#explains (part) of how he became Prince Prick

[fallenangelontheceiling]

Phil says Jamie was bullied at the academy for being younger and better than everyone else, and I agree with that assessment

#explains (part) of how he became Prince Prick #and his Prettiest Girl in the Room syndrome #jamie tartt #phil dunster

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bright Eyes | 3

Part 1 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (vaginal penetration, breeding kink), jealousy, reluctant lovers ig, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This is part of the 'house of the dragon big bang celebration' that's also available on AO3 and my art was made by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

For the past weeks, Aemond had been unknowingly attending a play. He had not realized he was an avid watcher until he caught two servants muttering to each other about the very observations he had: the princess is an odd one.

The realization came about when a lord visited The Keep, dressed in a ridiculous cape and a large flower broach. The man had concerns for his village and aired his errs with the king. Or he would have, except the king would not see him, or rather could not; Viserys was too busy wasting away. The Lord Hand could not see him either, nor did any lord in the king's council, all of them preoccupied with something else.

His older brother, Aegon, with a head powered by mead, could not possibly entertain the lord. So, that left him.

Except he was not there when this poorly dressed fellow came to King's Landing, and so, naturally, his wife that attended to this man who awaited his return.

Aemond had asked those two servants where his wife was upon returning and not finding her in the usual places she stayed. The women explained the situation and said you were showing a lord around The Keep.

With a raised brow, Aemond asked if the Lord was from a major house, and the servants said no. In fact, he was from a house that's serves under his wife's. They then both expressed mutual befuddlement on why the princess acted as though that were not the case. 

Aemond listened to how the servants went about how the pompous prick of a lord talked about the scenery of his home soil, and how he would gladly host her there to experience it, and the princess never once mentioned that she has seen all the sights he'd boasted about.

Irritation grew within him as he walked around the palace looking for his bride and the rat she was touring. Upon spotting them, he froze in his spot when he witnessed the lord pluck a flower from a bush and hand it to his wife. His eye twitches when she accepts.

She smiles and mutters something to him, making him laugh and Aemond finally storm over. She places the flower on the man's cape, which makes him strike a pose.

They're both laughing when Aemond comes up to them.

Once he's made his presence known, the man immediately bows and begins to drone about how good of a host his wife was. Aemond impatiently tells him he knows all about why he was here, tells him he'll speak to the king, then dismisses him, taking his wife by the hand as he did.

They get to their chambers. Aemond finds he is visibly annoyed, given how his wife gently pacified him. He doesn't know why he doesn't rip his arm out of her grip when she touched him, nor why his glare softened when he looked at her.

She sits them down on the side of their bed. At this point, the ire in his belly out.

"How was your ride on Vhagar?" she asks, taking his hand and placing it on her lap.

Aemond looks at her face then his hand, cradled in hers. He holds her wrist for a second then sighs, "fine."

"That's good. I was concerned when it drizzled."

"It did not where I rode," Aemond lifts his gaze.

He watches her nod then averts his attention back on his hand on her lap. He rubs the fabric of her skirts.

"I have given quite a few solutions to Lord-"

"Do not speak of him to me," Aemond quips. His hand on her skirt grabs the fabric. He lifts his eye up to her face, "I have my hand on your lap."

She opens her mouth but says nothing.

Aemond's focus is on her lips now.

"I beg your pardon, my prince."

Aemond leans closer, "as you should."

They kiss and Aemond immediately rips her skirts up. He heaves and pushes her down on the bed. There is a fire within him that can only be put out by the wetness of her cunt.

As much as he wanted to strip her naked, he could not wait. He tugs his pants down and barely even gets her smallclothes past her knees when he started to fuck her.

He presses her legs to her chest and traps her beneath him. The sound of her cries further fuel his depravity. He thrusts faster, squeezing her thighs to keep her put under him.

"Whose children will you sire?" Aemond presses.

He watches her squirm and whimper. He snaps his hips rougher, demanding an answer.

She digs her nails into the sheets and whines out his name.

"Louder."

"Yours, Aemond," she barely has the breath to say.

Aemond makes her cry out his name until she comes undone. The feeling of her tightening around him makes his body flush with a greediness. His head spins with the thought of her being filled by him, and it sequentially pushes him to his peak.

He spills into her just as he feels whatever was pent up inside him spill out. As he slows and stops, the craze that powered his mind fades; he finally has the mind to strip her naked.

Aemond rips her smallclothes off, her footwear, then his top. He throws them all off the bed. He grabs her by the bodice and sits her up on his lap, unwilling to be separated as he rids her of her dress.

He can hear her heart pulsing as works on her laces of her corset.

He doesn't speak, but he looks at her with something akin to desperation. Was this jealousy?

The thought makes him dig his fingernails into her back. The way she moans and tightens her thighs around him makes him realize he doesn't care if he was.

He gulps when she mutters, "my prince."

I cannot help the laugh that leaves me when the Queen coos and pulls me into a tight embrace. I smile from ear to ear as I wrap my arms around Queen Alicent. Her warmth was comforting, even more so her whispers, "oh... well done, my sweet girl."

My chest tightens at her praise. I involuntarily feel my eyes water.

When she pulls away, her pout flips into a faint smile. She cups my cheeks and rubs my skin, "well done."

I nod and blink away the tears that were forming.

"Have you told Aemond?"

I shake my head, "he is on dragonback. I will tell him when he returns."

She nods and rubs my arms, "good. Tell him at once," she clasps her hands together, "add that the Queen advices him to lessen his dragon rides."

"Of course, mother," I curtsy.

With that, Alicent gives one last look, and resumes what she was doing before I came to her chambers.

I decide to head to the gardens as I await the return of my husband. On my way there, I rub my belly and fantasize about his reactions to the news. I'm sure he'd be relieved to know I was finally with child, and yet I wonder if he'd be... happy.

"My lady."

I avert my attention to the man in the garden. It was the same flamboyantly dressed man who I had met a moon ago.

Before I can respond, he walks over to me and extends a hand. I politely take it and maintain a smile as he gives and exaggerated bow before he kissing my hand.

When he does not release me right away, I pull out of his grip. I play it off with a smile, "to what do I owe the honor, my lord?"

The man gives a grin, "you forgot to mention when we met that you belong to the greater House that presides my village."

I offer a chuckle. Before I can respond though, he's speaking again.

"You've made me ramble like a fool about places you grew up going to," he raises his brows.

Once more, he continues to speak before I even open my mouth, "my ego is quite bruised, my lady. Whatever could be done about that?"

The smile on my lips thin as he gives me a hurt expression.

And yet, he gives me no opportunity to even speak on the matter. The Lord waves his hands and shakes his head, "no matter. I've come here to make amends." He raises his hands to prove a point, "for the sake of my pride."

At this point, I don't try to get a word in and merely nod.

He smirks and pulls out a letter from his breast pocket and, again, bows deeply as he hands it to me.

I stare at what appeared to be a letter bearing my father's sigil and link my fingers together, "and what is this thing you've brought to make amends?"

The man straightens up and somehow looks confused by my question. He purses his lips and waves the letter as he speaks, "a letter from your mother, of course."

My brows knit.

"I was instructed to have it delivered to you with great urgency and discretion," he brings the letter towards me again.

I hesitate, but take the letter and read its contents. Sure enough, it was from my mother, clear from the writing, its contents, and even the paper that was used. My stomach rolls at her words. My throat tightens, and my mouth goes dry.

Yet again, she write meticulous instruction for the benefit of conceiving. And though she expressed no direct disappointment, this letter was mere proof of it, a reminder of my continuous shortcomings.

The man before me looks with concern.

I erase the worry on my face with a smile. I bow my head to him, "thank you for your services, my lord."

The man bows lowly once again. He then gives a prolonged smile where I expected him to leave.

I grin wider, "I will not kee-"

"Pardon-" he cuts me off.

My brows quirk.

"-me, milady," he tilts his head in regard, "but might I know what it is your mother wrote?"

My expression drops, "what?"

He motions aimlessly with his hand and shakes his head, "well, you see, I went through a great many lengths to get here as soon as possible."

I cannot contain my look of disbelief as he steps closer and adds, "I do think it is within reason for me to know what was written. After all, I could have read it myself, but you see, I did not."

"I do not think it is possible, my lord," I affirm, "nor appropriate that I divulge the private words of my mother to a stranger."

"My lady! I am not a stranger," he laughs as he places a hand on his chest, "I am-"

"A dead man walking."

Black leather and blonde hair floods my vision. As quickly as a gasp leaves me, I realize my husband yanked me back to come between us. I hear a choking and the sound of soles skidding against gravel.

Aemond holds a knife against the man's neck, already nicking it with how tightly he pressed it against him.

The man squawks, "my prince-"

"Correct," he nods in approval, "I am the prince, and the woman I am married to is my princess. You will address her as such."

"O-" he chokes as he is forced down. His hands flare out, not knowing what to do with them, "of course."

I watch as my husband makes the man wobble back. My breathing grows heavy with every move. I follow after them but make no attempt to intervene.

"You see," Aemond mutters, "my princess is too kind for her own good. She's learned to make due with the short end of the stick."

A bead of blood trickles down the man's throat.

"Mmm," the prince hums.

I squeal when the lord yelps from being forced down on his knees.

"I do not share in her naiveté. I'll force the stick out of your hand and beat you with it."

The man shudders, "my prince-"

"Evidently, I am unopposed to violence."

I grab the back of the prince's coat, "Aemond."

Aemond ignores me. He clenches his jaw then releases the man with a shove.

My husband wipes his blade on his sleeve then sheathes it. I come to his side and take his arm. I am ignored still, his eyes locked on the man before him.

Aemon raises his brows in offence, "quickly, jobbernowl."

The man looks at the prince, terrified.

"Or must I chase you and make a meal out of your-"

Aemond does not continue as the man effectively scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could.

We both watch as he disappears. Once he was out of sight, he finally turns to me. His lone eye roves my body, and once it lands on my face, I am unable to hold it.

I turn to my feet, fidgeting with my letter.

He takes the letter from my hands.

My lips part. I take in a breath before explaining, "my mother sent it. She said-"

"I did not enquire."

I watch as my husband folds the parchment and places it back into its envelope. He takes my hand and returns my letter. My heart quickens when he does not release me.

I muster the courage to look up at him.

"Why do you do that?"

I inhale deeply, "...do what?"

"Permit audacity."

I press my lips into a line

"Have charlatans take you for a fool."

I shake my head and turn back to my feet, "I'm not a fool."

"I know that," Aemond lowers his head to hold my gaze, "you are the bride of a prince. You should not stand to be trampled, if not for your own sake, for mine."

"I-"

He takes my chin and lifts my gaze. I behold his disapproving look.

"It will not happen again," I say.

He releases me and tilts his head, "good." He clasps his hands behind him, "still. Answer my question."

I turn to the letter in my hand then back to him. I explain, "solace is found after bloodshed. Peace achieved through forced is futile."

Aemond makes a face then chuckles dryly. He shakes his head, "so you would face the wrath of a dragon in hopes it will spare you after?"

I press my lips into a smile, "it would be an honor to behold such ferocity."

He scoffs. A line forms between his brows. His face contorts so much his eyepatch shifts a fraction out of place.

I place a hand on his cheek. I fix his patch and huff whilst smiling, "how fortunate to know I am on the other side of the flames."

The prince stares at me for a moment. I fix his hair as well before pulling away.

"I will not always be there," he takes my wrist, "what if they hurt you before I hurt them?"

My body grows warm, at both his touch and his sentiment. The smile on my face grows, "then I would hope you arrive before then."

Aemond groans. He lowers my hand, "no. That cannot be a probability."

"My prince. You needn't-"

"From now on, if you are not within my gaze, you will have a guard hot on your heels."

I decide not to argue, seeing the severity of his expression. I smile in response.

"And in your spare time, I will teach you how to use a dagger."

I blink at his words but ultimately nod, "if it pleases you."

Aemond says nothing more, but he is clearly still uneasy. I take his arm and lead him into the garden.

He and I walk in silence for a moment, watching as the wind blows through the leaves of the flora.

"I would not have you hardened," he says, making me turn to him. His eyes remain fixed in front, "I would have you strengthened."

I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I smile at the thought.

"I am with child."

He stops in his tracks. He takes a second before turning to me.

I smile grows, "all the more reason to teach me, no?"

Aemond looks down as I take his hands in mine. He looks up at me and nods, "indeed."

#house of the dragon big bang #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond Targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

OBSESSIVE STOLAS X Male Imp Pt.1

(This is a long fanfic and will consist of multiple parts.)

The day Stolas met you, the life which had been boring at worst and full of love and respect at best, was in complete shambles. Broken ever since the "Brunch incident".

He and his wife were barely on speaking terms, and when they did speak, it would almost exclusively devolved into a fight filled with harsh words and thrown objects.

His darling starfire hadn't spoken to him in over a week. Something he'd usually chock up to teenage angst, but she actively avoided him now.

Something she'd never do before.

And so with his homelife slowly tearing him apart, he naturally thought a visit to his favourite Imp in all hell would brighten his day.

And that's where you came in.

You'd worked at I.M.P for the last few months and were quickly becoming a valued member of the I.M.P family.

Youd just finished a job and were about to fill out the rather tedious paperwork the job entailed, When the towering Demon Prince entered the office.

You were too proud an Imp to admit it, but when you first saw Prince Stolas you were a little starstruck.

Said Prince, apon finding a new Imp at I.M.P's office immediately inquired as to who you were

Taken off guard by suddenly be talking to a Prince of hell, you spent a moment fumbling your words, before finally telling him your name.

Stolas finding the whole thing quiet adorable.

Stolas sparked up a conversation, asking how you ended up at I.M.P and your work with the company. Something you were more than happy to tell him about.

You told him how Blitzø had hired you after youd single handedly killed 3 men in a fight with only a can opener.

Then you told him about how working as an assassin was challenging but enjoyable work, all things considered.

You tell him how working for the chaotic force of nature that is Blitzø was great too, when he wasn't being a prick.

As charming as Stolas found your slightly flustered conversation. There was a purpose to his visit. And so asking you if Blitzø was in, to which you told him he was in his office.

Stolas suddenly became anxious, wondering aloud if his outfit was presentable or not.

This caused you to laugh, placing a hand over your mouth.

Stolas was immediately indignant, demanding to know what was so funny.

You killed the laugh with a cough, before telling him you laughed because simply put "You'd never seen a more ravishing demon in all your time in hell" And for him to be anxious was funny to you.

Stolas Blushed hard, a Warmth he didn't understand spreading through his chest. It had been so long since he'd received such praise from someone who wasnt utterly subservient to him.

Sputtering out an timid thank you, before immediately making his way Blitzø's office, Ignoring your cries to wait.

Being violently thrown out of Blitzø's office was not how he saw this unplanned little 'Rendezvous' going.

Blitzø stepped out stared down at him, a mixture of disgust and anger plain on his face.

'I'm so sick of this shit stolas' Blitzø grumble out, pinching the bridge between his eyes. 'We made a Fucking deal, I come over ONCE a MONTH and fuck your brains out. And you leave me alone unless you have a job for us.'

Stolas tried to reply, trying to explain why he was there. But before he could Blitzø interjected 'I can put up with all creepy perverted texts and shit, but I am not your God Damned SEXTOY Stolas! I don't want to see your ass don't here again!' He screamed, before slamming the door.

Stolas just sat there. Unwilling to move. He felt like he'd just been slapped.

His eyes stung. His throat burned. He clutched at the ground, and even as his world fell apart around him, he could only focus on one thing.

He felt so cold...

He had no one.

No one loved him.

He felt so cold...

It took everything he had not to breakdown, he couldn't, not here. It was unbecoming of a prince to been seen showing such weakness.

The sudden sensation of something on his shoulder. Daring to open his eyes, he was shocked to find You, standing over him. Hand on his shoulder and a sympathetic smile on your face.

You reached into your coat and removed a handkerchief.

Croutching down you wiped the growing dew around his eyes.

Putting away the hanky, you stood up and offered him a hand.

Helping him to his feet, you asked him if he was okay. Stolas immediately tried to put up his aristocratic facade and assure you he was fine.

Only for the words to die in his throat and for him to almost burst into tears again.

Leading him into the nearby office, you find yourself in the conference room. You sat him on said conference table.

Quickly zipping off, you returned a moment later with a little plastic cup of water.

Handing the little cup, he took it with a wordless thanks.

Stolas felt cold.

He felt like his whole world was falling apart. He had nothing.

His wife couldnt stand him.

His beloved Starfire wouldn't stay in the same room as him.

He had nothing and no one.

No one loved him.

Why should he even go on.

Even through there crimson glow, you could see just how close he was to breaking down.

So before his despair could consume him completely, you did the only thing you could think of.

You climbed atop the conference table and pulled the poor owl-boi into a hug.

It was a little awkward due to the height difference, but standing on the table brought you high enough to pull his head onto your chest.

Stolas was utterly shocked, not just by the action itself, But the fact you did this on your own acord.

He didn't have to barter or beg or make promises for your affection.

You just... gave it freely.

He couldnt help himself.

It had been so long since he'd last felt the loving touch of another soul.

And for you to give affection so openly, he felt he could let himself be vulnerable to you. He releases a long anguished cry, bursting into tears.

You just held him close, gently petting his head, whispering words of comfort, telling him everything would be okay.

He didn't know why but your words brought out

Stolas threw his arms around you, holding onto you as though you were the last anchor in his sea of despair.

The poor owl drenched the front of your shirt with his dejected tears.

Stolas didn't know how long he cried for, and you simply didn't care.

You could tell he needed this and were more then happy to give the demonic prince some much needed affection.

Eventually, Stolas shed all the tears he had, standing up he unintentionally pulled himself from your warm embrace.

Stolas instantly missed the warmth of your touch. The same all consuming coldness as before instantly returning.

Looking up at Stolas you draw your handkerchief and go to wipe his tear stained face.

But before you could, Stolas grabbed your hand, his other hand was placed on the back of your head, he pulls you into a kiss.

You weren't sure how to react, stolas certainly didn't give you any time to figure it out as he pulled you deeper into the kiss.

While you were initially shocked by the kiss, you honestly, didn't care to put up any kind of resistance.

While you would of preferred he asked for a kiss, you could tell the guy needed this. And all things considered, you were happy to oblige him.

So when his tongue slid across your teeth, asking for entrance, you wrapped your arms around his neck you let it in, giving stolas full access to your mouth.

You began leaning into the kiss, doing your best to return his passion.

Stolas, took your returning passion as further permission, he became more aggressive.

His tongue dominated your mouth, as his hands began roamed across your body.

Stolas was in bliss, each time you shivered or moaned, bringing him further pleasure.

Taking each sound as encouragement, he became more and more aggressive. Sure that each sound you made was an unconscious sign of love.

He became more desperate to hear your angelic voice as moaned or cried out. Desperate to hear someone say they loved him.

Gripping his head, you tried to de-escalate the situation before it got out of hand.

Of course that was easier said then done, as Stolas was much stronger then he looked. But after much effort, despite Stolas's silent insistence that you continue, you finally managed to break the kiss.

Stolas's forceful nature found you pushed back onto the table. Stolas towering over you, staring down at you with those awe inspiring crimson eyes.

'We cant be this doing this' You try to tell him 'Not here. What if someone walks in on us?' The question hung in the air. When it became obvious it wasn't deterring his growing need you asked 'What if Blitzø catches us?'

Stolas pulled back at that.

Looking to the side he rubbed his arm, Anxiety bubbling in his chest.

Stolas hadn't thought of that.

What if Blitzø did walk in?

Finding him with one of his employees.

In his office.

Would Blitzø be upset?

Would he yell at him, scream and throw a fit, insisting he had betrayed him...

Would Blitzø even care?

There was a part of him that said 'Of course he would. Blitzø, no matter how much he denied it, surely Blitzø cared for him on some level.'

Stolas could tell himself that all he wanted, but deep down, he knew the truth.

He placed his hand on your cheek, looking down at you. He tried to speak only for a new wave of emotions hit him, causing him on reflex to fall silent.

It was in that moment, as he stood over you, did he realis he didn't need to hide his vulnerability from you. You weren't judging him, he could be vulnerable to you and would judge him for it.

His heart swelled and despite having just met you, he found himself developing a deep yearning to be with you.

'I-I know this is sudden. And you have every right to say no. But please... No one has ever shown me such genuine affection like you have today.'

' I'm so used to people only interested in me for my status or resources.' Stolas held himself, looking dejectedly to the side. A new wave of sorrow enveloping him.

'Your the only one who's shown me the slightes care, past what I could do for them.' He didn't meet your gaze, he ran his hand down your chest, his voice becoming just above a whisper. 'I have nothing (Y/N), I have no one. Right now your the only thing I have.'

'I need to feel something (Y/n), I need to feel something before I fall apart, and I want feel it with you.' He was practically begging you by this point.

Things like pity and mercy were a death sentence in hell.

There was nothing stopping you from saying no. You cared little for royalty. You weren't some door mat that took every word from royalty as gospel.

But right now, this great Demonic Prince standing before you. He didn't want your obedience. He wasn't forcing you to do anything.

He just wanted some sort of affection. something you knew you could give him so easily.

How could you say no?

With a deep sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate. Leaning forward you place your hand under his chin and raised his head to meet your gaze. Stolas was shocked when pulled him close and planted a kiss on his his beak.

'Lock the door' you whispered.

#helluva boss #helluva stolas #x reader #headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss x reader #stolas x reader #stolas

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Evil Does Not Sleep

Pairing: Leoglas x Reader Ft. (platonic) Aragorn & Gimli

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of torture.

Summary: The Fellowship was broken. You were stolen amidst a battle and held captive by Saruman within the walls of the Second Tower of Isengard. Now, that you’ve escaped, you finally make it to Helms Deep.

Blood trailed your footsteps onto the grey stone as you walked deeper into the realm of men. You didn’t know them. All you wanted was to find someone you trusted, someone who cared. 

Your ragged and ghostly state drew the attention of many and soon, the whispers grew. You didn’t know what you would find at Helms Deep. You heard Saruman speak of destroying it and that Aragorn was present which quickly became the hope that you clung on to. 

You didn’t realise that your thoughts had brought your legs to the Keep of the mountain fort. You half-expected the doors to fly open, but you did not look like yourself and were questioned by the guards. 

“What business do you have with the King?” 

Looking at the men, you stared at the one who spoke, almost forgetting that you had a voice. 

“(Y/n).” You whispered, feeling the painful scratch from your dried-up throat. “Gandalf’s apprentice.” 

The men’s eyes widened and they clamoured over one another, rushing to open the door and let you pass.

Warmth from the room hit your exposed skin like a furnace, the step onto the smooth ground pricked your bare and sensitive feet. You felt more pain in your body in the King’s hold than you did running through the forest. 

You saw King Theoden at the very centre of the room, drawing close with each breath. Then you started to notice more familiar figures to his side. A stout red-bearded dwarf and a man with a firm and regal posture. The dwarf was the first to notice the additional person and you saw the colour drain from his face. 

