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rise-my-angel · 10 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

4 - Standing Behind a Betrayal

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 13.5k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, bodily injury, implied reference to sexual assault, implied reference to child murder, character death, mild description of gory wounds, blood and violence, imprisonment, talk of execution, slow burn, slight canon divergence

Notes: We won't be in Kings Landing forever but the action safe to say is about to pick up. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

So much had to be left out, the bare bones of what occurred was the only thing you could risk sending to Winterfell. You had sat in his office writing to Robb about the incident in the street, but your eyes had routinely drifted to the tome still sat on the desk. It wasn’t just Jaime Lannister that bothered you, it was everything here. This city, the mystery, and how left in the dark you were despite the whispers all around you.

While investigating one thing, another issue had come to Eddard Stark’s feet before him leaving him weak, injured, and asleep in bed as you leaned back in the chair. Many times you’d look at him, then eye the book and distract from something else. More then once you looked over the words you’d read many times, descriptions of the Baratheon family which all looked and sounded the same. What had been in here that Jon Arryn was looking for, why did King Robert’s bastard children have something to do with it?

That last time, your eyes had drifted to the passage of his true born children, their golden heads did little to describe what an atrocity the eldest was. The passage stuck out to you, it did that night as you slept, and even louder in your mind as you went that next morning to confront Renly.

“I don’t see why you care so much, you think what the realm needs is one more monarch screeching about taking the throne?” You had whipped around at him, your eyes wide and lips parted in surprise when he seemed to notice the mistake.

Opening and closing his mouth, he failed to back up in time before you jumped. “One more?” As he looked away, you took a step forward and still he refused to meet your eye. “There’s no justice in punishing for a crime they haven’t committed, you know that.”

Swallowing, Renly had shrugged without committing much to the beleivability of his casualness. It was a mask that he was getting worse at playing every day it felt. “There are still people who think Roberts a usurper.” He was avoiding his own casualness in his support of murdering the remaining Targaeyans.

Looking to the side with a slight eye roll, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Yes, his name is Viserys Targaryean and he is half way across the world, Renly. Even if he managed to land here who is going to support him? How down trodden do you think the people are that they would welcome the son of the mad king in with open arms after over twenty years of Robert keeping the peace?”

The way he looked at you hit something that was unsettling. It was the eyes you’d seen in all three of the elder brothers, it was the face that was a mirror to the one you had seen in the boy, Gendry. It was the hair that all of you held, the hair on Shireen you’d sit behind her and carefully brush out in the early mornings.

His words were tough, forced out through a somewhat clenched jaw. “Think, my dear niece. Which one of us is really the one who doesn’t belong?” He at that moment expected no answer, immediately moving around the room to change subjects. “Anyways, there’s no chance you could go speak to him and convince him to not bring me hunting?”

Leaning against the wall, you shrugged. “I don’t see what about it has you complaining so much.”

Huffing, he turned to you with an incredulous look. “You’ve never hunted with Robert. I’m in for two weeks at the bare minimum of being dragged across the kingswood as he drinks, boasts endlessly about his own kills while he complains that I haven’t done enough myself.”

“By enough, you mean any?” He glared at your smirking face. “It’s hunting, Renly he’s not shipping you off the war.”

Gathering his things, he passed you by. “I’d take war over Roberts boars and hunting whores any day, or is it the other way around?” Securing the leather around his chest he looked at you with a sigh. “So, do I look the part?”

Narrowing your eyes, you barley looked him over. “One hunting trip won’t kill you, stop complaining and go already.” Leaving with him as he closed his door, you two walked down the halls towards the King’s own quarters. Renly fussing over the attire all the way, you were not truly sure if it was hunting in general he wasn’t pleased do be doing, or if it was just the fact that he was doing it with Robert.

Not that he would be pleased with joining your father either. Where Renly preferred luxury, and Robert preferred loud and charging, your father’s hunts were out of necessity. Find food, move quiet and be silent. No hunting party, no drinks not that of water, and wasting no time in trying to kill such big game for glory. There was no great feast for just that of the hunt either, spending more luxury just to celebrate a clean kill was to waste it on those who didn’t need it.

Considering the state of Flea Bottom, King Robert certainly was hunting just to find any glory in his rage rather then for practicality. You had hunted before, but certainly not with the King and you could sympathize with how little the idea appealed to you.

Coming upon the hallway, you nodded towards Ser Barristan, standing straight and at the ready as he greeted the ever growing morose Renly. He walked in first, being accosted by his brother loudly about no other way to prove your salt as a man.

Ser Barristan stepping forward, a small smile on your lips as he greeted you. “Do you know how long his grace intends to be out there?” Saying he didn’t, you sighed as shoulders deflated a bit. Voice lowering as you stepped forward. “I’m not sure who he’s trying to take his anger out on with this trip, the Targaryean girl or Lord Stark.”

Tilting his head as one side of his mouth raised slightly, he lowered his head closer to yours. “His Grace has a misguided tendency to focus on the wrong things when things get heated.” You both glanced at the door, hearing something between the King and his squire causing Ser Barristan to pull you a step away with a hand on your upper arm. “Forgive me, my Lady but I sense something else is wrong.”

Arms crossing, you closed your eyes only for as long as you exhaled the increasing race of your heart before standing straight. “I shouldn’t say but,” Looking up, you saw the gentle expression of a man who has never shown even an inkling of the kind of darkness looming in this city. He was a man of honour, and yet unlike Lord Stark this one seemed to have stood the test and remained untouched and as confident as ever. “I’ve known you since I was a girl, and I know you care about the King.”

His smile growing more as it did fond, “I remember his grace hearing the news of your birth. It wasn’t long after he and the Queen lost their first boy. Lord Arryn had to talk him down from jumping on a ship to go to Dragonstone that same day.” They rarely spoke of that first boy, a little black haired boy that fell sick and passed before he had even spoken his first word. “Losing that boy, and having his brother soon after have a healthy baby girl of his own. I think the King saw you as something that could’ve been.”

The King had visited Dragonstone much later before you had been moved with your father to Kings Landing. A strong memory of who at that time, was just Uncle Robert. Your father instilling manners had yet to fully sink in, and that was worsened by the much lighter both in set in mind King. He was still lean enough to snatch you up and fling you around in his arms.

The loud and furious yell having echoed in the small council chamber in those days was only that of playful growling and yelling as he pretended your three year old self was just too strong for him. You had pulled him and Ser Barristan around the cliffs of your home that first day for hours. Talking about this place as if it were the most fascinating place you’d ever seen. When Robert was attending things with his brother, you were left with Ser Barristan.

Even now, two decades later you still could recall the Honourable Knight reaching down and hoisting you in his arms, holding you up so you could look at the sea from a high point. You had gotten sad, saying that you hated your family being so far away. One Uncle in Kings Landing, the other Uncle in Storms End you only had your father and mother at that point. You asked if he ever missed the people he loves, and he smiled. Telling you that he had loved many, even had women who he would’ve loved to marry and be like your family. He had simply told you he is bound by honour to his duty, and that “Love is the death of duty, my little lady.”

Now though, older and more calm in his post you looked at him and hoped that he found solace in such a thought. Your duty wasn’t to pry, it was to listen and obey commands but yet you stood here thinking of those you loved. The King was not a man you recognized anymore, but he once was the Uncle you loved. “I know I likely don’t have to tell this to you, but he’s a danger to himself when he’s like this. He can’t push himself the way he used too, and I think he forgets that.”

Nodding once, his voice was low. “There’s something else you’re not saying.”

Your resolve broke a bit, the genuine concern and care in his face much like that of Lord Stark’s made the information feel like it should be shared. But it had painted a target on three people’s backs so far, one of which is dead, the other left with an injury and forced to remain in the very position he had willingly walked away from. How long would you remain unscathed, how long would anyone else should you be selfish enough to bring them into it?

You both glanced at the open door as the three inside came out. The King followed by a still childishly grumbling Renly, and Lancel Lannister who was as on edge as you’d ever seen him. His long blonde hair swishing as he rushed to keep up. You nodded at Ser Barristan, then at the King who seemed to pause looking at you.

Still, you didn’t recognize him and the little girl by the cliffs once again wished she could have a normal family all together like the smallfolk on the island she had once lived on.

Lord Stark was to act in the King’s place while he was hunting, and it did not miss your notice how he looked so unsuited to that of the Iron Throne, while yet his words, voice, and his very presence in the room felt like a commanding respect that had long not been seen. Lord Baelish sat at one side, his book of increasing debt in his lap to be scribbled away at, normally beside him would be Renly now a seat empty.

On the other sat you, then Lord Varys, then Grand Maester Pycelle all looking out to the people who had travelled all this way to make a plea for help in one matter or the other. Beyond them, was a crowd of guards, knights, a various of lords and dutiful watchers to the side watching the court play out as if it were a spectacle. A spectacle however, was not what you think the farmer before the Lord Hand wanted as he voice croaked and warbled.

“They burned most everything in the Riverlands. Our fields, our granaries, our homes.” The others who had came with looked down to the floor, sullen and broken in spirit. Your eyes sharp and face one could mistaken for an expression of anger, in lieu of the suspicions that wracked your mind. “They took out women, and they took ‘em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals.”

Why were you seeing blonde hair against dark browns and blacks?

“They covered out children in pitch, and lit them on fire.” The man before the court was trying his best not to cry and you felt a boil inside of you at the dismissive tone to your left of Grand Maester Pycelle, dismissing it as nothing more then the act of brigands.

The farmer spoke louder, an insistence in his voice. “They weren’t thieves, they didn’t steal nothing. They even left something behind, your grace.” Once more, Pycelle sounded on the air of board and uncaring as he corrected the man for using the wrong title.

As he did so, one of the farmers stepped forward, emptying a sack out onto the floor and the sight was that of slimy, reddish fish. Your eyes narrowed as the court murmured and whispered around. Lord Baelish speaking up, “Fish. The sigil of House Tully.” You could hear him lean towards Lord Stark in a whisper that came off as purposely condescending. “Isn’t that your wife’s house, Tully? My Lord Hand?”

Not looking nor addressing him, Lord Stark kept his attention on the farmer. “These men, were they flying a sigil? A banner?”

Shaking his head, “None, your...Hand.” He paused and seemed, distressed, that like when describing the horrors inflicted on his village. “The one who was leading them, taller by a foot then any man I’ve ever met. Saw him cut the blacksmiths son in two, saw him cut the head of a horse with a single swing of his sword.”

That was a sight most in this court had seen first hand, a man so large one would think he had that of giant’s blood if not knowing better. A man who sliced his horse’s head clean off before throwing his sword into the shield of Ser Loras Tyrell.

“You’re describing Ser Gregor Clegane.”

Pycelle arguing why would such a man commit atrocities while being appointed as a Knight. Your heart feeling unsteady thinking of what the King had commanded his own men to organize in murder of an unborn child. Leading you right down a path to the very Knight in question and the whispers of the unrecognizable state of Aegon Targaryean once the murdered infant was presented to the Lannisters.

Lord Baelish spoke, “I’ve heard him called Tywin Lannister’s mad dog. I’m sure you have as well.”

Pycelle spoke slow, trying to work through the scenario. “If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the Kings protection, it would be..”

Staring forward your voice rung loud in the quiet room. “That would be as likely as them attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the captiol.” Pycelle mumbled to himself, and for just a moment you and Lord Stark shared a look. You both could feel the growing tension the Lannisters seemed to be involving themselves in. Ser Gregor was not a man smart enough to come up with using fish as a message to send on his own, no that was of strategy something which laid with someone higher.

Lord Stark looked back to the people, your eyes left to meet the unchanged cockiness of Lord Baelish before you peeled them back to that of the court. Lord Stark’s voice was full of a sympathy that felt as real as it sounded. “I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you justice, in the name of our King. Robert.”

Calling forth Lord Beric Dondarrion, he commanded the assembly of one hundred men to ride to Ser Gregors keep. Standing from the seat, Lord Stark shaking slightly at the pain put in his leg. Much of his muscle relying on the cane by his side but refusing to give an order sat down to the men who stood before him.

“In the Name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhyoynar the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring the King’s justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death.”

There was no question, and no waver in Lord Stark’s voice.

The crowd a mix of outraged murmurs and shocked whispers as you stared out to the court. Something in you feeling unsettled at how shocked they seemed to be hearing such a harsh judgment despite the disgust of the actions taken.

Standing up, Grand Master Pycelle’s face had twisted into that of the same kind of outrage you could see on the other highborn lords standing in attendance. “My Lord, this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for the King’s return.”

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Just as he had the confidence it died with such conviction in the strength of his voice. Yourself, you glanced forward to Lord Stark and it felt much like your years on Dragonstone watching your father stand before the smallfolk of the island, and the steadfast in his own voice commanding only that of justice and no glammer. “Send a Raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his bannerman. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the crown and traitor to the realm.”

The air of court was in shock, but you stood up as it was dismissed with no regard for such feelings on the matter. Faces of thank and a heartbreaking plea from the farmers of the Riverlands had been enough for you, not the corrupted care of those with enough as it was. Until it was their homes being burned down, their women being raped, and their children being massacred they cared not.

Only fanfare served this loud court and you couldn’t help but wonder what it was about Kings Landing that felt like it caked you in a grime that made you ashamed for still caring.

Such a man of grime, he had caught you walking through the gardens, leaving the needed quiet a memory of the past despite in desperate need. Your head needed silence, there was to much noise around you to make sense of it all and yet, here was the voice calling you before slinking up to your side. “You’re a hard one to find, Lady Stark.”

Looking forward at the greenery which was vibrant against the summer sun you considered the scenario to put a few more inches in between him and your person but of course it didn’t work. “What is it you want, Lord Baelish?”

“We haven’t spent much time in each others company since you’re return, never had the chance to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Unconvinced you needn’t pretend as if you were to this man of all people. “We aren’t friends, you have no reason to.” He chuckled and without a glance you could see the smug smile on his face that somehow tricked all too many. “Is that all?”

“Just because we aren’t friends, doesn’t mean I can’t have interest in your affairs. Afterall, it must be hard to spend so many years walking free, only to find yourself a wife within a months time.” Passing servants around, you cared not to consider who belonged to which but no doubt as you walked alone with Petyr Baelish, more then one spy had their eye on you. “Duty can be such a taxing thing for a lady.”

The half smile on your lips didn’t come close to reaching your eyes. “I’ve known the Starks far longer then it was my duty to marry them. My husband isn’t a taxing man. I assure you, I have no need for your concern.” Northerners were indeed made of something different it seemed sometimes.

But Lord Baelish leaned in, a whisper that clawed at your ear and made you scowl before the racing of your heart set in. “And what about leaving behind a certain half brother?” You didn’t look at him, in fact it took much of your energy to act as if you didn’t hear him even as he continued. “Such a shame, young love is so lively, and full of passion it would hurt anyone to give that up. Though I feel for the man, I know all too well watching the one you fought for marry off to a strong, more honourable wolf.”

