#prompt eight: veil

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

marks of love like blooming orchids on your skin

elriel month prompt eight: veil

Light NSFW.

Elain was sliding her arms into the sleeves of her black dress, having just finished the final touches to her makeup, when she noticed the shadows in the corner of the room thickening and stretching, warping the light around it. 

Tendrils of soft shadow curled about like water rolling in a gentle boil before he materialized, and Azriel stepped out of the realm of his shadows.

His face was passive, as if he belonged there, as if striding into her rooms was the most natural thing in the world. Elain mirrored his expression, not succumbing to her surprise at his appearance in here, now.

He didn’t usually appear directly in her rooms at the river house unless it was one of their predetermined private meetings, and they had not discussed a meeting of any sort for now. Of all times, now was definitely not the time. 

Elain quietly wondered why he would come to her just before their Solstice visit to the Hewn City. They had all decided to meet in the foyer of the river manor when they were ready.

Curious. 

She tuned back to her vanity, the corners of lips rebelling against her wishes and lifting into a small smile. Her eyes narrowed in thought, remembering his apprehension upon hearing about the proposed plan when Feyre had come to them. He must be concerned then. Mother hen.

Flicking her eyes to him through the mirror at her dressing table she stated of the obvious. 

“Everyone will be ready in a minute.” 

She needed the reminder just as much as he did. Because if they started anything, gave in to their base urges and got carried away, they would surely be found, and it was almost time to go. It was imperative they not be late. Not tonight. Tonight’s mission was too important.

His eyes flashed, taking a step closer to her, his gaze not wavering from hers in the reflection.

“I just came from the House and Cassian and Nesta were still…busy. Rhys, no doubt, will still be primping.”

She huffed in amusement, eyeing him skeptically.

“And Mor?” she challenged. She was only a few doors down the hall, after all.

Azriel’s lip curled into a smirk. “Mor is even worse than Rhys.”

Elain chuckled, angling herself to maintain eye contact with him through the mirror as he moved closer to her. He loomed over her, his powerful wings peeking over the tops of his shoulders.

Already dressed in his full Illyrian armour, he was a menacing force, ready to deal the loathsome inhabitants of the Hewn City their reckoning— should it be found necessary. 

Truth Teller was tucked at his hip and a long blade sheathed down his spine. Every step he took was deliberate as he stalked towards her, his eyes never wavering from hers as he edged ever closer. The heat he radiated warmed her bare back as if she were standing before a roaring fire, its warmth hungrily lapping at her exposed skin.

The scales of his armour gleamed in the low light, his cobalt siphons polished to perfection, the dazzling blue striking against the midnight black. Even his talons at the tips of his wings appeared sharper, more menacing, as they glinted in the dim faelights. She drank him in greedily, her eyes gobbling up the sight of him.

Azriel’s head tilted to the side, his hair sliding across his forehead with the movement as he observed her inspection of him. 

The unextraordinary black dress they had chosen for her to wear tonight hung loosely off her form, the gown still unbuttoned up her spine, causing the tulle to hang low across her back. Azriel drew a hand up to her neck, his fingers grazing her skin and tucked his fingers beneath the black material. Heavy lidded eyes drank in her smooth skin greedily as he pushed the sleeve back down her arm, exposing her shoulder. She shuddered beneath his featherlight touch.

Elain had been styling her hair when Azriel appeared, sweeping half of it up with two combs of pearl, the remainder of her hair cascading around her shoulders. Azriel scooped up the rest of her loose curls with deft fingers, twisting the golden tresses around his mottled fist and held it up, away from her neck.

Hazel eyes roved over the expanse of her bare back and neck as the fingers of his other hand swept across the smooth stretch of her shoulder blade, down her arm, tracing the few scattered beauty spots across her skin and down the knobs of her spine.

He tucked his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet scent and Elain shuddered again, the caress of his warm breath igniting her senses. His lips fluttered across her skin, leaving a light, tender kiss on each dip along her vertebrae. 

Lavishing the creamy skin of her neck thoroughly, he traced his lips along the elegant trail of her spine, reverently worshiping every tiny piece she allowed him to take.

He went down, inch by inch. Lower. Until he was on his knees, kneeling on those brilliant blue siphons behind her. His thumbs pressed into the dimples in her lower back, just above her backside, as his fingers curled around her waist, her dress gaping on either side, open and inviting him to touch.

“Az... we’ll need to go soon,” she bleated submissively, her voice breathy and weaker than intended. Her words not at all sounding convincing, even to her own ears.

“Mmhmm,” he simply hummed against the skin at the dip in her back, ignoring her flimsy objections. 

Elain bit her lip, her fingers clutching the table of her vanity to stabilise herself as Azriel’s lips continued mapping every dip and freckle of her back. His exploratory hands kneaded and squeezed their way over to her hips, hugging at her curves greedily before he abruptly spun her around.

She wasn’t sure if it was the hurried movement or Azriel’s hands and lips trailing across her body, but her head was swimming in the most delicious of ways, heightening all the small touches and grazes Azriel was raking across her burning skin.

He gazed up at her, the look on his face reverent, awed, as if he was on his knees praying to a sacred goddess for salvation, rather than kneeling before her with no doubt much more debauched thoughts than what may cross one’s minds during prayer.

Unfurling his legs from his position at her feet, he stood before her once more, his imposing figure obstructing her view. He filled her vision. There was nothing but Azriel before her, he flooded her mind. His warriors’ frame crowding her sight, sheltering her from reality. 

Wordlessly, he reached for the neckline of her dress, slowly prying it off her. He dragged it down her shoulders, her arms, her chest, her stomach. Unhurriedly pulling it away until it was merely a cloud of black lace and tulle pooled at her feet.

Leaning away from her just slightly, he took her all in as his eyes raked down her bare body. Every inch of her unmarked, alabaster skin gleamed at him in the faelight.

“You are exquisite,” he rasped. He grazed his knuckles along the line of her waist, his touch only intending to tease, causing tingles to erupt across her skin.

His pupils had all but swallowed his irises as they volleyed hungrily along her naked form. The fingers of his other hand twitched at his sides, aching to touch her too. 

Elain had painted her lips in a deep berry red colour, and it was now the only thing she wore as she stood before him. The plump pillows of those deep red lips parted as her breathing grew shallow from the intensity of those keen eyes, rendering her to feel more exposed, more seen, than her current nakedness. 

Sidling up to her, he ever so gently tilted her face up toward his with a finger and thumb at her chin, her eyes dragging up his broad chest, his strong throat, and ultimately landing on his mouth. Elain drew a hand up, resting it on the scales of his armour, right above his heart, the heat from his skin radiating through the cool leathers and warming her palm. He kept his heavy-lidded gaze locked on hers as he tipped towards her, pressing the faintest of kisses to her bottom lip, her lip-colour staining his own just slightly before he descended on her neck.

He groaned; a deep, wanton thing born from his belly. A hungry beast roaring to take, taste, devour. A flush erupted across her skin at the sound of his need, her blood vibrating in answer to his call just beneath the surface of her skin.

“Look how you blush for me, Elain.”

His lips ghosted her throat as he spoke, tickling her thundering pulse as he whispered the words into her burning skin. 

“Like a flawless, cream canvas. Ready for me to mark however I choose.”

His breath skittered across her burning skin, Elain deciding she would be willing to be reduced to ash if it only meant he could consume her entirely. She would allow Azriel to take and take and take if it meant they could stay like this.

Sinful. It was so sinful.

Elain was ready to beg for mercy, beg for more, for him. All of him. He needn’t do anything but whisper those illicit thoughts of his. His wicked words truly were her weakness. Her need clawed at her insides, consumed her mind, willed her to give in. Risk it all, for him.

Scarred fingers grazed up her arm and retreated down her back, his touch teasing and leaving goosebumps pebbling in its wake.

Elain’s breath hitched; her eyes fluttering closed as her internal thoughts warred against one another. Duty and pleasure. Nightmares and dreams. Honour and disgrace. It was wrong, ill-timed, but… she could never stop. Didn’t want to. Not with Azriel. She’d damn herself for the eternal afterlife if it meant she could keep him now.

“Yes,” she breathed.

And that was all the permission Azriel needed before his sinful lips latched onto the delicate skin behind her ear, just hidden beneath the sheet of her thick golden hair.

He sucked at her flesh, his tongue greedily licking and tasting her. Her head lolled heavily to the side, giving Azriel more access, the anxieties of the looming mission they were about to head into melting away with his wicked mouth.

He pulled away and his eyes blazed at his hedonistic creation, the purple mark he had left on her alabaster skin already darkening. He seemed to relish in the imprints he left blooming just beneath her skin.

“So pretty,” he purred.

He dropped to his knees before her once more, his hands following the same path along her body. Those scarred hands caressed the soft curves of her belly, his fingers lazily tracing the contours of her stomach, her slim waist.

Eyeing her like a hungry wolf might observe its prey, he sunk his face into her abdomen, his tongue darting out to lick a wet trail from her navel all the way down to the top of her sensitive slit. He paused just before he reached where she longed to have him, lips lingering at the top of her delicate folds. 

His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her thighs as he kissed and licked his way back up, finding tonight’s desired target just below her protruding hipbone. His mouth latched onto the place adjacent to the where her hip met her thigh, his tongue lapping and sucking the pale, sensitive skin there.

A breathy moan escaped her lips as Azriel sucked at the tender spot, his teeth grazing her skin and causing her arousal to shoot through her veins like comets hurtling through space. He pressed his lips and teeth more firmly against her hip, the pleasure he was wringing from her deliberately bleeding into pain and he pulled at her skin with renewed fervour. 

Elain bit her lip harshly as he continued laving at her, her hair tumbling down her bare back as her head rolled back in ecstasy. He knew how to balance her on that edge, expertly swinging the pendulum between the ache of want and the sweet relief of gratification in ways she never knew she would come to desire.

Dragging his mouth away with one last flick of his tongue Azriel blinked open his eyes and gazed hungrily upon his handiwork.

A scared thumb traced the moist patch of bruised skin with a reverence she didn’t know he possessed. His eyes addled with lust, he groaned at the sight, the sound shooting straight to her throbbing core.

“So pretty. Just like your flowers,” he murmured, his fingers trailing across her raw skin.

Elain sunk her fingers into his thick hair, not caring if she mussed it, and peered down at her stomach. A lilac bruise was forming where his mouth had been, three small marks in a little cluster, slowly blooming across her hip in various shades of pink and blues.

Elain bit her lip at the sight, stifling a moan. It wasn’t enough that Azriel was on his knees before her, dressed in his Night Court black armour, hair dishevelled, and lips swollen. But the marks he had left on that very intimate part of her body, the smile that crept across his face at the love bites he had left there... It was almost enough for her to throw caution to the wind and beg him to take her now, Court of Nightmares and Eris be damned! Let him fuck her into oblivion instead. Let him leave an entire valley of bruised flowers across her flesh.

Her knees wobbled as she clenched the muscles of that needy place between her thighs.

Elain inhaled a shuddering breath, tracing the marks with a finger as Azriel’s eyes hungrily followed their path. 

“If anyone sees these—” Elain began.

“Who would possibly see them?” Azriel’s eyes glimmered as he responded.

Elain felt the pads of his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs with a hint of possessiveness, jealousy flashing across his features.

“Well, if the plan with Eris really backfires tonight…” Elain teased, before smirking down at the Shadowsinger still crouched at her feet. 

A growl loosed from his throat as he buried his face in the soft skin of her stomach again, his hands each gripping the swell of her hips to keep her in place as he smothered himself in her curves. He licked a stripe from the top of her slit right to her navel. Elain’s fingers tightened their hold in his hair as she shuddered with pleasure above him.

“Wicked woman,” he uttered darkly into her sensitive skin before nipping a spot at her belly lightly between his teeth.

“Possessive male,” she shot back.

Her lip lifted at the side as she fought to stifle a smile, staring imperiously down at him. His lips left her skin, and she immediately regretted the loss of contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply didn’t want you to miss the flowers when we are down in the Hewn City tonight.”

She snorted delicately, seeing through his sarcasm. “Of course. It had nothing to do with you knowing your love bites would be blooming across my skin, just hidden beneath my clothes the entire time.”

A roughish grin spread across his face, a dimple appearing in his tanned cheek. “Not at all.”

“Scoundrel.”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the low light of her room.

“Something to remember me by, then. When Eris falls at your feet, begging for your hand in marriage and whisks you off to the Autumn Palace.”

Elain didn’t let her disdain at that idea show, playing into Azriel’s game instead. “Hmm… as much as I love to see powerful males on their knees before me, he would never look as good as you do down there.”

Something akin to a purr rumbled from his chest at the veneration. “And don’t you forget it.”

Pressing one last, lingering kiss to her navel, Azriel unfurled himself from his position before her, capturing her red lips with his on his way up before helping her back into the drab black dress she was to wear into the Court of Nightmares.

If their efforts were to be successful, Eris would overlook the middle Archeron sister completely. Even though it was impossible for Elain to appear as anything but utterly beautiful, Azriel silently prayed to any deity that would hear him that the glamours Rhys would weave around her would do their job tonight. He loathed the idea of any of them being used to bait Eris in this way, but both Elain and Nesta were adamant to go through with the High Lord’s plan.

Azriel finished helping her with the row of buttons that trailed all the way up her back and pressed a single kiss to the budding bruise he had gifted her behind her ear. 

“Don’t let anyone uncover your secrets tonight, Lady,” he murmured hotly into her neck.

Shaking her hair so it flowed freely down her back, she locked eyes with him in the mirror before her, allowing a pretty blush to creep up her cheeks. The picture of virtuous innocence. 

“Never.”

*******

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#elriel month 2023 #t writes #elriel #acotar #elriel month #acotar fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #elriel fic #elriel smut #prompt eight: veil

[lundenloves]

“ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ” ¹

≔ in which simon’s son enlists behind his back. ceramics are smashed, threats are thrown and feelings are hurt behind nonchalant expressions.

⤷ *return of the mac in the background* i wasn’t really sure which route to go down with this so i just blind wrote it. if you don’t agree with any of the following actions or words, keep it to yourself because i really do not care. it’s been a long hibernation, troops.

∷ warnings of abusive dynamics if you squint but mainly just unnerving silence and abrupt shouting | 2.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

Eight thirty. 

Three hours into Simon’s habitually quiet morning routine with the rising sun pouring keenly through the kitchen window, and sparrows chirping a little too loud — the mail had slid through the door.

A modest fall of envelopes, taking each one with a crease between his brows after sifting through them, eyes glossing over each addressee while walking to the kitchen table with the stack. He liked it this way. He liked the known, finding a specific comfort in knowing that the mail would come on the same dot every, single, day. 

Not that there was ever anything special. Only the usual, clubcard points, screwfix leaflets, disgusting bank statements and various military envelopes on his current pension plan. Christ. 

He sat down, pulling a lip upward to disregard more than half of his own mail, tossing it to the counter behind him for the bin. “What a load of shit.” Came a grumble, kissing his teeth at the mere £3.40 discount he had received for spending over £300 in Tesco. 

Though the pending sigh was lost for a singular stand out letter. One he seemed to still over, chest dipping in regret. Regret for nothing in particular, only a sinking feeling for the familiar Be The Best motto cast upon the right side of one envelope — different to his Who Dares Wins slogan. The envelope wasn’t for him. 

The birds hadn’t paused their songs, an ambient morning now fuelling a slow anger. An inter boiling one, but for now simmering with long breaths. In and out. His shoulders broke inward with large palms leant on the counter, craning his neck side to side to release placebo tension. 

The letter mocked him. A bit of paper that had permanently strained something, “Fucking hell, son.” He picked it up, flipping it backward to frontward as if the writing would change. As if his son's name would disappear from under the window of the envelope. Though it didn’t, and the paper was slid to the depth of the counter, prompting Simon to rub at his bottom lip.

It took three minutes of silence before he was being followed downstairs by his son. Few words exchanged, and surprisingly fewer questions. They both knew, and tension had already built, bringing Simon’s anger to a heavier simmer. The prior efforts of calmness were obliterated at the sight of the kitchen once more, the pad of his foot tapping against the vinyl flooring.

“What the fuck is this?” The letter was slid across the counter, branded and bred in the British military with the familiar crest proud in the top right. It looked sinful, like something exposing, illegal even. The boy's stare was one of tiredness, palms flat on the kitchen counter to stare down at the envelope on the oak.

Fatigue hadn’t quite left his eyes, squinted in the bright dawn. “What’s what?”

Though his words were met with silence and the birds chirping outside seemed wrong. The moment had forced a thicker, uglier tension into the room, and his son rounded the counter to pick up the letter. Brash and pasted, once again, in military branding. 

His eyes fell to his father. 

A picture of disappointment, veiled with frustration through a glare, one so strong it almost felt off-putting. Stress seemed evident via the way his hand had pushed toward the back of his neck, running upward and down the front of his face. 

“What is it?” The same question, though this time quiet and sincere. His eyes had regrettably softened for all of two seconds before a leg had begun bouncing in compromise after taking a seat in pre-ceasefire. 

“Nothing.” A teenage mumble. 

Simon laughed dryly, shaking his head with a palm flat on the counter. “This.” He raised his hand, now only the tips of his fingers on the letter. “This isn’t nothing.” Eyes catching his mirror image, a lanky eighteen year old with next to no muscle. It was devastating, really.

“It’s just mail.” 

“Open it.” A stern command, standing up and boring his eyes further into the boy before him. His height and build was much more significant, effectively towering over the six foot kid with all of his broadness.

“It’s none of your business, like.” The croaked words of a voice just woken were ones Simon raised brows at. 

“Anything with that crest is my business.” 

The similarities between his younger self and the boy before him was something Simon internally hated. He hated that his son had genetically taken not only his originally scrawny, defenceless build but also his raging attitude and temper issues. Dark eyes and accompanying circles, a rare smile and sigh of laughter.

Though not one bone had been broken in his body, his nose wasn’t squinted from various punches and his skin hadn’t been plagued by scars of battle. Something Simon could always draw a line between, though, he no longer held that power. 

The kid begrudgingly opened the letter, hunching shoulders inward as if to shield it from his father. A congratulatory letter, one addressed to his name in bold letters with an offer to train at the military academy for a reserved cadetship upon completion. 

The silence was loud. 

Simon knew what it was before it had been opened. His fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, and rubbed at his temples. “Fucking hell mate.” A deep breath was taken, chest puffing out with the inhale. “Fuck sake.” 

His son felt like a child again, small and inwardly anxious for his fathers reaction. Not that Simon was ever violent, not ever, but he was a different kind of frightening. Silent. He gave you the option to take whatever you’d wanted from his step back, though fiery eyes only pushed you down one slope. Anxiety and paired overthinking, it came as part and parcel of the Riley name. 

“I was goin’t tell you.” 

Another laugh escaped Simon, “At what point?” The side of his lip curved upward, though there was no real amusement. “Look at me.”

There was a scoff from his son in response, shaking his head with eyes locking back to the letter. Ink printed in gratification. “Nothin’ to do with you though is it?” The second part came as a mumble for the internal struggle to hold back aggression. Though it slipped through, naturally. 

“What did I say? Fuckin’ hell.” Simon growled, taking the envelope from the boy and skim-reading it. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “The fifth, next month, yeah?” Eyes flicking to his son who had shrugged, slinking off behind Simon to look through cupboards in evident dismissal.

“Dunno–”

“You’re out.” 

They had spoken in unison, each person cancelling the other out to create a bout of eye contact. “What?” The quirk in his lip was a giveaway of building frustration, eyes cast directly across his father who stood just taller than him. “I’m out?”

“You’re out the house.” Simon slid the letter across the counter in finality, “As soon as you leave for that camp. You’re gone.”

“What the fuck.”

“Big enough to enlist?” His tone was venomous, something his son was unable to contest. “Big enough to fucking leave.” The letter had been picked up by the kid, eyes skimming it over, eyes darting across the page while familiar anger had slowly built.

“Fuck off.” He mumbled, brows pulled together in a foul mix of annoyance and evident upset over his fathers’ dismissal. “Any other dad would be proud of that.” The letter dropped to his abdomen, two shaky hands still clutching to the torn envelope. “Not you though, yeah, not fuckin’ you. ‘Course not.”

There was a pause before a crash. 

A split decision of anger, one Simon mirrored at that age. A raging feeling of internal emotion that was only alleviated in bursts of aggression and breakage - punching holes in doors or smashing dishware. There was never a safe space to feel, therefore it came out unwillingly. 

For his son, it was a failing on his behalf as a father. That space was never created for lack of recovery had never allowed real estate. 

Multiple ceramics flown off the counter with one hand swoop, “Such a cunt.” His chest heaved and Simon’s eyes bore into his. Solemnity follows each and every moment with an unnerving silence, though it wasn’t continued when aggravated palms had landed on his chest, a teenage attempt to express.

“Don’t.” A bark, complete with snarling and a metaphorical showing of canines. A hand caught the boy's forearm, an admittedly tighter than required grip. “Don’t you fucking dare.” And for a moment, he feared he sounded like his father. 

Though he did dare. 

A rebellion as it was.

Again, a heavy palm had landed on his fathers’ chest - uncaught and if any stronger than the age of eighteen would’ve at least budged Simon. And, god, did he sound like his father with the promise of violence, a grip on his son’s shirt to hold him against the wall at the action alone.

A huff of air fell through his nose, head tilted, “If you enlist and you have this attitude,” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, eyes fixed to the wall he held the boy against to speak just above his ear. “They’ll send you right fucking back.” Though his son no longer recognised dad. This was someone else, someone he was never to meet. “Show some fucking respect.” A tone orchestrated of octaves reserved for Ghost. 

You had come down with the crash of ceramics, fully aware that Simon was in knowing of your presence by the way his grip had rid, stepping back with hands to his head. “What the fuck is going on?” You scowled at your husband who was already lighting a cigarette. 

After a short inhale, “He’s enlisting.” The smoke tumbled from his lip that turned upward to accommodate a low but amused chuckle. “He’s enlisting, lovie. Our boy.” The cigarette was then pointed to the teenager. “He’s enlisting so he can run around with a fucking rifle, kill one or two people because it's what? It’s a laugh is it? A fucking game?” Though the words were intensely directed to you, waving the smoke around before taking another inhale and shaking his head. 

“It’s not that serious, fucking-”

The words were cut off by a harsh slap of the counter and a rumble of a scold. “Not that serious?” It could only have woken the whole house and Simon ditched the cigarette to lift his shirt up, various scars and burn marks stretched across his front and back. “What's this? Eh?”

“Calm down.” You warned, or at least attempted to. 

“Calm down? He’s going to get himself fucking killed.” A bite, one without intention of ceasing. 

“You’re not dead.” The kid provided.

“I died years ago, son.” His eyes were naturally narrowed in their frustration, slow on the look-up, and shoulders tense through chest heaving. Up and down, and up and down.

The kid mirrored his fathers’ lost expressions.

“Right.” You then interrupted, placing delicate hands on the shoulders of your boy to steer him out of the room, letter still in his hands. 

“Coddle him. Tell him he’ll be fine,” The smoke from the cigarette danced around his hand, lifted back upward for a long, slow inhale, eyes burnt to your back. “That the world is a safe place and he won’t get hurt.” His voice had lowered.

But there was a mutual understanding of the lie, that nothing was fine and he wasn’t going to come out unscathed. Mentally, if not physically. 

It had bled into an argument between the two of you after, pointed fingers of accusation and bursts of tears had split from your eyes. His frustration turned into ready anger, then dismissal, refusing to believe the reality. 

“What’s your fucking issue?” Was the question you had barked once downstairs, four words that seemed obvious in their asking though Simon still quirked a brow. “There’s no need. No fucking need at all for that.” 