“Bless my beard.” He exclaimed, prompting the man to his side to turn. Aragorn felt his blood run cold at the sight too. He knew of the evil of Saruman but never had he thought to see it being inflicted on someone he regarded like family. 

Taking a step forward, Aragorn whispered your name but his voice was quickly drowned by a third voice - a much louder one. 

“(Y/n).” The sound of swords clattering to the ground filled the air from behind the King. 

Your attention was pulled to Legolas Greenleaf and you froze entirely. He abandoned the weapons at his feet and ran over as fast as his feet could take him. He dared not wait to place a hand over your cheek and one over your waist gently. His eyes filled with love and fear and anger. 

“What have they done to you?” He asked. You wanted to speak - to explain - but seeing three people that you cared for proved to be too much. Emotional and physical pain overwhelmed your senses and you fell forward, clutching onto the elf as a quiet sob escaped your lips.

All you wanted was to close your eyes and rest in his arms, safe and away from the war. Legolas was the same. He had been parted from you for too long. He wanted to take you away from the impending battle on Men. In his thoughts, he had not realised that Eowyn had been called upon to take you to be cleaned up. 

“My Lord?” She requested. Legolas squeezed gently around your shoulders before relinquishing his hold. As reluctant as he was, he knew that you needed to heel before the darkness approached their doorstep. Very carefully, he helped Eowyn take hold of the wizards apprentice and as just like that, you were taken from him again. 

Eowyn helped you bathe and dress, growing worrisome when she saw the scars on your body. Bruises littered your skin while stab wounds were held together with thick staples. Eowyn did not speak of it, instead she led you to an empty room and let you sleep for an hour. 

You woke with a startle.

You didn’t remember when you had been placed in a bed, nor did you remember how long you had been asleep. Slowly, you sat up and pulled the covers off. Looking around, you found some clothes laying in wait for you. Carefully, you dressed yourself and walked over to the door, pushing it open.

The sound of metal filled your nose and goosebumps trailed up your skin. You recognised the uneasy feeling - war. Helms Deep was on the brink of a battle. 

Turning a corner, you walked past several soldiers who rushed by with swords, shields and spears. Fear started to creep into your muscles at the thought of another battle - you barely survived your last one. 

Slam! A body smacked straight into yours as you rounded a second corner. 

Stepping back, you shook your head and blinked the stars away when the other person placed their hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re awake.” They said. Looking up, you found yourself staring at Aragorn. He looked exhausted and battle worn. “How are you?” He asked. 

You glanced around the corridor and at the mess that had become of the Men. 

“I don’t know... what’s going on?” 

Aragorn took in a deep breath and seemed conflicted on whether to tell you the truth. Placing a hand over your back, he guided you outside onto the fort. The rabble outside was far worse than what you saw within the Keep walls. Old men and young boys were being shown their defence positions by soldiers, catapults were being pushed into place, women and children were being ushered off the lower levels. They were preparing for a siege.

Aragorn led you to the top of the wall where you could see beyond the stone. 

“Saruman plans to attack.” He explained. “We are preparing a defence to hold them back but they will be upon us by nightfall.” 

You placed your hands on the cold, rough stone and closed your eyes. 

“Where do I stand?” You asked. A second pair of footsteps joined them and you felt his Elven aura radiate. 

“You need to join the women and children in the mines.” Legolas said, his voice quiet and serious. 

You opened your eyes and turned to the Woodland Prince and Aragorn - if they thought that you would sit on the sidelines, they were mistaken.

“I won’t.” you defied. “You need me out here while help is in short supply.” 

“(Y/n), you’ve barely rested upon your return. Your wounds have not healed.” Legolas had strong arguments - valid points too - but you could not stand by idly while Saruman destroyed lives again. 

“I have been at the mercy of evil for too long. Let me turn the tables. I have strength enough for this.”

Legolas frowned and looked to Aragorn for some back up but the rightful king of Gondor bowed his head in respect. 

“You are the maker of your own decisions. I trust that you understand the toll this will take on you.” 

“I understand. Trust me, the Uruk-hai from Isengard will not see tomorrow’s sunrise.” 

Aragorn could say no more on your choice and patted your arm gently before taking his leave. You turned to the Woodland prince and saw that he had not taken his gaze away from you. “Legolas, I’m fine.”

“I heard Lady Eowyn describe your wounds to the court. (Y/n), you were barely held alive with those Orc staples.”

“I did what I had to then and I shall do so again now.” You replied, looking out at the soon-to-be battleground.

“But-”

“Evil does not sleep and nor will I.”

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #theladyofmanyfandoms #gif is not mine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas greenleaf imagine #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #gimli x reader #gimli imagine #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #lord of the rings imagine

[damnzawa]

Hi there! I just found your account and I love you writing! I was wondering if you could do a bakugou x reader fantasy au? Where prince bakugou goes to a small village in his kingdom for a pit stop while on a quest but meets the reader who's a poor butcher's daughter that doesn't know who he is and doesn't really care either but really wants to go on a quest and begs him to let her travel with him in exchange for being a chef. Thank you so much!!💞💕💗 ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾┌(★ｏ☆)┘

ANNOYING — B. KATSUKI

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if this took a long time to be published! I went off tumblr for a while due to personal issues but now I'm back! Hope you like this!

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED (for now)

WARNINGS: Language LMAO but its Bakugo so what do we expect. Also this is not beta read!

WORD COUNT: 1955

Not everyday you have the privilage to meet the prince. The heir to the kingdom's throne. The second most respected man in the whole entire kingdom.

And not everyday you get to mistake him as a thief either.

Not that you care about his title, really. You believe that all men are created equal, regardless of their social standings, heirarchy and whatnot. Thus, you didn't really care about the prince and the royal family that much to ever know about them. Not even their faces, nor names.

So, it wasn't a surprise that it will cause you your possible demise.

You see, the day started nice. You went out to do some deliveries, met some nice people on the road who bought half of the meat your father had cut, and to top it all off the farmer was kind enough to give you extra rootcrops as a sign of gratitude to you and your father. It was a great day all in all. Until, the knights came.

Along with the explosive prince.

Murmurs began to start as you headed back to your father's stall in the market after a long day of delivery work. Even though you didn't mean to eavesdrop — it was kind of hard not to, considering how their volumes were — you caught the words: arrogant, self-centered, short-tempered. And later you found out those words described the prince.

"He must be a nincompoop then. To get such a reputation from the people in town, he must have done some... questionable things." You said to yourself. Too engrosed in your thoughts, you bumped into a red-headed knight. You bowed immediately while apologizing then excused yourself, you didn't really want to interact with knights today. All you wanted to do was cook a hearty meal for your stubborn father, read a book by the fireplace after a bath, and relax.

But all those plans seem to be quickly washed away when you saw an ash blond quietly steal from your father. You were gonna let it slide, thinking that maybe it was for a good cause.

That is until you realized, the man stole a prime cut.

As if a switch was flicked, you quickly ran towards the direction the man headed to. Spotting him from afar, you ran as fast as you can and knocked the man into the ground, shocking the people around you.

"Give it back." You sternly commanded the man. "Give back the meat you stole from my father."

The man scoffed at your 'accusations' and tried to wiggle his way free but your entire weight placed on top of his back made it hard to do so. "Let me fucking go. I have no idea what the actual fuck you are accusing me of."

"Oh shut it. I saw you with my own two eyes and I am very much sure that their vision is not impaired yet." His futile attempts at escaping now stopped as he tilted his head to see the scoundrel who had the audacity to knock him down and embarrass him infront of townspeople.

Of course it had to be a girl.

"Are you one of my admirers to go such lengths as accusing me of stealing from a commoner?" That comment made your eye twitch because first, you are certainly not an admirer of this prick. Two, you don't even know the guy! Three, who would admire this piece of work? And lastly, your father might be a 'commoner' but he's the best 'commoner' you could ever find! There wouldn't be a slab of ribs or a fine piece of steak on your plates if it weren't for him! And the way this asshole said 'commoner' with such distaste too! What a prick! Who the hell does he think he is?

"My prince!" The same red-headed knight you bumped into earlier shouted from afar. Your eyes widened for a second before turning back to the asshole beneath you who now has a smug grin on his face.

"Miss! Are you alright?" The knight asked while helping you get up. "Did the prince cause you any disturbances? Any problems?" It was your turn to plaster on a smug grin on your face. You saw his own falter which you made you more smug than before.

"Why yes actually, the prince caused me a slight inconvenience." The red-head sighed, taking a quick glance at the prince beside him — who couldn't stand due to pain. "The prince stole a priceless little thing from my father's stall earlier and I'd like for him to return it or better yet, pay for it." The prince was about to retort but the red-head beat him to it.

"I deeply apologize for the prince's action, miss. If it would make you happy and satisfied, I will pay for the items he stole. I will also ask for forgiveness on his behalf." Angry noises came from the prince's (beast) mouth as the red-headed knight did exactly what he told making you raise an eyebrow.

"Why are you doing it for him? Can't he do it himself?" It was amazing to see a knight easily convinced to do something a mere 'commoner' like you demanded, but you concluded that this red-headed fellow wasn't an ordinary knight. He seemed like the type that's fed up with the prince's antics, thus his demeanor towards people is filled with empathy and the usual knightly courage. But your words made him halt, and look at you as if you were from some otherworldly land.

You caught the knight mutter about something manly before the prince interrupted. "Hah?! I'm not gonna apologize to someone lower than me! You extra!" The knight sweat-dropped at the prince's words while you looked at him blankly. Wow, the rumors are true, he is an asshole.

"Well, Your Highness, this extra happened to be the one who cared for the rib who used to be a part of the cow that you stole just now. So, apologize and pay up. I don't care if you're the prince or not. Thievery is a crime, and you just committed it." The crowd begin to whisper, making the prince's eye twitch.

"Fine, you annoying extra! Give her whatever the fuck she wants!" And with that the prince stormed off. Leaving you and the red-haired knight behind. The crowd began to disperse, seeing as the scene just concluded and that the man of the hour was gone.

The knight turned to you once again and bowed. "I'm deeply sorry for my prince's actions. As he caused such an inconvenience and refuses to be accountable for his actions, I shall ensure to provide whatever compensation you need or want — within reason of course." Before you can respond, he introduces himself with a grin. "Ah! How silly of me! Chivalric knight, Kirishima Eijirou at your service."

"I appreciate your efforts, Sir Kirishima, but I just need the payment for the stolen goods." You replied with a smile, but soon your smile faltered. You had wanted to be a chef for so long and travel unknown lands to discover cuisine and cooking techniques you've never heard of before. Perhaps... is this the right time to do it?

You bit your lip as you contemplated. Should you grab this opportunity and run with it?

Seeing your hesitancy, Kirishima waited for your answer. "Actually... I have a request... I was wondering if it's possible?"

"I'm all ears, Miss."

...

"What is this extra doing here?!" Prince Bakugo exclaimed as he saw your annoying little face within his traveling party. Kirishima sighed as he explained the situation. You would join his party as a chef until you reach the capital where you will be training to be a chef under the great Lunch Rush. Bakugo was about to object when Kirishima shot him a look.

"Fine. But I'm not eating garbage cooked by a commoner!" You rolled your eyes at his demeanor. Are all royals like this?

As if reading your mind, Kirishima responds. "Don't worry. King Masaru and Queen Mitsuki are quite modest and kind."

"Then what happened to him?" You pointed to Bakugo.

"I heard that, you extra!" Fowl language followed that statement making the traveling party sigh. Oh boy, this is gonna be a painful journey.

After that, you said your goodbyes to your father, who was very emotional about the turn of events. "Be good and be brave, my sweet child. And ask for forgiveness from His Highness." Your brows were scrunched in confusion.

"Why must I do that? He was clearly in the wrong!"

"Ah... that slab of meat was a present from me to him. He once helped me round up the cows when his traveling party went by our house yesterday. The slab of priceless meat was a token of appreciation for his kind gesture. So, do apologize for your actions, ok?" The information you just heard astounded you, making you speechless. Guilt pooled in your stomach as you promised your father that you will apologize to the prince. And with a final promise of coming home as a renowned chef, you parted ways.

The journey started rough. The prince refused to eat anything you made at all. His stubbornness knows no bounds and his overall demeanor towards you was not pleasant, which you understood as the scene you caused was a total misunderstanding on your part. The only upside was the traveling party greatly enjoyed your meals, and some even gave you recipes from different places and suggestions of destinations that you'll surely enjoy to explore! Overall, it went smoothly.

That is, until the prince became sick.

The doctors in your traveling party asked you to concoct different meals suited to His Highness, You had to stop at a village in order to ensure Prince Bakugo's speedy recovery. And one day, you were assigned to deliver his meals to him personally.

"Prince Bakugo?" You knocked on the door, and as expected, not a response came from the prince. You sighed and slowly opened the door, cautiously stepping in so you won't wake Bakugo up or spill the contents of the bowl you held.

"Go away, you extra." He grumbled, but his rough voice was replaced with a weak ome due to his illness.

"Look, I know you won't eat my meals but you need to eat. You can't recover from this if your body doesn't have the nutrients it needs to fight back this illness." You huffed. "And... besides, consider this as my way of making up to you."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"My father told me about it. I'm sorry for mistaking you for a thief. I tried to apologize to you on several occasions but you angrily push me away every time I do. So, I figured this might be the right timing since you know... you aren't your usual aggressive self." You scratched your nape in embarrassment. "Besides, if there's something I learned while traveling with you is that you're a big softie inside. You might act rough and is shard on the edges, you're actually kind-hearted and caring. Uh... anyways. Please make sure to eat your meal, Prince Bakugo."

Before you can exit the room, you heard him say, "Annoying extra." But the usual hostility behind those words wasn't there. You might just be assuming it or imagining it, but those words almost sounded... fond.

With a shake of your head, you left the room.

Later that day, you found the bowl to be empty and outside of his room. Along with it was a note that read, "Don't fucking tell me what to do, you annoying extra."

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki/reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #kirishima eijiro/reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bakugo/reader #kirishima/reader #im writing again yey

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Hogwarts No.1 Ship

Fandom: Harry Potter  Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader Word count: 3.4k Summary: You - Rubeus Hagrid’s niece and a surprising slytherin - have a crush on the Slytherin prince himself, but you are sugar and he is spice and there is no world where the two of you would fit together...right? Warning: Swearwordsm concussion, broken bones, but mostly fluffffffffff Requested by the amazing and patient (I’m really sorry it took so long) @onlycherryblossom​: Hi! I love your work and I was wondering if you could right a Draco Malfoy x Reader. you know, the one we talked about. It'd be so awesome! i hope you have a good day/night! (I won’t put our chat in here so that I don’t spoiler anything)

Hogwarts had rarely ever known two students who were as opposite to each other as Draco Malfoy and Y/N Hagrid. Draco - who was the embodiment of how people imagined the stereotype of Slytherin to be - was (most of the time) a prideful, cold, unempathetic prick, while you were a selfless, positive thinking, kind and gentle soul that could‘ve been a descendant of Helga Huffelpuff herself. The two of you did have one thing in common though. Your house. The hat had made you both into Slytherins which was on Draco’s side not surprising at all, but quite a shock for everyone who had talked to you for even a minute. Probably the biggest shock was courtesy of Rubeus Hagris - Half-Giant and your adopted uncle (on his father’s side) - who insisted that the hat must have made a mistake, but was quickly shot down by Dumbledoor who assured that the hat didn‘t make any mistakes. After some initial tumbling though, Hagrid realized that the house didn‘t make the person and that it didn‘t matter in what house you were sorted into, you’d always be his little pumpkin. And he was quite right. Even after you had been a Slytherin for just about five years, you had only grown more kind and loving - having bonded with many people in the other houses and years, but not quite as many in your own house. You’d call Blaze and Millicent maybe something close to friends and Pansy tolerated you which is why you gave her the title of ‘good acquaintances‘, but other than that you didn‘t really have a lot of contact with them in your free time. The most complicated relationship you held though was the one to the aforementioned Draco Malfoy. In a weird twist of fate the two of you somehow became the main ship in Hogwarts (with Harry and Ginny or Harry and Hermione as close second) even though you couldn‘t remember more than two or three times that you had talked to the boy outside of a classroom or study environment. Sure, he had never bullied or teased you which already differentiated you from most of the students, but you simply explained it by the fact that you were a good student - especially in potions class - and behaved well enough to gain a number of house points which made you into a good asset to Slytherin and as such made you a less logical target. Now all in itself that would‘ve been more than fine with you, but for some stupid reason your heart decided to betray you against it‘s better judgement and fall for him. Somehow, even after years of seeing him kick others down and behave like a complete douchebag you couldn‘t help but blush slightly at the mention of his name and feel your heart flutter when you walked by him in the hall or in the common room. The worst part was in potions class where he sat right beside you after Snape deemed your former partner as way too unqualified for one of his best students and exchanged him for Draco. Working with him in and of itself was actually rather nice. He was a good student and did his work thoroughly and mindfully, but you found it hard to concentrate when his hand brushed yours as you read a passage in the book or when he poured ingredients in the coultron that you were stirring. You really tried to ignore your feelings and ban every thought of him, but it seemed like you weren‘t doing the best job at it since your uncle kept asking about what it was that was distracting you all the time. On a rainy October day fairly at the beginning of your fifth year you decided you had enough. You were sitting in your Uncles hut with a plate of more or less edible cookies in front of you and a cup of something that was surely supposed to be tea when you finally gathered the courage to say what you had been meaning to say for weeks now. “Uncle Rubeus, can I ask you something?” Hagrid turned to you with his usual smile as he patted fang who was drooling all over his lap where he had laid his head. “Course ya can pumpkin. What’s it about?” “Uhm...well… you know there is this boy that I-“ “Ohhh Ah see,” Hagrid quickly interrupted you before you could even ask the question, “Ya know, usually I’d be more than happy to help ya with every question you have but ah really don’t thin’ I’m the right person for this, I’m sorry.” A little bit disappointed but not really surprised you just sighed and shook your head, telling him that it was okay, before bidding your goodbyes and making your way back to the castle quietly mulling over what exactly your plan b should be now that plan a had failed and you still had no idea what to do with or how to get rid of your stupid crush on Draco.

“You know what I would do if I were you?“ Ginny asked and pointed the end of her quill at you. The both of you were sitting in a corner of the library where you had planned to help her study for her upcoming potions exam, only for her to basically interrogate you until you admitted that you had an unlucky crush, even though she luckily hadn‘t pushed you to tell her who the guy you had a crush on was. “I‘d probably just tell them, I mean what do you have to lose. Either he‘ll say yes and you‘re happy or he says no and you just avoid him like he doesn‘t even exist - which would honestly be the appropriate reaction if he refuses a snack like you. See, no real downside to it.“ “Oh really? Hmmm, I wonder why you haven‘t told Harry how you feel yet then,“ you teased her and tapped your chin. Ginny‘s face immediately started to rival the colour of her hair and the way she crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted reminded you of an overgrown toddler - but in a cute way. “I-I don‘t like Harry, okay? I mean I did when I was like ten because he was famous and I was a child,“ she tried to make sure you really knew how silly she wanted you to believe she thought it was by drawing out the word child for a good few seconds before rolling her eyes and looking to the side, “And anyway, it‘s not like he‘d date his best friend’s sister…“ “Oh Gin,“ you immediately felt bad and grabbed one of her hands with yours, “Have you looked at yourself? You‘re amazing and if Harry doesn‘t see that through his stupid invisible cloak and these glasses than he doesn‘t even deserve you.“ “Even though I admit that yes, I am amazing, this isn‘t the topic that we should be conversing about right now, remember? I think there‘s a certain blond Slytherin that you should be worried about more right now.“ Immediately blood shot right to your cheeks and you quickly looked around to make sure no one could‘ve heard her before leaning forward and hissing: “What? No? I don‘t like Draco? Why would you even think that? I never said that he is the one I have a crush on.“ Ginny just raised her eyebrows in an unimpressed manner, leaning back in her chair and picking the quill back up to play around with while she talked. “Listen honey, I‘m not judging you or anything. Don‘t get me wrong, I still and probably will always think Draco is a major asshole and doesn‘t even deserve to breath the same air as you-“ “He isn‘t that bad…“ “Yes he is, but anyways, no matter what I think of him I also know that you are a clever girl that knows how to protect herself and who knows, maybe you‘d even have a good influence on him.“ Images of you and Draco together with your friend group laughing and having fun crossed your mind and you could feel your heartbeat fasten involuntarily. “That‘s all great and good, but like I said, I don‘t have a crush on Draco,“ you gave the hope of getting out of this situation with the lie you‘ve been telling yourself for months still intact one last try, but Ginny didn‘t give it the time of day. “Oh please, I see the way you look at him in the dining hall and how your eyes are always on him when he‘s playing quidditch and just now you defended him even though the two of you aren‘t even friends. My love-radar is pinging like crazy around the two of you which is why I, Ginny Wealey also known as the love witch-“ “No one calls you that,“ you interrupted her only to be shushed by an evil glare. “I, Ginny Weasley, will help you in fulfilling your desire and getting together with Draco and I already have the perfect plan.“ “No no no no, please don‘t! Don‘t do this! Ginny no!“ you tried to make your point clear but she was already cleaning up her stuff and getting ready to leave. “Don‘t worry oh sweet Y/N, the next time we‘ll talk everything will be set in motion,“ she winked before dashing off leaving you standing in her figurative dust with your mouth agape for a few seconds before you let your head sink onto the table. This would definitely take an interesting turn…

After that you definitely started to actively avoid Draco which was - surprisingly enough - not as easy as you thought. Somehow he was almost always at least in your near vicinity. Besides the obvious factors of class (where you tried to focus on working and on praying whatever Ginny had planned wouldn‘t happen) and when you were eating in the great hall (where you had resorted to sitting at the very end of the table as far away from him as possible) he seemed to also be there in your free time. You were relaxing in the common room? He was there reading a book. You were outside with Harry and co.? Guess who’s coming their way to insult them (while not saying a single bad thing about you). By now there were just about three places where you were sure that he wouldn’t be able to pop up at any given moment. Your room, the bathroom and the potions classroom on Wednesday and Friday afternoon when class has already ended. After Snape had realized that he had some real potions-potential sitting in front of him he offered you extra credit as some sort of teaching assistant which basically meant that you helped him prepare lessons, helped him grade the first to third years tests and that you cleaned up and organized the potions classroom twice a week. Now usually, knowing that you were more than capable of handling the potions and ingredients standing around on your own after having seen you do it for a few months, you‘d be alone while you cleaned up except for the occasional visit of your professor to tell you which ingredients you should put on the students desks for the next class, but for some reason the next Friday - three days after Ginny had made her promise to you - the door already stood open and you could hear Professor Snape talking to someone. “I really expected better of you, your action is the reasons Slytherin has lost 50 housepoints and I hope you know that it is on you to gain them back, no matter your status,“ Snape‘s voice carried to where you stood and you wondered who the student was if Snape went so easy on them with his lecture. Usually you‘d be afraid for your life after losing even ten house points so getting such a calm reaction for 50 must‘ve really meant something. Your questions about the identity of the student were answered when you entered the dungeon room and immediately felt yourself freeze. Of course not even you (time dependent) sanctuary was safe anymore. Of course Draco just had to stand there and look at you without any identifiable emotion in his gaze. “Ah, Miss Hagrid, right on time as always,“ Snape nodded after he also noticed you and you felt slightly more at ease knowing that with him there nothing could really happen. “Should I come back later?” you asked politely, not sure if you had interrupted something. “No, you may stay. Mister Malfoy over here has got himself caught trying to sabotage McGonagall class, a childish act which I would’ve expected of the Weasleys but really not from you. As a punishment he will be the one to clean the potions classroom bi-weekly from now on until he has regained the house points lost. You’ll supervise him.” “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I understand.” “Malfoy will do all the cleaning but since he has no experience with it I can’t just leave him alone so, since you’d be here anyway, you can watch him and make sure that everything goes orderly.“ It wasn‘t really a question as much as a command, something that you were used to from Snape, so you just nodded and bid him goodbye as he went to his office, leaving you and Draco behind. By now you had seen through what was happening. This was Ginny‘s plan. Somehow she must‘ve managed to blame Malfoy for the prank on McGonagall - something rather extreme given the taken house points- hoping (or somehow knowing) that his punishment would force you to spend at least an hour with him alone in a dimmed room twice a week. Inwardly you cursed your friend, while outwardly you tried everything to avoid directly looking at Draco as you explained his tasks to him before you sat down at your usual place and pulled out a book really hoping you could get him to not talk to you that way. Either your plan was working great or Draco just really didn‘t care for you, because an hour later you still hadn‘t exchanged any words, instead he dutifully, but slightly pouting, had done his job while you shot him the occasional glance to make sure he was doing it correctly. “I think that was all, you should be good to go now,“ you told him with a small smile, relieved that you were finally free to leave the room and with that the tension that had built up inside you as a mix of nervousness and fear. Draco had opened his mouth to respond when a third year came rushing inside with at least twelve books in her arms that almost towered over her which she quickly placed on a table, slightly out of breath. “Professor Snape sent me. He said these have to be sorted and put away.” You could probably feel Draco’s sigh before he had made it and - not really fond of spending more time so frustratingly close to your crush and yet so far - you just nodded and told both of them that you’d take care of it and that they could leave, which both promptly did. You took the books and carried them to the back of the room where a sole, old bookshelf was standing - since the students mostly had their own books - and started putting them away when you heard a sickening crunch before suddenly the shelf including books came crashing down at you and before you could even think to pull out your wand, the world turned black.