Your jaw clenched, whatever eyes had found you over the years were whispering back to many sources it felt like. Nothing was a secret in this den of liars and spies. “I imagine you do, Lord Baelish. I couldn’t think of what it must feel like to watch it happen twice. Being left behind like that must leave one with a scar or two.”

His hands clasped together, unseen by your avoiding ones there was a darker flash in his eyes that spoke of something deeply kept down inside before he covered it with an aloofness. “Tell me, my lady is this something you wish to keep a secret?”

Stopping, you whipped around in place with a fiery anger in your eyes and a knowing smile that had seen it all coming. “If you are trying to say something, Lord Baelish, have the courage to just say it rather then play word games with me.”

“I’m simply wondering where your allegiance lies.”

Stepping closer to him, you raised your eyebrows as your heart felt as angry as your mind did. “My allegiance, Lord Baelish is with the one I swore a vow too. Perhaps it’s beacuse you are awfully unfamiliar with the practices of marriage, but when a woman swears her love and fealty to that of her husband it isn’t a vow to be broken. No matter what an outside opinion might say.”

His games were transparent. An attempt to pull back the words you say by paring them against something personal that eats at you as a person. He couldn’t care less about your marriage, or the left behind love with dark curls vowed at the end of world. Lord Baelish was asking you, where do you stand when such a vow is tested, and where do you lay when it all drops.

Inhaling, you curbed the anger. Looking at him without the spite in your heart. “Tell me, Lord Baelish. If your loyalty was tested, where exactly would you end up? Which side does your pendulum swing when the time comes?”

He smiled. So close you could feel his breath as he leaned down to you. “I wish you and Robb Stark a long, happy life together, my dear. Many years, with many beautiful children. Those Starks certainly have such a distinct look don’t they. I do hope you get to return to him soon. You suit our summer heats far less then you do Snow.”

It shouldn’t bother you, with anyone else you suspect it wouldn’t. But you couldn’t help but feel as if he was trying to scare you into something that you didn’t yet even see. You sat alone at the gardens for quite a while after that. The serene quiet leaving you alone as the sky draped down around you in an orange tone.

Many passed by, numerous people you’ve never seen and all of them caring of your presence as you did theirs, being none. Everyone seemed draped in rich fabrics, bright colours, hair shining in the sunlight as the ladies dressed high and ornate around or above their heads. Browns, and reds, many shades of black and yellows-

“She had yellow hair.” That’s what the boy, Gendry, had said about his mother. His eyes like Roberts a striking green, a strong face that ran through all the men in the family and just like his father, his uncles, even with your mothers lighter hair you and Shireen both held dark hair that also sat on Gendrys own head.

It was so easy to see Robert in the boys face. It was easy to see Stannis in yours and Shireens. The ones with Baratheon blood rang strong. Your mothers house that of Florent looked as if she didn’t exist in your appearance.

The Starks weren’t the only ones whose traits ran strong, and then the image of gold against brown slammed you in the face. You looked like Stannis, you looked like Robert and Renly. Even the bastards of your Uncle, Barra looked like Shireen, Gendry could be your brother.

But he wasn’t. He was your cousin. A cousin who looked just like you, and yet...

Your stomach turned in an instant. Were you not sitting already you’d have fallen over. The black haired child that Robert and Cersei had lost, and yet each child after with a golden head.

You could hear Grand Maester Pycelle’s words in your head, telling you that of Jon Arryn’s last words repeating. “The seed is strong.”

It was. Baratheon seed ran strong through all who were born from it, except for three. None of you with mothers of light hair had anything close to it. You were all taken by your fathers in appearance.

You had never seen anything of Robert in Joffery. And you never would. You could see only two people in your royal cousins looks, and it had you sick of being out alone in the sun. It had you sick at the mere thought, and suddenly you understood why Jon Arryn was no longer here.

You knew the truth that had your own father, that had Lord Stannis, abandon his duty in Kings Landing.

Arya had accosted you with questions as soon as you walked in. Your mind screaming at you you only caught onto her last. “Are you coming back with us?” She had to call your name just to get you to look at her. There was worry all over her face, and felt a great deal of struggle to mask yours.

“I don’t know. I need to speak to your father.” Trying to pass her by, she circled around with a furrow in her brow to block your path. “Arya-”

“No. You can’t stay here.” Something in her was upset, and you knew the weight of her own father’s injuries hurt her deeply inside. She had been pale when she came into his room for the first time once he was brought back, leg still bloody. Swallowing it down, she shook her head. “You married Robb, which mean’s you’re my sister, and we don’t leave our family behind.”

So there was a bit more to it, wasn’t there?

Inhaling deeply, you willed your racing nerves to ease down. Running a hand down her hair, it hit you in the chest at how easily she looked to you like that already. Like another sibling, who she didn’t want to leave behind.

Leave behind. That was a term that seemed to haunt you now. It wasn’t just leaving you in Kings Landing she was seeing. Arya would be going back to Winterfell, knowing one of them wouldn’t be there anymore. The one she wanted to be there the most. “Let me talk to your father, okay? It’s- things are complicated. There are things I need to sort out before I know if I’m going to Winterfell.”

“You better. Or me and Robb will come down here ourselves and drag you back home.” Pushing her gently to her room, you told her to pack her things.

Knocking at Lord Stark’s door, he hesitated before calling you to enter. Sat at his desk, the tome open in front of him, you both looked to the other with a horror wide in your eyes. He put it together as you had, as Jon Arryn had, as Stannis had. The truth was there and it couldn’t be forgotten.

Words caught in both your throats, your voice shook as it spoke up. “Joffery’s almost seventeen, how long have they, why would-”

“Lysa had wrote to Cat that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn. They murder him just as he finds out, then what? A month later, my boy falls from a window and an assassin is sent to murder him in his sleep all after the same Lannisters come into my home?”

There was pain in his voice, pain and an anger that sat so close to the surface for what they had done, tried to do. You pushed off the door, coming to sit in the chair across the desk. “Robb wrote saying Bran had no memory of it. He doesn’t remember falling, or any of it. But maybe that wasn’t good enough for what he saw, was it.”

As his jaw clenched, he looked at the drawer you knew the blade still sat in. “Cat and Robb think he was pushed. And now we know why.”

What other Lannister secret had had such lethal results before Bran came upon it. Ones that would be killed for? You didn’t imagine what could be worse, and imagining the truth at all felt unseemly.

“Robert needs to know too.”

Eyes widening, you looked extremely doubtful. “You know what he’ll do if you tell him.”

He shook his head, “He needs to be told. If he has no true born sons he needs to know about it, he needs to know what his own wife has done behind his back for twenty years.” But all you could see was the rage in his eyes at the shadow of an unborn child across the Narrow Sea. “Robert-”

“Is not the man you once knew.” Your teeth clenched in your mouth as you leaned forward resting your forehead in your palms before sitting back up with a loud huff. “He finds out the kids he’s been raising for sixteen years are Jaime’s-”

You didn’t finish the sentence, and Lord Stark didn’t finish it for you either. The quiet of the night poured in from the open balcony and whooshed between the two of you as it mocked you for how long it took to find this out. “This is why your father pushed to marry you and Robb.”

Looking at him, your arms now crossed over your stomach with too much behind your eyes.

“He and Jon Arryn found out, and he knows it makes him Robert’s true heir.”

Robert had insisted on the marriage between Joffery and Sansa, to combine the Crowns houses to that of the needed ally of the North. Your father found out the Queens secret, and suddenly that connection of Houses no longer would even exist. If Stannis was the heir, you were his. Which means he would need a new ally ship secured in the North.

At least you were a slightly better candidate as a wife to Robb then Joffery would be husband to Sansa.

“I’ll speak to the Queen in the morning. Tell her to leave the city with her children before Robert returns.”

It was a bad idea, but one that you couldn’t deter him from. This truth was about to come out, and the only fighting chance to save her children from Robert’s wrath was to confront her about it. Tommen and Myrcella were good, innocent kids. They had done less then nothing to deserve it, much like the sickening thought of two other children who didn’t deserve the end they had solely for who their own blood was.

That wasn’t Robert’s doing, but he paid no respects and sung no songs for Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryean. Perhaps this version of your Uncle you saw now wasn’t new. Just hiding under the surface.

You hated the thought of who else hid themselves so well under a veil for so long.

It all fell apart, and you knew this attempt to handle it delicately was over.

A boar, Ser Barristan had said. Blood soaking the white of his cloak and a pain in his face that blamed nothing but himself. The King had demanded everyone step back and let him handle the boar as it skewered him as he did it. Standing by the window, to the side of you was the Queen herself as Joffery sat on the bed.

You weren’t sure you ever saw this look on your cousins face. Not often did he feel something in the same devastating way pain hit the rest, but it hurt something inside the kid and you weren’t heartless to the loss. You’ve never lost your father, but you were about to your Uncle.

As a kid, maybe he would’ve had words for you. Something to say, memories to leave on a good note with. But now, all the dying Robert saw as he looked at you was the splitting image of the Stannis. Your face of steel and posture straight and giving little if anything, away. You gave less away then Cersei did, something human remained in her eyes but it swam with a worry that refused to give as Lord Stark was brought in.

Speaking weak, like each breathe took more life out of him as he tried giving anything to Joffery, but fell short of bringing himself to care like one. “I was never meant to be a father.” Faces in your mind, one young, one your age and yet none of those were really his children either you supposed. “Go on, you don’t want to see me like this.”

Joffery nodded as he pulled himself together before quickly leaving the room without another word to anyone. He was still a child, and that left part of you to still feel for his pain.

Lord Stark stood looking at him like you had when you walked in. This death would be none others fault then Robert’s stubbornness. Smiling at his old Northern friend who approached, it left you and Cersei in the background as she glanced at you. Only to find you already watching her carefully. The mark on her cheek, you hadn’t noticed until now.

Eyes narrowing at the sight, your flickered over to the dying King with a clenched jaw. Was he always this man or did this place turn him into such?

“Too much wine, missed my thrust.” Pulling the sheet back was a gruesome gouge in his side, parts of him out in chunks as it soaked red. “It stinks. It stinks like death, don’t think I can’t smell it.” Of all the things to take out a once strong warrior, it was the very things which led him to fail as a King. He was never meant to be a father, but he was never meant to be a King either.

Some men were leaders outside of war, Robert was not.

“I paid the bastard back, Ned. I drove my knife right through his brain, you ask them if I didn’t.” He was a fool, he would die not even knowing the shambles his Kingdom was at risk of falling apart to. “I want the funeral feast to be the biggest the Kingdoms ever seen. And I want everyone to taste the boat that got me.”

Once more, you and Cersei looked the other. You read the guilty worry in her, and you were confident she could see the known truth right back and it only unsettled her more. Robert got himself killed at either the best or worst possible time. And it all depended on one man.

“Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to talk to Ned.”

“Robert, my sweet-”

No one bought it and Robert had little strength left to pretend as if he cared. “Out, all of you.”

Filing out, you paid no attention to the soon to be widow. Renly stood nearby with blood on him as well looking conflicted. A commonality in this city recently. Coming up to him as Ser Barristan stood not to far off all outside the door. “He was on edge the entire time. Ranting and raving, no matter what I said he just never stopped.”

Turning to look at the door from the corner of your eye, it didn’t miss your notice the suddenly absent Queen. Lord Stark would take down his final decrees of succession and no doubt make him protector of the realm until Joffery turned of age. Honour was losing this fight, and to accomodate him as an heir wouldn’t be honourable. But it would be just. Defy honour for the Kings last words to do your duty by the laws and justice of the realm he served.

You finally turned back to Renly, and no longer was it a grieving brother you saw but a Baratheon with something behind his mind. Don’t do something stupid you thought to yourself, there was enough of that going around in this family.

Ser Barristan blamed himself, saying he should’ve stopped him from all the wine. Shaking your head you looked at the closed door. “There’s not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who could stop Robert from destroying himself.”

Lord Stark reemerged enough to close the door, giving the dying King privacy. “Give him milk of the poppy.” You crossed your arms at the shiver down your spine. You’d rather just have it ended for you, rather then laying there withering away in the stench of death and barley conscious. Grand Maester Pycelle and Renly both going in.

You moved to stand on the side of his bad leg, noticing Lord Varys was near the wall like a spider having slunk in from the dark corners. “I wonder, Ser Barristan, who gave the king this wine?”

Credit, Lord Varys was far better at playing the concerned role then Lord Baelish was. The lack of an ego likely having something to do with it. “His squire, from the king’s own skin.” Lord Stark glanced at you, but it almost didn’t matter if it was Lancel. The King lay in there with the stench of death, while you stood out here starting to wonder what the scent of war was. “Such a dutiful boy to make sure his Grace did not lack refreshment. I do hope the poor lad does not blame himself.”

Stepping forward, you followed Lord Stark as came closer to the spider. “His Grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryean. Whatever arrangements you made, unmake them at once.”

Already walking down the hall, Lord Varys called back and you closed your eyes with a sigh. “I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead already.” The girl would be dead, Viserys as well, but no one mentioned the fate of the unborn child.

You yearned for the cold of the North, at least it’s sting was just how it’s air was. But the stings were not yet over, and you felt like a fool for not seeing the next one coming. Renly calling your name was well as Lord Stark, asking for a moment alone.

“He named you protector of the realm.”

“He did.”

“She won’t care. Give me an hour and I can put a hundred swords at your command.” Leaning forward you suddenly saw him slipping away too. Cersei wouldn’t care, she didn’t leave when she was given the chance but Renly wasn’t thinking of anything close to such a situation.

“And what should I do with a hundred swords?”

Your skin pricked everywhere, blood hot in your veins as you felt much like you had in the small council chamber days ago. Like this wasn’t the man you knew. “Strike, tonight while the castle sleeps. We must get Joffery away from his mother and into our custody.”

You stepped forward, a hiss in your voice and anger in your eyes. “Have you lost your mind?”

Looking at you, he pleaded for you go along with it, but this wasn’t some feast or tournament he wished to drag you along with. You didn’t imagine those swords were there for only threat, and you couldn’t help but think that those swords could be in the drapings of roses.

“Protector of the realm or no, he who holds the King holds the Kingdom. Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies it will be too late for us.”

The growing anger only built, “What about Stannis?”

Renly looked at you as if you’d grown a second head, like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Saving the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei and delivering them to Stannis? You have odd notions about protecting the realm.”

Lord Stark spoke, but you neither moved nor cooled off. He was your father, and he was the heir but Renly had a lifetime of having Robert hand things to him which belonged to Stannis. It seemed still now as Robert lay dying he still expected such treatment. The childish notions of a man who has no idea what the world outside his luxury looks like.

“Stannis is your older brother.”

“This isn’t about the bloody line of succession. That didn’t matter when you rebelled against the Mad King. It shouldn’t matter now. We all know what Stannis is. He inspires no love or loyalty. He’s not a King.” If the Starks had a temper, the blood in you which was born a Baratheon raged to that of their fury.