He shook his head, looking down at you over his cigarette while you swept up smashed ceramics. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” His voice low, cigarette mumbling the words with an inhale. 

You dropped arms to your sides, pointedly tapping the foot of the brush against the floor. “Like I don’t know what?” The accompanied scowl was one Simon’s eyes darted back and forth from, looking away out the window before tipping his cigarette. “It’s something he wants.”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Ever the fucking pessimist.” 

“Once he leaves,” The cigarette was acting as punctuation, pointed toward the door in far gesture. “He’s out.” Tone unnervingly quiet. One that warned any other argument off, though not yours. 

“Do me a favour, yeah?” You continued to sweep the ceramics. “Realise this isn’t about you.” Looking up at the way he had shifted in his stance, arm now crossed over his chest to tuck under his opposing armpit. 

“Fuck—“ He laughed. “It’s not about me.”

“You just kick off immediately.” 

“Hardly.”

“The fucking state of the floor, Simon.” You scorned, raising your voice to take his attention from the mindless cigarette smoking. “He’s your son. Treat him like it.” 

“When he learns respect-”

“He doesn’t respect you for that fucking attitude. It’s a battle, let it go.”

His eyes met yours to stand down, ditching the cigarette before nodding absently. His silence was telling of an awful mood, one he would carry for the next few days if uninterrupted. 

Tension grew thicker than a rope knot dramatically fast in the Riley household, and whether granted or not, there was only the one man to blame. Walking on eggshells whenever he would come home from a bad deployment was only fit to last so long, and you couldn’t change him. 

But he didn’t want to change himself either.

≔ unedited, and the tags probably won’t work. this is all i got and i’ll slam my fist on an ikea desk, this. is. all. i. got.

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@bunthebunny23

song of the day (time of writing)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #call of duty #ghost call of duty #Spotify

[leonw4nter]

A Dinner For Three

Husband!DI!Leon x F!reader

“Honey, it’s time for dinner. Time to get up,” your husband’s soothing voice gently tugs you away from the prying hands of a deep sleep. You slowly drift back into consciousness but you don’t open your eyes just yet, trying to linger in the border between sleep and the waking state for just a little longer. His calloused yet careful hands gently brush the strands of hair that veiled your eyes and nose away before moving to rake his fingers through your hair, trying to get you to finally get up and join him for a meal. You feel the couch dip around your waist area, prompting your lids to lift open. Your drowsy gaze falls on Leon who is now sitting beside you, a large hand placed on your leg as he gives it gentle squeezes in the way he knows you like while a pleased grin curls the tips of his lips skyward.

“Can’t I have dinner later? I still wanna sleep,” you drowsily mumble as you scratch at your arm, a little itch bugging you.

“I made you kimchi fried rice with two fried eggs and some boneless fried chicken with snow cheese,” he responds in an encouraging tone as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

At the mention of these meals, your mouth watered and you shot up. Well, as much as you can sit up with an eight-month old baby bump and the world suddenly spinning at the sudden movement of your body. Leon rushes to be closer with you, helping you sit up as he scans your face and body. He knew that you easily get dizzy now that you’re eight months into the pregnancy so he made sure to move you as slowly and carefully as possible so as not to trigger your nausea, helping you sit up while propping up some pillows behind you to give you time to regain your bearings before fully standing up.

“Someone got a little too excited,” he chuckles as he helps you sit up and recline into the pillows he placed behind your back. “Thought you wanted to sleep a little more.”

“Not when there’s a promise of fried rice, egg, and chicken,” you weakly chuckle while caressing your bump as you try to get your vision to stop spinning. Leon stayed by your side, observing you if you needed anything. After asking and then confirming that you didn’t need anything from him, he got up and walked over to the dining room. A few minutes later, he came back with placemats to place on the coffee table in front of you. He decided to bring along plates of dinner with the utensils to you, not wanting to make things more difficult or tiresome. Dinner was still steaming and the delectable aroma wafted through the air, your stomach grumbling in response to the feast in front of you. Tears sprung to your eyes, unable to hold back on the strong emotions brought about by raging hormones. A soft sniffle and a faint ‘aw’ catches Leon’s attention, turning his head to you. He quickly puts the plates he brought down, moving towards you and kneeling in order to look at you. His hand wipes a tear from your eye, a tender smile of his own playing on his lips though he looks worried.

“Something wrong?” he softly asks. “Why’re you crying?”

He moves in towards you, enveloping you in a delicate hug as he carefully sways you back and forth while he rests his head on your chest, his ears picking up the faint beats of your heart.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “My emotions are just… everywhere. I’m like– really hungry, happy, sentimental, and- and the fact that you moved dinner here instead of making me walk t-to the dining room– and also because I love you so much and you love me too,” you rambled with a sniffle in between.

He pulled back and peppered your tear-streaked face with kisses, his prickly stubble brushing against your cheek with each kiss planted before taking his time to admire his glowing wife, wondering what the hell he did in his past lives to deserve someone like you. “Must’ve stolen from the rich and given to the poor to have the greatest wealth in the form of her love,” Leon thinks to himself.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Very much,” he quietly tells you as he presses your foreheads together. “So, how about we have dinner now?”

You nod enthusiastically, smiling and chuckling as he helps you get down from the couch and into the floor, the ground beneath you lined with a soft towel laid on a pillow. He also got another pillow from the couch, placing it behind your back so you can recline and ease the weight you’re carrying. He gently rubs and presses on your lower back, letting you move into a much more comfortable position for eating. He takes your plate and adds in food, occasionally looking towards you as a way to silently ask if the servings he plated is enough already. You nod and take the plate from his hands, only to add in a few more servings to your plate as an excited gleam sparkles in your eyes. He chuckles and fills his own plate, his gaze occasionally flitting towards you. He takes his own spoonful of rice but not without shamelessly gawking at his wife sitting beside him; the way she lets out little happy squeals and does a pleased little dance is a sight he could watch forever. With each savory bite of the meal she so enjoys, Leon realizes that his life is similar to the dish in some form– a blend of different flavors, textures, experiences, and emotions elicited that led him up to this pure moment.

It occurs to him that this is their first dinner in their new home, having moved out of an old duplex due to safety concerns. The inside of their home is still unfurnished, boxes full and empty in every nook and cranny; the rooms would be void if not for basic furniture like chairs, tables, and their shared bed in the bedroom. This dinner would be their first and hopefully not the last to come in the years that this house will serve as a shelter to Leon’s family. He smiles at the realization, looking to his right to see his wife coming back for more. It warmed his heart to see how something simple and mundane like a warm meal satisfied you, your eyes all dewy and your soul satisfied by the good food. He couldn’t help but inch closer to you, bringing a hand to your growing bump and gently patting it.

“I’m glad you’re eating well, hon.” he softly whispers. “I’m happy that the little one is eating well too. I’ll continue to cook good food to keep you and our child happy, my dearest. Even when our baby grows up, I’ll continue to make sure everyone’s happy with the food they’ll be eating.”

You turn to him and grin, cheeks puffed up and full of rice and chicken. Even in this state, when you look funny and maybe even a little disheveled with your hair sticking out in all directions, he still looks at you like you’re the most marvelous view he’s ever had the chance of stumbling across. He opens his mouth as you move a spoonful of fried rice towards him, closing his lips around the spoon with a pleased hum.

“I know I look gorgeous, Leon, but you gotta get some bites in. Continue staring later,” you sweetly tell him.

He can’t wait for the moment when he’ll be able to do the good ‘ol “here comes the airplane” feeding trick for his baby.

NOTE - Will make note pretty short coz I'm eepy and wanna go to bed :)) Grades tomorrow morning, very terrified hopefully my grades aren't super low👍This fic was not proofread and was done in a cafe while waiting for my ride (finally understand the appeal of doing work in cafes; felt smart). EDIT: It's now the morning after I uploaded this and I decided to fix some things coz I feel like something was lacking and turns out I forgot to give credits, so I added that one right away. I'll try to write something a lot longer soon because my fics have been short lately 😭😭 I also watched a few clips of 'Welcome To Raccoon City' and now it's one of my comfort crappy movies. Like it's bad and that makes it GOOD. Anyways, thank you for reading my fics, I appreciate it very much :)) I <33333 UUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!! The heart dividers were made by @firefly-graphics , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #biohazard #fluff #leon s kennedy fluff #dad leon kennedy #husband leon kennedy #death island leon #resident evil death island #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil leon #biohazard death island #f!reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader

[gravehags]

⛧⚸ gravehags' writing ⚸⛧

GHOST

sundress season - mary goore x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

synchronicity - cardinal copia x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

fever for the fire - cumulus x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

i must confess to you (i want to possess you) - cumulus x f!reader, prequel to fever for the fire, NSFW, MDNI

to taste your beating heart - cirrus x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

sweetest submission - dewdrop x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

untitled - cardinal copia x gn!reader

this hell (is better with you) - ghoulettes x afab!reader

worship this love - cumulus x f!reader

meet me in the woods - cirrus x f!reader, regency au, NSFW, MDNI

dream (a little dream of me) - aether x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

feel you from the inside - dewdrop x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

i'd be your mistress (just to have you around) - cardinal copia x f!reader

the potential of you and me - phantom x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

whatever she wants (whatever you want) - cumulus x f!reader (x cirrus, sort of), NSFW, MDNI

your sin, your preacher - papa emeritus ii x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

give me mercy no more - cardinal copia x f!reader x cumulus, NSFW, MDNI

📚 CURATOR!READER (non-chronological series) 📚

dreadful need in the devotee - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

can't find you in the dark - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

unraveling a stitch - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

you send me - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

something so precious - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

i am the heart that you call home - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

every day is halloween - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

take me apart - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader), NSFW, MDNI

traduzione - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

satan baby - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader)

unholy, unholy, unholy - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader), NSFW, MDNI

falling so badly (i'm coming apart) - cardinal copia x f!reader (curator!reader), NSFW, MDNI

✨ BONUS ✨ - curator!reader x cardinal copia playlist

🌙 GHOUL BICYCLE SERIES 🌙

heaven in hiding - swiss x f!reader (virgin!reader) , NSFW, MDNI

the undone and the divine - swiss x f!reader, sequel to heaven in hiding, part two in the ghoul bicycle series. NSFW, MDNI

ain't it a gentle sound - dewdrop x f!reader, part three in the ghoul bicycle series (part i, part ii), NSFW, MDNI

waiting for you only - cumulus x f!reader, part four in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

our little remedy - aether x f!reader x mountain, part five in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

separated by a degree - cirrus x f!reader, part six in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

naked in that garden - rain x f!reader, part seven in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

feathers in our bed - transfem!sunshine x f!reader, part eight in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

some know it lovingly - phantom x f!reader, part nine in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

my blood is singing with your voice - aurora x f!reader, part ten in the ghoul bicycle series, NSFW, MDNI

the burn between our hearts - ghouls/ghoulettes x f!reader, final part in the ghoul bicycle series

💥 bonus 💥

dance of the seven veils - aether x f!reader, extension of the ghoul bicycle series

aether and dew spitroasting ghoul bicycle reader

ghoul bicycle series group first date

ghoul bicycle series bonus post part 1

mini fics/prompts

cumulus x f!reader x cardinal copia - NSFW, MDNI

mountain x ghoulettes - NSFW, MDNI

cirrus x f!reader - NSFW, MDNI

cardinal copia x sister of sin!reader (part 1, part 2) - NSFW, MDNI

ghoulettes with an inexperienced reader - NSFW, MDNI

phantom x f!reader (x mountain) - NSFW, MDNI

ghouls/ghoulettes and bloodlust - NSFW, MDNI

ghouls/ghoulettes handling your depressive episode

🪦🪦🪦

ao3 profile

ko-fi page

🩸🩸🩸

thank you everyone for your continued support in letting me get both my nasty AND tender fantasies out. love you xoxo.

#rachel writes

[haikyuufanficwriting]

Chapter 13: Kenma

Prompt: Reader tucking Character's hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face Character: Kenma _______________

The first time it ever happened, you were nine and he was eight. You, Kuroo and Kenma were hanging out in his room, watching Kenma play some game on his console, adding the additional comment every now and then.

It was, in your opinion at least, an extremely difficult level; the precision and accuracy needed was more than you could ever do, but you watched in fascination as Kenma did it flawlessly. To nobody’s surprise, he was on a roll, and even with the added pressure of an audience behind him, he performed to the absolute max.

Until his hair came into his much-needed view.

You watched the unfazed boy slowly get more and more irritated, at the reoccurring hair entering his eyeline. With every quick swish of his neck, it returned. And with every return; a more panicked motion.

“Stupid gravity.” Kenma muttered, to which you and Kuroo just laughed. But soon the movement started to bother you. That couldn’t be comfortable for his neck, and the extra movement was probably distracting him. So, when he did it for the umpteenth time, you groaned in annoyance.

“For God’s sake.” With that, you leaned over the bed you were laying on, took a finger and traced his bangs along his forehead to drag it behind his ear. You could feel his body tightened up, but you didn’t make the connection.

“There.” You say with a sigh before going to original position.

You couldn’t see, nor could you tell at the time, but Kenma’s entire face had heated up. He had stopped playing, as if he was trying to process what had just happened. You tilted your head to the side, confused when the video game character stopped moving. Kuroo however, just watched in thinly veiled amusement, somehow knowing exactly what Kenma’s thought process was.

“Is the level too much for you Kenma? You went all red.” Kuroo had asked, but you didn’t see the shit-eating grin on his face as he questioned his best friend.

“S-shut-up.” Was all Kenma could mutter, before going back into the zone and finishing the level. Soon, it was time for dinner and the event had been forgotten.

By everyone except Kenma.

For nights on end, he remembered the way your fingers felt on his skin, the tingle that came along with them as they traced the path to his ear. He remembered going red whenever he thought of it, and his heart beating a thousand times a minute. While you thought nothing of it, for the longest time, it meant everything to him.

Years and years went by, and he eventually forgot its importance to him. There were new games to conquer, consoles to buy, and though he never truly gave it much thought, it never really left him either.

To his knowledge, you were the only person to make him feel that way.

The second time it happened; years had gone by. You three were no longer in elementary school, but now in high school. With Kenma in his first year and you and Kuroo in your second, your friendship had only grown stronger. You were convinced by Kuroo to join the volleyball club as manager, his reasoning being “Now that Kenma’s here, how else are you going to spend your afternoons?”

It was after another dutiful practice. Like always, Kenma was lagging. You knew that he never really took the training well; being more of an inside cat than outdoor. Still, the fact that he was trying made you want to encourage him and aid him in the best way you could.

As a manager, you felt that was your duty.

(You remember being questioned by the team, well actually Yamamotto, as to why you catered towards Kenma so much. And straight-faced, you replied with “Because this is the only social activity he does; I don’t want one of my best friends to be a hermit.” Which was promptly followed by a certain someone’s hyena laugh.)

“Testsuro, where’s Kenma?” You asked Kuroo, looking around the gym noticing that he wasn’t there. Kuroo gave an annoyed side gaze to the third years, laughing with each other. “They asked him to get some stuff from the closet. They keep picking on him; there’s no way he can carry that stuff on his own.” You feel a sense of worry start to form in your chest, before clicking your tongue.

“I’ll talk to the coach later. Let me go help.” Kuroo gives you a nod, before you make your way to the supply closet in the hallway. Before you can even get there, you see Kenma carrying what looks to be a thousand things; legs slightly trembling with every step, with things stacked so high you couldn’t properly see his face. You were immediately nervous that he might fall.

“Kenma! Why are you carrying all that stuff at once? You’re gonna fall!” Your voice startles him, which makes sense seeing that he couldn’t view his peripheral.

“I didn’t want to make two trips.” His quiet voice wraps around the million items he’s carrying, and it makes you roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh at the ridiculousness.

“Well, at least we know that when it comes to intelligence and efficiency, you choose efficiency. Give me some of those.” You reach for about half of the pile, and place them on the floor, so you can reorganize them better to hold. While doing that, you notice that the movement had swept Kenma’s chin length hair into his face, with him scrunching his nose desperately to move it away.

It was pretty cute actually. You giggled at the sight.

“For God’s sake.” And with a strange sense of Déjà vu, he felt your fingers brush his hair away from his nose, away from his eye, as you so familiarly traced his hairline to the back of his ear, sweeping the hair from his face.

Then just like that, all the feelings that came once before all those years ago, came rushing back in an instant.

And all the balance he had mustered disappeared.

The next few moments were blurred by his rushing thoughts and your shaken rambles of apologies, but he knew one thing for sure.

He wasn’t going to forget anything like that again.

~~

The memories stuck with him hard. A little too hard if you asked Kenma.

The sensation of your hands on him snuck into his mind at any given moment, most of the time fighting to stop himself from turning completely red and a puddle of embarrassment. Kenma’s struggle began to start taking a toll, meaning that people were starting to notice. People like Kuroo was starting to ask questions, like how he didn’t see that obvious solution in the level of the game he was playing, Yamamoto was terrorizing him in why he wasn’t focusing in their practices, and worst of all, you.

You were asking why he was acting so different around you. Why he was so fidgety, quiet and reserved. More so than ever before. He couldn’t formulate an answer.

Yes, it was clear that Kenma was the center of attention.

And if there’s anything that Kenma hated more, it was being the center of attention.

At this point the only logical thing he could do to get himself back in order was to hole out in his room for a couple days, wait for all of his… everything to calm down and restore homeostasis.

So that’s exactly what he did.

He hid in his room, claiming illness and doing nothing but playing video games. Just like when he was a kid. It was refreshing really, having nothing to worry about. Acting as though he wasn’t imploding in on himself like a dying star when he considered the possibility that he crushing on you, one of his best friends since grade school.

But it was pretty hard to act like nothing was wrong when you burst into Kenma’s room, face hot and angry to catch him doing exactly what you thought he was doing.

You had started speculating something being off with the man in question when he stumbled and stuttered threw his sentence after the ‘closet incident’ (You decided to name it). Something he hadn’t done in years around you. Then when he didn’t show up for practice or school, without so much as a text message, you started to realize it.

The bastard was purposefully trying not to see you.

“I get that he’s not a confrontational person, but this is a new low. I’m his best friend.” You grumbled, sitting next to Kuroo on the train as he scrolled on his phone, only looking up when he needed to.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’m his best friend.” You whipped to glare at the third year. “Oh, wow thank you that’s very helpful.” He chuckles, clearly amused at your distress and frustration. You sighed, moving your hair out of your face, looking at the lack of calls and messages from him. To be completely honest, you’re surprised at how much it bothered you.

You didn’t seem like the idea of Kenma not caring. It was unlike him, especially when it came to you.

“I mean he texted me.” You can feel the smugness coming off the captain in waves. You groaned in disgust, both at him and at the situation. “You’re an ass you know that?” He laughs, dismissing the comment entirely.

“You don’t know what’s really going on you know. He really could be sick. My suggestion, go to his house and find that, one he’s lying, and you can call him out. Or two, Kenma was actually sick, and you’ll feel like an idiot. Either way, it’s a win-win.” You slap Kuroo’s arm at his teasing, to which he only smiles. God, he could be insufferable sometimes, but you were kind of stuck with him. Kenma too.

You both got off your stop and walked until you parted ways, letting his words bounce around in your mind. Were you the kind of person that hunted someone who was blatantly avoiding you and not wanting to talk to you for your own personal gain?

Apparently, you were, because you found your feet turning onto Kenma’s street instead of your own.

Which brought you to your current situation.

“What is your problem?” You had started, tone already edged towards a yell as you watched Kenma jump off his bed in surprise, no sickness in sight and the universal sound of a death in a game he was playing.

You watched his mouth gap for a second, clearly having too many thoughts flow through his mind. His cheeks begin to tint red as he muttered. “I said I wasn’t feeling well. I told the team.” You scoff.

“Oh bullshit! You’ve been acting weird since last week, and if you have something to tell me, you should say it to my face,” You didn’t realize you had walked towards him, but your legs seemed to have a mind of their own today. Usually when brought with amount of hostility you expected Kenma to shrink into a corner, or maybe melt into a puddle if physically possible. But he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

He kept his eyes locked on you. You were too upset to notice the intensity. Or the growing tension thickening the atmosphere of the room.

“I thought we were close enough for you to be comfortable telling me anything. And I don’t even know if I did anything wrong!” You got closer to him still, your voice getting louder in anger. Because you were truly confused; you had no idea what you could’ve possibly done.

“What happened?” You asked, challenging him. You finally took the time to search his eyes, only to be caught off-guard with the storm behind his eyes. He looks at you, calculated, like he did in his volleyball games. Thinking of every possibility.

You didn’t have any time to think or act or call his name when Kenma, with more confidence you had ever seen in him, pulls your face to his, kissing you passionately.

Surprising yourself, you didn’t realize that you were kissing him back until you were both gasping for breath.

Well… This is happening, I guess.

#haikyuu #drabble #writing prompt #fanfic #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #hq kenma #nekoma x reader #haikyuu fluff

[sadnymi]

"My Dreams Are Just Dreams... Until They're Not" modern Mattheo riddle × reader [chapter 5]

[previous chapter][Next chapter]

Note : this chapter can be read as a standalone

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language,childhood trauma ,abusing, cheating, angst, death, sexual harassment ( not the main characters)

Please understand that this chapter will delve into darker themes. I urge you to pay close attention to the trigger warnings provided.

words: 3,971

Reading Time : 14mins 26sec

Summery: A week at my best friend's beach house, surrounded by our friends as we meet her soon-to-be fiancé's companions, marks a turning point where the very fabric of my beliefs begins to unravel. It's during this week that I encounter the boy who incessantly appears in my dreams, blurring the distinction between the world of my subconscious and the tangible reality before me. Matthe Riddle emerges as the poison I willingly imbibe, a curse that feels akin to a dream, weaving its tendrils into the very essence of my being.

In the labyrinth of our minds, there exists a chamber where memories are stored,

guarded by a sentinel of the soul. This guardian, born of instinct and necessity, shields us from the piercing arrows of past pain.

It enshrouds our recollections in a veil of forgetfulness, concealing them from our conscious sight.

Yet beyond this protective veil lies a deeper truth—a truth of scars left untended, wounds left unhealed.

Shielding us from the torment of certain memories, like the haunting recollection of my own death .

My name is y/n Celestia daughter of Seraphina Celestia and Leopold Celestia

"My Dark Lord," my stepfather bowed reverently, and I followed suit, mimicking the formal gesture. "Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Seraphina Celestia, and my stepdaughter, Y/N Celestia." I lowered my head in acknowledgment, following the protocol instilled by my mother.

I was only eight when I first saw him, the young boy standing next to the dark lord with so much pride , observing us with an inscrutable gaze.

"Daughter of Leopold Celestia," our lord addressed me, rising from his seat and approaching us. "The heir of the Celestia family."

"I promise to protect her until she comprehends her role, my lord," my stepfather pledged, his voice resolute as he affirmed his duty to safeguard me until I reached maturity.

And that's when I realized my cue to depart had arrived. Mother's words echoed in my mind, admonishing me never to bring shame upon our family. I was to comport myself as befitting a princess, fulfilling the expectations laid upon me. I had made a solemn vow to Mother—to be obedient and dutiful in all things.

As I lingered in the adjacent chamber, awaiting their return, he appeared and settled beside me. "He's not your father?" he inquired gently.

"No, my father died before I was born " I responded matter-of-factly, devoid of the sting of grief or the weight of sorrow. "Mother deemed him a coward, claiming his demise stemmed from weakness and his inability to protect us."

He regarded me with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, giving me more attention than anyone ever did "And she believes your stepfather to be an improvement? That he is stronger and will safeguard You ?"

"I am bound to obey her," I murmured softly, casting a cautious glance over my shoulder to ensure our conversation remained private.