“I’m so so so sorry, you were right I shouldn’t have interfered, if I’d just listened to you you wouldn‘t be lying here now,“ Ginny whined from beside your bed where she had been sitting for the past twenty minutes apologizing over and over again and blaming herself for the broken arm, leg and the concussion that had you unable to leave the infirmary for the next three days to a week. “Ginny, how often do I gotta tell you, it isn’t your fault! I would’ve sorted those books in anyways - no matter if you had pulled that prank or not - and it would’ve fallen anyways,” you tried to reassure her and gave her a soft smile. “But-“ “No but, okay? We can’t change the past anyways, and even if we could I wouldn’t because thanks to you, I don’t have to take that stupid DADA test.” Your attempt to lighten the mood seemed to work, because soon you and Ginny were back to your usual conversation-style and it relieved you immensely. It made you feel okay again. She was just telling you of a stung Harry had pulled in the Gryffindor Common room when she suddenly paused mid sentence and looked up. You followed her eyes to where they were placed firmly on a certain Platinum blond boy that looked simultaneously like he’d rather be everywhere else and like he was glad to be there, it was a sight to see. “I think I’ll leave for now, I’ll come back later with tons of sweets that Luna and I are going to steal from Harry’s personal stash,” Ginny said goodbye and gave you a wink as she walked away making you torn between wanting to roll your eyes and feeling yourself blush. Unsure of what to do next you motioned to the chair that Ginny had just occupied and Draco seemed to get the hint because he quickly sat down. “Hey-“ “Hi-“ “Sorry, you first.” “No it’s fine, you’re injured, you go first.” “Well, uhm-“ you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, “-I wanted to thank you, for bringing me here I mean, Madame Pomfrey told me you carried me all the way.” You looked away hoping that he wouldn’t see how nervous you were. “You don’t need to thank me, I couldn’t just let you lay there buried under books, your not Granger after all,” he said, seemingly trying to joke but immediately noticed that it was probably not the best thing to say given that you and Hermione were good friends. “Listen, what I came here for,” now it was Draco’s turn to take a deep breath, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but you were always with Potter or avoiding me or whatever, but after I saw you lying there… I guess I was just worried for you, I really don’t want you to get hurt.” Now that definitely caught your attention. For a second you played with the thought that this could possibly not be Malfoy but just someone else playing him with the help of polyjuice potion because he was definitely not acting like himself, but something in his word convinced you otherwise. “Thanks, I think, but would you mind me asking why? I mean...we’re not really the closest of friends,” you asked him, looking directly into his face to search signs of a possible answer. “Fuck it, I like you, okay? Happy?” You were completely stunned. Stunned, speechless, shocked. In all the time that you had been crushing on him you had never even really considered even the slightest possibility that he could reciprocate your feelings but now here he was telling you straight up. “You-You like me? Like like-like me?” You asked, just really wanting to be sure. There was a hint of nervousness and worry in his eyes, but he hid it behind a wall of annoyance. “You heard me, didn’t you? So, just get it over with, do you like me too or do you not, because if you don’t then I don’t want to waste my time any longer.” This definitely sounded more like the Draco you were used to and you had to giggle a little bit. “Yes, yes I like you too,” you confessed and like it was the most natural thing in the world you moved the uninjured hand over to where he laid on your bed and took it in yours. For the moment, you were caught in the shimmer of happiness and glee at having your crush there with you, definitely something more than your crush, and it would probably take a while until you‘d realize that there were some interesting things to follow, like telling your uncle about this for example...

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x reader #draco #harry potter #hogwarts x reader #harry potter x reader #ginny weasley #professor venomous #oneshot #hogwarts oneshot #harry potter oneshots #hogwarts

[kissjane]

So, Miss Stela 😇 @awake-dreamer18, you put the idea in my head, and I have a new WIP.

So for Fan Choice Friday, I present you a good old case of Mistaken Identity!

(The below may or may not become the start of the story and is unedited in any way shape or form.)

*****************************************

Lucas waited impatiently for the green dot to appear next to Raccoon’s icon. After the day he’d had, he wanted nothing more than to vent about it to his best friend – okay, fine, probably more than just his best friend by now. Yann had started to call Raccoon Lucas’ boyfriend, which, well, was definitely not the truth, but Lucas couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind that at all. It was just that he didn’t know how to bring that up to the guy he’d been talking to for over a year now.

How did you tell somebody you hadn’t ever met in real life, hadn’t even really seen any pictures of, except the tantalizing bits and pieces in the pictures he had sent you (a hand holding up a book, with rings on every finger; shins in frayed black jeans and ankles in a picture of a tiny dog near his feet; a blurry reflection in the bus window – Lucas had focused on that rather than the sunrise over the Eiffel Tower Raccoon had been admiring so much; a cropped torso with a particularly paint-stained t-shirt; a close-up of a cheek with the pan flag), that you thought you had a crush on him?

They had discussed their sexuality, of course. Raccoon was one of the first people Lucas had come out to, after his friends. Hence the picture of the pan flag, which he had received in reply to his confession. But still. Falling for a basic stranger online was probably not the normal way to go about things – although Mika had argued that the success of online hookup apps would belie that. Lucas had pointed out he wasn’t talking about a hookup, and that anyway those apps usually included pictures showing off a bit more than a hand, a knee, a cheek.

None of that mattered anymore when the green dot finally appeared and Raccoon was furiously typing. Lucas felt his smile widen, waiting for whatever beautiful thing Raccoon wanted to share today.

Hi, my wonderful D! I missed you so much today, you are the first good thing on this whole fucking day from hell. I hope you have nothing else to do tonight because I want to talk to you for hours. Just to forget all about it.

Lucas immediately forgot about his own shitty day. Meeting his new co-worker who turned out to be an arrogant, pretentious snob was just a minor blip, not worth talking about, not when Raccoon had a bad day and needed Lucas.

I am all yours for as long as you want.

He clicked send before realizing he might be coming on too strong, so he quickly followed up with something he hoped was more casual.

Tell me all about your day from hell. Who do I kill? 😉

Raccoon sent a bunch of smileys back, and then started typing.

Well, I met some people today. Actually, a whole bunch of new people, and in a new environment. And there was a lot of new information, too.

Oh, a new class? Or a project?

A… project, of sorts. Anyway. I was so nervous of fucking everything up.

Lucas knew. Raccoon had told him about his difficulties in new situations. He struggled to hit the right tone, afraid of interpreting things wrong. Lucas had gotten the impression that Raccoon was shy at heart, even though he was open and honest and passionate about everything he did.

And there was this guy…

The “typing” notification appeared, then vanished, appeared again. However, no message came through.

This guy?

This guy. Yeah.

He was… pretty, actually.

A brief pang shot through Lucas. This was the first time Raccoon talked about a guy like that. He’d talked about some girls, an ex, and Lucas knew about the pan part, but still.

That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.

No.

No, but he was…

He kept trying to talk to me, so I couldn’t focus on what I was doing. I think he might have wanted to get lunch together but I just really needed some quiet time so I brushed him off, and then he became all – I don’t know. Stubborn? Standoffish? He refused to talk to me, or explain stuff again, and then got angry when I messed up. He was a lot less pretty when he glared at me like I was stupid.

Lucas – not for the first time – wished he could pull Raccoon in for a hug. What a jerk that dude was. And that was purely based on how he treated Raccoon, obviously – it had nothing to do with Lucas’ faint but growing feeling of jealousy of Raccoon called the guy pretty – twice.

Sorry to hear that. Such a prick.

I might have been somewhat rude... But it was all a bit overwhelming and I just… Anyway. Damage is done, I guess. Maybe I should have texted you to help me calm down, and then things would have gone better.

Things usually go better when I’m talking to you.

Lucas didn’t know how to react to any of that. Raccoon had never been rude to him, so he doubted he would be in real life. And that last text just tilted his whole world so far out of axis it made him dizzy for a second.

Apparently, he took too long, because his phone vibrated again.

Sorry, didn’t mean to kill the conversation.

No, no, not at all. I was just thinking he still sounds like a prick, is all.

Well.

We don’t have to talk about him anymore.

How was your day? I hope it was a lot better than mine.

The new guy sprang back to Lucas’ mind. He’d been so smug, even when he came in. He hadn’t even introduced himself when he came out of the locker room with his apron tied all wonkily, and when Jo had asked for his name, he hadn’t given her an answer. Then he’d fumbled with the coffee machine, and later the register, never asking for any help, instead preferring to fuck things up beyond recognition. He’d apologized the first time, when the espresso machine started releasing alarming amounts of steam, but in such a haughty manner Lucas had barely responded.

Still, he’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt – first days were always nerve-wracking, and maybe starting on a busy Monday wasn’t the best way to get eased into things. And, okay, fine, the guy was actually really attractive, too. So Lucas had made him a latte and mentioned something about having a break, but the guy had snatched the drink out of Lucas’ hands without even as much as a thank you and gone outside to munch on some granola bars. Lucas knew when he was being ditched, but the guy could have been less arrogant and dismissive about it, surely.

But he couldn’t bother Raccoon with all that. Not when the latter was already upset and stressed out. So he didn’t.

Oh, you know. Business as usual. Work, school, waiting for some prince to come sweep me off my feet. 😉

He hoped Raccoon would laugh at his joke, but instead, it took him a long time to reply, and when he did, he asked about some movie they’d both been wanting to see, and they talked about nothing more personal than that all night.

#life as a writer #fan choice friday #my angel of light #😇 #we live for wips and die under their weight

[lady-divine-writes]

Klainetober one-shot - “Neck Nibbles” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt wakes up to something biting his neck. Blaine claims it's a mosquito. When Kurt wakes in the morning, he discovers that perhaps Blaine was lying ... (2336 words)

Notes: A re-write for the @klainetober prompt 'vampire'. Follows 'One of Those Nights'.

Read on AO3.

Kurt feels a slight pinch, like the prick of a tiny needle injecting into his neck, and in his sleep, he swings a hand to bat the culprit away.

“Oof! Kurt!” Blaine groans, taking the hit square in the eye.

“Wha---?” Kurt mumbles, only partially awake. “What are you doing?” He snorts in a, frankly, unattractive way - a way reserved for muttering in his sleep - then shifts positions, rolling his hips left, then his body, till he’s lying on his side facing away from his boyfriend.

“I’m not doing anything,” Blaine replies. “Go back to sleep.”

Kurt arcs an eyebrow, but he doesn't open his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Go back to sleep."

Kurt would say that Blaine sounds suspiciously awake and coherent for two fifty-two in the morning, but it’s times like these that Kurt forgets his boyfriend is a vampire, not the dapper Prince Charming he fell in love with back at Dalton.

“I’m trying,” Kurt complains, bringing the comforter up to his chin and holding it tight against him to protect his vulnerable neck. “But there’s a mosquito or something in here, and it’s bugging me … hee-hee … bugging me …” Kurt chuckles at his unintended pun, snorting again, which makes him laugh harder.

“I’ll kill it if it comes back,” Blaine promises. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm … okay …” Kurt agrees, shoving skepticism aside and snuggling against the hard body of his boyfriend, who usually opts to lie beside Kurt in bed even though he doesn’t need sleep. “As long as you (yawn) stay here to protect me.”

“Of course.” Blaine smiles, fangs bared as Kurt snores softly. “I’ll stay right here." He kisses Kurt lightly on the forehead. "I'm not going anywhere ...”

***

Kurt can feel the sun within his body telling him it’s time to rise - an occupational hazard of dating a vampire, this sixth sense about the oncoming dawn. It also means that Blaine has made himself scarce, banished to the dark corner of the bedroom by the closet where the sunlight doesn’t reach until noon. The sun has yet to breach the horizon and pierce his sheer drapes, but Kurt can feel it prickling behind his eyelids. 

That’s odd. 

Rarely does that happen unless he and Blaine have a hardcore make-out sesh with lots of biting involved. But weeks of putting in overtime at school and at the diner sent Kurt to bed early, so that definitely didn’t happen.

Heartbreaking.

Short of that strange symptom, his primary concern at the moment is the number that insect did on him last night. Kurt raises a hand to his neck, hissing when his fingertips come in contact with his sore skin.

“Ugh,” he grumbles, rolling his way out of bed. "Must have been a huge mosquito. Filthy bloodsucker ..." He cringes at his own remark, hoping he didn't inadvertently offend his boyfriend. He'll find out after he assesses the damage to his neck. Kurt has extremely sensitive skin. A single bite from a pernicious parasite can make him look like he has a goiter! He needs to figure out how much cover-up he’s going to need to apply before school. 

His feet hit the floor, and immediately the urge to climb back into bed and hide under the covers overwhelms him. 

He got a decent amount of sleep last night. Why is he so damned out of it?

Kurt stumbles blindly over to his vanity and drops onto the stool, groaning at the prospect of opening his eyes. The day would go so much easier if he could keep them shut, but that would probably make taking the subway way more challenging. Kurt blinks his eyes open, lids dragging over sticky corneas, objecting to the idea of letting light anywhere near his retinas. Kurt turns away from the mirror when a stream of light hits the reflective surface and brightens the room.

“Jeez,” Kurt mumbles, putting a hand to his aching head, shielding his eyes. “Hey, Blaine? Did you hand me a hard cider instead of a Diet Coke last night or something? Because I feel awful!”

Blaine doesn’t answer. A few more blinks confirm that Kurt’s boyfriend isn’t even in the room.

Uh-oh, Kurt thinks. That’s never a good sign.

Kurt rubs his eyes hard with the heels of his palms, blinking between rubs to kick-start the watering process. He manages to clear his bleary vision enough to get a decent glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and his jaw drops.

“BLAINE!” Kurt roars when he sees the grotesque purple splotches running up and down his neck, covering nearly every conceivable inch of skin.

“Yes?” Blaine peeks his head in the bedroom door, biting his lower lip when he catches Kurt’s reflection in the mirror. “Can I help you with something, love?”

“Did you do this?” Kurt asks, pawing at his neck, running his fingertips over the marks, gasping in horror at the nastier ones.

“No?” Blaine says uneasily. “It was a mosquito. You ... you said so yourself.”

Kurt frowns.

Blaine is a horrible liar. 

An incredible actor, but a horrible liar.

Not too long ago, Kurt and Blaine stumbled upon another vampire. A friendly vampire. Victim of circumstance, like Blaine, but for a far less comical reason. This vampire warned Kurt to be careful, said that now that Blaine was a vampire, he'd be better at hiding the truth. 

But he isn't. 

Not by a long shot.

He was a better liar when he was human.

Kurt pivots on his stool to glare angrily at Blaine since looking at his non-reflection through the mirror was getting irritating.

“A mosquito did this?” Kurt points to a particularly massive and vicious-looking bite, countering Blaine’s ridiculous lie.

“Y-yes?”  

Kurt turns back to the mirror right as a more intense beam of sunlight hits the glass. He yelps, squeezing his eyes shut hard to avoid the glare.

“Dammit, Blaine!” Kurt leaps off the stool and races to the window to secure the black-out curtains. “You did bite me! I can feel it! All the way to the back of my brain!”

“Only a little,” Blaine finally admits, daring a few steps into the room.

“Only a little? I look like ground meat! Blaine!” Kurt staggers back to his vanity to better examine the damage.

“D-don’t freak out.” Blaine sits on the edge of the bed, watching Kurt set up his arsenal of foundation, intent on covering up the bruises. “The photophobia will wear off in a few hours.”

“It’s not the photophobia that’s bothering me.” Kurt opens a container of green base makeup to prep his violated neck. “If you wanted a late-night snack, could you have at least bitten a spot that won’t show? I have play practice this afternoon, and you know how important this is to me. I look diseased!”

“You could always wear a scarf,” Blaine suggests. "You have tons."

“I bought a new Marc Jacobs shirt with a V-neckline, and none of my scarves go with it,” Kurt argues, turning left and right, whimpering at his boyfriend���s handiwork. “And I was really looking forward to wearing it today.”

“Yeah ... I wanted to ask you about that …”

“Ask me about what?” Kurt asks, dabbing furiously.

“Why the departure from your leather jacket and t-shirts? I mean, you were into fashion when we met, but when I became a … you know …”

“Vampire?” Kurt offers flatly. He has come to terms with it, but, to be honest, there is a part of him that is having a hard time forgiving Blaine over it.

“Yeah, that,” Blaine says sheepishly. “You changed your look. And I know it might sound silly, but it meant something to me. Like, I transformed, and then you did, too. I thought you did it so we would match."

"I did," Kurt admits.

"So ... why are you buying designer clothes again?”

“Because this is an important production, and I want to look a little more professional,” Kurt explains. “I’m not doing it to hurt you if that’s what you think. I'm not that kind of person.”

Blaine nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Is it really that? Or is it because that blond with the sexy English accent is going to be there?” 

"What?" Kurt stops fussing with his makeup, an applicator wedge slathered in primer poised an inch from his skin. "Why would you think ...?" Kurt's eyes go wide. “Wait, wait, wait …” He turns to face Blaine, whose gaze darts away to meticulously examine the threads of Kurt’s Valentina comforter. “Are you jealous?”

Blaine falls silent a moment, gets lost in thought. Then, as if suddenly remembering he's in the middle of a conversation, sputters a weak laugh.

“What? N-no. Not a bit. What do I have to be jealous of?”

“Exactly.” Kurt puts his makeup wedge down and scoots closer, placing his hands on Blaine’s knees. “What do you have to be jealous of?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re living the dream? Not just your dream, but mine, too. A dream I’m never going to be able to fulfill.” Blaine's eyes travel from the comforter to the floor, where a narrow ray of light spreads over the wood. “Or maybe … I'm jealous of this …” He sweeps a hand through the beam, his skin sizzling at the touch of sunlight.

“Blaine! Stop! Don’t hurt yourself!” Kurt reaches for Blaine’s burnt hand and holds it in his. He stands and pulls Blaine down the width of the bed, farther away from the window. Kurt sits beside him, rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Oh, honey. We talked about this.”

Blaine shrugs the opposite shoulder, uncomfortable with laying his fears bare, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, curling his fingers over Kurt’s to keep them joined. Kurt looks into Blaine’s face, into glowing red eyes fighting to stay open as the oncoming dawn weighs heavy on him. Kurt knows Blaine’s transformation has been difficult for him to adjust to, but it has never been particularly challenging for them as a couple – not until Kurt landed the starring role in a play that had the potential to go from the humble student theater at NYADA to off-Broadway, with Kurt leading the charge. “No one is going to replace you. And that guy …” Kurt shakes his head. “He doesn’t even come close. Besides ..." Kurt grins "... I’m not the flirt in this relationship. You are.”

"Yeah, well, not so much anymore." Blaine chuckles, tired eyes lifting to meet Kurt’s.

"You have your moments." Kurt raises a hand to cup Blaine’s cold cheek. "You have to trust me."

“I do trust you.” Blaine turns into Kurt’s hand and kisses his wrist, right above the pulse that calls to him incessantly, echoing his need. Blaine doesn’t know if it’s the love he carried over into this immortal life or if that need has always been there, but he has a bond with Kurt – one that would devastate him if it was broken. “It’s that guy I don’t trust. I’ve been to your midnight rehearsals. I see the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.”

“And do you remember the way I used to look at you at Dalton when I thought you weren’t paying attention?”

“Yeah,” Blaine answers with a wistful laugh. “Yeah, I do.” If Blaine closes his eyes, he can see those furtive glances - Kurt's magical blue eyes grazing Blaine's face before returning to his books, smile growing, cheeks burning red.

God, he misses those days. Misses the excitement of newborn love, the kind of urgent, drama-filled attraction that happens only in high school. He mourns the fact that their life together, the one they had planned so carefully, came to such an abrupt end.

It was all his fault.

And nothing he can do will fix it.

“Well, I still do.” Kurt leans in close and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. Blaine smiles into it, wants it to go on forever, even when he feels his strength ebbing away. As the sun rises higher in the sky, Blaine’s need to find somewhere dark to rest amplifies, but he’ll do anything to stay like this and keep kissing his boyfriend.

But he can’t, even if he could convince Kurt to play hooky and stay home with him, and that’s one more thing he has to be jealous of.

“I should let you get back to your cover-up,” Blaine says, relinquishing his grip on Kurt’s hand. Kurt looks at his vanity, at the army of small bottles and jars awaiting him, all very expensive. And not a one of them more important than his boyfriend. Not even his clear, alabaster skin is more important to him than Blaine.

“You know what? Fuck it!” Kurt jumps up the bed and pulls Blaine along with him. “So what if I wear a scarf that doesn't match? No one at NYADA really knows fashion anyway."

"What about ... what about the play?" Blaine argues but he's not fighting. He couldn't if he wanted to.

And Lord knows, he doesn't want to.

"I’ll have the makeup girl cover them up. Let her earn her keep. This way, everybody gets to see the marks my baby gave me.”