Renly knew nothing of what his brother was capable of, he got to sit in Storms End as a child and have advisors rule for him until he was summoned to Kings Landing where he got the same treatments. Only then he got to rub it into his brothers face directly what he got instead. He spent years telling you that you seemed to have too much in common with your father and he had the audacity to speak to you like it didn’t matter.

If Stannis wasn’t a king, then could be? Renly had an answer for that too. “I am.”

Were Lord Stark not here, you wondered how easily that fury would have let itself be known. And you were far luckier that the he was as calm as he was in the face of what was being presented. “Stannis is a commander. He’s led men into war twice, he destroyed the Greyjoy fleet.”

His face twisted into denial, as if the two of you were the mad ones. “Yes he’s a good solider. Everyone knows that, so was Robert. Tell me something, Do you still believe good soldiers make good kings?”

He looked surefire, cocky, but yet he didn’t look at you anymore. Dancing around the truth and spouting honeyed words to bend things to his side instead of having the courage to say what he truly means. It had nothing to do with Stannis. It had nothing to do with any of this.

Lord Stark’s word was final. “I will not dishonour Robert’s last hours by shedding blood in his halls, and dragging frightened children from their beds.” Leaving to rejoin his guards, you were left standing in the halls with your uncle.

“You know what he’ll do. You know he won’t let you do this. Not anymore.” You stepped into his space as Renly raised his head high. “Don’t tear us apart now, not while your own brother is still laying in a pool of his own blood.”

“And you? Whose side are you on, my dear niece. For someone who claims to be on Stannis’s side your spending an awful lot of time next to your new father.” Closing the gap you two would only hear the other, words just for you as he said your name. “You don’t want your family to be torn apart? Then consider what family it is your siding with exactly.”

Renly stormed off before you, and the halls choked you with the scent of war. It had been some time since you had heard from Robb, and he you. Not that he could know the extent, but the Lannisters putting a spear through his fathers leg sent a pretty loud message that Kings Landing was not a place that was trusted. Not even with written words in the sky. The distance didn’t feel like it made the heart grow stronger. You felt only isolated.

Lord Stark had called upon Lord Baelish. He didn’t say to you why, and you appreciated that he knew you well enough that it didn’t need to be said. It didn’t feel good, it wasn’t honourable what he was to ask and yet it seemed this place demanded it. You didn’t know what Renly was doing, or what he had planned but as you stood against the wall watching Lord Stark write, you only wished he wasn’t so stupid this time.

Just this once.

Taking it upon himself to write of Roberts death, and choosing his words carefully just as your father would his. Only, you couldn’t shake what Renly had said. Condescendingly calling Lord Stark your new father and yet imploring you to side against your father by birth. Consider what family your siding with?

What was that answer?

You had shaken your head a silent no when he asked if you wanted to look over it. Yes you trusted his words, but it didn’t feel good. Bells ringing in the distance of a dying king and bloodshed waiting the halls of it’s kingdom. Summoning one of his men, Tomand, Lord Stark sealed the letter with his sigil and with firm instructions left no room for question.

“You will sail to Dragonstone tonight. You will place this in the hand of Stannis Baratheon. Not his Steward, not his captain of the guard, and not his wife. Only Stannis himself.”

It was that day in the godswood that you truly felt the comfort of a father. As he stood with you an arm comforting you around your shoulder as the panic boiled inside of your chest. That same feeling returned now. Did not assume, nor even ask if you would want to be the one to deliver it to him.

He said at the wedding, once you married Robb you would be part of the pack. A pack which protects each other. He kept you at his side, not sending you off alone once more and it made your limbs weigh down with metal to the floor. A pack leader does not let one of them go off all alone.

It was then that Lord Baelish arrived. The bells of death in the background as he bowed with a low whisper and smile. “My Lord Protector.”

Lord Stark looked at you, and you tilted your head with a grimace. It indeed, beyond all doubt as of this moment was his choice alone. Looking down to the desk, before back up he ripped the bandage off. “The King has no true born sons. Joffery and Tommen are Jaime Lannisters bastards.”

Eyes narrowing, he sat down. “So when the King dies...”

Your voice was rough from the silence, “The throne passes to his brother. Lord Stannis.”

Lord Baelish had the audacity just as your uncle before. Starting with the word “Unless” before the fed up sensation passed on finally to Lord Stark. “There is no unless. He is the rightful heir nothing can change that.”

“And he cannot take the throne without your help, you would be wise to deny it to him. And to make sure Joffery succeeds.” Were you not his family anymore truly or did this city fill itself with that of heartless rats who would turn on the other in a snap of fingers? You stood up straighter as he cared not much to consider the betrayal hurting your eyes.

Leaning forward, Lord Stark’s voice as ashamed to be in the same room with him as you. “Do you have a shred of honour?”

The answer was no, but not in so little words. “You are now Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. All the power is yours you need only reach out and take it.” And yet here he was asking Lord Baelish of all people for help, that didn’t feel like power to you. “Make peace with the Lannisters. Release the Imp, wed your daughter to Joffery.”

You could throw something sharp through his neck the second he looked at you with his words covered in grime. “We have plenty of time to get rid of Stannis.” He didn’t even flinch at the step you almost took forward. Your heart feeling as if it was carving itself out a new hole just filling with hatred and anger. “And if Joffery seems likely to cause problems when he comes into his throne, we simply reveal his little secret and sit Lord Renly there instead.”

Renly. “He’s not a King. I am.” How far did this web of betrayals spread? It was treason, and you spat out as such but he only smiled with surity.

“Only if we lose.”

Lord Stark was as unconvinced as yourself, his own anger locked away in his rigid tone pulling open the drawer. “Make peace with the Lannisters you say. The people who tried to murder by boy.” The ornate dagger, he placed it onto his desk and you only could see again.

How many children in his fight are to be the victims and none of the perpetrators?

“We only make peace with our enemies, my lord. That’s why it’s called making peace.” Lord Stark refused, saying he wouldn’t do it and it seemed to shift the confident smugness right out of his bravado and slithering onto the floor and out the window. “So it will be Stannis. And war.”

“There is no other choice, he is the heir.”

It was fitting it seemed. To your father, it was not a choice either. It was his, and that would be where the question ended.

Asking why he was even brought here, you once again shared a look between you and Lord Stark. It seemed that today was a day to give many things up. “The Queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men at arms. Enough to overwhelm what remains of my household guard. I need the gold cloaks. The city watch is two thousand strong and sworn to defend the Kings peace.”

Was that all though? No it wasn’t, and Lord Baelish once more returned of his pride. A smirk growing wider at the more the silence between you stood in the air. “Look at you two. You know what you want me to do, you know it has to be done but it’s not honourable. So the words stick in your throat.”

His hand reached up, slowly toying with the daggers edge as he started to swivel it. “When the Queen proclaims one King and the Hand another, whose peace do the Gold Cloaks protect? Who do they follow?”

Lord Stark couldn’t say it. He wouldn’t bring himself to admit to needing such a favour and it made you hold a need to reach out to him. But here, in this place? You would be the one to summon the guts.

Looking off to the other side of the room, your arms crossed as you leaned against the wall an almost ironic smirk fell over your lips. Lord Baelish wasn’t an honourable man, or even a good one. But here you were, the daughter of the Lord which hated him arguably the most. Pleading for his help.

You felt gross as you said the words. “The man who pays them.”

The day was bright as the bells continued to ring. Lord Starks men split between readying things to send Arya and Sansa back to Winterfell as the others remained by both your sides. Arya wanting one last lesson with her dancing master she never took a chance at missing a lesson. At this rate she could give you a run for your money, and you’d welcome it even if just to shake you momentarily out of the feeling you had in your gut.

It was the same one that you had before, the screaming throttle that twisted your insides just as it had that day on the Kingsroad. You thought it was a result of parting ways but it seemed that it was just as strong now despite him having nothing to do with the current issue.

Morning bright and no news yet having reached either of you when one of the throne’s pages came up to you both. The guards at the ready, and Lord Stark having to ease them as you turned to look at the man. “Lord Stark, King Joffery and the Queen regent request your presence in the throne room.”

Heart slowing a shiver danced down your spine as your words came out breathlessly. “King Joffery?”

The bells tolled in the sky but it sounded like they were ringing in your head, each boom smacking you with the steps you took towards the throne room. The pit in your stomach grew as the weight of the paper in your hand was doubled, tripled, turned to metal from paper. In the courtyard stood many of the city watch as your own group approached Lord Baelish and Lord Varys.

A calm and confident look on the formers face, as the nerves ran ragged as much as your blood ran hot in your veins. “All is accomplished, the city watch is yours.”

One was missing. One person was missing and despite knowing it was fruitless you looked around like a child as if he was just hiding. “Is my Uncle joining us?”

Lord Varys for his part, looked genuine in his words. He was the one man you found hard to read but his eyes didn’t speak favourably. “I fear lord Renly has left the city.” Your heart sank down as your limbs froze in the summer heat. “He road through the old gate an hour before dawn with Ser Loras Tyrell and some fifty retainers. Last seen galloping south in some haste.”

Lord Stark beside you could hear the yells of war over the bells. You had one chance today, one last plea to Cersei to do this one thing and at the least you would be the five kingdoms against two. The paper in your hand felt like a beg, an ask for mercy knowing Renly would not find any.

If you could sit your father on the throne, only Renly would be the obstacle and he stood no chance with only Storms End and Highgarden at his back. But as you swallowed hard and your eyes fell to Lord Stark? The sharpness and grim tone in both of you felt that dread loom.

Coming up to the main doors, behind you were Lord Varys and Baelish, around them was the remains of the Stark household guard that served at his side and all around you and beyond were the gold cloaks. To the side of you was stood Lord Janos Slynt, standing with as much posture as a man such as himself could manage. “We stand behind you, Lord Stark.”

The doors opened and the throne room was ready. In the Iron Throne sat Joffery, dressed in gold and the crown atop his head with a smile that sliced at you. You saw none of Robert and only of the Lannisters which spawned him. Approaching the air was thick, thick enough to cut with a sword should one attempt.

“All hail his Grace, Joffery of Houses Baratheon and Lannister. First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

You and Lord Stark stood together, the Kingsguard all standing in a path to the throne as Cersei sat with a knowing look in her eye that made the anger rise. Renly wanted war, but he was also right. She wouldn’t care and this was the last chance you and Lord Stark had to escape this unscathed.

Joffery, now King Joffery you supposed sat at his Throne not even standing in anyway. No hint of the tragic child losing his father with watery eyes was to be seen. “I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today, I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.”

The room was deathly silent. All eyes on the pair of you as Lord Stark nodded. He would do his duty and you would not blame him for that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Your voice for all your bad luck, came out dutiful and strong. “Ser Barristan. I believe none here could dare question your honour.”

Stepping forward as you did him, you handed the paper to him as you both looked at one another firmly. His hesitation to the blazing look and serious harshness in your eyes and gaze took him back for something he was not prepared for. Looking it over, he turned to the crown.

“King Roberts seal. Unbroken.” No movement from the Queen, she wouldn’t care he was right. “Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm. To Rule as Regent until the heir come of age.”

Joffery looked confused and offended, as your eyes met what you once thought of as your cousin. He said nothing, but his mother did. Always running to her for the hard work as he sat like a spoiled brat and eyed you like you were the craven, not him.

The Queen looked it over, “Protector of the Realm? Is this mean to be your shield Lord Stark? A piece of paper?” Tearing it into pieces, you felt those nerves turn to anger once more. She won’t care, Renly said. She won’t care and yet he rides off knowing war is inevitable.

Ser Barristan looked up to her, his own face betraying his conflict. “Those were the Kings words.”

“We have a new King now.”

Perhaps it was your position, but you couldn’t deny no matter how you felt about the side of your family. You were now the daughter of the rightful king, and there on the throne sat a product of disgust and dishonour that looked at you with eyes of hate. Cersei’s eyes were on Lord Starks and it seemed now the wolves had their opponents in the lions.

“Lord Eddard when we last spoke you offered me some council. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my Lord. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son. And we shall allow you and the Lady Stark to live out your days in the grey waste you call home.”

He spoke with no hesitation to admit the truth, and in a single instance there was no turning back anymore. It was war, and there was no stopping any of it from any side. “Your son has no claim to the throne.”

Joffery screeched out that he was a liar. Your eyes narrowing as your fury raised. Cersei demanding Ser Barristan take you both, Lord Stark pleaded to the immediate closing in from his guard and the city watch. “Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man do him no harm.”

You didn’t look at him, and you didn’t see the true hesitation in his pause. He knows neither of you are liars nor thieves. He knows Lord Stark bound to honour and you carry the weight of your fathers fist of justice. He knew you since you were a girl but all you could see was the possessed demon of gold on the Throne.

“You think he stands alone?”

Swords were drawn, her men showing no hesitation that the man before you did. Joffery screamed to them. “Kill them, kill both of them, I command you.”

Whatever sympathy for the boy at his fathers death bed you held, died in that moment. None left and for whatever reason, all you could think of was how easily Robb overpowered him, tossed him around and left him bruised skin and ego so easily in the training yard of Winterfell. The memory of the boy throwing a tantrum and the smirk Robb sent your way at how little he’d even broken a sweat by that point made you exhale a shaking breathe of fury.

Being a lion didn’t make him brave. It didn’t make him fierce. But you could see Robb Stark as clear now as you glared at the new King and just perhaps he was destined to find out how much a wolf could tear a lion apart.

Have your men, your mother, fight this battle for you Joffery. It won’t protect you forever.

Lord Stark raising his own voice, the tension so heavy the court was choking in it. “Commander, take the Queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to their royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.”

From right beside you, Janos Slynt responded in kind. “Men of the Watch,” The shift and all of their own spears pointed to the swords of the Kingsguard and Lannister men.

You and your cousin staring the other down, that crown on his head looking far too big for such a coward. Lord Stark giving a plea, “I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their swords, no one needs to die.”

Seconds passed which felt like minutes dragging along the clock. Cersei and Joffery towards Lord Stark and yourself as you waited out their decision. Only they didn’t make one, and neither did you.

From the same voice which assured they stood behind you, Janos Slynt yelled, “Now,”

Blood flew everywhere in an instant. The City Watch turning onto the Starks household guard and without any shame or order taking them all to the ground with horrid shings of metal that screeched in your ears. Lord Stark and yourself moving to the other as you looked around at the horror as you didn’t understand what happened.

In the mess of blood and swords, you turned to look at Lord Stark only to be yanked backwards. Two arms pulling your back up to their front as Janos Slynt held your hands pinned to your body as his other held a blade up to your throat.

In front of you, stood Lord Stark exactly as you were only behind him was the traitor you should have seen coming. Lord Baelish stood behind him, the very blade in hand used to try and murder Bran now sat pointed edge at his throat as the massacre occurred around you. “I did warn you not to trust me.”

