed his eyes at you for taking his pillow. The discomfort had only lasted a while before he’d brought in an armful of pillows to place all of them around him. Every day since, you sleep in a castle of pillows, Doyoung’s touch never within your reach. It’s the way you’ve both managed to build your own walls that makes you realize that maybe you should’ve walked out when you had the chance. That maybe you could have found a life elsewhere, somewhere in the midst of freedom and not trapped within your own walls. Studying Doyoung is a thing that tells you how he acts or what he’s about to do, but there’s only so much you can understand when you don’t even know what he’s thinking.
The second winter brings about illness and you are not spared. It’s the first time you see Doyoung worried and a little panicked maybe, but you shake off the idea that it’s because he has any feelings whatsoever for you. If you died, he’d probably have to take a new wife and it’s another hassle all over again. The thought makes you uneasy; just when you’re getting used to the place, you might have to leave again, even if the leave holds freedom.
“Do you always have to move your arms in your sleep?” Doyoung asks, irritably. “You almost toppled over your breakfast.
“Ugh,” you grunt, flipping over to turn your back to him.
“Are you not going to eat?”
“Stop nagging me,” you say. You forgot formalities somewhere in the middle of summer.
“I am not nagging you,” he complains, “You sleep too much.”
“Are you really complaining about someone who’s dying?” you snort.
“You’re not dying,” he replies quietly.
You maintain silence for a few moments, and you think he’s walked out, even if you didn’t hear footsteps. You turn to find warm eyes staring at your form under the blankets, and it’s the first time you see the ice melting.
“Why are you here anyway?” you cough out.
“I just thought I’d stay with my wife,” he mumbles. You hear him clearly, but you don’t know why the blood rushes to your cheeks, for you’re sure he’s referring to what you’d look like to the palace workers and the people. You’re glad he sees the red in your cheeks as sickness, and you hug the blankets closer.
“Are you cold?” he asks, standing up.
“No!” you rush, “don’t come any closer- you’ll get sick!”
“Of course not. I’m not stupid like you.”
“That’s no way to talk to the queen,” you grumble.
“You don’t exactly speak the way you’re supposed to speak to the king either.”
“Touché.”
Doyoung’s gestures grow increasingly warm, and perhaps they had always been warm but you were too busy looking for the cold. Yet you still refuse to give in—it’s a dangerous thing to be the one with feelings in a doomed relationship. Doyoung takes care of you almost better than the nurses; he mostly stays by your side, and makes sure your recovery is the priority. He has your prescription memorized, and he’s faster at providing you with your medicine than your caretakers. Doyoung prefers you stick to the herbal products, and although the taste makes you gag, you have it anyway for fear of the reappearance of Doyoung’s rants. He nags you to no end anyway—apparently anything you do is too dangerous to him. You once called him mother as a result and his annoyed face was funnier than anything that comes out of his mouth (“I’m offended you would think that.” “You’re not as funny as you think you are. No one in the council thinks you’re funny.” “They have no sense of humour, and neither do you, it seems.”). He laughs and jokes with you as a friend and it doesn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. Marriages like yours aren’t meant to carry love.
“Read to me,” you tell Doyoung, when you watch him trace the edge of the papers of the book he’s reading. The candlelight barely allows you to see his face, but he keeps it posted on a stand beside him to read.
“You’d find it boring,” he says, not moving.
“There you go with assuming again,” you click your tongue.
“Fine,” he says, “It’s about kings and queens.”
“You’re right. It is boring.”
You hear Doyoung’s exasperated sigh and smile to yourself. Why do you love to get on his nerves so much? It doesn’t really matter though; you’d just like to relish in the moment.
“I can tell you a story though,” Doyoung says, cutting the silence. There’s a strange uncertainty in his voice and your ears perk up faster than usual. “It’s a story the villagers like to tell their children—about the time the god of mischief got into trouble for his pranks.”