“Really?” Blaine raises an eyebrow. 

Kurt tugs Blaine on top of him, and Blaine carefully settles over Kurt’s body.

“Yup. In fact, I think I can handle a few more, if you’re not too tired, that is.” Kurt loops his arms around Blaine’s neck, threading his fingers into his hair. His skin may be unnaturally cool to the touch, but his hair still feels like silk. It’s one of Kurt’s favorite things about Blaine’s new body.

“I think I can do that,” Blaine says, biding past the daybreak and finding a clear spot on Kurt’s neck. “We’ll give that makeup girl a run for her money.”

#klaine #Klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klainetober

[logan-is-noggin]

Anxious beauty part 3

word count: 1227

Prince Roman rode into the village waving at the citizens who called and cheered. He stopped at the castle front and climbed off of his horse, handing the reins to a stable hand who walked rose away to the stable.

He spotted his father, king Emile, walking around in a side garden, simply admiring the scenery. After they greeted one another Emile said " I was beginning to worry after your party returned without you this afternoon."

" forgive me, but I took a detour through the forest and lost track of the time."

Emile shook his head. He knew his son was the romantic type. But from the look on Romans face was the tell tale signs of someone who was in love.

" I met someone father. I believe it is who I'm going to marry."

Emile's eyes widened and he turned this way and that. " you've met Prince Virgil already? I didn't believe he had returned yet, we must go let Thomas know and..."

Roman stilled his father to get his attention. " I didn't say it was Virgil, he's a simple boy. He lives in the woods. We spent all day together, but even if we hadn't, it wouldn't matter. I love him father. From the moment we met I knew it to be true."

Emile looked in disbelief, trying to make sense of the boys words. " but the betrothal. How are our kingdoms going to unite if the marriage doesn't take place. How can you go against your birthright like that?" Emile said sternly.

" would you know me to go against my heart instead? Besides I'm certain Virgil couldn't be too disappointed about the idea of an arranged marriage. I must go now. "

Roman disappeared around the corner leaving his father starring up at the colored window. 'What am I going to tell Thomas?'.

(Time skip- Virgil pov)

As the sun began to set the three fairies, along with a still upset Virgil, changed into his royal attire, made their way out of the woods into town. They snuck into the castle using a back entrance and brought Virgil into a guest chamber. Virgil sat down in a chair in front of a brass mirror and desk. Janus Virgil and Patton combined their magic as a crown was created. It was dark silver whose face was set with purple gems. Patton brought it to where Virgil was sitting, gently brushed some of his hairs out of the way before placing it on his brow. Virgil's gaze softened slightly. His reflection glancing up to look at his guardian then to the others as well. " we just wanted to give you one last gift Virgil. Something that would hopefully help you feel a little more... princely." Virgil gave him a nod. " thank you. I'm sorry for how I reacted." He said stiffly, trying to make himself believe his words. " I know kiddo, it'll be alright." " would you mind if I had a moment to myself. To take it in." Patton nodded " of course kiddo. We'll be right outside when you're ready." Patton ushered the other two fairies out. Which was quite comical as Patton was the shortest of the three. As soon as the door clicked shut. Virgil grabbed the crown off his head and placed it on the table. He sighed threw his head back as he ran his hands through his hair. He looked out the window to view the town, the kingdom. It was getting dark but oil lamps on posts were being lit, carts on the side of the cobblestone streets were closing up for the night. One difference he noticed was that the flags in front of the castle had changed color from silver to purple. He sighed again. People would be celebrating his return. How could he expect anyone to celebrate him. He had done nothing special. " I can't do this." He said to himself. " and you shouldn't have to."

Virgil whipped around in time to see someone in black robes that faded into blue edges. He held a long staff with a crystal ball on the end. " Who are you? How did you come to be here?" After a second he asked " and what did you mean I shouldn't have to?"

My name is Logan. I'm a friend I can assure you. I've been watching you for a long time Virgil. Watching you grow up. And to me it seems you had a perfect life going for yourself. A nice little cottage in the woods. A handsome man to spend your life with. It's a pity your little friends decided today was a good day to start telling you the truth."

" how do you know all this?" "Magic. But unlike those three who waste their talents on making silly trinkets" he wiggled his fingers towards the discarded crown. " I've used mine to watch over you. I am pleased to see you've kept my gift after all this time." Virgil grasped the key around his neck. " I'm sure by know you've discovered its power."

"I don't feel safe if I don't have it. I'm afraid. Anxious." He switch neck to his question. " what did you mean I shouldn't have to?"

" come with me and I will answer your questions." He pointed his staff to the fireplace and it became a pathway with a staircase. Virgil looked towards the door but cautiously followed Logan anyway.

Patton was outside pacing, closer to the door than the others Janus had told him to relax but Patton wouldn't be placated. He pressed his ear to the door to hear voices and confused, pushed it open, just in time to see the fireplace change from a staircase to fire once again. And Virgil was no where to be seen. He frantically called to the others who rushed in. " it has to be Logan. No one else has powers that great. We have to save Virgil!"

Logan led Virgil up two flights of stairs into a tower he didn't know existed above them. In it was a similar bed chamber. The witch turned to the Prince. " okay, I followed you up here, now explain your words." "Gladly. If the king truly meant for you to reign in his stead, you would have needed to spent your childhood being taught on how to rule. It seems like an awful lot of stress to place on a sixteen year old who only learned he was a Prince mere hours ago. My gift has also come with a solution to this. Because like I said before, I don't waste my gifts."

Virgil examined the key closer. He pulled each end in opposition directions and to his surprise it came apart. The key handle now lead to a short but sharp looking needle. " All you need to do is simply prick yourself and you shall be transported back to your old life. Before he could worry his way out of it, he jabbed the pin Into his palm. His cry of pain was cut short as his vision blurred and he quickly fell forward unconscious. Logan looked on " as we are all transported in our dreams." He said with a chuckle. He raised and brought down his staff and disappeared in a cloud of smoke."

READ PART 4:

#virgil sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #emile picani #remus sanders #janus sanders

[watchingtheroad]

Be Your Run-To

Damen struggles in the aftermath of his injury and the reality of losing his remaining family. Laurent helps him cope. 

Post-Canon | Hurt/Comfort | Mourning | First Time Bottoming | 

POV Switches:  Damen >> Laurent >> Nikandros >> Damen

+

Damen watched as Laurent dissected another letter from Arles over his makeshift desk at Ios, a table and chair he had dragged into what was now Damen’s office space. Laurent loved it for the massive library attached. He had already brought in an entire new shelf on which he would display the books he planned to read separately from the ones he did not. It was very charmingly involved. 

Damen loved it for the memories of his childhood—sitting on the King’s lap and reading as a boy, growing and studying alongside him as he worked at his desk—and hated it for the exact same reason. 

Reality was strange to think about, stranger for it to be so. That was his father’s desk. His father’s books. His father’s rooms. His father’s throne. His father’s crown. His father’s city. His father’s kingdom. 

His father was dead. His brother was dead, buried in the royal crypt with family rather than treated as the gullible traitor he proved himself to be. 

Damen had thought he could save them both, will them to life and reason. 

He had been wrong. 

Grief crashed over him in inconvenient waves in the weeks immediately after his own injury and Kastor’s bitter end. It was different without the constant drama of plotting against the Regent and running around the continent with Laurent. Forced to endlessly sit and heal, Damen had time to dwell in his misery—entirely too much, arguably, that drained him to exhaustion in moments meant for rest—all while continuing plans to stabilize his own government and attempting to solidify an official unity with Vere. 

It was quite a lot of work, investigation and tedious conversation: drafting documents, arguing more treason and laws, deciding which policies would be adopted kingdom-wide or remain independent to either Akielos or Vere. The matter of slavery was the most pressing to attend to, and one on which Damen and Laurent vehemently agreed. Total abolishment was the goal. It was a matter of implementation, and not every kyros in Akielos was as amenable to change as Nikandros. 

They spent the majority of their days in grueling meetings once Damen was lucid, which began at his bedside, then expanded to common rooms as Damen grew stronger. Laurent had done an invaluable job at handling things when he was not, but there was still substantial progress to be made. He had named Nikadros Kyros in Ios, summoned the few, trustworthy members of the Veretian Council, new appointments included. 

It added another layer of difficulty on both sides, given Vere’s chaotic political climate and Kastor’s treason. It was hard to know exactly all the places evil had touched their kingdom, and Laurent’s extended stay in Ios was a disadvantage in finding out and achieving true peace for Vere. None of the Veretians in Ios liked it there, and none of the Veretians in Vere liked that their future King was still away. Laurent’s focus should have been that, not shouldering Damen’s burdens beyond necessity.

As it was, Laurent refused to be parted from him until he was well again. Damen had been adamant for some time that he was well again, despite some moderate discomfort during his deep breathing exercises and soreness that lingered with certain movements. He seemed to be singularly convinced of that. Even Nikandros was on Laurent’s side, a rarity of astronomical proportion. 

Under different circumstances, Damen would’ve already progressed his training to more rigorous levels, used physical exertion and pain as a distraction for everything else, then pushed through until it became tolerable. The lack thereof was making him incredibly irritable, but Laurent insisted he take it torturously easy, fretting about him every step. 

From the look on Laurent’s face, it appeared whoever wrote the latest letter from Vere was returning the favor in making one irritable. 

“What’s the matter?” Damen asked. 

With reluctance, Laurent said, “I have to leave for Vere. The people have started congregating outside Arles, which I suspect is diplomatic phrasing for rioting. Resistance from the Regent’s leftover filth. Fucking brilliant.” 

Innocently enough, Damen noted, “Going back sooner would have eliminated that.” 

“Just what I wanted to hear, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice like the edge of a knife. “Thank you for your helpful counsel.” 

“Laurent, I didn’t mean—” Damen started, then stopped, closing his mouth with an internally audible clack of teeth. He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I only meant that Vere needs to see its King. They’ll settle as soon as you enter the city.” 

“Do you want me to go so badly?” Laurent asked. “If it will help, you can say it. Let us not pretend I haven’t been worrying you mad.” 

“You haven’t,” Damen fibbed. 

He had, at times, but only regarding certain things. Being fussed over had never been something Damen was particularly keen on.

Damen said, “You’re the best part of every day I live.” 

The former did not make the latter untrue. Their stolen moments were the only thing that kept Damen holding himself together. The source of his foul mood wasn’t Laurent; his concern came from a place of love, Damen knew well enough. It was the circumstances, a result of sadness and lethargy and days and days of complete uselessness that Damen was unaccustomed to and despised to his core. It wasn’t fair to lay his frustrations on Laurent simply because he had nowhere else to aim them, but it’s what he had done. 

“Am I?” Laurent asked, the prick self-deprecation clear and sharp. “You haven’t even pretended you want me to stay to spare my feelings.” 

Laurent was talking nonsense. Damen ached to erase the doubt in his voice. He went to him, yielding before crossing completely into Laurent’s space where he sat at his table. It was clear when Damen needed to tread more carefully, when Laurent’s defenses were momentarily raised. Damen fancied himself safely inside them, not out in the cold. Still, he waited, until a nearly-imperceptible nod and a softening of eyes gave him the permission he sought. 

He slid Laurent’s chair away from the table to better get at him, kneeling in front of him on the floor. Laurent looked at him as though he might break during the mere act of kneeling, but thankfully, held his tongue. 

“Laurent, I don’t want you to go,” Damen explained. “These cuffs on our wrists?” He held Laurent’s hand in one of his, and with the other, let his fingers trail across gold. “Everything they stand for, I want. You, I want. But I don’t want you to stay here to the detriment of Vere because you think I need to be watched like an invalid. I am fi—” 

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re fine,” Laurent stopped him. “You’ve said that since the moment you very nearly bled to death under my hand, through every complication. Are you so stubborn you cannot see you’re the least reliable regarding your own condition? Your physical state is not my only concern—” Laurent took his face in both hands, his touch gentle as he leaned forward to press his lips to Damen’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ve not been yourself, Damianos. I’m worried about your mind, your spirit.” 

Damen clutched Laurent’s wrists, letting out a ragged breath. The whole truth spoken aloud unsettled him to the bone, made everything he fought to bury swell up inside, threatening to burst through his skin. His voice was strained, on the verge of disproportionate emotion, “It’s not you, Laurent. I swear it. It’s me. I’m—”

Broken.

He thought he had been managing, that the moments of shared happiness between them would disguise the torment in his heart. 

Laurent cradled Damen’s head to his chest, and Damen’s arms found their way around him. 

“You’re grieving, Damen. Your opportunity was stolen from you after your father was killed. It’s perfectly normal to need that time now, after everything. When Auguste died, I—” Damen sensed Laurent hit a wall and bear through it in the next breath. “It took months for the agony to subside enough that I felt I could breathe again.” 

It only added to Damen’s guilt. 

“Your brother was good, Laurent—” And I took him from you, Damen thought. “Mine tried to kill me more times than I’m likely aware of to accurately count. And my father— You hated my father. He was a ruthless conqueror, and I worshipped him in blissful ignorance.” 

“My opinions about Theomedes are irrelevant. He was your father, your only living parent, your King,” Laurent listed, pressing a kiss to his hair, then another. “What you feel is acceptable, no matter how conflicting…There’s no proper strategy in mourning, my love, but you do not have to do it alone in silence. I am here.” 

Damen felt his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t known were trickling free. He buried his face in Laurent’s chest, a choked sob escaping with his words. “It’s impossible to be here, Laurent. Everywhere I look, I see them. I feel like—”

An imposter. 

Laurent was the last person who needed to hear that from him. Damen had been groomed for kingship his entire life and felt fraudulent when faced with it now amidst his sadness, particularly having evolved so drastically from who he last was in Ios. Even so, he couldn’t fathom having it thrust upon him as a boy as Laurent did, his grief unimaginable and obstacles unnumbered, the unspeakable abuse he endured. 

“Tell me,” Laurent coaxed, his fingers moving in soothing strokes against his scalp. “Let me inside this head of yours.” 

A deep, steadying breath. 

“There are times I feel Ios doesn’t belong to me. It’s as though my father’s still here, alive in every hall and chamber. I’m so far from the Prince Akielos once knew,” Damen confessed. 

Laurent lifted Damen’s head to meet his eyes, delicately wiping beneath them with his thumbs. His smile was soft, compassionate. His eyes shone with love Damen felt unworthy of receiving. 

“Damianos, my King,” Laurent said, with a reverence in his voice that throbbed in Damen’s chest and ached through his ribs. “You are twice the leader and ten times the man your father and brother were. Not all change is unwelcome. If you stepped onto the balcony now, Ios would chant your name in the streets. Not your father’s. Not Kastor’s. They adore you. I adore you. Your effortless confidence, the power you hold in your body and words… I aspire to it. Your brother played at ruling. You were born to it. Akielos is yours. These ghosts won’t haunt you forever.” 

His words were fleeting warmth wrapped around Damen’s body. He longed to feel it deeper, for them to speak to something solid inside him and hold.

“You’re kinder than I deserve,” Damen said. Then, eager to shift the conversation away from himself, split open as he was, he returned, “It was born in you, too. You’re brilliant, Laurent. I’ve never known a mind like yours. Arles will receive you with open arms, whenever you choose to return. I’ve seen how your people look at you.” 

They had lined the streets of every town in Vere, ecstatic to catch a mere glimpse of Laurent as he rode through on their journey to Akielos. If there was residual unrest in the capital due to the Regent, Damen imagined the faction was small. 

“If it hasn’t been ripped apart brick by brick before I arrive,” Laurent mused, with an exaggerated sigh. He caressed Damen’s face from brow to jaw. “You look exhausted. Let’s have a hot bath, shall we? Wait for me in your chambers, and I’ll attend you? I have one thing left to do here.”

Damen nodded. That did sound nice. 

He shifted to stand, pausing to kiss Laurent on his way. His breath caught, lips trembling as the kiss deepened. His emotions were all out of sorts. Nothing meant more to him than making Laurent happy, merging their lives into one as Damen felt bound to him. He wished to feel better, and he wished to do it beside Laurent. 

“Thank you, Laurent… Hurry to me,” Damen said, and because it was all he could muster while keeping his composure, he hoped it conveyed everything he meant.

+

[THE REST IS HERE]

#captive prince #Capri #damen x laurent #cp fic #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #first time bottoming #hurt/comfort #post kings rising

[windup-dragoon]

I vomited words out. There had been a clear decision of where I was going with this, then I lost it and found it again at the end???? Idk. PLEASE EXCUSE MY INABILITY TO WRITE ACTION. IT’S AWFUL AND CRINGE PLEASE I KNOW. But thanks @vestaloflight​ for the drabble prompt! It also has to do with Kirishimi’s backstory a bit. Isho and Az’hala are both OC’s of mine that I rarely talk about. Isho having been my retainer that I fell in love with. He’s a big gruff boi who idolizes Tataru for her money keeping skills. Az’hala is a ninja cat boi who’s pretty goofy. Lowkey ship him with Yugiri kek BUT THAT’S A DIFFERENT STORY. 

Anyway, here’s today’s dookie story. 

【Ｓｈａｔｔｅｒｅｄ　Ｍｅｍｏｒｉｅｓ】

Hien x Kirishimi 

Word Count:  3,341 (IT’S ACCURATE THIS TIME) 

Daydreams occupied his mind that afternoon, taunting and beckoning him to cast all else aside. Fantasies of her clouded his green eyes, her laugh a melody that only he could hear. If he were careful, as he diligently tried to be, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, the scent of her, still held traces over his robes. Who knew such common aroma’s could spark such a state of entrancement? 

He had long since said his goodbyes to her that morning, leaving only after stealing half a dozen kisses or more. But oh, his heart yearned for more. Hours, minutes, even seconds longer in the rosy glow of the rising sun. Time he would have spent memorizing every inch of her skin. From the silvery silk of scars that decorated her flesh, to the petal soft curves she hid away beneath layers of armor and cloth. The sensation of her lips against his, sharing a single breath a thousand times over again. 

But duty had demanded their attention. His were stately by nature while hers had brought her out to the Ruby Sea. Word had it that visitors awaited her arrival, in desperate shape for the aid of the Scions. Hien could only begin to imagine what that would entail. 

Considering her loyalty to the Scions had given him enough strength to endure his own tasks for the day, drab as they may have been in comparison. Yet even while his guests spoke freely before him, chatting among themselves, he found himself once again at the mercy of her fleeting visage just beneath closed eyes. 

–

“Whaddya ‘suppose they want?” Inquired the sandy haired miqo’te, Az’hala, all but skipping in pace with his companions. 

Ahead of him, as if leading the small collection of scions to war, marched the ever stoic Isho, an auri raen with flamboyantly pink hair and diamondesque scales. Not even a step behind Isho, nearly at his shoulders in height, was Kirishimi, one of several Warriors of Light. 

“Who knows?” Kirishimi remarked, flashing Az’hala a grin over her shoulder. “Maybe someone needs help fishin’?” She teased. 

“Doubtful.” Rumbled Isho in response, his fellows frowning immediately. “They requested Kirishimi personally.” 

“Yeah…About that?” Az’hala squeaked, prancing up to Isho and peering up at the towering man. “How did they even know she was here? Mistress Tataru? Lil’ Alphinaud? Alisaie, perhaps?” 

Kiri leaned forward in her strides, enough to catch a glimpse of her companion across Isho’s broad chest. “I’ve been wonderin’ that myself. Tataru and Alphinaud usually let us know about visitors. This time I hadn’t heard a peep.” 

None of her companions had. Instead, word had been given to Isho who had been in Kugane on business. A member of the confederate pirates had passed along the message that visitors had arrived for her. Reluctant as he was to play errand boy Isho knew exactly where to find the snow haired woman. In the arms of a certain prince. 

“T-They must have seen ya’ passin’ through!” Az’hala tried to sound convincing, but sky blue eyes revealed that not even he could pass it off as mere coincidence.  

Ankle deep in sea water, trekking their way along the shores of Bekko, Isho gave pause. Where the ruby seas met land of the isle, two stood in wait for their arrival. Just as the pirate had made mention. Flanked on his sides, Kiri and Az’hala stopped short. 

Neither party seemed eager to greet the other. Clouds overhead had begun to gather, Heaven-on-high a mere silhouette in the distance. Kirishimi could smell it on the breeze, just as Eyriwolk had taught her many years ago; a storm was approaching. 

Although tension in her shoulders and an itch in her hand told her to draw her lance, Kirishimi ignored her intuition to offer a small smile to the figures in red cloaks. Ascians? Unlikely. But who else was known for being so dramatic in fashion? 

“Greetings!” Kiri attempted her best impersonation of Alphinaud. She felt unpleasant and stiff in doing so. “Am I to presume you are Lani and Edea? Lookin’ for The Scions?” Kirishimi gestured vaguely at her company. Az’hala gave a meek wave, peeking out from the shadow of Isho’s lumbering form. Isho made a low guttural noise. Ever the eloquent one. 

Droplets began to prick at Kirishimi’s face and splattered across her darkened dragoon armor, icy beads of rain getting caught in her lashes. What started as a sprinkle soon became an onslaught. The waves of the Ruby Sea churning, gurgling, and lashing against the shore. 

“Aye! You must be the Warrior of Light, yes?” The taller of the two moved forward and cast aside her hood. “‘Bout time I was granted an audience with ya’.” 

The trio stood frozen, air caught in their throats at sight of the womans features. Blue piercing eyes, locks of quick silver cropped at her jawline, tan skin with the faintest trace of light freckles dusting her cheekbones. If not for the pronounced nose and high arched brows of a Roegadyn, she could have easily been Kirishimi’s doppelganger. 

“W-What? Am I seein’ things, Isho?” Az’hala promptly rubbed his eyes as if rain had diluted his vision. 

“Afraid not.” The woman answered without a moments hesitation. “If you’d like, we have no business with the lot of ya’. The ever popular champion of Eorzea will suffice.” Howling wind and roaring waves tore at the woman’s cloak as she spoke. She reached up, a fox grin plastered on her lips, and let loose the fabric that tore at her neck. Armor trimmed with fur and fashioned with an angled cut skirt had been hidden beneath the discarded garment, along with an ax that hugged her back. It was more a cleaver than an ax but nearly as large as she. 

Isho responded quickly. His sword and shield promptly drawn at the mere sight of such a monstrosity of a weapon. Kiri slowly reached for the lance at her back. 

“Az’hala,” The dragoon spoke in a clipped tone, low even against the crashing storm that drifted closer. “Go.” 

– 

Hien was nearing his limit with this meeting. How many times could this very topic be addressed? Trade had been sparse immediately following Doma’s liberation, but it had long since been handled. Their markets had begun to flourish even! But, given all that his people had gone through in his absence, he could only imagine the lingering fear that plagued their minds. The ‘what if’s. What if it happened again? What if supplies ran low? What if trade stopped? 

Just as his lips parted in answer to the posed question, the doors to his meeting room were thrown wide. Yugiri presented herself, kneeling and bowing her head with some urgency behind her actions. 

“Lord Hien, forgive my intrusion, but trouble is brewing at the Ruby Sea.” 

