#can I say something. *looks to the council who all shake their heads violently no* okay well. I'll be thinking it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariaxxxxx · 3 months

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Fantasize (Namor x Black!Reader)

Summary: Fantasy can be sweet compared to reality.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, slight degradation, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), aftercare, curse words, breeding kink.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

Work count: 4.113

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

K'uk'ulkan is a man who earned his position as leader of Talokan through hard work and iron-fisted leadership. Considered by his people as a God and by his enemies as an executioner, admired by many for having the good characteristics that make a king and a physical appearance as divine as paradise. He wasn't the kind of guy to start a small conversation, but he knew exactly how to persuade a person with his words. There were also social subtleties involved, which You found adorable, the man was gallant and imposing and this made people respect him more. His father thought he was arrogant and proud. You agreed with him, but chose to describe that man differently; he was a bit of a jerk, a bit of a romantic, and incredibly powerful. These are really unique characteristics.

You look up as he enters Wakanda's council room. You open your mouth to greet him, knowing it's a bad idea. Luckily for You, a loud scoff from his father makes You both focus on the conversation going on in the room. He sits, next to his father, a place fit for a royal guest.

“The situation with the Americans is under control.” His father is speaking to the leader of Talokan with a loud tone of voice, an annoying trait of his. “As agreed, our borders have been strengthened.”

“We cannot relax if we take into account the persistence of the colonizers.” As the river tribe leader speaks You watch K'uk'ulkan's eyebrows arch upward.

K'uk'ulkan is the type of man who is interested in subjects that disrespect his nation and enjoys strategic conversations to keep the colonizers' curiosity at bay. He likes to hear what his allies have to say, although he almost never agrees with the decisions made. He was a violent man indeed. He always responded to violence with more violence.

“The late king’s decision to open Wakanda’s borders brought dilemmas that needed to be resolved.” Says K'uk'ulkan with his apathetic face, but You can detect a small gleam in his eyes. You know how much he always has to fight not to reveal his dissatisfaction with being so far from home. “It is not enough to close the borders again, more brutal measures need to be carried out.”

Oh! There it was. The flame of war shining in his pupils. Two years ago Talokan went to war with Wakanda. A dispute that caused losses for both sides. It was still difficult for many to overcome the death of Queen Ramonda and the departure of the legitimate heir out of the country, leaving Wakanda once again without its protector. Black Panther chose to step aside, indefinitely, to deal with his grief. The decision was respected and accepted by the council, but the people did not look favorably on it; after all, Black Panther was the warrior spirit sent by Bast to protect us.

After the ascension to the throne of his father, King Jabari, diplomatic programs were created to formalize the ceasefire and the union of both nations to deal with attempts to steal Vibranium. His father chose to return to old policies; close Wakanda's borders and suspend metal extraction. Such an attitude made Talokan, the people and the council happy, but not the colonists who demanded the sharing of Vibranium.

The conversation went on for a long time; they talked about metal, about borders, bonds of friendship, trade routes... At some point, you disconnected and sank into the chair with your eyes fixed on the floor, shaking your head every time someone said something. Meetings were tedious for a young man like You with so much energy to burn.

“So, have we reached a decision?” Your father says suddenly, snapping You out of your thoughts. You look at everyone in the room and notice when everyone exclaims a resounding Yes. Only one says nothing. You notice K'uk'ulkan's fingers turn a little too white, as if he's gripping the arms of his chair. A clear sign of irritation and denial.

You're not surprised to see him get up and leave, but no one comments on it before your father says,

“At least he didn’t fondle us again.”

(...)

That night, You escaped the palace walls, all ready to go the moment the clock struck eleven. When this happens, you hide from the Dora Milaje. After all, it wasn't safe for a new little princess to walk the streets late at night. The big doors open and you walk out into the night. You knew the way with your eyes closed; Behind the palace, surrounded by large trees, there was a saltwater river little known to the inhabitants.

On the riverbank there was a rustic wooden cabin with opaque glass windows and a large oak door. You didn't know who built this place, but in the last two years it had become yours and his. Little by little you redecorated the place, filling it with luxurious furniture and yellow lights.

You silently enter the place, turning on the lights and observe the mess you and he made on your last date. You put on shabby clothes, tie your hair up and start working as if you were being paid to do so. You start by arranging the cushions on the couch, then clean all the dishes, counters and general surfaces. You finish by vacuuming all the sand from the place and mopping the floor with a cloth dampened with scented water. You don't care about the room. After all, he was always so tidy. Your lover would rather take You in the living room, or on the balcony, or by the river under the starlight; very few times did you use that bed.

When you finish your cleaning marathon, your watch beeps informing you that it was already midnight and he would be here soon. You take a break and run to the bathroom. After a shower, perfumed your skin and touched up your makeup, you put on a thigh-length dress made of transparent fabric. The dress leaves your breasts and intimacy exposed, so you minimize this fact by placing a padless lace bra and thin panties under the dress. You looked beautiful, like the Goddess Isis waiting for her Osiris.

You return to the kitchen to start preparing something to eat. There are just a few minutes left before the food is ready when the cabin door opens and you hear a familiar voice.

"My love, I'm here." K'uk'ulkan breaks the silence that has hung over the environment since You arrived. You don't bother shouting, you never do. You would do it in person in seconds instead of yelling at each other in different rooms. The last time you dared to perform such a vulgar act, K'uk'ulkan gave you slaps on the ass to educate you correctly. A good wife greets her husband when he walks through the door, he said as he slapped her behind. You loved being punished like that, but you hated spending three whole days without being able to sit down.

You leave the kitchen and go to him, with a big smile on your lips. You find him in the room wearing fancy clothes richly decorated with gold and jade. He keeps his shorts green with black embroidered details. You extend your arms and circle them around his neck. You give him a kiss on the lips in greeting. He returns the kiss, pressing your body against his.

"Hello my dear." You pull away from his lips and turn your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

“Stressful, but I managed to escape to be with my wife.” He smiles and plays with a strand of your hair. “Knowing that You are here to care for me fills my heart with joy.”

The kisses didn't stop as he spoke and You were struggling to remember the stew that was boiling on the stove.

“Fuck” You don’t think about the curse until a hand squeezes your hip. A subtle warning of how such verbiage was not allowed in that environment.

“Such a beautiful girl with such a dirty mouth.” He mutters. His lips brush your ear, and you have to concentrate to push him away.

“I need to go to the kitchen.”

“Just focus on me, my love.” You can feel in his tone he wants to break You, break the character You play. Like a dizzy duck You fall into his trap.

“K’uk’ulkan” You whine. "Is very fast! Our dinner will burn and it will be a disaster.”

You scream when you feel a sharp slap on your ass. His hand makes a circular movement at the impact site, easing the pain a little. This was her punishment for being so petulant towards her man.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” His voice is lower, a little dark.

"Sorry my love."

"Good girl." He removes his arms from your waist and signals you to go to the kitchen. You mumble a simple thank you and rush over to find the food boiling furiously over medium heat. You hang up and return to the room, to him.

“Now I’m all yours, my love.”

“What have You done to us?” He says it like he doesn't know. As if he hadn't instructed her what to cook.

“A stew with vegetables accompanied by cornbread.”

It was a rule established by both of you that you would do your best to please him. No easy or quick foods, no fatty foods with added sugar and pesticides. K'uk'ulkan didn't take care of himself, in his opinion. He woke up early to govern, stayed late in meetings and would certainly forget to eat if You didn't prepare something. You remembered how he claimed not to eat much, a phrase that made you want to care for this man who cared for others and neglected himself. Not that this was a surprise, however. K'uk'ulkan was born with a crown on his head, so difficulty taking time away from work and taking care of himself became commonplace.

There was also the pleasure of serving and being served. He was excited by the idea of having a wife ready to serve him at the end of the day, with the effort made by You to please him in every way. It excited both of you, knowing that you worked hard without complaining to please him. In addition to carnal pleasure, there was cuddling; although you and he never talked to define exactly what this relationship was, nights of cuddling and talking on the sidelines were not uncommon. He liked to please too, it would not be uncommon for him to give you gifts ranging from fabrics with gold thread to jewelry; You hid them in the back of your closet to avoid questions.

His hand snakes down your hips to your butt, he gives it a squeeze making you moan with a little discomfort at having your sore flesh being touched like that.

"Adorable." The words vibrate in you. His hands suddenly caress your body. The hand pauses, pulls back, and spanks her ass afterwards. “What do you say after being praised, my love?”

You stabilize yourself with the force of the blow, fight back a groan, smile at him and mutter a loud:

"Thanks."

“You’re such a good little girl” he reflects, pressing your body against his so you can feel the hardness that was forming between your legs. “You love this, don’t you? You love it when I discipline you.”

You don't answer because you think it's a rhetorical question, but a warm hand moves his hair away and thick fingers grab the back of his neck.

"Yes my love. Thank you for taking care of me and teaching me how to be a good woman.” You fight back a bratty response about how you could take care of yourself.

“Such a good queen to me.”

Your mind lights up at the word queen being expelled from his mouth. You're insecure about the current agreement to never discuss these things, so you just smile, and kiss him passionately, pretending that being called his queen hasn't affected you in every way possible.

You allow his tongue into your mouth savoring the feeling of him touching you so softly. His skin burns red hot from the hot trail his hands leave as they roam your body. A hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back enough for You to feel the pressure on your scalp. K'uk'ulkan attacks his neck, distributing wet kisses while you moan and encourage him to continue.

“K’uk’ulkan” You moan shamelessly when he sucks on the sensitive skin of your neck. He walks away, leaving you a mess, the damn thing had the power to make you go crazy with so little.

"Let's play a game." He suggests. A part of You is disappointed by this, but You knew how he liked to prolong the night. He moves away from you, sitting on the navy blue sofa; You narrow your eyes, finding this attitude strange, but his smug smile prepares you for what comes next. “Take off your panties and climb up my thigh. Now."

You don't wait long and you're soon getting rid of your panties, straddling his thigh after doing so. The cool, bare skin damps beneath You which is clearly visible when K'uk'ulkan pushes you back to check, You gasp when you realize how wet you were. His face burns with embarrassment, so you cover him in a cute reaction. You can't meet his gaze when he grabs his hand and pulls them away so you opt to kiss him for a minute to hide the embarrassment. Until he pulls away and puts his hands on your hips.

“I barely touched you and you’re already wet.” His hands are firmly on your hips, he uses them to pull you against him causing friction. “I know how desperate You are for this. Keep your moans low. Anyway, good girls never act like whores.”

He was right about how much You needed this, of course. The bastard knew her like the back of his hand. He leans his torso against the couch, giving him a privileged view of the movements of his hips. You bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly when a specific movement increases contact with your swollen clit. You can barely concentrate between your low sighs and the warm hand that snakes across your belly and over your breasts, the feeling of his hand drives you crazy and without you realizing it a loud moan escapes your mouth when one of your breasts are tight.

You come out of your little world of pleasure to be met with K'uk'ulkan's intense gaze. He arches an eyebrow and squeezes your hips when you try to seek more friction.

"Sorry." His breath catches with the need to be forgiven, your hands tighten on his shoulders and you, once again, try to move your hips only to have your plans thwarted.

"Stand up." He commands and You obey. “It looks like my beautiful girl is having trouble following my orders. What a shame!"

"Sorry my love." You falter when you see the expression on his face.

“We need to solve this problem” You can see the cruel smile and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Take off your dress and come onto my lap.”

You take everything off and stand naked in front of him. Hesitantly, you walk over to him and settle into his lap. K'uk'ulkan rests one hand on your upper back and squeezes your shoulder. Care before everything happens You understand. You arch into his lap due to the hard slap he gives your ass.

“Tell and be thankful.” He orders.

"To thank?" His question is rewarded with another hard slap on his ass. "Sorry. Thank you for the lesson my love.”

"Good girl. Too bad this one didn't count. I didn’t hear any numbers.” You can see his smile in your mind. "Count."

"Yes." You speak breathlessly, one hand gripping his leg to anchor yourself. A slap. "One. Thank you my love"

"Higher." Another slap.

"Two. Thank you my love."

You hear a chuckle and his hand covers your ass, rubbing it creating momentary relief.

“Behave and you won’t be punished again.”

The blow comes harder this time, catching You off guard enough to scream.

"Three. Thanks." You say breathlessly.

“I said it without groaning.” The slap is even stronger than the previous one, you bite your lip to keep from screaming. “Thank me and I’ll think about whether I’ll fuck you with my cock.”

“Thank you for punishing me, K’uk’ulkan” You lick your lips to moisten them. “Please fuck me with your cock.”

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you up, the quick movement makes you slide off the couch and fall on your knees between his legs. You look up only to find the obsidian orbs watching you with intensity. This man has too much power over You, and You can't care about it. You were about to beg to suck his dick, but K'uk'ulkan grabs your jaw with his fingers and caresses your lips with his thumb, You suck it devotedly without looking away.

“I will be benevolent today.”

You are internally grateful for the decision. K'uk'ulkan had been teasing you for a long time and your pussy was throbbing, and you had never been so ready to be fucked in your life. He tightens the grip on your jaw, a reminder for you to thank him.

"Thanks." You say. “Fuck me with your divine cock, K'uk'ulkan”

“My good girl, so good to me.” He caresses his cheek with his fingertips. “Lie down on the mat and spread your legs.”

You find yourself crawling onto the carpet a moment later, laying your head on a cushion. You look at K'uk'ulkan, his body sculpted by gods, he worked to rid himself of the jewelry and green trunks.

“Eat me feathered serpent.” You say, making no move to hide the way you look at him.

K'uk'ulkan lets out a rough, savage growl, and you notice how hard and rigid his cock is begging for attention. Your pussy moistens even more at the knowledge of how thirsty he was.

“I'm going to fuck you soon, my love. I want to get You ready for me.”

He moves his body until he is on top of you and kisses you. You feel his cock in your belly, dripping with your juices, and you feel divine for provoking such a reaction in that man. You feel a finger slide through your intimate area, playing with your swollen clitoris and then being inserted into your vaginal canal. You groan at the intrusion. You kiss him harder when a second finger is introduced and then the third.

“K'uk'ulkan, You are stretching me. I cannot stand." You say only to receive a raised eyebrow before he goes back to doing what he was doing. With his thumb, he circles your clitoris in circular movements to the point that you see stars.

“You’re my good girl, you can take it.” He leans in, and the predatory tone of his voice when he speaks makes you squirm beneath him. “Cum on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.

Her folds tighten tightly on the edge of a powerful orgasm. You try to beg, but only disjointed sounds come out of your mouth. You feel his thumb tease your clitoris with movements oscillating between slow and fast, in a sneaky movement he removes his thumb only to press it harder immediately afterwards. His orgasm hits you like a truck. You arch your back and scream for him when you feel your spirit leave your body and return shortly afterwards.

“K'uk'ulkan, I'm...”

“You’re going to cum again.” He says as he aligns his cock with your pussy, You moan when he purposely rubs against your hard and sensitive clit. “This time, it will be on my dick.”

He pushes hard. You're wet and open enough, but he was pretty big and the pain of penetration was inevitable, but it was a good pain. Every time You loved feeling his cock tearing your wet pussy. He supports himself on his elbows which give him the possibility to fuck you hard and he does so.

"Cum." You blurt out as he beats you mercilessly.

Above You, K'uk'ulkan ate you like a flesh-hungry beast. The dull touch of his skin hitting yours fills you with anxiety, and makes you think about the bruises that will appear. He grabs her waist with one hand just to stretch her a little and thrust her with more force.

“My perfect wife, good girl, my good good queen.” He babbled helplessly as he thrust hard into her pussy that was clenching around him, a clear sign of a new orgasm approaching. “I will spill my semen inside You. Filling Your womb with a baby will make You my queen and take them away.”

“Put a baby in me, K’uk’ulkan” You beg him. The hand squeezes his waist again as he attacks with a series of swear words in his mother tongue.

With a powerful thrust You cum again, screaming his name shamelessly. Your inner folds contract, squeezing his cock inside You, K'uk'ulkan tries to resist it, but it was a losing battle. He comes grunting like an animal spilling drop by drop of his seed inside You. He still gives a few more thrusts as if to ensure that You received every drop of his sperm. He collapses on top of you, with his cock still inside your pussy.

It stays inside You until You are uncomfortable. K'uk'ulkan Pulls away, pulling his softening cock out of You, a moan escaping when You feel the emptiness that was left. Your walls were sensitive and stained with his release; satisfaction filled every molecule of your body at this feat. K'uk'ulkan lies down next to him; you turn your head to him and smile, place a chaste kiss on his lips and sigh softly:

"Thank you my love."

To then be pulled closer and wrapped in a comforting hug.

“We need to eat.” You say snuggling into his chest, he pulls You into him.

“I already ate.” He says with his eyes closed. "I am very satisfied."

“You made me cook for nothing.” You speak of false indignation. “I’ll leave You hungry next time.”

“I will make it up to you later for cooking. Now, let's rest. Soon the sun will rise.”

Silence settles in the room, a sign that K'uk'ulkan was sleeping. You were not left behind, falling into a deep sleep with pleasant dreams.

The sun was rising when You awoke from your sleep. It wasn't a surprise to discover that you were alone. You never woke up next to him. As the leader of a nation he needed to return to his nation and, as painful as it was, he knew the implications that his affair with K'uk'ulkan could bring if he didn't go underwater. Hatred for surface dwellers was sown centuries ago and it would be difficult for a Talokanil's relationship with a surface dweller to be accepted.

You shook your head to dismiss such frivolous thoughts. I knew this was salt in the wound, a long time ago. You had already convinced yourself that you were nothing more than a concubine; You accepted this position with flying colors, although a little voice in your head always begged you to demand more. Being his queen, the mother of his children seemed like an impossible dream, so for the sake of your sanity You accepted the role to be played; sex is necessary and affection when requested. One day, this would end; You would marry a nobleman or some promising scientist and have his children, K'uk'ulkan would be nothing more than a youthful fling.

“Fuck” You cursed as you realized where your thoughts were taking you downs a dangerous path again.

After all, you and he would stay in this fantasy a thousand times if necessary. Until reality knocked on the door and took us back to the harsh reality. For now, you could be content with pretending he was yours; pretend he would come back every night as her husband to love her and possess her body under the starlight. You sigh as you realize how your reality wasn't as pleasant as your expectations. You snuggle on the rug, deciding to sleep a little longer until you return to the palace, your father would definitely be upset and question your disappearance, but you could deal with that later. Now, You just wanted to close your eyes and dream of a reality where You and K'uk'ulkan would be happy surrounded by children. Fantasy could be sweet compared to reality.

#namor x reader #black panther #namor x you #talokan #namor of talokan #namor the sub mariner #wakanda forever #namor x y/n #namor smut #namor #namor x black reader #black panther wakanda forever #wakandans #mcu

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jockbrannigan · 6 months

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Not everyone's an asshole

Maya and Jock catch up with each other at the Redwood Prom.

@mxyacho

Jock

-Honestly, Jock was overwhelmed. This whole night had been a risk for him and he was still undecided if it had been worth it or not. He had gotten to hang out with Mayra again and meet new people like Vi and Vivienne but all the good stuff was overshadowed by Zack and his stinky, violent attitude.-

-The temptation to run home was strong and honestly, Jock didn't think he had the will to fight it off. So he started to leave the prom. That was until he spotted Maya. Despite still wanting to get home as soon as possible, the part of his brain in charge of fighting against his agoraphobia and anxiety took over and directed him towards the familiar and friendly face.-

"Hey Maya. You OK? You having fun?"

Maya Cho

-Maya had wandered off to the bathroom and was on her way back to the party when Jock spotted her. She smiled and gave him a wave as she met him halfway.- Hey, Jock. Yeah, I'm alright. How about you? Honestly I'm surprised you came to something like this.

Jock

"Yeah, I surprised myself with this one!"

-Jock looks around nervously-

"Hey, so, be honest: not everyone here is a complete jerk, right?"

Maya Cho

-Maya notices how he's looking around and looks around with him- No, not everyone here is a jerk. Why? What happened?

Jock

"I might have found a not so friendly person. And by 'I might have', I mean I did."

Maya Cho

-Maya wondered if it was the same guy who had scared her- Who was it? What did he look like?

Jock

"Some dude called Zack. Tall, would be handsome if he wasn't so fucking sour, dark sandy hair. Sound familiar?"

Maya Cho

-it wasn't the guy, then. At least that was one guy to scrub off the list- No, can't say I've met him, but now I know to steer clear of anyone named Zack. What happened?

Jock

-Jock scratches the back of his neck and then shakes his head. He feels like he's already been over this enough times for one night-

"I pissed him off so he pushed me around. Pinned me to the floor at one point. I'm fine. Shaken, not stirred, you know?"

Maya Cho

Yeah, I know that way too well. -She realizes what she just said- I had a guy here corner me and attack me in the Laundromat.

Jock

-His eyes go wide as the realisation hits him. Before he can ask about it, Maya is filling in some of the details. He frowns.-

"I thought the Council vetted everyone here. You telling me they let in not just one but two psycho assholes? Are you OK? Dumb question, I get it, but are ya? OK, I mean?"

Maya Cho

They do....vet, I mean. But I guess psycho assholes know how to beat the system. -it was a good question- I'm better now, but I'm still a little shaken. I've been staying with Alex because I don't feel safe at home by myself, so that helps.

Jock

"Man, I'm so sorry you're going through this. It's good you've got Alex to help you through it. Things going good with him, I take it?"

Maya Cho

Yeah. I mean, we're just friends, of course. But he's a good guy. What about you? Make any friends yet?

Jock

-He raises one sceptical eyebrow at her in the wake of the 'just friends' comment but he doesn't push it any further. If it was his business, Maya would've told him the additional details.-

"I'm working on that, I swear. I mean, that's the whole point of me coming here, right? Meet new people, put faces to names or whatever."

-He cringes over his rambling and the too fresh memory of Zack looming over him-

Maya Cho

Well, I'm proud of you for coming out. I'm just sorry you had to experience an asshole. But I guess the world is still full of them.

Jock

"Not everyone's an asshole. You're not an asshole, for example."

Maya Cho

-Maya smiled as she gently nudged Jock with her fist- Aww, thanks Jock. You're not too bad yourself.

Jock

-He gives her a wide grin, a genuine one too-

"Thanks. My ego needed to hear that!"

Maya Cho

You are very welcome. I am glad to feed your ego.

Jock

-His cheeks flush a little and he scratches the back of his neck for a moment.-

"Hey, so I know you said you have Alex but if you ever want to stay with me- wait, no. My place is tiny. So if you ever want me to stay with you, I can do that. Say if Alex can't for whatever reason, I can be the back-up, you know?"

Maya Cho

-Maya notices his blush and she laughs a little as she nudges him- You're so sweet. But do you mean that? I already owe you for that one Winter....

Jock

"I wouldn't say if I didn't mean it. Plus you promised me a tattoo in return for that one Winter. Maybe now you can owe me two!"

Maya Cho

If I can get a working tattoo needle and ink and everything, I will give you as many tattoos as you want. -she gave him a smile- You are amazing, Jock. Thank you. Can I hug you?