It’s the first time you realize that you really like Doyoung’s voice. He can sing too as you’ve heard him do in the evenings when he thinks no one is around. His voice, as warm as honey, gives you a taste of hot chocolate on your tongue, or the essence of sunset and the peace of sleep. It’s like the feeling of air filling your lungs and you’re glad you have a reason to breathe. Doyoung’s voice is charming and pacifying at the same time, and strangely home, and you rest easier knowing he’s with you.
You think you should owe your life to Doyoung. It’s quite definitely because of him that Death withdrew his hands from around you, and even in the worst of nights, it was Doyoung that really brought you back. You return from sickness a little kinder to your husband, if not entirely. You speak easier to him, without overflowing jabs at each other and it’s honestly refreshing to be husband and wife for once. Well, not exactly. It’s refreshing to not treat each other as enemies for once, to be friends perhaps.
Doyoung still won’t touch you though, even a gentle caress or a pat on the back, and it’s not like you expect him to. It’s still too foreign, too strange but it gets frustrating at times when you feel your heart in your mouth. You try to shake it off, try to ignore it, bury it, anything, but the cursed feelings gnaw at your chest and soul. Maybe you’ve grown too used to his worried glances, or the care in his voice. Did you miss being taken care of, being a little pampered? Or perhaps, despite your best judgement, had you fallen for the prince of the north? Sometimes you wish Doyoung hadn’t been so kind to you that month.
“Are you not going to bed?” Doyoung asks you, dressed in your night gown, staring ruefully from the balcony. He’s just arrived from the negotiations with the neighbouring kingdom, as you can tell from his full suit and the glimmering crown atop his head that looks like a structure sculpted out of crystals of ice, a thing only the finest of sculptors could do. He stares at you with round eyes, like it’s really you he finds special, and not as if you’re the one that probably ruined his life. You don’t blame him for yours turning out this way, but then again, who knows what he’s thinking?
“Do you want me on the bed with you that bad?” you joke, but Doyoung turns red. Maybe your innuendos really do get to him.
“I just thought you’d be sleeping,” he grumbles, “That’s what you usually do.”
He walks inside, and sets his crown atop the dresser. He’s never treated it as a prized possession, or like its worth; it’s just something he has, but doesn’t particularly want.
You hug yourself when a particularly strong breeze blows your way. Spring never seems to show its face in this kingdom, but you bear it just to look at the stars. They bring you peace, a certain harmony in their existence. Maybe it’s the fact that when you’re gone, when your kingdoms no longer exist, when there are kings and queens no longer, the stars will still be there. And whoever you are, no matter what life you’re having, you can still look at them, still wonder.
Doyoung appears to drape his coat around you, and it startles you, jumping at the sudden contact. Your movement startles Doyoung too as he raises his arms in defence.
“Sorry,” you apologize at the same time.
Doyoung is the first one to smile, and the flutters reappear in your chest.
“Guess the habits don’t go away,” he says, turning his head to look up at the sky.
You shrug and pull the coat closer as subtly as possible. It smells like rich perfume, roses and jasmines, but there’s also another scent, a scent that’s completely Doyoung. You would never admit how calming that smell is, or how you wish you had more of it.
“Do you have a favourite?” Doyoung asks. It’s surprising to see him ask questions again months after he’d given up trying to pry answers out of you.
“Not really,” you tell him. It’s true. You’ve never really thought about it, if you could pick a favourite star. They’re all lovely and bright in their own ways.
“Me neither,” he shrugs.
You stand there with him till the silence becomes unbearable and the air too cold. That night, there are less pillows between the two of you, and your cheeks heat up at the embarrassing thoughts that inevitably cross your mind, the touches that could be.
The few days of spring are celebrated with a ball, the grandest gathering of the entire north. The other northern princes partake in organizing, and the entire lands come to celebrate. It’s not the first time you’re visiting, but it is the first time you’re hosting. Last year, spring had decided to not show up, and the ball had been cancelled altogether, much to your dismay and Doyoung’s relief. (“It’s not very fun when you’re hosting it.” “Maybe you just don’t know how to host.”)