You had never been in the black cells before, nor anywhere near them before now. Back pressed up against one the walls with your knees pulled up to your chest, you could see and hear it happening all around you. Lord Baelish had played you and Lord Stark like fools, the slimy lies of Janos Slynt telling you both, “We stand behind you, Lord Stark.”

It was angering, enough you hadn’t even noticed how much your fingernails were cutting into the skin of your palms as you curled them. They would’ve gone after the girls too, they wanted Sansa to marry Joffery they would keep her close, but Arya? You couldn’t imagine what they’d done to her, or where she’d even be. She was fast, and clever you knew, maybe she’d run. But to where?

She was just a child, who could she even turn to rely on? Who was left in this city to care?

The longer you sat in that cell, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that staying here would be the end for you. Your father wouldn’t bend the knee, even for you. Worse then that, you weren’t just considered a traitor now, you were the daughter of the one man Cersei had reason to fear. Renly had the numbers of Storms End and Highgarden, but he wasn’t a leader. Stannis Baratheon was the one that she would fear.

He was without mercy, and not a man she could ever hope to trick or manipulate. It was what made him so unlikable in a place like this, you couldn’t buy him or trick him because he saw no value in the tricks such things brought. You can’t hold his daughter hostage and assume that would be enough to send him away, no.

He was Robert’s heir, and you were his. You were as big of a threat as he was in Cersei’s eyes.

Your vision blurred the light of the torch as the cell door cracked open. A figure coming towards you, you kept your head high and looking straight, they wanted to see you break, they’d have to do far worse then this. Your name fell from a familiar voice as they knelt down in front of you, repeating it once more until your eyes focused.

“Lord Varys.”

Dressed as a gaoler its likely in a place like this he wasn’t so easily spotted. “My lady, it’s truly a shame to see you in such a place.”

Raising your eyebrows, your face was skeptical. “Is it? You did a fine job at watching us get dragged down here like animals. Tell me, did Lord Baelish surprise you too or was this one big lie?”

Huffing out a laugh, he bent his head before a small grimace. “I assure you, it was not my intentions to have it end up like this. Lord Baelish’s own motives do not often align with my own. I have no interest in seeing Renly Baratheon on the Iron Throne.”

The laugh leaving you was as cracked as it was fake. “What do you want. Really. If you’re here to lecture me, I’d much rather die without one.”

“Unfortunately, you are far more useful to the realm alive then dead. But only if you understand where it is your allegiances should lay.” Watching you shake your head, he leaned forward. “Your father is the one thing Cersei sees as a real threat, and if you can quell her worries that you will be too then she just may let you live.”

Heart weighing heavily in your chest you shook your head once more. “The only reason he or I am a threat to her is because she knows her son has no actual claim to the throne. Why should I turn a blind eye to the thing that murdered Jon Arryn, that had my father abandon me here- you really think I would bend the knee to Joffery?”

A tsk came from his mouth, “I’m not asking you to enjoy it, I’m asking you to do this for the good of the realm.” You said nothing, you found it too hard to believe anything in this place, or most people. “Denounce your ties to your father, swear your loyalty-”

“And what? She’ll let me go? Keep me here as a prisoner for the rest of my life?”

Lord Varys sighed, standing up with a blank stare. “Perhaps there’s someone else you may hear reason from.” Another figure, not quite like him. Taller, leaner and dressed in more commoner rags until they slid their hood down and your eyes widened.

Your back straightened, pushing yourself against the wall as Ser Barristan made his way towards you, a somber look in his eye as well as such frowns they indented lines in his face. He held no weapons, he hadn’t even harmed you or Lord Stark’s men but he was the Kingsguard now. As he knelt in front of you, one knee on the ground as he looked you over with a concern befitting of his profession, you held your breathe.

Gently murmuring your name, you felt your chest close up more. He ran a gentle hand down the side of your head where a mark had been bleeding, you think from when they tossed you in here. “I never thought-”

Speaking before your logic could overtake, “It’s not your fault. You have a duty and you were just following it.” There still was a sting, that he was still sided against you, and yet his very appearance in here alongside Lord Varys said otherwise. Starting to say something about King Robert you interrupted him, nothing left to hide as you sat here. “Joffery and Tommen aren’t Roberts sons. Robert has no true heir.”

His eyes betrayed very little but the length of pause as you saw wheels in his head turning, made him glance up to Lord Varys who tilted his head as if to say you were telling the truth. “His final seal, about the heir-”

“He didn’t know, he died not knowing. He wanted Lord Stark to rule until Joffery came of age, he wasn’t trying to take it from him.” His face twitched in thought as you both looked at the other with a defeated expression, yours threatening to water much to your dismay.

“Then that makes the heir-”

Lord Varys finished for him, a tone of finality that was grim and looming. “Lord Stannis Baratheon.” A moment passed between you and Ser Barristan, there was little confidence in your face nor was their acceptance in your heart. “Cersei no doubt sees her persistence here as a threat to her son. If Stannis is the heir, that would make our dear Lady Stark here second in line.”

Pausing, Ser Barristan opened and closed his mouth before putting things together. “But his brother-”

You huffed a breathe of air. “Renly wanted to take the throne before Robert was even dead. Then he ran off with the Tyrells in toe. My father won’t take kindly to that. If he’s coming here with war, he’ll sure as hell find some of it for being usurped on just one more thing Renly doesn’t deserve.” You still held love in your heart for him, but he was a fool. He was well liked, but that didn’t make you a leader. It wasn’t enough.

“Stannis is a proven battle commander, he gave his eldest daughter a Lord’s education, taught her how to fight and raised her to follow in his footsteps.” Both men looked at you, and Ser Barristan didn’t seem to be okay with the conclusion in your eyes. “He would name her his direct heir in place of a son, and even worse, with Robb Stark at her side-”

“She’ll have the support of the North too.”

You hated it all. You hated that you and Robb had just been pawns in a scheme for a throne you never wanted, your father doesn’t even want it but he will make it his duty to fulfill his rightful claim. That’s why it didn’t matter to him if you and Robb cared for the other, should you succeed Stannis then you’d have an existing ally in the North.

It had nothing to do with how close to family the Starks had become, nothing to do with how at home you felt in the North and where you belonged. It was about the throne this whole time.

“So, what now? Lord Varys. Tell me, you bring him all the way down here to what? Rub in how fucked I am? Have Ser Barristan return to the crown and tell them all about how uncooperative I’m being?”

His head dropped in a sigh that exuded residual anger but the exhaustion was too strong to attempt to pry. There was clearly more that they weren’t saying but they also continued to dance around why they were even here. “Cersei has had Sansa write a letter pleading to her brother to come to Kings Landing and swear his fealty to the new king.”

You laughed, only the air coming from it sounded dry and painful. “The Lannisters try to kill his brother, put a spear through Lord Stark’s leg, now they think telling him they’ve arrested his father and wife, Robb is suddenly going to find it in his heart to forgive them? They don’t know him very well.”

Ser Barristan was a tad on the more gentle side. “The Queen doesn’t know many as well as she thinks she does.” Somewhere in your mind it did register he didn’t come down here as a Kingsguard, when he reasonably would have access to the black cells. “Including myself, my lady.”

Glancing between them, it blurted out before you had fully realized the thought. “Where’s Arya?”

Lord Varys didn’t look grim, but he did look unsure as did his words sound it. “Somewhere still in the city we presume, but no one has found her. Not even my little birds have found any trace.”

“Would you really tell me if they did, though?”

He didn’t answer, and that was as much one as if he said no out loud. “Get out.” Looking up at the spider you had no bite behind the spiting words but the sentiment was seen. “I don’t make peace with backstabbing lions, and I am not starting now.”

Ser Barristan looked unsure of leaving, but rose to his feet anyways. The slight flicker of warmth at seeing him dying as the torch started leaving the light in your eyes. Lord Varys was barley visible before he turned the door, “You might be the only one who can stand in Stannis’s way of the throne, I know that, Cersei knows that. He may be your father, but he is the one thing which scares her the most. There is nothing half as as terrifying as a truly just man, my lady. Denounce him and you will walk out of this cell with your life.”

You stopped looking at him, just into the darkness you would go back too once the door closed. “She will walk me out of this cell alive no matter what, letting me rot to death in here doesn’t send a message to my father. A public execution and sending my head to Dragonstone does.”

Did you dream? Or was it just a hallucination as you hazed back into the conscious world. The sight of fire once more filling your vision, but you were dozy with memories that scrambled to put themselves together once more. You could hear Robb, see him almost. The reddish brown curls and his warm voice like the fire in his room, a comforting touch across the back of your neck as he spoke to you.

The words faded, but they were there and he hummed in your ear so soothingly. But they didn’t stay that way, the warm soothing tone slipped. The red tinted brown grew longer and darker to a black as the voice became an enticing husk, a rasping voice.

The hand on you grew tighter only it wasn’t on the back of your neck, now it felt as if the hands urged you in the opposite direction, the only sight of the faded figure, dressed in leathers and black not furs and armour as before. Fire was in your vision, small like a balled up little flame that the figure snatched with his bare hands.

Tossing it beyond your face as the voice rasped in your ear only for the light to find itself thrown onto the torch now close to your face. And now the voices were gone, and the darkness around you was cold and the isolation fierce.

Your eyes struggled to see but once more Ser Barristan knelt before you gently calling your name. His hands reached to help you stand as you looked in confusion. “You shouldn’t-”

“My lady, I shouldn’t be in this city with how many men the Queen would’ve sent looking for me.” Your eyebrows raised slightly as your lips slightly parted in confusion. “The Crown has decided I’m not fit to serve as a Kingsguard anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let them shut me away in a home where I’m not use to anyone.”

That’s why he wasn’t here as one of them, just in clothes that he could hide in.

“But you are of no use to anyone here either, my lady. We know war is coming to these shores and I won’t have you on the wrong side when it happens.” Pulling you to the door of the black cell, he wrapped a long cloak with a dark hood around you, pulling it up.

“Ser Barristan, I can’t just leave them-” He had to lean down slightly to look at your eyes, his hands comfortingly on your shoulder. “Lord Stark, Arya..they’re my family now I can’t just leave them like this. That isn’t who I am.”

His grip was strong keeping you in place as he said your name firmly. “They are not your only family, and they aren’t the only ones who need you. You are still as much a Baratheon as you are a Stark now, and that means you have a duty. One you can’t do from in here.”

Lord Varys had said only you could convince your father to not make his attack, your other family is locked away or scattered across the country but your duty was said to be that of your fathers.

“He won’t bend, you know that.”

Nodding back, he leaned forward more to a whisper even in the vast emptiness. “Joffery is not a king either of us can stand in court to serve anymore, they have made sure of that. But you were raised to be more then just a lady, perhaps you were meant to serve another king. One that you can actually call family.”

Duty and family. They were one in the same sometimes, but to others they got in the way. Your mind echoed a whisper in your ear, warm and soothing like the first voice in your feverish dreams of moments ago, as it told you “Here. You belong here.”

“We can’t just walk through the gates, not now.” Coming into the dark hallway, you both swiftly made your way to the end of the corridor as you looked to another closed cell. Was he in that one? Was he okay, still alive? But the footsteps pacing down the other hall had Barristan bring you along further.

His voice gruff and low, “The Targaryeans built tunnels beneath the city if they ever needed to escape. We can follow one of them, and end up at one of the small shore docks, and there you need to go to Dragonstone. Rejoin your family and maybe we both can find purpose out of this city.”

In his eyes, Ser Barristan had failed to protect King Robert from himself. Just maybe this was his way of atoning, if he couldn't protect you, the King’s niece and true claimed King’s daughter and heir, maybe he could get you home.

By the time any noticed, Cersei had put a stall on any ship leaving for ports within the Crownlands until they could be searched. The new King, Joffery having yelled over her and angrily about killing you should they find you alive and to bring him Barristans head for helping you escape.

No one knew which ship you had left on, but they were determined to stop you before letting Stannis and his firstborn heir reunite. As you stood in breeches, and a cloak curled around your body as the hood draped over your head you looked out into the water.

You hadn’t travelled this way on a ship of smallfolk before, but the route was all the same. You’d be there in no time should the gods bless you with the winds or the tides. As Kings Landing left your vision, you couldn’t help but see those same images.

The soft touch of Robb that now felt like a lifetime away, a dream showing you the panicked husk of what sounded like Jons voice rasping something you couldn’t recall to you as if he was grabbing fire out of your own hands. You could see their father, Lord Stark and the fear for the others life in yours and his eyes as you were hauled away as traitors. And the worry in manys eyes as they spoke of your own father, Stannis.

The sea didn’t smell of something crisp and it didn’t flush cool on your skin. The sea, much like the skies and the earths all below it, it all looked like blood, like fire, like the stench of war loomed over the horizon.

You just hoped you reached home, before home left for war without you.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine #jon snow #robb stark #asoisf imagine

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lxdymoon0357 · 1 year

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Hello I was wondering if u did crossovers bc I got a crazy idea. What if u did a cross over with the villainess is a marionette, villains are destined dj die, and the way to protect the female lead? Like she is Penelope’s sister and she keeps getting transported in other worlds by mistake? And they’re all Yandere fore her? U obviously doing have to do this but this is just a e crazy idea 😅

(cool idea, but it's just blood.... Also Ashil passed his test and lived because I wanted him too!)

Crossover:

Villains are destined to die X Villainess is a marionette X The way to protect the female lead's older brothers X Reader HCs

※You were the only sister of Penelope, you both were extremely lucky and grateful to be taken in by the Eckhart family, they treated your sister nicely as well, but unlike your sister, you had a special power that is to move between three world where you’re meant to make people meet destiny, or something similar to that, your mother explained it to you, but you were very young to understand anything.

※ You grew up being a beloved child by your mother, sister and the people of the Eckhart duchy, you were seen as the kindest, prettiest and a gifted child by all.

※You met many people, including the royal rat with rubies for eyes, Vinter Varnandi, Yvonne and Ecklies, you quickly managed to form a dear companionship with each of them and quickly making them yanderes for you.

※You were quite close with your sister and hated the people in the manor for treating your elder sister badly, often triggering your power and transporting them somewhere and when they would come back they would either be dead or badly hurt.

※You formed a big companionship with Callisto, the crown prince who later on fell for Penelope and kept her close with him to keep you near him as well.

※You grew up healthy and grifted loved by your trashy brothers, you father, your annoying servants, your lovely sisters and many more people.

※When you grew up, the Eckharts learnt about your power and all your family loved you, then it was time to train your power, upon moving to one of the places you ended up bruised and fainted in a huge garden, when you woke up there was a beautiful man sleeping in a chair next to you, he looked extremely regal; He had short blonde hair with blue eyes and pretty lips with lashes, as you sat up in bed someone held your shoulder and slowly fluffed up your pillows, it was a girl who looked similar to the man sitting in the chair, she was one of the prettiest lady you had ever met, she had long blonde hair with shining blue eyes with pretty lashes and red lips.