Jock

"I could get a sleeve tattoo!"

-He laughs softly before his cheeks fully flush as she praises him. He nods in reply to her question and he opens his arms out to her-

"Yeah, you can hug me!"

Maya Cho

-Her smile gets huge as she leans in and hugs him tightly- See, now I'm extra proud of you. I'm glad you found your way here.

Jock

-Jock returns the hug and grins at her-

"I'm glad you're here too. Makes this whole experience much easier to face."

Maya Cho

Well, I'm glad I could help by just being here. -she lets go- Maybe I should stop by one of these days and check out your place. Maybe work on that sleeve of yours.

Jock

"Yeah, I'd love that! I can make you tea, I have a kettle and everything. You're welcome over any time."

Maya Cho

I am going to hold you to that, so don't come complaining to me when I show up randomly

Jock

"You get a pass because you're my tattoo artist. It's very exclusive!"

#jbtalks #thread: jock and maya #maya #event: 002

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books-and-catears · 3 years

Note

Welp, since I’m a regular now; I’mma just park my chair here and spin the idea wheel. And so the idea wheel has decided!

Let’s have the Brothers and Undatables react to MC just barging in unexpectedly while they’re busy doing whatever. Everyone’s just vibing together at Diavolo’s talking about things, playing games, and all dat jazz and suddenly MC comes in with a blank face before they get a sad expression (they’re this close 👌🏾 to having a breakdown, it’s so sad).

MC:....Can I have a hug? 🥺 *says weakly as they were seconds away from crying*

Bby needs comfort! (Let’s just say they recently lost a loved one and they want some affection)

My first ever regular. You have no idea how much I cherish you. Thank you for the funniest and angstiest asks ever. This hits too close to home. I've lost two very close people to disease and suicide in the last few years and the feeling is horrible. So this might end up being a bit self indulgent... apologies.

Please if any of your friends seem not okay, check up on them regularly. Even the adults in your life. And most importantly check up on yourself. Take care okay?

I will do my best to do this justice too. Sorry if it's a little late college and extra classes are a pain sometimes.

It was not news you were prepared to receive. Not that day. It was supposed to be a day of celebration.

Lord Diavolo had announced a small party just for Council and the exchange students. Asmo had taken hours to get you ready. Everyone was excited and in good spirits, clinking their glasses and cheering for a joyous reunion. There was music, dancing and laughter so loud, it felt like it was echoing all across Devildom.

And yet here you were in the bathroom, bent over a sink, staring at yourself in disbelief. You had received horrible news from the human world.

A last message an old friend had left for you.

"Hey MC, thanks for being kind to me. Although we have a long and sweet history, it felt good to reconnect and feel wanted in my last few days. Thanks for the last hug, MC. It was the best one I've ever had."

What kind of bittersweet message was this? What was the point of making them feel wanted if they still left anyway?

No you must keep your composure, you think. The laughter keeps echoing louder. While internal screams creep up your throat. You have to go back before they start worrying about you.

The doors to the ballroom feel heavy as you push through. "Hey look! MC's back! Now we-- MC...?"

You don't know what face you were making, but everyone went quiet. Some looked horrified, some worried and some panicked. You felt your head go dizzy with the pain, tears stinging the corners it your eyes.

Looking directly at one of them, you croaked out the first thing that came into mind.

"C-could I have a hug?"

Lucifer

This man isn't a hugger. But for you he'd make an exception every day.

Especially when you asked for it so desperately.

Walk up to you swiftly, holding the back of your head and pressing it to his chest, while his other arm wraps around you.

"Would you prefer to spend some time in private?" He whispers as you break into soft sobs in his arms and nod.

"Excuse us. We'll be back shortly. Anyone who follows us will face consequences. MC needs some time alone." He calls out to the rest and whisks you away to his room.

Makes you sit in his lap as he cradles you while you cry. Keeps telling you it's not your fault and you tried your best.

Mammon

Someone save this boy, he is a mess himself.

He feels guilty already. He can't stand to see you this way. What couldn't he protect you from??

Aren't you the one who rushes to give people hugs?

He returns the favour. Sprinting towards you and engulfing you instantly in his arms.

He feels your shaky breath as you cling on to him and goes bezerk.

"Oi. I'm taking MC home." It's the most serious he has ever been.

Doesn't hesitate to bring out his wings and fly you home as soon as possible. He cups your face as you cry, his fingers wiping down each tear. His eyes are pained looking at you like this, it wasn't even your fault. You tried till the end didn't you?

Leviathan

This man's protective trigger has been switched. Who dare be the cause of this?

You're his cheery best friend. He simply won't stand to see you like this.

Runs towards you and hugs you as tight as he can, like you've done for him so many times. Embarassment be damned.

You asked for a hug, he will definitely give you one. You grab onto his jacket with trembling fingers and lean into him.

"MC would you like to go home ?" He asks softly, patting your head. You nod softly.

Takes you home as fast as possible, and lays you down in his tub. When start crying violently he starts to tear up alongside you. Losing a friend isn't easy afterall.

Satan

His first instinct was violence. His fist tightening, about to murder whoever did this to you.

But the moment you raised your arms, asking for a hug in that small voice, it was like looking at a helpless kitten in pain.

Another one who sprints towards you to hold you close. His hug feels gentle yet urgent at the same time.

He cupped your cheek, and stared as your eyes grew misty. "Don't worry we're getting out this instant." Slammed the doors behind him as he left. A subtle message to leave them be.

He took you to common room, near the fireplace to warm you up, one of his arms always around you, as you wailed and choked on your tears. He presses kisses on your head too and tells you how kind you were. You did your part. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions.

Asmodeus

He is gasping and tearing up at the sight of you. Oh you poor thing who dare hurt you?!

How could he ever say no to your hugs? Especially now when you needed him most?

He comes at you with such speed that you both almost topple over. He rubs your back and arms trying to calm you down with his touch as he hugs you.

"Would you like to be alone with me MC?" The moment you nod, his wings are out and you're soaring through the air until you find yourself in his bath.

You lean against him and cry your heart out, he holds you from behind, pressing kisses on your head whispering it's okay.

Beelzebub

Baby boy is heartbroken. Why do you look like that? Where are you hurt?

He immediately hates that look on your face. He must do something to fix it immediately.

Runs and lifts you up in his arms and holds you so close to himself, his arms providing endless protection.

"MC will food make it better?" You shake your head so he takes off. He doesn't care about the feast he missed, he just wants you to be okay.

Flies you into his room and gives you plushies to hold onto while he gets you all your favourite food. Will hold you tight as you sob into his chest and will feed you later on cause he knows how exhausting crying can be.

Belphegor

He knows that face. And he knows the pain behind it. And now he's feeling it too.

Who did this? Who dared? Tell him their name and they're gone.

A hug, huh? He's ready to give you much more than that if you ask.

Walks towards you and wraps you up in his jacket and then his arms. His hug is so warm and soft you could fall asleep right there.

"Let's go lie down together." He will take you home and put you down in his bed, bundled up in his blanket, his soft pillow under your head. Pulls you flush against him as you sob and scream into his pillow.

Solomon

He is human. Of course he knows the face of ultimate pain. He's been through it so many times he's made himself immune.

But he wasn't immune to yours. Your ever smiling face - that was what he liked. This irked him, made him restless.

He's next to you in the blink of an eye, wrapping his arms around you, cloak and all, his mouth pressing down on your head.

"Let's take it to the sky shall we? Don't worry I've got you." He says softly. You nod, your fingers grasping at his shirt.

And in mere seconds you are soaring above the clouds, the gentle air cooling your burning heart as you cry into the wind. He holds you close and whispering to make you feel better.

Diavolo

He has seen this face only once before. When Lucifer came to him Lilith dying in his arms.

He saw the look on yours and he was determined to help you however he could. And if it started with a hug so be it.

Takes big strides and hoists you up in his arms, as you wrap your shaking arms around his neck and press your face into his jacket.

"The party is over. MC shall stay with me tonight I'll send them back when they feel better." Gone was his usual cheery tone. He seemed distraught, angry almost.

Took you to his bedroom and laid you down softly, still holding onto you tightly, keeping you from falling apart as you sob into his arms. Takes the next days off to be next to you.

Simeon

His emotions mirror your own. Seeing you in such pain, makes him feel the same.

His heart is breaking seeing you this way. He can't hold you fast enough.

He swiftly runs to hold your hands first. He feels them tremble in his own and he wraps himself around Immediately, cradling your head delicately.

"Let's get you away. You'd like that won't you?" He says running his fingers through your hair. You let you a breathy yes and he's off.

You land in Purgatory hall, curled up into him on the couch, freshly brewed flower tea on the table. He holds you close as you cry into his arms. Tells you that your friend is in a better place because you healed their soul before they left.

Barbatos

You made the usually composed demon crack. Even if for a moment, he felt the need to do something extreme.

What was causing you this much discomfort? He was ready to eliminate it.

A mere hug? Is that what would make you feel better? He is ready to deliver.

He's there before you know it, holding you like delicate royalty. You could crumble at how soft he was for you.

"Would you prefer somwhere more quiet?" He asks. You only need to nod once and he's already sweeping you off your feet and into his chambers. Picks the most calming teas for you as he sits by your side holding your hand.

Luke

He knew the demons were no good. Of course it was a matter of time before MC got hurt again.

He was about to cry looking at you, ready to throw hands at the whoever caused this.

A hug? A hug will help? YES OF COURSE.

He flies straight into, wrapping his little arms around your neck. Like a baby brother comforting a distraught older sibling.

"Come on MC! Let's get away from here!" He says and flies you off to purgatory hall. He brings you to the kitchen and starts whipping up your favourite desserts to cheer you up.

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

*kciks down door* ReQuEsTs?!??! uh, 18. “Is it all right if I hug you?” with Obi-wan and character of your choice (please, this boy needs a hug so bad)

Hugs!!!! What an excellent ask.

Took me forever to pick a character though. I came this close to writing multiple hugs throughout the years but it would’ve been very long...

It’s still long. Whoops.

Note: I skipped the actual sentence and instead went for ✨vibes only✨

(From this various prompts list.)

Obi-Wan is twenty-three standard years old, very nearly twenty-four.

It is a delightful stage of life. (It’s awful.)

He’s growing in independence, so close to Knighthood he can almost taste it. (Is he? Nobody seems to have a clear opinion.)

He’s receiving more and more solo assignments, and on his missions with Master Jinn, the older Jedi makes an effort to at least await the Padawan’s input before making a decision, sometimes even deferring to Obi-Wan’s word. (Only in public, though, is there a sense of equality. Behind the scenes, Obi-Wan is still very much the learner.)

He longs to be free. (He doesn’t want to be alone.)

The confusing clash of thoughts and emotions is, in and of itself, a creator of more clashing emotions, all resulting in a bundle of self-doubt that crouches near his heart, like a greedy bird, picking away at his strength and certainty when he most needs it.

Doesn’t your doubt show you that you’re truly not ready? the pestering creature asks.

Doesn’t your longing for freedom prove you don’t deserve it? it says, tapping against the veins of ice and fear that lie right against the heat of his heart.

Doesn’t your need to be reassured tell you that you’re too hesitant, too weak to be alone?

His desire to fly is wrong. His desire to be sheltered, even more so.

Both together, coexisting in his heart and mind, could quite possibly mean the one thing he had been dreading for over a decade now, the thing older Jedi, real Jedi, had put into words and addressed to his face when he was only twelve, only eleven, only ten.

You are too emotional, they said.

You are overeager, they said.

You are not destined to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon had told him. I will not train you.

He had, in the end, and Obi-Wan has been wondering in the depths of his heart for all these years of it had not been a dreadful mistake. As much as the Force sings in his ears Jedi, Jedi, Jedi, endure, Jedi, Jedi, it felt like everything he touched, everything tangible, argues back failure, weak, selfish, foolish, unwanted, not fit.

Obi-Wan is twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and he is years into adulthood and light years away from proving that he’s capable of handling it.

When will he be Knighted?

Nobody seems to be expecting it from him.

Do they know, he wonders, have they known since the beginning that I am doomed to fail? Has this all been a gracious attempt, a thank you for my actions on Bandomeer, and they have drawn this out and out and out as long as they can?

How much longer can this go on?

Still, there are moments when he is at peace, when Obi-Wan is sure. When he meditates, when he accomplishes something new, when he walks away from an assignment feeling unashamed when he translates his memories into a tidy mission report.

When he has one of his long talks with Master Yoda, or Master Windu, who despite their revered status have taken to talking to him more like a friend than a child, outside of the Council chambers.

When he remembers the Force whispering inside, Jedi Jedi Jedi Jedi, endure, Jedi...

And then, on one of the missions assigned to both himself and his Master - still the overwhelming majority of his assignments - he and Qui-Gon are separated during a violent uprising.

There are bodies in the streets and buildings are aflame; children weep over the bodies of their parents and parents cradle the bodies of their children and scream as if the sound is their only companion left in the world. The standing government has a point, the rebellion has a point, the civilians caught in the crossfire don’t say which point they agree with because they’re too busy screaming and perishing, and Qui-Gon is simply gone.

Obi-Wan, faced with the threat of further bloodshed right here and right now even as the air is still clogged with ash and flame and as another body topples from a rooftop in front of his feet, raises his hand in surrender and calmly proposes a truce, offering himself as a legal hostage against the government that brought the Jedi here.

Obi-Wan is led away with his hands bound behind his back and his lightsaber taken away, and though his face is calm, the furrow between is brow speaks of his inner turmoil, which sounds like tapping against the cracks in his heart and Qui-Gon, where is Master Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I’m doing, if I fail more people will die, if I fail it will be my fault, is this taking charge or stepping aside, am I a leader or a victim?

He spends not days, not weeks, but three standard months as a hostage. He spends a terrible amount of time sitting in a cell and pondering his uselessness, the gravity of his foolishness, but every time someone opens the door and escorts him out to hold parley with the leaders of the rebellion and the ministry of the planet, he holds his head high, tempers his fear, and speaks to them with all he has.

Which is honesty. Humility.

You don’t know what to do, he says. Neither do I.

We all know we must do something. No matter how much blood you spill and how much earth you scorch you will eventually come back here to this table to have this same discussion until either both of you are broken beyond belief or one of you has been crushed, and half your planet’s voice stolen away. And you will have sacrificed two of the Republic’s Jedi along the way, a black mark against whichever victor is left standing.

Or, he says, we choose to pass over the violence and talk here and now, and choose this again and again and again. You have already had your fighting. Your people are already hoping for negotiation.

Are you here for their sakes or to kill them for show?

He does not use these exact words.

He sews them into his brief speeches, hammers in the point sharply when he must, weaves the common thread over and over again.

He knows they fight while he is locked away.

But he believes, from the growing respect in the eyes of these people who hold him both by his and against his will, that he is making a difference. He must be.

And Obi-Wan is twenty-three, very very nearly twenty-four, when he finally walks free to witness the signing of a treaty like this planet has never had before, to witness the formation of a new government, and he discovers not ashes and mass graves when he sees daylight for the first time in three months — but instead, a city and a planet marred only by scattered battlefields, and marked more clearly by the way its people have fought to keep it clean, to keep it safe.

Children race through the streets, unafraid, because they have had real shelter during the war. It has not entered their homes since that first terrible day.

Neighbors from opposing sides of this fight and friends who staked no claim in this war mingle freely. Their smiles are a little hesitant, but they are there.

The dead are all honored equally.

It is leaps and bounds, it is a civilization that propelled itself through years of struggle in three months, and Obi-Wan is awed by them.

He knows it cannot be this way everywhere.

He knows that there will be wars where no one wants to surrender, or where one side will be so certain of their point of view that they would rather raise hell than cease, and he knows there will be people who resist them.

But today it is real.

Obi-Wan looks at his pale and clammy hands, the marks around his wrists where he was so often bound, and feels the way his limbs shake from months of too little sunlight, not quite enough food, and more than his share of fear and doubt and self-recrimination.

As he smiles for a camera that will record this moment forever, he glimpses Qui-Gon amongst the crowd.

Someone explains to him, when he asks, that his Master had been injured during the uprising and spent the first three weeks of Obi-Wan’s captivity in convalescence. The remaining time, he has spent on the sidelines, forced there by his Padawan’s actions. With Obi-Wan a willing hostage, playing negotiator and leverage both, Qui-Gon had no role except to mingle with the people, offer them comfort and aid.

Something Obi-Wan knows his Master loved, but — he had still stolen his Master’s role.

He had thrown himself into a stupid, foolish situation, and how many times had Qui-Gon teased him about playing damsel in distress? And here he has gone and surrendered of his own accord. What would Qui-Gon have done if Obi-Wan had led them all to ruin?

Obi-Wan slowly loses his confidence, his relief, his silver tongue, as the press and the people recede, and he and his Master walk to a room that has been prepared for both of them, as honored guests by this new government.

Qui-Gon says nothing to him.

They walk in silence for twelve minutes.

And then, as soon as the door has shut behind them, Obi-Wan finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace, one of his Master’s hands buried in his hair, Qui-Gon’s chin resting atop his head.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Does his Master think him a child?

Perhaps Qui-Gon senses his thoughts, because the man pulls away briefly, still holding his Padawan by the shoulders, as if unwilling to let him go completely, else he vanish like smoke.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and his voice is loud and strong and brimming with warmth that washes over Obi-Wan like sunlight, like water, like an embrace. “Well done, my Padawan.”

And then he is pulled again into Qui-Gon’s comforting arms, and Obi-Wan breathes in and gives in, folding against his teacher like a child, and if a few tears stain Qui-Gon’s robes or drop into Obi-Wan’s hair, neither of them speaks of it.

Obi-Wan lets his Master hold him, lets go of fear and pride and doubt, and finds that he is safe.

#star wars #my writing #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #master & padawan #padawan obi wan #look they are just a slightly repressed and off kilter #father and son #that is all #hugs #hugs!!!#more hugs needed #tw blood #tw death #tw bomb #tw war #tw child death

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emperor-palpaminty · 3 years

Note

CAN WE PLEASE GET A PT 2 FOR THE 41 KISS PROMPT W REX OML I CANNOT IT WAS GETTING SO GOOOOODD 😭😭😭😭

ISKSKS I AM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT

i will most defs do that for you love! am glad you've enjoyed it! I don't remember the exact dialogue so I just... Made it up???? Whoops

Part one is here!

You felt Rex's attention shift to you but you stood your ground, eyes pinned on Krell, the brilliant green shifting against the ever-present darkness rolling around your former master. You could feel it now- the haze of evil, the fog of the Dark Side rolling around him like a mist in a wood.

The captian's blasters were out in his hands and he stood even with you, voice calm but authoritative. "General Krell," He said, calmly. "You're under arrest."

Krell took in the sight of it all- you with your saber resting easily in your hands, Rex standing next to you with his guns drawn, the soldiers moving around you. "Under what charges?"

"Treason against the Republic." Rex moved closer to you, and you shifted your saber, feeling the comforting hum in your fingers.

The men closed in, eyes only on the traitor. Krell's lips pressed into a sneer, and his fingers flexed. "I feared you would say that-" You heard the Force stir before you felt it. "Clone."

The men tumbled back, Krell's sabers whipping out, pushing troopers away. The clone closest to the window crashed through, shattering the glass, and tumbled out, screaming.

You grounded yourself, skidding backwards as the pressure of the force pushed you back. Your head lifted long enough to catch Krell jumping out the shattered window. You stood, running to the ledge and glancing down, Rex behind you. "Kriff," You breathed, starting down. "I'll go directly after him. You take the elevator-"

"Hey," Rex reached out, bumping your arm with his fingers. You turned at looked at his visor, trying to discern some expression, some emotion from that emotionless helmet.

Instead, he drew his hand back, nodding. "Turn on your comm. The second you see him, tell me and wait-"

"No more of your brothers are dying today, Rex." You exhaled, moving back towards the ledge. "Not under my watch." Your breath caught, and you jumped back, tumbling, feeling the air whiz past your ears. You landed heavy, ankles screaming, the impact absorbed by the Force that dwelled around you.

You stood and ran, activating your lightsaber. "Men!" You yelled at a group of 212th troopers. "With me! Don't leave my sights."

You led them into the forest, thick with fog, the plants casting a dim glow on the breath of the twilight. You led the mem, stepping slow, your senses muffled by ringlets of the force around you. "Rex," You said, softly to your comm. "He's close. I can feel him."

"Hang on, General. We're close to you."

You exhaled, softening your voice. "I'll take care of your men. Just get here quick." You tugged your wrist away, saber humming with life.

A man screamed in the distance. You turned, eyes scanning for the familiar haze of blue and green. The sabers moved in violent arcs, aggressive, just as terribly powerful as you remembered him being when you were his padawan.

You ran ahead of the men, who were close to your tail, and you lept upwards, feet planting against foreign fauna, saber swinging. You struck down, just as violent as you had been taught, and two blades rose to meet you.

He swung, the duo of blades moving brilliantly, and you danced between them, twisting and rolling. The clones were yelling at one another in the comms, debating to fire or not, to shoot or not, in lieu of hitting the Jedi that they didn't want to hit.

You tumbled back, your blade still humming, and you glanced up at him, the grey dirt coating your vision. You stood, shakey, hands readjusting.

"My Padawan," Krell sighed, moving towards you. The words suffocated you, and you exhaled, feeling in the force for him- that betrayal earlier, your Captain, was replaced with worry. "You could have been a great service to the dark side." He walked towards you in an arc, and you mimicked it, circling each other slowly. "Instead, you chose some lab-created flesh droid with a hive mind. Does he even feel? Does he know the... Love?" Krell laughed, the sound grating your ribs. "You love him? My padawan is stupid. How unfortunate."

You spun the saber, stopping mid-circle. You began approaching him, head-on, each step a pump of your heart for him, his brothers- Rex. Fives. Jesse. Hardcase. Tup.

You sprinted, hearing Rex's voice in your comms, but the wind rushed past you and blocked his words. Your sabers clashed, and you snarled. "And my master has forgotten one thing-" The presence of Rex closened, pulsed, the fear filling as he heard your blades, your voices.

"And what is that?" Krell leaned in, his blades locked against yours.

You smiled as Rex and his men pushed into the clearing, their voices talking about the many aggressive living plants around the two of you. Your boot hit the rubbery root, and you stepped on it harder, feeling the hiss of the plant under you. "You taught me everything I know."

You shut off your saber and ducked, rolling away from him, and the vines rushing to meet you caught Krell's leg and yanked him up.

The men shot, firing, as you moved back, watching the Krell seeing wildly. You moved back towards Rex, watching him especially, and you get the fear transition to pride, admiration, even, as the General's sabers fell and he hit the ground, unconscious.

"Brilliant, General," Rex exhaled to you, watching his men hurry to cuff Krell.

You nodded, knees shaking, and you deactivated your saber, hand pressing to your thigh. A slow groan escaped your throat, a subtle burn spreading. "Rex-" You hissed, collapsing.

Rex turned instantly, body stiffening as you fell. He ran to you, rolling you over and looking at your thigh. "Kriff." He hissed. "Medic!" The pain in his voice was physical, wet, thick, more so than the pain in your body.