Now that you think about it, hosting is pretty difficult. Although the work has been divided among several managers, you and Doyoung have to oversee all of it, and you think you’ll break your back by the time spring is over. Everything needs to be perfect, from the music and performances to last minute details like the colour of the curtains in the ballroom, or the intensity of light coming from the chandeliers. The fireworks for the last day have to be perfectly timed, and the science staff’s new colours have to be tested. The security needs to be tightened around the entrance, and guards have to be posted at every watchtower. Royalty makes enemies, and it’s never too much to be sure.
The first celebrations take place on the hilltop, the one you can see from your bedroom, full of golden calendulas. There’s an open hall at the centre, and the first day must be celebrated there with a prayer to the gods. The southern gods are different, but everyone tags along nonetheless to watch the ice sculptures and water-dancers that are infamous across the entire land. The dancers appeal to the gods, while the musicians sing hymns and prayers in ancient tongue, in front of the intricately carved block of stone. It’s the ancestral stone of the royal family, and every major event, every inauguration takes place with a flurry of prayers to ancestors and gods. You wonder if Doyoung had to send his prayers too at some point, when he was crowned prince.
Doyoung now can’t care less about the holy rituals and prayers, but he has responsibility to maintain. He stands at the back of the crowd, not really paying attention, although people stop to stare at him occasionally. He wears his navy blue suit with the golden leaves again, with the sparkling diamond crown perched atop is head, and he looks uncomfortable at best. The problem is that he looks dashing, the handsome prince he’s rumoured to be, and the ladies staring at him make you more annoyed than you’d like to admit.
Before you can approach him, he’s pulled by the arm by his brother and they sneak into a room when no one’s looking. Curiosity hasn’t been your most rewarding quality, and you follow, feet nimble and fast.
“You’re okay with this?” Gongmyung whispers when he’s sure they’re out of earshot.
“What?”
“This? The marriage, and everything?”
“I think you’re over a year late,” Doyoung says drily.
“If you haven’t adjusted in over a year, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”
“Not what I meant. Are you really asking me how I feel about something I was forced to do?” Doyoung’s voice raises slightly. “And this long after it’s already happened? You were barely there at the wedding too!”
“Not everything you’re forced to do has to be bad,” Gongmyung says, “And I couldn’t have stopped it even if I were there.”
“Well, you’re wrong and everything is terrible. I never wanted this.”
You feel a pang of hurt in your chest. You thought he was warming up to you, when in reality, he’s probably been hating every second he’s with you. Hell, he probably blames you for the marriage like you blamed him in the beginning. You start walking away, careful as to not alert them, and Gongmyung’s chiding fades away as quick as possible.
Well, if Doyoung really doesn’t care, why should you? You take a seat in the middle of the audience, hopefully blended in and replay all your interactions with Doyoung, anger bubbling in your chest. Was he pretending to be nice for your sake? Does he think of you as some poor creature that needs pity? Or does he hate you so much that he wants to hurt you, take your heart and burn it?
A gentle tap on your shoulder snaps you out of it, and you’re met with the last person you want to see. You honestly thought your outfit was inconspicuous enough.
“Why are you here?” Doyoung asks. “You’re supposed to sit at the royal table.”
“I don’t want to,” you scowl.
Doyoung seems to be a little taken aback by your sour mood, but he retaliates nonetheless.
“You’re being childish!” he accuses. “What’s got you so upset?”
You.
“Is that what you think of me? A child?” you grumble.
“You’re certainly acting like one,” Doyoung says, his lips curled into a frown.
“I don’t care, I don’t even want to be here,” you say, getting up to leave.
Doyoung grabs your arm, and even through the silk gloves, his touch is as cold as ice.
“Let me go,” you says, your voice low, and Doyoung complies with a nervous gulp.
You don’t speak to him the rest of the day, and go to bed early just to avoid him.