※You later on learned their names, Cayena and Rezef Hill, they both were half siblings and the next emperor and princess in line for the throne

※You quickly managed to befriend them both, those two would spoil you rotten and also tried to keep you with them for as long as possible, you also met Cayena’s fiancée and half-brother, Raffealo Kedrey and Ethel Hill, both of whom you also happen to quickly befriend.

※They quickly became big yanderes for you, and upon learning how you got here and your power, they decided to slowly teach you about it, but not let you leave them, which was a big thing. They thought to keep you with them, while letting you visit your family for a few days every five months.

※So, once when Rezef was training you, you accidently ended up in a large, bloody field in someone’s arms, as you as you fell in their arms you fainted from exhaustion, but before you fainted you saw black grey hair with red eyes.

※As you woke up, you were in a huge red room completely bandaged, as you sat up you saw the door open, with three people entering, the man whom you saw before with a younger version of him and a gorgeous lady with blonde hair and ruby red eyes, with plump, red lips and a sharp face. The man who caught you was named Lant Agriche, his younger version was his son, named Dion Agriche and the lady was his beloved daughter, called Roxanne Agriche, you had ended up in the manor of Black Agriche.

※Lant had saw you falling from the sky and quickly caught you before you fainted in his arms, he saw your face and was mesmerized by it?...You don’t understand but that’s what Roxanne said, he brought you back to the manor carrying your princess style shocking everyone there, seeing the head of the family holding someone so tenderly, even more a beautiful person.

※You quickly took over the head’s heart as a dear child and he decided to make sure you were kept as safely as possible only letting a few people see you when you were knocked out for the days, them being only Sierra and Ashil, and maybe Roxanne on days when Lant was in very good mood.

※Ashil would describe you to Roxanne, Roxanne when she first got to see you was mesmerized by you, you were very pretty. She would constantly try to make Lant happy so he would let her see you.

※Sierra on the other hand would look after you, along with Ashil who would try to find some books on how to cure you fatser.

※Everybody in the Agriche manor wanted to see you, the lucky servants would tell about you to other servants who were asking them about you, everybody was curiously waiting for you to quickly heal so they could also see you and meet, including Grizelda, Fontaine, Maria, Jeremy, Charlotte, Dion and many more, I mean who wouldn’t be if they saw Lant carrying someone so tenderly.

※Now back to the present, as you sat up and saw the three come in and take a seat on the chair near your bed, Lant immediately put his hand on your shoulder and laid you back on the bed, while the other two sat on the other side.

※As the doctor came and checked up on you and gave you shots, Lant held your tiny hand in his, often using his other hand to stroke your hair and warm face with tenderness, which shocked the other two more.

※You quickly became the favorite between the Agriches, Dion loved you so much, you got gifts, sweets, treats, party invites and much, much more constantly.

※But you were also kept locked up in a room for hours on end, unless Lant would visit you with a beaming smile on his face, you were kept like this in the Eckhart manor as well, so it didn’t faze you.

※You would then by taught by the three family how to use your power and learn about it, so they can make a place where you power won’t work so you can’t teleport away from them anymore.

※Other than this type of behavior, you loved your families very much, you introduced everyone to each other, Roxanne, Cayena and Penelope got along very well always talking shit about someone they don’t like, Rezef, Callisto and Dion also became good friends often teaching each other if they tried to get to close to you their favorite torture methods, Jeremy and Reynold made a normal companionship and Sierra and Ashil became very close with Yvonne and Vinter, they would be the kindest to you and the most patient with you as well.

※You would often unknowingly cause arguments between the families, especially Rezef, Ashil, Callisto and Dion when you said your favorite brother was Ashil, he became a bit cocky for some time to the others people of his new found families and his own family.

※Everyone accepted each other, mainly because they all enjoyed blood, you would mostly be in the eyes of Lant, Dion, Ashil or Callisto, no one else because they all fall prey to your puppy eyes.

※They all end those people’s life in the most horrific way, the ones who tried to hurt you or get you away from them in any way.

※They love you so much, aren’t you happy having such a large family!!!

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sgiandubh · 6 months

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I'm so very sorry but I've had to block jclovely, she is doing entirely too much in your comments and not for the first time and I can no longer abide it. Now there is propaganda in your very insightful post.

Dear Block Anon,

Suit yourself and I understand your position.

For the time being, I am not blocking any shipper. No exceptions made.

I specifically asked for no political comments, though, and here we are. I am sorry for this.

Before the duel starts (not you! thank you for being honest and I understand why you went Anon):

Yes, I have a deep knowledge and a deep love for all things East of Suez. From Haifa to Kyoto. This is all about traveling there, watching people, talking to them, making friends.

Yes, I proudly am the nephew niece (@succulently-speaking, got emotional!) of a man who (as I said in a comment) bravely switched the railway levers of trains transporting people like you and me from Czernowitz to Dachau. The year was 1943: he was 25. His name was John. He was my grandfather's elder brother and he never asked anyone for anything in return.

This is the reason why I will never accept lectures from anyone about Israel. It's personal.

Please do not make my post about S's #silly mistake about war. Peace is the only way.

#Anon

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soullessdianthus · 2 years

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hi so I saw that you write for tangerine and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing an older tangerine x younger fem reader (age gap) where they're both assassins but have bad blood however spicy smut ensues?

sorry if this is too much!

Author's note: Sorry, this took so long, but I'm currently moving out and it has been a mess. Anyways, here's a piece where you met the citrus brothers on a mission (after competing for a while), but the outcome was something you didn't expect at all. Something that won't be easily forgotten. Bon apetit.

Warnings: swearing, violence (canon typical), age gap?, choking 😳, smutty smut

Word count: 6.5k oops

P.S.: I checked it two times, might fix few grammar/spelling mistakes in next few days.

A cloudless night sky shimmered above your head, when you firmly closed the car doors behind you. Making sure the bottom of the evening dress wasn’t stuck in the vehicle, you carefully turned around and then took a step back onto the pavement. You smiled politely as the Uber driver started a new route, leaving you in front of a grand, neoclassicist building.

That night a sort of a charity gala was being hosted there, but everyone knew what kind of business was really going on under all that sugar coated image. Unselfish aid - well, not really in the twenty-first century. At least not by the filthy rich people.

But that evening, they were all there and you had to blend in. That was your role to play. The job, commissioned by your boss, was supposed to be quite easy. An old style theft of some jewelry, a sapphire of sorts. Not the most vulnerable or the biggest jewel in the word, but your commissioner insisted on this specific one. So to speak, your competition was thin.

In the great hall, a courtroom for a banquet, people were gathered. Young waiters and waitresses sneaking between the guests, dancing on their tiptoes almost. Last summer it was your job to collect an order and bring it as fast as you could to the customer at your local, prestigious restaurant.

Besides some bizzare and sometimes even brutal contracts, you continued to live a simple, student life. Taking a summer job or tutoring a highschooler, for example. But it began to happen less frequently than ever before, as your life began to change.

Ever since you met that annoying, British man from a different agency. And his equally odd brother.

Walking up the staircase to the ground floor, you collected the long dress with a cut on the left side, exposing your bare leg to the passers by. If it was an event held by the royal family, you would’ve been kicked out long ago. But happily it wasn’t.

After leaving your cloak in the foyer of the hotel, you slowly headed towards the room, where the main events were supposed to be held. And people had already gathered there.

You felt just like an actress (silly of you) - starring in an action movie, with all the thrill of a crime looming in the air. For a moment you forgot about all of the blood on your hands. Metaphorically, of course. You could not erase those sins. It was a path you could not just abandon.

One of the waiters, almost your peer, tried to persuade you to try some champagne from his silver tray. But you politely declined with a simple gesture of hand. Parents taught you well, not to drink while at work.

You continued to walk around the patio, carefully examining and remembering the surroundings. Playing a part of this higher society, you nodded a few times to the strangers passing by, exerting a sham of knowing each other. And until now, you hadn’t spotted anyone from your branch. No familiar faces. “Good, very good” you thought.

Your boss told you beforehand there shouldn’t be any competition with the jewel that night. And the boss was always right.

Almost.

─ Oh Goodness! Such a beautiful dress, my dear ─ exclaimed the elder lady, gripping on her purse through the white gloves. ─ Tell me, sweetheart, who designed it? Where did you get it?

─ That’s very kind of you, ma’am. ─ Your lips curled in a cheerful smile, while approaching the two older ladies, standing near the cocktail table. ─ But I’m afraid I cannot help you. You see, this is my mother’s dress, when she was my age. It's a vintage piece.

─ Oh, that’s very lovely, keeping the traditions from generation to generation. I wish my son would wear his father’s cufflinks from time to time. ─ The second lady interfered, after finishing her glass of champagne.

─ Have you been to the rooftop yet? ─ She changed the subject quicker than you could even proceed.

─ No, I haven’t, ma’am. Is there something worth bothering about? ─ You asked her, still keeping that cheerful smile on your young face.

Your “colleagues” would insult you (or rather joke about you) with many things about your age or experience, but even though you were barely half their age, you knew how to get people to fall under your charm.

─ Of course you should see it! They have lovely gardens there, quite exotic. One of the best ones in the whole of London.

─ Then, shall we go there then? ─ You proposed to the nice ladies, straightening your knees.

─ Only if we’re not boring you to death, dear.

─ There is plenty of time until the main event begins, I’d like to see something other than the ground floor.

In the company of two lovely, but strangely intriguing, old women you traveled to the top of the building to see the flowers they were so excited about. And after a short walk with them you had to agree that the garden was quite interesting. Even for such a layman you were about the flowers.

But the night was cold and you had to excuse your company at the rooftop, as you left your coat at the foyer. The cut of the dress made it even worse - your shoulders were showing, shivering because of the cold air. Besides, you had a job to do.

You entered the elevator and began to go back down, only to be stopped by someone from the outside on the tenth (or was it eleventh?) floor.

Something was off. You couldn’t tell why, but you knew someone was coming. Behind those metal doors. The tension was building up, until the gates opened silently to the sides, exposing two well dressed men, now standing in front of you.

─ Well, look who it is. ─ Said the man with a thick mustache above his upper lip, placing his hands inside the pockets of his trousers.

─ See? I told you, mate. Wouldn’t have mistaken her with someone else.

─ Excuse me, gentlemen. ─ Your response was quick. There was no time or need for a confrontation with those guys. Again. So you tried to force your way out of that elevator, but the taller, dark skinned man grabbed you by your arms and pushed back inside the metal box heading down.

No, you didn’t have a gun. It wasn’t “that” kind of job with the jewel. You didn’t need a gun, because nobody was supposed to die. Besides, it was too loud for a place like that.

You tried to pass again, by pushing him away, but the damn golem wouldn’t move. So you swiftly hit under the man's ribs and swung to strike again. But he foresaw this and gripped your fist, pushing you inside the box.

Brothers stepped inside and you found yourself locked without an exit.

─ Gentlemen ─ the brunette repeated mockingly with a little giggle ─ she's sweet. She really is.

─ Are you looking for trouble? ─ Tightening a grip on your baggie, you slightly narrowed your brows. These two happened to appear in the middle of your last few commissions, putting your plans into ruins, so naturally, you were pissed to see them again.

“Putting the plan into ruins” was the most subtle description you could give to what they've done. You always fulfilled your contracts, but the way you planned to do so. On your terms. But those two happened to show up in the middle of a plan, make a lot of noise and run off.

The elevator started to go down again.

─ Do you, love? ─ He snapped back, taking a step towards you.

─ What are you doing here? ─ You asked a bit irritated, by the dismissive tone of his voice.

─ Another day, another contract. ─ Lemon, the portly one, interrupted as you and his brother didn’t mean to end the staring contest.

─ What is your contract, to be exact? So we won’t disturb each other.

─ Whoa, whoa, slow down, girl ─ Tangerine slightly waved with his hand flat, golden rings shimmering around his fingers ─ you think we’re gonna answer to you, after what happened lately in Budapest? Do you recall that, sweetheart?

─ It was Vienna. ─ You corrected him, tension slowly leaving your muscles. There was no sign of an upcoming fight. If they were here to kill specifically you, they would have done that already. There wouldn’t be a time for small talk like such.

The number on a panel above the buttons changed to the third floor. You were almost there. In a moment you will be able to get away from them and focus on your tonight's mission.

─ Ah, Vienna. Right, right.

─ Well, that wasn’t my fault, you two ─ your finger pointed at brothers ─ were sloppy and messed up your part. I just finished my own contract.

Well, it wouldn’t have happened, if you weren’t on plain fuckin’ sight and did not interrupt the adults doing their fuckin’ job. - Lemon gestured with his hands, getting visibly annoyed by your denial.

Well, you just told them the truth, they fucked up last time. It wasn’t your doing. Well, not that particular time, not in Vienna.

─ I’m sorry, “adults��? That’s what you call yourself? ─ You needed a clarification, did you miss heard? Was he making fun of you somehow?

─ Don’t fuck with us, kid.

─ Oh, fuck off, Lemon. ─ You answered irritably as the doors opened, welcoming you three to the ground floor. A line of impatient guests waited until you left the cabin.

Lemon’s choice of words angered you. Yes, you were very young for such a profession, but your age did not determine your abilities. For some time you had a mentor, who taught you well. And your actions were excellent proof of that.

Finally getting out of the elevator, you took advantage of the situation - happening to be in a crowded place. You swiftly passed them all, leaving brothers behind. While blending in with the other guests on the patio, you took a glimpse over your shoulder. For a brief moment your eyes locked with Tangerine’s blue irises.

Your heart froze when he traced your path. You had to disappear, quickly.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

You found yourself staring through the massive window, viewing the busy street during night time. Heavy raindrops were dripping from a glass wall onto a windowsill.

Thoughts corrupted you so much that you had to shake your head slightly, trying to get back into your senses. You stood in one place for too long, what clearly angered your inner perfectionism. But why were you distracted? It rarely happened since your very first few missions.

Happily for you it didn’t last too long and all preparations have been done by that time. Now you just had to wait for the auctions to begin, so you could start the operation.

The jewel was being kept on a sort of exposition in one of the lobbies - a small room, next to the patio (one of few actually). Two security cameras, which you’ve already plugged to a remote to loop their image when needed and only two bodyguards walking around the area.

You sneaked to the hotel earlier that week, disguised as a waitress, so you could take a look at the surroundings and disturb some vires in CCTV around that place.

After all, your boss gave you a few decent tips, but the executive part was on your side.

Your legs kept the same pace as before - firm, but not fast. Confident, but not attention seeking. Although your ankles began to feel numb after those hours in heels.

And then, out of bloom, while you were passing the corridor leading to the bathrooms, you felt a strong grip tightening around your arm. Mysterious force dragged you to the resting area (just in front of the toilets), while you stumbled upon your own legs and dropped the little baggie on the floor.

─ Christ! ─ You hissed, when you finally found your balance again. Not a single living soul was around besides you and Tangerine. The British man was still holding your arm, standing between you and the pathway to the patio. ─ Let go.

─ Not so quick, sunshine. We should talk first, you know.