The Ruby Sea? Had the pirates started acting up? He could hear his comrades murmur curiously to themselves. None in his company seemed worried by the news, but Hien found his stomach suddenly in knots. His mouth went dry, throat tightening as his jaw tensed. 

“Pray, excuse me my friends. I will see to this matter immediately. We will continue our discussion at a later time.” It was maddening to the prince. Forcing himself to remain calm and collected in that moment. Instead of letting his body spirit him away in a heartbeat out the door and all the way to the Ruby Sea. Where Kirishimi had gone. No, despite the overwhelming distress he felt, he reserved himself and begged apology. 

He was at Yugiri’s heels as they left. The Doman Enclave seemed quiet outside his meeting hall, peaceful even against the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

“Az’hala returned in a panic,” The ebony haired shinobi explained. With a gesture she pointed out Az’hala leaning against the nearest wall, pitched over as if sick. 

“K-Kiri… Oi, I’m gonna heave…” Az’hala breathed, choking on the emergency that riddled his voice. “Some batty lady is threatenin’ Kiri. Isho…” A pant interrupted him. He gulped, ears twitching. “Isho stayed with her….” 

Hien tilted his head with a cocked brow. “You left her?” He hadn’t known Az’hala very long. All he had known was that he had studied under Yugiri for a time during her stay in Eorzea. He hadn’t quite mastered the ways of the shinobi as Yugiri had, evident by his weak stomach for running, but Kirishimi had placed faith in him time and time again. So then why would he abandon his comrade? 

Az’hala’s tail gave a sharp flick of annoyance. “She told me-” That same snapping, twitching tail suddenly went stock-still while a convulsion ripped through the young mans body. Stomach content and saliva splattered the stone of the Enclave. 

“I believe she may be in trouble.” Yugiri continued, turning away from Az’hala’s disaster. “Or that she may have reason to believe as much. Mayhap she was asking Az’hala to bring assistance?” 

“We lack information.” Admitted the prince with a sigh. Ignoring the gurgling sounds behind him, Hien nodded, a flame suddenly igniting in his mossy eyes. “Let us see for ourselves what is transpiring.” 

– 

Lightning shot overhead, thunder drumming only a few short malms from the isle. Rain pelted bare flesh, running like watercolor in brushstrokes of crimson down the crest of her cheek and along her left arm. Pieces of shattered metal had embedded themselves in the sand, soon to be washed away by the tide. Her armor was all but shredded thanks to Lani and her cleaving ax. 

Yalms away she could hear the familiar twinkling sounds of magic being spent. The other visitor, yet clad in her cloak, landed spell after dizzying spell upon Isho and his raised shield. Each successful hit mimicked a war drum that rang in her ears. 

“Sweets, you do not have the luxury to watch yer friend.” 

Kiri had barely turned back to Lani and react. The cleaving blade of hers bit deep against the metal shaft of her lance, the vibration of impact making her arms numb. She ground her teeth, the balls of her feet nearly buried in the wet sand as she stood against the force of the vertical swing. 

“Exhausted yet, Warrior? You look an awful mess in this rain.” Lani mused with something of a laugh. 

“I’ve seen you before…” Growled Kirishimi in response. 

“Ever look in the mirror?” The axe lifted, the grinding stopping for a brief moment. Thunder roared as the blade crashed down a second time, then a third. With each impact Kiri could feel her lance splintering. It would break clean in half at any given moment. “I know all about you! Kirishimi Yasuragi, a famed Warrior of Light! You won the hearts of those in Eorzea, even Ishgard and their silly lil’ dragons! Now a champion of Doma as well, from what I hear. Greedy lil’ shite, aren’t’cha?” 

“What do you want?!” Each ring of axe against lance had the dragoon flinching. If her own weapon didn’t break soon, her injured arm would. Already she could feel the ache setting in. 

Posed with such a question had Lani halt her assault. “I want yer end. Yer story should have ended that day.” Blue eyes were suddenly distant. Recalling a memory. A vision that Kiri would be subjected to. 

Like the dull ache of a migraine she felt its approach. Kiri squeezed shut her eyes, begging Hydaelyn to take back this cursed blessing. It washed over her in a heartbeat. One minute she was on the shores of the Ruby Sea, the next, standing in a field of tall, dried grass. 

A literal sea of pale yellow surrounded two children, a hushed breeze rolling through the grass like ocean waves. The smaller of the two had stooped low to the ground, rivers of tears turning dirt to mud on her cheeks. Her elder stood cross armed, glaring down at her. 

But the Echo faded just as abruptly as it had begun. Kirishimi looked up from her lowered position before Lani, kneeling to better take another hit from her ax. The scene was familiar. To Lani perhaps it was poetic. To Kirishimi, who felt only a hollow ache in the pit of her heart for the small weeping child, it was a tragedy. What had Lani done to that girl crying in the fields? 

“Don’t you dare look at me with those damnable eyes! You freak! Bloody monster!!” Lani screamed out to the storm, ax over her head. In one swoop she brought it down; a hammer to a nail. 

Sparks showered the sand, fizzling out in the clapping waves of the sea around her. Kiri, who had braced for impact, blinked mismatched eyes. She half expected her lance to be in two, as well as herself. But yet here she remained in tact. Time itself felt as if it had stopped. The pounding of her heart, nearly feral with the drive to survive, only echoed with exhaustion. 

Kirishimi cocked her head upright, expecting to see Lani looming over her, ready to decimate. But instead she was greeted with a familiar sight. One that roused a tired smile to her bloodied lips. Yellow and black fabric.

“Hien!” 

– 

Aye. The prince himself, his blade keeping Lani’s ax at bay in a burst of sparks and hissing metal. With a slick twist of his wrist the katana threw aside the woman’s ax, it’s heft dragging in the sands at her feet. 

“Are you well enough to stand?” Hien’s voice, normally soft and cheerful, was low and short. Anger ripped his vocals. It took his whole being to keep from snarling at the ax wielding woman. He had only seen Kirishimi defeated once during his time with her. In the arms of another, being spirited away to far away lands. He swore it would be the last time she suffered so. 

Kirishimi did not reply however. Instead, granted this small opening against Lani, the dragoon took to the sky. Her lance was sure to break but this fighting needed to end. She was desperate for answers. Why Lani and Edea felt compelled to single her out, to attack so unannounced but with such determination. Answers that only Lani could give her. 

“Kirishimi!” The voice of the au ra called against drumming thunder. 

In a blink of an eye, with her target in sight, Kirishimi no longer felt the pin prick sensation of rain pelting her skin. Instead her body suddenly chilled, encased in layers of ice. Sizzling magic rolled from each newly formed layer of ice. Kirishimi need not turn her eyes to know where the magic had originated from. Edea had turned her focus from Isho long enough to stop the Dragoon. 

Like a wingless bird, she plummeted. 

Shards of ice sparkled like diamonds around her as she crashed to the sand. Her vision blurred, a burning white sensation filling her mind as bones snapped from the height and force of the fall. 

“Kiri!” Hien pitched himself forward, his feet moving before he could realize what had happened. 

“She even has the prince of Doma at her beck and call.” Scoffed the woman, heaving her giant ax to its rightful place on her back. “What a disgrace.” 

Isho had reached the Warrior of Lights side well before Hien could, causing the prince to take pause and listen to the woman mock his dragoon. He half turned toward her, brows furrowed and eyes ablaze. 

Lani barked with laughter at the sight. “Don’t give me that pathetic look! If I were a betting woman, I’d wager you haven’t a clue who you invite into your bed at night. Kirishimi? The Warrior of Light? Champion? Kilika? My, she has an awful lot of names. Wonder which is truly hers. Which do you see when you look at her? All I see is a rabid animal that needs to be put down.” 

Anger burned the samurai’s heart. A flame that raced through his veins and clouded his mind. 

“… If you won’t permit me to slay her now, then yer just standin’ in my way.” 

It happened in a blink of an eye. Hien had prided himself in fast reflexes, even his talent for the sword came almost naturally to him. But in that mere heartbeat of a moment, all he could manage was his blade against Lani’s withdrawing arm. Her arm which had buried a knife in his abdomen. 

How had she moved in such ways? Like lightning on her feet she struck without remorse. An arch of blood fell from her arm where his blade caught flesh but little more. A paper cut compared to the knife hilt deep in his gut. She had even broken through his chest piece. The carapace of a beetle broken beneath the force of a heel. Blood blossomed in the white fur of his robes and welled in his hand. 

Lani, nursing her now sliced wrist, scowled at the dazed prince. “You can keep that for now. I’ll be back for it another time.” 

His vision blurred. The rain blotted out the fleeting visage of this warrior woman. He could feel his lungs fill with salty air. A slow, exhausting task that left him feeling numb. Who was that woman? His knees buckled beneath him, his body crumpling into the sand. Why did she look like Kirishimi? Faintly he could still hear her voice. The day dream that plagued him and visited his deepest dreams. She called him now, a song that was drowning in the pouring rain and sloshing tide. 

“Hien! By the Twelve, Hien!” 

“Kirishimi, stop moving!” 

“No! Lemme go, Isho! Hien!!” 

“You’ll puncture your gods-dammed lung, you fool woman!” 

“HIEN!” 

Hands, shaking and frail, cupped his cheeks. For a moment he felt warmth, the blood of hers smearing like paint beneath her fingertips. Through hooded, bleary eyes he could make her out against the rolling grays of the stormy sky. Crimson painted her lips and coated her cheeks. But all he could focus on was the color of her eyes. Red like fire, blue like ice. Oh and that intoxicating aroma. 

“…Vanilla and cinnamon.” 

“Hien! Please, you have’ta stay awake! Listen to me, talk to me, tell me a stupid story! Anythin’ at all!! I swear, I’ll have everyone in Doma call you Shun if you don’t keep yer eyes open!!” 

At this, the prince groaned, coughing on rain. A slight smile on his lips. “How… embarrassing that would be…” His eyes fluttered with exhaustion, though he longed to keep admiring the woman hovering over him. “All will be well…” 

Kirishimi’s voice hitched with a hiccup, a shudder racking her body. “Well?! It is not well! You are not okay, Hien! We need to get you out of here!! Isho!! Can you carry-” 

“Shh…” With what little energy was left to him, Hien raised a hand and waved it off. “Let me… Let me just enjoy this beautiful goddess the kami have blessed me with. If only a moment?” 

“Do either of you have any idea how poorly this will reflect on The Scions?” Isho interjected, busy directing a sudden swarm of pirates and shinobi. “We practically murdered a prince.” 

“Isho!” Kirishimi snarled. She lowered her head, lightly touching her forehead to Hien’s. “Hien, hang on… I’m beggin’ you.” 

“Mmm…. Only if the goddess commands it of the prince.” Try as he might to will his eyes open, he found himself too tired to manage. Again his eyes fluttered, briefly catching a glimpse of Kirishimi’s burdened expression. Tears and blood leaving streaks across her cheeks. 

“Of course I command you to stay. Remain in the world of mortals with me.” She hiccuped a response, playing into this silly idea of his. 

But her words brought a smile to his lips. Small, but warm. She loved when he smiled. “I will remain at your side always… My moon and stars.” 

Somewhere behind Kirishimi he could hear Isho snort in disgust. “You sound as foolish as Magnai. Both of you.” 

#|| Untold Stories #|| Mognet #ask||answered #drabble #mmm i suck #this is hot garbage but idc #i'm glad just to be writing again #IS A LONG SHITTY DRABBLE FOLKS #my apologies #but Hien and Kiri are so precious together #just kiss already you toads #LET'S PLAY A GAME OF WHO CAN FIND ALL MY FINAL FANTASY REFERENCES #and a single Chrono Trigger reference #GO #bahaha #tw: blood

[snowfall-fanfictions]

Tangled in Frozen Week day 5- Life After Happily Ever After

My final submission for @showurselfelsa‘s Tangled in Frozen Week! Big thanks to her for the inspiration this week! This one’s a tear jerker, folks. Fair warning

She could feel it everywhere; her bones ached, her pace slowed, her face showing the effects of age. She knew her time was short. Anna had seen one too many funerals in her life. Elsa’s was the first, followed shortly by Kristoff’s. Freya was still there, looking much like her mother all those years ago, along with her husband Jakob and their son Alec. Markus, the crown prince, was home from his studies to help take care of his mother. The boy reminded Anna of her Kristoff, his warm brown eyes filling her heart with love. But even then, everything still ached.

It was a bright and sunny day in March, like those long past. Anna looked out of the window of her study with a kind grin on her face. In the castle courtyard, children were whooping and playing to their hearts’ content. It reminded her of the days Freya and Jakob would do the same thing with the village children all those years ago. A rapid and light knock stirred her from her memories.

“Come in,” she said weakly. Freya emerged from behind the door, dressed in a flowing green dress and hair in a copper bun. “Oh, sunflower! What brings you here?”

“Everything’s ready, mama,” Freya said, “Ready to go?”

Anna let out a small sigh, “I was born ready.” Freya let out a small chuckle as she walked over to her mother, taking her hands in hers. Anna followed Freya through the castle, taking it all in one last time. For years she had only seen this place as a prison, and her its only inmate. After the Great Thaw, the return of the Fifth Spirit, her marriage to Kristoff and the wonderful family they raised together, the castle felt like a true home. And now, Anna was leaving it once and for all.

At the stables, Jakob, Alec, and Markus were readying a small wagon, big enough to fit all five of them comfortably. Jakob helped his mother in law into the passenger’s side as he took up the reins of the white horse in the lead. As soon as they were all situated in the wagon, Jakob snapped the reins and the horse trotted forward. All throughout the streets, people applauded as the wagon passed by, saying their final goodbyes to the elderly queen. Everyone knew that once Anna went up North, she would never return.

With the industrialization of Arendelle, roads became more modern, allowing a trip to the Northuldra to take mere hours, rather than a few days. The family reached the edge of the enchanted forest by nightfall, as they were greeted by an elderly Honeymaren, now chief of the People of the Sun. In her advanced years, she came to resemble Yelena, with her once brown hair turned snowy white and her skin wrinkled from the erosion of time. Anna greeted her old friend with a warm hug.

“So, it’s finally time,” the Northuldran woman said, “The Spirits were eagerly awaiting this day, you know.”

“I bet they were,” Anna chuckled, “It’s not everyday they get someone new into their circle.”

Just then, a small purple fire danced atop one of the trees before landing on top of Markus’s head. Bruni quickly doused his fire, patting his small feet in the man’s blonde hair. Markus delicately raised his hand up to his head as Bruni leaped into his open palm. Ever since Markus was first brought here as an infant, he and Bruni shared a deep connection with one another, and the two became the best of friends. Elsa would even bring Bruni whenever she visited, allowing the two of them to cause a heap of mischief together.

“I missed you too, Bruni,” Markus said as he rubbed his finger on the salamander’s back. Bruni let out a pleased squeak as Jakob and Alec were greeted by swirling leaves all around them.

“Hi, Gale!” Alec said as she playfully puffed out his shirt. Alec loved the forest as much as his uncle, asking to go whenever the opportunity arose. There was something about magic that intrigued the boy from a young age. The same couldn’t be said about his father, Jakob. Ever since he started courting Freya, he had only met Elsa on the occasion that she visited the castle, and each time was… awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t outright mistrust, but something about her magic powers didn’t sit right with him.

“Uh, y-yes. Hello, mysterious sentient gust of wind…” Jakob said as she swirled around him. 

“It’s alright, Jakob, she won’t bite you,” Honeymaren reassured, “She doesn’t even have teeth.”

Jakob nervously giggled at the Northuldran’s joke as Gale moved onto Freya and Anna. 

“Where’s the Nokk?” Freya asked as she looked over to the stream.

“The North Sea, where else would he be?” Honeymaren let out an incredibly loud whistle as a reindeer approached her. It knelt down low as Honeymaren climbed on its back, “I’ll take you to him.” The five Arendellians returned to their wagon and proceeded to follow the Northuldran leader through the forests and streams until they were on the black seashores of the North Sea. From the foamy waves crashing on the shore, the Nokk appeared before them, trotting over to Anna. The queen placed a wrinkled hand on the Water Spirit’s head as she climbed out of the wagon. Off in the distance, the faint glow of Atohallan was visible, moved closer by Elsa after she took up residence there. Anna walked up to the shore, followed by her family.

“So,” Freya said as tears pricked the corners of her eyes, “I guess this is it, then…”

Anna gave her daughter a great squeeze as Freya lightly sobbed, “It’s alright, baby. I know it hurts, but remember, love is forever.”

Markus, Alec, and Jakob came over to say their goodbyes, tears flowing down their faces. Anna hugged each one of them before climbing onto the Nokk’s back. The water horse galloped across the sea towards the glacier, leaving Anna’s family a small speck on the shoreline. Upon reaching Atohallan, the Nokk dissipated into the waves, leaving Anna alone.

“Okay, Elsa,” Anna said, taking a few steps forward, “Past the symbols, down the ramp, and into the chamber, just like you said.” With that, Anna proceeded through the small entryway into the glacier.

In the years since Elsa moved up here, she had taken great lengths to turn Atohallan into a proper living space. She used her magic to build familiar sights; her old bedroom, the dining hall, she even made a replica of her study. All of this she even made accessible to Anna and her family. Elsa was Ahtohallan incarnate, so it made sense that she could do all of this. Anna slowly walked through Atohallan’s halls, down a rather large ramp, only to be greeted by a room of pure darkness. Stepping into it, vivid lights began dancing around her, taking the various shapes of the Spirits. The lights convened in the middle of the room, forming a massive snowflake on the ground. As Anna stepped towards it, the lights jumped again, this time forming into the shape of Elsa in her younger years.

“Anna!” Elsa’s spirit exclaimed, extending her arms out.

“Elsa…” Anna muttered, dashing forward before her old age forced her to casually trot.

“Not as athletic as you used to be, hm?”

“I’m old! What did you expect, you dork?” The two of them began laughing as Elsa’s spirit stepped forward, taking Anna’s hands in her own.

“How did Freya take the news?”

“There were some tears shed, but she understood. It was explaining it to Alec that was the difficult part.”

“Well, it’s not everyday someone’s grandmother becomes an honorary spirit, now is it?”

Anna grinned at her sister’s apparition, “Right as always, dear sister.”

Elsa let go of her sister’s hands as she conjured up some magic. “Ready for life after happily ever after?”

“More than ever! Now, do the magic.” Elsa shot a blast of magic up to the ceiling, surrounding Anna in a shroud of light. In a matter of seconds, Anna felt lighter as the breath left her body. Once the lights had vanished, the room lit up with various memories of events long past. Looking down at the floor, Anna was taken aback. It appeared as if she hadn’t aged since she destroyed the dam! She shot a look up to Elsa, only to be surprised yet again. Kristoff, Sven, and Olaf were standing right next to her, each with the biggest grins on their faces. Anna felt tears stream down her face as she ran to them, arms extended as they embraced each other.

Life may be short, but love is forever.

#tangledinfrozenweek #kristoff #anna #original characters #honeymaren #bruni #nokk #gale #frozen 2 #post frozen 2 #queen anna #life after happily ever after

[lailannajacobs]

A God’s Plan and A Mortal’s Free Will (Handmade Thieves pt. VII)

Pairing: Loki X Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader unwittingly finds her way onto Asgard and has to deal with all the attention that follows being a mortal in the extravagant realm. To his surprise, Loki finds himself having just as much trouble if not more than reader in dealing with it. 

Warnings: None! 

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hey everyone!! So this part’s a little different from the rest of the chapters, had to edit it a ton to get it to something I liked, so let me know what you think! I’d love to hear it, hope you enjoy!! Happy reading! <3

Previously

You stopped him by grabbing his forearm and stared at him in disbelief, “You’re worried about people looking at me funny? Are you serious right now? What the hell is wrong with you Loki? Did you not just hear what your father said to me about you?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, not that it looked like he was going to judging by the slow blink he gave you in response. “Do you not care how he treats you? I don’t care that you’re probably plotting some way of getting him back, how could you just stand there and take it?”

He only watched your outburst with vacant eyes as if he wasn’t even listening. Out of breath and annoyed with him and his stupid, royal ass, you spun on your heel and stomped off, ready to be as far away from the throne room as was possible in your stupid prison.

Part Seven: 

Loki shivered at the sound of his name on her lips. He couldn’t know for sure how long he had been waiting to hear it, but the longer she called him “prince” or “wolf," the more curious he became. It had caught him by surprise, in the middle of her rant like that, sounding in some way different to the countless other times he had heard it on Asgard, but he couldn’t pin point why. Something about her being a Midgardian, he supposed.

She kept ranting on and on, hands clenched at her side the same way they were every time she was trying to tame her anger, but it was difficult to know what she was going off about since he had missed the beginning of what she was saying, too caught up in the sound of his own name.

He wanted her to say it again — only out of professional curiosity of course — but the word “prince” broke through his trance and he knew he wouldn’t hear it again for a long time now, if ever. Whatever had made her slip up in that moment was long gone. It was probably for the best. Loki didn’t appreciate feeling so out of focus, caught up in alien thoughts and feelings. If he wanted to keep her alive to help him get out of the mess he was planning, he was going to need to stay alert and three steps ahead of everyone else. He couldn’t do that if he was preoccupied with banal thoughts.

Loki knew she would hate the plan he had in mind but knew she would agree to it because she wanted her freedom more than anything else. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that her freedom was his most valuable bargaining chip. He figured, short of regicide, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t agree to — no matter how begrudgingly — if he guaranteed her freedom. And the freedom of one Midgardian was worth the price of what he had in mind.

If he had any doubts about her ability to play her part in his plan, they had vanished the moment she stood up for him in the throne room. Anyone that mortal who could stand up to Odin and essentially threaten him was either stupid or incredibly brave. And Loki would not have let her out of the dungeon if he had thought she was stupid. After all, she couldn’t have become one of the most infamous thieves by being dumb.

But it hadn’t been her bravery that had surprised him the most. It had been the fact that she had stood up for him, even if he was pretty sure she’d stab him if given the right opportunity. Loki hadn’t been too sure what to make of it, but quickly decided that the only reason acted the way she had was to get some form of revenge on Odin. He understood that all too well. What he didn’t understand was having someone other than his mother, and occasionally Thor, defend him. Which is why it hadn’t taken him long to come to the conclusion that he had just been a means to an end for her to get what she wanted — another thing he understood quite well.

When she turned around and stopped, clearly surprised he wasn’t two steps behind her, Loki realized he had been so lost in his own mind that he had stopped moving all together.

“I’ve found that ignoring him helps.” He offered vaguely, knowing he had to say something at least somewhat related to the rant she had started if he wanted to cover up the fact that he had let his guard down and hadn’t been listening.

In a few quick strides, he caught up and she spun around on her heel like she was grounding an insect into the marble floor. He wondered if she believed she was any good at hiding her anger. Despite how difficult he found it to read her thoughts and emotions most of the time, her anger radiated like a neon sign. And at the moment, it was a massive, colour-changing, flashy sign.

He felt himself smile. Her anger made things much more interesting. And much more fun.  After what he had just gotten away with, he was looking for a way to celebrate his small victory. Annoying her seemed as amusing as any way to do it. Though if Loki was being honest with himself, he would have realized he was also looking for a way to take his mind off of his father for a short while.