Doyoung spends the next few days wondering what went wrong, why you’re either avoiding him or getting into more and more arguments with him. He hates it, the way he loses his temper with you, how you’re the one seeing this side of him that no one has seen with the exception of his brother. He hates this part of himself, and you’re the last person he wants to be seeing that.
The morning starts with yet another argument, and Doyoung sighs internally. Sometimes he wishes he could shut your pretty little mouth with a kiss, but the thought itself is weirdly embarrassing to Doyoung, and his face gets too hot when he thinks of it. Will he ever be able to tell you? That he’s fallen for you despite his best efforts, despite fate being against the two of you?
Why had he? Is it because he felt like a boy, not a prince, with you? Or is it because how easy it’s become to talk to you? Maybe the fact that you’re almost as good as him at pulling up strategies, and coming up with efficient design plans. Whatever it is, the blooming feeling in his chest cares for none of that, only seeking to be with you. This isn’t the kind of falling in love he thought he’d experience as a child—in fact, he didn’t even think he’d have time for it. The princes in the storybooks were hardly like him; they were strong and stupidly brave, extremely impulsive much to Doyoung’s distaste. He just assumed that’s the kind of men that women liked, and he directed his attention towards more pressing matters, like learning war strategies and how to rule. It’s not like he had a choice, but he can’t lie that he didn’t enjoy those classes.
“I don’t…I don’t feel good enough,” you say, and Doyoung snaps out of his thoughts.
He sighs. “You keep giving excuses. Tonight’s the main event, with the fireworks and all, you know?”
“I just don’t want to go,” you say, crossing your arms.
“You act like such a child sometimes,” Doyoung complains, at the end of his wits.
“You don’t even understand me,” you say, your voice low. “I have my reasons and you keep treating them like rubbish, like they don’t really matter.”
“Well, you’ve never told me them,” Doyoung says, rising to his full height. He loves the way you have to look up at him, your lips slightly parted, and oh, how he wishes you had met under different circumstances, had different feelings for each other, anything. Mostly, he wishes you would see him the way he sees you.
“You’re just picking fights on purpose,” Doyoung whispers, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Wouldn’t that make it easier?” you ask.
“Make what easier?”
“Us.”
Doyoung doesn’t respond—he still doesn’t understand, why are you looking at him so cold? Was he misunderstood, did he do something wrong? He hates the uncertainty of unspoken words, usually preferring to talk things out. But you definitely didn’t want to face him, so he let you go, the feeling in his chest weighing him down.
Doyoung admits that you look pretty in the royal dresses, but you look prettier in your nightgown gazing at the stars. Stars are too romanticized in his opinion, but they feel important when you look at them like that. The night is as majestic as it was planned to be and Doyoung sighs in relief when one by one all the events turn out to be a success. The only blemish on the perfect nights seems to be the fact that you are still ignoring Doyoung, darting from corner to corner, always out of his grasp. His frown deepens, watching you talk and laugh with almost everyone; your old friends are there too and he can’t help the jealousy sprouting in his chest. He doesn’t feel like the High Prince of the North, Kim Dongyoung, but more like a little boy, who’s losing his patience and maturity by the minute.
The last shred of Doyoung’s self-control vanishes when one of the southern princes wraps an arm around you. He strides over to your group, flashing the sweetest smile that sickens even him and excuses the two of you. He holds your hand tender but firm and pulls you out of the celebratory hall.
You know you’ve probably gone too far with your temper tantrums when Doyoung pulls you outside the hall. Yes, you’re being a little childish maybe, but at the end, you don’t want to be the one with a broken heart, forced to be with the one who broke it. If you told him, would he laugh at you? Or would he tell you he’s sorry? Would you be forced to live with the shame, the rejection, the strangling feelings? It’s better to distance yourself from the beginning, let the fights warm you with their fire if love won’t.
Doyoung’s grip on your hand is slightly uncomfortable—he’s wearing those cursed gloves again and not even the silk ones. You know he likes his hands at a comfortable temperature but it’s ridiculous how he never seems to part with them.