"So, do you like her ?" he probed, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Mother insists that in this world, emotions must be set aside," I replied, my tone tinged with resignation.

"She’s so annoying ," he remarked, prompting a rare burst of laughter from my lips. "What's so amusing?"

"I find her annoying , too," I confessed, still scanning our surroundings for any prying ears.

"And what of you? Do you hold affection for your mother?" I ventured, seeking to reciprocate his candor.

"I hardly know anything about her," he admitted

"I'm sorry," I offered sympathetically.

"Don't be," he replied with a shrug. "I doubt I'm missing much."

His response elicited another smile from me, a glimmer of camaraderie shared amidst the confines of our respective familial burdens.

"What about your father?" I inquired.

"We're good,"

"Do you obey him?"

"It's more of an understanding between us," he explained.

"Has he... has he ever hurt you?" I whispered softly, afraid of my own voice reaching the wrong ears and causing trouble.

"Of course not. Does yours?" he asked with genuine concern.

"When I do something wrong," I admitted, looking away. His hands found mine, and as our eyes met, I noticed the red bruise from yesterday. Panic set in, but his reassuring grip eased my anxiety. "He's the one who did this,? " I nodded hesitantly , then he squeezed my hand comfortingly.

"Don't be afraid, Y/N."

Come on, Y/N, we need to hurry if want to see where the hat will place the newcomers," Sarah's voice echoed from outside my dorm. I pulled away from the kiss with Mattheo, trying to compose myself.

"Yeah, just give me a minute," I replied,giving him a warming glance to not make any sound and trying to sound normal as much as I can

"You need to go, Mattheo, right now," I whispered urgently, breaking away from him once more.

He leaned in to give me one final kiss before responding, "Tell her to fuck off." His playful tone didn't match the seriousness in his eyes.

"Don't be so rude," I chided, cupping my face he smiled softly “ I will need to have a word with Lorenzo about how a cock blocker his girlfriend is “ I blushed and smiled shyly at him I was still a virgin we were seventeen but the topic still made me nervous Sarah said she did it with Lorenzo penny did too they said it’s wasn’t even that painful and after the first time it’s only about the pleasure , Mattheo never pushed me, giving me the time I needed.

"Y/N, I swear to God," Sarah's voice grew impatient, and I called back that I was coming. Grappling my scarf, I hurriedly put it on, realizing I had no time for makeup to conceal the red marks left by the boy smirking at my struggle.

But then it happened—I forgot to hide my sleeves. Panic gripped me as I noticed that where his eyes were on, Mattheo touched my hands softly, his expression turning from anger to hurt.

"You said he had stopped," he said, with me trying to hide my hands again Tears welled up at the sight of the pain in his voice.

"Mattheo, please," I whispered, shaking my head. "He didn't mean to, I—"

"I'm going to fucking kill him "

"I want one," I whispered, my head still resting on his chest."Why can't I have one right now?"

"Someday, baby," he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Why not now? Because I'm useless to the Dark Lord? Sarah joined the Death Eaters, Penny is going to..." My voice trailed off, frustration tainting my words.

"You are not useless," he said firmly, sitting up straight and meeting my gaze with seriousness. "Someday, I will let you rule this whole thing."

A smile spread across my face at his words. "You're so sweet."

"Oh, Lord, don't call me sweet in front of anyone, or I will have to kill them," he teased, eliciting a laugh from me.

"You know, I'm starting to get offended by you always wearing red," he remarked after a moments of silence .

"It's just a color, baby," I replied, trying to brush it off . But deep down, I knew it was more than just a color. Some wounds take longer to heal than others, and some keep on bleeding long after. Wearing red was my way of concealing the scars, a reminder of the battles I've fought and the pain I've endured.

cuddling within his embrace, I savored the peaceful moment, surrendering myself to the security of his arms enveloping me.

I tilted my head, resting my chin upon his chest, allowing myself the luxury of studying his striking countenance. Every contour, every scar, every nuance of his face captivated my attention, as I immersed myself fully in the sight of his handsome features

“ matt ? “

“ yes love ? “

“I'd love you until my last breath”

At my mother's funeral, I stand as a solitary figure, ensnared by a profound numbness that eclipses the mournful symphony of raindrops around me. The gray clouds and cascading rain envelop me in an abyss of numbing sorrow, the sting of her disdain piercing through me despite her cruelty.

*I feel utterly alone, adrift in an ocean of pain and loss, burdened by the weight of a secret I dare not share with anyone.*

The truth about my father's death, recalling the last conversation I had with my mother. I shake my head, taking hesitant steps back, hoping no one notices my absence at her funeral.

Then, I run. Far away from the somber voices and vacant stares, seeking solace beneath the shelter of a tree, I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

"Y/N," a voice interrupts my solitude, and I startle at the sight of him standing before me.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here," I exclaim, my voice trembling with fear as I scan the area, ensuring no one else is nearby.

"Calm down, it's okay," he reassures me, brushing away my tears with a gentle touch. "I would kill anyone who dares to interrupt and puts that terrified look on your face."

I know he means it, and that's precisely what terrifies me.

"Please, Matt," “ you know how dangerous it is , if anyone saw you with you “

we do know, as the heir of Slytherin he cannot have a weakness no one should know about our relationship people in our world will use it against him taking advantage of the situation , my voice barely above a whisper. With one hand, he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"It's okay," he murmurs into my hair, placing soft kisses there.

“ y/n ? “

“ yes matt “

"I know you're hiding something."

"I will talk to my father,I will ask him for permission to kill him."

"He's a loyal soldier to your father; he won't just allow it," I shook my head, standing up and making my way toward him.

"I hate the thought of you with him in the same house."

"He stopped hitting me, I promise," I tried to avoid his gaze. He knew me so well, even without speaking. He could feel my pain as much as I could feel his. Our souls had a language of their own, and he would catch my lies.

"Then I would just do it."

"No, no, stop it, mate, please."

Walking back and forth, his hands tangled in his hair, I approached him, attempting to calm him down. I reached out for his hands, hoping them with mine

"Then marry me," I took a step back, trying to understand his words.

"What?"

"Marry me. We are old enough now. Marry me, and I will tell my father I will do it your way. I will let him plan a wedding. I will—"

"I can't let you do it. They will ruin you. Those people will do anything to take your place. Even if that’s mean using me to get to you, No, God, I don't even trust your father enough. "

"Stop thinking about anyone else for a goddamn minute," he walked away, yelling angrily. "Stop caring about anyone else. I'm tired of holding back; I feel like you're tying my hands."

"So what? Let you go and hit my stepfather to death like last time? And then stand there trying to explain why you did it, blaming it on a misunderstanding. You know what happened last time."

“"No, I don't," he replied, his gaze piercing with anger. I despised the fact that we are fighting

"Please, I don't want to fight," I sighed, closing my eyes. I hoped that whatever was wrong between us would dissipate when I opened them again.

"And I'm tired of you always running instead of facing the situation. This weakness you've convinced yourself of is just an illusion, cause deep down you can’t move on from being

the little girl who was afraid to disobey him," he retorted with frustration.

"That's it, the tears I was holding, I couldn't contain them anymore. I pushed him away from me, crying heavily.

"Baby, I didn't—" he realized his own words, attempting to hold me. I pulled away, screaming, "Don't you dare fucking touch me," trying to reach the door.

Just as I was about to pass his tall frame, Mattheo moved his arm quickly to block my way. He didn't touch me, only reaching for the wall to stop me from leaving . I flinched, and squeezed my eyes shut while raising my arms in front of my face. My body expected a hit as my mind told me that I just made a fool out of myself.

Silence fell around us. Realizing what i just did , I was ashamed, and the hurt in his eyes made me sob heavily.

"Baby," he came closer, and I was shaking.

"I would never... never hurt you. Did you think I was going to?" Pain, a lot of pain, echoed in his voice and eyes, and it was all my fault.

"I'm so, so sorry. I know you would never. Please don't be hurt. I'm so sorry," saying while sobbing

"Stop apologizing, baby, please," he uttered softly, bridging the gap between us. His hand extended tentatively, wary of any residual fear.

"I would never hurt you, love " he reassured me. Our fingers intertwined, a subtle tug pulling me closer, and I wrapped my arms around him, letting the tears wet his t-shirt.

"I know. I'm so sorry," I repeated, taking a step to look into his eyes just for him to cup my face softly.

"I would burn any hand that ever thought about touching a strand of your hair. The thought of you being hurt makes me want to burn them all down. I would never hurt you, baby."

"I didn't know why I reacted like that. I'm so sorry. It's like my body has a reaction of its own," I confessed, and he kissed my forehead while wiping my tears away.

"No, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I shouldn't have scared you. Fucking hell, I'm so sorry, baby," he apologized, and I nodded, letting him kiss me softly, his lips moving cautiously with mine.

"We both were. I let what happened get to me, and I'm sorry. I think we need a break—" he tried to talk, but I shook my head.

Please, Matt, I hurt you. You hurt me I think we need some time to calm down ," I pleaded.

"You didn't hurt me," he insisted.

"I will see you at the beach house. He agreed to go this year as well. I will come to Sarah's once you arrive. We'll go earlier; he has an early business," I explained.

"Baby—" he began.

"It's okay, Matt ," I stepped back, going to the door, turned around one last time,

"I love you." He said it softly like a prayer with his eyes on mine , and my tears ran once more.

Once Sarah saw me, she got away from Lorenzo. "Are you okay?" I nodded, wiping my tears away. "Can you take me home?"

Being at the beach house this year without my mother was a new experience, the absence of her presence leaving the house darker, more sinister, as if it had taken on her essence. I tried to maintain a deliberate distance between myself and the monster I had to tolerate, struggling to divert my attention to the rhythmic sounds of the ocean and the invigorating breeze. I resisted the urge to reach out to Mattheo, to ask Sarah about him.

"What are you doing?" His voice cut through the air like a knife, and I hated the tremor that ran through my body.

"Just reading," I replied without turning around, feeling his hand on my shoulder in the most unsettling way. He had never touched me like that before, and I felt disgusted.

"Did you spread your legs for him, princess?" His words were like venom, and I recoiled, taking a step back.

"What?" I managed to utter, my heart racing with fear and confusion.

"Don't act so innocent. I know what's going on between you two. I wasn't sure until he almost killed me that night I hit that pretty face of yours. I did that on purpose, you know?" His smirk made my skin crawl, and I instinctively moved towards the door, trying not to alert him.

"You're sick," I shot back, my voice trembling as I attempted to make my way to the door without drawing attention.

"You know that time I brought those women to the house in front of your whore of a mother? I was thinking of you the whole time while fucking them," he taunted, his words like daggers piercing my soul. "Sometimes I think about him fucking you as well, my princess, my innocent girl."

I ran to the door, screaming, when he grabbed my hair so hard that tears sprang to my eyes immediately.

"Look at this skin, so soft, and that fucking body," he murmured, his grip tightening as I struggled against him trying to fight him as much as I could

"He will kill you. He will fucking kill you, and I will let him. I will stand here watching him burn you alive, and I will watch every single second of it." I shouted at him believing every single word of it

"Shut up, you stupid slut," he spat venomously, his words like acid burning through my soul.

"It's about time he arrived with Sarah. I will tell him. I will let him burn you alive, you fucking monster," he continued, pulling me even harder until I felt like he would tear me apart. He threw me onto the sofa, hitting me in the face before gripping it so tightly it felt like my bones would shatter.

"so bad we'll be already dead before that," he taunted, relishing in my fear and confusion. "Oh, how I love that look. It's almost the same as your father's before I put that dagger in his heart, and the same as your mother's before I choked her to death. Your stupid, stupid mother thought I needed power and you needed a father. It didn't take her long to agree, to hand you to me on a golden plate," he sneered, his words dripping with malice.

"He's going to kill you either way," I retorted defiantly, refusing to cry as I met his gaze with anger and frustration.

"Will he, princess ? Then you won't get rid of me because I'll search for you in death too," I threatened, my hand holding my hair clip With lightning speed, I lunged at him, aiming for his neck, and he screamed as it pierced his skin.

Seizing the opportunity, I scrambled to my feet and made a run for it, he caught me by my leg

and I kicked him as hard as I could, trying to break free. He locked the doors with a fucking spell , trapping me inside, and panic surged through me as I realized he must have planned it all along.

I pulled my phone and run straight to my room decided to get out through the window or the roof

Grabbing my phone and running straight to my room locking the door behind me “Alohomora” I said but nothing happened “Alohomora” I screamed it again but the window is still closed he must have put a spell to make sure I can’t use it trying to calm myself down I grabbing my phone, I dialed Mattheo's number, my voice trembling as I spoke.

"Mattheo, you were right," I confessed, my heart pounding with fear. "He should have died."

"I'm on my way," he assured me, his voice filled with urgency.

"I think it's too late—I just wanted to say it back," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as I struggled to open the window. "I love you. I love you so, so much. From the first time I saw you, you were the most precious thing I ever had. I love you, and I will love you in every life I live. I love you. I don't want to die without saying it one last time."

"You're not going to fucking die baby I’m coming hold on for me okay? " he replied firmly, and i river of tears started to fall

I ended the call, tossing the phone aside, and focused on finding a way out, my heart filled with determination and love

Unlocking the room, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead. With no sign of him, I moved carefully downstairs

“ princess come here , I promise I will forgive you for that small accident “

“ you can’t hide forever princess “

Close your eyes and breathe he can’t hurt you- if you can’t see him that’s mean he won’t be able to see you

“ comon , daddy hates waiting princess, he’s going to punish you when he finds you “ shut up - shut up - shut up

Then I hear it—the sound of his steps, each one drawing him nearer and nearer

“ he’s not coming you mean nothing to him you know? Why would the heir of the most powerful house care about someone insignificant, someone so worthless like you “

“ liar “ I screamed and then it was red all over again all I saw was red

I I brandished my wand and shouted, "Incendio!" The flames engulfed the house swiftly, consuming every inch of it in a fiery embrace.

"Stupid bitch," I muttered under my breath, knowing he couldn't use a spell on me directly. If he wanted my death to appear normal, he couldn't risk casting any spells on me. That's why he had put a spell on the house, making it impossible for me to utter the spell that could have been able to kill him

"Alohomora" he yelled, and all the doors unlocked. I sprinted towards the kitchen door, fleeing the inferno, blood from my nose and lips staining my trembling hands.

Glancing back, I saw no sign of him before finally escaping. However, just as I thought I was in the clear, a heavy pain and the choking sensation of my own blood overcame me. Falling to my knees, I noticed a knife protruding from my back, its blade emerging on the other side.

In agony, I screamed as I pulled the knife even deeper. "Thank you, princess," he uttered, kissing my forehead. "I'll tell them you died bravely, and I promise to take care of your inheritance."

He got up, and the cruel realization hit me that the last thing I might see before death was his sinister face. Collapsing to the ground, I screamed for the last time, my voice giving up. I felt the onset of death, a gradual release of my grip on my soul.

In those final moments, I thought of my friends, the things left unsaid, but most of all, I thought of Mattheo – my sweet Mattheo, the only love I had ever known. I wished to see his face one last time, contemplating all the things we never got the chance to do.

Suddenly, I felt hands on me, perhaps imagined, as he softly wiped away tears and blood from my face.

"I once said I'd love you until my last breath, didn't I?" I mustered a weak smile, extending my shaking hand to hold his on my face.

"You're not going to die," he insisted, and I prayed to see him clearly one more time.

"You're not going to die, love. I won't allow it. Keep those beautiful eyes on me, okay?"

I struggled to keep my eyes open, but darkness descended rapidly, making each breath a challenging task.

“ I’m so sorry “ kissing my forehead , my hands, and I never wanted to be alive as much as I do right now

"I'm going to fix it, love. I'm going to fix everything, I promise."

Clutching onto the sound of his voice, I felt everything fade into darkness.

Tag list :

@hereticdance

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[bahbahhh]

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps. zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity [first] [last]

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Two chapters left. There will be a little break in posting for now. I’m on vacation and will start working on the next chapter when I’m back. There is loads of great content over on @zelinkcommunity if you are eager for more. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reboots. Seriously. I love interacting with members of this fandom. It seriously makes my creativity explode.

Chapter 5

for prompt “by a thread”

“Is that a golden horse?”

The road from Kakariko to Gerudo Town is long. Link refuses to push his horses unless he absolutely needs to and the golden horse she’s riding, that she has yet to name since the Sheikah gifted it to her when they left Kakariko almost a week ago, isn’t technically his, but it follows him like it is. So, when he turned north in the shadow of the Great Plateau instead of continuing southwest, it followed him happily in the direction of the Outskirt Stable, despite her pulling back on the reins and muttering commands under her breath.

“It would appear so,” Zelda answers, trying to adjust her gear casually so it covers the violet and gold saddle. Impa insisted Zelda take the Royal gear, along with the golden horse, for “luck”. Zelda wanted to protest, but stopped short when she caught Impa’s eyes. This was all her former guardian could offer her now. The last of her protections, presented under a gentler veil: gifts.

“Would have thought you’d be riding the white stallion, Princess. What did you end up calling him, Link?” The old stable hand asks.

“Storm.” Link drops a handful of rupees onto the counter.

“Strong name.” The old man tugs off his hat and bows his head. “My name’s Toffa, by the way. My grandfather was head groom for the Royal family a century ago, Princess. His name was Talon.”

Zelda presses her lips together. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Grandfathers, grandmothers, great aunts – only two generations separate these Hylians from her time. While she is an enigma, the people who filled her castle, who tended to her horses, who made her bed—all the people who died instantly when the Calamity emerged, evaporating every living thing inside the castle’s walls, are still remembered distantly by those who survived them.

And the only way Zelda feels like she can truly honor them is by knowing them.

But Talon, like the rest of the names she’s heard in the details people toss at her, like coins in a wishing well, doesn’t pull a single memory forward. In their reverence of her sacrifice, people have forgotten how devastatingly isolated she was for most of her childhood.

Her father never allowed her to enter the stables.

“Toffa helped me find Storm,” Link says, breaking the tension. He eases it further by helping Zelda off the horse.

“Beautiful horse. As is this one!” Toffa takes the horse's reins from Link. “Probably once every hundred years you’ll see a horse like this,” he chuckles. “Seems like you are made for each other, Princess.”

“Hm, thank you.” Zelda pulls her hood over her head and turns away from the inn where there is a small crowd forming inside. She tells herself it's because of the horse with the golden coat, but when she sits in front of the cooking pot, and sneaks a glance back at the stable, they all stare at her.

“What’s its name?”

A child, no older than eight, is suddenly seated beside her. She’s got dirt on her face, blonde hair in two short plaits, and she’s missing her front teeth. It sounds like there is a whistle at the end of every word. Zelda immediately smiles.

“You know, I haven’t named him yet,” Zelda says.

“How come?”

Because I’m avoiding anything that communicates ownership. “We are…still getting to know one another, I suppose.”

“How do you get to know a horse?” Another child appears out of thin air, a little boy with sandy hair and freckles, and drops into Zelda’s lap. The little girl, who is probably his sibling, scoots so close to Zelda that their legs touch. The sudden lack of personal space is alarming for someone who is used to her title forcing a wide berth, and yet, she knows this to be common with young children. Distance has to be taught.

“That’s a really good question. What do you think?”

“Sing him songs?” The little girl says.

“Pet his nose,” says the little boy.

“Feed him!” A third kid, who is wrapped around Link’s ankle so Link has to use his entire body to take the last step into their camp, rolls away from Link and sits cross-legged in front of her. Link quickly busies himself with unpacking their food. He might be smirking, but his face is just shadowed enough, she can’t be sure.

“Those are some really great suggestions. What do you suppose a golden horse would like to eat?”

“All horses like carrots.”

“Very true.”

“I bet this one would like carrots with honey,” says the first girl.

“Perhaps, that sounds yummy to me.” Zelda nods.

“Can we feed him?” The little boy in her lap clasps his hands together and shakes them in her face.

“Of course. I bet he’ll love that.”

“Do you want a honey carrot, too?” the little boy in front of her asks.

“Me?” Zelda blinks.

“You said it sounds yummy. Do you want one, too? Mr. Link travels all over Hyrule. If you are an adventurer like him, you should probably eat now while you have the chance. Mr. Link always eats like he’ll never see food again.”

Link stands up straight and flashes the kid a look. All three of the children giggle.

Zelda eyes the stable in her peripheral. The crowd is still there. “Do…do you know who I am?”

“A lady!” The boy at her feet shouts the answer with urgency.

“A pretty lady,” says the boy in her lap.

“With a cool horse for adventures?” adds the little girl next to her. No titles, not even her name. They have no idea who she is. Zelda could cry.

“I’d love some carrots, but only if you have some with me.” All three of the kids burst forward, scrambling over each other back to the stable to retrieve the ingredients. She doubts they will have the honey, but a roasted carrot does sound nice.

Link drops a honeycomb on her lap. He settles down across from her and continues to sort through their gear. His back is to the Great Plateau. He didn’t look up at it once as they rode by. If she squints, she can just make out the tip of the mountain the Shrine of Resurrection waits inside. To the left, the Sheikah Tower is dark against the sun. The blue energy seems dimmer than she remembers, only shining halfway up the tower, like the blue is slowly draining down into the base.

“You're good with them,” Link says. Zelda snaps her attention back to him and laughs nervously, trying to scatter her vision points like she is surveying and not gawking at the Great Plateau. He doesn’t need any added pressure from her.

Clearing the shrines remains his task to complete once the Divine Beasts are buried. Purah took the Slate back with her to Hateno for now, but it will be in his hands soon enough. She and Robbie are to stop in Zora’s Domain on the way to update the Zora about the delay in the shrine clearing and the plan to move forward with the Divine Beasts. A messenger, a tall white Rito wearing goggles Robbie repeatedly admired named Penn, appeared shortly after the rain stopped and agreed to take the same message back to Rito Village. Link volunteered to make the journey to Gerudo Town. Zelda asked to join him and the Sheikah surprisingly didn’t object. They just gave her a ridiculously flashy horse.

‘First time I was here, they stayed in the stable the entire time,’ Link continues.

“Well, you didn’t have a golden horse.”

‘True. But you also speak to them differently than I do.”

“What do you mean?”

He slowly rolls his fists, thinking. ‘You get them to listen. Really listen. You speak to them like a mother does. That could come in handy, right?’ he signs and then sets to building the fire up enough to cook. Zelda pulls out her water, but by the time she sets the jug to her lips, her mind is already spinning. Does he think she acts like a mother? Is he also imagining that for her? During their early travels, before the Summit, Impa and the Zora individually mentioned the importance of an heir should someone assume the throne. She blatantly ignored the comments at the time, tucking them away with all the other Royal duties she was in no hurry to resume, but Link was there, as always, listening.

Was he trying to imply this could be her purpose? Speaking clearer than what was done for her, to the next little Princess in line to inherit this fate? Even worse, was he trying to shake her loose from his side? The Master Sword is gone. He hasn’t worn his Champion blues since defeating Calamity Ganon. He’s known more for his aid than his failure now. All that is left from his past is…

His face had been unreadable when she asked to join him. Not enthusiastic, no hint of the same person who had written all those wonderful letters—flat.

Like she is unanticipated, but manageable cargo. A golden horse.

—

Kara Kara Bazaar buzzes to life with activity around dusk. There is a nice breeze off the oasis and the air is cool enough that people start to drift away from the safety of the shade. All the merchants also heavily discount the food at risk of spoiling overnight in an effort to make a final sale. Zelda has never seen Link so giddy. He grins at her over his arms, both full of freshly roasted meat, goat butter, six roasted bass, and an entire hydromelon. It’s enough to feed a family and yet when a small group of researchers asks to join their camp, he sulks, and turns back to the merchants for more.