“Yeah well, ignoring him would be a lot easier if he stopped summoning me to the throne room like a circus monkey.” She snarled, her stomping echoing down the empty hallway.

“Maybe if you stopped threatening to undress in front of the guards and everyone else in the palace, it wouldn’t happen so often.” He growled back, unable to hold back the wave of anger washing over him.

She stopped, put a hand on her hip, head angled to the side, “It was one time. One time. And it wasn’t like I actually got undressed. And why should I have to explain myself to you anyways? I’m a grown woman capable of making her own damn decisions.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself Midgardian, but I am curious to know what the hell went through your mind.” His voice was low and gruff in the back of his throat, coming from somewhere deep within him.

“If you must know Wolf,” She took a step forward onto her toes so that she came as close to eye level as she could get, “I was a little desperate to get out of that cloth trap.”

“If you were that desperate for relief Midgardian, you should have come to me.” Loki clicked his tongue, punctuating his sentence with an arrogant smirk in an attempt to remind himself that he didn’t actually care what she had done.

She glared at him, taking the bait he had been hoping would rile her up even more, “Not that we’re talking about the same thing, but I tried that remember? You told me to leave you alone because it was too early in the morning.”

“I seem to recall asking you to come in. We could have gotten you out of that trap quite easily. Dresses are much easier to take off with a second person involved.”

She shook her head incredulously. Loki let his eyes wander down the length of the dress, that in no way suited her, and could tell he was doing an exceptional job at pissing her off by the way her breathing became slightly uneven. He couldn’t help but think that if she had come to him with the threat of getting undressed, she would have definitely been going in the wrong direction to scare him off.

Widening his grin, he solidified his veneer so that she couldn’t tell that his mind had gone down a path he knew was far too dangerous. But even so, he couldn’t help voicing some of those thoughts, only because he knew how much it would annoy her.

Dipping his head so that he was practically touching her ear with his lips, he purred, “I could have found something else for you to wear of course. I have many shirts that would fit you quite nicely.”

She bristled and backed down, jaw tight and fist clenched at her side, eyes blazing. It was hard to believe that getting a reaction out of her was this easy.

“You’re an insufferable prick.” She huffed.

“I’ve been called worse. And by you I believe.” Loki winked and righted the fallen strap from her shoulder, her skin warm beneath his fingers.

She swatted his hand away, but he could tell by how hard she hit him that she would have rather rammed one of her daggers clean through his hand instead. “I don’t doubt that. Now. Give me back my clothes.”

“They’re this way.” He motioned for her to follow and set a leisurely pace he knew would drive her crazy. He wasn’t the one stuck in an uncomfortable dress. He had nowhere to be.

She didn’t say anything else and he didn’t realize just how much he had been craving a moment to breathe after what had happened in the throne room. He tried to push it out of his mind and let it go, especially the part about the Midgardian threatening nudity, which, for some annoying reason, seemed to keep pestering him. Loki chalked it up to the fact that he had never been very good at letting things go. Whatever seemed to get to him had a bad habit of festering, and that wasn’t something he could afford to let happen now. Not with what he had planned. And not concerning something that shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place.

Loki knew he could have easily conjured her clothing, but she seemed to have forgotten that it was something he could do. It was strange to him to be looked at, for lack of a better word, like a normal human. He knew he’d be fooling himself if he thought she hadn’t heard the rumours about him, but she looked at him with such unrestrained frustration in her eyes that he was pretty sure she didn’t care who he was or what he had been rumoured to do as long as she got to break his nose before the day was done. It seemed to him that she was the kind of person who would stab anyone who pissed her off, regardless of who they were and what they had done. He respected that. And if he was being honest with himself, Loki might have even admitted that he found the thought comforting. When he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see a menace staring back at him, which surprised him even more after having donned the cruelest and most detached mask he had when they were in the throne room. He knew she had seen it. He had felt her stiffen beside him.

For a moment, Loki thought maybe her indifference was what had made him let her out of the dungeon, but he knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He had done it because he needed a contingency plan, and she was the best way to piss Odin off simultaneously.

Realizing that, once again, he had slowed from being lost in thought, he took in the back of that frayed violet dress and smirked. He hadn’t thought by taking her clothes the night before that she would have resorted to taking her anger out on the dress itself. He found the thought quite amusing until the solution to her plan and who she had done her little act of rebellion with snaked its way back into his mind.

He could feel himself spiraling into a whirlpool of irritation and something else he couldn’t name until she spoke up, pulling him out before he could reach the deepest end of that spiral.

“Pardon?” He asked, the world ebbing away from the darkness and back into focus.

“I asked where your brother was.” He could tell her anger had diminished during their walk and was now replaced by curiosity, which he liked much, much less.

He slid a wary glance at her, “Which brother?”

She raised a brow, “Do you have more than one brother?”

“No.” He grunted, feeling himself getting sucked back down into that dangerous, dark pool, “I don’t have any at all.”

“The Almighty Thor. What does that make him?”

He inhaled sharply, trying to keep his anger in check. “Adopted brother.”

“Still makes him your brother,” she pointed out casually, not balking at the glare he couldn’t help but send her way. He should have known that Thor, being Thor, would find a way to become her center of curiosity, even millions of miles away.

“So where is he then?”

Loki couldn’t help the disgust in his voice when he sneered, “Probably off trying to save some poor hapless realm.”

“And why aren’t you doing the same?” She looked up at him as they walked, no judgement on her face that he could see, only genuine curiosity.

It wasn’t the look he had been expecting to see so instead of leering the words like he had intended, he practically sputtered, “Because I don’t feel the need to pretend to be a hero.”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice and rolled her eyes, “Sure you don’t.”

He racked his brain for something to say to get her on the defensive. He didn’t know what to do when she looked at him in that unnerving, distracting way of hers, as if she actually wanted to know what was inside of him. Her questions had caught him off guard and had rattled him enough that he was a loss for words. It wasn’t something he was used to. Not at all.

Loki decided to keep silent and focused on steadying his breathing, trying not to think too hard about what she meant. The Midgardian had no idea what she was talking about and he needed to remember that. She didn’t know him or anything about him, no matter how often she looked at him as if she could see beneath his protective mask.

“That was sarcasm you know.” She informed when he didn’t speak up.

“I know what sarcasm is. I’m no stranger to it.” He said indignantly, cursing himself once again for sounding anything other than calm and slightly bored.

She raised a brow, “Then what’s with the weird look on your face?”

“Disbelief that you would believe that I, of all people, wouldn’t know what sarcasm is.” He recovered, picking up the pace so that she would have to work to keep up with his long strides.

“Okay…” She rolled out the word as if it wasn’t what she wanted to say but didn’t want to press the matter any further.

Loki almost sighed with relief.

“Where are we? And how far away are my clothes?” She looked around the plain hallway, busy with maids, cooks and other members of the palace staff.

“Still in the palace. And not far. Though I’m not taking you to them just yet,”

Skidding to a stop, she went to reach for something in her boot but paused with a clenched fist halfway through the motion, glaring at him instead from her half-bent position. If he had to guess, he would have said that she just remembered that she no longer had any of her weapons and wasn’t too pleased about it. That neon sign was getting brighter by the second.

He grinned.

Taking those daggers away was probably the smartest thing he could have done for his personal safety. Not that she posed much of a threat but was still a threat all the same. Despite how tempting it had been to set her lose on all the incompetent socialites for pure entertainment alone, he knew doing so would have interfered with his plans. Even if it would have made his days more interesting to watch her pull a knife on everyone who insulted her.

“Where are you taking me exactly?” She demanded, then recoiled as she asked, “Not another party?”

He gestured to her gown. “Looking like that? Absolutely not.”

She glowered, seeming more than a little fed up about the comments regarding her looks. It made him want to smile.

“If not a party then where Wolf?” Her words came out more like an exasperated sigh than a question.

“You’ll see.” He danced around the answer knowing the longer he did so, the more riled up she would become.

“Do you need really need to be so cryptic?”

“Yes.”

She stopped and gripped his arm, nails digging into the sleeve of his tunic. He paused, focused only on the pressure of her fingers on his arm until her words shook him from his trance. “Remind me to stab you when I get my knives back. Please Wolf. Please remind me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind Midgardian, not that I think you need reminding.” He chuckled, pleased with himself that he had managed to get that look on her face using only a few words and a knowing grin. “But speaking of your knives, we never did set the terms for our little agreement.”

A wary look crossed her face, “What did you have in mind.”

“Nothing horrifying.” He replied disinterestedly, though he had really said it to wipe that look off her face. It was a look that was too close to fear, and though he had never seen her afraid when she looked at him — even the first time she had realized who he was — he didn’t want to see anything even remotely similar there. Fear turned to resentment, and he told himself that the reason he couldn’t have her truly hate him was because he still needed her to properly execute his plan. It was the only reason, he convinced himself. The only reason.

“I wasn’t worried,” she ground out and sized him up in a way that shouldn’t have made him want to let out a breath of relief, “But with that look on your face you can understand why I would be…concerned.”

He cocked his head, “What look?”

“Like a kid that just put a thumb tack on their professor’s chair.” She said, gesturing vaguely at his face. “The wide, Cheshire Cat grin that seems to make the corners of your eyes crinkle and the way those eyes light up like someone set fire to the Emerald City? You know, that look? The trickster look.”

Loki took a moment to mull over her words and decided to focus on the first part of what she said; the part he actually understood, “I can’t say I’ve ever done such a thing.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. “I’m sure that’s only because you’ve done so much worse.”

He chuckled, thinking back to particularly clever trick he had done when he was eight involving Thor and a snake. “It was all in good fun Midgardian.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“It was to me.”

She scoffed.

He grinned.

She squinted at him for a second longer as if wanting to decide that he really wasn’t up to no good then rolled her eyes to the sky in defeat before stalking off, “So, you were saying, terms?”

“Ah, yes. Terms. I believe yours favoured you far too much.”

“And yours won’t do the same for you?” He could hear her steps getting heavier and heavier, pounding into the ground as if it was the one driving her irritation.

He practically flounced beside her, “I can assure you, mine will be fair.”

“You know Wolf, it’s funny, but I don’t trust a word you say.”

Loki forced to keep the smile on his face and further leaned back into the arrogant swagger he had already been laying on thick. He didn’t quite understand why her words bothered him when he knew that he wasn’t trustworthy to begin with. He had come to terms with the fact that that was who he was. That she agreed to the fact shouldn’t have bothered him.

“Normally, you’d be right no to Midgardian, but there is no reason for this little game of ours not to be fair. Reminding you that I can win even when fighting fair will be so much more satisfying.”

Her lips were drawn in a tight angry line but still she looked at him as if she was trying to look past the facade and into his soul. Her body was motionless, like a hunter watching her prey, waiting for the moment he would slip up. The longer her scrutinizing gaze tried to dissect him, the more unnerved he felt. But he didn’t look away. Loki was never one to look away first. He fought the urge to shift his weight and did his best to appear as calm as possible.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he somehow managed to lift a brow and drawl, “What? No witty retort Midgardian?”

With one last, long look at him she shook her head and kept walking. “Tell me the terms Wolf.”

He let out a small, barely audible sigh to relieve some of the pressure building inside his chest and reminded himself that he could have easily kept walking despite the fact that she had stopped. He had no idea why he felt the need to stop every time she did.

Loki decided the terms to their agreement really would be fair. He didn’t know why he had initially said they would be, it wasn’t like him, but he couldn’t back down now. Maybe he had always wanted a fair fight and realized that he had always been looking in the wrong place to find it. Maybe, for the first time he didn’t want to use his own tricks and follow his own rules because he didn’t want to be unfair to his opponent. No, he thought, it had to be the former.

“I will give you one of your daggers back whenever you correctly guess one of my illusions.” He began to explain, “As long as you don’t use them on me afterwards of course.”

“Can’t promise you anything Wolf.” She grinned, seemingly genuinely amused by the thought of his pain.”

He couldn’t help but get drawn in by her brutal honesty and the smile that lit up her face and found himself doing the same. And when she said, “But you still haven’t told me the catch to your terms yet prince” he couldn’t help but think that maybe she wouldn’t make it as easy as he first thought it would be.

“You’ll have thirty seconds to guess that I’m not truly standing before you if you want one of your daggers. And,” He emphasized the word with a raised finger before she could protest, “Every time you guess wrong, you have to make up for it with another right answer. Only then can you get your precious dagger back. Call it a precaution against you guessing that I’m an illusion every time you see me. Understand, it simply wouldn’t be any fun if you did.”

She let out a sharp breath and crossed her arms, “And you think that’s fair.”

“My life is in danger if you get one back,” He shrugged, though his words weren’t quite true.

She shot him an unimpressed look. “You seem terrified.”

“I’m trembling right now, can’t you tell?” His mocking words broke the scowl on her face, and he noticed the corners of her lips begrudgingly turn up.

“Are you now?”

He nodded, “I am. I can’t barely stand I’m so terrified of the infamous Midgardian and her deadly skills with a blade.”

“Sure, you are,” she laughed, starting to play along, “Is that a slight tremor I hear in your voice?”

He was about to answer but stopped, struck by the look she had on her face. It was one he had rarely seen and didn’t recognize it until it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“What?” Her brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to realize he’d been staring at her smile. He had only seen the one time when she had torn off the bottom half of her dress and hadn’t realized he had been watching.

He extended his hand, hoping to blow past his small lapse in judgement by getting back to the matter at hand.

“I’m only giving you the time to consider the terms, that’s all. What do you say Midgardian?”

She looked down at his hand with pursed lips and reluctance in her eyes. He couldn’t help but think that she looked at it the same way he had looked at the vegetables on his plate as a child, knowing they were a terrible means to a delicious dessert. Recognizing that look, he no longer doubted that she wouldn’t agree to play along with him. Because if that was, in fact, the same look…well Loki had always gotten dessert.

She sighed, “I don’t have any other options, do I?”

“No.”

“And I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, “Most likely.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess that settles it then.”

Her hand stayed at her side and she kept staring at his as if it was the only way to persuade her own hand to move.

He raised a brow, not that she could see it she was so focused on his hand and the two-foot gap between their bodies. “Any day now Midgaridan.”

Her eyes lifted to look up at him through her lashes, eyes sparked with irritation. She clenched and unclenched her jaw, then forced her hand to meet his, moving quickly as if afraid she would change her mind.

“Fine. We have a deal, Wolf.” She squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary, “If I guess right within thirty seconds, without having guessed wrong before, you give me back a dagger.”

“Agreed.”

“Okay then.”

She was about to let go but he held on, easily keeping her hand captive in his large one, “Just so you know, I would have agreed to a minute instead to thirty seconds.”

Her nostrils flared, and probably for the millionth time since he met her, she looked like she was about to hit him. It was probably the reason why he shot her the kind of grin he assumed was the reason she kept calling him Wolf.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #MCU fic #MCU fanfiction #loki x reader #reader interactive #fem reader #fan fiction #fanfic

[blankdblank]

Lawless

… there is drama, mentions of war, a physical altercation, and it gets emotional, but there’s some humor and fluff :D

“He thinks he’s a mind reader.”  

“He’s a bad kisser.”

“That wasn’t very subtle.”

“And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

…

The world was in flames, and all there was to do was follow your orders. Men were off to war, women off to forge more weapons and armor for those men, and just where were you? Well, you were 7, so for some Manwe forsaken reason you were being sent off to some Numenorean territory named Rivendell.

One of the thousands of Teleri children, well, half in your case, you could have gone to your cousin’s in Lothlorien. It looked so lovely on the post cards, and yet you were off to some pompous prick of a godfather, who nominated himself for the task simply by bribing one of the nurses in the hospital to let him sign on that line after ‘arriving late’ to your birth. Centuries he had tried to weasel into your family line, and now with you what he had expected to bring riches brought only another mouth to feed, an opinionated one at that.

The war seemed endless and your hopes at the handful of braincell wielding Elf in your charge having a clue as to take care of you would soon wither and die, right before dramatically spontaneously combusting of course, because your life seems to do nothing in halves. If you’re meant to be miserable the world would see to it you were the worst off person in it, and it rarely wished for you to be anything but it seemed.

.

Deeply your dark brows knit as you sat cross armed in the back of your driver manned car for the lonely drive to your school, your gaze cast down at the pastel orange socks tucked up to your knees under a plaid pastel orange and black skirt matching your socks. A matching blouse was topped with a plaid tie matching your skirt under your black crest bearing sweater with sleeves ended with pastel orange fringe you wanted to cut off. Following the strict hair requirements your white golden shimmering curls were tucked back in a long braid topped and ended with matching orange bows. You weren’t mad at the style, it was quite comfy, the irritation however was with the fact that along with the other upturned children you had been assigned your own color. Rank was everything, and each was sorted by color, orange being the lowest.

Already you had been assigned a new name, as part of the terms of your rehousing you had to abandon your birth names and accept Middle Earth focused names. Honestly you couldn’t have imagined how much harder this would have been had you not, Snowflake, that was what Nieninque meant, and now Jaqiearae Pear, the first name meaning jackrabbit, the equivalent of Bunny in Hobbitish, a ‘cute’ name your mother loved. So here you sat an angry bunny waiting with your arms wrapped around your permitted black satchel.

The city you had been dropped into you had grown far too irritated to cast your silver flecked purple eyes out onto the streets in your focus to just get through the day. The white marble building soon became everything visible through the car window. The door parting you was opened by the aid outside and the expecting grin dropped when the color of your uniform was realized. Out you climbed and joined the flock of other orange clad students in the sea of sea foam and coral clad students around the few royal blue and silver for the few children of Nobles in the mix. To each of the rehomed students the rules were made clear, boundaries had to be set and it was made clear that no exceptions would be made.

But clearly rules are made to be broken, or completely ignored. Two weeks now you had watched the new blonde Noble boy who had taken the desk, books, supplies and even games and in his move to grab your assigned pair of scissors for your upcoming crafts project you would have to pair up for. A hidden swat from the teacher’s view brought the boy’s icy blue eyes to land on you as you whispered, “There are rules, and so far you’ve broken all of them. That is your cubby, Mr Lawless.”

Taking the supply filled small woven tote you carried to your desk in the start of your class. The desk on your right however was taken, not by the usual sea foam clad girl but the blonde boy with his own woven tote set on the desk and bag hung on his hook on the side of your joined desks. Leaning over in the situating of pages in the teacher’s hands he said, “You should tell me the other rules I’ve missed.” At that, had you been the hero of your own tale, your nemesis had been born. The cocky self assured boy now mimicked your every move taking notes on all the rules you recited and said he would share them with all the other Nobles who were also unaware of them.

All day he did that, in each class you shared he clung to your side rubbing in the vast difference between your ranks all the way until his flag bearing car picked him up at the end of the day while you sat outside waiting for your own car to arrive under the watch of the put off aid tasked to do so. Nearly an hour you waited until finally the driver rushed out apologizing from a new car explaining that the Lord had taken the other and this one needed to have the tires aired up and the tank refilled, by the time he had gotten you inside the aid had left more frustrated at his saying anything at all.

And off to the large home you went to quietly take your place in your room in the house keeper’s quarters to keep from annoying the Lord who loved frequent parties, of which he was throwing one now. Alone while the servants tended to him and his guests you fixed yourself a grilled cheese and a can of ravioli you cleaned up after then went to your room to try and sleep hoping the blonde would leave you alone. Though hopes were soon dashed as for the next 53 years of your school lives his game wouldn’t stop, pick up in fact and change your entire life.

***

Times were hard all around, and even the Great Greenwood had taken their own place in the war, meaning the King Oropher had to be traveling often. In his absence to ensure the safety of his Wife and Son they were sent to the protective watch of Lord Elrond in Rivendell for possibly a year at the longest until things calmed down. Weeks now he had mingled with the familiar faces from family events and tried to figure out what exactly to do. Past the obvious basic task they were meant to achieve nothing had been shared not even where he was meant to sit, at least not till today.

Giddily in his ride home he grinned looking over his notes and couldn’t wait until he could get back to school again to share all he’d learned with his family friends. Into the lavish apartment he skipped and left his bag at the table and climbed up onto a stool beside his mother to claim a tight hug making her giggle and ask, “Enjoy your day at school, Little Bud?”

Bright eyed he answered, “I made a new friend today! There’s a whole bunch of rules I didn’t even know about, but she started to tell me and I’ve got them all written down. I could have gotten in a lot of trouble. But I won’t now, thanks to my new friend.”

Sweetly she kissed his forehead and said, “That is good to hear.”

“Like Ada says, ‘No one is above the law, not even the King himself.’ Good I learned now. What example would that set?”

“What else did you learn about your new friend?”

“She is excellent at sketching and smells like green apples!” Making her chuckle again and guide him on helping to fix up a snack while a pair of cooks made the full dinner for the pair of them.

**

…

Two more months and you tolerated the clingy Prince and his gaggle of Nobles all stirring up disbelieving stares from the teachers at the refugee who had weaseled into their circle far above your station. Yet in your thriving place in classes rising to the top along side the Prince claiming your partner role each time applicable leading to today, a quartet of poem projects you all had written were to be chosen for presenting in an upcoming show for the students attending showcasing the best from each grade.

Outside the Headmaster’s office you sat listening to the Prince boasting on and on about how his father had come to town and would be here for the show. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall and instantly your forced grin dropped and you hopped up to your feet from the bench only to nearly go flying at the harsh slap across your face. Open mouthed Thranduil watched the Lord Q grip you by the braid tugging your head back painfully making his fist clench. “What have you done now, little Tol cretin?!”

A hard blow to his groin had the Lord release your hair to grip himself and drop to his knees while the woman behind the counter called for security, who came rushing around the corner. In his lunge for the Prince he was raised from the ground and thrown into the wall and bound after as Thranduil crouched beside you with a tissue he pulled from the pack in his bag he used to help blot the stream of blood from the cut on your cheek from his jeweled ring. Timidly you looked him over and sat quietly while the Lord was arrested and the King and Queen arrived to hear the whole thing. The more the staff looked at you condescendingly with constant mentions of the differing of class even as children it was made clear that the school was clear the Prince had a valid reason and in the middle of their try to blame the whole thing on you was severed by Thranduil’s crying out that you were his friend and you didn’t do anything, a fact the woman who called security confirmed.

Around you your life was decided, the Prince’s clear bond to you had the officials contacted by Lord Elrond that you would be rehoused once again, though instead of off to Lindon, where other children deemed unruly had been sent, you were moved into the custody of the Wife of the Elf in charge of the King’s herds. The couple had fostered dozens of children over the years and with this many students being shipped off you were joined by a normally silent girl who lived down the block from you and your mother you explained only spoke in sign after her father had shipped out. You were glad to have a familiar face of your own and Tulip beamed at having one of her own, yet still in your glance back at the Prince in your guided path to pack your things to move to another new home you mumbled to yourself mentally, “And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

…

That move was followed by another not four months later, when Greenwood was safe you and Tulip joined Lady Marya back to Greenwood to move officially into your new bedrooms in their cottage on the Palace grounds. Ringwe, her husband headed the care of the King’s herds, and when you got settled you were welcomed to learn at his side. The older you got the more you took on adding to your studies, and sure enough at your elbow the Prince when able to run off you had been working at the zoo that captures injured wildlife who were injured in the wars, mainly the arctic creatures from near Helcrax you loved especially. Yet always the Prince once his daily tasks were done since the first day of learning where you were he would go to help you, ever eager to see you master the creatures most likely to kill someone your size. The sheer awkwardness of your relationship was becoming dangerously close to something like friendship.