You felt him tug your head onto his arm. "Rex," You mumbled, the pain coursing rapidly in your muscles. "I think- when I-"

"Shh. You're going to be okay- Medic!" Rex stood, tucking you to him, and running to the straggling group of clones. "She's been hit."

Your leg stung, and your head lulled back, eyes catching the blue blurs of Rex's helmet before darkness consumed you.

___

When you came to, you had a very strong craving for tea. Your body felt sticky, thick, and you groaned and sat up. You glanced around at the pristine setting- the medical ward, you presumed, still on Umbara.

You kicked your legs over the aide of the bed and grimaced, knees popping at the use. Your upper leg felt mended, but the sutures were bruising your skin. You settled weight on it and emitted a hiss, shuffling towards the shower.

"You're up," Kix called. You turned, glancing back at the irritated medic. "If the Captain knew you were up-"

"Kix," you whined, leaning heavily on the closest bed frame. "I'm fine."

He gave an irritable grunt, holding out a folded pile of clothes. "You'd better be. Go shower. Do not-" He tugged the fabrics from your hands and you hummed, reaching for them. "I repeat, do not pull at the bacta pad or get it soaked. Damp is fine. Wet is not. Good?"

"Loud and clear." You snatched the clothes away.

"I'd better tell the boys you're up. They've been anxious. Especially-" The medic stopped, stumbling on his words

Your feet bumped into the doorframe of the refresher. "Especially... Who?"

Kid glanced up at you, eyes almost mirroring the Captian you hoped for, and he said, gently, with a grin on his lips, "I think you already know who."

___

When you emerged from the refresher, toweling off your hair, you heard a sharp intake of breath. "You're awake."

Your eyes snapped up, towel abandoned in your hands. "I am." Rex's voice held the same tenderness that had planted in your heard since the most recent tea ritual, rubbing your heart raw with the coarse affection that was running you over, again and again. "Are you alright?

Rex started towards you, eyes blazing with a compassionate intensity. "You need to be in bed."

You smiled gently, raising your hands in mock surrender, fighting to keep the searing pain of your wound at bay. "I'm getting there."

Rex met you halfway. He stooped and scooped you up, gently, far in less of a rush than he had been when you were openly injured and walked you towards your bed. "You know better, general." He scolded, softly. You didn't complain, opting to wind your fingers behind the nape of his neck and press your face softly against his jaw.

The captain exhaled a shaky breath. His hold tightened momentarily as he stopped by your cramped cot, turning his head and lowering his cheek against your skin. Your fingers intertwined and you pulled back, looking up at his face. The rolling surprise spread on his lips, his eyes, as he turned his head more against you, sitting down on the cot, simply cradling you.

You threw your arms around him entirely and allowed Rex to hold you- you shook, quietly, sobbing softly. "I'm so sorry, Rex, if I had sensed Krell-"

"No, no," Rex squeezed you gently, rocking now, smoothing a hand in your still-damp hair. "The Jedi Council didn't sense it. General Skywalker or General Kenobi didn't sense it, either. You can't blame yourself." The hand in your tendrils of hair moved to your cheek, the gloved fingers smoothing over the war-roughened skin. "You have done-" A crack in the foundation of his words, and his shoulders heaved. "More. More than I could ever ask anyone."

You bumped your forehead to him, holding his jaw in both your hands. "And I would do more." Especially for you.

Rex nodded, his hold tightening as he pulled you in again. The two of you sobbed- perhaps because of the losses, the shame of that responsibility, or perhaps you realized the unconditional depths of your love for the other, and it was something- even worse, someone- you could never truly have.

#captain rex x reader #clone wars reader insert #clone wars #rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex imagine #part 2 #jedi!reader #minty writes #rex #captain rex

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obiwanobi · 3 years

Note

I just finished reading all your SSK AU and love it too much!! I keep thinking that what would happen if Anakin suspected that Obi Wan is a sith but he's not quite sure; until for some reason Palpatine attacks Anakin and is about to kill him but Obi Wan stops him with his very RED lightsaber and Anakin is like I KNEW IT!!

I really liked this idea so here's a very silly Sith Senator Kenobi vs Sidious fight while Anakin has his 'gotcha' moment:

"I knew it," Anakin repeats louder to make sure Obi-Wan can hear him over the noises of lightsabers clashing violently against each other. "I knew you were hiding something dark and evil about yourself!"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan growls, "could you maybe gloat later?"

A glint of sudden realisation passes in Sidious' eyes. "I see you've made your choice, then. You want to keep him for yourself."

Obi-Wan has no time and no wish to explain how right he is, but not for the reasons he thinks, before his master attacks him again. A series of slash-parry-avoid rains on him without letting him time to breathe, crimson sparks flying in the air too close to be comfortable.

Obi-Wan might have been an excellent swordsman once upon a time, but playing at being a politician for so long hasn't allowed him a lot of time to keep up with his lightsaber practice. His weapon has spent more time hidden in his apartment than used for the past few years, and both master and apprentice know it.

Sidious' blade is getting closer to his neck by the second, and the look in his eyes is telling him that he won't think twice before running it through him and looking for another apprentice before his body is even cold.

Anakin, who's still sitting on the floor where he fell when Sidious tried to electrocute him earlier, doesn't seem to mind very much.

"You have this weird intense look on your face anytime I talk about the Order," he starts listing, counting on his fingers. The fact that Obi-Wan is getting dangerously close to being impaled doesn't seem more important than demonstrating his reasoning for suspecting that his lover is a Sith. "You scoff anytime Padmé says that a political decision should be taken because 'it's the right thing to do', you immediately told me that you knew the fastest and easiest way to burn a body after hearing me panicking over the comm at 3 am, and the only argument you came up with when I said I wanted to murder an annoying senator was that it would be really difficult to get me out of prison but not impossible if I could overlook a few dead bodies on our way out."

Sidious presses his blade harder against Obi-Wan's, snarling, and Obi-Wan's knee starts shaking under his strength.

"—And you said that Ahsoka was an 'acceptable student, I suppose'!"

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan barks as he braces himself for one desperate last effort.

"What kind of monster would say that? She's the best, Obi-Wan!"

Panting, Obi-Wan grips his lightsaber with both hands and shoves Sidious away from him with a furious swing.

Arguing with Anakin always puts him in a terrible mood. He supposes that there was never any chance that arguing with Anakin while fighting his master would be any less gruelling.

"Then why didn't you say anything if you knew all along?" He snaps, angrier than intended.

"Because I love you!"

Obi-Wan's head turns toward Anakin so fast that he would have been worried about fracturing something in his neck if he could think about anything else but Anakin's words.

"You do?"

Anakin looks very annoyed and particularly silly, sitting on his butt in the middle of the Chancellor's office, arms crossed and lips in a pout like a child who revealed too much already and decides to switch to the silent treatment.

Obi-Wan can't believe he would gladly be killed by his master for him.

He opens his mouth to ask again, but Anakin's eyes suddenly widen, focused above his shoulder.

Ah, yes. The other Sith Lord in the room.

Obi-Wan barely has time to turn around and watch Sidious raise his weapon to cut him down swiftly before a violent Force-push sends him flying through the room, away from Obi-Wan.

"I'm going to be very, very angry at you later," Anakin warns, the Force still swirling around him as he finally gets on his feet. "The only reason I can't do it right now is that seeing you fight with a red saber in your hands is giving me very blasphemous thoughts that would get me expelled from the Order so fast the Council would probably have to throw me out of a window."

Obi-Wan snorts, amazed. "As much as I want to hear all of these thoughts, I would greatly appreciate it if you could help me fight a Sith Lord first. I would happily let you yell at me for the rest of my life and try any of your fantasies if you do."

Sidious makes a derisive noise in front of them but Obi-Wan can't bring himself to look in his direction, enthralled by the familiar smile Anakin throws at him as he ignites his blue blade.

"That's why I still love you," Anakin says, softer. "You always include me when you make plans for the future."

"There is no future where I don't see you by my side."

It must be the adrenaline making him say the words with more sincerity than he has ever managed, or the prospect of his imminent death bringing out such affection in his voice.

Or the relief of knowing that Anakin finally knows all about him, and still chooses to stand next to him, red and blue lightsabers raised together.

"Sidious is right about one thing," Obi-Wan admits, "I do want to keep you for myself."

Anakin's smile grows wider. "Good. Let's kill a Sith lord, then."

#obi-wan: I know you're mad at me but can you please come help me I'm dying here #anakin sighing like he's suffering immensely: you're lucky you're so hot #sith senator kenobi au #clem's aus #obikin #asks

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Everyone cries (but only because they’re stupid), they go home, and Leon wins a lot of money :)

Merlin’s Angry Magic Reveal, part 5 (final part)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TW: Lots of death again I suppose (you’ll see what I mean)

The gang watches on in amazement as Merlin calls lightening strike after lightening strike, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around him, and the power he was displaying.

Merlin really wasn’t kidding when he said they should be scared of him. Damn.

They worry for a moment, and Lancelot has to hold Arthur back, as they notice the first of the three enemy sorcerers step into their line of sight. But they calm quickly when they see Merlin look towards her and nod, before going back to the battle at hand. If he trusted her, then they would to.

Elyan points to her and shouts at everyone to keep a tight grip on the horses as they see the ground beginning to shake, the ripples in the mud heading towards them at an alarming pace.

“Brace yourselves!” is shouted by Leon moments before it reaches them, and all of them are thrown to the ground violently.

No one is injured, but they are dazed, and it takes them a few moments to right themselves again. The next time they look out, a frenzied blue fire is ripping into those closest to Merlin, and dissipating into the air around him.

Now with some space, it would appear that Merlin had taken inspiration from his new found friend, and the ground shakes even more violently than before (though this time much more contained, The Gang doesn’t feel even a small tremor where they stand).

Gwen speaks up quietly, but still loud enough that everyone can hear her over the shrieking:

“Gods above... how long has he been able to do that?”

Morgana answers her:

“The Druids don’t fuck around. They did say he would be The Most Powerful Warlock to Ever Walk the Earth, I guess we should’ve seen this coming.”

Everyone nods distractedly, but no one can tear their gaze from the scene in front of them. The ground snaps shut with one last rumble, over half the army having disappeared, and they see the remaining soldiers turn to flee.

Every one of them gasps in shock as vines burst from the ground, and begin to rip the deserters to shreds. None of them thought that Merlin was the type to kill someone who had their back turned, but like he said earlier... he was pissed.

Suddenly the battlefield is near empty, and silent. They’re distracted by the slight tilt of Merlin’s head, and the distant sounds of howling wolves (no doubt summoned to take care of the last few soldiers), so don’t see the frenzied King sneak up on him before it’s too late.

Arthur takes in a sudden breath when he notices and begins sprinting towards Merlin, no one holding him back this time.

The King of Camelot shouts his warning too late as the sword pierces Merlin’s back, and is forced with a shove out through his chest.

The sorcerers in front of him stare on in shock, too far away from Arthur for him to be paying them any attention.

He pulls his sword out as Merlin’s attacker stumbles back, and cuts him down without a thought, without looking away from Merlin for even a second.

He collapses on the floors behind his friend (could he really call him that after last night?) and begins to beg (begging who, he isn’t quite sure. Anyone that would listen, he supposes) :

“ No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me. You promised.”

He has to hold in a pained gasp as he turns Merlin over, and is struck with horror as he realises the exact resemblance to the vision from four days ago.

The blank stare of Merlin’s eyes, the blood from his mouth. All identical.

Arthur is so wrapped up in his shock, that he doesn’t notice The Gang finally catching up, and gathering around him.

Everyone is in shock, painful cries escaping them. Both at the death of their friend, and the sporadic breathing and sobs of Arthur.

Lancelot pushes to the front, and kneels on the other side of Merlin, taking his already cold hand in his own and whispering to himself (to Merlin) :

“Come on.... come on, Merlin. You can do it, you’re immortal remember. Come on.”

After what felt like forever, the forgotten sorcerers push through the crowd. Everyone is too shocked to notice the intrusion.

The girl takes in a deep breath, and whispers:

“Emrys...” before crouching next to Arthur, and tilting her head, as if waiting.

She looks up to her two companions, and they nod at her, seeming to all be agreeing on something. She swallows and looks back towards Merlin’s blank face, reaching towards the hilt of the sword at his spine.

Leon and Elyan jump into action, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back:

“What are you doing?!” and “Don’t touch him!” are shouted simultaneously as they grip her, but she looks back in annoyance before replying sharply:

“I’m trying to help! How do you expect him to wake up with a great big bloody sword through his chest?”

This seems to get Arthur’s attention, and he looks up for the first time, eyes red and cheeks wet as he stares at her in confusion.

Her annoyance fades, and she gives him a soft look as she explains:

“He will be fine, I promise. But he won’t wake up if he’s just immediately going to die again. His body has to heal before his soul returns to it. We need to take it out.”

In Arthur’s state of shock and grief, it takes him a few moments to fully register what was said, but he shakes his head and looks back at her, before saying in a quiet, shaking voice:

“He’ll come back?”

All three of the sorcerers nod slowly understanding his grief, and the girl reaches for the hilt of the sword once again, slowly this time.

“Do it.” from Arthur prompts her to grip the metal, and pull it from Merlin’s body with a sickening squelch.

The whole gang grimaces as it come away slick with blood, and try not to look at the floor as the puddle around him begins to expand even quicker than before.

Everyone stares at Merlin with bated breath, waiting and hoping (well... the gang is hoping. The three helpers don’t seem too worried) for any sort of movement.

After what seemed like hours, Merlin’s eyes blink slowly, and he brings in half a shuddered breath before coughing violently, and rolling off of Arthur’s lap and onto the floor, onto his hands and knees.

The Gang stares in shock as their previously dead friend coughs and splutters, blood flying from his mouth, before he collapses down onto his back, clutching his chest:

“That bloody hurt.”

Gwaine is the first to begin laughing, not necessarily out of humour, but an adrenaline crash mixed with a no-longer-dead friend will do that to you sometimes.

Merlin stares up in confusion as everyone joins in, some hysterical (and probably still in shock), and some just quietly chucking at how stupid they’d been.

Percival is the first to catch his breath and speak:

“Are you telling me... that after all that worrying... we literally just had to pull the thing out of you, and you’d be fine again?”

Merlin shrugs as best he can from his position on the floor (made even harder by the fact that one of his hands was being gripped by Arthur, the other by Lancelot) and replies with a smirk:

“I guess so. I told you I’d be fine!”

Everyone shakes their heads in disbelief, and Lancelot stands, pulling Merlin and Arthur with him. Merlin is quickly engulfed in a tight group hug, the sorcerers having just managed to escape and standing off to the side, staring on in amusement.

Arthur is the last to pull away, and Merlin’s now free arms wrap around him without hesitation as he buries his head in his friend’s (?) neck:

“I told you. Nothing can keep me away from you... at least not for too long. Pull it out a little quicker next time, yeah?”

Arthur laughs quietly and pulls back, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s before quietly replying with a smile:

“Bold of you to assume I will ever allow this to happen again.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to laugh this time, and the both of them ignore the confusion on everyone else’s faces (as far as they were all concerned, that comment came unprompted out of nowhere).

Arthur coughs slightly and pulls back, his face flushed, seeming to remember that they were surrounded by their closest friends.

Merlin rolls his eyes before also stepping back, and giving Arthur a pointed look:

“Don’t look so embarrassed Arthur. I’m pretty sure this lot knew before we did.”

He doesn’t give Arthur time to reply, instead looking around at his friends with an exhausted, but shining smile on his face:

“Time to go home, I think.”

The journey back to Camelot is relaxed, and full of smiles. Arthur spends the whole journey glued to Merlin’s side, and Leon spends the whole journey with a self satisfied smirk on his face (if they get their act together at some point in the next 2 weeks, which Leon has absolute faith they will, then he wins a lot of money).

They had invited the three sorcerers to join them, but they declined, saying they had been missing a long time, and wanted to get home. The Gang provided them with some spare clothes, and helped them catch some of the enemy’s horses, (who had miraculously not run too far during the battle) before sending them on their way with an open invite to visit Camelot any time they would like.

They rush home, but they aren’t nearly as tense and desperate as they were on the way out, so it takes them an extra day to get there, not that any of them minded.

Once Merlin had gained a little of his strength back, he reached out to the Druids who remained in the city as advisors, so that the council could be updated on the state of things.

The people were told that the King and the Inner Council had been successful in their mission, and would be returning home within a few days, victorious.

The meeting they got at the gates to the city was astounding. Banners and flowers and declarations of celebration surrounded them all the way from the city walls, to the castle, and even the Council seemed in a good mood (a rare occurrence).

They were especially happy when Arthur dumped a dented crown, and a slashed and bloody cloak on the table, announcing that the opposition had no heir, and if they moved quickly, the neighbouring Kingdom would be absorbed into Camelot. Arthur, King by Conquest, had almost doubled the size of his kingdom.

He sent out half an army, along with Leon, Elyan, and Lancelot, within the week. They took medical supplies and food, as a show of good faith to the commoners. The first month or so would be spent clearing the kingdom of any supporters of the fallen king, and spreading compassion and help. Once that was complete, Arthur would go there personally, to greet his new people (and probably sign a lot of paperwork, but bleugh).

Merlin and Arthur are sitting back in their comfy chairs by the fire in Arthur’s chambers, when Arthur casually mentions gifting the new land to Merlin, and making him King. Or at least Lord.

Merlin looked at him indignantly, it had only been a few days since they got back, and they were both still exhausted, but he replied with such vigour that you would never have known that he’d died barely a week prior:

“Absolutely not. I don’t think I would make a good King, Arthur. And I don’t want it anyway. I’d be weeks away, and everyone I care about lives here. You can’t get rid of me that easily, especially not after such an emotional confession.” He raise an eyebrow and smirks as Arthur flushes, looking to his lap:

“Shut up.”

The conversation hadn’t been had yet, but neither felt awkward about it, they both knew the truth. After Merlin woke up again, it felt like time had reset, like once more they had all the time in the world. Neither of them are great at talking about their emotions, and both were prepared to wait until the moment seemed right, until they both had the right words.

Merlin laughs at Arthur, before absentmindedly reaching out a hand towards him. Arthur takes it without question, and looks back to Merlin, face serious, but loving:

“I meant it Merlin. I love you, with everything I have. I would give all of it up for you, the crown, Camelot, everything.”

Merlin smiles, blushing, and stands, pulling Arthur to stand with him.

They still grip hands, and stare into the blue of each others eyes as Merlin’s voice echoes in Arthur’s head:

“I love you too. I told you Arthur, this is where I belong, with you.”

Both of them ignore the tears gathering in their eyes as they lean forwards. They meet in the middle, in a slow kiss that has both of their hearts jumping.

Merlin wraps his arms around the King’s waist as Arthur lifts his hands up to rest against his Sorcerer’s chest, pulling at his collar slightly.

They pull away slowly, needing breath, but not willing to part as they once again find themselves resting their foreheads against each other:

“Merls, you'll stay, won’t you?”

Merlin responds without even a second of hesitation, a fond smile on his face:

“Forever.”

Leon gets his money (which Gwaine never stops grumbling about: “If they’d held off for two more weeks, I would’ve won!”) and is very smug about it.

As time passes, Morgana’s terrifying visions start to make more sense.

Gaius and Hunith did in fact cry... three years down the line when Arthur finally requested that the Druids perform one of their binding ceremonies on himself and Merlin, their closest friends and family as the only witnesses.

(There was, of course, a larger, more public celebration of their joining, but the private affair was the important one.)

The silver crown, forged by the Druids behind Merlin’s back (as a sort of... wedding gift, Arthur would say) was used a few days later in Merlin’s official crowning. Made to look like leaves and vines and flowers and berries, truly the most Druidic, magical, nature inspired crown anyone had ever set their eyes upon.

(Arthur thought that Merlin never looked better, more himself, than when he donned the crown. But Arthur would never say that out loud, Merlin was still shy at heart, and he didn’t want to discourage him from wearing it.)

The tombstone, they discovered, was the fallen King’s. He was cruel, and cowardly, but Arthur had honour, and had the crown and cloak washed and buried in his bloodline’s cemetery. Nothing fancy, just a stone and a name and two dates.

(For history’s sake. After learning the truth about magic, Arthur swore that he would never knowingly erase history, not even his own mistakes.)

The empty chambers were obvious in the end. It may have taken three years for them to be officially wed, but their rooms were down the corridor from one another... and Arthur had a nicer bed. It only took a week or so before they were sleeping besides one another every night, and who would argue against it? Arthur was King, and Merlin had once again saved the kingdom, they could bloody well do what they liked.

They never actually figured out specifically when Morgana saw nine of them sat at the table, looking blank. Merlin was so often late to meetings, leaving the rest of them to wait patiently (or not so patiently) for his arrival. It could have been any number of times over the years.

After all their fretting, the anxiety of the war and the worry for her friend had led Morgana down a grim path. Perhaps it was because she was looking for reasons to dissuade Merlin from going?

Whatever the cause, her and Merlin continue to work together to hone their crafts, Gwen supporting her every step of the way.

Now. Morgana and Gwen. They were a little more subtle about their relationship, but they also moved a little quicker, and were quietly bound to one another within a year of the Great Battle of Merlin’s BAMFness. Not that anyone was that surprised, mind you.

Speaking of Merlin’s BAMFness, there were definitely more shows of Merlin’s power once they got home. Despite being Court Sorcerer, Merlin was still affected by the years spent hiding and in fear (something that Arthur never quite forgave himself for), and never used his magic in public much, not if he could help it.

He used it for simple things, or when asked, but never would he allow himself to succumb to his emotions, positive or negative, and always kept tight control. The last thing he wanted to do, was accidently convince someone that magic was dangerous and evil and undo all the work he and Arthur had done.

Nowadays, after months of pestering by the gang (mainly Gwaine and Percival) to “show us something cool! Come on Merlin, you defeated an entire army, we know you can show us something cool!” , he was definitely more comfortable using his magic in every day situations.

Arthur was eternally grateful for that, he had done all he could, and he continued to support Merlin, but he knew that unless that validation came from elsewhere as well, Merlin would never be comfortable in his own skin.

BUT for now they have everything. Merthur is happy, Leon is smug, Morgwen is happy and smug, and the gang stays together, and happy, forever.

All because Merlin got depressed and angry and yelled at Arthur in the middle of the forest one day.

THE END

Actually the end this time. Might be a bit anti climactic, but happy ending are a little anti climactic sometimes, and that’s ok.

I have a bunch of drafts on the go but if you’ve got anything specific you want my take on, go for it ✌️

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previousloversandmuses · 3 years

Text

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is.

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career.

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before.

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura.

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white.

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again.

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks.

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back.

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me.

“An audience,” I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation.

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment.

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head.

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.”

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity.

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say.

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head.

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself.

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning.

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger.

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway.

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again.

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words.

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.”

There is silence.

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.”

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word.

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda.

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him.

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling.

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff.

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu.

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief.

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.”