─ Oh, we’ve already talked, big man. Time is nagging, I have to go.

Your free hand immediately swung at his right ribs, covered by white, evening chemise and a beautiful jacket from the tailor. There was no intention to start a fight, but he was stubborn and you were afraid of the shortage of time. So the punch was supposed to be a warning.

As your fist met with his ribcage, the brunette bent a bit in half and loosen the grip on your arm. And as the opportunity occured, you started to walk away.

Only when you turned your back at him, Tangerine took a step forward and entangled his both hands around your waist and throat. The second placement worried you more.

How could you let that happen? Turning your back away? “How stupid!” you scolded yourself.

He pulled you backwards so hard that you bumped your back into his torso and chest. A silent sigh escaped your mouth as he spread his ringed fingers on your windpipe.

The jewelry was cold just like the air outside the hotel, making your skin twitch.

Tangerine was taller than you. He was also older and more advanced than you. Which really made you uneasy. If he only wanted to, he could be a serious threat.

─ Tsk, that wasn’t nice. Listen, we really need to know, what the fuck you’re doin’ here tonight, sweetheart.

─ Why are you so persistent? ─ You asked him, annoyed at the fact he kept his hand tightly not only on your throat, but also your waist, tugging you close to him. You also let your accent slip out, because of it.

Desperate you tried to yank away from the big man. You really wanted to get out of that situation as fast as possible, because it made you blush. The fact you liked the way he held you.

This time your both arms were absolutely free. So gathering some force in one of your elbows, you stabbed him in his stomach. The first one wasn’t fully successful so you continued to hammer his torso until he’d finally free you.

There was a brief moment, when his hands loosen up and you turned around to face him. He swung his right fist near your head, which now was - a serious threat.

You backed away a few steps - keeping the distance, but he followed your trace, throwing his fists a few more times. His bright eyes had a mysterious and distracting charm in them.

You continued to back away, but the distance between you two suddenly reduced, so you swung your right knee at his thigh, near the groin. Unfortunately, he was able to block the hit, grasping on your uncovered leg. He tossed it in his hand, almost playfully, locking your thigh between his elbow.

And then he charged at you, forcing you to back away even faster, until your back met with the stone wall. His other hand found itself on your exposed neck one more time, pinning your body down.

Being “cornered” and left with little choices, you pulled out a dagger out from the garter. It was the right time to do so.

─ Why are you so feisty, huh? ─ Tangerine said calmly, correcting his grip on your leg. ─ I really don’t want to punch a woman, for fuck sake.

─ Pardon me, I’ve been taught so.

─ Oh, but you still have a lot to learn, honey. Now tell me, will you ─ his eyes loomed inside yours, searching for sympathy ─ what’s your fuckin’ target.

─ On three, then we both say. Seems fair.

─ You’re not the one to negotiate, sunshine, considering I have a hand on your pretty neck. And a thigh of yours. ─ He added after looking up and down at you like a piece of goose meat.

─ But I have a knife pointed at your kidney, so what will it be? Equals?

There was silence for a short moment between you and Tangerine. For a very brief moment, but the escalating tension made it impossible for you to keep looking him straight in the eyes.

God bless, he lowered his head down, turning it slightly to the sides - meaning Tangerine gave in the further argument.

─ You never disappoint me, love ─ the man giggled, making his mustache twitch. ─ Fuck it. On three, you ready?

─ One. ─ You started counting, still being highly alerted of your surroundings. Of him. ─ Two. Three.

─ Birdwhistle. ─ He chanted a surname unknown to you.

─ Stuart’s Sapphire.

You both exclaimed at the same time, tension instantly leaving your bodies. That evening your paths weren’t crossed.

─ Jesus Christ ─ brunette man cursed, while releasing the air from his lungs ─ couldn’t you just say that earlier?

Tangerine let go of your exposed neck and led your leg carefully back to the floor. Now that you stood firm on the ground, you fixed the material of your dress and hid the dagger back under the garter.

─ Well, couldn’t you clarify earlier, that you and your brother are not here to assassinate me or my mission? After violently reminding me about Vienna?

─ Why would I? I kinda enjoy your company, sweetheart. Never fails to entertain. ─ The British man said, handing you the bag you’ve dropped.

─ How splendid. Thanks.

“I’m not sure if Lemon could say the same about my fellowship” you thought.

Only when you two wanted to leave the resting area, the bathroom door swung open and the old lady emerged from the inside. Your heart froze for a second.

─ Oh, Miss Caldwell! ─ Exclaimed the short lady, who discussed the matter of flowers with you earlier. The surname was fake of course. ─ Aren’t you going for the main event? It’s about to start.

─ We’ve been just heading there, but I needed to re-do my hair. You know how it is, ma’am ─ you smiled cheerfully, getting right back into your role. ─ Have you met my fiance August, Mistress Dolores?

You falsely presented Tangerine, before she could even ask about it. This way, the old lady wouldn’t have much time to overthink his persona.

Without even hesitating, the brunette gently shook her hand. He jumped straight into the fake personality you just gave him. Tangerine got so much into playing his part of a fiance, that he even put his left hand around your waist, resting it on your hip.

And for a moment you felt the same way as when your bodies were entangled together in a scuffle minutes before. You felt too comfortable around him - he was your competitor for fuck’s sake.

─ Then we shall go back. I wouldn’t want to miss such an opportunity. ─ Tangerine encouraged you to move forward, slowly leading to the great hall. He exposed his free elbow in your direction, inviting you to take it. So you did.

─ You’ll have to excuse me, I have to go into that crowd and find my husband, first ─ Mr. Dolores explained, as she got visibly worried. ─ Before he gets lost. Again.

─ Understably, ma’am.

And just like she appeared out of nowhere, she blended in the colorful and extravagant crowd of guests.

─ So ─ Tangerine cleared his throat ─ we’re playin’ in one team, darlin’? No more scuffles?

While finishing, he looked at you with his eyes made of ice and a manner you could no longer describe. He still kept his hand on your hip, leading you during your walk together. It irritated you a bit and you wondered - was he always acting this cocky?

─ You and your brother do what you have to do and I’ll stick to my stuff. Everyone gets what they want. Seems cool, right, Mr. Bond? ─ You jokingly addressed him. Turning your head, you caught him staring at you, which sent some shivers down your spine.

─ Seems cool. We’ll finally have some pleasant memories together, won’t we, love?

You sent him a quick, cheeky smile, before leaving him behind.

Brunette Britishman brought his hands to himself, placing them in his pockets as you walked away from him. It was high time to pursue tonight's commissions. The auctions had started and Mr. Birdwhistle was about to pass out drunk. He had to find Lemon fast, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you in that evening dress.

Oh, that fucking dress. It almost made him go insane.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

She patiently waited.

Waited until the bodyguards would get bored with keeping an eye on some blue jewel that nobody came to see. One of them decided to go on a break, leaving only one man on the post. The universe has blessed you.

Now it was a matter of minutes. You had to remove the other guy from the camera’s lens. So while heading to the lobby with the exhibition, you lit up a cigarette and inhaled it a single time. Then threw it into the nearest bin and waited until the other rubbish caught the flames.

Only when you saw the smoke coming out of the metal container did you continue the plan. Acting a bit lost and concerned.

─ Is anyone here, hello? ─ You started asking for help, almost approaching your final destination. And there he was, a bodyguard leaving his post. ─ Oh, God gracious! I think there is a small fire in that bin. Can you help that, sir?

The man said nothing but regardless, he went to see what caused the smoke. During that time you’ve managed to loop the image, so you wouldn’t be seen on the CCTV. By the time you stepped in, the security was gone - probably went for the fire-extinguisher.

You’ve already put gloves on (not to leave any fingertips) and started to unlock the glass cabinet. When it finally popped open, you grabbed the jewel from the little, red pillow and replaced it with the cheaper replica from your baggie.

Then you quickly positioned it at the exhibition, locked it up and removed your gloves. Everything was looking fine, so you decided to leave. The security guy was coughing on the white fog that put out the fire you started. Little pyromaniac.

You stood in one place, waiting for him to finish, so he would think you stayed there all this time. That you hadn’t just got into the lobby, he was supposed to look after.

─ So we don’t need firefighters after all ─ you giggled, passing by him. ─ Should I inform someone?

─ That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Thank you.

You proceed to leave the area, to go back to the main hall, where almost everyone gathered. Only when you turned around the corner, you recovered the cameras to its original state.

The commission was almost completed. Now you just had to deliver it within 48 hours to the messenger or something like this. And when it’s done, you’ll finally have some white wine.

You passed through the whole crowd of excited people and found yourself near the roofed part of the patio, when you turned around to take a look at the scene - at the valuable and collectable items they were selling off. Suddenly you bumped into someone, while continuing to walk and not looking forward.

─ I’m so sorry. ─ You started to apologize just before realizing who you just bumped into.

─ Don’t be, love. It’s always nice to see you. ─ Tangerine’s smile was highlighted by the movement of his mustache, when his hand locked you close to him.

─ Very funny. Is it done?

There was no time for him to answer as the scream for a far filled the whole room. The lead person of the auctions stopped, while the gathered people began to speculate.

─ Oh, I see.

─ Lemon’s already outside and I have to disappear too ─ Tangerine looked around nervously, which was uncommon for him. But by squeezing your arms he brought you closer and placed a short kiss on your cheek. ─ Take care, sunshine.

You stood there mortified as he merged with the disturbed guests of the hotel. The place he had just kissed pleasantly burned and your cheeks blushed. “What was that? A fucking farewell?” you also wondered if he was toying with you.

And then, out of bloom, something made you check your baggie. Which was slightly opened as it turned out. Not panicking yet (but almost), you started to search for it. But only found out that Britishman in fact stole your sapphire, leaving a piece of paper instead.

─ Bastard!

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

You wandered across the sixth floor searching for room number “610”, because a note the Britishman left in your bag suggested you to search exactly here. Your feet hurt more than ever. With every step, the heels dug into the carpet flooring and your chafed heel felt like burning.

But your suffering was awarded the second you’ve noticed silver, a three digit number on the door - 610.

You stopped upon the frame and knocked a few times, not realizing those knocks put together made a cheerful melody. While waiting for something to happen, you couldn’t decide how to manage the situation - to be mad and feisty or to turn it all into a joke.

But when he finally appeared in the doorframe, all your anger was gone. There was something else instead.

─ Lovely, I was wondering if you’d come. ─ Tangerine moved aside. His hand politely pointed to the inside, welcoming you. An invitation you didn’t reject.

─ You have stolen something from me.

─ Oh yes ─ brunette closed the door behind your back and proceeded to head to the counter nearby. Then he handed you a small, navy crystal. ─ Here you go, love.

You turned it around with your fingers, searching for any marks or cracks indicating it’s fake. But you hadn’t found any.

─ That’s all? You just… gave it back to me?

─ Yeah, sorry about that, love. I’ve some ongoing kleptomaniac issues.

Brunette man stood in front of you, in the middle of the hotel room. His jacket was lying folded in half on a seat back. No creases could be seen.

His chemise, on the other hand, was slightly opened, exposing his collarbone and partially his chest. The new vest fitted him perfectly.

─ I see. You’re off duty or is your brother waiting outside?

─ Lemon? Nah, he left. My brother wanted to sleep somewhere else.

─ Somewhere he hadn’t killed someone, hm?

─ Exactly.

─ But you don’t mind.

─ Not really, no ─ Tangerine took a deep breath out. ─ Listen, darlin’, you clearly want to ask me something that is bothering you ─ you opened your lips to intervene, but the Britishman was quicker. ─ You’d leave otherwise. You won back your little jewel, didn’t you?

“Fair point, Mr. Bond” you thought to yourself “then why am I still here?”. You placed the bag on the closest cabinet, tightly securing it before that.

─ Since we’re both finished tonight ─ you started the sentence, calmly and carefully collecting your thoughts ─ what was that?

─ What?

─ The patio? After you’ve put your sticky hands in my bag?

Quite suddenly the man cupped your face with both of his hands. Moment later he placed a long kiss on your lips, this time directly on them. You’ve expected his mustache to irritate you, but the outcome was quite the opposite. You’ve never melted like that through the kiss.

You knew you desired more, but afraid to let go, you turned your head away to the side, breaking the kiss.

─ Stop treating me like some… pet or something. Jesus, Tangerine.

─ A fuckin’ what? ─ An older man could not hold his short laugh back, while his hands lowered onto your shoulders.

─ You’re having a laugh, huh? You all do.

─ No one’s laughin’ at you, sweetheart. And if they do, I’m gonna smash their fuckin’ noses into bloody mush. Because I like you, darlin’. I really do. ─ The Britishman was dead serious, when he put his whole hand against your chest. Christ’s sake, his hand was so warm.

─ I thought you despised me.

─ Despise you? Why would I, eh?

─ I don’t know, I’m being annoying sometimes?

─ Yeah, well, sometimes. Only when you’re teasing me like this, princess.

You gripped both sides of his vest, pulling him closer into a kiss. Both of you hungirly searched for each other's lips, taking only a short breaks in between.

His long fingers traveled across your sides and its curves. Tangerine’s hands grinded on your hips, crumpling the material of your evening dress.

─ Would you mind, stayin’ here for tonight? ─ He asked you, caressing the outline of your jaw with his right hand.

─ But only for tonight.

You weren’t prepared for him to grab your thighs at their tops, inviting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He held you close and tight, when your shoes fell off your heels onto the carpet floor.

As the Britishman slowly made his way to the closest cabinet near the wall, you continued to leave a trace of kisses from his cheeks until the earlobe. Few hours ago, you wouldn’t even imagine - that now you were entangled around Tangerine’s body.

He placed you carefully on the edge of counter’s top. While the brunette stood close between your legs, he swiftly took off his vest and just threw it behind him. With no folding. God, he was desperate.

Tangerine places his hand on the inner side of your thigh, but before he went further, he locked his blue eyes with yours. Wordlessly he asked you for permission. And you gave him another long, passionate kiss as an answer.

─ Ladies first, eh?

His slender fingers slipped through your panties and dipped deeper between the folds. His gentle touch made you slightly twitch. But not in an unpleasant way, more in relief.

─ Show me, sunshine ─ he said calmly, nibbing on the skin of your neck ─ how to touch you. Show me.

One of your hands left the cabinet’s edge and you placed it above his palm and knuckles, so you could guide his two fingers. You guided him a few slow motions around the clit that already made you gasp.

After a while he caught on and continued on his own, while you clutched on his white chemise, poking out the trousers. Brunette’s other hand secured your hip, while he showered you in kisses - his facial hair tickling your skin.

Even though he caged you with his body, you’ve never felt so safe around anybody. Never.

─ Like this, y-yes. ─ You encouraged him.

Few minutes later, you were so close to an edge. Your whole body relaxed and you couldn’t hide the little moans no more. Tangerine guessed you were close to your high. He placed his other hand on the side of your face (covering almost all of it), bringing your head to his forehead. Your hair was now messy, but it didn’t matter.