“Do-doyoung,” you say, pulling at his hand so he stops and turns to face you. He looks dishevelled, a slight anger in his eyes and lips pursed.
“My hand,” you say.
“Sorry,” he chokes out, retreating his hand. He looks as though he’s fighting several thoughts, deciding what to do. He bites the inside the inside of his cheek, and you smile at how he looks like a rabbit, like a mountain hare you’ve seen around here to be precise.
“What’s so funny?” Doyoung asks, furrowing his brows.
“You,” you laugh.
“Oh really now?” He raises an eyebrow. “Last time I remember, you said I’m not very funny.”
“Your face is funny.”
Doyoung scowls, but seems to regain composure.
“Are you going to tell me now?” he asks, his expression back to determined. “What did I do?”
“What did you do? You did nothing.” Exactly. You did nothing.
“Do you blame me?” he asks, stepping closer. “For the marriage?”
“Not any more than you blame me,” you tell him.
There’s a long silence before Doyoung responds, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t blame you.”
“Then I don’t blame you,” you say, truthfully. You never have blamed him.
Doyoung runs his fingers through his hair, a sudden but small smile gracing his lips. He steps closer once again, and clears his throat as if he’s about to say something. He looks a little nervous, like what he’s about to say carries weight, like it’s a secret others can’t know. He glances down at your lips and your heart catches in your throat. Despite everything, you still find your voice, still gather enough wits to joke.
“What? You want to kiss me? Hm?” you tease, the sarcasm dripping. Your voice goes down a notch as you grin. “Place your mouth over mine in the dark corridors where no one is looking?”
“Don’t provoke me,” he responds, the vein in his neck appearing to aid the strain in his voice. The sudden seriousness surprises you, and you find yourself face to face with a rather pissed off Doyoung. It’s never nice when his voice drops lower than usual.
“It’s just a stupid show to you, isn’t it?” he starts, the anger obvious in his voice. “You’re okay with just pretending- it doesn’t really matter to you, right?”
You don’t say anything and he continues, “Do you even know how hard it is? To be the one in love in a one-sided relationship? Do you even care?”
You stare at him in stunned silence. “It’s awful, you know? I tried, I tried my best, but do you know how hard it is to not touch you? To not hold you, to just throw my feelings away? Of course not. You don’t know how scary it is- I feel like I’ll burn at your touch.”
“There you go with assuming again,” you grumble, before raising your voice to a proper volume. “You really think I don’t know the feeling? When all I’ve been wanting is for you to kiss me this entire goddamn party?”
Doyoung purses his lips. It’s not a regular sight, him being speechless. He unconsciously moves forward, and you press a hand against his burning cheeks.
“Doyoung,” you whisper, sudden boldness coursing through you, “Kiss me.”
Doyoung doesn’t waste a moment, cupping your face and leaning in. The feeling is exquisite, far more than anything you’ve tasted, or smelt, even if Doyoung bumped his nose against yours a little too hard at first. He takes his time kissing you, the repressed feelings pouring out as though this is his only chance at redeeming them. The pressure against your lips is the warmest thing you’ve felt in the northern kingdoms, and you smile against Doyoung’s lips. He pushes you against the wall for better support, and you find your arms moving to wrap around him, subjecting yourself to him and his touch as much as you can. He tastes sweet, like the wine he had tasted earlier and the kiss is slow, fulfilling and perfect.
“Please get rid of those stupid gloves,” you murmur against his lips.
Doyoung removes them wordlessly, and discards them into some corner, before pressing his thumb against your cheek. His hands are warmer than you remember, and you take them in yours to kiss his knuckles. If he wasn’t red enough already from the kiss, he turns redder and you feel your ego swell some more. You lean back in, and your lips press gently against his this time, and he hums in satisfaction. You kiss in the dark corridors where no one can see you, but it’s the kind of kiss that is supposed to be spoken of only between two.
“You’re very stupid,” Doyoung tells you in the morning, eyes still sleepy.