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan fic #anakin skywalker #anakin x obi wan #ahsoka tano #star wars #star wars smut

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

Letting Things Get too Far: (One-shot) *Contains ACOSF spoilers

This is not the fic I was going to post and I am on the fence now about posting “Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue.” I might still do it, but I don’t know, because I don’t want the six chapters to influence my perception, but OMG I am so mad. I have to laugh because I’ve never been this mad before. And I know eventually it will be okay with the rest of the book, but I cannot deal NOW with what we’ve got. I will not be unbiased, no reader in the world is unbiased when they love a book, but oooo this is a little too much. Like if you’re not deeply enraged are you even a fan? Lol

The only way I deal with emotions is writing because I get really obsessive and I cannot stop thinking about something until I change my mind about it, so I wrote a fic based on those chapters to change my mind.

So Please don’t read this fic if you haven’t read the 5.5 chapters that were released (legally) to the world yesterday. I do have to say that I wrote this based on Italian translation and not of the one that was translated by someone here in English. But the general concept it the same.

Summary: Nesta gets threatening (some time after she’s “healed”)

Nesta could tell they were watching her. She supposed it must have seemed off to them that she was sitting in the dining room, reading a newspaper, a toast with jam and cup of tea to the side of her. Too casual, they must have thought. So very much unlike the Nesta they knew.

But one by one they sat—to the side of her of course since she’d chosen the head of the table. Nesta knew of only one other person who would dare sit across from her. She smirked behind the letters, the paper smelling of ink.

First Elain, sweet Elain with her soft, cautious good morning.

Then Feyre with her ruffled hair, matted and imperfect. Nothing like the High Lady she was supposed to be. How embarrassing, she thought, that Feyre had not yet learned that queens were to be perfect in every instance. Every circumstance.

Mor yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head. The billowy blonde looked to Feyre as Nesta sipped a bit of tea. Green with a slice of lemon.

Amren was shushed as she came barreling in. Loudly and grumpy. Tired, perhaps, from her days going over the law books of Velaris code.

Rhysand kissed the apple of Feyre’s cheek, her little sister’s skin turning red. A honeyed gesture that made the rest gag mockingly for the way Rhys then bit down on the soft flesh and playfully pulled. He indeed sat where she thought he was going to—the only seat left closest to Feyre. His brows furrowed when he noticed her across from him, but Nesta didn’t give him the light of day.

The game had not begun.

Nesta waited for the missing player, ruffling the newspaper, the sound harsh in this room where all remained quiet. As if they were waiting for something.

Waiting for someone.

Azriel walked in, sitting to the side of her. He peered up at her. Wary and assessing. What are you up to?

She blinked at him surprised, not at all expecting that he’d be here for this—that he’d come down from the House of Wind to grace them with his presence. No matter. This talk wasn’t particularly for him, but she supposed he’d learn something too. As they all could.

The last one of them arrived with a flourish down the stairs. Bright and loud, stomping on the wood as if soldiers had been set loose in this house and not merely one male who made her smile sweetly despite herself.

He kissed her on the lips, a small peck. Something new for the others to witness. They looked at each other, mirth in their eyes—shock. But not from her happiness, Nesta thought, from their triumph. This broken girl who’d been mended when her heart was full.

“Sit down,” Nesta commanded softly, pointing her chin to the seat beside her—across from Azriel. She watched him look towards his brother, but Azriel merely shrugged.

“You waited for me?” Cassian laughed, the sound off even to her. His eyes squinting with concern… or was that vigilance she saw?

Oh, how dangerous he must know her to be to look at her like that.

Nesta smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d always for wait for you.”

Cassian lips set into a fine line at the sickly-sweet tone.

“In fact, I couldn’t have done this without you,” she gestured to the room, shrugging at the last moment. A strained laugh on her voice, “Or so they’ll say.”

Nesta set her newspaper down. The paper rumbling. Distantly she could hear the yells of soldiers, the clash of swords calling to her in her memory.

But none of that noise was here. No one said a gods-damned thing.

She sighed, sitting back in her chair, surveying them all. She could scent their fear, but Nesta didn’t know who it was coming from as she looked to food in the center. Vibrant jellies, eggs, and bacon. Much more food than any she’d consumed in her months away. She’d been reduced to plain porridge.

“Just say what you need to say, girl,” Amren said, gripping the table with her hands. Small and powerless.

Not as powerful as her anyway.

“You’re right of course, dear friend. I should get on with it as any other.”

Nesta lilted her head in a nod. “Consider this meeting long overdue. It was my fault really, for having been in such a low place. I suppose being constantly faced with death and brutality is a regular occurrence to the fae.”

She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, huffing a laugh as Cassian’s gaze went to the skin of her collarbone from where her robe had slipped off from her shoulder. “Or so I’ve been endearingly reminded of for the past four months… It was my bad of course for letting things get too far.”

Nesta leaned forward, laying her head delicately on her hand. “Isn’t that what you said Feyre? I want to get the exact words right.”

But Feyre didn’t speak only stared at her with those blue eyes so much like hers but so different. They were made from different parts she supposed—different parts of their mother. Feyre got the stomach, and Nesta got her cold, melodic heart.

Queen indeed.

“Letting things get too far?” Nesta laughed, the sound loud even to her own ears. “Yes, I suppose that was true… But you know, this amazing thing happened when I was forced to follow this routine of yours. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Over and over until I thought the monotony might kill me itself.”

Nesta smiled brightly to all of them, her eyes rolling over their gazes. Elain didn’t dare look at her. Nesta was not in the mood to comfort. What were older sisters for but to lead by example?

“If the magic and the trauma didn’t do it first,” she added.

She lowered her voice as if she were about to tell a story, engaging her audience until all they could do was listen.

“And then—like a miracle—Cassian was called to Vallahan and I went with him. Screw the rules, he said…” Nesta patted him in the shoulder. A good little soldier. “So easy for you to say that when the rules were not made for you.”

“You know what I discovered?” She sang.

Nesta waited for an answer, but no one would meet her gaze.

She looked to the one who knew so much about the outside world. The one who could never leave the one inside her head. “What did I discover Mor?”

Mor took a sip of her mimosa, cringing as she swallowed. “People fear you.”

“People fear me,” Nesta said, proudly.

She laughed, shaking her head at these beings in pajamas who thought so highly of themselves.

She lifted a shoulder, “for good reason of course. I certainly convinced the council of Vallahan. I always knew I had this power, but to wield it—to not let it control me but to be controlled—Glorious.”

“And you know what I learned in those two weeks?” Nesta lowered her voice, the words slipping out of her in a sneer. “That I have more power in my little pinky then you have in your entire body. All of you.”

She flipped her hair back, where a stray piece had fallen forward, “I got your little treaty signed of course. That was simple. You’d be surprised how easy it is for people to give up their will when they are pissing their pants. But no matter, all’s fair right?”

“Why are you tell us this?” Rhys asked. “What do you want?”

Her eyes went to his, those violent storms of subdued rage.

Tell me again to sit like a dog High Lord, she whispered into his mind. Rhys sat straight up, Feyre grasping his arm.

Nesta simply picked up her newspaper once more. The image in the center showing a great depiction of Velaris’s royal family.

“You ever make a decision on my behalf again,” her voice turning to soft silk. As sweet as a poison apple, “I will burn this city to the ground.”

Nesta tilted her head up, noting the marbled leaves engrained in the ceiling. The opulence. The fraudulent comfort of a house too large for two.

“I think I’ll start with this estate.”

She tutted. “Paints are usually flammable, aren’t they Feyre?”

She watched her sister swallow, the light of Rhysand’s eyes dimming to a darkness she thought might engulf them all.

Nesta could smell his fear…

She lifted the cup to her lips, “Understood?”

“Duly noted.”

The rest mumbled their assent.

And Nesta turned to the toast at her side, already spread with apricot jam. She picked up the bread and set it on Cassian’s plate. “I quite like these jams. We should get some before we go.”

“Too much sugar,” he replied slowly, as if he was getting used to the switch from her being threatening to caring. “You eat this, and you’ll be tired within the hour.”

Nesta pouted in response, wrinkling her nose, “You know, you really need to lighten up. Maybe you’ve gotten harsher in your old age.”

Cassian gave her a hard look.

“I mean, you’re in your 500s. You can barely keep up with the times,” She teased. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t keep up… in other areas.”

Cassian scoffed, lifting his lips in an outrageous laugh.

“Wait” Feyre called, holding her hands up in surrender. Nesta turned to her, lifting a curious brow. Her little sister blinked back, unsure if Nesta still wanted to destroy their home.

She would never destroy her little sister’s home...

But then Nesta thought of her shabby apartment laying in rubbles, ready to be rebuilt.

Oh, right.

“Will you continue to be our emissary?”

That was a question Nesta was not expecting…

“Oh, I don’t know,” She flourished. “I suppose we’ll see how it goes.”

She shrugged dramatically, “You follow these rules… and after a couple of months, I’ll re-assess your behavior. We can revisit me working with you all after some time has passed.”

“I don’t see how you’re allowed to do whatever you please, just by being threatening,” Amren noted.

Nesta smiled at the hypocrisy.

“Subsection B, Line 84 says I can,” Nesta sang, “As long as were making up rules.”

I’m laughing as I type this. This book is about to be a cathartic experience. It actually did make me feel better to write this.

I wish someone would release an epub already. Like fuck this shit, we’ve bought three versions, two versions, one versions, multiple versions. There’s only a week left. It hardly matters, release the PDF! The book was supposed to be out last month anyway. I’m not into self-righteousness right now, like the release of books is mostly about money. Sara has earned her part. I’m sure she’s happy. These are the people who hardly cared about promoting it at all. I think they threw this book out the window a long time ago and you know what they saved money on promotions too. They’ll be fine.

I’m clearly displacing my anger... But I cant handle this anymore... But I cant stay away.

#nessian #acosf spoilers #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian

195 notes · View notes

flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

coin flip I — jhs

Plot: A trained spy and assassin has to choose between his power-hungry brother and the benevolent Queen he’s falling in love with.

Pairing(s): Butler/Spy!Hoseok x Queen!OC (Name: Rosyne)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 10k

Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut

Tags & Warnings: angst, nudity, explicit smut, pregnancy, hidden pregnancy, violence, minor character death

Authors Note: fiNALLy managed to get some time to repost fics again. I know a few people really wanted this back so I hope you like it!

The scene in between these ‘ ***** ’ are flashbacks.

Kingdom of Wisteria took down their bright lavenders and hydrangeas, replacing them with wilted flowers to mourn the death of King Eirin. Instead of the vast streets of purples onlookers now welcomed browns and ash from the scared fires to send the royal spirit off to his rightful place in the afterlife. Though even with all these ceremonies, one question always swirled in the peoples’ minds whenever a leader died. When will the heir take her throne?

Rosyne has her legs hidden under her long, black dress as she sits on the cold wooden floors of the throne room. The black veil still over her head creating a safety blanket from the world. White handkerchief crumpled in her hand had light stains of pink from her makeup while the empty deep purple velvet throne towers over her even though it was a few feet away. “He left me too quickly.” She sniffles. “I don’t even know what happens in a coronation.”

Behind her stood the crown princess’ trusted butler and close advisor, Hoseok, hands clasps together as he watches her break down in front of him. “It’s just formalizing what you’ve already been doing.”

She scoffs lightly. “And what’s that?”

“Being a leader. You were a kind and just princess. All that’s changed is the title.” Hoseok raises his shoulders.

Puffy, teared out eyes stare up at the throne again feeling her head ache just by looking at all the history. All the responsibility riddled in that piece of jewellery. “A Queen has to be more than kind and just. She has to be—brutal but passive. Fearful but loved.” Rosyne couldn’t help but wince at the confusion of it all, eyes closing to calm herself down.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Hoseok takes a few steps forward and sits down on the floor right next to her until their shoulders press against each other. “That’s why Royals have councils. To ensure you’re making the right decision.” He lowers his voice to a soft tone, leaning in, a light scent of rose lingering from her clothing. “Right now, the kingdom is vulnerable and it needs a leader more than any time ever.”

“That’s not making me feel better.”

“Well…I’ll be there by your side if that helps.” Hoseok presses his palm on the floor just behind her so he could close more distance between them. “Does that feel better?”

Rosyne turns her head causing their noses to brush despite the veil between them. “A little.” She smiles albeit with a tad bit of exhaustion.

Expression softening, Hoseok gently tugs at the veil to push it over her head so he could see her face properly. The corners of his lips stretches into a grin. It was strange to be this close to one another in the throne room of all places when their usual locations were her bedroom or her private quarters deep in the garden. A sense of adrenaline and freedom rushes through him. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss on her lips, brief but it still warmed his entire body being able to touch her so freely.

Whatever nerves twisted under Rosynes’ skin quickly melted as their lips touched. “I need to find new allies.” She mutters almost in a whisper due to their close proximity. “Wisteria might not be in trouble right now but news would have spread that a new inexperienced royal is on the throne.” Her gaze moves to face the throne again but Hoseok keeps his on the crown princess.

“Where are you thinking?”

Rosyne shakes her head slowly, taking a deep breath. “It’s hard to tell. No one’s reached or contacted the kingdom yet.”

Hoseok brushes away the loose strands from her face, tracing the back of his fingers down her temple. “We’ll figure it out as we go.” Fingers sneaks behind her neck as he took advantage of their lonesome and pulled her in for another kiss.

Unfortunately he spoke far too soon when the double doors of the throne room thud open. The pair immediately detach prematurely and shift away from one another so they sat at a decent distance.

“Your Majesty…”

Rosyne looks over her shoulder and sees Kiku who had her hair in a neat bun, black gloves and physicians robe. “What is it?”

“Are you ready to give a private farewell?”

It didn’t dawn on her that she had to face him again and say goodbye. Finally coming to terms that it was her turn to take over the kingdom. Whether that was an exciting moment or a terrifying moment was still up for debate.

Moonlight peeks through the trees, light mist forming from the cold as Hoseok tightens his grip on the thick cloak adorning his body. Curling his palms he blew hot air onto the skin trying to keep himself from freezing to death. If he could just go back and sleep again, feeling Rosynes’ warmth against him while her breathing soothed him back to relaxation.

Can’t think about that. Not here.

Padding deeper into the forest, the trees starts to thin out and he catches the grey stone hugged by green vines and moss. The ground beneath looked like it used to be a gorgeous floor but now the soil consumed back to its original state. Or least a broken type of it. Once in a time, this used to be a majestic palace. But nature takes everything that dies and renews with its own beauty.

Rosyne would love a place like this. She would want to plant flowers in the soil and turn into a garden for people to admire. She was good at it. Bringing more light into something that was broken.

Much to his discontent, Hoseok had to push down those warm thoughts when he saw the three cloaked figures standing in the middle of the former hall. As soon as they heard the twigs crunch, their bodies turn to face him.

“What’s the news?” Namjoon, standing in the middle speaks.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Hoseok retorts.

Namjoon didn’t look all too happy about the response so all the male could do was sigh and dive back into professionalism.

“The King is officially dead. Rosyne will be taking the throne soon.” He doesn’t keep any emotion in his voice. Almost like a tranquil creature unable to feel but only take orders and provide information.

“But?”

“But she will be looking for allies.”

“Not a bad decision.” Namjoon nods to himself. “Not a good one either.”

“The kingdom is always the most vulnerable when royals are moving from one to another.” Hoseok wanted to leave. He wished he could run away right now and warn Rosyne but he felt a heaviness on his shoulders keeping him grounded.

“Especially with a soft Queen like Rosyne.”

Hoseoks’ expression hardened. “We shouldn’t mistake kindness for softness. It can be powerful tool.”

“That’s why your influence on her is so important.” He walks forward and holds onto his shoulders, squeezes it gently. “The way she dotes on you and your opinion will come in very handy, Hoseok. Bonus now that you’ve bedded her already.”

“I didn’t bed her for that purpose.” His gaze burned into the male.

“Of course you didn’t.” Namjoon chuckles. “But it still happened and now she has a connection to you.”

“Perhaps we should not speak of the Queen in this manner.” Seokjin speaks up from the right, looking a little concerned at how loosely Rosyne is being spoken of. Something Hoseok always admired about their oldest brother.

Namjoon only grins in response clearly not taking the warning seriously by any means. “Alright, I’ll stop.” He speaks as he glances over his shoulder before facing Hoseok again. “You’ve done well, my friend. Be ready for our arrival.”

Friend sounds a lot like puppet when Namjoon speaks it to him. Not that Hoseok could be angry at it. It was the truth. He was his damn puppet.

“I’ll be ready.” Hoseok lies one more time.

*****

Tiptoeing through the wet ground, he tries to avoid the twigs and dry leaves as best as he could. Hoseoks’ hair was damp, matted to his temples and his breathing, calm and patterned to his control. Eyes fixates on the majestic creature. Golden pelt with transparent antlers gleaming against the sunlight and forming rainbow patterns. It really was pretty.

His stomach then rumbled violently, twisting and reminding that it wasn’t that pretty. Pretty things always faded in time. Hunger didn’t. So Hoseok pulls on the tight string until it reaches just under his eye. Closing one of them, he manages to perfect his aim. Heartbeat slowed to his command.

Waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

The creatures’ head shoots up, lilac eyes fixates on their hunter. Almost as if it knows that it is time to die. Circle of life.

“Stop! Don’t!” A high, shrill voice echoes through the trees immediately startling the deer.

Hoseok pushes the bow back watching a figure standing before him, shielding the creature as it ran off deep into the forest. He watches it hopelessly disappear amongst the trees. His stomach rumbles to the point of pain. “Thanks a lot.” He groans.

“You can’t just kill a gold deer.” The voice now moves to something soft and smooth. Like silk underneath his fingers.

Hoseok eyes finally focuses on the figure, his tongue almost clips. Long, beautiful brunette hair with deep violet eyes. A waft of lavender radiating from her body giving him some kind of warmth in his chest while her lips, so soft looking and pink tinted. “I do if I need to eat.” He replies albeit with less annoyance.

“Gold deer’s are very rare…” The beautiful lady speaks again with a patient tone. “…almost extinct.”

“So?” Why did he feel so goddamn bad saying that?

“So they are part of this forest’s ecosystem we can’t kill them.”

“I’m still hungry.”

She sighs, reaching into her brown satchel and pulling a white bag. “Bread and cheese can suffice, yes?” The beauty hands the bag to him. “What’re you doing in this forest anyway?”

Hoseok feels even more guilty for being angry when he smells the freshness steaming from the food. “I’m here for a job.” He speaks softly.

“A job?” She tilts her head, closing her satchel.

“The princess’ butler position.”

The beauty’s head moves up quickly in curiosity, eyes glimmering along with her golden skin in the humidity surrounding them. “You want to work for the princess?”

“Yeah.” There was a reluctance in his voice but he hoped the girl wouldn’t notice. “She’s always had a good reputation.”

“Like a pushover.” She scoffs walking over to the flower patches the deer was standing next to earlier. Tiny spots of pink and yellow crowded amongst weeds.

Hoseok quietly observes her small actions as she crouches down near the flowers, merely caressing it like she was checking on it. “She’s arranged the most alliances ever known in royal history before even becoming Queen. Lessened crimes. All through her diplomacy.”

“You seem to have a high regard for her.” Her words were more of a mumble but Hoseok manages to catch them.

“Good future Kings and Queens are hard to find.” Hoseok sits down on a nearby rock, unwrapping the white bag taking a slice of cheese and taking a small bite. “It’s nice to know we’re living in a time of one.” His stomach twists again in intense satisfaction from being hungry for so long. The nutty flavor of the food gracing his taste buds.

She leaves a small silence between them while her eyes admired the flowers again. Hoseok could have sworn that she was reassuring them that no deaths were made on these grounds. Something about that thought causes him to smile.

“I’m sure the princess would be happy to have you.” He heard the smile in her voice.

His stomach began to tingle with something other than hunger.

*****

Morning faded with a slight chill but the sun was strong enough to bear it. The closed circle gathered around in the throne room along with a new banner colour hung on the pillars. Rosyne couldn’t recognize the sigil of the Raven. Maybe a lost or a very small kingdom that wasn’t taught in history books too often.

She relaxes herself on the throne even it still prickles at her back. The last time Rosyne remembers sitting on this chair, it was when her legs couldn’t even reach the floor. When ruling the kingdom seemed like a fleeting goal just hovering over her head. Rosyne reaches out slowly and finds familiar fingers locking onto hers.

“You’ll be alright.” Hoseok whispers the lie to soothe her, even for a few seconds. His heart pounding through his ribcages and clenching so tight it made it difficult to breathe. This was what you set out for. The ultimate goal.

Once the double doors open, their fingers separate as they watch seven figures walk into the throne room, bursting in shades of black, red and white. Two figures in the middle, a man dressed in a velvet red coat while the woman was wearing a white, diamond encrusted gown. The woman has a slight limp as she walked if Rosyne focuses enough.

Blond hair a little over his left brow, the man in the middle—who she assumes would be King Namjoon—speaks with a soft smile. “Good morning, Queen Rosyne.” He bows a little. “I am pleased that you agreed to meet me.”

“Making alliances is always a good start for a peaceful world.” Rosyne smiles, deep violet eyes popping against the lavender dress she adorned.

Namjoons’ grin widens. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

As much as Rosyne wants to keep the pleasantries going, she knew no King or Queen ever liked wasting their time far too much. “What are your terms then, Prince?” She keeps a decent smile on her face.

“My kingdom is small.” He presses a hand to his chest. “However my military power and ancestral influence runs deep and vast.”

“Yes I’ve heard your numbers surpass many kingdoms.” At least that was the minimal information Hoseok gave her in the short amount of time they had.

“Therefore—”

Hoseok takes in a deep breath and holds it in his lungs as Namjoon leaves a silence in the throne room. He tries his best not to face Kiku even though he could notice her glance towards him.

“—I might have to ask for a certain—proposition.”

Rosyne narrows her gaze but keeps a certain softness to her expression. “Proposition?”

“My spymasters have seen many whispers about possible threats and assassinations on your Majesty’s life.” Namjoon gestures behind him towards a honey blond man with plump lips and smaller frame. With piercing eyes like his, Rosyne assumed he could catch anything out of place. “If I handed my forces to you then it may help a worst case scenario.”

“I appreciate the protection.” Rosyne grins giving him an acknowledging nod. “But what must I give you in return?”

Hoseoks’ fingers twitch still feeling her touch warm on his skin. So warm and comforting, bringing him all the peace he ever wanted. Then something twists in his stomach when he notices Namjoon take a breath to speak again.

“Your throne.”

Rosyne couldn’t even catch the council bursting into their baffled murmurs. Her body grew hot, fingers trembling against the wood of the chair arm but she tries to maintain a calm face. She was not connected to the throne by her hip. The only thing connected to it that she loved was her father but he was gone.

“Care to elaborate, Prince Kim?” She tries to drag it on a little more. Maybe breathe in for a while longer to calm herself.

“You will have the title as Queen…” Namjoon waves his hand. “—but I will need to take the reins if we were to protect this vulnerable kingdom effectively.”

Her kingdom was vulnerable. Military forces lesser than it usually was. If she disagrees and disrespects him somehow then there was no telling whether Namjoon will take it by force. Which would bring her back to the original fear in her mind.

Rosyne gulps down before immediately giving the male a kind smile. “Give me some time to think about this.”