The group calls themselves “the East Gerudo Desert Survey team”, formally, “the West Gerudo Desert Survey team”, and soon to be “the North Gerudo Desert Survey team” once they learn all they can about the Seven Heroines. They are led by an exceptionally muscular and enthusiastic Hylian named Tauro, who tells Zelda he started off exploring ruins on his own.

“I met Gagaim and Grunyon in the Shadow Hamlet Ruins in Eldin and then we rescued Wordsworth from the Forgotten Temple in Tanagar Canyon. Zazul joined after we explored the Ancient Columns in the Rayne Highlands. As you can see, we’ve gathered a few more along the way, mostly in Faron.” He gestures to the rest of his crew. They don’t try to bow to her or avoid her gaze. Formalities and forms fade away the longer you stay on the road. She remembers this well. Fondly.

Link returns and hands Zelda a skewer of steaming meat with a thick slice of hydromelon. Zelda accepts it and immediately sets it aside to continue speaking to Tauro. “You’ve researched the Zonai Ruins?”

“Oh yes, multiple times. It’s a fascinating site. I make a new discovery every time we go.”

Link lingers in front of them long enough to tug her gaze back to him. He’s looking between the plate of food she set down and Tauro. What was it Robbie used to say one hundred years ago? The way to a man’s research is through his stomach, right? She wants to keep him talking, keep them from packing up, and taking their data with them. Zelda retrieves her plate and hands it to Tauro. “Here, have mine. You must be hungry.”

“Thank you! This looks delicious. Yes, we hardly stopped for lunch. I could probably eat ten plates!” He tears into the meat with his teeth and groans. “So good.”

Link moves away finally. Probably satisfied that the food is being eaten. Tauro continues, “I started logging all the ancient Zonai artifacts several years ago. A bit of a passion project. They aren’t just in Faron. You can find them all over Hyrule.”

“Really? That’s fascinating. May I see?”

“Of course, Princess! Here, do you mind?” Tauro gestures to the spot next to her. Zelda nods enthusiastically and he slides next to her and pulls out a green notebook he keeps buckled to his belt like a dagger. He flips it open and hands it to her. The pages are filled with rough sketches of Zonai Ruins, impressions of carvings, and endless notes deciphering the contents.

“This is remarkable,” Zelda says.

“I had heard you were a bit of a researcher yourself, Princess. This is an honor.”

The fire that has been slowly dying inside her with every shrine that blinks off the Sheikah Slate map suddenly ignites. “Uh, well, yes. I mean, it was never officially sanctioned by my father, but I did study Sheikah Technology and Hyrulean wildlife.”

“You do not need authorization if you have the heart of an explorer! No one officially approved my travels and yet, I have had many! Though, it can be quite dangerous work. We ran into a molduga the other day in the West Barrens. And a few of us recently fella ill; too much time in some of the ruins that go underground. Bad air, contaminated water, dark magic.”

“I’ve been told there are lots of old places in Hyrule people should avoid.” Zelda glances over at Link. He is hastily handing out plates of food, but he catches her eye. It feels natural to want to pull him into the conversation, but then she reminders the Sword is gone and people are reaching for him. This is an opportunity to get someone to reach for her. Link’s literally handed it to her on a plate. She turns her attention back to Tauro and commits to staying there.

“Sure. Loads of them. But what’s the fun in that? To my knowledge, no one else in Hyrule boasts an expertise in Zonai linguistics like me. You think this happened playing it safe? Ha!”

Zelda smiles. “I suppose that is true. Researching requires courage in my forms.”

“Precisely! You get it! We dare to push the boundaries of what is known and go wherever in Hyrule that takes us. You should join us in an exhibition, sometime. You defeated a demon, Princess. Nothing hiding in a cave could stop you.”

Warmth glows in her ears. She smiles and flips a few more pages. There is a full page sketch of a statue resembling an owl. Two giant eyes stare through her. Underneath it, the sentence ‘Zonai deity for wisdom?’ is scribbled.

It always manages to find her.

She sighs and closes the book. “Where will you go next once you see all the ruins in the Gerudo Desert?”

“I was thinking maybe the Thyphlo Ruins.”

Link appears before them, makes a short sound through his nose, a lot like a horse, and hands Tauro another skewer. Tauro takes it and tilts his head.

“I take it that means you’ve been?”

Link nods.

“R-really? I have reason to believe they are connected to the Zonai Ruins in Faron!” What are they like?”

Link drops down beside Zelda with two plates of food. He sets one in her lap, ignoring Tauro completely until Zelda picks it up. He’s unusually close. There is a strange edge to him; she feels it along the long line of his thigh against hers. Like she's thumbing the edge of a blade. It sends a shiver through her body when he looks through his bangs across her at Tauro and signs a single word:

‘Dark.’

—

Zelda liked Riju when they met over a year ago at the Summit. Now, on her second week inside the walls of Gerudo Town, as she sits on the edge of Riju’s bed with a pink sand seal stuffed animal across her lap, and watches the Chief of the Gerudo jump back and forth across her bed giving her best impersonation of a lizalfos, Zelda decides she might just love her as much as she loved Urbosa.

The late Chief has been with Zelda from the moment she stepped into Gerudo Town. Zelda hears her deep laughter echoing in the alleyways, sees flashes of her beauty in the ceramics and gems embedded into sandstone walls, and feels her love in the warmth of her welcoming people. They permit Link to enter the village and immediately confiscate his sirwal and veil. He’s allowed to wear the corresponding voe set to help with the heat during their stay, but they tell him that it would be staying with the Gerudo when he leaves as well.

He’s training with Teake now. He’s cooled off since the awkward encounter with Tauro in the Bazaar, and although he seemed genuinely disappointed to lose both of his Gerudo sets, any gloom lingering over him disappeared when he was invited to barracks to train.

Zelda remembers it was one of the first things Urbosa would do when she met them anywhere a century ago.

Test your strength, Hero? If you’re going to be protecting my little bird, you had better be prepared.

Zelda has tears in her eyes when Riju finally stops hopping and collapses onto her stomach. The tears don’t stop when the laughter dies off. Vah Naboris will disappear into the endless sandsea in the morning and it’s like they are finally burying Urbosa’s body, too. Daruk is already resting. Revali and Mipha may already be gone, too.

Zelda pressing her fists against her eyes so hard it hurts. She feels Riju move beside her. There is a warm hand on her shoulder. For a second it almost feels like—

“I miss her so much,” Zelda whimpers.

“I was told how close the Hylian Queen and Lady Urbosa were. And when the Queen passed, Lady Urbosa vowed you would always know a mother’s love,” Riju says softly.

Zelda pulls her fists away from her eyes and wraps her arms around herself to contain the sob that threatens to shake her entire body. She sees the way Link held his hands when he told her about the Champion’s gifts. Zelda chokes and sputters out the words, paraphrasing him for the second time in a week. “I-I have to let her go. All of them.”

Voices carry up from the barracks through the open windows into the adobe. There is a mighty clash of metal and a lively and familiar call that means Link is engaged in a sparring match. Without the Master Sword, without the Sheikah Slate on his hip.

She has a vision of the Great Plateau Tower completely drained of its power and a map of Hyrule without any shrine left to clear. Link crosses Hyrule Field without passing a single guardian shell, no longer haunted by the glowing eyes that hunted him a century ago. Nothing mechanical and towering looms over the towns and cities and villages that survived Calamity's corruption.

It’s beautiful and necessary and yet, all Zelda feels is grief.

“It’s hard to explain, but a hundred years doesn’t feel like enough time. It passed through me differently than the rest of you…in some ways, I felt every agonizing second of time, and in others, with this, it only feels like it’s been a year. One year since I lost them.”

“Princess,” Riju gently takes Zelda’s hands and pulls them away from the crushing hold she has on her body. “Just because you let them go, does not mean all that love goes away with them. You can still carry it with you. In fact, I hope you do. Grief is a reminder of connectedness; of the endurance of true love. It means Lady Urbosa kept her promise to your mother.”

Link kept his promise, too. Fulfilled his oath. It would be unfair to hold him to words they never had the chance to speak out loud. Who knows, given her track record recently, it could have all been a gross misinterpretation on her part. The pull of duty and devotion feels a lot like the inescapable gravity of love. He’s changed now, and in many ways, for the better. And with the Master Sword gone, his burden will be eased moving forward. He is as free as the Wild that saved him.

As long as she can let him go.

“You’re right.” Zelda wipes her face quickly and nods a half dozen times. “Okay, yes. Thank you, Riju. Urbosa would be so proud to know you are protecting her people.”

“I don’t know about protecting just yet. Whether Urbosa’s Fury remains within me or not once Vah Naboris is gone, my official training begins tomorrow. And I plan to, well, I guess why not just- well- hold on.” Riju scrambles off the side of her bed in a careful pattern so as not to disturb her collection of stuffed seals. She disappears into a side room and then emerges a second later with a pair of scimitars.

“Buliara had these made for me. They are an exact replica of Lady Urbosa’s. The original sword was given to–”

“Link. Yes, I’ve seen it,” Zelda says, taking one of the scimitars from Riki’s outstretched hand. He keeps all the Champion’s weapons mounted in his house in Hateno. The memory of the first time she noticed it punches her square in the chest.

How is she supposed to stop loving him? He’s here, thank the Goddess, he’s still here, but that means there is no closure. She can’t bury this love. Maybe she can channel it, take this pain and pour it into something new? Tauro did invite her to join an exhibition. Maybe he will let her join his crew or she can follow in his footsteps and set off on her own to rediscover Hyrule. If she must remain alone in the past, the least she can do is learn from it.

“You should cut your hair,” Riju says.

“W-what?”

“Vah Naboris’ time is ending. My training begins. I will be focusing all my energy, all my time on becoming a fierce warrior for my people. I can’t do that with all this unnecessary weight .” Riju flips the massive braid of thick copper hair over shoulder. “It’s time to shed what we do not need. Start fresh. Be lighter. You should do it with me!”

“What–now? With this?”

“It is the sharpest blade in Gerudo Town.”

Zelda glances between Riju and scimitar. The emerald laid into the gold of the folded guard is the exact shade Urbosa’s eyes were. In the candlelight, they flash. Wink.

Zelda takes a breath, gathers her hair up away from her face in one hand, and swipes the blade with the other in a sweeping, cathartic, and incredibly impulsive arch.

The length of her hair drops down next to her. Instantly, Zelda can draw breath deeper. The release of weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying makes room for laughter. Deep and rich and exactly like her Geurdo mother’s.

Riju squeals and kicks her feet out in front of her. “Amazing! Amazing! Okay, me next, me next!”

—

Riju’s scimitars are sharp, but they are not well suited for hair cutting. And although Riju told Buliara of her intentions to chop off her hair, a spontaneous, uneven cut with a sword is not what her personal bodyguard and guardian regent of the Gerudo tribe had in mind. Thankfully, all of the warriors have secondary skills, and surprisingly, captain Teake happens to be proficient with scissors.

Zelda turns her head back and forth, testing the feeling of hair just brushing her shoulders. Teake had to take more off to correct Zelda’s lopsided cut. Riju had been more thoughtful, using her braid as a guide.

“What do you think?” Zelda asks Link suddenly. Since the cut, she’s felt a little bolder. Courageous.

He gives her a thumbs up.

“Your hair's getting long. Do you want Teake to trim it?”

He shakes his head, pulls the thin blue headband from his wrist and wiggles it between his fingers. He gathers his hair back into a messy knot and nods.

“Yes, I suppose it’s rather convenient to still be able to do that. Hm.” She attempts to do the same, testing the new length in her hands. Thick pieces of blonde immediately fall around her face.

‘You’ll figure it out. It looks good short,’ he signs. His cheeks glow pink faintly. She tucks the hair behind her ears a few times to soothe the longing in her chest. She’s grown wise enough to know it's just the sun.

“Excuse me?” A Gerudo child tugs on the seam of Zelda’s sirwal. Zelda crouches down so they are eye level. The girl has eyes like amber stones.

“Yes?”

“Are you the same princess we met before? The one from the castle?”

Zelda hesitates, the opportunity to recreate herself, even temporarily, dangles like a carrot dripping with honey. “I am.”

“You look different. I like it.” The girl eagerly hugs Zelda around the neck and then takes off in the direction of the market.

“Children like you, yes?” Riju sets her hands on her hips.

Zelda stands and fixes her hair again. She thinks about the stable children and smiles. “I suppose they do.”

“You should teach. It’s a gift not many are blessed with,” Riju says.

Something clicks into place in her head. She looks at Link, whom she saddled with assumptions a week prior over a similar comment. Thinking the worst of it and him since.

He’s smiling. It’s almost painful how handsome he is when he looks so casually sure of himself.

The resolve to release him hangs by a thread.

‘See?’ he signs.

#botw #zelink #link #loz #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #zelda #tears of the kingdom #loz botw #botw fanfiction #totk #totk spoilers #loz totk #loz fanfiction #zelink fancficiton #zelink community #zelink week 2023 #bahbahhhart #bahbahhhwrites #begin again

[ginneke]

Flash Fiction Friday - #213: "Ten Years Later."

@flashfictionfridayofficial has released today's prompt and I've been ~inspired~.

—

I wrote an AU of my own AU, 'A Seed of Song', in which -- ten years after the Calamity -- a juvenile Rito tries to learn more about her Hylian dad, guided by her dead father's diary.

Told in reverse chronology. 1k words exactly in GDocs.

—

And The Time Has Flown

Characters: The Chick (A Seed of Song), Aryll, Purah (mentioned), Impa, Sidon, Revali (posthumous)

—

"The Director told me you're here. That you're healing. 

"...Are you? I'm not doubting her! But— Are you really gonna wake up? 

"...Are you really my father?

"Nobody can tell me. But if you are… Please. Come back. Come back."

—

"Hi! Um. I'm looking for Lady Purah?"

Aryll pauses and looks the little Rito girl over. She doesn't seem much taller than an eight-year-old, and her russet-and-cream feathers are in substantial disarray from a long, hard flight. 

"The Director?" 

The little girl nods. Her eyes flash with hope.

 "You want that big building up the hill, then," Aryll says, pointing the way, and tries not to smile at the flicker of dismay on the girl's face that soon turns into grim determination.

"Thanks."

"You'll have a hard time getting up there, you know," Aryll calls after the child as she starts hopping away up the path/ Her legs are only little. "It’s late. I'll be running supplies up there tomorrow morning. You're welcome to stay with..."

- us, she almost says, but that's not right anymore. It's just Aryll in that old house across the Firly, after Gramps passed away and Ma went out hunting and never came back, and Nanna didn't wake up one morning, and—

And Dad and Link both died, far away from home, when the Calamity came.

“You promise?”

The girl says it with such suspicion that Aryll has to laugh. “Promise.”

She beckons for the Rito girl to follow. As they near the bridge, she thinks to ask, “What's your name?

The girl chirps out, “I’m—"

—

"...I see."

The child fidgeted from one foot to the other. "Do you... believe me?"

Truthfully, it is quite the wild and incredulous tale. If she hadn't been an unwitting witness to some small part of the tale, she might not have believed it.

But Impa had found herself cast as a silent intermediary, letting Link's letters slip out of the castle with minimal disturbance and no eyes but her own setting sight on their contents.

Champion Revali's replies had been scarcer, and neither side had given much indication of the regard that might imply a shared parental duty, but...

Purah told her, just once, of the champion's chick. Her older sister had always enjoyed keeping secrets. It would come as no surprise if Purah knew something more.

So Impa puts her doubts aside for now, and tells the child what she knows, and sets her on the path towards Purah.

...And that evening, when the shadows fall and the village turns still, Impa walks to the island where the Goddess Statue stands and prays Link might wake and return to them soon.

For Princess Zelda's sake, and for this child who calls herself his.

—

This year, Gaddison is chosen to wield the Ceremonial Trident. Not for the first time, Prince Sidon longs to be bigger. Then he might be the one to carry it instead.

He's distracted anyway. There's a Rito perched on the cliffside the entire time, though they don't make any move to approach, watching the subdued ceremony in silence and shifting only when Laflat steps forward and sings the song that Sidon hates them singing.

By the time the festival ends, and Sidon manages to glance up at the cliffside again, the Rito has gone.

He tracks them to a pond, south of the Veiled Falls, and finds them sitting at the edge of the water, a book in their wings and a bow set within reach.

They are - she is - singing. But it's not the simple version, the way Laflat sang it: it's Mipha's version, and Queen Sela's before her, with a few unknown turns that speak of another voice that passed it on.

Sidon picks up on all of that, but he can't make sense of it. "How do you know that?"

The Rito snaps her book shut, guilty. "I — my dad sang it to me when I first hatched."

"...You're a Rito," Sidon points out.

"Um. Yeah?"

Rito don't marry Zora. Do they? Maybe there's something he doesn't know. "How was your dad a Zora?"

"They... weren't? They were Rito. And Hylian. He's the one who sang to me. My uncle said he was a knight in service to Hyrule's princess..." 

That's wrong. She's wrong. Princess Zelda only had one sworn knight. Everyone says so. And he was...

"The Hylian Champion was gonna be my sister's husband," Sidon tells her with certainty. His father says it's true, and all the councillors believe it too, even if they hate Hylians now. "You're mistaken."

It's the wrong thing to say. The Rito girl flies into a rage. "I'm not lying," she shrieks, "you're lying!" 

"You're wrong!" Sidon yells back. "Why would my sister have made him that armor if they weren't…"

Everyone says it! Mipha loved Link. Mipha wanted to marry Link. So why does this girl think she can barge in and say otherwise?

But she flies off before Sidon can say so, winging her way south, away from Zora's Domain. Well. Good riddance, Muzu would say.

...He still feels bad about it. If he sees her again, he'll try to say sorry.

—

He keeps talking about giving her a name.

No matter that I've told him she has a name, and it's only a sad quirk of his biology that he can't say it. How else would she recognise when I'm talking to her? Really. She doesn't need a Hylian name yet.

—

...Loath as I am to concede the point, he might - inadvertently - have one.

And the name he suggested wasn't that unacceptable...

I wonder if she ever felt this way when I was young. Probably not: the way people speak of her, she thought herself invincible.

I should thank her for that lesson, at least. No warrior is invincible. Any battle might be our last. I knew that, but...

It took until now for me to understand it.

Yes. That name will do. I'll tell him when we meet at Mt. Lanayru…

#flash fiction friday #fic: a seed of song #ginnefic #revalink #implied revalink #why yes i'm deliberately playing coy with her name! #also: by writing this you can rest assured that these events will NOT happen in SoS #[Revali's diary gives a clue as to why/how.] #I'll add this to 'one-shots - one sitting' on ao3 eventually #but not yet

[mistresslrigtar]

Chapter Twenty-eight: Veil (written for @zelinktines24 day 28 prompt) Tysm @floraunderground for betaing! I appreciated your feedback so much!

Read below or HERE

Not long after that blissful day in the schoolyard, Link asks Zelda to marry him. Sitting on the sandy shore of Hateno Bay, toes digging into the cold, wet sand, the blazing sun warming their blond heads, and having just broken apart from a kiss, he hands her a perfectly shaped scallop. Something flashes between the creamy pink shells, and her already racing heart from the heated kiss, picks up speed, as if heading to an unseen finish line.

When Zelda carefully lifts the top shell, an exquisitely handcrafted ring of Zora silver and Gerudo gold filigree, dotted with tiny polished Rito sapphires and Goron diamonds cut to look like silent princess flowers sparkles in the sunlight.

Zelda tries and fails to swallow the sudden lump in her throat and blink away the tears springing to her eyes before giving it up as a lost cause. When she looks back at Link, he’s shifted to one knee and says simply:

“Marry me.”

Her ‘Yes’ comes out as a cracked, blubbery noise she barely understands, but the way Link smiles crookedly at her with shining blue eyes that match the glittering ocean before them, tells her he needs no translation.

Plucking the ring from its case, he wordlessly slips it on her finger. It fits perfectly, and he tells her he commissioned the ring long ago when he’d taken his Zora armor to Yona to be repaired. When he explains that the gold, silver and gemstones came from the former Champions weapons, her heart breaks just a little. Not for herself, but for those dear friends from another time who never had the chance to love and be loved the way they so richly deserved. Zelda nods, feeling tears pricking her eyes once more.

Link gently cups her face and wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s beautiful… perfect, Link. I’m just… it’s just… we’re getting married.” Zelda can’t seem to get a handle on her emotions. They’re a swirling mass of happiness, sadness, fear, and excitement vying for dominance. The combination makes her lightheaded, as if she’s been drugged. She smiles widely, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She thinks she might look deranged.

“You’re practically speechless… and turning purple.” Link’s own cheeks are pink, reflecting her giddiness. He kisses her with smiling lips.

She covers his hands with hers, and happiness bubbles with her. Never in her wildest dreams since the first time they kissed had Zelda ever dared to think this day would ever come. If her father were still alive, would he give them his blessing? Zelda has no doubt Rauru and Sonia would be the first to announce the glad tidings.

Link wraps an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. Resting her head on his shoulder, she holds her left hand out, focusing on the facets of the gems glittering in the bright afternoon sun. The familiar sensation of Link’s hand, gently running up and down her arm, along with the smell of the briny sea and the rhythmic crash of the waves soothes her chaotic thoughts and emotions.

“I would have waited, but…” Link trails off, his hand absently continuing its course along her arm.

She hears the worry and concern in his voice and draws her arm back, wrapping it around his waist. The weight of the ring, connecting Zelda even further to Link, is comforting. Pushing the veil of any lingering fear and uncertainty aside, Zelda focuses on this precious moment. If they’ve learned anything through all the trials and tribulations that have been thrown at them they need to cherish the here and now they’ve been given.

“I’ve never been happier in my life, truly, Link. I’m ready to leave our past behind us and focus on our future and rebuilding a better Hyrule together.” She turns her head, tilting her chin toward him.

As their lips meet once more, Zelda’s eyes flutter close and she surrenders herself to the crashing tide of her emotions. She allows herself to be swept away, fully embracing every dream they’ve ever dared to hope for.

One day in this quiet village, they will start a family. In the years to come, with Link by her side, Zelda is certain Hyrule will overcome its past and be on a path toward eternal peace and prosperity. They will share their incredible journey with their children and show them the beautiful home in Akkala where, despite all the odds, their love triumphed for the third and final time.

Thanks for reading! Likes and reblogs are most welcome.

#legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #beach proposal #it’s about time! #zelinktines24 #daily prompt

[the-hinky-panda]

The Preacher's Wife: Escape (Part II)

TW: Spousal abuse: physical, metal, emotional, and sexual

Maggie pushes her food around on her plate, making designs in the teriyaki sauce from the grilled salmon. She lines up her asparagus in a tic-tac-toe grid and uses the small red potatoes to fill in the spaces. She glances up at the clock. Eight fifteen. It’s Thursday night, and Hank is probably washing the dishes from dinner with his mom. Consuela is probably sitting in front of the TV, watching whatever sitcom is on, crocheting. 

God, how she wishes she was with them at the moment. 

“Margaret?” 

Her eyes snap up to her husband, Simon Peters. Named for the occupation he has pursued, pastor of a megachurch, the shepherd of souls who love God.. Dressed impeccably in a dress shirt and designer jeans, his hair perfectly groomed in the latest style, seated at the head of the table. The master of his house. “Yes?” 

His cold blue eyes narrow slightly. “Are you alright? You’re very quiet.” 

She hears the veiled threat under his polite, concerned tone. Pay attention. Make me look good. Don’t embarrass me. She forces a smile and straightens her back. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.” She looks over at the young, newlywed couple that are their dinner guests this evening. “Lydia and Asher wanted me to play in the pool with them today. I guess it took more out of me than I thought.” 

The young woman, Heather, takes her husband’s hand. “I can’t wait to have my own children.” 