─ I’ve desired you long before Vienna, love.

─ I know. ─ You almost stuttered saying that, as you’ve finally reached your beautiful climax.

You took in a few sharp breaths, when you crossed your sighs again. All this time he kept his hand on your face in a comforting manner. And you acknowledged that he was smiling under that mustache. No more grumpy Britishman.

Both of you waited a moment, giving you the time to come down from the high, as your dingling from the edge legs were shaking. But when you were feeling alright again, he helped you get on the ground.

You grabbed his hand and led towards the other part of the hotel room. By the way, checking if the curtains were closed. You stopped at the edge of the bed, turning around to face him.

Slowly you unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, exposing his torso to you. A golden necklace swung between his collarbones and a few tattoos, you didn’t know about, were undiscovered.

He patiently waited there, letting you walk around him and explore his body with your fingertips. But he grew impatient, as a growl escaped his lips. You combed his dark brown hair, before coming back where you initially stood. Then you started to undo his matching trousers.

Tangerine vividly slid them off along his socks and shoes. His already half hardened cock was visible under the boxers’ material.

─ Sweet Jesus, now it’s my turn, love. ─ He said, eagerly looking at you. Brunette turned you around and unzipped the dress that tempted him so much. You let it slide past your ankles.

Lack of coverage exposed a garter with a dagger still in it.

─ We won’t need that, won’t we, darlin’? ─ Older man took it out and threw it aside. Tangerine stepped even closer to you, as you tried to take off your underwear. He followed your movements with his boxers. ─ Come ‘ere.

No more invitations were needed. He welcomed you with open arms. You tucked your hair behind an ear, while you were almost swallowed by his eager kisses. Then, he once again lifted you up, so you just sat on his hips and he made his way to the bed.

The man placed you gently onto the soft sheets and quickly climbed over you. He placed his hands on both sides of your head, resting on his forearms, so he could lean closer to you.

─ Fuckin’ hell, you’re so delicious ─ Tangerine asked, right after nibbling on your hardened nipples. ─ You okay, love?

─ Very much.

Your hand found a way up the base of his neck. Once again you ran through his curly hair with your fingers. He smelled like whiskey and wood’s smoke.

─ I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart. ─ He positioned himself and with determined, but not violent movement he buried his length within your cunt.

It wasn’t painful, you were already wet from the foreplay, but the feeling of stretching made you gasp. You clenched on his arm as he started to thrust his hips against your pelvis.

─ You’re so beautiful, you know?

─ Oh God ─ you moaned shamefully, when he shifted his position - I am?

─ Yeah ─ Tangerine’s weight was on top of you (his form perfectly fitting to your body), but you didn’t mind. As long as he was close to you, holding your tight. ─ Especially when you make those lil noises.

The man continued to thrust against you, letting some growls escape his own lips. The sensation of your warm and welcoming womanhood, made him closer to his pleasure. So you squeezed his biceps, letting him know you wanted to change position.

He was moving freely, following the movements of your body. He comfortably half sat, his back resting on the pillow. While still joined together in an act of pleasure, you straddled him which only pushed his cock deeper inside you.

You made that obvious by tilting a little bit forward. Not mentioning you opened your mouth.

─ You alright, love? ─ He asked to make sure.

─ Mhm. ─ You muttered, enhancing your position atop of him.

Your legs felt like jellies, from the overstimulation beforehand and from the things you wanted to do to him. Your hands rested on his broad and bit hairy chest.

─ Left you speechless, hun?

─ Now it’s my turn, lover boy ─ you explained, when you’ve finally got used to his length buried inside your walls. ─ Let me make you happy.

Tangerine placed his hands on your hips, supporting your position. He already knew what you intended. And only after you sat on your heels, you started to ride him.

His facial expression quickly changed when you moved just the way he needed it. You quite quickly found the pace to go with and started to enjoy yourself too.

Louder moans escaped your pretty mouth as you continued to ride a “cowboy”.

─ Oh fuck, yes ─ he stuttered loudly, his right hand blindly searching for your bouncing breast. ─ Like this, yes.

You continued to sway your hips against him, as you two grew closer together. He leaned forward, holding you tight. Tangerine’s and your breaths became shorter and shallower. You wished that night could last forever.

You once again gained your climax thanks to that man, who followed you right after, buckling his hips for more. Your thighs shivered uncontrollably and your wet cunt clenched around his cock milking it dry. Tangerine unintentionally harsly gripped on your hips, leaving little marks indicating - you’re his.

In the moment of your biggest pleasure you whined his real name, not the alias. And it really moved him. Deeply.

─ Good girl ─ brunette praised you, while you brushed his now ruined hair back. ─ You alright, love?

─ Quite alright, can’t you see? ─ You jokingly said almost breathlessly.

─ I see quite fuckin’ fine, thanks, hun. Now, come ‘ere. Come.

The Britishman guided you to come back down, supporting your forearms so you could lean onto him. You were gracious for his help as you could barely feel your tired legs.

He stayed in a half sitting position, while you lied down on your side. His strong arm invited you to different type of affection, so you cuddled up to his side and rested your head on his chest. His heart was still beating uncommonly fast.

Brunette held you close to him, so your body heat kept you warm. Meanwhile all of this Tangerine pulled the sheets on you both, covering the naked bodies.

─ I really enjoyed myself tonight ─ you stated, when you finally collected yourself. ─ Thank you.

─ Oh, you fuckin’ did, yeah ─ Tangerine smiled through his thick mustache, you could tell that. ─ But I did too. Yeah, it’s been a fuckin’ ride with you.

Britishman continued to caress his soft hand with rings against the skin of your arm that was sticking out from the sheets.

─ Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry for…

─ Don’t worry about that ─ you interrupted him with a cheerful smile, knowing what he wanted to say. ─ I think I might actually like you after all, Tangerine.

The confession made you blush immediately. And even more when you looked up at him and realized he was watching you all this time. His other hand cupped your cheek again and his facial expression became a bit more serious than before.

─ I want you to be mine, darlin’. Mine.

─ I’m already yours, silly bastard.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #reader insert #request

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angelicyouth · 1 year

Text

Youth ; Chapter 3

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Growing up with the boys as the sole girl of the group, it was only natural for them to grow protective over their pseudo-little sister as the years went by.❞

⇢ warning: descriptions of a panic attack

⇢ [AO3 link] ; [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

A cacophony of voices fight to be heard over the other, everyone shit talking around the game of Mario Kart that’s currently set up in our living room. The boys and I watch as the four players duke it out on the big screen, witnesses to a friendship-breaking competition.

Loud stomping abruptly interrupts the taunts, “Y/N! What the hell? Is that my fucking shirt that you’re wearing?” My brother violently hollers from his spot, standing halfway down the stairs to peer down at the rest of us.

“The one you’ve been looking for all morning? Yup.” I lazily drawl from my spot on the couch, obnoxiously popping the “p” in my reply. My head slightly shifts as Tweek attempts to neatly braid my hair, Butters gently coaching him from the side.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? Made me waste a bunch of time looking for nothing.” Stan continues as he finishes his journey down the stairs.

“You act like you have better things to do, loser. No girlfriend, no job—nada. So I don’t see what the big deal is. Are you on your period or something?” An accidental sharp tug makes me wince, Tweek muttering apologies as he quickly kisses the top of my head in repentance for his mistake.

“Shut up! Quit stealing my shit!” He's standing off to the side of the couch now, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

I glare at Stan and say around a mouthful of orange chicken at the top of my lungs. “Quit stealing my weed then!”

”God, you’re such a fucking pothead!” He shouts, fists clenching in anger.

”Says the alcoholic who starts his day with a shot!” It’s a low blow but all I can see is red.

“Bro, quit being a whiny bitch. You’re not dirt poor like Kinny. Just buy a new one.” Said blonde flashes Cartman his middle finger so he rolls his eyes and attempts to correct himself. “What? Fine, at least you weren’t born ginger and a Jew like Kahl. Talk about a double whammy, I’d honestly kill myself.”

”You don’t need a reason to kill yourself, Cartman. Make all of us happy for once and just do it. If you really need a reason, just think about how fat you are and how much wasted space you take up.”

”Aye!”

The match concludes with Jimmy coming out on top and the boys deciding to abandon the game entirely. They resume eating the Chinese takeout that’s laid out on the coffee table in front of them and half-heartedly listen to the sibling’s routine bickering.

“Take it off.” He scoffs at me, face heated with anger. Tolkien rolls his eyes so hard that I’m surprised a headache doesn’t occur.

“Huh?”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re stupid, not deaf. Want me to ask mom to get you hearing aids? I said: take. It. Off.” Comes out of my brother’s gritted teeth, each word growing more impatient and strained.

“Big deal, Stan! There’s so many other fucking shirts in this house. Feel free to get one from my closet if you need one so bad.” I retort in exasperation, clenching the denim on Tweeks legs that lay on either side of my body in frustration.

“Ack!” The frenzied blond yelps from behind me and I let go, fiddling with the creases on his jeans instead.

“No! Didn’t you hear me, r-tard? It’s mine, I bought it. Now, take it off!” Kyle closes his eyes at the elder Marsh’s words, tired beyond his years.

“Able to throw some money away for a dumb shirt but you can’t even pay me back my hundred dollars.” The local space enthusiast mumbles to himself, a chorus of ‘shut up, Craig!’ resounds from the boys in Team Stan.

“Fine!” I smirk and get off from my perch on the couch, a sly yet very bold idea pops up into my head. The perfect little thing to piss my dear older brother off. If you want petty, I’ll give you petty.

I grab my shirt from the hem and start to slowly lift it off of my frame, quirking a smug eyebrow and taunting my brother with a smile when more skin starts to show.

“Woohoo!” Kenny hollers excitedly at me, his hands in the air.

“F-f-fuck! No! Quit it, will you?! Don’t fucking do that!” Stan pushes those in his way aside and the boys make it hard for him on purpose by sticking out their legs to trip him. My brother scrambles over to me, forcing my hands down.

“Aw. What’s wrong, Stanley? You’re starting to sound a lot like Jimmy, how cute. I thought you wanted your stupid shirt?” I jeer at him. It’s like what Bebe always says: boys never know what they want and that’s the problem with them. Amen, sister.

“Ewww, Marsh. No one wants to see your underdeveloped body.” Craig socks Cartman on the arm, hard and the larger teen squeals like a dying pig.

“Don’t listen to them, sexy! Keep on going!” Clyde joins in laughing, sliding off his jacket and twirling it over his head in support of the apparent stripping going on.

“You’re voluptuous! Curvaceous! I’m already down on my knees at the sight of you, sweet thang!” Clyde continues to exaggeratedly hype me up, comically imitating the sound of a barking dog afterwards.

“I don’t know how you guys can take her seriously when her hair’s only halfway done. Looks like a damn hippie.” Cartman mumbles, more focused on inhaling his food and rubbing his now sore arm.

“Pffft, b-buh-baby Marsh gone w-wild!” Kung pao chicken accompanies Jimmy’s words of encouragement and he grabs one of his arm crutches, twirling it above his head too. My hands are still at the hem of my shirt, lifted up slightly and exposing a sliver of skin, even when my brother lets go.

I turn my head and catch Craig’s eyes trailing down as he smirks at me, his eyebrows lifted up playfully. A glint in his deep blues as he nonchalantly says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

While I’d normally giggle in amusement at the normally stoic teen and the contribution towards further riling my brother up, my face immediately flushes red after my talk with the girls at the party. I’d say that butterflies are invading my stomach, struggling to break free but it honestly feels like a whole damn zoo down there.

Feeling the adrenaline rush from my brother’s anger, the boys egging me on, and Craig’s attention, my heart beats at record breaking speed and I can feel my cheeks shyly heat up. This development doesn’t go by unnoticed as Kenny stops his playful cheering and laughing, watching the interaction between us two with furrowed brows.

“Fuck off, Tucker. Actually, fuck both of you all the way to hell.” My brother grumbles, angrily throwing himself onto an unoccupied space on the couch with his arms crossed. “It’s the fucking principle of things.”

“Big word, Stanley. Is that your word of the day? Did you learn it from this week’s episode of Sesame Street?” I mock him with a pout in fake sympathy.

“Shut the fuck up before I kick your fucking teeth in!” My brother’s stupid face goes red with anger.

He pouts when Kyle holds him back and rolls his eyes, ever the voice of reason. “They were just joking, Stan.”

“Yeah, Stanley. I was just joking.” My eyes continue to follow Craig as he lifts a bite of food towards his handsome face, wooden chopsticks pressed against his still smirking plush lips.

“Craig.” My brother says sharply this time, straightening up his back to glare at the teen over Cartman’s bigass head. I’m slightly confused as to what’s happening but still loving the attention Craig is giving me.

“Relax, Marsh.” Craig chuckles with a challenging look in his eyes. Tension begins to grow in the room and I’m lost because the other guys would normally laugh at suave shit like that and instigate a fight.

I roll my eyes and figure that it’s just them being overly protective, going back to my spot in between the cute coffee addict’s legs so that he can finish his attempt at doing my hair. Butters has a small braid done in between tufts of silky blonde from when I demonstrated the process to Tweek. He rubs his knuckles together, nervous energy exuding from his body as I return next to him.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

The girls excitedly informed me of tryouts and the process, which involves practice with the already established team and the new potential recruits. A week and a half is given to learn a few cheers before the day they hold the official tryouts, which was today. It’s here where I finally meet Nichole Daniels, Tolkien’s girlfriend. It would’ve been nice if he brought her over from time to time but I can understand his vehement refusal of bringing her anywhere near a number of dumb boys. Trouble seems to follow the guys wherever they go.

As promised to the parentals, I attended and it’s not as bad as I thought it would be with the friends I’ve already made being here. I’ve never had problems with dancing as it comes easy to me so it’s nice to just hang out and bask in the feminine energy.

My parent’s request has continued to go under the radar as the boys have been busy with the football season starting. Their practice allows me to not have to think of an excuse for staying out late since they’re already busy, extracurricular activities taking up their time after school as they prepare for the season.

I shove the heavy front doors of the school open, the sun almost fully set as a gradient of red, yellow, and orange bathe me in their hues. The girls always remember to offer me a ride home from their parents but I always politely reject, my guilt not allowing any of them to go out of their way and use their gas on me.

My hands are shoved into my pockets, trying to accumulate as much heat as possible while I begin the journey home. Wisps of fleeting, misty clouds escape from my mouth after each puff of breath I let out and I watch them disappear. I bask in the rare moment of solitude and the quiet that comes with it.

I’m colder than I normally would be tonight because a freshman accidentally spilled her gatorade onto the duffel bag that I’ve been using for cheer. Not only were the sweats that I usually throw on over my shorts drenched in sticky sweetness, but the clothes I wore to school earlier were also an unlucky casualty to the liquid electrolytes.

I wonder if I’ll make the cheer team, I ponder to myself.