Namjoons’ grin stretches wider. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Rosyne tries not to rush out of the throne room too fast. She manages to keep herself steady until they reach the hallway, her body loosens. Back rests against the wall as her chest rises and falls, deep breaths stuck inside her lungs now pushing out in light heaves. Hand came up to her belly trying to caress it gently. She had no choice. There was no choice.

She notices a figure coming towards her until he stands in front of her.

“Very forward request.” Hoseok comments towards Namjoon, foolishly trying to keep a farce when the confidence inside him was slowly crumbling.

“Yes it was…” Rosyne breathes out. “…but—”

“But?”

“Hoseok…” Rosyne swallows down the light lump in her throat. Her fathers’ words replying in her head. She needed to protect this kingdom. What if that meant giving it up for its’ own good? “I might have to agree.” Her voice rung low and almost meek but Hoseok always catches her voice.

“What?” Part of it was pretending but a small part of him still wonders. What would make her agree to giving the kingdom away?

“The kingdom is vulnerable, you were right.” She sighs, reaching out and holding onto his hand again. Whenever the heat gets to her head Rosyne finds momentary peace playing with his fingers and watch them intertwine with her own. “Now more than ever. We need their help.”

“He’ll take over the kingdom, Rosyne.” Desperation laces in his tone. There was this strange corner of his mind that wishes the woman would fight more, thrash and claw at anyone who tried to defile the soil she ruled. But Hoseok knew Rosyne wouldn’t. She cared too much for her own good to let blood stain her palace walls. God, he hated it. “You’ll—you’ll be put away.”

Rosyne stammers lightly before biting down her bottom lip. With a shake of her head, she speaks. “I don’t see another choice right now.” Eyes flicker up to meet his gaze searching his concerned expression. “But I’ll only do it if you think it’s right.”

Breath hitches in his throat for a moment. “W-Why me?”

“I don’t have a lot of advisors aside from you and Kiku.” Rosyne chuckles nervously. “And Kiku told me to do what I thought was right.”

Almost as if fate carefully chose how to torture Hoseok the most. Instead of letting Rosyne decide for herself, now it was on his shoulders. His fingers tightened around hers—as a silent way to apologize for what he was about to do.

“I say agree.” Hoseok presses his lips together immediately.

Rosynes’ expression softens as she nods. “Okay.” A small smile tugs at her lips and Hoseok wants to take it back.

He really wants to take it back but the Queen was already loosening her grip from his hand and walking back to the throne room.

“I’m so sorry.” Hoseok whispers once she disappears.

Back at the throne room, Rosyne notices that the woman in the white dress is now sited on a chair. She smiles a little assuming Kiku must have noticed her in pain and brought in a seat for the remainder of the meeting.

Once she stands in the front of the throne, the attendants in the room fade to a pin-drop silence. All eyes fixate on her with an air of anticipation and some maybe a little fear.

Rosyne takes a deep breath. “This kingdom is my home. I grew up running around this very palace while my caretakers kept telling me that one day it will all belong to me.” As she examines the faces, the fear is still there curdling in the depths of their gazes. “Every monarch has to make difficult decisions…” She licks her lips. “…even if it means having to step down from power.”

The council began murmuring again, still in their shocked tones. Kiku, on the other hand, looked rather calm giving Rosyne an acknowledging nod to reassure her. She was going to be by her side no matter what.

“Your Majesty, I hereby hand you over the kingdom of Wisteria.” Rosyne clasped her hands together, raising her chin a little. “I trust you will give it the nurturing, love and protection that it deserves.” She expected the council to argue more. Maybe the murmurs to grow louder but they stood silent, the air of anticipation now fading into full shock and lack of belief.

Hoseok caught Namjoons’ glance towards him. Maybe sometime in the past, he would have loved to see the look of accomplishment on his brothers’ face but right now all it brought him was dread. He averts his gaze and hangs his head down to the floor. They succeeded. Yet victory tasted far too bitter on his tongue.

“I promise you, I will do the best I can to ensure Wisteria thrives for ages to come.” Namjoon bows again, indicating that it was the last time he will ever do so.

*****

Sun blazed as morning faded into midday when Rosyne walked out into the gardens with Hoseok following behind her. Dark curls bounce as she walks though the flowers like a gorgeous nature faery in her loose georgette lilac dress. Much time passed since he got accepted as the butler for the princess. His cheeks still burn at the memory of staring at the same girl from the forest being announced as Princess Rosyne.

“How many people do you fool with that whole girl in the forest thing?” Hoseok breaks the comfortable silence, attempting to catch up with the princess she seemed to be flying through the garden.

Rosyne chuckles a little. “It’s not a play. No one really asks when I’m out walking.” She shrugs.

“Then people are a little stupid.”

“Are you calling yourself stupid?” She looks over her shoulder, a cheeky glint in her eyes.

Hoseok couldn’t control the grin stretching across his lips. “Where are we going anyway?”

“One of my favourite places in the palace.” A smile was evident in her tone as they walked further into the depths of the garden.

Finally Hoseok notices something glimmering under the sunlight, almost similar to the antlers from the gold deer he almost killed that day. Past the hedges shaped like faeries and mermaids, they come in view of a majestic building. All the walls made from clear material that welcomed the sunlight forming rainbow patterns on the surface. Inside he noticed trees and bushes along with some birds flying around inside the establishment and as they walk closer, he could hear the rush of water from inside. “A greenhouse.”

“I basically grew up in this place.” Rosyne smiles at the building with her aura bursting in colours of joy.

Walking inside, Hoseok realized where the water sound was coming from. The large fountain perched in the middle while some tiny ones hiding in the bushes. A rush of cool air brushed through his clothes giving him a slight refreshment.

“The maids would help grow crops and flowers.” She reaches out and caresses some of the banana leaves next to them. “The crops grow much faster because of the controlled environment and I can give them to the people whenever their harvests are minimal.”

Hoseoks’ heart jumps at her words. “You do that for them?”

“Well just the city itself.” Rosyne shrugs as if this act alone was not enough kindness. “I want to make two more on each side of this one…” She gestures to the sides as they walk closer to the fountain. “…so there can be more for the rest of the territory. Especially with winter coming around.”

“That’s—a wonderful thing to do, Your Majesty.” As his heart jumps, a strange warmth spread across his belly almost overwhelming him to smile because the energy was too much inside him. How many kingdoms would revolt just to have a monarch that could care for their people this much?

Rosyne smiles shyly before shaking his head. “It’s not anything special. Royals take care of their people.” She sits down on the edge of the fountain. “I’m not much of an expert warrior like my younger sister is so I do this.”

“It’s still amazing.” Hoseok defends as he sits down next to her. “Fighting isn’t the only thing a royal needs to do.”

Rosyne has the slight urge to rest her head on his shoulders but quickly refrains. “Thank you. And call me Rosyne, okay? Can’t spend your entire life calling Your Majesty, you’d probably go insane.” She giggles.

*****

Walking through the hallways pungent with the scent of medicine, Yoongi made sure to keep his steps quiet and careful. Although he felt a tinge of worry when Minnie told him that the pain on her leg kept worsening. Finally he stood in front of a red wooden door, reaching up to knock until he hears some murmurs.

Leaning in, he manages to recognize the Rosynes’ voice through the wood. The words then materialized and—

Shit.

Yoongi quickly shakes his head and opens the door to see Kiku, the Royal Physician looking over her shoulder while Rosyne stood adjacent to her looking at him with wide eyes.

“Can I help you?” Kiku asks with a hard expression, standing up from the chair.

The black haired male glances at Rosyne, giving her an acknowledging nod before facing the physician again. “Queen Minnie needs some medicine for her leg. She hurt it during the journey to the kingdom.” Yoongi tries to keep his voice calm and steady even though his fingers trembled just a little.

“Alright.” Kiku’s voice didn’t change as she gazes around the table before walking over to the one full of closed potions and Bunsen burners. “Did you forget to bring your Physician?” She asks without facing him.

“The pain got worse and Seokjin suggested that you might have something stronger.” Yoongi explains.

“Is it really bad?” Rosyne asks, a concerned expression twisting her features.

He quickly smiles to reassure her. “Your physician is known to be the best so I’m sure she’ll be in good hands.”

Kiku hums attempting to stretch her lips out in an attempt of a smile before handing him a baby blue liquid. “This helps to alleviate pain and if it’s just muscle problems, it could also heal some of the damage.” As Yoongi accepts the vial, she clasps her fingers to herself. “If anything gets worse, just bring her to me and I’ll check it personally.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you.” He gives a decent bow to Rosyne before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

As soon as the male disappears out into the hallway, Rosynes’ smile fades into concern. “Do you think—”

“He might have heard.” Kiku replies simply. “Look, if anything gets funny here—I’m telling them. And I’m not asking, Your Majesty.” Despite her voice being soft, it still had a firmness to it. “Magic should not be used with such a condition for a very long time…alright?”

Rosyne sighs. Of course she knew it was wrong. Maybe before it was okay to keep it on the down low but it had been dragged on for too long. So all she could do was nod.

“Master Min…”

Yoongis’ stomach jumps when he heard the eerie voice again. Turning around, he saw the Physician walking closer until a chill ran down his spine. “Lady Kiku…” He raises his chin and looks her straight in her grey-ish toned eyes.

The corner of his lips twitched before she speaks. “I know you heard our conversation.”

“Don’t recall doing that.” He shakes his head, attempting to keep a solid stance, unblinking and keeping as much eye contact as he could. Even though the words kept replaying in his head.

“I’m assuming you’re going to tell the new pretend king, yes?” A sense of bitterness intertwined in her usually calm tone.

“He is King.”

“Sure.” Yoongi had to admit Kiku had a good talent in rolling her eyes the most subtle way possible. “Back to the point at hand I would highly advise you to keep it our secret.”

“And why would I do such a thing?” Yoongi gives a slightly mocking smirk, tilting his head.

“Because I’m sure King Namjoon would not like to hear what his most trusted advisor did to his wife.” Kikus’ expression once again unchanging.

Yoongi feels his body burn and his stomach twist. The grip on the vial tightened until his knuckles were white. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His jaw tightens.

“Multiple nights, yes.” Kikus’ lips curled into a faint smile, now mocking his previous confidence. “Whenever Namjoon is too busy to come to the Queens’ chambers. All those things you whispered in her ear while she tried not to scream in pleasure.”

Gaze darkening, he stomped closer to the woman, body heating like a volcano. “How the fuck did you—”

“It’s an ability of mine. I can see, feel and even smell anyone’s darkest secrets so long as they look me in the eye for a period of time.” Kiku searches his eyes even longer. Much to her interest, Yoongi still didn’t move his gaze away. “It’s funny to see confident men trying to stare right into me thinking they’re in power when really they’re giving me everything to destroy them.”

Yoongi scoffed. “If you can do that then how is it you never expected Hoseok to go behind your back and bring Namjoon here?”

“Because his betrayal technically wasn’t his darkest secret.” Kiku gulps down but even then one had to really focus on her movements to notice. “Every magical ability has a twist.”

Yoongis’ expression softened in slight curiosity. Hoseok hadn’t spoken to Namjoon much ever since Rosyne agreed to give the Kingdom away. Maybe their brother did not feel too happy about betraying the Queen.

“So if I keep my mouth shut about your lovely liaisons with Queen Minnie…” Kikus’ voice pulled him back into reality. “…will you keep your word on being quiet until Queen Rosyne and I are ready?”

“Fine.”

Kiku nodded with a proper smile, making her grey-toned eyes look even more deadly. “Pleasure doing business with you, Master Min.”

The searing pain on Minnie’s ankle faded into the dull throbbing after the potion Yoongi gave her which thankfully allowed her to walk to the window. Eyes trails across the gorgeous view of the kingdom, accents of purple from the lavenders. She loved how this place was true to its aura of purple to match their name.

As a child, Minnie used to read about the first Queen having anxiousness every single day so she would decorate the entire palace with lavender. Then on the whole kingdom would design their houses with the same flower for their monarchs would feel at peace.

Footsteps tap against the wood making her ears prick up. Before she could turn to see, a pair of arms wrap around her waist pulling her body close.

“Are you impressed?” Namjoons’ voice tickles in her ear, lips brushing against the shell.

Minnie sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just…” She shakes her head. “…it seems like we’re pulling a kingdom from under her. Instead of actually earning our place here.”

Namjoons’ body stills for a moment but he continues to press light kisses on her earlobe. “She agreed to giving us the kingdom.”

“Not willingly though.” Minnie caresses his forearm as it tightens around her body. “Rosyne looked—desperate and scared. It doesn’t feel right.”

Namjoon moves down to the crook of her neck, lips parting now as he lightly suckles on the soft skin. “You worry too much.” His voices mumbles a little.

Minnie closes her eyes for a moment feeling his teeth graze. She knew all too well he wasn’t going to listen to her far too much in this mood. “Someone needs to.”

He let out a deep breath opting to rest his chin on her shoulder. “The law in states if the Commander and Queen both sign to giving away the kingdom than it is respectable to do so. Queen agreed because she’s smitten for Hoseok and the Commander—” Namjoon scoffed. “He looks like a sweaty, old fool. They’re all gullible idiots, too nice for their own good. But what we’re doing still isn’t wrong.”

Minnie gulped down, still unconvinced no matter how he tried to make it look okay. Even the Commander being a timid, old man was beyond confusing. Though her thoughts were pushed down when she felt his palm trail down between her legs, cupping over her clothing. His lips latch back onto her neck, suckling on the skin to a point where it ached causing a light gasp to hitch in her throat.

“Now stop worrying and let me help you relax, hm?”

Sun dipped down fading the sky into a mixture of purple and orange hue while Rosyne scratched the pen across the paper. Hair tucked behind her hair while she has her comfortable soft white dress adorned on her body. Namjoon made sure to keep her out of as many meetings as possible while Kiku would update her on certain things by chatting with some of the members.

Though she didn’t care. The only thing swirling around her mind was what Kiku told her after talking to Yoongi.

Her heart sunk deep into a pool somewhere, drowning and screaming for help but Rosyne’s whole body looked calm. She kept writing on the paper trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

The door clicked open but she didn’t move from her spot on the bed. Footsteps echoed ever so slightly onto the walls.

“Are you doing alright?” Hoseok speaks first, watching the woman writing something down while calmly sitting against the headboard.

Rosyne hums in response.

He walks to the side of the bad and sits down on the edge. “Do you need anything?”

“What was I doing wrong?” Her words linger in the air, thickening it a little.

His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Usually when—” Rosyne sits up a little, putting her book down. “…when people band together to take over kingdoms, it means the monarch must be doing something wrong.” She played with the fabric of the blanket. “What did I do?”

The air grew thick, making it uncomfortable to breathe as Hoseok shifted a little on the bed. Unsure of whether to move away or closer to console her. “You did nothing.” He mutters. “You’re—” So much better than them. “—a good queen.”

“Then why did you continue spying for them?”

Hoseok felt like all the air in his lungs disappeared leaving him unable to move at all. His mouth was agape looking over at the girl and finally seeing how reddened her eyes making the violet look dangerous almost. At least it would if she didn’t look so heartbroken. “Rosyne…” He reaches out and tries to hold onto her hand.

Rosyne pulls her hands away and hugs her knees to her chest. “Kiku told me that you were the one who alerted them of the kingdoms’ vulnerability—my vulnerability.”

“I really didn’t want to do it.” Hoseok persisted to shift closer until he completely sat on the bed with her. “Please–please believe me.”

“But you still did.” She shakes her head, eyes flooding with fresh new tears. “All that talk of staying by my side…everything was a lie.”

“No. Not everything.” Hoseok reaches out to hold her again. Give her some kind of comfort as he held onto her shoulder, hand cupping her cheek and wiping away tears trickling down. “I did do it to protect my brothers, yes. Namjoon had a goal and I wanted to help him reach it but—” He leans in, cupping both her cheeks so she could look at him. Even though staring at her features contorting into one of pain made his heart drop. “—what happened in our private moments—the bathhouse, everything, that was me, okay? It was all me.”

Rosyne pushed his hands away gently. “Don’t lie, please.” She sobbed out in such a weak tone. No wonder no one complained when she stepped down from Queen.

“I’m not lying, Rosyne.” Hoseok had to grip onto the fabric of her dress as his breathing grew shakier. “I’m not lying, I promise—I’m so sorry…” He whispers dropping his head down on her shoulder, sniffling lightly. “That was all me. I wanted to be with you.”

She winces wanting to push him away so badly but it felt so comforting. So annoyingly comforting. “I wanted to be with you too.” Rosyne swallows down the painful lump in her throat. “Please get off me.”

Hoseok nudges his nose against the crook of her neck for a moment before pulling away with his head hung down. Fingers curled up into tight fists as he brought them back onto his lap. “I—”

“I need to rest.” Rosyne shifted away and rested back on the headboard.

Deflated as his heart sunk down to a pit, Hoseok forced himself off the bed. “Okay.”

*****

Steam exuded from the large body of water, beautiful paintings of faeries adorned on the walls with lilac pillars and golden lining. What added to the ethereal atmosphere was Rosynes’ bare body, damp hair slicked back and her skin a little flushed from the heat. Hoseok pads further into the bathhouse, pushing the curtain closed behind him.

“I heard Gaia is going to be anointed another position.” He spoke though Rosyne didn’t seem to look startled at all, delicate fingers brushing over the heated surface. “No one’s been notified yet though.”

Rosyne turned around completely now, dipping down further so the slightly cloudy water blurred out her chest. “Yes, my father wanted to keep it on the down low for a while.” Her eyes practically shimmered in the light. “She’s being training for years.”

“You two make a strong pair for the kingdom.” Hoseok nods, hands intertwined behind his back.

“This is a place of relaxation, Hoseok.” Her voice dwindles down to a softness slightly different to what people heard out in the streets.

Hoseok couldn’t control his eyes flickering down to her chest as she ‘accidentally’ stood up a little more. Heat curdles in his lower belly. “I can see that.” His tone rings a low growl right from his core.

“That means you can stop being the butler for a little while.” Rosyne moves a little closer to him until her head moves up to watch him towering over her. “Come join me.”

The room was so warm and her voice was so welcoming. It would be very soothing to just take his clothes off, soak his body into perfectly heated water with a gorgeous princess in the water with him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He didn’t sound convincing at all.

“What if I drown?” Rosyne pouts.

Hoseok smirked, pupils darkening as his gaze fixates deeper into her adorable yet alluring gaze. “What if someone sees us?”

“The man who had the gall to shoot a golden deer scared of someone peeking into the bathhouse?” She raises a brow, tilting her head.

With a light scoff of amusement, Hoseok noticed her stand up a little more. Something jumped in his stomach when he almost spotted her breast before she dipped down again as if silently teasing him. Then he began shrugging his coat off earning an accomplished grin from Rosyne.

Stripping off of all his clothes and carefully walked down the stairs. The intense warmth broke through the icy layer of his skin. As Hoseok moved deeper, his body melts and loosens in the comfortable burn before he sinks until he was neck deep into the heat. A light sigh passed his lips.

“Better?” Rosyne asks in such a soothing tone, he could’ve fallen asleep right there and then.

Instead Hoseok hums in response, ears pricking up as the water moved around him. He watched the princess move to the side slowly. Her beautiful features glowing and flushed but she relishes in it with her eyes closed and body, slowly swaying.

“You like it here, don’t you?” His voice echoes a little against the surface.

Rosyne smiles. “From the moment I wake up to the minute I fall asleep, there are eyes on me. Noise everywhere. Responsibilities from each corner.” She tilts her head, waving her arms gently in the water again. “This is the only place of peace I have.”

Hoseok looks around the room. “Better place than any.”

“No one’s allowed to disturb me in here.” She mutters with a slight smirk in her voice. “It’s liberating.”

“I disturbed you.”

Rosyne suckled in her bottom lip before those gorgeous eyes flicker up to meet his gaze. The violet in them faded into an almost black tone. “I wanted you to disturb me.”

Oh.

Hoseok chuckles albeit with a slight shakiness to it with the way she was looking at him. He always when she was excited but those eyes and the way her lips parted—his fingers were trembling under the water. “Don’t I count as noise?”

Glistening lips stretch into a smile as she trails closer, steam radiating from her body. “I like your noise.”

Their faces inches away from one another, lips so close all Hoseok had to was lean in a little more. Just a little more and he could feel her soft flesh. This is too far. It’s going too far. All he had to do was befriend her, just befriend at best. Maybe a thickly laid trust but not this. This wasn’t a mission though, was it? Hoseok willingly dipped into this pool because she asked. Not because of some deep goal he needed to achieve.

Because she looked at him with those damn eyes and asked in such a warm, sweet voice. He was dipping in this pool, body melting and head spinning because he wanted to listen to Rosyne. He wanted her excited, eyes losing all of that ethereal violet shade. For her to smile and feel her body closing in on him. Fuck he wanted it.

It only takes the princess to move just another small inch before Hoseok leans in, brushing against her warm lips. He feels soft palms gently press onto his bare chest causing a tingle down his spine. He wanted more. The kiss was too soft. Hand raises from the depths of the water, he cups the back of her neck and pulls her in closer.

A small gasp hitches in her throat, mouth parting for him to explore while her hands move to his shoulders. His hot palms moves from her drenched hair down to her bare back. Rosyne shivers a little even in the sheer heat surrounding them before she feels him press their bodies together.

Hoseok breaks the kiss for a split second before pecking her lips again, trailing down to her chin to her jawline. He grazes his teeth gently at first relishing in the light moan passing Rosyne’s lips. Then he bites down the soft, delicate skin. He feels her fingers grip at his hair causing him to groan against her. When he pulls away, Hoseok couldn’t help but smirk seeing the reddened mark adorning the beautiful princess. Placing a kiss on top of the new wound he moves down her neck, biting down the crook again.

Rosyne lets out a small giggle before gently pushing their bodies onto the stairs. Her legs floating a little over his lap. She smiles at how flushed Hoseoks’ lips were, thumb grazing over the bottom one as he kisses the pads of her fingers. Moving her digits down his body, her fingers wrap around his member causing a light huff of breath to leave him.

She raises and positions herself at the tip. As Rosyne lowers, her grip tightens on his shoulder, breathing a little ragged feeling her walls stretch to a slight ache.

Her movements were slow and a little careful but Hoseok has all the time in the world to watch how her features soften, relishing in the new fill. His legs feel like jelly, his entire length beautifully swallowed by her wet heat. Hands move to her hips gently not wanting to force any movements when Rosyne still tries to adjust.

Rosyne slides up just halfway before moving down, the ache now subsiding completely leaving her with the pleasurable fill. She slowly bounces up and down feeling a warmth coil in her lower belly. Her core swallows his entire length again as she grinds against him, rubbing against her throbbing nub as a moan chokes out of her.

Hoseok watches her move, fingers pads now digging into her skin as she pleasures both of them in such grace. He leans in to press more tender kisses on her collarbone. A light groan emitting under his throat as he felt a heaviness between his legs. One of his hands move up to cup her breast, skin still so warm and inviting, his thumb grazes against her nipple. Lips reached up to kiss her earlobe. “You feel so good, sweetheart…” He tries to thrust up into her, hips crashing against each other earning a shaky whimper from the princess. “So good.”