Maggie glances over at Simon and gives a forced smile herself. “Children can be a blessing. I do wish I had spent more time learning how to be a wife before becoming a mother though.” Instead, she had married at nineteen and had Lydia ten months later. She had been so naive, believing that she was fulfilling her life plan. Growing up, she had been told that fulfillment was found in family: husband and children. And while she loved both Lydia and Asher, she had also come to realize that joy is found in a variety of things. To keep it constrained to a spouse and children was stifling. 

“God’s timing is perfect though. Lydia arrived exactly when she should have.” Simon picks up his wine glass. “And people who have been married for fifty years or more are still learning how to be the best spouses they can.” 

“And what’s the secret?” the husband, Carter, asks. “You and Mrs. Peters make it look so easy.” 

Maggie feels like she’s going to throw up. She wants to tell this young couple to run as far and as fast as they can from this house. It’s all fake. There’s no love here, no warmth. Her chest physically aches from the longing of wanting that home, that love. That hope. 

“Well, the secret is simple,” Simon says. “Draw closer to God, draw closer to each other. That’s it.” 

Maggie takes a healthy sip of her own wine and swallows down a follow up question of her own concerning the leather restraints and gag that are sitting in the bedside drawer right now. The restraints that she said she did not want to use only to find them wrapped around her wrists when she woke up in the middle of the night. Was that drawing closer to each other? She certainly didn’t think so. 

“And speaking of drawing closer to God,” Simon slips into his preacher’s voice, “this brings me to the reason why Carter and Heather are joining us here this evening.” 

That phrase, the reason why, makes Maggie’s hair stand on end. She becomes hypervigilant, taking in everything in the room. The tightening of the couple’s hands, the embarrassed blush staining Heather’s cheeks. The subtle slide of her eyes over to Simon, who gives her a small nod. How does Carter not see that, see that secretive look? Maybe he doesn’t know, doesn’t have enough experience with infidelity to recognize it. But then Carter looks over at Maggie, his eyes intent as they focus on her face, her lips…her breasts. Maggie pushes her chair back, her desire to flee prompting the motion, when Simon clears his throat. 

“Heather, sadly, is unable to conceive a child on her own.” Simon stands and slowly makes his way over to Maggie. “She and Carter came to me last week asking for prayers and guidance on what the next step should be. So I took the weekend and went into the wilderness and asked God for an answer. This is what He told me.” 

Maggie sways in her chair, feeling sick and lightheaded. Simon steadies her by digging his fingers into her shoulders. 

“God told me that the answer lies in the Old Testament story of the trials of Abraham and Sarah. When Sarah couldn’t conceive, she gave her maid to Abraham and Abraham was able to have a son. So, I give my wife to you so that you may achieve this blessed, and wonderful experience of parenthood.”

He gives her to them, like she’s a possession. Something to be borrowed and returned. She knows better from his phrasing and example, that a clinic for in vitro fertilization was not going to be considered. And if that wasn’t enough, then the leering look that Carter is giving her from across the table is enough to solidify her worst fears. Her stomach roils and she twists her way out of Simon’s grip. 

“Excuse me,” she mutters, running towards the bathroom. 

She locks the door because she can hear Simon’s footsteps behind her. She vomits what little dinner she managed to eat and then sits on the bathroom floor, her back against the wall. She wipes the tears from her eyes with shaking hands. 

“Margaret? Are you okay?” 

The fake sincerity drips from his words. Maggie pulls out her phone from her back pocket and opens her text messages. She needs help. She needs to get out. The door knob moves as Simon tries to open the door. She selects Morgan’s name and manages to type okay, it’s time and sends it off. 

“Margaret.” 

Simon’s patience has run out so she pushes herself up the wall. She turns the water on, more to drown out anything they will say to each other, and she unlocks the door. He’s through it immediately, slamming the door behind him. Maggie prays for deliverance. 

“Pull yourself together,” he demands. “This is happening tonight.” 

“Simon-” 

“And every Saturday night until they get what they want.” 

Anger is replacing the shock. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just fuck her during one of your ‘counseling’ sessions and leave me out of it?” 

“Do you know who they are? They are Silicon Valley royalty, the both of them. That’s about 4 billion dollars worth of income sitting at our dining room table and all they want is a kid. Do you know what that kind of money could do for us?” 

“Oh, draining them of their money makes a wife swap so much more tolerable.” Maggie crossed her arms. “I’m not doing this.” 

Simon gives her a wicked smile. “Oh, I think you will. Holly Singer.” 

Maggie feels her blood run cold. “What?” 

“Oh yeah, I know about your books, Holly. So this is how it’s going to go. You’re going to go back out there, do whatever that man tells you to do. And if you’re finding it hard to get in the mood, just pretend you’re one of the sluts you love to write about in your filthy little novels.” 

Well, if God isn’t going to deliver her, then she’ll have to deliver herself. She starts looking for anything to fight back against Simon so she can get out of the bathroom, but all the decorations are too flimsy to inflict any damage. But then, from the other side of the door, comes a tiny little voice. 

“Mommy?” 

Asher, her little three-year-old savior. “Yes, baby?” 

“I don’t feel good.” 

Bless him and whatever it is that roused him from his sleep. Simon’s jaw is tensed, his back teeth practically cracking as he grinds them together. He can’t force anything on her now if one of the kids needs her. Maggie steps around him and opens the door. Asher is standing there, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction, as he holds a small hand over his right ear. 

“What’s the matter, honey?” she asks, picking him up. 

“My ear hurts and I can’t sleep.”

Maggie gives a pointed look at Simon. “Please tell Heather and Carter that I’m sorry I won’t be back out there tonight as my son needs me.” 

She knows he’s going to make her pay for that later but she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it. She puts ear drops in Asher’s ear, gently massaging the side of his little neck to help alleviate the discomfort. She hums “Annie’s Song” twice through and soon, he’s back to sleep in his own bed. She checks her phone before leaving the safety of his room and sees that Morgan has responded already. 

When?

Tomorrow? Is that even possible?

I will make it happen. And I’ll be bringing back-up. I’ll let you know when we’re in the area.

Thank you. She doesn’t need to ask who the back-up is going to be. Morgan had told her she’s put the entire MC on alert so that as many as can come will make the ride up to La Jolla to move her and the kids to safety. Maggie erases the messages from her phone so Simon won’t find them. She already has bags packed for the kids and herself. Clothes, documents, jewelry, cash, all packed up in suitcases and backpacks, stored away in the crawlspace in Asher’s closet. All she needs to do is grab them and the kids and run. She slips the phone back into her pants pocket as she closes Asher’s door quietly behind her. When she turns around, something strikes her across her face, knocking her against the wall.. 

Simon. 

She smooths her hair back from her face and covers her stinging cheek with her hand. He’s standing just a couple feet away from her, a scowl on his classically handsome features. 

“Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again.” He rolls up his shirt sleeves. “They’ll be back tomorrow evening and you will have that child for them.” 

Knowing the calvary is coming tomorrow has made her brave. “And what if she’s not the problem? What if it’s him? Guess you’ll have to be the one to knock her up. What a shame.” 

She moves away from him but he grabs her arm, pushing her back against the wall again. This time, it’s not a slap. Stars erupt behind her eyes when his fist connects with her face and the back of her head hits the wall. His hand rests at the base of her throat, just enough pressure to hold her upright.“Or I just knock you up again. We both know how easy that is.” 

Maggie’s stomach drops at the memories of waking up, drowsy and disoriented, finding Simon on top of her. Too weak to fight him off, too out of it to properly register what was going on. It started happening when she was sleeping in one of the guestrooms, after waking up with her hands restrained in the leather cuffs that one time. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she started waking up with bruises on her wrists and thighs, the sheets and her skin smelling like Simon. She tried to deny it was happening, spending hours scrubbing herself clean in the shower, but then she became pregnant with Asher. She couldn’t deny the abuse at that point. 

That was when she started planning her escape, stashing money, moving assets around, letting Morgan in on what her life was like, albeit a more PG-13 version than the full blown truth. She survived six years in this gilded prison and tomorrow was going to be her day to break free. She knows if she gets too cocky, too confident, then Simon is going to know something is up. So she ducks her head and meekly nods her head. She shows him that she is the epitome of defeat of submission.

“Alright, Simon. Tomorrow night.” She nods in resolution to her fate. “I will follow God’s path for my life.” 

“That’s my sweet, obedient wife,” he presses a kiss against her cheek. “Now, let’s get some sleep so you’re well rested for tomorrow evening.” 

“Okay.” 

She glances at her watch. It’s almost midnight. Just a few more hours until Morgan and the Mayans MC show up to rescue her.  

#hank loza #hank loza x ofc #hank loza fic #hank 'tranq' loza #hank 'traq' loza x ofc #hank 'traq' loza fic

[sjsmith56]

Making Amends, Chapter 18 - Eyes of the Father

Summary: Bucky and Sam deal with Zemo and the Flag Smashers. A cryptic warning has Bucky on edge.

Length: 5.3 K

Characters: Bucky, Sam, Walker, Zemo.

Author notes: I made the decision not to use dialogue from the TV series to avoid copyright issues. As a result, there is a lot of exposition in this chapter which may just seem like a rehashing of the plot from the series. There is some made up dialogue. While you're reading it and you think back to the scene in the series just remember that my dialogue is different.  After this chapter everything will be original plot and dialogue as Bucky takes on the danger threatening Lacey and Tommy.

<<Chapter 17

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The next few weeks were time that Bucky would never get back.  After "helping" Zemo escape custody, then flying to Madripoor to seek out information about the super soldier serum they found themselves on the wrong side of the faction that ran the lawless colony.  A woman in the criminal world in Madripoor gave them the name of the man making the serum, Wilfred Nagel, then was killed herself, which prompted a bounty on their lives, even though they had nothing to do with her death.  Only the appearance of Sharon Carter helped them temporarily out of being killed by the bounty hunters.  Carter, obviously part of the criminal underworld herself, helped them locate Nagel's lab.  He confirmed the existence of the serum, admitted it was formed from a blood sample taken from an unwilling Isaiah Bradley, and that he had created 20 doses.  They knew of eight Flag Smashers who had taken the serum, meaning there were potentially another dozen people that could be or already were transformed. 

It literally blew up in their faces when Zemo killed Nagel, then a bounty hunter sent a rocket into the shipping container where the lab was.  Zemo disappeared while Bucky helped Carter and Sam out of the wreckage.  After helping them dispose of the rest of the bounty hunters Zemo showed up with a car to get them out of there and back to his private jet.  At least they had a name, Donya Madani, a source of inspiration to the Flag Smashers, and a place, Riga, Latvia, to search for the group.

When they arrived in Riga, and Zemo led them to a safe house there, Bucky noticed several kimoyo beads in the vicinity and hung back, knowing the Wakandans were near.  In a quiet street he spoke to Ayo, the Dora Milaje warrior, who gave him 8 hours before she and her squad came for Zemo.  It was long enough for Zemo to find out where the funeral for Donya Madani was being held, and long enough for Sam to try and talk to the leader of the Flag Smashers, Karli Morgenthau.  At least it would have been long enough if John Walker hadn't shown up to arrest Karli.  She escaped in the confusion Walker's appearance caused.  Later when the Dora Milaje came to take Zemo into custody Walker intervened again starting a fight that never should have happened.  In the confusion of that fight Zemo escaped. 

Karli reached out to Sam, via a veiled threat she made to his sister and nephews.  When he and Bucky met with her they realized quickly her true intent was to occupy them while the rest of the Flag Smashers went after Walker and Hoskins.  It was during that fight that Sam realized Walker had somehow taken the super soldier serum.  That was also the fight where Hoskins was killed and Walker retaliated by killing one of the Flag Smashers in front of a crowd of civilians recording on their cell phones, using the shield to do it.  After Walker ran off they followed him to an empty industrial building where both could see the mental turmoil the man was in.  Sam asked for the shield and Walker took it as a threat.  In the ensuing battle between the three Walker tried to kill Sam and Bucky was forced to fight unrestrained against the man who insisted he was still Captain America.  It took breaking Walker's arm to get the shield from him then Bucky picked up the shield and dropped it beside Sam as he lay on the floor, not caring at that point whether Sam picked it up or not as he was done. 

Walker faced a hearing back in the US where he was stripped of his Captain America title as well as his military rank.  Sam returned back to Delacroix after a brief stop in Baltimore, while Bucky stayed in Europe tracking Zemo, fulfilling what he saw as his personal responsibility to return him to custody.  He found him in what was left of Sokovia, at a memorial to the people who died.  Zemo tried to convince him to go after Karli and kill her.  In response, Bucky aimed the pistol at Zemo's head and pulled the trigger.  It clicked instead of firing and Bucky let the bullets fall through his fingers to the ground, emphasizing for all time to Zemo that he wasn't a killer anymore.  The Dora Milaje appeared at that time to escort Zemo to his new home in the Raft, a high security prison located underwater in the Atlantic Ocean.  Just before he left Zemo glanced at Bucky.

"Now that Nagel is dead the Power Broker will be looking for a new scientist and a new source of super soldier blood for the serum," he said, looking intently at Bucky as he stopped.  "You may want to make sure your son and his mother are safe."

Bucky was startled by this warning.  "How did you...," he began.

"I find out things," interrupted Zemo, then glanced at the women warriors, acknowledging they were there for him.

As they walked away Bucky called out.  "Ayo," he said.  "I have a favour to ask of you."

She turned and looked at him as if that was the last thing she wanted to do for him.  "As long as you make yourself scarce in Wakanda for a while," she replied.

He nodded his assent then made his request.  She looked at him intently.  "I will see what I can do," she promised.  "He is a good man so it shouldn't be a problem."

Bucky watched them walk away then pulled his wallet out followed by a business card.  He looked at it for a moment, considering his next action, and dialled the number. 

"Hey, it's Bucky Barnes," he said to the person on the other end of the call.  "I'm in Europe right now but I wonder if I can see you tomorrow or the day after.  I don't want to say anything more on an unsecured line but it's important.  It has to do with Lacey and Tommy.  Thanks, I'll call you when I get to New York."

Two days later Bucky called and met with FBI agent Dan Jones at a coffee kiosk in Greenwich Village.  Bucky asked if he wanted one and after paying for the two coffees walked to a bench away from people.  Jones sat next to him, looking at Bucky intently.

"What's on your mind?" Jones asked Bucky.

"Do you know where Lacey and Tommy are staying now?" queried Bucky.  "I know they aren't with the Bartons anymore."

"I might but I wouldn't tell you," replied Jones.  "You really shit the bed on that relationship."

"You heard," said Bucky tersely.  "I still love her and Tommy, and I care about keeping them safe.  Someone gave me a warning about them.  You ever hear of the Power Broker?"

Jones looked at him in surprise.  "What interest does the Power Broker have in them?" he asked.

"The Power Broker was behind the serum that made the Flag Smashers into super soldiers," said Bucky.  "The man who made the serum for him was killed, and the remainder of the serum was destroyed.  I was warned the Power Broker might be looking for a new source of super soldier blood to make more serum.  He wouldn't come after me because I can defend myself against a room full of people.  Tommy is strong but not strong enough.  If they put a gun to Lacey's head ...."

Jones let out a big breath.  "Jesus, Bucky," he said.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you put a detail on them?" asked Bucky.  "Surveillance ... something, anything."

"Okay, I'll come up with something," said Jones.  He hesitated then continued.  "They're doing good, Bucky.  Tommy's in school.  Lacey is working on her fourth book.  For what it's worth I think she still loves you.  She hasn't been dating."

Bucky stood up and drained his coffee, dropping the paper cup in the garbage can next to the bench.  "Thanks, Dan," he replied, smiling grimly.  "I appreciate it.  You have my number.  Let me know if anyone comes after them."

Jones nodded and watched as Bucky walked away.  The revelation that the Power Broker may be interested in Lacey and the boy troubled him.  He pulled his cell phone out and made his own call to ask for a meeting.  He was sure Nick Fury would want to know this development.

Bucky stayed home in Brooklyn for several days researching the location of more people on his list that he had to make amends to.  When he received a shipment from Wakanda, via their embassy in New York, he booked a flight to New Orleans.  There he rented a car and drove to Delacroix.  After asking where he could find Sam Wilson he was directed to a gathering of people on a dock.  He picked Sam out of a group of men gathered near a wrapped engine loaded on the back of a truck.  Putting the case from Wakanda down he picked the engine up and lifted it off the truck, putting it down on the dock.  He looked back at Sam and the other men, smirking at the faces they made.

"It wasn't that heavy," he said, then he picked up the Wakandan case and put it on the truck.  "You needed a new wing suit and I figured the Wakandans could build you a good one so I called in a favour.

At that moment a hose on the boat blew and Sam jumped on the boat to tighten the fastener on the hose.  Bucky could see Sam didn't know much about boats and jumped on beside him, taking the wrench and explaining he had to turn the fastener up to tighten it.  Then he checked out the boat, thinking it reminded him of when he worked on the Brooklyn docks. 

"Can I help?" he offered.  Sam nodded and Bucky noticed a woman watching them, who he assumed was Sam's sister.  He waved at her.  "I'm Bucky."

"Sarah," she replied smiling then turned away, a little flustered.

Sam looked from Bucky to his sister and back again.  "What about Lacey?" he asked.

Bucky made a face.  "I kind of messed things up with her," he replied.  "Your sister seems nice."

"No!" said Sam.  "Don't even think of it."

Bucky gave a cheeky grin then followed Sam to another part of the boat.  For the next few hours he helped with the repairs.  They talked about the Flag Smashers and Bucky told him about Zemo's thoughts on the matter.  As it got close to sunset they stopped to have a beer.  After draining his last one Bucky told Sam he had a flight to take the next day and was going to get a hotel for the night.  Sam, being the man he was asked him to crash at his place as long as Bucky didn't flirt with his sister.  Bucky laughed again, knowing he had made Sam uncomfortable with his mild flirting.  He slept on the couch without any nightmares until he woke up to the sounds of Sarah's boys, A.J. and Cass, play fighting with the shield.  For a time he watched them, a soft smile on his face.

"Good morning," he said to the boys who desperately tried to get the shield back in its cover before running off.

For several moments he lay on the couch before deciding he should get up.  Learning that Sam was already at the dock, Bucky made his way there, finding him working on the engine.   Seeing he needed two sets of hand Bucky helped him with a part, which made Sam stand back and look at him with new eyes.

"Where did you learn about boats?" Sam asked.

"Brooklyn," replied Bucky.  "I worked the docks there after I graduated from high school.  Couldn't afford college until I made some money.  It was still the Depression in 1935."

Sam suggested they work on the water pump so they pulled it apart then began rebuilding it.  Sarah came, looking critically at what they had done and ordered them away from the dock.  She had her no nonsense voice going so both men obeyed and returned to the house where Bucky tried to teach Sam how to throw the shield.  They had a heart to heart talk while they threw it around and Bucky apologized to Sam for getting in his face about giving up the shield.  He explained how the shield was the closest thing he had to a family.  When Sam retired the shield, it made Bucky feel like he had nothing left and was truly alone.  The counsellor in Sam stopped and listened intently as Bucky told him the decision made him question everything about Steve, Sam, and even himself.  It was a humbling experience that Bucky trusted him enough to tell him these things, calmly but with feeling.  Sam asked him about the nightmares and Bucky admitted he still had them.  In his mind they were proof that he was still there, in those situations.  It was also proof, in his mind, that the Winter Soldier was still in him.  He coloured for a moment then opened up even more.

"That's why I left Lacey," he said emotionally.  "We were right in the middle of amazing sex and I had a vision of the Winter Soldier tying her up and doing terrible things to her.  I pulled out, took the condom off and left her in her bed.  I hid out on the farm until Steve found me in the morning and I asked him if we could leave.  I was afraid of hurting her physically, Sam.  Instead I broke her heart and I don't think she'll ever forgive me for that.  Tommy spit on me.  That's how much I hurt him by it."

Bucky turned away, coughed and wiped his eyes trying not to break down.  Sam watched for a moment then put his hand on Bucky's shoulder in commiseration. 

"I'm sorry," he said.  "That had to be tough for you to do."

"Well, it's done," shrugged Bucky.  "If you have any advice on that or my other issues I'd appreciate it."

"This making amends, is it part of your conditional pardon?" asked Sam.  Bucky nodded.  "Well making amends is more than just saying sorry.  It might make you feel better but it does nothing for the families of your ... sorry, the Soldier's victims."

"It wasn't just that," replied Bucky.  "I know that there isn't anyone from HYDRA who will make amends to them.  Part of me still feels responsible so I accepted the task.  I've already identified and helped arrest several people who benefitted from HYDRA's and the Soldier's actions."

"Yeah, and that was good but that was just stopping the bad guys from getting away with it.  Some people, especially the surviving family need to know what went down, how their loved one died.  Only you can tell them."

"There's a lot of those," said Bucky, somewhat despondently.

"Okay, all it takes is one to start the healing," replied Sam.  "That will be the hardest one.  The next one won't be quite so hard.  You'll give them closure and perhaps in the process you can forgive yourself along the way.  For what it's worth, I don't think it was fair to put this all on you.  You were their victim as well and no one has made amends to you, have they?"

Bucky considered his words then looked at Sam appraisingly. "You're not bad at this counsellor stuff," he stated.  "I'll never get an apology for what I went through but I can deal with it.  Maybe not well, or quickly, but I will."

Sam smiled and nodded.  They both stepped towards each other, sharing a pound hug, and Bucky asked Sam to call him when he had a lead on Karli Morgenthau.  Bucky turned away to walk to his rental car, then turned back to Sam.

"What about Lacey?" he asked loudly.  "How do I fix that?"

"A lot of grovelling," suggested Sam.  "I haven't had a girlfriend in over 5 years so you're going to have to figure that one out on your own.  She is the mother of your son so she's worth it."

"Yeah, she is," Bucky agreed. 

A few hours later he was back in Brooklyn.  On the way to his flat he passed a bookstore and on impulse went inside where he noticed they had a display of women authors.  They had Lacey's second book and her third.  He smiled softly when he saw the title of the third, His Blue Eyes.  It was published during the Blip, when no one knew the decimated would return someday.  Set in a 2018 that didn't experience the Blip, it told of a chance encounter between a woman writer and a man who had to go into hiding.  The ripples from their encounter affected the lives of their friends and colleagues.   It also explored the long distance relationship they had until an act of heroism changed their lives forever.  The dedication page was emotional for Bucky.

For B.  There will be never be another like you.  You gave me the greatest gift.

L.C.C.  December, 2021

As he paid for it the clerk looked at him strangely, noticing his blue eyes, then recognizing him when he saw the artificial hand. 

"You're Bucky Barnes," he said.  "I've read this book.  You don't strike me as the type of guy who would read something like this."

Bucky looked at him calmly.  "I know the author," he replied.  "I have her other books, including her first one, written under a different name."

"It's a good book," said the clerk.  "Most people think it's a typical romance novel but there's a lot more in it, about longing for someone who is out of reach.  There's a sense of loneliness to it, of being held hostage by fate and circumstance, things they had no control over.  I also liked all the ripples their initial meeting created, changing the lives of people close to them.  I've heard rumours of a possible movie."

Bucky smiled kindly at him.  "I'm sure she'll be thrilled with that," he stated, then picked up the book and nodded at the clerk before leaving. 

It took him two days to read it and when he finished he knew it was about them, even though she changed all of the circumstances, and the character's names and back stories.  The book store clerk was right about it being more than a romance novel.  Lacey captured the sense of longing felt by both characters, even though they attempted to carry on with their lives.  The side stories described the effect their encounter had on their circle of friends exploring the inter-connectivity between people.  The biggest difference, of course, was the main male character in the book stayed dead after his act of heroism whereas Bucky came back.  He was surprised to find the second part of the book explored how the main female character Lauren ended up with a different man but the more he thought about it the more sense it made.  His own initial advice to Lacey had been to find a good man and take a chance on love with him.  If he never came back from the Blip he wished she would have found someone, a good man, to live her life with.