Mid teens had been supposed to be trying, and yet it was the most trying of all. From orange to mint green you had been traded in colors and treated far greater once people knew the new girl was the Crown Prince’s friend. Yet by your next birthday those like you also from Tol Eressea were being shipped back home as soon as word of their relatives in the recovering island kingdom could be contacted. The monthly calls from your father was scheduled for tonight and even at the call from his father to come out to some official meeting the Prince had asked to spend his night at your apartment once again to study and wait with you.

Ten o clock was reached and a call was given to inform the King of where his son still was. Right where he had found you he sat to your left still keeping hold of your hand chatting with you ignoring the stabbing of his heart at the tears rolling down your cheeks and forced calm exterior in waiting. Through the doorway Oropher peered on at you both then turned to follow Ringwe off into the kitchen leaving you still on the bench in the hall by the table with the phone on it waiting for the call. “Does the call usually come this late?” The expression on Ringwe’s face made his drop and he asked lower, “What happened?”

Ringwe produced a letter form his pocket he passed the King to lowly reply, “This came yesterday. Her parents fell.”

Oropher looked to the door, “But, she’s-,”

Ringwe nodded and said, “It hasn’t sunk in yet. Tulip flew back last week, and now the day before Jaqi’s call, this. She has a distant cousin in Lothlorien, however his Wife refused to take her.”

Oropher, “You aren’t shipping her away, are you?!”

Ringwe shook his head, “No, not at all.” Wetting his lips, “A series of lawyers are flying out to handle the passing of her estate. Storage trailer from their home and all the finances including the liquidated prices of the sold home her mother had.”

In the peaking of his curiosity he asked, wondering at your true name, “Does it say who her kin is?”

Ringwe wet his lips, “Apparently her mother was King Elmo’s son’s consort. He was betrothed to a Princess of some great line before the war, her uncle is taking up the union now.”

Barely above a whisper he parroted back, “Elmo…” he wet his lips, “Her mother?”

Ringwe shook his head, “From the letters there is not title, merely her name in Vanyar Runes. Jaqi’s name has no title either.”

Oropher, “Still, the only child of Elmo’s eldest, to a Consort or not, there is no reason she should have been treated so lowly in being shipped away.”

Ringwe, “Perhaps it was to keep her from being singled out.”

The pair kept watch of you while Marya kept pacing in the kitchen pretending she wasn’t dying to rush out and hold you the nearer it got to midnight when the dam broke and your face was covered by your hands and true to his decided place as your friend he tugged you into his chest holding you tightly wishing he could do more for his best friend whose life was shattered again. Hours he kept hold of you and the King and Queen agreed to let him stay the night knowing there would be little sleeping or anything else past crying and in the morning that was found to be truthful as across a lounge in the sitting room you were still just as puffy, tear stained and blotchy yet finally asleep beside the equally as blotchy cheeked Prince. Very few others were left in Greenwood from your home, and together you banded together sharing your letters and pictures from those who had returned even at the threat of tears.

…

Days seemed to even out as your trust was settled, and more and more you were brought along to more official events. Each time aloofly sneaking away to explore or read with the Prince soon following after. Always the week before you were pampered and primped and helped into the most lavish of gowns to fit the affair that always complimented Thranduil’s. Yet your slipping away was followed by reminders that the Prince was needed and not long after that you were expected to dance at least once.

Within the crowds eyes were always on you and due to your rumored bloodline a great deal of Nobles nudged their children towards becoming your friends, or possibly more. Strolling through the sea of expecting teens right up to the Prince’s back you went and his eyes went wide in your grip on his braid and step away from him making him turn with his braid falling onto his chest in your release of it. Mouths dropped open at your tug on his hair yet in the turn under the braid his hand outstretched to plant on your lower back silencing offences as it marked you as one of the few allowed by him to touch him. “That wasn’t very subtle.”

“You brought me and I’m being forced to dance and now so are you. Consider it practice for your Kingly duties you will be forced through.” Lowly behind your back he chuckled and took his place in the sea of couples in the mingling dance granting more than a few other teens chances to observe the Prince’s reactions in their time taking hold of you between twirls and lifts.

…

53 years had passed and in the first month of your time at Greenwood U again it was hard to find a moment where the Prince wasn’t at your side. Still you held your job swimming through the water pens of Polar bears, seals and otters to assist in scrubbing them and removing litter from rude guests. Thranduil however was kept to aiding in feeding times and helping to keep the land portions tidy and safe with tons of toys for the young litters the public loved to come and witness in their times clambering over the Prince and his odd friend stirring up confusing seas of rumors.

.

Strolling through the covered patio you passed through the tables of other students eating their lunches, on one a pair of girls peered on at a duo of guys at the next table glaring at one another. “He thinks he’s a mind reader.” Someone explained in your path onwards to the empty table you normally chose.

Sure enough when you had taken your seat Thranduil had left the cafeteria a trio of young women eager to win the Prince over sat down still talking about their exes, “He’s a bad kisser.”

The one next to her grinned and pressed her arms together around her chest in a lean forward as Thranduil came closer asking, “What about you, Pear, any boyfriends?”

“Few.”

The brunette between the blondes said as Thranduil sat peering at you in setting down his lunch, “Ooh, do tell.”

The left blonde, “First off, how tall?”

“Just over seven feet when they straighten up.”

Collectively they ‘oohed’ and the right blonde still focused on Thranduil in asking, “What about the hair?”

“Blonde of course.”

Brunette, “How come we never see you with them?”

You shrugged, “They don’t get out much. Pretty restrictive daily lives.”

The questions continued to blur on and the more they did Thranduil couldn’t help but smirk in your tale revealing to him you were alluding the polar bears you had befriended were your former boyfriends. When the trio flitted away for their next classes you cleaned up taking a stroll before yours. Fidgeting the strap on his shoulder to his bag he asked, “So, do you have any ex boyfriends?”

Gigling to yourself you asked, “You mean between the nights you come over to study, after the days you spend by me and school and in my shifts at work?” He nodded and you shook your head, “Nope. You? Hiding a Lady Love in any closets back in the Palace?”

Chortling at the notion he replied playfully, “No, but there is this one otter that’s fond of me.” Making you giggle again in his low chuckle.

.

The matter of dates came up and for good reason, the Feast of Starlight was coming up again and this year would be a masked ball. Again your favored color was chosen by Thranduil, and after the sea of Elves had been waded through the yellow robe clad Prince chased after glimpses of you in the crowds until a stolen looping of fingers around your wrist brought you with a spin into the couples to the dance floor. Five dances later and in his being called away you were gone when he turned back again bringing back his smirk at the challenge to go find you when his introductions were through.

Sure enough in the window seat under the light of the lanterns and stars you were relaxed with a book in your palms. The words of all the great poets swooned and awed at the objects of their affections while your heart ebbed and flowed from the withheld affection for a bond you could never claim. Your best friend, the one who you deemed to have taken you as a plaything or pet when you were little had exploded into something just as troubling, though now for entirely different reasons. The Prince set to marry well, certain to leave you mingled in that fate tragically when the match occurred leaving you to wonder just where you would try to visit in hopes of finding your own possible someone that might make you happy. Key word, might. But they would never be a Prince able to show you a life similar to what should have been yours, had you just been considered a legitimate heir. Could have beens weighed heavily on you and mingled with never wills hurting you.

Arms came from behind you to lift you just barely and in his usual fashion the Prince settled behind you with a leg curled under yours covered by the layered yellow jewel lined skirt of your corseted gown. Against his chest you were drawn and draping his silver wrap around you both his arms laced around your middle in the planting of his chin to your shoulder peering down at the poem on the open page. The reflection of his eyes accented by the shimmering silver mask and circlet above it luring your attention from the page at his focused gaze on the page instead of your eyes glowing between the slits on the yellow shimmering mask matching the yellow jeweled tiara resting in your curls.

The silence between you split as he lowly shared, “Ada instructed me, he is to announce my betrothal tonight. You will be there? I couldn’t do this without you.”

Forcing a grin as your mind flashed to the month of browsing designs for possible engagement rings for the occasion at his side several choices were presented to him for the final choice. All of whom were far from your taste, so at the very least the Elleth of his choosing would not have the ring of your dreams along with the Prince. “And miss having the eligible Elleths tripping on their gowns on the steps to scramble up after you? Never.”

Silence came again after the awkward chuckle he gave, and in a stolen glance at him you said, “Hey, Mr Lawless.”

The smirk ghosting across his lips faded as his eyes shifted you then clamped shut at the sudden press of your lips to his. Unable to hold it anymore you stole a kiss, and surprisingly your cheek was cupped and his head tilted to lean into the kiss now steadily growing more loving. Sheer silent affection for decades had bubbled up and in the seemingly spinning room you were anchored between his legs in his warm arms lost in finally broaching the subject of your passions severing at the telling horns ending the music. Nipping at his lip Thranduil watched you slide out of his hold from your seat to stand, a ruffle of your skirt later you turned with palm extended forcing a grin, “Come on, let’s go get you up on your balcony.”

Shifting his legs to plant his feet on the ground his hands rose to ease around and cradle your hand, the metal band of the ring formerly hidden in his curled fingers now rested on your index finger to the sound of Oropher announcing the hidden surprise to the festival. Shaking his head he replied, “Not yet, Snowflake.”

Inhaling sharply you eyed the woven white stone coated bands under the rounded square shimmering white stone matching it, your dream ring now resting on your finger, “Wh-,”

Standing up in the withdraw of your hand he planted a hand on your hip closing the distance between you to cup your cheek with the other hand. Not to kiss you but to hold you close, his lips moving past your mouth to your ear where he hummed, “All my life I have waded through oceans of faces aimed at me, yours is the one I have always searched for. ‘Blunt, honest and true’, that is what my parents told me to look for and from the moment you swatted at me I knew my choice would always be you.” Warmly his lips met your cheek and your hands clutched at the fabric covering his ribs and his head turned to brush his nose against yours to hum, “I would never choose another, not even with those hideous ring choices you gave me,” making you giggle, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

Again your lips met his and he melted against you again with a content hum then you said, “Best hop to it then, before they find you in a compromising position.”

“We are engaged,” he said drawing you flat against his chest again, “Unless you say otherwise I can be as compromised as you allow.” Making you roll your eyes as he chuckled after stealing a quick peck on your lips. Pulling back your head nodded and he sighed following after you with his arm draped around your back. “Just one more dance then we can hide again.”

“Promises, Promises.” Making him chuckle again and join you out onto the Royal balcony beside the King for the announcement that to your surprise earned rousing cheers and sure enough the one dance bled into five before you were able to sneak out again back to the library, where before you were helped back to your reading window seat his hand tugged you behind a row of books when a guard came through and for a few heated moments again you were pinned to his chest through another impassioned kiss with your giddily still chuckling and smirking Prince.

    All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

#Theincaprincesswritingchallenge #30daywritingchallengebytheincaprincess #Thranduil x Reader OC #hobbit #LOTR

[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Chapter 6

Heyyo everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

WARNING!!! Mentions of rape! Proceed with caution.

'A loud scream woke him up. Then a thud of his door. Then the shaking.

"Wake up! Wake up please!" He heard a paniced familiar voice.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. By the time he registered who was standing before him, said person begun to cry.

When he could finally see, he noticed it was Alice who woke him up and who was crying now in front of him, pulling at his blanket like her life depended on it.

"Alice... What's wrong? Why are you up so early?" Otto asked, rubbing the tears that fell down Alice's cheeks away.

"I'm dying!" Alice cried out.

Otto stared at her blankly, trying to process the situation. How could she be dying? Is she ill?

"How? Are you hurting somewhere?" He asked, inspecting her hands and face.

Alice nodded. "I woke up in a pool of blood and it felt like someone was stabbing me in my stomach." She was sniffling and desparately cuddling Otto's blanket.

"Blood?" Otto blinked. "Was it coming out directly from your stomach or, uh, lower?"

"I searched myself for wounds, but- AAUGH" Alice jumped back from the bed, falling on her knees and clutching her gut. Almost immediately a red stain began forming on her green dress.

Oh.

That was all that went through Otto's head. An louder sobbing dragged him back from his head into reality. This kind of situation called for an adult help.

Otto squeezed her hand. "Alice. Listen, you're not going to die. I'll go get Betty, she'll help you with this. You just stay here and wait for us, okay?" He let go of her hand and, once Alice nodded, run out of the room to find Elizabeta.

He run as fast as he could to the servant rooms. Quickly spotting Elizabeta's room, he knocked loudly. "Betty! Betty! Wake up!"

A thud and dragging could be heard until the door revealed a tangled mess of brown hair which Otto assumed was Elizabeta.

"What is it, Prince Otto?" She asked, brushing her hair away from her eyes which were... very... purple and green.

"It's Alice. She needs your help. Quickly!" Otto grabbed Elizabeta by the hand and dragged her all the way to his room. That statement implied stairs. Which Elizabeta was extremely uncomfortable with this early.

Finally they made it to Otto's room before he stopped. "I'll leave you two girls." He closed the door once Elizabeta entered.

What greeted Elizabeta was a crying bloody mess that was Alice. One look at the child sitting in front of her was enough for Elizabeta to understand this situation. "Oh, dear."

She cuddled close to Alice. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. My poor Alice. You just entered the most painful part of your life. You became a woman." She said.

Alice couldn't control herself, tears rolling down her cheeks like rain during a storming night. This made no sense to her. She was bleeding out and hurting. She heard stories from her mom about how becoming a woman was the most beautiful part of every girls life. She wanted to be a woman. This was nowhere near beautiful.

"Betty, I don't like this! I don't want this!" She had thought she would die from this, now she wished she could.

"Shh, dear. Come. I'll explain everything in my room. It's going to be okay." Elizabeta said and helped Alice stand up.

As they exited, Elizabeta gave Otto a kind look. The look that said she's going to take care of this. Otto sighed in relief, returning to his room.

He knew what this meant. Alice was no longer a child. He learnt this by watching his older sisters. Although he didn't know much, he knew that this kind of bleeding was something very important. Maybe, he should ask them to explain it to him.

Maybe not. They would question his sudden curiosity. He loved his sisters, but not enough to trust them not to tell his mother. He'll just ask Rod. When he gets some more sleep.'

"Mood." Feliciano said, as he was doing some morning reading, taking a few sips from his coffee every now and then.

'Elizabeta was having a hard time. Was this how her mother felt with her? Because it sure was complicated. Comforting someone who just got the first taste of period pains was as complicated as deciding which tablecloth to place for dinner. They all looked the same to her. Well, some had lace.

"Okay, take these rags. There's not really any other way for us to prevent bleeding onto our clothes so we just use old rags. You want to wash them a lot. Place them between your legs." Elizabeta explained, handing Alice some old rags she dug out of her closet. "Avoid wearing anything white in public, trust me."

"How do I, um, keep them from falling out?" Alice asked, adjusting them in a way that was somewhat comfortable. She was wiping her tears away like a madman.

"I'm looking for that at the moment. You're going to need some lady pants. I kept some of mine when I was your age, I just need to find them." She said, still rummaging her closet.

Alice nodded. "It'll be alright. You're not alone in this." She kept repeating that like a mantra in order to calm herself down.

After a few minutes of silence, Alice asked. "What does this mean, Betty? What's going to happen to me now?"

Elizabeta, finally finding some old pink lady pants and handing them to Alice, sighed. "A lot more of this. This means your body is ready for you to become a mother. But it's telling you that in a murderous way. I guess it's just not good with words." She finally managed to get a giggle out of Alice, no matter how short it was.

"How do I become a mother anyway?" Alice asked.

Elizabeta huffed out a response. "Well, as far as I know you need a man. Unfortunately. But the world is never kind to women."

Alice nodded. "I agree. Why do you hate men, Betty?"

Elizabeta sat next to the young girl, hugging her legs. "I've never met a good one."

"You met Prince Otto."

"Yes, but he's still just a boy. He still has a lot to learn about being a man and that's sure enough to change him. Who knows, maybe he starts treating you like my father did my mother." Elizabeta's hand went up to Alice's head, softly stroking her hair.

"Did he treat her badly, your mother?" Alice asked, taking Elizabeta's hand into her own. The tables have turned.

"Horribly, darling. But you don't have to bother your head with that. They are both long dead anyway." Elizabeta smiled.

"You asked about being a mother. Do you really want to know?" Elizabeta asked, cuddling Alice closer to herself.

Alice nodded. "Tell me."

"Did you ever notice how different your body is from your brother's?"

"Yeah, I don't have a pudding prick and apples hanging off my body." Alice said.'

Feliciano burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Lovino asked from the living room.

"Nothing." Feliciano paused to giggle some more. "Just this one part in the book."

"You should be doing the dishes and not reading that German book." Lovino said and turned the volume on TV louder to block out Feliciano's laughter.

Feliciano chose to ignore him. He has to read now, he can do the dishes later.

'Elizabeta giggled at this child. "Yes, you indeed don't. But to become a mother those are the exact parts you need. Especially the pudding prick. It goes inside the blood fountain when it's not bloody and clogs it with some other liquid. That clog eventually becomes a baby." She explained, trying her hardest to keep a straight face.

Alice blinked up at her. "That's a lot of work."

Elizabeta nodded. "Yes, and you have to deal with the baby as it grows inside you all on your own."

"I'd still like to close the blood fountain. Do you think Prince Otto will help me?" Alice asked, innocence in her voice.

"I don't think he's grown enough to help you with that yet, but please don't ask him that before getting married." Elizabeta spilled out as quickly as she could.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So I'm stuck with this forever?" Alice quickly changed the subject, not wanting to revive her own fears when Elizabeta managed to seal them in a box mere months ago.

"Yes. Unless you have a baby, then you get a pause." Elizabeta answered.

"What about men? What do they get?"

"No idea. Nothing, I believe."

That angered Alice. She gets blood and pain and she can't control either of it, but men get nothing. They just exist with no pain or anything. "Unfair." She said.

"Very." Elizabeta agreed.

"What will Prince Otto do to me now?" Alice asked.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeta stroked Alice's hair.

"Do you think he'll put his pudding prick into me without asking first? Like what Prince of Spain does to my brother." Alice clutched her dress.

Elizabeta's eyes widened. "You should tell Otto about your brother. No one should go through what your brother is going. And no, I don't think he will. I don't believe he can hurt you."

"Is my brother in danger?" Alice asked, new tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes. He's likely in a huge pain, just like how you are. He needs help. I'm sure Otto will help him." Elizabeta said.

Alice nodded, wiping away her tears on her dress. She will need to wash it anyway. "I'll tell him." She stood up. "Thank you, Betty. For everything." Offering Elizabeta one final smile, Alice left for her own room to change.

When she entered her room, a blond haired boy was sitting on her bed.

"Prince Otto?" She called, startling the boy whose head was deep in thoughts about how small her room was.

"Alice..." He looked up at her, blushing at being caught.

"Why are you here?" She asked, sitting down as comfortable as she could on her hay and wood bed next to the young prince.

"I came to see how you were. Was Betty of help to you?" Otto asked, staring down at his fingers which weren't used to the cold of servant rooms.

"Yes. She explained everything to me. And she also told me to tell you about Romano."

Otto looked at her in confusion. "What about your brother?"

Alice took a deep breath. "The Prince of Spain is doing bad things to him. With his..." she trailed off, pointing to the inbetween part of her legs.

Otto blinked in surprise. "Your brother-"

"He doesn't like it." Alice interuppted.

Otto looked back to his fingers. A mix of grief and anger forming inside his body. "I'll make him stop. Whatever it takes."

"Thank you." Alice nodded.

"He told you that on the ball, did he?" Otto asked.

"Yes."

Silence filled the air between the two.

"Will you do that to me too?" Alice asked, inching away from Otto.

"Never!" Otto practically yelled. His hands went up to cover his mouth when Alice shivered under his voice. "I apologise. I didn't mean to yell. I won't ever do that to you, Alice. Only bad people do that."

Alice breathed out in relief, but stayed quiet.

Otto continued. "People become beasts when those urges take over. We trully are animals at our core."

More silence. The air was so thich they could both hear as the cooks baked some bread for the day, despite the kitchen being very distant from the servant rooms.

Otto broke the silence again. "Don't work today. Or any other day when you start bleeding. You must be in a lot of pain from it."

Alice looked at him. "I am, but that doesn't mean I get to ignore my duties as a maid just because I'm bleeding."

"I'll let Betty know. She and other maids may take breaks as well when it happens. You need to rest from it after all." Otto said, taking Alice's hand into his own.

Alice shivered at the cold touch of Otto's hand. But soon it melted away and the feeling became that of pleasure. She was certian it had something to do with it being Otto who was holding her hand. "Okay then." She said.

"But not here." Otto said quickly.

Alice blinked. "What?"

"This bed is long ways from comfortable for this kind of situation. You will be sleeping in my bed from now on." A soft blush made its way on Otto's cheeks as he said that.

He pulled her up from bed. "Come."

"Wait!" Alice pulled her hand out of his. "I can't go like this." She pointed to her bloody dress.

It took a moment for Otto to realize. "Oh. Yeah. I'll wait for you then." He exited the room and waited for Alice to change outside her door.

"I'm ready!" Came from the other side of the door and Otto opened them. Alice was wearing a deep brown dress that was way too big for her.

"Betty gave it to me. She said it's not a good idea to wear anything white so she gave me this. It's a bit big though." She smiled.

Otto blushed. "You look lovely. Shall we go?" He offered his hand to Alice who happily took it as Otto led the way to his room.

"Make yourself comfortable." He said as he closed the door behind Alice, who jumped at his bed like she was jumping in a hill of leaves in autumn.

"Oh, this is so perfect." She said as she wiggled herself inside the blanket, taking a few pillows with her.

Otto laughed at the sight. He was happy that Alice was enjoying herself. "Move over a bit." He said, making his way to the bed as well.

Alice's head appeared from beneath the blanket. "You have more than enough." She giggled.

Otto laughed. "Selfish, are we?" He cuddled close to her.

"You should sleep. You woke up in pain this morning." He said.

Alice smiled and held him closer to herself. Despite not being able to see it, she knew Otto's face was as red as the pool of blood she woke up into this morning. "Can you stroke my hair for me? It helps me sleep."

Otto nodded, gulping. His hand making its way to the temple of Alice's head, stroking bits of her hair all the way to its tips. He admired how red it was, glad that they weren't in England. He repeated the proces a couple more times before he heard soft snoring.

Otto smiled. He thought Alice couldn't get more cuter, but he was very obviously wrong. Glad that his heart chose this beautiful girl, sleeping softly in his arms, to fall in love with, he placed a kiss on her head. "Goodnight, love." He whispered.

He couldn't find it in himself to get up from the bed, so he too drifted into the land of dreams next to his beloved.'