Rosyne tries to reply but it only comes out in tiny, staggered moans as she feels Hoseok meet with her thrusts, water thrashing around them. Her arms wrap around his shoulders tightly, whimpering in his ear. The heat constricted inside her, desperate to release, fingers dragging down his chest. “I’m—” She breathes out. “I’m close…” Eyes close shut as the ball kept tightening, burning and aching for more.

Before he could utter another word, the heat rushes through him, body shuddering underneath her, heaviness spewing out of him and filling the beauty. Hoseok feels every inch of him being filled with warmth, slowly pulling him into a ecstasy induced trance. A faint smile curling on his lips, he watches Rosyne keep moving on top of him, his sensitive skin aching a little from overstimulation but he didn’t want to stop.

Her whole body convulsed as she felt something warm filling her up, bursting the ball in her lower belly. Pleasure exploded to each crevice, each veins as she grips onto his shoulders trying to keep steady. Her head feels heavy, hips jerking whenever her nub touches his skin. Rosyne rests her forehead against his as her chest rises and falls slowly to a normal speed.

“Was that relaxing enough, princess?” Hoseok gives a toothy smirk, peering at the beauty through hooded lids.

Rosyne giggles breathlessly before pressing a small kiss on his lips. “Very.”

*****

Early in the morning, Rosyne forces herself to walk out of the palace and take a walk through the city in her cloak. Most of the people looked over at her and smiled, giving a decent bow. It was good they were happy. That’s all that mattered at the end of the day. She smiled back at them to somehow ease the tension.

Though walking deeper through the stalls of clothing and scents of spices, she stops hearing grunting and yelling. Rosyne quickened her pace walking towards the sound until she found a couple of guards trying to drag an old man across the ground while he thrashed around.

“What’s going on here?” Rosyne’s voice immediately halted the guards’ movements. Both of them stared over at her with a slightly confused expression while the farmer, Daehyun quickly stood up and straightened his clothes up.

“He’s not paid his taxes.” One of the guards answered, gesturing to the farmer who grimaced.

Rosyne’s brows furrow glancing over at the farmer. “Daehyun, you’ve always been able to pay taxes before.”

“Not anymore.” He scoffs. “Ever since that sod got on the throne, he’s raised the taxes. Saying it’s for military efforts.” Bitterness spewed out in every single word when he spoke about Namjoon.

“What?” She winces. “Let him go.” As soon as Rosyne gestures, the guards gave her a bow and walk off to their posts. Namjoon wouldn’t like that loyalty but that still didn’t change why they were here. “I’ll need to speak to the King to address this problem.”

“Take your throne back, Your Majesty. That could help.” Daehyun had a kind tone but it still tugged at Rosyne’s belly.

“I wish that could help right now.” She whispers to herself.

He knew. God Hoseok knew something was going to go wrong. With the way Namjoon held himself once he sat on that throne, the air of confidence when he had the first taste of pure power. Of course the first thing he does is strip more money from the people in the city. One the many things good Rosyne enforced as the princess was to minimize the military funding so people could have more food and other facilities.

It made the kingdom thrive with rich harvests, people with full bellies and roofs over their heads without worrying to death about their debt to the monarch. King Eirin obviously hated the idea at first but eventually pulled through when he saw how happy and bright his kingdom was because of his daughter.

Now it was all ruined.

Hoseok watched almost with a glare as Namjoon relaxes on the throne, kissing the back of Minnie’s hand and leaning in to whisper something. Eyes flicker over to Yoongi and find him averting his gaze to the door. “You need to be careful, Namjoon.” He interrupts his little flirting.

Namjoon narrows his gaze, lips still hovering over Minnie’s skin. “Why is that?”

“If you keep drastically changing rules then the people will start revolting.”

“They love their princess but I’m sure it’s not enough to revolt.” Namjoon scoffed.

“Love can be a dangerous tool.” Hoseok looked over at Yoongi who now had his eyes completely locked on Minnie. “Don’t underestimate it.”

Brows furrowed, the king stared up at his friend. “Since when do you have such high regard for love?”

Hoseok sees Rosyne’s smile in the screen of his mind despite trying to push it down. It was useless though. Despite their slight tension, Namjoon knew him well. Far too well. He noticed the other male’s expression soften into one of recognition.

Namjoon breathes out a chuckle, leaning back on his chair. “Who’d have thought? The man who wouldn’t even blink after killing.”

“I killed for you.” He tastes something sour on his tongue causing him to grimace lightly. “Not for myself.”

“And yet you doubt my ability to run this kingdom?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “I never once doubted you. But I’m still concerned.” He looks down at the male who has his head turned to his side to listen. “One bad move always leads to another.”

Namjoon takes a breath to reply but the double doors open, breaking through their thick tension. A burst of lilac and black step into the throne room. “Lady Rosyne…”

Rosyne notices Kikus’ light sigh from the corner of her eye at Namjoons’ address. If she couldn’t control her emotions then Rosyne had no chance. But she tries anyway. “I would like to offer a plead on behalf of the kingdom.” The double doors close gently behind her before the room fades into silence.

“What is it?” Namjoon waves his hand, allowing her to continue.

“The taxes. Why have you have raised them?”

“You handed me this kingdom for protection…” He gives a small, forced smile. “…military is your first line of defense.”

“My military—”

“My military…” Namjoon corrects.

“Your military is strong enough as it is.” Rosyne maintains her calm tone though her fingers trembles as the seconds go by. “The taxes were there to ensure stability so that the farmers could pay within due time.”

“Well it’s not enough to strength the military further.”

“We have an abundant amount of funds in the vaults, I’m sure you can spare some.”

“And risk a drop in our funds?” Namjoon winces slightly.

“That is what military does.”

“With all due respect, my lady…” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the armchairs. “You don’t have any fighting experience, nor any time on the battlefield. I’m afraid you can’t have a say in what military can and cannot do.”

Hoseok tightened his jaw, shooting glares to the back of Namjoons’ head. Somehow it angers him more seeing how patient and calm Rosyne looks. Not at her but him. This kingdom deserved her. She deserved so much better.

“I have experience in running a large kingdom…with all due respect, longer than you have.”

“And yet I’m here sitting on your throne.”

The room rushed with icy cold air, so harsh it makes all of them shiver except for Kiku and Rosyne who stand still and calm. Hoseok could have sworn he saw the sun disappear for a few moments. Their breaths coming out in steam.

“Kiku…” Rosyne whispers, immediately holding onto the physicians’ hand.

In seconds, Kiku let out a deep breath and the room brightened with the sun again and the people meet the comfortable warmth of the day.

Namjoons’ breathing now sounds shaky and a little ragged almost as if he was fearful. “Alright, I’ll lower the taxes…” Maybe he was. “…on one condition.”

“What condition?” Rosyne asks, hand tightening around Kikus’ to keep her calm.

“I want you to take a ride around town…” Namjoon has a careful gaze on Kiku but he quickly moves back to Rosyne before his heart feels like freezing. “…ride around town without clothes on.”

“What’re you doing?” Hoseok whispers. His body heats up faster he realizes, nails digging deep into his palms until he almost broke the skin.

“Trying to prove who the monarch really is.” Namjoon replies in a low tone before facing the former Queen again. “Do I have a deal?”

Rosyne has her hand so tight around Kiku that she could feel ice from the physicians’ veins shooting up inside her. “Will you lower the taxes?”

Namjoon attempts to give a kind smile but it all comes to be malicious and mocking. “I’m a lot of terrible things but I keep my word.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Rosyne must have been hurting Kikus’ skin at this point but at least she could feel her trying to keep it down. Light rushes of ice shoots up her arm.

“No…” Hoseok speaks in such a meek tone. “Namjoon…brother, please…”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Namjoon ignores before sitting back on the stolen throne again with an air accomplishment and relaxation.

*****

It all happened so quickly that Rosyne feels her head spinning when they ran towards the King’s chambers after the news. Even as she sat down next to the bed, eyes actively avoiding the blood soaked bandages, her head kept throbbing incessantly. This was too soon. It’s happening too soon. “Father…” Her voice shakes.

“I’m alright.” His father chuckles albeit with a wheeze in his breath. “I’m alright, sweetheart.”

Standing at the corner of the room, hair in a mess and her arms aching, Kiku feels somewhat comfortable looking at the King in this manner. To the eyes of the world, he was ruthless and cunning. Only to the eyes of his daughter the man softened, reminding her that love showed itself in so many strange and different ways.

“You’re not alright.” Rosynes’ lips quiver. “We both know that.”

Eirin’s smile fades for a moment but he pulls it back again. “This—was going to happen eventually.”

“Not if you didn’t go to that hunt.”

“I couldn’t just lie and wait for it to happen, my dear.”

Rosyne hangs her head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say sorry.” He taps her chin to make her look at him again. “Never apologize for your kindness. A lot of people like telling kind people that they’re weak or unworthy. Let them think it…but always remind them who the true ruler is.” Eirin notices the inhibition still glinting in his daughter’s eyes but finds comfort when she nods.

The King then turns to the left and gives a soft smile to his youngest daughter, Gaia. “You, my child, are going to destroy so many powerful people one day.” He muses.

His comment earns a small, sad chuckle from Gaia. Her cheeks still so flushed, eyes brighter than ever and full of youth despite the things she has seen and done.

“You will protect your older sister, won’t you?”

Immediately Gaia nods. “To the death, I promise.”

Rosyne doesn’t look all too happy about that promise but she stays quiet nonetheless.

“Now…” Eirin grunts a little. “…you girls go off.” He waves his hand weakly, smiling at the both of them. “Get some rest while I rest my eyes as well.”

They both knew what that meant. As much as it would be relieving to protest till their lungs ripped apart, there was no defying the force taking their father.

Gaia gets up first, walking over to Rosynes’ side and gently holding her arm. “Come on.” Her voice was deep but still comforting.

Rosyne pushed herself back to her feet before following the two girls outside of the Kings’ chambers.

“I’ll go check on the patrol. Make sure you get some sleep, okay?” Gaia rubbed her sisters’ shoulder, a light dullness to her gaze. The youngest always tried to keep herself contained with work whenever something went wrong.

Rosyne wonders how distant she would become once the news was confirmed.

As Gaia walked away, Kiku searches Rosynes’ expression. Much to her distress she could only see fear and pain. Some part of her selfishly felt relieved that she couldn’t look into her eyes. She feared of what they might tell her. As if the Physician didn’t already know. “You didn’t tell him.”

“I couldn’t.” Rosyne whispers. “I don’t know why it’s so hard.” Maybe she didn’t want to believe it. Maybe dragging out the news helped her believe that she had more time.

“What about Hoseok? Have you told him yet?”

Rosyne shakes her head. “What’s wrong with me, Kiku?”

“If the secret gets out at the time of the King’s death, you’ll be dead.” Kiku replies simply. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re doing exactly what a lot of Queens should’ve done in the past.” She takes a few steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “But you have to tell him. If no one else, he still needs to know.”

“I know…” Rosyne mutters weakly. “Once—” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Once the funeral is done…” Her voice dwindled in such a weak whisper as if she didn’t want to make it too real by saying it out loud. “…I’ll tell him.”

*****

“Your Majesty…” Kikus’ voice calm, deathly steady voice rung into the room. Even when the council looked so much different they paused whatever they were doing to look over at the woman coming to stand in the center.

Hoseok knew they could all feel it too. That sense of chill and dread running down their spine when they faced the mysterious Royal Physician. Even as Namjoon took power, it seemed like his friend wanted to actively avoid interacting with her. Right now as well the new king tried to avoid looking into her eyes.

“Yes, Kiku?” Namjoon sounds…so kind.

Fear does that to people.

Kiku leaves a small pause for the council to really drown themselves in the feeling of dread. It even smelled like fear. If fear smelled like fresh snow. “To prevent any sudden surprise during —” The room could have turned to ice as the cold grows thick around them. “—the ride to town. I would like to inform you that the Queen is with child. Of seven months.”

Hoseok always hated how casual she was with news. Maybe it wasn’t being casual. Rosyne told him the things Kiku went through growing up. ‘People do horrible things to people they can’t understand…we’re similar that way.’ To this day he hated that conversation. No one understands the fear and dread that Kiku radiated because of the dark secrets she has in her head while no one understands the goodness and selflessness in Rosyne’s heart.

People do horrible things to people they can’t understand. He was one of them, wasn’t he? Just like Namjoon.

The thought running in his head managed to distract him for a time until a heavy heat settles in his gut masking the chill. No. No, please.

Hoseok knew Rosyne was sick for a time; vomiting, eating berries with bread and craving meat when she hated it before.

“She doesn’t look any different to me.” Namjoon asks with furrowed brows.

“The day I discovered her pregnancy, she asked me to use an illusion enchantment to hide it once it starts to show.” Kikus’ expression didn’t change nor did the cold in the room. “Though I told her to stop so the physical symptoms will start coming back.”

God…he’s so fucking stupid. Hoseok should have known.

“Well thank you for the information—” Namjoon leans back on the throne. “But the Queen has agreed.”

Hoseoks’ head shoots to look at Namjoon, forehead knitted and the burn in his gut now directed into something else. “Namjoon—”

“A deal is a deal, Hoseok.”

Hoseok tried to glance at Yoongi for some kind of silent help and even he knew, this was wrong. The way the older male’s brows furrowed and lips parted almost as if he was trying to hiss. Even Yoongi knew this was very wrong.

Minnie looked…absolutely livid. Eyes almost reddening as her fingers tremble causing her to grip onto the arms of the chair. “You need to call it off.” The queen speaks this time breaking through the tense silence.

“My love, some compromises need to be made. I can’t just give her what she asks all the time, it makes me look weak.” Namjoon, as always, softens his voice when he speaks to his beloved.

“All she’s asking is for the taxes to be lowered.” Minnie mutters in disbelief of her husband. “Your kingdom will not be harmed by that.”

“General!” Namjoons’ voice booms across the room causing Minnie to flinch a little.

A man dressed almost rusting armor and skin glistening in sweat scuttles over to the area and bows down to Namjoon. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Oh? Oh okay. Hoseok’s brows furrowed but he stayed silent.

“Does the military need more funding?” Namjoon asks.

“Y-Yes, it does, Your Majesty.”

“What will happen if it’s not funded?”

“Then we will run out of weapons a-and armor.” The ‘General’ looks around frantically at everyone in the room, teeth clattering a little while he recited something out of a script. “And the k-kingdom will be vulnerable.”

“Thank you, General.”

The sweaty man bows again, with a proud smile on his face before stepping back. Jimin quickly steps away from him and closer to Yoongi with an annoyed grimace.

“You’re asking a pregnant woman who never did anything wrong to you, to strip naked and ride around town in her condition.” Minnies’ voice shakes with anger. “You’re not a King, you’re a fucking tyrant. And it’s going to bite you back soon enough.”

Namjoon kept his gaze on the woman before facing Kiku again. “The deal will go as planned.”

Hoseok expected Kiku to say something. Do something. This was wrong.

It was different, the way she looked at Namjoon. Like she already knew how to destroy him from the inside and out.

Though when Kiku looked over at Hoseok, his heart stopped beating for a moment.

The chill was gone and all he feels is this intense heat from his toes to his head, burning his insides until he lost all the air in his lungs. Shit, Hoseok could feel it ripping him apart.

Kiku was furious. Her expression didn’t change much but her eyes screamed only one thing right at him.

This is your doing.

next chap >>

#hoseok #thebtswritersclub #hoseok fanfic #hoseok imagines #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts royal au #hoseok royal au #hoseok smut #bts smut

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

Text

dream clouds, ghost ground (real friends, dead hometown)

an accidental jangobi au

( and also @batsutousai and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover but it won’t let me tag you :(

i uhhhhhh plotted this from my prompt roster without rereading the actual ask, so this is completely out of timeline for the anon’s prompt? and i didn’t realise until i was halfway through?? so here’s this??? i already have ideas for a sequel???? (and it’s 3157 words gl)

some context: there’s no age-out, but obi-wan is still sent to the agricorp and stays there. yarael poof inspects the facility 7 years later, and obi has visions of korda 6/galidraan and finagles themself onto the rescue mission of the true mandalorians. cue chaotic, still-has-the-impulsivity-that-got-them-kicked-out obi-wan. who is also nb just for funsies.

title from start//end by eden

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not as Yarael had expected, but then, he had never met them while they lived in the Temple.

The young Jedi breaks away from their group of friends on the other side of Bandomeer’s main greenhouse as soon as they catch sight of Yarael, the other novitiates trying and failing to hold Obi-Wan back from running through the dark green garden beds right up to him. They don’t seem to care that they’ve interrupted Master Fodvam’s tour of the facility, and ignores her to glare at Yarael with a fire in their eyes that he vaguely remembers as being the cause for their failing the initiate program. Stocky and toned with dark freckles on every bit of exposed skin from working the desert Enrichment Zones, Obi-Wan glares up at Yarael with a set to their lips so very like Master Yoda (and Qui-Gon Jinn, for that matter) that Yarael raises a placating hand to the Kubaz master at his side and smiles back down at Obi-Wan.

At first flush, he might have thought Obi-Wan approached him to beg to be allowed to return to the Temple and become a knight —it would not be the first time an old initiate had done so, though they usually attempted such an action much sooner after their reassignment— but instead, Obi-Wan wastes no time in demanding, “You have to go Korda 6, the lives of thousands depend on it.”

“And why is that, young one?” Yarael returns calmly, though Obi-Wan must be pushing seventeen standard; everyone is young to him these days.

Master Fodvam sighs, reaching out to put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, but they shake her off. “Obi-Wan,” she admonishes softly, for all the good that does.

“There’s going to be a genocide,” Obi-Wan insists over the sound of their friends trying to call them back across the greenhouse, “Death Watch is going to kill the Mand’alor and slaughter the True Mandalorians, and no one here will listen to me.”

Curious about their absolute certainty, Yarael gently pushes against their mind, but has to jerk away when the Jedi shoves him right back out, Yarael’s second brain fizzling like it had been shocked by a bad power coupling. Perhaps Master Yoda had been too hasty in handing this one over to the Council of Reassignment, when even though Yarael can sense their fear and hurt, their lingering doubt in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan has not a single crack in their shields. Not a single doubt in themselves.

Master Fodvam shakes her head, but it appears more out of a helplessness than disappointment. “Master Poof,” she says, “Novitiate Kenobi has spoken of this premonition for the last standard tenday, and I’m afraid none of the masters here are versed in the Unifying Force.”

“At all,” they stress.

Interesting indeed, that Master Yoda would nominate Obi-Wan for the Agricorp over the other branches, then, for surely they would have shown precognition as a crècheling. “Novitiate Kenobi, you clearly have complete faith in such a vision.” Yarael doesn’t try to enter their mind again, but does open his senses between them, benignly inviting Obi-Wan into his own instead. “Show me.”

Obi-Wan is bewildered for all of a moment, eyebrows pinched, but then they blink in understanding and snap their eyes closed. A flurry of images is all but shoved into Yarael’s lower brain, a confusing mash of forests and armor and blasterfire, but, yes, there is Vizsla, and there is Mereel, and there is a Mandalorian in blue armor leaving Mereel to die on the battlefield.

“How are you sure this is Korda 6?” Yarael asks, opening his eyes to Obi-Wan’s mentally-drained expression, tanned skin sallow under the freckles.

“I’ve heard some of the mission report,” they say, and let Master Fodvam gently support them where they had pushed her away before; Yarael will certainly have to teach Obi-Wan to strengthen their mental stamina. “Every night for the last tenday I’ve seen this battle, I’ve seen ten different ways it could go, and all of them end with the True Mandalorians’ slaughter, unless we do something.”

The Quermian looks Obi-Wan up and down once more, reaching as far into the Force as he can manage, and he doesn’t have a lifetime seat on the High Council for nothing.

“Then we’ve not a moment to lose, do we?”

If Obi-Wan is surprised Yarael insists on taking them to his ship to join him for his update to the Council, they don’t show it, and don’t appear nervous at all as the holocall connects. In fact, they stand off to the side with their arms behind their back and a serene expression on their face, right until Master Rancisis admits a contingent of Jedi had just left to help a planet deal with a violent insurgence of Mandalorian commandos, led by Jango Fett.

And then Obi-Wan only blinks before turning his gaze up to Yarael. “Then we are too late for Korda 6. We must make for Galidraan.”

The holo of Master Rancisis flickers as he winds and unwinds his appendages until he finally says, “We did not tell you the planet’s name.”

On Rancisis’ left, Master Yoda taps his cane against the floor. “Clear it is, that truth in Novitiate Kenobi’s visions there is. To what extent, we do not know, but great pain I sense if act quickly we do not.”

After meeting each of the other coucilmember’s eyes, Master Rancisis leans forward in his seat and points one undulating finger at Obi-Wan. ”You will go with Master Poof to Galidraan, Novitiate Kenobi; if you leave now, you may make it in time to prevent the Jedi from having a hand in this massacre.”

Obi-Wan checks with Yarael first, their deference almost endearing as they look up at him for confirmation; Yarael cannot help a small smile, and if the Council has not guessed his intentions by now, then they are as blind as a naked womp-rat. “Well, Novitiate Kenobi?” he prompts, “Are you prepared to see this through properly?”

Obi-Wan drops their shoulders to raise their chin instead. “To be truthful, Master Poof, I would have been disappointed to be left behind.”

Obi-Wan is already at the hatch of Master Poof’s cruiser when they finally land as close to the coordinates the Council had given them as they dare, and Obi-Wan sorely wishes they had asked Master Fodvam for a blaster before leaving Bandomeer. Nothing can be done for that now, and there is the more pressing matter that Master Poof had been unable to contact the Jedi already planetside, but perhaps they shouldn’t have expected the Force to make it easy on them.

As soon as the cruiser is settled, Obi-Wan elbows the control panel for the landing hatch and drops right down into the snow; they’re not quite dressed for this weather, not coming straight from the desert Enrichment Zone, but they can hardly feel the cold over the cloying, suffocating fear that saturates the air until even the trees tremble with it. And they might be stronger in the Unifying Force than anyone else in the Agricorp, but Obi-Wan hasn’t been wrist-deep in soil for seven years to come out of it without feeling the Living Force just as strongly.

Run, the trees tell them, and they do, pushing themself up onto more compact snow and taking off for the True Mandalorian camp. Master Poof calls after them, but they don’t slow until they reach the top of the nearest ridge, a sheer drop on the other side right into the camp, and Obi-Wan is forced to look out over their worst vision come to life.

The Mandalorians stand as one facing the opening to the ravine on Obi-Wan’s right, where the Jedi spread out among the tents as Master Dooku reads them a list of false wrongs, and Obi-Wan knows the Mandalorians will not surrender. Mand’alor Mereel’s son stands before Dooku in newly-painted blue and red armor, raising his blaster as Dooku ignites his ’saber, and Master Poof halts abruptly at Obi-Wan’s side and lifts a four-fingered hand, but he won’t be able to Force-suggest anyone in beskar, and—

And he has a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

Obi-Wan had not failed their Jedi training, they were bright and talented and wanted absolutely nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight, but their temper had seen Bruck to the Halls of Healing, and their impulsivity had seen them to the Agricorp despite the potential they had shown in their seven years in the crèche.