While he waited to hear from Sam he set about tackling his list of names in the little notebook.  It was hard, especially to the families of those he had killed.  Some threatened to kill him, some to sue him, but he left their homes knowing he had given them an answer.  One woman's response surprised him with its unexpected emotion.  His victim's daughter had let out a visible breath when he told her what he had done to her father then looked at her hands before talking.

"My dad wasn't the best man," she said calmly as she sat in a chair across from him, looking at him intently.  "He had issues, and he raised his hand to my mom and me more than once.  We suspected he was involved in something shady so when his body was found we weren't surprised.  Surprisingly, he had a life insurance policy and the money helped both me and my mother to start over.  I was able to go to college.  She was able to enjoy a comfortable life until she died of cancer."  She turned to Bucky.  "I know what you're doing because I've been in therapy for this love – hate relationship I still have with my dad.  I hope you find the closure you're looking for but I won't forgive you because there's nothing to forgive.  Instead I thank you for killing him and freeing us from a lifetime of abuse.  I truly believe he would have killed one or both of us if he had lived."

Several days after meeting with that woman he heard from Sam that the likely target of the Flag Smashers was the GRC council, meeting in New York later that evening.  Bucky promised to meet him at the location and hurried back to his flat to change.  When he arrived at the site of the meeting he was allowed in through the security perimeter.  Apparently he was already known as an Avenger.  A person did challenge him, then removed a nano mask, revealing Sharon Carter's face.  She offered her help and together they went closer to the building where the GRC council was being evacuated.  Sam told them to keep people in the building as he realized the Flag Smashers wanted them outside and exposed.  As Bucky walked, a woman with a security ID gave him a phone, saying it was Karli.  He looked at the screen and was puzzled that the call came on a phone app, not through the cell phone itself.

It was Karli on the other end and she tried to convince him to join her.  He tried to convince her that she was going about things the wrong way by pointing out that all this death she was causing wouldn't make the nightmares go away because she would remember everyone she killed.  Once more he asked her not to do this but she laughed lightly and told him not to get involved.  When he pointed out he already was she laughed again and thanked him for his time.  She hung up making Bucky realize she had been delaying him from intervening.  He ran to the parking garage and took a motor bike, hoping he could catch up to the transports the council members were obviously on.  It took several blocks but he saw the vehicles stopped at a barrier and several Flag Smashers gathering between them.  Pressing on the accelerator he aimed the motor bike at the barrier, then applied the front brakes causing the back wheel to come up.  He flew over the barrier, flying into the chest of the biggest man the Flag Smashers had, knocking them both away from the others.  While he fought him he noticed the others set fire to one of the vehicles and quickly disabled the man he was fighting with.  Running to the vehicle he pulled on the handle, trying to force open the door.  Noticing an extra lock on the door Bucky hit it with all of his might several times, eventually breaking it.  Then he pulled on the door handle again and it finally gave way.  He helped the people out, telling them to go.  The last man stopped and thanked Bucky for saving them, a sentiment that caught him by surprise.

Turning he saw several Flag Smashers beating a man who was on the ground and realized it was John Walker.  Running towards them he saw one about to hit him with a parking meter and launched himself into the man.  Another Flag Smasher came at him and he recognized Karli's hair.  Grabbing a piece of chain that was within reach he hit her with it but she shook it off and kicked him, sending him over a barrier and down several stories to the ground.  As he looked up he saw another one jumping towards him holding a steel beam as a weapon.  Raising his vibranium arm it took the brunt of the hit then he grabbed the steel beam and tore it from the other guy's hands.  He hit him several times until the man didn't get up again.  A sound from above made him look up and he saw the other vehicle teetering at the edge of the structure, slowly breaking through the beams that were supporting it.  Knowing he couldn't stop it he watched helplessly until it suddenly began to inch backwards and he realized that someone, hopefully Walker, was trying to keep it from falling.  When Walker suddenly fell, with two Flag Smashers hanging on to him, the vehicle began breaking through the structure again.  Only this time, it was stopped as Sam and his new suit had the strength to keep it from falling.  Pulling Walker out the way Bucky watched in awe as Sam was able to push it back up to safety at the top of the structure.  He could hear people cheering above as Sam hovered over the scene and knew they had accepted him as Captain America.

A sound from behind him made him turn in time to intercept a metal bar thrown to kill him by Karli.  She attacked Bucky but was hit by the shield as Sam descended into the space.  Suddenly smoke bombs were shot into their midst and they lost sight of her.  Sam looked around then turned to the other two yelling to follow him while he ran into the smoke.  As they ran through a tunnel Sam's display showed that the three Flag Smashers had split up.  Bucky and Walker took the path of two of them while Sam continued following the one.  Their path quickly petered out and Bucky led Walker through the maze of construction then back out into the open. 

"Shit," swore Walker.  "What now, Bucky?"

Bucky took the phone out that the security person gave him.  "I have an idea," he said.  "They have an app.  Maybe I can lure them here."

Quickly he opened the app and smiled when it showed him everyone else who had the app.  He entered a message then they both stood back and waited to see who showed up.  Within minutes three figures came out from the construction site, stopping when they saw the other two men.  Walker quoted Abraham Lincoln with a smile, impressed at Bucky's improvisation.  Bucky held the phone up to the three Flag Smashers, commenting on the app as sirens and flashing lights heralded the arrival of the police.   They were surrounded by a heavily armed tactical squad and the three Flag Smashers were taken into custody.

Together Walker and Bucky walked towards where several ambulances had been parked.  As they walked in between they saw Sam fly in carrying the lifeless body of Karli Morgenthau.  The media were throwing questions at Sam but he just ignored them, instead facing the people on the GRC council who were still there.  Bucky watched as Sam challenged every one of their decisions which he believed had set off the time bomb of the Flag Smashers movement.  Then he laid it all on the line, telling them they had no right to make decisions for billions of people without having them represented.  It was inspiring stuff.  After when Sam approached him Bucky pretended he had been texting the entire time which made Sam laugh.  In Bucky's mind, the shield was now in good hands and he left with Carter to get her some medical attention feeling pretty good about what they had prevented.

Back in his neighbourhood later Bucky found himself outside where Yori Nakajima lived.  For some time he stared at the building entrance from the sidewalk then he went up the steps and up to the floor where Yori lived.  Slowly he walked to the old man's door and knocked.  Yori was surprised to see him as it wasn't Wednesday, their usual day to spend together but still invited him in, asking what Bucky wanted.

Sombrely Bucky told him it was about the murder of Yori's son, RJ.  He told him the Winter Soldier had been responsible for it and that he, Bucky, had been the Winter Soldier.  His voice was shaking as he said it and the old man looked at him with hurt confusion on his face then asked why.  All Bucky could offer was that he didn't have a choice and the old man's face suddenly displayed all the grief he had held inside for so long.  He looked away from Bucky then stood up and walked to the shrine he had dedicated to his son, saying nothing.  With sadness Bucky stood up and went to the door, looking at the broken man he had just hurt all over again.  There was nothing further he could do for Yori; no condolences, no support, nothing he could ever say would help the sweet old man who had been his friend. 

That night Bucky broke into Dr. Raynor's office and left her a gift bag with a note thanking her for all of her help.  Inside the bag was his notebook with every name inside crossed off.  Then he went home and opened the new notebook he bought and wrote in two names that he still had to atone to.  Lacey Chapman and Tommy Chapman.  He didn't put their names in the first book because they weren't victims of the Winter Soldier.  Their pain was all on him, James Buchanan Barnes, and even if it took years he would find a way to make up for what he did to them.  Maybe, just maybe they could forgive him.  The following day he walked past the sushi bar and saw Yori sitting at the counter while Leah poured his sake.  She looked at Bucky through the window but said nothing and he wondered if Yori told her about the confession.  Subtly he nodded his head and took a breath before continuing on his way.  He stopped in front of his building then turned and looked around the neighbourhood.  It had been somewhat familiar to him when he first got the flat but it wasn't home anymore.  He could see that now.  Home was where he would be welcomed and he knew it was somewhere else.

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

If you wish to read Lacey's book His Blue Eyes, it is fully published on Wattpad, under my user name SJSmith56.  I hope you find it entertaining as Lacey used all the people she had come in contact with while she was pregnant and raising Tommy on her own as inspiration for many of the characters in the book she wrote after Bucky was turned to dust in the Blip.  It has attracted some other readership already.

Chapter 19>>

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[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Oceans Away 

She lifts her head up to look at him, directly into his grey, lunar eyes. There is something so dear about him, so ancient and intimate to her, yet at the same time, he feels oceans away. Untouchable. The sensation makes her heart ache.

He is dying to shed her veil away to claim her lips with his own. It would not be proper, he halts, reminding himself that he is a gentleman. He must settle for admiring her through the sheer and in the half-light, letting his imagination fill in the details.

‘Who are you?’ She asks him, her voice barely above a whisper.

OR

A chance encounter between an incomplete Elf and a Fairy who doesn’t remember.

OR

When the prompts of the day are so perfect my brain vomited 5k of glitter.

Benophie Week 2023.

Day 3.

A fairycore!Bridgerton fanfic.

@sophiamariabeckett​ senpai please notice me.

@inksuvich​ Thank you for this amazing collage of Sophie Baek. Your amazing work has inspired this. This story could not exist without you!

There are five million nine hundred seventy eight thousand magical realms in the known universe. Oftentimes, the realms float peacefully about, separately in their respective dimensions, quite static, stewarded by their own celestials, enlivened by their own solars. Occasionally, beings of certain means and fortunes traverse from one realm to another, seeking out companies or knowledge. These events are quite rare.

Even rarer still are when the realms themselves collide. Every five hundred years, two neighbouring realms would drift ever so close, that the silken fabric of their respective realities would touch and meld into one another, if only briefly. The pitch-black veil of their barriers would lift, revealing truths and wonders. Cosmic sparks then fly like two lovers’ kiss, open-mouthed. The Secrets were privy to a few, but the spectacle alone was one to behold. And so across realms, every star reader, Sterndeuter, jyotishee and zhanxing jia or mnajimu awaits a Collision with bated breaths. When it happens, well, what could be more worthwhile a cause for celebration?

That was how the newly crowned Queen of the Gumiho Foxes finds herself in the court of the High Fae Queen Charlotte. A great ball is held on the Eve of Collision in honour of the union between Lord Bridgerton of The House of Fae and Kathani Sharma of The Merfolk of Indian Ocean. The Fox Queen and her delegation are participants in this event. 

From the edge of the ballroom, the young Queen admires the scene with satisfaction. Her first diplomatic mission has gone off without a hitch. Despite her self-perceived inexperience, she has handled the delicate game of politics with grace and dignity. The bond between realms were established, and now that the hard part is over, she watches gleefully as immortals of different shades and ages glide about across the ballroom, either mingling, dancing or drinking. Starlight swirls in the dome above them. Around the room, little pixies hold their own celebration, in the windows, behind the silk lanterns, in the vines and among the branches. Their little voices and the featherlight sound of their wings are only audible to The Fox Queen’s sensitive hearing and she giggles at their silly conversations. Occasionally, they would turn around and gasp in astonishment at the affairs of the bigger folk underneath, as if seeing them for the first time. In a sense, they are, for there is only so much space for memories in their little bodies.

In the middle of the dancefloor, the happy couple, beautiful and in love, bedecked in wedding jewels, gaze adoringly at one another. The groom’s elven glow emits a light blue hue, while the bride’s oceanic scales gleam in rich golden flickers. Sitar, shehnai, cello and piano honour their matrimony. On the highest seat, The High Fae Queen Charlotte holds court, seeming pleased with her subjects. Her ladies-in-waiting kneel in rows at her feet, dutifully braiding her endless curls. No one is paying attention to The Fox Queen, not even her own delegation. Now is the time for her to slip away.

As much as the festivities excite her, they are not what she came here for. No, she came for The Collision itself. When the two walls touch, when the heavens open one of their countless eyes and the sky thus becomes a mirror, there she would find her answers, this she believes with unshakeable conviction. ‘Few are lucky enough to gaze at the event and comprehend what it means. Most do not discover revelations,’ her professor had said, in a gentle and comforting tone. ‘Despair not, chance you find not what you seek, your Majesty.’ Yet the young Queen guarantees that the old scholar, with his boundless patience and wisdom, has worried for nothing. The Collision, this Collision in particular, is made for her. She knows this, deep in her heart, with divine certainty, as her excited steps carry her deeper into the forest, the earth warm and soft under her bare toes.

Someone is already there before her. In the middle of the lake, over on a little island, she can make out a masculine outline and scent with a mop of dark hair. He sits with his back to her, lounging lazily against pillows of moss. He seems to look up at the night sky, as the translucent shell of the other world approaches the one they are in ever so slowly. There is something about him that stops her in her tracks. Her entire body goes on high alert, as if a sudden course of lightning just runs through and charges every fibre of her being. And yet it is not out of fright that she reacts so.

‘Who goes there?’ He turns around. Their eyes meet.

He is the most beautiful being she has ever seen. He is Fae, perhaps an Elf by the shape of his ears. The ceremonial robe, that is customary of this realm, is haphazardly draped about him and deep blue in colour. Yet, he does not glow like the others of his kind. Perhaps that is what she finds strange about him. Defined, expressive features. The Fairy Fox wonders how he would look when he smiles. His pale grey eyes shine like the moon, and she finds in them a familiarity that makes her heart ache. Perhaps it was the veiled sadness in his eyes, a poetic melancholy that is characteristic to the allure of certain Fae folk, so she has been told.

For a brief moment, she considers giving in to her baser instincts. She can naturally shift into her fox form, sneaking away from his sight and go find a different location for her singular observation. None will be the wiser. It is not proper for two unattached beings to be alone together after all. She might have, however, had a few flutes during the fete, and the fermented fruit of the vines might inflate her boldness. ‘Why must I leave?’ she thinks stubbornly. She is a proud Queen of her own realm, and in her kingdom, where The Enchanted Foxes rule with freedom and wild independence, no one bothers with such frivolities. She wants to watch The Collision on that island over there, it is important to her, and whoever that Elf is can do well to respect that if he was a gentleman. And so, emboldened with the heat in her cheeks, her desire to see her plan through, the aristocratic pride that she recently has come to possess and her own curiosity regarding the mysterious Fae, she stands straight in her human form and faces him. 

‘It is I.’ She answers. Secretly she is grateful for her veil, a delicate work of spider silk, morning dew and chrysanthemum. It shrouds her, from her head to her ankle, in a misty sheer, thus preventing the other from discovering her hesitation. 

He leans against one hand, amused. A lazy grin creeps up his face, boyish and crooked, the corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth and she gasps, praying he doesn’t notice. He does have a beautiful smile. She knows he would.

‘And who might you be?’ He asks.

‘A lady.’ She says simply, gently reminding him of his courtesy and conceding very little about her identity.

He seems to understand her implication.

‘Good evening, my Lady.’ He tilts his head in her direction in greetings. ‘Happy Eve of Collision to you.’

She gives a small curtsey in response. 

‘Perhaps you are lost. The wedding is that way.’ He points at the direction whence she comes helpfully. She can still hear the music swelling.

‘I assure you I am not lost.’ She feels her defences rising. How dare this Fae, or whatever he is, assume she does not know her way. Foxes are never lost. ‘I seek not the wedding.’

‘Pray tell, what seek you, my Lady?’ 

‘I believe it is not any of your concerns.’ She crosses her arms petulantly.

He narrows his eyes at her in contemplation. Then his grin grows even wider.

‘Naturally it is a concern of mine. You, my Lady, are standing in my territory. I am the Lord of this lake here, you see.’

‘That’s a lie!.’ She exclaims. She has done a thorough investigation on this realm prior to her mission. ‘There is no mention of a Lord of a tiny, nameless lake.’

‘Tiny?’ He looks around the place in mocked offence. ‘It is not tiny. Dwarfish, perhaps.’

If she were to reveal her tails this moment, all nine of them would bristle up in protest. ‘It is a lie and we both know so!’

‘Do we now?’ One of his eyebrows quirks up. ‘Yet this lake is not what you declared, my Lady. It is not tiny, merely little. Nameless, it is not either. Why, the name of it is written right there.’

‘Where, sir?’ She looks around herself. ‘I don’t see any-’

‘Right there.’

Suddenly, he is right in front of her on the shoreline. He is very tall, she notices. One of his fingertips glows like ember as he hastily scrawls something in the air right above her forehead. For a second she can feel his breath shifting through her veil and the spot where his finger almost touches her cheek burns at the near-contact. Then just as sudden as he appears, he is gone. Back to his little island in playful arrogance.

As her wits settle back into her body, The Fox Fairy looks up. Hung in the air, written in glimmering, pretty Elvish writing, are the words: ‘My Lake’.

‘Very clever, sir.’ She rolls her eyes, even when he can’t see it.

‘I thank you.’ He nods.

‘It is not a complement.’

‘Nevertheless, I have decided to receive it as such.’

‘From whence I come, one would say the skin on your face is rather thick.’ She exclaims.

‘Another complement! I thank you again.’ He seems destined to rile her up. ‘You flatter me, my Lady.’

She stomps her foot. 

‘You, sir, are aggravating!’

‘Only in such pleasant company such as yourself, my Lady.’ He says, then turns his back to her.

In silence, the young Queen reflects on her own actions. Whatever has compelled her to behave so? Perfectly curt and unreasonable in front of this stranger. Like a thoughtless little cub snarling and bearing its teeth at perceived danger. There is no regal dignity to it. Her feet fiddle on the ground, embarrassed. She must admit that she is still in the process of reconciling the two versions of herself, the Queen and the Gumiho. The latter manages to manifest itself in new and at times, quite worrying ways to her still. A hundred years of a reign are still quite green for an immortal, after all, even when one is curiously prodigious at the job.

It is why witnessing The Collision is so important to her. Behaviours and knowledge in her possession that she cannot explain, she desperately wants to understand them. She knows she ought to view the event here, she was summoned to. And now perhaps she cannot anymore, all because she has proceeded, for no reason whatsoever, to antagonise this stranger. Like a fool.

Admittedly he has provoked her, but it is no warrant that she responds in such an unseemly manner.

‘You are not a babe anymore.’ She reprimands herself, before straightening up her back. She will resolve this conflict with grace and diplomacy.

‘Pardon me, sir.’ When he turns around again, she gives an apologetic bow. ‘I can see I have offended you. Please forgive my impertinence.’

She wills herself to not flinch under his gaze. It was her own wrongdoing. Even if he decides to mock her, as long as it does not cross the line, she will take it with dignity.

But he smiles at her. Earnestly.

‘Only if you forgive my insolence as well, my Lady. I am afraid I have overstepped your boundaries. I should have not teased you.’

Civility is an improvement.

‘Very well.’ She tilts her head. Her ear twitches the slightest bit in excitement. ‘You have my forgiveness.’

‘And you mine.’

It takes another minute before she gathers enough courage.

‘If it doesn’t bother you, sir, may I join you on your island? I imagine The Collision would look quite arresting from there.’

He agrees, and she thinks she might jump up and down with joy.

The Fae sensed her presence when she walked up to that shore.

It was the most peculiar feeling, as if his heart sped up and slowed down at the same time. As if he might perish if he did not see her. How strange, to feel so, so, so mortal. He has not felt that way in hundreds of years. 

Yet as he almost touched her cheek and saw her eyes widen in surprise through her veil, he realised how much he has missed that sensation.

He watches in fascination as she gathers up her skirts and practically runs across the lake toward him, weightless above the surface, the water kisses her lovely feet. Her sleeves are so long and wide, she looks like she is sprouting wings as she runs. Her attire cuts an exotic silhouette, more layered and less meticulously tailored than the fashion of his court. The emphasis instead is put on the very fine weave of the silk itself, if the luxurious shine of her skirt is any indication. Embroidered lotus bloom about her in great detail, the artisanship so stellar and liberal, it would make any lady of Queen Charlotte’s court green with envy. She is a vision, even with the silky veil flowing down from her garland about her like a waterfall. It ripples as she moves, enveloping her in a silvery shimmer.

She leaps to his island and sits down, limbs folded neatly together until her silhouette resembles a soft, shapeless cloud. As endearing as it looks, she has decided to remain an appropriate distance from him, and the Elf tries to rein in his disappointment. There is a wildness to her that he finds both alien and intimate. She might be a forest-bound spirit, like him, surely from a different realm. Her movements are graceful, weightless, ethereal, with a hidden ferocity to them, almost feline-like. It has delighted him, drawing that ferocity out of her, when he has watched her huff and stomp her feet against his teasings. He chuckles to himself as he, in his mind, links the image of hers to that of a very crossed, very regal kitten.

Above them, the curve of the neighbouring world inches ever closer, its surface favours dark ocean waves.

He notices her gaze on him, even as she tries to be innocuous.

‘Are you entertained, my Lady?’ A smirk plays at the corner of his lips. Her head turns immediately away. He imagines she blushes. He knows she is curious. Everybody is. It is so very obvious.

‘Pardon me, sir. ‘It is just…’ She says, looking down at her feet. ‘I have never met an Elf like you before. One who…’ She stammers.

‘Without his light?’ He finishes her question.

‘My apologies.’ She says.

‘There is no need.’ His voice is casual and benevolent. Truly, he does not mind. He looks at the palm of his hand, and then the back. He supposes sometimes, he should miss being lit from within. ‘I am aware it is quite strange. I lost the light centuries past. The dimness has become natural to me.’ His brows draw together. ‘That is the reason I am here.’

‘Are you set out to regain it?’ At some point, they have forgotten the honorifics. ‘The light?’

‘No.’ He cuts her off. ‘It’s just,’ He pauses, trying his best to resurrect the memory. ‘I lost someone. A mortal. She brought my light with her. And this,’ he gestures at his unglowing being. ‘Is what is left. The Mark of Death.’

‘Does it hurt?’ she asks.

‘Not at all.’ He lies. It is agony. ‘I cannot bring myself to regret that loss.’ This is the truth.

Fae folk do not die. The dimness and pain from the Mark of Death is something they must carry for the rest of their endless existence. And the Elf bears it with pride. True to his words, he does not rue the loss of his gift. For whatever can be a more potent proof, a stronger testament to his love affair?

He continues with his tale, his heart opens like a flood gate.

‘I followed her in her incarnations. She never lived long, even for mortals. Her lives were rarely happy.’ He looks up at the sky. ‘We have lived for the briefest moments of joy. She would reincarnate, I would find her. Repeat. And now,’ He sighs. ‘I cannot find her anymore.’

‘Do you seek her? In The Collision?’ The question flows out of her mouth before she can stop it. She does not want to know the answer. As unwise as it is, The Fox Queen cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy against this mortal soul. Who was she, to be worth being loved by him, over and over again, even at the cost of losing her over and over again, as well as forsaking his own Elfhood?

He turns to look at her. At some point, they have drawn closer to one another. The curve of her cheek is made even softer, almost ghostly by the silver veil. Her eyes, the shape of elegant brush strokes, the ends slightly lift upwards like a comet’s tail. He feels them bore into his very soul, and suddenly it is harder to speak about his past love in the present. In her presence. His hand itches with the need to lift the material up and reveal the creature underneath. To make certain she is not a mirage.

‘She is free now.’ He has made sure of it. He looks up at the sky again. ‘Perhaps she has forgotten. Perhaps her soul has dissipated and become one with the universe.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’ Rings the melodic, soft voice of his companion.

He shrugs.

‘I miss her. Deeply. I do not suppose I can ever stop. However, as urgent and selfish as my desire to be reunited with her might be, I care more to see that she is content. Happy. In whatever form she takes. The Firmament knows she deserves it more than any.’