“I was expecting a ‘good morning, love of my life!’ but okay,” you glare at him. It’s the first time the pillows aren’t there between you, but Doyoung’s touch is as good and soft as any.
“You made me so worried the past few days,” he says, a frown making its way onto his face.
“You didn’t look very worried when your tongue was in my mouth.”
“Do you have to be this way?” Doyoung says, his face and ears a brilliant red.
“I was kidding but I couldn’t resist the idea of your blushy face,” you say, smugly.
“I don’t think that’s a word, and I swear I’ll get back at you one of these days,” he says, glaring.
You smile and place your fingers on Doyoung’s cheek. You’re glad to find them still warm from the sudden rush of blood. Doyoung smiles back, his lips stretching into his adorable gummy smile, and the mushy feeling comes back at the sight.
“I didn’t know it would turn out this way,” you say.
“Me neither,” he breathes out.
You move closer to Doyoung and rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, all of them give you a feeling you didn’t think you’d be able to feel after getting married, after handing over your freedom. The touch of a lover, kisses pressed against your mouth, they were all stories made to charm little princesses. And although you know they came at a cost, you wouldn’t take it back. You don’t regret it, not at all now. Doyoung gives you peace, a different kind of freedom altogether and you wouldn’t ever let that go.
Doyoung rubs his thumb in circles at the small of your back, humming a familiar tune. You cherish the moments now, for you never know what the future is hiding. You know you’ll be throwing a lot less tantrums from now on—Doyoung likes talking it out, and for once, you’ll admit it’s the better way to sort problems. It’s the way the little things mesh to bind your lives that makes you see clearly. You’re lucky—you really are, to have fallen in love with the man you were supposed to. But you’re blessed to have fallen in love with a man who fell in love with you, who you wouldn’t regret spending the end of your days with.
#that kiss scene?#idk who wrote it but it wasnt me damn#nct#nct scenarios#nct au#nct 127#nct 127 scenarios#nct u#nct u scenarios#doyoung#doyoung scenarios#doyoung fluff#doyoung angst#doyoung x reader#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#nct fluff#nct imagines#nct writing#nct 127 writing#nct 127 imagines#nct fanfic#moonwrites#kim doyoung#nct doyoung scenarios#i hope this is enough skhkshllkdj#royalty!au#arranged marriage!au#female!reader
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Ramblings of a Madwoman
Because I honestly have no other idea what to title this as. To put it simple, that's what this entire journal is going to be. From start to finish--no stopping to think about whatever f-ed up stuff will be put into written text and to be immortalized for eternity (deleted after or not) here on the World Wide Web--nothing but unedited, freewriting, off topic sidebar-ing throughout the entirety of this Journal. So, we'll see where and how it ends.
In about a month, I'll have been on DeviantART for an entire decade (and about 8 years since Tumblr). And, I just want to make it clear: I've done a shit tone of fucked up things in all the years that I've been here. Of course, this was things that I mainly did to people. (Yes, people, because, let's face it, whether or not we have the comfort of anonymity behind the keyboard in the middle of our "safe space" of the internet, we're still people on the other side of the screens). But, yes, I've done and said fucked up shit to people during me time here. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Nor will I deny any of the messed up stuff that I've done, especially to said people, in the past decade. I'll spare you all the wall of novel-length text that consists of my usual self-deprecating self-flagellation, since you all know the drill by now. Plus, I would hate putting you all to sleep just at the beginning of this Journal.
I'm messed up in the head. Plain and simple.