Their temper, they have control over that now, Obi-Wan is rarely even angry these days, but their impulsivity has been the, ah... cause for many of the Bandomeer masters’ grey hairs, so to speak.

So Obi-Wan does not think before grabbing Master Poof’s ’saber, barely able to even lift the hilt almost as long as their arm, and leaps from the crumbling snowbank with as much Force behind their feet as they can muster. Sound snaps to silence in their ears, vision narrowing on the scant yard between Jango Fett and his death, as Obi-Wan yanks the Living Force around themself and hauls it up right from the ground, grabs it by the roots of the nearest tree until it sings.

By a miracle of the Force, Obi-Wan lands perfectly between the new Mand’alor and the Jedi, igniting Master Poof’s unusually-yellow lightsaber just in time to deflect Jango’s first blaster bolt right into the ground — the ground that shakes and splits, exploding snow into the air to make way for the evergreen roots that surge through the cracks and grab Dooku’s entire arm, sending his ’saber flying.

Obi-Wan inhales once, twice, before allowing their other senses to flood back to them, and the Force sees fit to immediately make them aware of Master Poof stumbling down the bank after them with his upper hands raised in surrender.

“Peace, Jedi!” he shouts, successfully pulling the gaze of everyone in the ravine away from Dooku’s limb held aloft by mud-slick roots and to himself instead. “We have been misled,” he presses on, almost seeming to glide over the packed snow to stand at Obi-Wan’s back and place a palm between their shoulders, “These Mandalorians know nothing of what you speak, Master Dooku, we are both being played by the Governor of Galidraan.”

Jango Fett growls over his external comms, close enough to make Obi-Wan shiver. “What the kriffing fuck is going on?” he snaps, not bothering to drop his blaster as Obi-Wan glances at him and can just see the shadow of his eyes behind his visor.

“Death Watch had the governor call the Jedi here under false pretences, your grace,” Obi-Wan says, and doesn’t know what to make of the way the Mand’alor twitches at their voice. They can feel their shoulder weakening from hefting such a massive hilt, unwieldy even gripped at the balance point, but Obi-Wan refuses to let their arm shake, not with both sides holding them under such scrutiny; Maker, maybe they should have changed into Jedi robes instead of their dark tunics and kama? It gives them a silhouette neither wholly Mandalorian nor wholly Jedi, and certainly only adds to the confusion.

Nothing to be done about it now.

“The governor lied to the Mandalorians about their targets, to perfectly set them up for a Jedi arbitration,” Master Poof explains. “And of course knew that the Mandalorians would never surrender to the Jedi.” He looks slowly around at both parties, letting his words sink in until the Jedi are shutting their lightsabers off in disgust.

The Mandalorians don’t put away their blasters, obviously, but they do lower them enough to be an act of good faith; only when Jango lowers his own does Obi-Wan power down Master Poof’s ’saber, and is all too happy to hand the weighty thing back to him with a shallow bow.

Master Poof smiles in amusement, clipping the hilt back in its rightful place on his belt, before calmly nodding to Dooku. “Novitiate, you may release Master Dooku now.”

Startled, Obi-Wan immediately calls on the Living Force to pull the roots away from the man and coax them back into the ground, hoping they hadn’t damaged anything enough for the evergreen just up the ridge to suffer.

Dooku massages his red wrist and eyes Obi-Wan carefully, the clouds of breath before his lips casting strange shadows over his face in the dying sunlight. “I was not aware the Agricorp was still teaching Consitor Sato to its novitiates. Nor so... successfully.”

“... Master Fodvam would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to the High Council.”

“I am on the Council, Novitiate Kenobi,” Master Poof chortles, but turns back to the Mandalorians still effusing bewilderment before the new Mand’alor can decide they really are all better off dead. “Mand’alor Fett, I presume?”

Jango shifts subtly, still close enough for Obi-Wan to watch his eyes dart to the Quermian. “For all of a week, jetii; how you are aware of this already does nothing to convince me to trust you. Any of you.”

Master Poof just smiles serenely. “There is little one cannot gather from the Force upon first meeting, your grace. However, you are correct, and I would not be aware of Jaster Mereel's death if my companion had not told me of it.”

Jango doesn't get the chance to ask him to clarify just what that means, the girl padawan at Dooku's side cutting in rudely,

“And Master Poof, just who is your companion?” as if she can’t tell from Obi-Wan’s attire that they were a Jedi Knight washout.

So maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have complete mastery of their temper just yet, but they don’t get to snarl back before Master Poof answers cheerfully, "They are my new apprentice!"

Oh.

“Master Poof...?”

“I cannot very well leave a novitiate so strong in the Unifying Force untrained, can I?” Master Poof shakes his head. "As the matter stands, our duty to Galidraan is not yet complete: the governor has pulled both the Jedi and the Senate into his personal affairs, and has allied with a known terrorist group. Master Dooku, might I suggest we make to arrest the actual perpetrator of these crimes?”

“Vizsla will be there,” Jango interrupts. “And he must know his plan has failed by now, you'll be walking right into a trap.”

Obi-Wan raises a brow. “A trap meant for you, your grace. When we engage Governor Martinet, it would be unwise for the True Mandalorians to still be on planet.”

“Why do you keep calling us that?" he snaps, the blue-armoured Mandalorian at his side grabbing his shoulder to hold him back from... striking Obi-Wan? From removing his helmet? Obi-Wan isn't sure.

They are sure that, if the Jedi succeed in apprehending Vizsla, the New Mandalorians will make themselves known much earlier. “One day, soon, you will need to make the distinction between yourselves, and those that will use ‘Mandalorian’ as a ploy for cultural reform, as claim to an identity that is not theirs,” Obi-Wan says, finding Jango’s eyes behind his visor once more. “The Children of the Watch will choose ‘True’ as that distinction of your people in retrospect, some fifty years from now.”

The Mandalorian holding Jango’s shoulder tenses. “Are you some sort of prophet, kih’jetii?”

“Hardly,” they smile, because the Force promises to back off a little after this mess is all said and done, whenever that may be. “But the Force decided I was the most likely candidate to make it here in time to stop a genocide, though I’m not sure if it knew how much information I actually needed. Irregardless, everything from today is now changed from any visions I had seen of it, I’m no more a prophet than you are.”

Jango twitches again strangely, and his companion tightens their grip on their blaster.

“Novitiate Kenobi is right,” Poof interjects gently. “You should take your people to regroup and recover, your grace, you will be of no use to the galaxy dead.”

“Wait,” Jango grits through clenched teeth. “It would... be unfair for us not to aid you in this, not when this was our disaster, too.”

“There is no need for that,” Dooku says regally, Force-calling his ’saber back to his hand. “This has become a Senate matter, and to involve yourselves further would be an unnecessary risk.”

“So you... want us to just leave?”

Dooku raises a single eyebrow, expression blank otherwise, but Obi-Wan still shudders at the dark anger in the man, the rage that had hit its boiling point upon first meeting Jango and believing he had slaughtered almost two hundred innocent activists. The Force warns Obi-Wan about that darkness, the way Dooku has not yet released it; it also gives them hope, though, that the master can be pulled back into the light, with a little persuasion and lots of tea.

The conversation has moved on without them when Obi-Wan tries to focus back on the crisis at hand, Jango’s commandos already starting to pack up the camp while Dooku and Master Poof quietly discuss the Jedi’s next moves. Neither seem to have realised Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention, which is just fine by them: Master Fodvam is already at wit’s end trying to keep them focused on anything but plants, somedays.

A heavy gaze pulls their own to look up, across the camp to where Jango oversees his people’s retreat, but Obi-Wan knows the Mand’alor’s attention is on them alone. Obi-Wan gazes right back, refusing to the first to look away, and is somehow thrilled rather than disappointed when Jango does just that.

He does not say goodbye, but that’s alright, Obi-Wan knows they’ll be meeting again soon.

Following a stomping Jango up into Jaster’s old ship, Myles won’t stop laughing at him.

“‘The one who will speak of the truth,’” he quotes gleefully, just as jovial in his punching of Jango’s sides as he attempts to unbuckle his helmet, and he doesn’t back down even when his Mand’alor growls at him. “Kriff, who knew that witch would end up being so literal?”

“I told you I don’t believe in that osik,” Jango snaps, trying to shove his best friend off of him. “I don't believe in that old hag's ‘prophecy’ any more than I believe in Jedi competence.”

“Ah ah, Jang’alor, you shouldn’t speak of your ba’buir like that, what would Jaster say?”

Jango finally gets his helmet off and yanks his hood down so he can get right in Myles’ face to snarl, “That adiik is not the future of Mandalore, kriff whatever the fuck Jaster’s buir says! One dream and one crazy old enby witch spouting oracle nonsense does not make Obi-Wan Kenobi my destiny.”

Jango doesn’t need to see Myles’ face to know it lights up in victory. “Nobody said their full name, Jang’alor.”

“Finish that thought and I’ll throw you out the airlock.”

Mando’a:

Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore.

jetii — “Jedi” sing, pl. jetiise

kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, highly offensive

osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit

ba'buir/e — “grandparent/s”, gender neutral

adiik — a child aged from 3 to 13, used here as an insult

Cansitor Sato — Traditional High Galactic for “Plant Surge”, a Living Force-related technique of controlling plants (usually vines) to ensnare or slow an enemy; in legends, this was taught to Agricorp members as well, headcanoned here to be usually only taught to master/older members.

Novitiate — personal headcanon for the form of address for non-master members of the Jedi Corps.

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 4

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Four: A Little Lost, A Little Found

Elain was in Lockhart Manor. Elain was currently sleeping a few doors down the hallway. Elain, his mate, was here. Elain-

“Oh, shut up,” Lucien groaned to his own mind, as he rolled over with more vigour than necessary. But there was little hope of sleep finding him tonight, not when he felt so energised and awake. Not only did Lucien feel the bond, taut and invigorated in-between his ribs, but he could still smell Elain, that Spring morning clear in his mind.

What was she doing here? What had changed?

Had she come for him?

Of course not. Right?

Lucien rolled over again, allowing a small snarl of frustration to rip from his lips. If Lucien knew Elain a little better then maybe he’d actually be able to talk to her and ask her these questions. But he didn’t know her, and he wasn’t her friend.

Maybe she’d come to break the bond. That had to be it. Given his luck his entire life it was outrageous to believe that his mate who he hadn’t spoken to for two years had travelled the country to be under the same roof as him, to work alongside him, to go to meetings by his side as his…colleague?

He just wanted to talk to her. One clear conversation where he wasn’t holding back, when he didn’t care about every word both spoken and unspoken. One conversation where he could be the silver-tongued fox he’d been before any Archeron had entered his life. But around Elain he was a fool. A hopeless, romantic fool.

Oh, how Tamlin would’ve goaded him over this. Lucien, who had taken lovers to his bed as though he was being paid, unable to even conjure more than a sentence in front of a female. Well, old Tamlin would’ve laughed at him – with him. Old Tamlin would’ve laughed, period. Now…Now he was another thing in Lucien’s life that had turned to poison.

It was only last week, after Nyx’s arrival, that Lucien received a letter from Rhysand detailing his new assignment in the Spring Court. He’d been able to delay such work thus far, but by the end of the week he was expected in Spring. Following that, the plan was to manipulate his way into alternating weeks between the Spring and Lockhart Manor.

Would he leave Elain here? Could he convince her to somehow come with him to Spring?

She’d love it there, not just the proper and neat gardens of the Spring Manor (or what was left of their civilisation) but also the rugged fields and forests. Spring Court was violent with life. It was a pandemonium of flora, every single plant one could possibly find in Prythian could be found somewhere in the battlefield of the Spring lands. The overwhelming, erratic terrain was exactly where Lucien saw Elain thriving.

If he took her maybe she’d love it. She’d most likely take clippings or, or maybe not. Maybe she would just stay for a moment, and enjoy existing in such a place, her gentle hands refusing to intervene with the beautiful, wild course of nature. Maybe she’d lie down in the fields, maybe she’d go swimming with him in the pools of starlight. One day, far, far, far into the future.

Maybe she’d smile – a real, genuine smile. Lucien believed he still had yet to experience the privilege of seeing such a phenomenon.

The voice of the bond had quietened in his mind, along with the voice which seemed to come from deeper down, the one that told Lucien exactly how much shit he was in given the size of the schoolboy crush he’d somehow developed. But still, there was little chance of Lucien finding more than a few hours of sleep.

And so, with his body alive and electric, Lucien did what he had been doing for the past two years. Lucien wrote a letter - one that was never, ever, intended to be read.

***

Breakfast was awkward. Surely it wasn’t always this awkward, not with the glint in Jurian’s smile and the steel in Vassa’s glare. Lucien seemed…bemused, he appeared to be glaring at his toast and eggs as though they contained some secret prophecy that he needed to decipher.

She was curious about the particulars of Vassa’s curse, about how she knew when the change was coming. Did it happen always at sunrise? How much time did she have to prepare? Was it the workings of the death lord’s magic, or his deal? She was especially curious given that one of her tasks being down here was to help undo Vassa’s ties to the death lord, not that she was sure the Band of Exiles were aware of that given her sister’s ruined letter.

It was Vassa’s stoic silence that kept Elain from opening her mouth. That and a million other worthless reasons.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, Ms Archeron?” Vassa eventually spoke into the unbearable silence, perhaps aware of the frequency of Elain’s not so inconspicuous side-glances. Elain fought the blush as glared at her plate.

“Elain, please…” maybe she was being paranoid, but the way everyone here kept stressing her title felt like an awful lot like a reminder of the title she was supposed to have in these lands. The life she was supposed to have, the husband, the house, now it all felt so foreign.

“Really, we should be calling her Lady,” Jurian smiled, his own breakfast consisting of a single orange and a small goblet of black coffee, a delicacy of the Night Court he’d bought in bulk.

“Perhaps…if we were in Prythian,” Vassa said non-committedly.

“Titles do not interchange between borders, even human borders,” Lucien spoke up suddenly, his voice sounded causal and polite, but his figure had gone rigid, and his eyes were burning as they rested on Vassa who seemed to shiver slightly under his gaze. Elain adverted her gaze, an ugly feeling flashing through her like lightening. She’d been avoiding looking at him for most of the meal, desperate to ignore how she’d noticed that he’d changed.

“Lady Elain…” Vassa began, her eyes still locked with Lucien’s and Elain felt a furious blush warm her cheeks. God she was so…angry. Stupid mating bond. “Last night you asked me to discuss with you how you maybe be of some use whilst working with us,” Vassa’s eyes found hers from where she was seated at the head of the table, Jurian and Lucien either side of her, Elain next to Jurian. “Well tonight we’re having dinner and talks at the Nolan’s residence-”

“Which of course you won’t be forced to attend,” Lucien ground out, glaring at the queen who just shrugged and reached for the syrup.

“We’ll be discussing all manner of important things; it would be a brilliant opportunity for Elain to familiarise herself with those who she’ll be working in close quarters with for the foreseeable future.”

“These dinners are of little consequence,” Lucien’s eyes flickered to Elain’s for a moment before his gaze returned to the queen and Elain felt something inside her crack. It was as though he couldn’t look at her for more than a second, that or he couldn’t bear to look away from the queen. “I don’t even bother with attending.” Lucien directed at the queen.

“There’s ample opportunity for Elain to make acquaintances elsewhere,” Jurian said through a yawn, leaning back with a stretch. But Elain didn’t miss how his eyes appeared to rove over his two fiery-haired companions. Mother, how she wished they would stop talking about her rather than with her. If she wanted to be discussed at the table as though she were a child she might as well have stayed in the Night Court.

“I’m grateful for the offer but today I was hoping to have a look over the current contracts and ensure they’re meeting the timeline Feyre had drawn for you. Once I can ensure the work you’ve done thus far meets the standards of my High Lady then I’ll know what to both expect and push for with the human councils.” The words flowed out of Elain in an orderly manner, in the exact way she’d practiced as she fell asleep the night prior.

Unlike the Night Court, it was clear Elain was going to have to fight and demand for her own voice and seat at the table. Here, with the Band of Exiles, no one would coddle her. So, she’d either have to stay in the shadows, or step into the light.

Besides, there wasn’t enough gold in the world that would make Elain step a single foot in the Manor that would’ve been her home, once upon a time.

Vassa opened her mouth to say something before shutting it and turning back to her plate, a firm line carved in between her brows. Jurian was glancing around the table with a shit-eating grin and Lucien, the tension in his body had seemed to ease and after a small moment, he took a large mouthful of food.

“Are there, um, any other gatherings I may be able to attend, later in the week?” Elain tried to shake the nervousness from her voice. She couldn’t let these three see her as someone able to be pushed to the side. She needed this.

“There has been weekly meetings with all the human lords,” Lucien said after swallowing, his eyes meeting hers in a way that drew the breath from her body, “Huckleberry Hall is where we’ve been hosting the crowds-”

“The house by the old creek?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from interrupting, her mother would’ve pinched her thigh under the table for such poor manners. But it was just so alarming, to hear the residencies of her childhood come out of Lucien’s mouth. He’d always felt so far and distant, and yet, he was familiar with the lands she’d grown up in. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it made her wish she knew about him. His upbringing.

“That’s the one,” Lucien’s smile was soft and warm and…genuine. “We’re having a meeting there the day after tomorrow. If you wish, you’re most welcome to attend, it’s where the most current information is, and the meeting will give you’re a formal opportunity to meet with our human colleagues. I was heading there today anyways to meet with their cartographer, if you…well, if you’d like to…accompany me?”

“Yes I, uh, I don’t know the way to Huckleberry from here,” Elain was far to aware of two sets of human eyes boring into her at that moment.

“Yes,” Lucien blinked. Not quite a statement. Not quite a question, either. “Yes…good, yes. We’ll set off at first light then...”

Elain just nodded. Not trusting her voice to speak.

***

They were walking in silence.

As Lucien at promised, at first light he’d met Elain at the Lockhart’s front door, his hands behind his back as he waited at the bottom of the stairs. Elain had taken a moment to assess his clothes before she had to look away. He was wearing a loose brown shirt, dark trousers and brown boots. It was a perfect outfit for the summer morning, with the thick air and dewy sunlight. But it was the sight of his crimson hair, tied in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, a few whisps framing the sharp angles of his face, that had Elain looking away.

Lucien seemed to still as she came into view, quickly saying goodbye to Nuala who turned and made her way back up the stairs, and Elain turned to watch her go, giving Lucien a chance to look her over. Her dress was a plain cream, and was of a simple cut that could pass in both human and fae realms – a cunning choice of clothing he thought. The neckline was perhaps a little daring for the human communities which was hilarious given that all one could see of Elain was her collarbones, but the full skirts were the same of the women he’d seen in these lands.

It was her hair he lingered on. Even when bouncing with curls it came down to her waist. Intricate braids pulled most of it away from her face and Lucien could spot pale flowers in a variety of sizes perched at the crown of her head. Real flowers, nothing like the faux pieces the humans tended to favour. She was…divine. Impossible. Beyond him, in every conceivable way.

“You ready?” He tried smiling at her, but it felt as though it came across more of a grimace.

“Hm mm,” Elain bowed her head, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as her curls bounced. Gods, he was fucked.

Silence had fallen quickly over the duo, besides the odd ‘watch out for that root’ or ‘duck’ as they made their way into the forestry of the mortal lands. The path was clear until a certain junction, and then it became little more than a dirt path, only wide enough for them to walk single file. Lucien had wanted Elain to go first so that he’d be able to keep an eye on her, to keep her safe, until he remembered that she quite literally didn’t know where she was going.

Lucien had thought Elain would’ve been disgruntled by the shrubbery pulling at her fine dress, but Elain meandered through the forest in an expert fashion. She gathered her skirts in her hands and would hop with a doe-like grace over the greenery and roots. In fact, the only time he heard her disgruntled was when she’d accidentally stepped on some plant or flower – forever a lady of the forest.

It was only when Lucien was finding himself relax in their silence that disaster struck. Lucien’s foot snagged on something under a large fern that had grown over the path, and then there was an audible snap of leather. The noise was enough to set Lucien into action, with one arm, he unsheathed his Autumn sword and with the other he turned and pulled Elain into him, all sense and thought evaporating from his mind and being replaced with the single, overwhelming urge to ‘protect, protect, protect’.

But where Lucien had been prepared for an enemy of mortal body, their attack came from above. Lucien saw a glint of something dropping down on them at a furious pace and pulled Elain tighter to his chest, bending slightly at the waist so he covered her entirely, so that not one inch of Elain was visible to the attack from above.

But the attack never came, not quite. When Lucien span, turning to tuck Elain behind him as he faced the enemy, he came face to face with…a cage…of wood. Ashwood.

The cage arched over Lucien and Elain, and the wood was interwoven in a way that was reminiscent of the dog cages Eris had used for his Dobermans. It was hilarious really. Lucien and Elain, two fae, and highly powerful fae at that, caged in like a common pup.

Lucien was just scoffing at the cage when he felt Elain shift behind him. Turning around, Lucien just caught Elain as she reached out for the cage, perhaps in an attempt to shift the weak structure out of her way.

“Elain, don’t-” But it was too late, Elain had ran her hand along the edge of the meshed cage before pulling her arm back with a pained gasp. “Shit!” Lucien was by her side in a flash, one hand on her arm, tucking her away from the cage as though it were an enemy, and he were blocking her from view. His other hand went to her crumpled hand which was now throbbing as a furious burn puckered across the surface.

Looking down, Elan watched as Lucien turned and, without touching the damaged skin, assessed her injured palm.

“Fae trap,” Lucien growled, “many councils are encouraging their use now that the wall’s gone.”

“How horrible…” Elain whispered before surprise rattled through her. Three years ago she would’ve thought these traps necessary protection against the evil fae. But now, they just seemed cruel.

“Horrible for us and other civilised fae, but there are other creatures, particularly the southern woods of Spring, who one might argue deserve every bit of this treatment.” Lucien turned back to glaring at the cage, and if looks could burn Elain didn’t doubt that the wood – perhaps the whole forest – would be furiously ablaze.

“I…I don’t know if I’d call you civilised…” Elain finally murmured, allowing herself to momentarily give into the urge to soothe him, to let him know that she was okay. Lucien’s head whipped back around to her and, after a moment of assessing her soft expression, a coy smile that showed his perfect teeth pulled at his lips. Not a laugh, but a genuine smile.

“Was that a joke, Lady?”

“An attempt,” Elain couldn’t help but shyly duck away from his warm eyes and dimpled smile. “You know,” she changed the topic, “I can’t image these kinds of things would work.” She nodded up to the cage.

“When there’s Ashwood involved, anything’s possible.”

“I’ve seen fae on a battlefield,” she shuddered involuntarily, “Something like this,” she went to touch the cage before remembering and flinching her hand back, “seems hardly daunting.”

“Ashwood doesn’t work like an Illyrian, they’re all cock and walk, Ashwood is cunning and clever,” Lucien was glaring at the cage, his metal eye clicking and whirring as it roved over the trap.

“How can wood be cunning?”