Silence dawns.

Then the Elf leans on his hand and regards The Fox Fairy.

‘How about you? What do you wish to find in The Collision?’

‘There are empty spaces in my memories.’ She traces her fingers along the lines of her lips in thoughtful contemplation, a little action he finds equal parts hypnotic and familiar. ‘Spaces I yearn to fill. I can’t recall my childhood. One day I just woke up, armed with all these knowledge and powers and I don’t know how they came to be. Only a fool would assume they are natural gifts. One does not simply navigate a political court without extensive training. And then I was crowned Queen by my people. I accepted the role. I am uncertain whence I have such confidence, or perhaps entitlement.’ Both of her hands draw up to cup her cheeks. ‘It is quite frustrating. I am haunted by dreams I cannot recall. Of twin moons. I wake up nightly in my chambers with tears on my face and I don’t understand why.’

‘Perhaps it was something quite painful.’ He suggests. ‘Perhaps it is your consciousness’s way of protecting you.’

‘I thought so at first.’ She says. ‘But if it were something I have decided of my own accord, I doubt I would have grown so restless over it.’ Her voice is steadfast. ‘Something was taken from me, I know it deep in my bones. You must think me quite mad, but these shadows in me, they leave footprints.’

‘Footprints?’

‘Yes!’ She exclaims, her eyes bright. ‘Emotional footprints. I cannot recollect the events, but the sensations are true. I remember heartaches. Pain. Death. But there is beauty too. Desires. And love. So much of it.’ Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as the emotions resurface. ‘If my memories are meant to be lost forever to protect me, why take away all the good things too? Why entrust me with all this wisdom without the means to understand it? Why lead me here at all?’ She gestures at the approaching Collision. ‘If not for answers?’

He studies her for a long moment.

‘I believe there is some wisdom to what you said.’ Truly. Certainly she does not sound madder than himself.

‘A part of my desire is fueled by my nature as well.’ She concedes. ‘Foxes cannot stand not knowing.’

‘You are of Fox-kind?’ he ponders the new information. It makes perfect sense, he supposes. Her initial shyness and wariness. Her unadulterated excitement.

‘I seek to understand more of myself. I must admit the relation between my nature and my role still remains somewhat… obscure.’ She shrinks into herself. ‘They come into conflict at most inopportune time. My behaviour earlier on the shoreline…’ She silences abruptly, realising what she has just let slip.

The Elf notices it. Interesting, he thinks. 

‘I was wondering - what have I done to have incurred your animosity…’ He presses on, deciding to be ungenerous by not letting the matter rest. He is still Fae, after all. And now he is curious, too.

‘I… was so afraid to ask if I could accompany you on your island.’ She lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘This is most silly…’ He can hear her blushing, her voice is so expressive. ‘That I intended to scare you off. So you would go away.’

‘Scare me off?’ A humorous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. ‘With what?’

She blushes even deeper. 

‘I have no idea.’

He breaks into a fit of laughter.

‘It is not funny!’ She exclaims, both of her hands cover her flushed cheeks, shielding her face even further from him. Nine big, silver, fluffy fox tails sprout from her back, holding her small frame in their embrace, until she bears a striking resemblance to that of a great cotton ball. The sight is so adorable, it makes him laugh even harder. 

As his laughter subsides, she feels him lift from his place and move to kneel in front of her. She imagines him reaching out his hand to touch her and she holds her breath. He decides against it, however, instead opting for calling out to her, in such a soft, gentle tone, it melts her bones into honey.

‘May I see you, please? My Lady?’

Her tails retreat, yielding under his voice. She lifts her head up to look at him, directly into his grey, lunar eyes. There is something so dear about him, so ancient and intimate to her, yet at the same time, he feels oceans away. Untouchable. The sensation makes her heart ache.

He is dying to shed her veil away to claim her lips with his own. It would not be proper, he halts, reminding himself that he is a gentleman and in the presence of a Queen. He must settle for admiring her through the sheer and in the half-light, letting his imagination fill in the details.

‘Who are you?’ She asks him, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles nervously, feeling humbled under her gaze.

‘I am merely a younger brother of the groom, My Lady.’

‘I do not believe that is all that you are.’ she says kindly. ‘There is nothing ‘merely’ about you.’

He bows, still looking at her. 

‘I thank you.’

The sky rumbles. The Collision is approaching. The Fox Queen and the lightless Elf break away from their eye contact, hurriedly settling back into sitting side by side, no longer looking at one another. She dries her palms on the mossy ground. He lays down, his hand rests easy on her sleeve.

She hears the music change. A familiar, more sombre melody of koto and free-reed flute, played by the Skylarks of her court. According to the tradition of her realm, they are playing The Reception of the Collision, aptly named. The Fox Queen brings out a gourd from her magic pouch. An intoxicating, floral scent permeates the air when she removes the small nub. She drinks the liquid inside, then harmonises with the distanced musicians, using the gourd itself as her instrument.

‘That is a lovely melody.’ He compliments her.

‘It is ceremonial.’ She explains. ‘The Universe brings its own music in The Collision after all. It is an echo from the callings of all those who walked before. Even the ashes have their own resonance. It is only fair to give something back. At least it is so to my people.’

‘That is very interesting.’ He says. ‘I do not believe to have heard any music during the occurrence. Nor knowing any of my kind who did, for that matter.’

‘How do you Fae folk see the event then?’ She asks.

He ponders over her question.

‘Lightning would strike from the contact. Over there,’ he points at the steadily unfolding skyline. ‘Imagine a light that does not cast any shadows. A Fae sees all the colours in existence in that light, be it a High Elf or a simple pixie. All the stars in the sky would gather about it, and one would experience the sight of a tree growing backwards, all the leaves and flowers would return to the embrace of the branches from divinity. We elves believe we are allowed a glimpse into the Garden of The Firmament.’

‘It sounds very beautiful.’ She says.

‘It is truly a fascinating sight. There is no music however. Purely a visual sensation.’ He turns and smiles gently at her. ‘I do wonder how you experience it.’

She pretends to contemplate the offer.

‘Well, you must not play the tune.’ She says, her tone cheeky. ‘It is quite hard to master, and Fae folk tend to be… unsubtle with aerophones.’ She smiles back at him. He rolls his eyes at her small jab.

‘But you can drink the wine.’ She offers him the gourd, her voice grows beguiling.

He takes the gourd from her, his touch setting little fires to her skin as though his fingertips are still glowing. He brings it to his lips, tasting distilled peaches, cherry blossoms and winds shifting through wild grasses. She watches him intently, attempting her best to minimise the significance of their actions: how in her realm, only betrotheds and spouses drink wine from the same container. ‘It must not mean anything here.’ She thinks to herself, tearing her eyes from him, failing to vanquish the irrational spark of hope in her chest.

The Collision commences. 

The skyline splits open to welcome the foreign dimension. Every star in the sky is stretched and distorted in the new celestial lens. They are renewed, rejuvenated in front of his eyes and he watches The Tree drawing its children home. She hears cosmic music. Transcendental beings of the past, present and future, all glowing in light-made bodies, all join in a magnificent orchestra. She sees into others and into herself, her lives, in centuries before, as the sky opens one of its many eyes and becomes a mirror. Soon enough, they realise they are both observing the same story:

It was a tale of a poor cub, an anomaly, born to a Fairy Fox Queen and a mortal man. Her nine magical tails, the source of her powers, were cruelly sheared. Thus was she exiled from her kingdom, accursed to die many mortal deaths, trading a hundred years of sufferings for each of her tails.

And so for eight hundred years, her spirit walked the earths under ephemeral identities, all of them ending in tragedies. Yet, during her journey, she was not alone. A beautiful, ageless man with chestnut hair and moonlit eyes was her shadow. Be she a maid or a princess, a blue blood or a bastard, a scholar or a general, a king or a pauper, he loved her. All of her incarnations, identities, material sexes, he loved them all. They were friends, confidants, spouses. The times they had together, of which he referred to as ‘brief moments of joy’ as they spanned but a fraction of the long eight hundred years, were lifetimes of bliss to her mortal minds.

His last sacrifice disrupted and completed her cultivation, and as a result, the dusty cloak of her mortal experience was stripped away from her. She passed the turbulent threshold into her realm, returning one century earlier to her people as the rightful heiress, seemingly unburdened with the thought of him. 

Yet the memories only laid dormant, never were to be erased. She is always meant to seek them out. She is always meant to find him.

They look at each other now, without fears or reservations. She remembers him, everything about him. He has haunted her dreams. He is so close to her, so close she can feel his breaths on her cheeks, smelling of sandalwood and the wine she has given him. Her featherlight veil suddenly becomes too dark and heavy.

‘May I?’ He whispers, his hand tracing the fabric.

Instinctively, she clutches the veil tighter to herself. One feeble attempt at maintaining the last shred of their current, fading reality, before embracing the change. His large hand covers hers and her fingers uncurl from their grip, pliant under his touch.

She consents to his request with the smallest of nods. 

He lifts up the veil over her face, slowly, and she takes him in, now with clear vision. His face. His eyes. His mischievous elven smile. The sound of his voice. She misses him so much she can cry.

She is as marvellous as he imagines she would be. As he remembers she was. He brings his hand to her cheek and the part of him that is still tense with anxiety breathes a sigh of relief as he comes into contact with soft, warm flesh. His love. Of past and present.

 Before bridging the final gap between them and once again tasting heaven on her lips, he searches her beautiful eyes. He imagines a star has landed there. Or perhaps he seeks not a star in their watery depths, but his own light, the beam that she has not so much stolen, but he has willingly parted with.

Bathed in the light of The Collision, the copulation of The Universe, two ethereal lovers, both marked by mortality, uncover the mask of time between them and recognise the soul they have spent centuries seeking. Their joy is insurmountable, and they call one another by their true names as their happiness is, at last, eternal.

‘Benedict’.

‘Sophie’.

.

.

.

.

Author’s Note: *reverse UNO card* surprise it’s also a Reunited fic.

#benophie week 2023 #benophieweek23 #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #My writing #benophie week #also kate is a mermaid okay? #i don't make the rules #disney did it first

[valeffelees]

🧡 snowbaz, please

hi, Purple! 🖤 i chose the "kissing in bed" prompt for the orange heart, and i know i said i'd write a "drabble" but this is 500 words, i'm sorry. LOL, i hope this is okay!

Simon leans on the frame of the door. Dawn is curving between the curtains, drenching their bedroom in dim, pink sunlight. Baz is turned away from it, sleeping with their duvet twisted tight around his shoulders and his nose buried in Simon’s pillow. He always does that. Rolls into the warm, empty space Simon leaves behind every morning. Burrows against it like a daisy tilting towards the sun. London is a hum outside their window, but in the early silence of their flat, there is nothing but the shuffle of his footsteps on the carpet. The creak of the bedsprings as he kneels on the edge of the mattress. The hiss of the linens against his jeans. He brushes the hair back from Baz’s face. It’s all white in the front now—Baz had a real fucking bird over it two years ago when he noticed those first pale strands starting at his temples. (“Isn’t this a good thing? Y’know. Aging, yeah?”) (“Not at thirty, Snow! Nicks and fucking Slick, I’m going to look like my father.”) But Simon liked it, then, and he still likes it now. He likes the way it arches out from the peak of his hairline and frames his face during the day, and he likes the way it hangs like a wedding veil around them when Baz is bent over him at night. “Baz,” Simon says. Then, "Babe." “I’m sleeping,” Baz replies. Even as he slides a hand out from the duvet and takes hold of Simon’s wrist, brings his palm down to his mouth and kisses the slope of lines and scars and calluses he finds there. Baz is rough to touch. Rough with stubble on his chin, rough on his knuckles from all that fire magic burning through him, rough on the tip of each finger from two decades of violin. Simon likes that, too. How they scuff together sometimes. The scratch and cling of their skin. “You can keep sleeping,” Simon says. “I’m just saying goodbye.” Baz makes an unhappy sound in his throat. “I have to work.” “Boo,” Baz says. “Yeah, yeah.” Fourteen years is a long time, and a lot of things have changed, but kissing Baz isn’t one of them. He still does it with needy hands and flushed cheeks, with teeth and tongue and a lungful of cedar. Baz’s mouth is soft and clumsy and stale with sleep. The chill of him makes Simon shiver. “Gross,” Baz says without pulling back, his words moving right against Simon’s lips, “you taste like your shit coffee.” “You’re really going to complain about how my mouth tastes?” “You kissed me,” Baz says. “My breath isn’t my problem before eight-AM, Snow.” “Simon.” “Mr. Pitch.” Simon scoffs. “Go back to sleep,” he says, and kisses him again on the mouth, and then for a third time on the top of his head as Baz relaxes back into the duvet, into Simon’s pillow, into that pretty veil of white and black hair. “I’ll see you at four.” “Mhm.” He closes the gap in the curtains on his way out.

#i am the ceo of ''do you guys wanna play an ask game? [goes offline]'' lmfao #but i really love doing little prompts like this for people so thank you very kindly for coming to hang out 🥰🖤 #ask game #snowbaz #sketchbook apocalypse

[swaps55]

Writer's first line meme

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven’t written ten fics, share as many first sentences as you have.

Tagged by @otemporanerys. Thank you!!

Tagging @dearophelia @stormikins @urrone @mrsd-writes and anyone else who would like to play!

I just went down the Ao3 list, and left out the prompt collections.

Fugue – Alchera & the 2 year gap (ALMOST FINISHED, aaaahhhhh)

The first salvo hit with Shepard in mid-laugh.

2. Capriccio – A father’s love for a whirlwind of a child.

Forget relays and first contact wars and discovering aliens. The real test of courage and mettle is having an eight-year-old named Sam Shepard

3. Heartstoppers From Beyond The Veil - Sam & Kaidan First Kiss AU

Shepard thunders through the ‘Yang’s airlock like it’s a day of reckoning, and every single person between him and the crew deck makes the quick and wise decision to get the hell out of his way before they wind up being the one he reckons with.

4. Space Talk – Another Sam & Kaidan first kiss AU. :D

Kaidan nearly slips going down the hill towards the prothean artifact.

5. Concerto: Vimire

New Message, Shepard, Sam, Staff Commander, 5923-AC-2826

-You awake?

6. Warm With You: Post-Leviathan snuggles

The pale light of Shepard’s fish tank casts an eerie glow around the otherwise dark cabin.

7. Cantata: The Making of Commander Shepard, in which my opening sentence is a sex joke that neither I nor Kaidan clocked until much later, oops. XD

Kaidan has never even heard of the Docking Station, a poorly named bar on the fringes of Arcturus’ torus ring that is about as far from the actual docking bays as anyone can get.  

8. Untitled Goose Fic: Another Sam & Kaidan First Kiss AU, that was spawned because upon discovering there is an Ao3 tag for “Soulmate Goose of Enforcement,” I asked, “is anyone gonna write one for Mass Effect?” and did not wait for an answer.

“So,” Shepard says, surveying the lake with a critical eye. “You have a lake.”

9. The Things We’ve Done: Sam & Kaidan first sex AU, with my favorite tag ever, “you’re not dead let’s have sex about it.” This is actually a chapter of Cantata, but I posted it as a separate story because of the AU ending.

Suit alarm. Another blood pressure alert.

10. Late Nights, Slow Dances: Mixing business with pleasure, Citadel DLC style. The clone won’t be part of Opus proper, but this idea hit me after I took a very fluffy screenshot, and I couldn’t resist.  

The oscillating lights over the casino dance floor are a bit much, but between the music and the formalwear and Shepard on his arm, this infiltration mission almost feels like…a date.

#mememe #meme replies

[coffehbeans]

The Veiled Price (Prompt #51: Drink)

Prologue (you’re here)  |  Chapter 1

Masterpost of stories and prompts (you can send an ask for a prompt from the list!)

*ressurects from the ashes* I FINISHED IT, FINALLY AAAAAAAAAHHHHH *explodes*

Thank you for waiting guys! This was by far the most difficult story to write so far, hence why it took so long (i also procrastinated but shh)

This time it’s a prologue of one of my older g/t universes (5 years ago, to be exact gasps) This story tells the origins of one of my characters. I wouldn’t reveal his backstory until the main chapters but, eh I can’t resist ahushs Fair warning tho that this entire collection of stories will be rated PG-13 for graphic descriptions of pain and death.

Buckle up cause this is my longest story so far! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: It was common knowledge to the people of Immers: never trust the circes. But when lord Audwin Imore falls in desperation to prove himself to his father, he recklessly resorts to drastic measures.“Stop. That is not nearly enough.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Audwin laid on his knees on the floor, gasping for breath as if he had drowned, the sword he was previously holding fell a good distance away from him. He had barely processed what his father had said when the baron lowered his sword and started walking away from the exhausted child.

  “Had you been stronger or fiercer, I might have given you another chance. But this already proves your incompetence. I am not going to waste my time testing you any longer.”

  “Father, wait!”

  Audwin scrambled back up and lunged towards Hartmann, who had turned his back against his son. The child gripped the fabric of his father’s shirt and buried his head deep in it, as if the man would turn invisible, never to be seen again.

  “Please! I will get better! I can try again! I’ll do another strike and-”

  Hartmann wasted no time with the desperate pleas and yanked Audwin’s hands from his shirt. His grip around his son’s wrists tightened, cold and distant eyes scrutinizing his tearful ones. He shoved Audwin away and walked to the door as his child stumbled in recoil.

  “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut.”

  With that, he slammed the door closed, the sound ringing inside Audwin’s ears as the sharp words cut through his chest. He hiccupped and rubbed his face in his hands in a desperate attempt to stop his tears. Yet, an ember of resolve, remnants of a dream still not buried, burned within him.

  He was only eight. He could still become strong.

  ____________________________ 

  “Is that all you can do, Audwin?”

  His older brother teased between thrusts and parries of their swords. The teenager’s lungs begged for air, but his eyes remained steady.

  “You haven’t gotten me yet.”

  Audwin feigned an overhead strike in order to kick his brother in the middle and gain advantage, but Benedictus had a bright intellect and saw through his strategy. Going along Audwin’s plan at first, he pretended to raise his sword only to aim it towards his younger brother’s raised foot, colliding his blade with it in a swift motion. In a matter of seconds, Benedictus charged and knocked Audwin’s sword from his hand. It fell with a large clank to the ground. Not enough. I am still not strong enough, He thought as his expression fell.

  He glanced at his father, who had briefly stopped by to watch the sparring match between the brothers. Audwin held his breath as he looked at the stern and disappointed face across the room. 7 years after that last testing day, baron Hartmann barely regarded Audwin and his sister’s presence. The eldest son, Benedictus, occupied all that was left of the aged lord’s energy. The distant memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Audwin knew what his father wanted. Stability for the kingdom the land of Immers is part of. Acknowledgement of his merits by the king, the expansion of the state, or simply to make it strong and powerful. All those reasons spat out of the tenacious man’s mouth one time or another. He valued military strength for that exact reason, since providing armies to the king was the best way to get recognition as a baron. In the end, despite everything, the young lord admired his father’s goal. He longed to realize that dream alongside him and his brother, leading armies side by side with them, the sweet and rewarding feeling of honor overflowing his senses. And yet…

He cut his train of thought when Hartmann rose from his seat and left the sparring room without a word.

  His chances slipped away by each second. So many years went by, but he never won one match, never disarmed that swift, dexterous blade from his brother’s grasp. Audwin looked down in dejection, but Benedictus’s firm hands on his shoulder awoke him from his stupor.

  “Don’t worry. I am sure you will surpass me in no time. Just keep practicing.” He said with considerate eyes.

  “I’m not so sure that is possible anymore, Benet.” Audwin said with a sigh.

  “Nonsense! You still have time ahead of you. Regardless, I will be here to massage our father’s ego, and in the meantime, you can focus on bettering yourself.” He said in futile reassurance, despite Audwin appreciating his consideration. “While I am doing that, you can be present for Otilia.”

  Benedictus was right, he could not lose his focus from her. At least he had his mother back then when his father rejected him, but his little sister never had the chance to meet her, and was ignored by the baron since her birth. Audwin huffed as the memory ignited anger in his chest. Ever since Otilia was born, he promised he would give her company.

  “Why do you care so much about impressing him, anyway? It is me who must reach his expectations, after all. You know how the old man’s thoughts are ridiculous.”

  “Because…” Audwin paused. He recalled that day back at his first trainings. Laying on the ground out of breath, his father looming over him with a disapproving look. A flame of resentment rising within him, burning deep inside his chest, conviction brimming in his eyes. They remain burning until this day, the fire threatening to consume him whole.

  “He will only recognize the mistake he’s made when I show it to his face.”

  ____________________________ 

   “Have you heard? Master Audwin has been secretly sneaking out at night to train inside the forest”

  “Ah, you shall not worry about that. It has been so for the past four years.” The governess responded the curious maid with a dismissing motion of her hand.

  “Four years? In the middle of the woods? Does lord Hartmann not know about this? And it is not a place for a nobleman to go into, especially with the circes roaming in it.”

  “Do you still believe in those fairytales?”

  “You do not believe it, mistress?”

  The governess paused with a hesitant look.

  “Well, I admit. No sane soul goes to the circes’ territory.” She approached the maid with a firm look on her face.

  “But listen. Lord Audwin is not a sane soul. Not since he started training in secret. Something deep and… Obsessive, moves him. And it is not our business to meddle with our lord’s affairs.”

  The governess stayed inches close to the chambermaid’s face, and whispered in a hushed, alarmed tone.

  “May this be kept between us, and we shall not inform lord Hartmann about his son’s endeavors, or there shall be great consequences.”

  The servant, who is used to following orders without question, nodded earnestly, and they moved on from the conversation.

  She did not know that the governess has been told by the young noble himself to conceal his secret.

  ____________________________ 

  Audwin struck his sword against the tree trunk as hard as he could, hoping to form a bigger dent on it than the ones from four years ago. He remembered the marks his father left with his sword on the wood back at his childhood, when he gave a demonstration of brute strength at the corner of the forest. A cut deep and precise. Those were the standards the sons of baron Hartmann Imore had to strive for.

  And he would achieve that.

  With a powerful grunt, Audwin striked the final blow on the trunk.

  It barely went deeper than last time.

  Audwin stared at the thin mark gasping for breath, distraught. He trained so hard, for all those years, and yet his strength still barely surpassed his fifteen-year-old self.

  Why. Why am I so pathetic?

“You wish to be stronger, young gentleman? That is your final ambition?”

  Audwin was startled by a melodic and feminine voice coming from the woods. He turned around in shock, and the sight haunted him:

  From the dense trees and into the clearing emerged a short and slender figure, covered in a black dress with black robes, and long, ebony hair that came down below the waist. Her blue eyes radiated color in an unnatural fashion, entrancing him in a deep, compassionate gaze. The figure let a small smile.

  “Who are you?” – Audwin tried to contain the tremble within his voice.

  “Just a commoner picking fruits inside these woods. You are one of the baron Hartmann’s sons, I presume?” – she answered in an innocent manner.

  “Do not fool me, witch. I know precisely what you are. It is wise if you leave me alone if you wish to live.” Audwin pointed his sword in the direction of the creature.

  And she giggled wholeheartedly.

  “My my, I might have underestimated your intelligence.” The witch’s piercing eyes peered at him with glee. “And yet, you retort me with such vile words just because of some foul rumors about me. Where are your manners?” she mocked sadness.

  “Leave.”

  “Shouldn’t I be saying this to you? This is my territory, after all.”

  Without a proper counterargument, Audwin went silent, and the circe smirked. She hit the jackpot.

  The witch slowly trudged her bare feet towards the hesitant man.