In my younger years (earlier in the decade, right about when I first appeared on dA), I had something wrong with me--not sure what, but it was definitely something that I, unfortunately, would never fully realize until recently this year. I grew up sheltered in an overly Conservative and Bible-Thumping household. The neighborhood I grew up in was what my parents lovingly called "God's Waiting Room", because of all the old-timers living in the homes. Any kids around were ones that I wasn't allowed to socialize with because my parents didn't want them "influencing" me. So, needless to say, I didn't have much of a social life growing up. I only went to a real school for two and a half years of my life, and, during that time, I stuck out more than a sore thumb (Hell, I didn't even know what a "Cafeteria" was, because the only "Cafeteria" I knew of was the dinner table. So, needless to say, my first time experiencing "lunch" was very awkward). All in all, being sheltered and not having much of a social life when you're still in your single-digits you grow up having this narcissistic know-it-all, controlling, 'I'm better than you', 'I'm the only person in this world and everyone else doesn't exist' personality and you think that you can control everyone else to your every whim. Being put into a real school with other real life people and kids my age was, obviously, a massive culture shock. When you suddenly realize that other people are their own individual person and have their own free will, you start to become aware that you were educated and raised in a world that could be similar to solitary confinement.
"Oh, hey, (Saki's real name). What're you doing?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just trying to think of how I can get all my classmates together for our superhero team so we can go off and fight bad guys in my head, all the while thinking I can bend them to my will as if they're not actually other human beings."
"...Didn't Chris-Chan already do that?"
"Pfft. This is 2005! Chris-Chan won't be a thing for another few years."
Now, my parents weren't perfect. I was their first child, and the first-borns are always the "guinea pigs" for new parents. Of course, I never understood that my parents were humans until my 20s. They made mistakes with me, like thinking that not giving their young impressionable daughter a social life through the first crucial years of her childhood was a good idea.
I know it sounds like I'm complaining--that's always the initial reaction people get whenever they read posts like this from me. "Oh, Saki's just starting drama", "Kura just wants attention", "She's cray-cray and needs help, like srsly...". Believe me, I get it, I completely understand why one would think that I sound like I'm complaining. Because you, the reader, are just reading these little pixelated words that look black on your computer monitor/mobile screen. But, in reality, when up close, those pixels are just a collection of RBGs. You interpret what you see through your reading and comprehension of the words before you. Because you're not the author. You merely interpret what you're writing and filling the blanks with guesswork of what the writer is trying to convey through these little pixels making up words.
It's weird, y'know... They say that "hearing voices" is the first step into insanity. But, are you insane if you're fully aware of it? They say that psychos and sociopaths don't admit nor are aware of their disorder because of the narcissism that accompanies it. So... would you still be a psychopath or sociopath if you admit it and/or are aware of it? These are just a handful of the kind of questions that fill he chaotic Hell in my mind when nothing else is going on.
Lately, though, that hasn't been very often. For those of you, who follow me on Tumblr (by the way, if you still follow me there, you must have a lot of tolerance for me), you may have noticed the rather alarming on-and-off episodes I've been having over the past few weeks. Trust me when I tell you that former friends will assure that "This is normal for Saki/Kura. Just stay away from her. She's just a lost cause. You'll only end up hurt associating with her, much less talking to her."
"Saki... the things you have been saying aren't really 'normal'--"
"Oh trust me... this is the Keemster-level of a 'cycle' that she goes through. Why do you think we made her theme song that Keemstar Parody of All Star? LMAO. This is 100% Normal for her."
But, what is normal? 'Normal' is nothing more than a perception of what we're used to: routines, topics, lifestyles--whatever we are used to. When something occurs that is out of our routine, we immediately perceive it as 'abnormal' (or just not normal). Much life me experience, albeit rather brief, time I spent in an actual school. You feel that unnerving unease as the stranger in a foreign land.
Now, what I do and say isn't Healthy, that would be the proper use of the phrase you're trying to portray. But, my diagnosis came far too late. There's no undoing what is done. There's no chance at saving loathsome sinners, the chance they had was the life they had before and the punishment is this. There's no rainbows inside of demons.
People, who view others outside of their little bubble, call those 'abnormal' people "toxic", simply because that person has disturbing psychological issues. It's like: "Ewww! A mud puddle! Gross I can't believe I stepped in that! Now my $200 shoes are ruined forever because of that damn puddle!" Those people are treated as lower than dirt just because their perceived in such a negative light. It's a label those high and mighty ones quickly slap onto those, who can't help the disorders they have. Sometimes those people aren't even aware they have a disorder, yet those prissy princesses still sit with upturned noses and chastise with their prim: "You need help, srsly." with their venomous undertone of "I'm better than you." Is it really fair to be some uppity hoity-toity sociality; sneering through your little rainbow-soap window down below at those loathsome dirty little plebian peasants? Perhaps that may be "normal" for you.