Feliciano melted. He moved up to his room long ago because Lovino's renovation shows were too loud for him to read. He was glad that he did that othervise he would be like a snowman in spring all over the dining room's floor.

"Feliciano! Dishes! Now!" Lovino yelled.

Feliciano completely forgot about the dishes. But of course, Lovino the Mom will always remind him. No matter how busy Feliciano is.

#APH Italy #APH Hungary #APH Holy Roman Empire #APH Germany #APH #aph gerita #GerIta #Germany x Italy #hetalia GerIta #hws germany #hws italy #hws #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars #hetalia #drawn together story

[prevazilazenje]

Divination, magic and religious tattoos in Bosnia

Translated by Jessica Heaton from the original text in French by Jean-Claude Montbarrey

The most detailed Bosnian tattoos are drawn on the forearm, the wrist and the back of the hand. On the chest, only fairly simple crosses, in the center of a circle are drawn. *Notice here the 'hooks' which surround these circles and how they create the symbol of a rotating solar-disk.

The most detailed Bosnian tattoos are drawn on the forearm, the wrist and the back of the hand. On the chest, only fairly simple crosses, in the center of a circle are drawn.

*Notice here the ‘hooks’ which surround these circles and how they create the symbol of a rotating solar-disk.

The province of Bihac and the Una valley are among some of the most picturesque places to be found in Bosnia, they are also rich in traditional Bosnian customs. Bosnia itself is one of the most interesting regions of Yugoslavia. Bihac is a small town of between 8000 and 9000 inhabitants in the Vrbas Banovina, close to Croatia. The Una is one of the major tributaries to the Sava river, which runs pretty much from South to North and has been of strategic importance to Bosnia.

The Hungarian king Béla established a fortress here in the 13th century. In the 16th and 17th centuries, the town was invaded by the Turkish – battles ensued up until the 18th century.

A striking thing when walking in the streets of Bihac, is that many women have their wrists and forearms tattooed in prussian-blue ink. In this region’s villages, like elsewhere practically all over Bosnia and Herzegovina, the proportion of these tattoos is even more considerable. All women over a certain age – and a large quantity of young woman, are adorned with these permanent, impalpable pretty jewels.

Sometimes the whole hand is decorated with a shining circle and cross in the center, other times, the lady in question would have to lift up one of her sleeves to reveal a succession of sober, refined and harmonious geometric figures. These designs are simple by their conception of composition, minute in their details. Sometimes, the tattoos on the wrist are superposed with wide bracelets of multi-colored beads – equally geometric in their patterns. But these are far less precise and remind one of the beaded jewellery one might find in northern Africa.

despite the years, despite the wrinkles, the tattoo persists. (Bihac region, Bosnia)

despite the years, despite the wrinkles, the tattoo persists. (Bihac region, Bosnia)

The photographs shown here give an idea of Bosnian women’s tattoos. The fundamental figures which constitute these designs are the crosses, they are generally drawn on the insides of circles, the circle is practically always shining – like a solar disk and the little hooks seem to indicate its rotation. On each of its branches, the cross is barred, arrowed or branched out further.

If you add to these elements, palmettes dots, and ogives you have, by their juxtaposition and imbrication, a whole range of decorative possibilities…The chest is also tattooed: simple, forked crosses, sometimes aureoled are drawn on the breastplate, and, on very rare occasions on the forehead too. The most detailed though, are always on the right or left forearm.

These tattoos are especially worn by Catholic women, rarely on those of Orthodox faith, never on those of Muslim faith.

Bosnia, is a veritable melting-pot of religions. The west regions of the kingdom of Yugoslavia: Slovenia, Croatia, and Dalmatia were under the control of the Habsburgs until 1913. Their neighbouring countries, Austria and Italy are of Catholic faith. The eastern regions: Old Serbia and Montenegro – who little by little took back their independence from the Turks, are Orthodox. The central regions: Bosnia and Herzegovina, were passed from the Turks to the Habsburgs; their populations are a mixture of Orthodox, Catholic and Muslim, Sarajevo counts no less than 90 Minarets. There are also important communities of Sephardic Jews who came from Spain in the 16th century.

Bosnia was truly the frontier between the empires of the east and west: Byzantium and Rome. After the fall of these empires, the east and the west continued to fight, alternating between advance and retreat. In the first half of the middle ages, the region was mostly Catholic. In the 11th century the heresy of Bogomils ( a sort of Manichaeism – similar to that of the Albigensian Crusade in the Midi region of France) marked an offensive return of The Orient. The Bogomils were favored by local authority figures, who saw in them an element of independence in regard to Hungary. Following this, Rome sent Franciscan missionaries to reconquer the country with the Catholic faith. This continued for a long time. The Bosnian clergy, then the Turkish arrived in the 15th century and showed themselves very tolerant – at least while they stayed powerful (not yet under the threat of Vienna.) The Bogomils – and part of the population converted to Islam. Of all the muslims in the Ottoman empire, it was the Bosnians who remained the most traditional: they revolted against the reforms of Sultan Mahmoud – jealously holding onto their fez and turban, as well as the women’s veils which have only just ceased to be worn in Albania. All these different confessions generally get along very well together.

On the occasion of Slavas, the most important celebration on the Serbian calendar; the traditional banquet is preceded by a religious ceremony. At the head of the parade: a pope, a priest, mufti or a rabbi advances for their mixed followers, two christians in front of a portable alter, the muslim on his prayer blanket, the rabbi standing tall.

This brief portrait of Bosnia’s religious history has not, as we might believe, distanced us from the tattoos. Ethnographers have discussed and written at length concerning this subject. What we do know, is that this tradition is very old, prehistoric even and quasi-universal.

Tattoos have regressed among many civilised peoples, we find them only in certain classes and certain professions; criminals and non-conformists have a particular predilection for lettered, schematized, or symbolic inscriptions by which they express what they think of society.

All the same, when snobbishness mixed with this, tattoos became fashionable for a while within the English aristocracy at the end of the last century. Apparently, even the future Prince of Wales, Edward VII was tattooed with the symbols of his armories – in seven different colors.

As for the Tzar Feru de Cabale, he apparently had a magical japanese tattoo – which didn’t exactly bring him good luck…

It’s a different story for the primitives and ancients; where one makes the observation that a tattoo is a response to a psychological human need: it serves, depending on each case and evolutionary stage, as a mark of recognition, of religion, of infamy, of preeminence, of affiliation, as a protective amulet, prophylactic, curative, or as an ornament. Such is the word of Theophile Gautier: “The most brutal man, feels, in an instinctive way that the decoration traces a line of impassable demarcation between himself and the animal. And when he can’t put the emblem on his clothes- he will embroider his own skin.” However, the most profound and frequent arguments for tattoos are of religious or magic significance.

The savage would engrave in his own flesh, an image of his totem. The devout would write on his forehead, in indelible ink the sign of his god. The Maenads tattooed themselves like we see on their 5th century vases: a goat on the thigh, and the Baccantes, an ivy leaf on the forehead.

The people of Athens imposed on the foreheads of their prisoners an image of the owl of Pallas; the first Christians sometimes wore Christ’s monogram; Pilgrims from Jerusalem in the 17th century tattooed themselves – so informs us The Doctor Goarant de Tromelin,- with a mixture of ink and ox fat. Caterina Pigorini Beri studied the religious tattoos of Notre Dame de Lorette’s pilgrims, these were then outlawed in the 19th century. In the Muslim Orient, the Catholic syrians and Copts often wore distinctive tattoos on their wrists. In Northern Africa, each tribe has its own distinct tattoo.

Divination with beans in Bosnia, Bihac region.

Divination with beans in Bosnia, Bihac region.

So, to which category do the Bosnian tattoos belong? Most probably, that of religion and adherence to a group but with the predominance of a religious motive. It’s not surprising that the Catholics of this country, after having found themselves in confrontation with the Bogomils, then repressed under the domination of Turkish-Muslims, decided to show their faith by discreet but indelible marks. In popular culture, one can find that these sub-cutaneous drawings were seen to inject faith – preserving their wearer from maleficent influences and as a sign of recognition in the two worlds.

This silent and decorative expression of faith is different from other tattoos that one might see in Bosnia: a name, initials, a heart pierced with an arrow, a sword, an eagle etc… that one might observe on the solid biceps of the chest of a butcher or a sailor.

The operation is done by a woman, often on sundays after the service. A doughy paste of resin is kneaded with soot, explains G. Capus, who observed these tattoos all over Bosnia 50 years ago. This mixture is applied to the skin with a stick which traces the drawing. Once this is done, multiple needle pricks are applied with a needle wrapped up in string – almost to it’s point; this pushes the colored material under the epidermis which, after applying a bandage for four days leaves a permanent tattoo.

These days, this tattoo has lost it’s meaning, its primitive signification has faded but its use and practice persists. The women with the most beautiful drawings were proud to show us their tattoos.

It is probable that the use of tattoos and their function is ancient in the Balkans and goes further back than Christianity – although historical evidence in Bosnia only goes as far back as the 12th century. Herodotus taught us that Thracians judged tattoos as inelegant and badly brought up – to the point where no-one tattooed themselves. Plutarch makes the precision however that Thrace’s women were tattooed by their husbands (with scythes according to Athena) to punish them for having massacred Orpheus, and that, turning these to their advantage the multiple ‘stigmata’ of these ladies which drowned them in a profusion of drawings, eventually became interpreted as marks of honor.

In certain cases, a tattoo can be considered as a permanent amulet inscribed on the skin; the effect is obviously long-lasting but the remedy is less susceptible to adapt to the circumstances other than the exclusive use as an amulet-tattoo. This seriously diminished the revenues of charm merchants. The tattoo has not replaced the magic formula, it is seen rather as a compliment to it. Let us not mock the amulets, they have doubtlessly fallen into the use of charlatans and superstition.

They are the origins of the ideograms which have a real esthetic and symbolic purpose – which in turn, gave birth to writing and art. In other words: civilisation.

Amulets are frequently used in Bosnia and we have been persuaded that they are just as much used by Christians as by Muslims. But the specialists of ‘formulas’ are certainly the islamic ‘Hodjas‘ The word Khodja, Hodja or Hodza (which is the name of the actual head of Czechoslovakian government) signifies; well-read, scribe, student of theology. Arab characters, like Hebrew characters with their cabalistic and traditional numeric value, lend themselves far better to the making of talismans; inserted into geometric, symbolic drawings one obtains, if not just from an artistic point of view – remarkable results. Naturally, the Hodja use sacred names and Koranic verses but fill them with cabalistic formulas, unintelligible by non-believers:

A piece of paper, folded into a triangle is wrapped in a piece of fabric, smothered with clean wax or placed in a leather purse. This is then suspended by a red or yellow thread and worn on the chest to bring general good luck – or, on a sick part of the body, where this formula is used as a remedy, one as good as any other, and is sometimes efficient, be it just by suggestion.

This is what in Bosnia is called Zapis. Depending on the importance of a case, and the generosity of the consultant. A calligram is decorated with drawings more or less complicated, with a few or more colours, gold even, something which clearly can but re-enforce the virtue. But one can proceed more economically. A simple, little piece of dirty paper can, for a small price heal a headache.

The Bosnian Hodja, gives his client a prescription -its precise, meticulous execution will favor the action of the Zapis. For example; the sick person must breathe incense, wash with the water from a specific spring while making a prayer etc…

*

A large number of incantations and rituals exist for making spells that incarnate one’s desires based on the two main principals of magic: contact and analogy. For example, a young girl who wants to marry a young man could make him drink some coffee in which she would put some pomade previously worn by herself; or, she looks at him through a padlock, closes this padlock and throws it in the river. In the first case, the fluid of desire and kindness is supposed to pass from one being to the other, in the second, the closing of the padlock on the perceived image is a parallel of taking possession. To get a woman’s hand in marriage, there exists a more complicated recipe that requires a certain amount of patience: decapitate a snake, place a grain in its mouth and bury it’s head. If the grain sprouts – and an ear of corn grows forth: take one of it’s grains and touch the woman with it…

The Sunday clothes of Catholic country folk in the region of Kotor-Varoch

The Sunday clothes of Catholic country folk in the region of Kotor-Varoch

One of our fellow countrymen who has lived in Sarajevo, Mr Pelletier, wrote down regarding amulets, this tragic story at the beginning of the Austro-Hungarian occupation: one day, a young Catholic girl was seen leaving the house of a Muslim hodja with her throat slit, falling down in the street to die. The Hodja declared that she had come to ask for a spell to help her obtain the marriage she desired. He apparently refused and in her despair, she killed herself. Even dead, the judges condemned her but the Muslims believed in her innocence and considered her a martyr.

A lugubrious chant is still used today to lament the torture of someone who is to be executed. Before his hanging, the convict advises his brother; in anticipation of the witness congregation: “when you make the ceremonial clothes for your children, do the same for mine; light colours for your children, dark ones for mine, so that people will know they are orphans.”

Man desires, not only to force the spell; he also wants, unwise as it may be, to know the future. And there has existed, and exists, an extraordinary number of divination methods. The most common of these, in our part of the world are card-reading and astrology, which often compliment each other – if one might judge by the newspaper ads. But there are methods far stranger…One of these is reading through a crystal ball or a glass of water, or a basin with a shiny surface. The ancients trusted in auspicious bird-flight and bird calls; the way sacred chickens would eat – or refuse to… They were considered as sensitive detectors for invisible waves. An unsavory inspection of the intestines of victims also served to this purpose. The Geomancy; fashionable in arab countries and in Sudan was favoured in europe up to the 16th century. It consisted of interpreting figures traced in the sand, or with pebbles. These days, to simplify, the consultant draws lines from points chosen randomly; depending on if the numbers are odd or even; one obtains, four fundamental drawings which lead to others, these are then divided into 16 cases and then interpreted; depending on their positions, in accordance with the very complicated and ingenious laws of symbolism.

Another type of divination is called Belomancy which uses arrows; this method has been re-approved by the Koran. The Capnomancy; interprets smoke, Arithmancy interprets numbers which are pronounced by the consultant. This is similar to how psychoanalysis interprets associations of immediate ideas. Pisomancy is divination using peas, which are rolled on the ground. Pessomancy is when one buries pebbles and when they are lifted out of the sand the marks which are left behind are interpreted. Ptarmoscopy; interprets sneezing. To exerce Spodomancy one writes a question in the ashes – the next day one interprets what is left. Sycomancy uses fig leaves, Tiromancy uses cheese, Oneiromancy interprets dreams, Teratoscopy is when omens are deducted from spectres. of monsters, blood rains and other extraordinary phenomena . Xylomancy; uses pieces of wood found along paths and roads, Rhapsodomancy chooses, randomly, verses from Homer or Virgile, just like Bibliomancy takes a verse from the bible.

To perform Alectromancy; one places a chicken in the centre of a cardboard box where grains of wheat are placed on the letters of the alphabet, one writes down the letters which correspond to the squares where the bird pecks at the grains. Alomancy interprets the crackling and the glow emitted by burning salt crystals. Pegomancy; interprets the gurgles and air bubbles of a piece of pottery which has been plunged into a fresh water spring, Peratoscopy is similar to meteorology in that it studies the shape and direction of clouds. Divination can also be done with dice, cubes ossicles, beans, pebbles…I could go on – not to mention the reprobate Necromancy- which questions the dead, brought bad luck to Saül and resuscitated spiritualism.

There exists, in Bosnia, many forms of divination, some of them which reproduce almost exactly those of the Greeks and the Romans, while others use methods that appear to be rather of Arab or Turkish origin.

For example, to find a thief, a Bosnian will listen to his/her dream that he will have had after consulting a friend’s tomb or, an old lady will take a sieve, by a nail, invoking it to turn when the name of the thief is pronounced (this is classic Cosquinomancy) where the nail is simply replaced by pliers. One can also read the future in pigs’ guts and especially in the shoulder of a sheep (classic Armomancy)

firman

A Turkish Firman

Imagine yourself magically transported to the fireside of a family of Bosnian peasants on christmas day: The mutton is roasting on five logs, after being brought solemnly from the forest. When the beast is cooked through and through – a shot gun fire will announce that it is to be taken off the fire. Then The visitor arrives: usually a friend or neighbour. He enters, greets everybody and the mistress of the house responds to his greetings by throwing a fistful of flour at him; he will do the same, dusting her with flour and good wishes for her happiness. He will then approach the hearth – the sacred space of every bosnian house; take 2 half-burnt logs and tap them against each other; sending sparks in all directions. “As many sparks, he announces, as many little goats will give the goat, as many calfs will give the cow and young cows. Ako bog da” – (If it’s God’s will) And all reply “Amen”

The visitor then detaches the left shoulder of the roast mutton- while taking care not to damage the bone with his knife. From the configuration of the bone, the aspect of the joints etc, he deducts a series of valuable prognostics for the coming year concerning the family, the herds, harvest, wars etc. The “house” is full; he pompously predicts: Your home will be full, and the year, fruitful – but this irregular cartilage in the joint signifies a journey, and this one the arrival of a stranger. Madam Stefanik, maybe this is the year that you will marry Paul and that you will have another child – I can see a cradle from the back – it will be a boy.”

If he sees a hole in the joint then this signifies a tomb, normally, he will have the discretion to bypass this and will move on the examine the ‘cross’ of the bone which stems from the joint: A bump at its extremity signifies a debt: further up, a windfall or increased income; tiny holes indicate ruin – if one notices these it’s best to pass them by…

Under the cross is the ‘Ewe’s pen‘: if the bone is polished and lightly colored, it’s a good sign. At the base of the shoulder, each hole indicates a horned beast, if the base is wide, then this will be a good year for the oxen.; if it is split, then one will implore deaths among the cattle. Near the “cross” and to the side of the base, the holes correspond to the bee hives. The space between the jugular and the joint from the extremity of the cross to the marrow represents the fields – one can conclude from this area prognostics concerning war and peace. The cross shows the country, the marrow, the enemy; if there’s a cloud towards the extremity, then the enemy will be defeated. If the limits of the clouds are sharp, then one can hope for a peace treaty.

As this is quite a lengthly examination lots of ‘rakia’-(a fruit brandy- widely considered to be the national drink in the Balkans) is consumed before heading over to the dinner table and eating the mutton and christmas cake. After the meal, everyone lights a candle and observes on which side the flame blows. If it stretches upwards, the mountain will be fertile; if the flames incline to one side then the plain will be fertile. The father of the household then throws grains of wheat three times in the indicated direction while saying “That the wheat will grow when summer is born” And all reply: “Amen”.

During Christmas Eve, the girls like to go and listen at the neighbour’s windows and interpret the first words that they hear. The one who hears something like “sit down, stay here” will not marry this year. If however, she hears something that evokes a departure, her heart trembles.

Saint George, who is celebrated by both christians and muslims, is also suitable for consultations. A girl can dig three holes in the ground; if an insect or small animal falls ,during the night into one of them – its number indicates the year of marriage. She can also hold the door knob until she hears a passer-by pronouncing a first name – which will naturally be that of her future spouse. But this technique demands a lot of patience. The night of Saint Guy, she could place under her pillow two pieces of bread and some salt – her future will then appear in a dream. Or, in a more tragic way, at midnight alone, at the bottom of a deserted cul-de-sac she will light two candles next to two mirrors where she will see the image of the person she awaits (to marry).

Other “mancys” or methods of divination seem to be of a more ‘oriental’ origin -if we are able to assign origins to quasi- universal practices. The knowledgable Hodjas have knowledge of astrology and of the numeric and cabalistic value of letters. They know which zodiac sign presides each day of the month, which planet each day of the week and what one should do (and avoid doing) that day (just like the astrologers in some newspapers.) But a more common technique of divination is one which uses beans. It is linked to geomancy and arithmancy.

We weren’t able to photograph the “visitor” while reading the mutton -shoulder but we did manage to capture in our objective a fortune-teller near Bihac who was doing a ‘FAL‘ reading using beans.

This old country woman exercised her art with impressive conviction; the person who had come for a reading was hesitating over a decision he had to make and had come to consult her about this.

She started with some preparatory meditation – as the operation is not only a mechanical one, as well as having the ingenuity to interpret the signs, one must have intuition and a lucid spirit.

Certain metaphysicians think that cards, dice, bones, coffee, etc are just visual supports used when practicing clairvoyance or intuition…

Arab script allows the most varied,decorative combinations. Here, the characters of the prayer should be read clockwise.

Arab script allows the most varied, decorative combinations. Here, the characters of the prayer should be read clockwise.

The client was asked to concentrate on his question while posing the hand (the left hand of course) on a pile of 41 little beans; then to divide this pile into four little piles representing, from right to left the husband, the house and the wife.

The first general indication is given by the figure that is left over from dividing each group into four. Each pile is then divided into three others and then into three more, this then leaves nine piles of each group or 27 little piles of beans varying from 1 to 4 in each pile. Each pile has its own special significance and its position in comparison to the others – this leaves room for a large variety of interpretations. The closer the figure is to four (is this a distant souvenir of a hebrew tetragram?) the more likely the augur is favorable. A perfect result is ‘The hand of Hazrat Fatimah‘ the name of the Mohammed’s daughter who is equally the godmother of the populous and of Fatma. This is a well known lucky charm and is symbolised by the sign of the number five.

coloured beaded bracelets and tattoos from the region of Bihac. The crosses are generally situated in the center of the circle and most often finish with forks, tridents or even hearts.

coloured beaded bracelets and tattoos from the region of Bihac.

The crosses are generally situated in the center of the circle and most often finish with forks, tridents or even hearts.

The Bosnians also have a curious form of divination which can be found throughout the Balkans. This method is also used in the Bourgogne region of France – but also far out into the Sahara desert. One throws a spoon of melted lead in a basin of cold water; this results in a large variety of surprising forms which are interpreted, according to science or fantasy. The predominance of smooth and shiny surfaces is a good sign. If the object has more or less the form of a ship, this would signify a voyage, a cradle a birth… The Bosnians, Christians, Muslims or Jews use this process as a creative tool to heal fear and mental troubles linked to anxiety. An old woman comes to throw the molten lead three times a day during three days, each time she then administers the water to the sick person, rubs their stomach, the right hand and the left foot. The forms in the lead indicate the causes of the fear.

There is also a gracious and poetic divination method of turkish origin. This is especially practiced on Saint Georges day – whom the Muslims call Khidr or Khadir. Imagine a group of joyful young girls united around a vase full of water. Each one throws in a ring, a brooch, or other object which belongs to her. They cover the vase with a veil and one of the young girls will then pull out one of the jewels while the others sing a four lined stanza. The words of this poem can be applied to the owner of the object which was pulled out by chance – haven’t poets always been considered as inspired visionaries?

*POST SCRIPT COMMENTARY*

Like my previous post, I was unable to find any additional information about Jean-Claude Montbarrey apart from other articles which he had written for the review Sciences et Voyages.

Again, I have attempted to remain as true to the original text as possible : the term « civilisation » in this article has a certain precarity about it, the word « savages » to describe tribal people is wholly inaccurate and innapropriate. However my aim is to translate these articles in a way that they remain as close to the original versions as possible and that means to me not glossing over such elements…