  “I suppose the reason you invaded my territory to train in the middle of the night is because of a deep desire within your soul.” She closed the distance between them, and Audwin felt sweat dripping for his forehead. Somehow, her presence paralyzed him in fear.

  How much more pathetic could he get?

  “I know the baron’s fame around the land.” She continued. “His methods are rigorous, and his standards are high towards his heirs. He saw your below average strength, and deemed you unworthy of military and governmental affairs.”

  Audwin remained silent, sword unsheathed. His expression threatened to betray the fear within him, yet he remained steady and firm.

  “What a shame, I must say. If only your efforts to better yourself had paid off.” She glanced at the scratch on the tree.

  Audwin should not be immobile. He knew the danger he was under. His mind told him to run and never come back to the woods, but his feet remained planted in place. It was as if the circe had put a spell on him that prevented him from running. Were those creatures even capable of such magic? Or was his fear the spell that made him frozen in place?

  The circe inched closer and closer, until they were inches apart. Those vibrant blue eyes stared deep into his brown ones, her small smile never changing. If she came even closer, she would be able to ruffle his ash brown, wavy hair with a single exhale.

  “I know a way to make you stronger. No matter what others have told you about me, I have the solution you are looking for. However, it comes at a price.”

  Audwin took a shallow breath, and mustered up the courage to reply, in a faint voice.

  “All of this monologue in order to convince me to fall for your tricks? I’m afraid your efforts have proved unsuccessful.”

  Despite that, she grinned.

  “Oh, foolish nobleman, I do not wish to convince you of anything. On the contrary, I am quite happy with my living conditions now. I have no use in tricking unfortunate souls like you.”

  Audwin scoffed in disbelief, and the circe’s never-changing smile remained. She turned around and started strolling around him.

  “I am just telling you a fact. The other humans know the rumors of my power, yet few know I mostly work in favor of them. As long as they have the proper rewards to give me, I am capable of realizing any wish they so desire, all within a single concoction.”

  The witch looked at Audwin’s unmoving eyes with peace and joy. He could not fall for her foolish talk. Yet, the words echoed in his mind.

  If they have the right reward, any wish they so desire within a single concoction…

  No. He would not falter. He is capable of being strong on his own.

  Upon reading the young lord’s expression, the witch stopped her joyful stride around him.

  “Oh well. If you wish to remain in your methods, I shall waste no further time talking to you.” She turned around and started walking away from him, and Audwin finally felt relieved enough to lower his sword slightly.

  “Just remember, nobleman. I reside deep within the forest, across this clearing we stand.”

  Without any further word, she entered the dense part of the woods, and her silhouette disappeared.

  Audwin wasted no time and swiftly left the place the instant she was gone.

  ____________________________ 

  While Audwin was in his office studying, he easily drifted to the words the circe had said to him.

  Could she really be capable of making him stronger?

  If he really would not be able to acquire more strength than his physique was capable of, maybe…

  No. What was he thinking? He knew they were trickster creatures, she wants him to drink the potions she provides. Yet here he was falling for her tricks!

  Audwin was abruptly cut off from his thoughts when his brother entered the door in a hurry.

  “I came from a reunion with father. We’re going in a war against the province from northeast.”

  Audwin raised his head and his heart started beating faster. Could it be? Would he finally be able to fight? To prove himself?

  “In that case, I must prepare the convocations right away.” Audwin said.

  “About that, the reason I came in such a hurry is because… Father does not want to put you responsible for the other half of the army.”

  “… What?”

  “Just the usual foolishness of that old man. He believes putting you as their leader will cause failure to the king’s nation.”

  Audwin felt rage bubbling up inside his chest. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Sadly, this is precisely why I came to talk to you with such urgency.” His brother frowned in an apologetic tone. “I do not want to accept this either, Audwin. But as much as I want to go against father’s orders, he will still go to war with us. He would not let us go through such a plan, and it would lead us both to grave consequences and even chaos amongst our troops.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Audwin muttered under his breath with clenched teeth. “I have no other option then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will have a talk with father.”

  “Will it work, I wonder?”

  An idea sparked in Audwin’s mind.

  “If I fail to convince father, how about a sparring match between we two? It’s my last chance to prove it to him, if I win.”

  Benedictus put a hand on his chin in thought. This could work.

  “Alright, leave the matching arrangements and convincing our father to me.”

  Audwin’s eyes were piercing and determined. He would lead that war. And he would prove his father once and for all.

  “Just, if we do have to cross blades at the end, do not go easy on me.”

  His brother laughed proudly. “Leave it to me.”

  ____________________________

  The evening came and Audwin hastily strode in the halls. His father could not be serious. The young nobleman knew that the great lord Hartmann would prefer if his middle son matched his ideals of warrior, but he could still fight! What nonsense to not let him lead as per tradition? He knew he was not as fast, or not as strong, or not as intelligent, but he still had capabilities of his own. He did well at his studies, and did average at his training, but he could still lead an army. Then, why? Why would he be regarded as a mere foot soldier? Audwin huffed with the boiling frustration he felt, but he took yet another round of deep breaths to calm his mind. He needed to be as levelheaded as possible if he were to convince his father to give him a leading position at war.

  He felt someone tugging the back of his coat and looked behind him.

  Otilia clung to the fabric as her bright, round eyes stared pleadingly at her brother. The sight made all the previous anger he felt disappear.

  “Brother, can we play?” – she hugged her porcelain doll. Otilia loved to play house, and Audwin was often one of her most esteemed guests to her tea parties. Playing like that felt embarrassing, but he liked to indulge his sister in her plays, and very soon she would be all grown up and not interested in dolls anymore.

  He knelt and glanced at the young girl with sweet eyes.

  “Not now Otily, brother’s busy. But I promise that as soon as I’m free, we’ll play together. Alright?”

  The docile child nodded, despite her face falling. She was considerate and had a peaceful nature, so reasoning with her was quite easy.

  “Ah, ok. But I’ll wait for you!”

  He knocked on the door gently. Audwin chose that precise time because he knew his father had finished most of his tasks and was fairly on his best mood. The best mood being a less intolerant one.

  “Sir, may I come in?”

  The room went silent for a bit upon hearing Audwin’s voice, but Hartmann mumbled a deep “yes” without any objections. Great. That meant he had some sort of chance of reasoning with him. The door groaned as he opened it and the room echoed with Audwin’s steps. He stopped to face his father, who sat on his armchair, chin resting on the top of his hands.

  “What urgent matters bring you here?” he narrowed his eyes. Audwin breathed in.

  “I have heard about the news of war against the east province. I thought about a few strategies, and I was wondering if I could-“

  “Everything has already been accounted for and discussed with your brother and the rest of the nobility. The war plans are not to be changed.”

  “Then, if that is the case, maybe I-“

  “You are not going to lead this war, Audwin. Stay at the position I assign you to. Now leave.”

  Audwin’s composure started to fall.

  “Then, tell me, why should I not? I could help.”

  Hartmann stood up.

  “Why? You present me with your pitiful abilities, and you are asking why? I have slave soldiers who perform better than you, and most presumably will not die at this war, unlike yourself.”

  “But I know how to analyze! I may not have as much strength or speed, but I can elaborate a worthy strategy or, or something! Please, I-“

  Audwin was interrupted by a backhand slap, the force almost knocking him to the ground. He widened his eyes as pain throbbed at his left cheek.

  “You recoiled from this? Insolent. Can you not see how pathetic of a son you are? Weak, pleading, coward. You have no authority to question me. Your ‘strategies’ are of no value to me.”

  He looked down with furious eyes, strands of hair covering part of his face.

  “Now leave, if you know better. I will not hesitate to demonstrate what I do to those who disobey me.”

  Audwin stormed out of the room, looking at the patterns of the corridor floors, ignoring his sister’s room as he passed by it. Rage bubbling deep inside his chest.

  He left the manor, heading straight towards the stable. He picked his horse.

  And rode off towards the forest.

  ____________________________ 

  The horse galloped deep inside the forest, tall trees covered the moonlight, obscured by their dense foliage, casting the place in shadow. Looking straight in front of him, Audwin pressed on, dodging branches and twigs until he reached that same clearing from days before. Crossing it to the other side of the woods, the horse ran until they reached the base of a mountain, where caves were abundant. One single boulder covered in vines was planted in front of the rocky mountain, as big as a house, with a chimney and a wooden door. It must be the place of that circe.

  Audwin dismounted from his horse and approached the cave, knocking at the door. He sent a glance towards the satchel attached on his hip, it had to be enough. The door immediately opened, revealing the same entrancing woman from before.

  “Young nobleman! What a pleasure to see you here! Come inside!”

  “Not yet.” He opened his satchel, revealing a generous amount of money and a family heirloom inside. “First, I need to make sure this qualifies for that ‘reward’ you previously mentioned me.”

  The witch gave a brief glance at the goods before sending him a knowing smile.

  “It is more than enough. Now come.”

  The last thing Audwin heard before closing the door was the disgruntled neighs from his beloved horse companion.

   “I figured your wish. You want to be stronger, the greatest warrior of the kingdom. Maybe even the fiercest warrior on earth?”

  “The strongest, the fiercest, such words could describe what I wish. You already know that much. If I do not acquire this strength for a match tomorrow, I will not be able to lead the army alongside my brother.”

  The circe smirked.

  “I see, so that is why you came to me with such urgency” She grabbed the satchel of gold he previously gave her. “Yes… A price worth paying to achieve what you never managed to by your strength alone.”

  Audwin gulped the frustration that bubbled inside his throat.

  “Yes, a concoction for such a wish is easy to make.” The circe got up.

  She went to the caldron in front of her in the small room, which already had an unknown liquid inside. Whatever that substance was, it seemed to be the main part of the potion, because she only added a few unknown herbs and spices to the boiling liquid, mixing them with a huge spoon, which turning it into an unnatural blue hue. The substance condensed until it barely occupied the bottom of the caldron, and she easily tilted the heavy stone pot into a small rectangular glass bottle in her hands, not missing a single drop.

  As simple as that, the potion was finished. The witch tied the lid with a cork and a blue lace in to decorate it. It looked almost lovely. She handed it to Audwin who watched everything with his eyes widened in shock. Never had he seen something so out of the natural. He second-guessed his reasons to be there.

  “If your sparring match is at night, drink it in the afternoon. Your strength will come shortly after and you will be able to win the fight. Oh, and do wear some bigger clothes before you drink it, maybe borrow ones from your older brother.”

  Audwin held the bottle with the blue liquid in his trembling hands, not believing what he had just done.

  “Good luck in the war. It’s going to happen in a few days, right?”

  “Yes.”

  The witch’s calm smile widened slightly.

  “Lovely! Have a nice success.”

  “I hope I never see you again.” Audwin murmured, and left the strange house through the wooden door, closing it. He hid the bottle inside another pouch he carried, and trotted with his horse away from the dense forest.

  It was only after the horse’s sounds could not be heard anymore that the witch leaned against the doorframe.

  “How rude. I help him this much and this is how he says goodbye?” She said to herself in a mocking tone, not able to contain the giggles that came right after. Her smile stretched across her face, chest filling with pride upon another successful purchase of a desperate soul.

  “And I hope you soon know that this is not the last time you’ll hear of me.”

  ____________________________

  The day of the match had arrived. Audwin sat alone in his bedroom, door locked, the sparkling blue liquid of the bottle swirling in his hands. His heartbeat slammed against his ribcage. Every part of his mind advised him to not take the potion. To not drink it. This has been a mistake.

  Yet, he had no choice. He either drank it or he would lose the spar, not ever being able to win the respect of his father again.

  He had come this far, he would not back down now.

  Audwin removed the cork from the glass and smelled the contents inside it. The scent was sweet to an almost sickening point. His breath stopped for a moment, his heart slamming harder against his chest.

  And in a single, swift motion, he chugged the potion’s contents down.

  The taste was sweet like honey yet felt refreshing, but a bitter aftertaste made him cough violently. Audwin put the bottle on the nightstand and held his face in his hands, gasping for air. Whatever he had done, it was settled.

  The effects were almost instantaneous, for his head started throbbing so strongly against his skull he grabbed it between his hands. Not only did his throat burn, but the entirety of his body, like he had been set on fire.

  Suddenly, Audwin clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth as his bones crackled and his muscles stretched. His veins popped as he bit his arm to muffle his screams.

  In a matter of minutes, the disturbing shifting sounds stopped, and his pain subdued to a light ache.

  Audwin took deep breaths to calm himself before slowly getting up, not used to how his joints snapped after the sudden change. He looked to his arms and torso, noticing how more muscled they seemed. Not only that, his brother’s clothes which were so loose in him now fit him perfectly. He looked at the ground, noticing how much farther it seemed. It seems he had gotten taller as well.

  The potion had worked.

  Audwin breathed in, surprised at how instant everything was. Suddenly he felt stronger, fiercer, more than capable. And all it took was a family heirloom and a few amount of money. He took careful, stumbling steps towards the mirror, not yet used to his new body. He glanced at himself, and almost fell down in absolute shock.

  The person in front of him was unrecognizable. The thin, fragile frame was completely replaced by an athletic and trained body, to the point even his jaw seemed more angular. Audwin stared wide eyed at his reflection, and felt such an enormous amount of joy in his chest he felt like he would cry. This is it. That was the day he would win his father’s respect. He was sure of it now.

  When Audwin left the room, he was wearing armor from head to toe, with only his face at view. If he were using only his brother’s clothes, the changes would seem too abrupt and suspicious to everyone.

  He arrived at the sparring room with his brother already there, who looked at him in surprise.

  “I guessed this was supposed to be simple sword sparring, Why the sudden armored-warrior-stance now?” He said jokingly.

  “I thought we might take this more seriously, to convince him.” Audwin said, trying to contain the shock upon hearing himself speak. Even his voice sounded a bit deeper.

  “Well, in take case, I should put mine on as well. I said I’ll not go easy on you, after all.”

  After Benedictus got ready, Baron Hartmann arrived not long after, his confident attitude the same as ever. His footsteps echoed across the room as the lords and servants went silent, sitting across a cushioned seat that was placed to the side, at the right amount of distance from where the fight would happen. He raised his hand in a dismissive motion and the servants left in a hurry.

  Audwin took deep breaths. In and out, in and out. He could practically feel his new body shifting under his command, the grip of his hands tightening on the handle of the sword. He felt good, reinvigorated.

  He would win that match.

  Audwin and Benedictus positioned on opposites sides at the center, waiting for the command to start the sparring. In an instant, the world disappeared, leaving only Audwin and his father. Audwin stared deep in those condescending eyes, determination burning bright.

  “Begin.”

  Benedictus lunged forward in amazing speed, but Audwin stayed in place. He waited for his brother to get inches close to him until he evaded that sword’s thrust and lashed his blade against it. Benedictus recoiled in surprise, not expecting to lose his balance from the sheer strength of Audwin’s moves. They exchanged jabs and swings back and forth, each blow from his blade surpassing his brother’s and baron Hartmann’s expectations, who, for the first time in years, widened his eyes. The moves got more and more aggressive, fiercer as time passed, and Audwin thrived at his newfound strength.

  The match ended quickly with Audwin’s final blow knocking Benedictus’s sword so hard it flew across the room and pierced the wall with a crack. His brother fell on his knees, panting, gasping out of tiredness but also out of astonishment. He had done it. His little brother had won a match. He raised his head to see Audwin extending his hand towards him, a cheerful glee across his face. He could not help but smile in return, proud of his brother for finally proving their jerk of a father wrong, and taking his hand to get up. He knew he would do it.

  Both brothers stared at their father in expectation, who tried to return to his usual composure, despite the clear shock in his eyes. He got up and cleared his throat.

  “Ahem, the terms of this match that your brother had told me were, if you won it, you would lead the other half of the army, according to old rules.”

  He closed hies eyes and mustered the courage to look at his forsaken son.

  “Therefore, I shall hold my end of the promise. Meet me in a few hours for further discussions.”

  He got up from his chair much slower than usual, although his walk out was at a faster pace. Without any additional words, the man left.

  Audwin looked at his brother contently, a confident complexion on his face.

  “Well, you did it, little brother.” Benedictus said with a proud smile. He touched Audwin’s shoulder in reassurance.

  “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Yeah.” Audwin let out a constrained smile, attempting to ignore the searing pain burning underneath his skin.

  Was it the fight? His muscles ached and tensed with each step towards his bedroom. He needed to prepare himself and dress appropriately for the meeting later, yet his clothes were probably unfitting for him now and he barely could sit straight. Audwin entered his room and removed his armor with hurry, gasping for breath. He stared at his hands as they sweated and trembled uncontrollably.

   Something was not right.

  It was not long before the pain increased to the point Audwin kneeled by the bedside, clutching the sheets. Desperate for a quick solution, he decided it was best he searched for that witch before he could not react anymore. He left his room in a hurry, passed through all concerned servants, until he reached the stable, where he took his horse and ran outside with as much force as he could, barely holding onto the horse’s reins as the burning sensation teared through his bones.

  ____________________________ 

  He entered the dense forest, passed through the thick bushes, and ended up at the same clearing. Startled by a mysterious force, the horse stopped abruptly, throwing Audwin out of it and onto the grass. He gasped and raised his head to find the animal galloping away from him. No. But he could not go after it now, he had to get up and reach that witch and demand her, plead her if he needed, to know what was going on and how to fix the unbearable pain.

  He barely had time to think when the flaring pain raised in intensity and he doubled over in agony. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he grunted and dug his fingers in the dirt. Quicker than he could process, a stinging sensation ruled over his body as his skin felt cramped and tight. He looked at his shaky hand, immediately regretting it when he saw what was happening, heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach. His fingers elongated and bent with loud cracks, the shifting of bones making him choke as the sensation slowly crept up his arms until it completely stabbed all his body. He screamed and looked to the ground in agony, not wanting to see what was happening to him. His breathing became labored and short, desperation clenching at his chest. He groaned and curled inside himself in a failed attempt to stop the deafening crack of his bones reforming and increasing in density, his muscles stretching and spasming. His spine felt like it was snaping inside his body and piercing through his sore skin. Audwin contained the tears welling up in his eyes as he clenched his teeth so hard, he thought he would break them.

  He never should have taken the potion. He knew the dangers from the beginning. He knew and he took it without a second thought. He did not know if his chest burned from the extending ribcage or from his anger at himself.

  By the time the searing pain subsided to a sore throb, Audwin was panting and covered in sweat, his hands holding a large, heavy portion of earth from the ground he was on.

  Kneeling, he attempted to stand up, but his weakened state made him stumble backwards in a loud thud. He thought an earthquake had happened at the exact same time. Why was everything so loud? Where was he? He could not see the familiar trees surrounding the clearing anymore. He hunched over and took shallow breaths, holding his forehead in his hands and searching for a familiar sight. There, knee level with him, were bushes. He looked closer. They were attached to small but thick trunks.

  His heart stopped for a second.

  He must be having a nightmare, supposing things.

  He kneeled by the bushes and touched one of them. Same texture as leaves. He snatched one from the ground and heard loud, cracking noises. Attached to it were roots.

  Those were trees.

  Audwin widened his eyes and shot up, dropping the tree with a deafening thud, resisting the vertigo that came over him when he realized just how high up he was, yet his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

  No. He must be having a hallucination.

  He took slow, shaky steps. They shook the earth like earthquakes.

  He must be in his room at that moment, having a lucid nightmare.

  He saw birds flying away with loud squawks. As small as fleas.

  This is not real. It’s not real. It is not real.

  The moonlight barely illuminated his path. He trudged aimlessly towards the forest until he reached the bottom of a mountain. There was a cave, and he went inside. He laid down with his bare body on the cold dirt.

  Maybe if he closed his eyes, he would wake up in his bedroom, and he would forget. Pretend that nightmare never happened.

  That night, the circe appeared to Audwin in a dream. The unmoving smile, icy blue eyes staring lovingly in his direction. Hatred burned inside his chest, yet he found himself paralyzed. The witch laughed.

  “Foolish human. Have you not done your homework? Circes thrive in mischief and trickery.”

  He tried to scream, to launch at her and demand to change back, but he found himself unable to move.

  “Yet I have not lied to you. Indeed, I gave you what you most wished for. You became the strongest individual in this earth. However, in return, you gave me your humanity.”

  The circe’s smile grew wider, and Audwin remained speechless, not making a single sound.

  “I appreciate the riches and jewels you gave me, though. I consider it a bonus gift to myself.” She said in irony.

  And without a word, she vanished, and the dream evaporated with her.

  When he opened his eyes, he still found his bare body laid down on the harsh rocky soil, inside the same dark, humid cave.

  ____________________________ 

  No one knows what happened to the second son of baron Hartmann. As far as witnesses know, he disappeared without a trace.

  Many theorize that the beast from deep within the woods ate him while he trained in one of his secret midnight sessions, as was told by that governess who had once promised secrecy.

  Maybe the monster of the forest, who was rumored to have terrorized countless villages and stolen their crops would one day disappear, never to be heard again or to install fear in others.

  But five years after the obscure legend of Immers, their feigned peace would come to a close, after the arrival of an eccentric foreigner at a village across the state.

  The echoes of a feminine laughter could still be heard deep inside those woods.

#coffeh writes #coffeh's writing #g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #g/t story #g/t angst #no comfort only pain in this one :) #coffeh oc: audwin #coffeh oc: berk #coffeh oc: the circe #coffeh oc: benedictus #coffeh oc: otilia #coffeh oc: hartmann #yeah they will all be back #no the main character hasnt appeared yet #cant wait to show him to yall he's one of my favorites #coffeh oc: kylon #cause he's mentioned at the end #oc: audwin #oc: kylon #oc: the circe #oc: otilia #oc: benedictus #oc: hartmann #oc: berk

[ev-arrested]

OK if you want Dick/Tiger prompts I have like eight rattling around my skull of varying degrees of fleshed out so I'll just. Spam you.

First up: Mr and Ms Smith AU Dick and Tiger are both spies (maybe Bruce followed in Alfred's MI6 footsteps to fight crime and pursue justice instead of doing it via kevlar fursuit so the Batfam is a spyfam), married, and they live across from an equally married but still superheroes Midpollo. Midnighter and Tiger have THE most suburban dad rivalry going and it annoys the hell out of both of them to have any part in a suburban dad rivalry until Midnighter gets a fancy garden tech inspired grill and Tiger HAS to one up him to make him stop looking so fucking smug. Absolutely nobody knows how when or why Dick and Tiger got married, except for Helena (she officiated) and Dick's gym students (witnesses/flower girls). It's all fun and games and Tiger being awestruck and horrified that Dick looks sane standing next to his family UNTIL Tiger's organization starts investigating the identity of the Bats and. Well. Love conquers all in the end. Possibly with the help of how great Dick looks in an evening gown with a thigh high slit and Martha Wayne's pearls. I have a very vivid image of absolutely everyone in slightly bloody formal wear standing around as Dick and Tiger do a vow renewal while the dust is still settling and Dick's siblings are sundry shades of obnoxiously overdramatic sobbing, Bruce looks like he's eaten a lemon, Apollo and Midnighter are there as Tiger's groomsmen because at some point during the conflict he was forced to deem them adequate backup in battle, Helena is yet again stuck officiating, Dick's gym students are his bridesmaids. Dick is wearing the aforementioned evening gown with a thigh high slit but he's added a veil that was visibly made as part of a $5 Halloween costume. Tiger is absolutely slaying in deep reds with gold embroidery. He and Dick renew their vows in the smoking rubble of whatever ballroom just exploded and it is the first time almost everyone present has ever seen Tiger smile.

You’re in for a treat when Dick Grayson week starts tomorrow. I had an ancient Mr. and Mr. Grayson sketch from like a year ago that I fucking excavated, and turns out tomorrow’s prompts include “Spyral Crew”, so guess what sketch is (probably) getting posted and when