Sometimes--no, actually, often; very often--I just want to pop that bubble. Let that sprinkle of soap sting their eyes as it dribbles into their corneas. Their screams and cries in pain while they lean over the sink to wash them out would be such a delight.
I would go into more detail about other things regarding this, but I'm not dumb enough to freewrite my thoughts out to the point there's incriminating evidence against me.
"...Saki, this Journal is getting a little dark..."
"It's called 'Ramblings of a Madwoman' for a reason. Besides, the little 13-year-old edgelord wannabes on this website get away with far worse. Trust me, I've seen them. Some of them are in their 20s and haven't grown out of that phase. Them going on and getting away with using their boyfriends, who has ties to the dark Web, to get the personal information (mailing address and all) of the people they don't like just so that they can have them killed. You'd be surprised how thin-skinned these little lefties are. 'Someone Disagrees with me?? -cue Mission Impossible montage of tracking that person down and killing them-'."
"But you're talking about killing people!"
"I have said no such thing! At least not put it in writing. What part of 'I'm not dumb enough to post incriminating evidence of myself' did you not understand, my dear?"
Yes... it would be nice to have a peace of mind for once day. It would be amazing to not have to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from another night terror (had one just last night actually). When people want you dead--and have gone out of their way to find your address so that they can kill you--, all you want to do is keep you and your family safe. People can't kill you if they no longer exist, right? It would be just so nice to be able to go on for the rest of my life without having to worry about being sought after and killed just because I disagreed with someone and told them they were being stupid and immature. Or just randomly responding to condescending Twitter users, who think I'm talking about a certain someone when I'm not. But, just knowing that people still continue to go after me for no apparent reason just causes those night terrors to persist.
I just want to keep my family safe. Selfishly, I want to be able to sleep without having to worry about people in other States and Countries somehow knowing where I live and can come and kill me at any moment.
"Why didn't you call the cops--?"
"Because I didn't know it was them at the time it happened. Their former friend didn't tell me about all the plots and things they said in their Discord server until two years later. So, they were able to get away with this because of the Statute of Limitations."
Regardless, that still won't put my mind at ease knowing that they're still out there and can pull the same thing or worse once again. I wasn't the only one they they did this too, either. Of course, that the YouTube Drama Channels for you. They do fucked up shit behind the scenes while putting on some "I'm a good person" face.
You can't trust people, who act nice publicly. They aren't the innocent souls they want everyone to believe that they are. They want something. They want something from you. And when they've squeezed everything out of you that they want... they'll toss you away with no hesitation because they're done using you. Using you to feed their little lambs, whose fleece are white as snow, while they sleep their way to the top.
They want me dead. They've always wanted me dead. They know where I live, and they'll take me out along with the rest of my family. They'll rejoice and be glad of course~ ^u^ "Ding Dong the witch is dead~!" They will sing as they dance together happily in the streets. "Huzzah! Hooray! The monster has been slain. No longer shall she continue to torment us because we have FINALLY killed her~!" They said so themselves: "I'm happy that people told you these things." That was back in 2015 (and I still have the screenshot and the link to the original post)... half a decade ago. Even back then, they wanted me dead. Their party planning for that day is still in preparation. But, they'll immediately set up once that time come when I no longer exist.
"...Saki, you're not okay."
This is what happens to people when they've finally Snapped.
But, I want to get better. Don't get me wrong. I don't like that I've become this person. No, I don't believe in change--I don't believe people can change whatsoever. I just want to feel better and not have to worry about these things anymore. But, I know well that things will never be the same. All I can do is continue moving forward and hope and pray that I don't mess up once again and start the cycle all over.
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