“It’s a weapon, all weapons have personality.”

“Does your sword have personality?” Elain murmured, nodding at the silver blade she’d never seen him without.

“Well…since it comes from the Autumn Court, it would be safe to assume it’s the metal equivalent of a ruthless git.” Lucien shook his head, his crimson hair shifting in a stream of sunlight. “A human trapping a fae or two in some Ashwood is easy,” Lucien continued, “But then begs the question of what one would do from there.”

“Well, they’d have to lift the cage,”

“They’d be dead in seconds,” Lucien quipped, his head cocking to the side, whisps of his fiery hair following his movement. “Go on, don’t stop, think like a fae hunter.”

“I’d rather not,” Elain shivered slightly, very aware of how close Lucien was standing. Elain also didn’t fail in missing the dark shadow that passed through Lucien’s eye at the nod towards her ex-fiancé.

“Okay, then think like a fae.” Lucien swung his arms across his chest with a catlike grace, “You’re hunting, let’s see...an Attor, clearly feeling a little dangerous today. It’s walked right into your lovey cage of Ashwood, which let me say Lady Archeron, I must compliment you on your excellent lattice work.” Elain giggled and Lucien faltered in his speech, his eyes widening as he looked as though he’d struck gold. “So…” he cleared his throat, “You’ve trapped the Attor in your wonderful cage, then what?”

“Well, it depends on what I want an…At-tor, for?”

“Hm, interesting. Let’s say you need to cut out it’s tongue for a healing tonic.” Elain made a face, “Okay, okay, no tonics.”

“No tongues please.”

“Oh really?” Lucien couldn’t stop his shit-eating grin, especially when Elain began to blush furiously and avoid his eye. Something inside Lucien was racing, entirely giddy at the fact he was bantering with Elain, Elain, Archeron.

“The Attor?” Elain stressed, turning around and perching herself on a fallen trunk.

“Interrogation – you need vital information pronto, or the High Lord will have your head.”

“Rhysand?”

“Well if in this world you, Elain Archeron, are hunting an Attor, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that I might be High Lord.”

“Of which court?”

“None of them. No, all of them. No wait, my own court – the ‘Lucien is incredibly handsome’ court.” Lucien was pushing his luck, that he knew. He was towing that line as always, the one between banter and a step too far. Saying something that would cause the other to retract from him, or carve out his eye. But Elain just tilted her head, her honey hair spilling across her pale dress.

“You have many devout followers in this court?”

“Maybe, but only one of them matters.” He grinned at her knowingly, testing the waters, seeing how far he could go with her before they remembered they were bonded by destiny. Something shy flickered across Elain’s face as she took in his meaning. And then.

“Are you peacocking right now?” Elain smiled, a real smile.

“I’m always peacocking,” Lucien grinned, a real grin. Then his eye caught on the hand Elain was still cradling to her chest, and something akin to agony tore through his chest.

“Mother, I’m sorry,” He muttered, his amusement having evaporated as he hurried to sit next to Elain, taking her ruined palm into his lap with a featherlight touch. “I can’t ever shut up. I just talk and talk and forget about the important things.”

“What are you doing?” Elain was sure he voice sounded somewhat strangled as Lucien zoned in on her mutilated palm, his metal eye whirring as he ran a single finger along it’s creases.

“I have the ability to heal,” Lucien’s voice also sounded a bit strained as he hunched himself over her hand.

“Oh…” Elain murmured, as a warm sensation prickled across her skin, and she watched as the red splotches clamed back into ivory. “You know,” Elain was practically whispering as Lucien moved to her fingers, “My skin never used to be this colour.”

“Oh?” Lucien seemed to be breathing through his mouth, and with is gaze occupied, Elain allowed herself to rove over his appearance. The knot of crimson hair, the strong yet angled brows, the white webs of his scar, prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw, full and wide lips, and a strong curved nose.

“No…” Elain breathed, “I always used to be so much tanner than my sisters, I was always in the gardens as we were growing up you see. My mother would ring me out for it. She’d love the colour I’m now.” The colour she’d been since the Cauldron. She didn’t know why she was telling him all this, or why it felt so natural to talk to him about these things. But here in the human lands, a world away from the sneers of Nesta or the gossiping of Feyre, Elain found that she didn’t mind the idea of conversing with Lucien.

“I was always the darkest out of my brothers,” Lucien moved to her second finger.

“How many do you have?”

“Seven,” Lucien met her eyes momentarily with a cheeky grin.

“Seven!” Elain smiled back, and then Lucien’s eyes seemed to darken and something in him seemed to rescind as he turned back to her hand.

“Well, I used to have seven…a few of them died.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry,” Lucien seemed to go to say something, his mouth turning into a frown, before he shook his head and moved to the next finger.

“I…my mother told it was because I’d been kissed by the Sun when I was born…that’s why I was so tan. I was born on the Autumn Equinox, it’s the longest day of autumn in the Autumn Court, the sun turns crimson and blesses the lands for the upcoming year.”

“That sounds very beautiful…”

“It is. It’s believed the trees come to life in the night and talk to each other, lovers of the earth able to speak for a few hours of the year. There’s feasts and fires, and we read stories of the sacrifice of the Wyvern.”

“Wyvern?” Elain’s yes turned bright and wide, “As in the animal from adventure novels?”

“Animal is an awfully polite term to describe harbinger’s of fire and death,” a grin flickered across Lucien’s face, “It’s believed that centuries and centuries ago, when the Old Gods still ruled the Earth, the Autumn Court was a nest of Wyverns. When the world changed into what it is today the mother Wyvern, Hermenegilda, scattered her cubs throughout time so that they may survive. Every year those of the Autumn Court gather in the caves to see if a cub will appear, and to praise the mother for her sacrifice.”

“Do they? The cubs, do they appear?”

“They used to, though a cub has not been found since before I was born. Courtiers tend to believe the cubs have run out, that there are no more children of the mother Wyvern, but devout believers still hope for a cub to appear each year.” With that, Lucien finished healing her pinkie finger and turned to peer at her. Their bodies still close, Elain’s palm still resting in his hand in his lap.

“You…what do you believe?” Elain breathed, her voice just a whisper.

“I think…well I…” Lucien’s voice was breathy and low, intimate in a way Elain hadn’t heard before, “...I’d like to believe that anything’s possible.”

Before Elain could have a moment to respond, or even think about what possible double meaning could come from his words, a furious flapping of wings caused her to startle and whip her head around, ripping her hand from Lucien’s lap in the process. There, on the other side of the cage, perched on a tree branch, was a beautiful bird. It was huge, with iridescent feathers and woody eyes, and the air surrounding the bird seemed to thrum with energy and magic.

“Don’t worry, it’s only Vassa.” Lucien nodded at the firebird, “…she’ll get Jurian for us.”

Elain just nodded, aware that her cheeks were still most likely flushed. Unable to meet Lucien’s eye, Elain watched as the firebird took off into the golden, mid-morning sky, a disapproving screech tearing from its throat.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fluff #Elain #elain acotar #elain archeron #elain x lucien #elain/lucien #elain and lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #fffaf

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sonoftatooine · 3 years

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Whumpay 2021

DAY 31: ALT DAY - SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Shaak Ti

Summary: When Anakin makes the decision to go and save Palpatine from Mace Windu, his lack of sleep over the past week chooses the worst possible moment to catch up with him. Shaak Ti attempts to intervene.

***

It was said that the Force, in the hands of a competent Jedi, could do many things. It was also said—with greater and greater frequency over the course of the war—that in the hands of Anakin Skywalker, it could do the impossible. Right now, however, Anakin himself was of the opinion that this was a bold-faced lie, for the one thing he could not make it do, as he staggered unsteadily yet imperturbably toward the main doors of the Jedi Temple, was have it chase away the fog that was threatening to take over his over-tired mind and send him spiralling into the deep, impenetrable darkness of forced rest. He had been fighting it for days, drawing on the Force to fend off sleep as he searched desperately for a solution to save his wife from the awful fate that plagued his dreams whenever he tried to rest. And now, only now, when he was so close to finding the solution that the Jedi had denied him, when a moment's delay meant that he could lose that knowledge for ever, did his reserves finally run out, and the ability to stay awake and moving start to slip through his durasteel grip like sand.

Sand. Sand. His head felt like it was full of sand. Scratchy and grainy, lodged in unlikely places, disrupting all the whirring mechanisms that governed his thoughts. He'd had the same problem with Threepio when he was building him, without his coverings to protect him from the ravages of Tatooine, and he'd spent hours cleaning the stuff out of his servos just as he had with Watto's junk at the shop. He wanted to shake his head to dislodge it, but nothing he did made it—

He had been so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that he barely realised when he collided full on with a tall, slim figure standing directly in front of the door. The world swam before as one of the frequent waves of dizziness overcame him, and he felt strong, slim fingers circling about the flesh of his biceps to keep him upright. Dazed, he blinked, trying to chase away the strange blur that had overtaken his vision, and the smudge of red and white and purple before him coalesced into the face of Jedi Master Shaak Ti. Her hairless brows were drawn into a frown, and she looked very concerned.

“Anakin,” she said. “Are you alright? Where are you going?”

Anakin wished he could dislodge the sand from his brain, but his thoughts wouldn't come coherently, and all he could force out from his lips was a garbled, “the Chancellor— I need—”

Shaak Ti's frown deepened.

“The Chancellor?,” she asked. “But the Masters have already gone to confront him. You need not worry—the situation is already in hand.”

Anakin could only shake his head wordlessly, immediately wishing that he hadn't as his vision swam once again at the sudden movement. She didn't understand. The situation wasn't in hand because Windu might kill Palpatine who was the only one who knew how to save Padmé and he couldn't let Padmé die, he couldn't live without her -

“Shaak Ti,” he gasped out. “Get out of my way.”

He had to get to the door, had to— If he could just get to the door— He tried to pull out of her grasp, but Shaak Ti held on, the press of her fingers on his arms gentle yet firm.

“The Temple is sealed,” she reminded him. “The door is code-locked.”

Oh. Yes. They were expecting retaliation from Palpatine should the Masters fail. Windu had put Shaak Ti in charge of the Temple's defence as a precautionary measure when he had ordered Anakin to wait like a good little Jedi in the Council Chambers while he marched off to kill the man who had always been kind to him, had lied to him, had been the only one to offer to help him save Padmé— But what did it matter? He was a Jedi himself. He had the codes, and Shaak Ti couldn't keep him here when he needed to go—

“And you're in the way of the pad” he snapped.

He jerked back, and this time, he managed break free, but the force of the movement had unbalanced him, bringing on another alarming wave of faintness. His vision blurred, the world spun, his head throbbing painfully with exhaustion and hunger and fear. Hands shot out to catch him once again, and he pitched forward, forced to lean against Shaak Ti to keep his knees from buckling.

“You're not well, Anakin,” the Jedi Master's soft voice spoke somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, but despite how close she was, she sounded distant, muffled, as if she were talking over a bad comm connection. “You should be in the Halls of Healing.”

“I— No. I can't—,” Anakin stammered desperately. He couldn't afford distractions, not with Padmé's life on the line. He had to get to Palpatine now, before Windu— “I'm fine,” he added, trying to push himself back upright again. “I need to go—”

Shaak Ti shook her head.

“What can you possibly do?,” she asked. “Master Windu and the others will handle it. You have done your duty. Let yourself rest.”

Yes, Windu will handle it, Anakin wanted to shout. That's precisely the problem. Padmé was going to die because he couldn't get away, because he couldn't get there on time. His head swam again, and to his horror, he felt tears of fear and frustration pricking at his eyes.

“You don't understand!,” he babbled. How could she understand? How could he explain it to her after he had broken the Code so badly? “There's no time. I have go! I have to do something! I can't just—”

“Anakin, please,” Shaak Ti cut across him. She looked deeply worried. “Let me take you to the healers. You are in no state to be fighting battles against a Sith Lord. You will get yourself killed.”

Anakin shook his head.

“He...he won't kill me,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “He wants—”

Realising exactly what it is he was about to say, Anakin cut himself off abruptly. He wants me as his apprentice, he thought. That's the price of Padmé's life. My life in service so she and the baby can live. He knew this deeply, instinctively, with all the knowledge of the little boy on Tatooine who had spent his life at the mercy of his masters, even though the part of him that wanted to think not of the Chancellor's lies but of their long friendship tried to tell him that there wouldn't be a price for his help. He couldn't tell Shaak Ti that. Couldn't tell her that, as much as the prospect alarmed him, there was a tiny spark in him beneath the furious insistence that all he wanted was to make sure that Palpatine wasn't killed that was actually considering it. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, however, for a look of severe alarm found its way into Shaak Ti's violet eyes.

“He wants what?,” she said, and there was a note of urgency in her tone that he had never heard from her before—usually, she was the very epitome of Jedi calm. “Anakin, what does he want. What has he told you—?”

But before she could demand anything further of him, and before he could even begin to think about evading her questions, four lights blinked out of existence, and the Force screamed. Both Anakin and Shaak Ti staggered under the weight of it.

“What—?” Anakin gasps. He knew those lights. Windu. Fisto. Kolar. Tiin. Where were they? They couldn't just be gone. They couldn't be— There had been four of them and only one of Palpatine. He couldn't have—

“It cannot be,” Shaak Ti breathed, her eyes wide with horror. “Four Jedi Masters... How could he have—?”

She shook herself, as if she could rid herself of fear the way an akk dog did water after a swim.

“We must see to the Temple's defences. I fear he will come for us next, and without—”

But she never got to finish, as Anakin took advantage of her distraction to dart around her towards the keypad. Another wave of dizziness overcame him, and he nearly crumpled in a heap on the floor, but he flung out an arm to break his fall. Bracing his right arm against the wall, he raised his trembling flesh hand to the pad, intent on typing in his code. If only he could stop it from shaking so violently, let alone shift the sand in his head to remember what the damned code was—

A hand circled around his wrist, and he froze.

“Anakin, no,” Shaak Ti said sternly, even as her voice shook at the feeling in the Force of four Jedi Masters dead. “I cannot let you go to him. Whatever he wants with you, it will bring you nothing but harm.”

Harm. Harm. Palpatine had harmed Windu and the others. Had killed them. He should want to kill him, as he had for one short moment in the man's office when he revealed to him that he was the Sith Lord behind the war. Did he want to kill him now? No, he needed him to save Padmé. He needed that knowledge, that power. Who cared if it harmed him as long as it helped her? A small voice in his head whispered to him that if Sidious had the power to defeat four Jedi alone, then surely being able to save Padmé would be nothing by comparison. Oh Force, he felt sick.

“Please,” he begged, appalled to hear his voice tremble and break as he spoke. He wanted to cry, wanted to rest, to fall asleep in Padmé's arms knowing that she was safe, that he would no longer be plagued by dreams of her death and that he wouldn't have to turn to the Sith Lord that had just killed four Jedi Masters for help. But he couldn't have any of that. All he had was one possible way to save her life that Shaak Ti wouldn't let him take. “Please, it's not me, it's— She's going to die! Padmé's going to die and I have to...”

Shaak Ti's eyes widened in sudden realisation, but he could barely see her through the blackness that was encroaching on his vision. She tilted sideways or—no, he tilted sideways, tumbling to the floor and what was that? Was the door opening? Had she opened the door? No, it was someone coming in—many someones with heavy booted feet and blue and white armour and weapons pointed—

There was a click of many weapons being primed, a shout, the snap-hiss of a lightsaber being ignited, and then the darkness consumed him amid a hurricane of blaster fire.

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 8

(Y/n)'s POV

I know someone at camp resents Percy and me because one night, I come into the cabin alone and find a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article takes me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I get, the more the words float around on the page.

GIRL, BOY, AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR ACCIDENT

By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson, son Percy, and daughter (Y/n) are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.

Mother, daughter, and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.

Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his sister's and his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson, (Y/n), Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free Crimestoppers hotline.

The phone number is circled in black marker.

I wad up the paper and throw it away, flopping down on my bunk on the far edge of the cabin under the window facing the sea.

I remain silent as Percy walks into the cabin, flopping down onto his bunk as well.

That night, I have the worst dream yet.

I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked, and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

I wake up, sure I'm falling.

I am still in bed in Cabin Three. My body tells me it's morning, but it's dark outside, and thunder rolls over the hills.

A storm is brewing.

I hadn't dreamed that . . .

I hear a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?" Percy asks, sounding uncertain.

Grover trots inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see the two of you."

"Why?" I ask, peeking through the curtain separating mine and Percy's side of the cabin.

'He wants to kill . . . I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, Percy and I get dressed and follow, sure we were in huge trouble.

For days, Percy and I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that we were declared children of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figure it's just a crime for us to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating on the best way to punish us for existing, and now Mr. D is ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looks like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain is coming in our direction. I ask Grover if we'd need an umbrella.

"No," Grover says. "It never rains here unless we want it to."

Percy points at the storm, 'What the heck is that, then?"

Grover glances uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

I realize that he's right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.

But this storm . . .

This one's huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin are playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysius's twins - Castor and Pollux - are walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everyone is going about their normal business, but they look tense; they keep their eyes on the storm.

Grover, Percy, and I walk up the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sits at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sits across the table in his fake wheelchair. They are playing against invisible opponents - two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D says without looking up. "Our little celebrities."

I wait.

"Come closer," Mr. D says. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortals, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashes across the clouds; thunder shakes the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus grumbles.

Chiron faints interest in his pinochle cards and Grover cowers by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus says, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron puts in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus says. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

"Mr. D - " Chiron warns.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relents. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rises, and the invisible players' cards drop onto the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you two must do."

Dionysus picks up a playing card, twists it, and it becomes a plastic rectangle. A security pass. He snaps his fingers. The air seems to fold and bend around him. He becomes a hologram, a wind, then he is gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiles at me and Percy, but he looks tired and strained. "Sit, Percy,(Y/n), please. And Grover."

We do.

Chiron lays his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, (Y/n)," he says. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name makes me shudder.

Chiron probably wants me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. But I don't feel like lying.

"It scared me," I admit. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You two will meet worse. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done?" Percy asks. "With what?"

"You're quest, of course," Chiron says. "Will you accept it?"

I glance at Grover, who is crossing his fingers.

"Sir," I say, "you haven't told us what it is yet."

Chiron grimaces. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbles across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I can see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I guess. "They're fighting over something valuable . . . something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchange looks.

Chiron shoots forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover says, his eyes bright.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron orders.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes sparkle with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron strokes his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, (Y/n), you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

Percy laughs, looking nervous, "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warns. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron says, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it's missing?" I guess.

"Stolen," Chiron corrects.

"By whom?" I ask though I guessed what he was going to say.

"By you two," Chiron says and Percy's jaw drops.

"At least"—Chiron holds up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon argued. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't - We didn't -" Percy goes to say.

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron says. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you two as his children. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief.

"But we've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Grover glance nervously at the sky. The clouds don't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They are rolling straight over the valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy . . . ?" Grover says. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggests. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy.

"The Golden Net?" I guess again. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in it and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler?"

"Correct," Chiron says. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you two have come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But we're just kids!" Percy protests.

"Percy," Grover cuts in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, and that he's father, not one, but two mortal heroes who might be used as a weapon against you . . . Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"But I - we didn't do anything, Poseidon - our dad - he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Percy asks, and I remain silent in thought.

Chiron sighs. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a fullfledged war would look like, Percy? (Y/n)?"

"Bad?" Percy guesses.

"I'd guess that it would be like nature at war with itself," I say and Chiron nods.

"Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight," Chiron adds to (Y/n)'s statement.

"Bad," Percy repeats.

"And you, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

And then, it starts to rain. Volleyball players stop their game and start in stunned silence at the sky.

We had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of us.

"So we have to find that bolt," I say. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron says, "than to have the son and daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property.

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" Percy asks.

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression is grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago...well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell us where the bolt is beforehand?" Percy asks.

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I swallow thickly. "Good reason."

"You agree then?" Chiron asks.

I exchange a glance with Percy, then Grover, who nods encouragingly.

Easy for him, I think. We're the ones Zeus wants to kill.

"All right," Percy says. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron says. "Go upstairs, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

. . .

"Well?" Chiron asks us.

We slump into our chairs at the pinochle table. "She said we would retrieve what was stolen.

Grover sits forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron presses. "This is important."

My ears are still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She said we would go west and face a god who had turned. We would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover says.

Chiron doesn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

"No," Percy says. "That's about it."

He studies Percy's face, then meets my green gaze. "Very well. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I get the feeling he knows we're holding something back, and he's trying to make us feel better.

"Okay," Percy says, looking anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron says."if Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Someone else who wants to take over?" I guess.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Chiron nods. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap of aluminum dribbles out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh - what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminds him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but - but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protests. "Especially if he has found out Percy and (Y/n) are children of Poseidon . . ."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continues. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy and (Y/n) to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill these young half-bloods before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I mutter. "That's two major gods who want to kill us."

"But a quest to . . ." Grover swallows. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy and (Y/n) must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

A strange fire burns in my stomach. The weirdest thing is, it isn't fear. It's anticipation. The desire for revenger. Hades had tried to kill me two times so far with the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It is his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he is trying to frame me, my dad, and my brother for a theft we hadn't committed.

Grover is trembling now; he'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy had to complete a quest with me and Percy so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that is, but how can I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said we were destined to fail?" This is a suicide mission.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy tells Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus and Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron says. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used," Percy says.

"I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon had claimed you and (Y/n) now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs the two of you."

My dad needs us.

Emotions roll around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I don't know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

3rd Person POV

Percy looks at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. As I said . . . I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that there is a lot he wasn't telling them about the prophecy, but she decides that she couldn't worry about that at the moment. After all, she and Percy were hiding back information too."

"So let me get this straight," Percy says. "We're supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

"Check," Chiron says.

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

"Check."

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

(Y/n) looks over at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts.

"But I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to go," Percy tells him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh . . ." He shifts his hooves. "No . . . it's just that satyrs and underground places . . . well . . ." He takes a deep breath, then stands, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his t-shirts. "You saved my life, (Y/n), Percy. If . . . if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let the two of you down."

Percy feels so relieved that he wanted to cry, though he didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover is the only friend she'd ever had for longer than a few months. Percy isn't sure what a satyr can do against the forces of the dead but he feels better knowing he'd be with them.

"All the way, G-man," Percy turns to Chiron. "The Oracle just said to go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

"Where?"

Chiron looks surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

Percy's POV

"Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane -"

"No!" Grover shrieks. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me and (Y/n) anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.

"Percy, think," Chiron says. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive."

Overhead, lightning crackles and thunder booms.

"Okay," (Y/n) says, not looking up at the storm. "So, we'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron says. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered if you will accept her help."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Gee," I say, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a suicide quest like this?"

The air shimmers behind Chiron.

Annabeth Chase becomes visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," she says. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I say. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks flush. "Do you want my help or not?"

The truth is, I do. I need all the help I can get.

"A quartet," I say. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron says. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashes. Rain pours down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather.

"No time to waste," Chiron says. "I think you should all get packing."

Word Count: 4018 words

#percy jackson x sister reader #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert #female reader #reader insert #fem reader

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