The rhythmic sound of my steps on the concrete sidewalk accompany me on my walk and I hum to myself until I hear sharp, rambunctious laughter. I’m startled as my head shoots up and see that across from me in the distance are a group of boisterous, older teens. Fear resounds within me when I faintly remember them terrorizing my brother and friends when they were in the fourth grade, them having been in the sixth at the time.

I pray in my head that they don’t notice me but my prayers go unanswered as they cross the street, now joining me on the same sidewalk. I know I can’t outrun them so I panic and impulsively decide to take a detour, turning right into an alleyway until I dreadfully notice that I can still hear them from behind. What was once just the sound of obnoxious laughter is now the noise of thundering footsteps following closely, beginning to get louder and louder.

My feet hastily pick up their pace and I can feel the tremors reverberate through my now sweating hands, anxiety filling me to the very core. My trembling makes the process of pulling out my phone agonizingly slow and I silently curse at my misfortune.

The white puffs of air that once brought me entertainment on my walk now serve as a reminder of the danger I’m in. Unlike before, they come out of my mouth in quick intervals and I clench my teeth to bid them away.

Out of nowhere, someone roughly yanks on my ponytail and they’re quick to cut off my yelp as a rough hand forces itself onto my mouth. The assailant painfully holds onto my other arm, both grips enforcing excruciating pain.

“Hey, I recognize you. You go to our school, always around those dumb boys.” One of the perpetrators in front of me sneers as he brings his face up to mine, his rancid breath invading my senses and making me feel even sicker than before.

“Lucky, aren’t we? We got baby Marsh!” Their eyes lighten up in both delight and recognition. I can feel upcoming bile trying to force its way up my throat from hearing the term of endearment the boys call me used like this, the connotation eerie in this situation.

Trying to make a sound is futile as all my cries for help are muffled, my captor getting annoyed at my squirming and relocating his hold on my arm to my neck instead. He squeezes and I whimper in fear, my breathing becomes more desperate when my kicking and elbows do nothing to deter him.

“Why’re you crying? You’re just asking for it when you walk around in fucking shorts. We live in South Park. No one would dress that way outside in the snow if they weren’t a total slut.” They all degradingly mock me, laughter resounding throughout the cold air as foreign fingers begin to play along the edge of my shorts.

“Pffft, dumb bitch.” One of them slaps me just because they have the power to do so in my vulnerable state before squeezing both of my cheeks together with one hand, hard.

“Who wants to go first?” They all fight over the answer to the question and I clench my eyes shut in dread, the color draining from my face.

Before they can do anything, yelling can be heard and I’m dropped by my captor. I stumble to the dirty ground of the alleyway at the loss of my previous support. On the floor, I painfully dig my nails onto my thighs. My breath hitches and my chest tightens, my panicking intensifying despite finally being free.

Short breaths rake through my trembling body and my nails dig deeper. Crescent moons appear on soft skin, invoking blood. My head starts to feel a little light and I try my hardest to calm myself down but it’s to no avail, my attempts prove to be futile. My unoccupied hand trembles as they reach up to touch wet, stinging cheeks. I didn’t even notice that I‘ve begun to sob as every gasp for air racks my body.

“Holy shit.” Varying voices can be heard from around me but my mind barely registers their words as my head continues to feel even lighter than before.

Even though I’m unable to determine whether or not I’m safe, I don’t flinch when someone crouches next to me and hastily crushes me against their hard chest. I’m numb to my surroundings and everything feels distorted. It’s as if I’m underwater, drowning.

“Ack! She’s hyperventilating! Gyah!”

“No fucking shit captain obvious!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The chest I’m against rumbles and my brain finally registers it as the sound of Kenny’s voice. I muster up what little strength I have to look up and see my boys around me. My brother is directly crouched in front of me and from my peripherals, I can just barely see that it’s Kyle in the same position next to him, eyes wide in panic.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

“Fuck! What should we do?!” It’s Tolkien this time but I can’t look away from my brother. My eyes are begging him to do something, anything to make it stop. Oh how I wish twin telepathy were real.

“Breathe, baby. You need to breathe for me.” The world tilts around me as a soothing voice near my ear urges. A resounding gasp of air struggles to be inhaled but it’s too shaky and tears of frustration continue to fall. My breathing isn’t slowing and I just want this to be over.

“Someone needs to do something before her heart gives out!” Someone loudly kicks what sounds to be a trash can in anger, messily spilling its contents all over the floor and I flinch at the blow.

“Y/N, breathe.” Stan coaches me, taking my hand and placing it on his chest. His large hand encompasses my smaller one, exerting slight pressure until I can feel his heartbeat.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice and follow me. In, and out. In, and out. I’m here. You see me, right? You’re here with me at this very moment and you’re safe. You’re always safe with me. Big brothers always got you, yeah?”

I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t.

I’ve been trying and nothing is happening.

It won’t stop and I can’t fucking breathe.

I don’t want to disappoint everyone but I’m tired.

“Shh, shh. You can, love, you can. I know you can.” Kenny patiently encourages me as he gently brushes strands of my hair away from my sticky, tear-stained cheeks. Heavily disoriented, I didn’t seem to realize that I was verbalizing all of my thoughts.

“You know why? Because my girl is the absolute best—the best girl ever and everyone who's anybody knows that. She’s resilient and just so, so strong. As long as she tries her best, I’ll always be proud of her no matter what and nothing she can do will ever disappoint me. Literally, nothing. She could put a bullet through my head and I’d just pass away in euphoria because my last living memory is of a goddess with ethereal beauty.” Kenny continues and ever so slightly, a corner of my lip lifts up.

This is familiar. This is comforting. I know this. The playful flirting and cheesy, over the top exaggeration. His soothing voice helps guide me back down to Earth as I focus on the rising chest of my brother under my fingertips. This is familiar, too. It’s a sound I’ve always known, even before I was born. Whenever I’m feeling sad or scared, my big brother will always hug me to his chest, my ear pressed against the faint beating of his heart. The rhythmic sound let’s me know that I’m safe, I always am when he’s here. This sound is the other half of me.

“Good girl, you’re doing great. Really great. You always do great and I knew you would.” It’s the voice near my ear again and this time, I’m finally able to look away from my brother to see that the voice belongs to Craig. It appears he had a hand on my shoulder throughout the whole ordeal, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over my jacket.

I now notice that Butters has my other hand firmly in his, tears streaking down both his and Clyde’s faces. They all must have found me after practice and I’m thankful that I wasn’t too far from the school before everything went down.

When they ask me what I was doing out so late, in athletic shorts no less, I mumble an excuse about the girls inviting me to workout in the weight room back at school. They don’t know that it’s not just today that I’ve been trekking home alone at night and I don't want to correct their assumption when they sternly lecture me on how dangerous it is.

After taking me home and getting myself cleaned up, they decide on an impromptu movie night filled with blankets, pillows, and snacks. Last minute texts are sent to their parents, notifying them of an emergency sleepover. They place me in the middle, a cocoon of softness, warmth, and comfort. They let me choose all the movies for the rest of the night and the food we order for delivery.

Our faces are colored a pale green from the clay mask I put on everyone, those with longer hair having mini palm trees at the top of their head from being tied up away from their faces.

Self care, they told me.

This isn’t edible so don’t try to lick it off your face, I told Cartman.

I slowly look around and take in the bright light of the television reflecting off of their individual faces. Some people, like Tolkien and Kyle, are starting to nod off, fighting the last dredges of sleep for my sake. On the other end of the spectrum, Butters and Clyde jump at every loud sound that accompanies the suspenseful music, paranoia painting their faces white. Tweek catches my eye and gently feeds me a kernel of popcorn.

Surrounded by my boys, I smile knowing I’m safe whenever I’m with them.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

I’m sitting in front of my vanity, carefully applying some makeup to cover the faint bruising on my cheek, the process therapeutic. The occasional clicking of buttons could be heard, Craig lounging on my bed with a handheld gaming console in his hands. I softly mouth along to the words of the low music playing from my phone while faint laughter can be heard from downstairs.

I chance a glance up and catch Craig’s reflection from the corner of my eyes, but I don’t turn my head around as we make eye contact through the mirror. My lips unconsciously quirk up, fondness of the boy behind me fills my entire being from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. “Hmm? What’s up, Tucker?”

He doesn’t say anything, only a thoughtful look adorning his attractive features. Ever since the night the boys found me, I’ve been catching their lingering gazes on me from time to time. Eyes distant, as if they’re looking past me.

I settle both of my elbows onto the tabletop, my hands carefully framing both of my cheeks lest I smudge my hard work. My smile doesn’t falter, never when I’m with him, and I lightheartedly tease him, “What? Never seen a good looking Marsh before? I know you’re around my brother all the time but he's not that ugly.”

I’m successful in getting a reaction from him because I’m soon rewarded with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes, his expression softening, “Come here.”

His deep voice is firm, filling my room with its gentle demand and I blindly obey. With Craig, I’d do just about anything for him. He’s now seated upright and has positioned himself at the edge of my bed, legs open and his thumb tapping a beat onto his thigh.

When I’m close enough, the boy grabs both of my hands, interlocking our fingers together. He gives the intertwined digits a swift, reassuring squeeze before guiding me to him to close the short distance between us. I stand in between his legs and he elicits sudden goosebumps along my arms as he carefully drags his long fingers down the length of it, slowly before finding purchase at my hips.

I instinctively loop my arms around his neck, bringing us closer together and he gently squeezes in response. He murmurs so quietly, “Are you okay?”

I softly reply, my thumbs rubbing soothing circles onto the back of his neck, catching strands of smooth black hair. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Our voices are hushed. There’s no need to be quiet but it feels like we’re in a bubble and at any disruption, no matter how slight, might pop it.

“Yeah… You know I’m always here for you, right?” I softly nod in response, a slight shift in this space of intimacy we’ve created.

“You know you have me, right?” Again, I nod as I hang onto his words.

“Because I’d do anything for you, Y/N. It doesn’t matter what it is—big or small. At the asscrack of dawn or in the middle of the night. I'd drop whatever I was doing if it meant getting to you when you need me.” His long fingers reach up to lightly smooth his thumb at the area where soft skin meets makeup.

“If you ever have any doubts or feel upset about anything, just talk to me, okay? And I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to erase those doubts and remind you of how much you mean to me. I don’t ever want you to feel alone or less of anything, not when you mean everything to me.” The ravenette continues as he moves his hand, this time tucking silky strands of hair away from my face and behind my ear.

I shyly giggle in bliss at his soft touch and even lighter voice. “Where is this coming from, Craig?”

He ignores my question, persistent to convey his message to me. “You do know that, right, Y/N?”

“Of course, I’ve never doubted it or thought otherwise.”

“Good.” The teen says, satiated before bringing us down onto the bed.

My hands lay themselves against his chest to keep myself upright and he caresses my head with both hands, angling my head down to give my forehead a soft kiss. His lips lingers before pulling away.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It wasn’t hard for the girls to see the slight traces of lingering purple under my attempted camouflage. I tried to reassure them that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine, yet they persisted in trying to make up for it due to the guilt they all felt.

I had just finished applying my daily cover up and was adding the final touches to my hair, making sure that every single strand was in place. Satisfied, I turn the brightness of my computer screen back up until the reflection of myself on the glass disappears. I had time before I was due to head out so I loosely curled every lock cascading down my shoulders, braids adorning either side of my head. The girls wanted to take me out later in the day as an otherwise unnecessary apology and I hummed to myself in excitement.

“Wow, doll. Is this all for me?” I look up from the boss battle I was currently engaged in, pausing to identify the intruder that let out a low whistle.

Kenny leans off from his laidback position on my door frame and lazily walks up behind me, the end of his lips quirked up. He gives me an appreciative hum as he takes his time scanning my appearance, indulging his eyes on my figure. I patiently smile at his appreciation.

“Ah, scratch that. That was a stupid question, you’re beautiful every single day to anyone who lays their eyes on you. You don’t even need to try so I meant to say that this is a welcomed treat.” I turn around in my seat to face him, giggling at his words of praise. I greedily drink them in as I loop my arms around his waist.

“Beautiful?” I seek more of his validation, a deepening blush rising on my cheeks as I parrot back his compliment.

He takes a small section of my hair and gently guides his hand to his face, kissing the soft locks in his possession. He hums to me, “Beautiful, bewitching, alluring… You’re every synonym and every iteration of the word, babe. You define beautiful, you’re the very embodiment of it. That word was created because of you—if I were to look under the definition of it, your name would be there.”

My smile grows wider and my cheeks start to hurt from the action, resulted by the constant influx of euphoria that the blonde never fails to provide me. Whether from being drunk on the male’s compliments or shyness, the color red has made its permanent residence onto my cheeks.

He lets go of my hair and gently cups his large hands on either side of my face, angling it up towards his taller figure.

“Pretty.” He quietly utters to my skin, kissing my forehead.

“Gorgeous.” A kiss to my nose this time.

“Irresistible.” A kiss to my left cheek.

“Ravishing.” A firmer kiss to my right cheek with a playful growl, melodic laughter gets pulled out of me.

“Lovely.” He says much softer this time, watching me with gentle eyes. He keeps his devoted gaze onto my visage, his thumb lightly goes over my lips once. “Everything a guy could ever ask for in a person. Everything that I could ever want in life. If I could have one wish, it’d be you.”

My eyes flicker between bright azure orbs, the air between us charged. Before I can say anything, the sound of muffled yelling from my brother’s room startles us. I hastily look away embarrassed, the moment between us broken.

“Can I make you pretty, too?” I flash him a toothy grin and he playfully rolls his eyes, seeking refuge onto my bed. That’s all the answer I need before I push at his shoulders to guide his back down before I settle myself onto his lower stomach, giggling with an eyeshadow palette in one hand and a makeup brush in the other.

Washing flecks of glittery white over his eyelids, I bring my face closer to his and take the time to study the teen under me while his eyes are closed. His slender hands find purchase at my hips and I find myself mesmerized at the mini constellations that adorn his handsome face. Albeit not many, every freckle looks like a tiny star, accentuating the blonde’s mesmerizing features.

I lean in closer to get a better look as I carefully paint a streak of black, a steady hand making a line. I inspect my latest stroke when his hand gently grabs the wrist of the hand I have hovering over his face, the same one holding my eyeliner brush. His eyes slowly open as to not disturb my art, our faces close to one another. Kenny showcases his boyish smile, flashing me with deep dimples at the lack of space between us and my eyes inadvertently lower, seeking plush lips.

“Haven’t you noticed that yeah, the boys are overprotective over you. But when it comes to Kenny and Craig, it’s different?”

Fuck.

#south park #south park x reader #craig tucker x reader #kenny mccormick #craig tucker #south park fanfiction #kenny mccormick x reader #lalawrites

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

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Master Posts Links

All the dabbles I have posted on my DC x DP account. Under a read more due to how long it is. Broken into three categories:

Multi-parts - Dabbles that have more than one part written.

One-shots- Dabbles with only one part written.

Requests- Dabbles written for the requests of readers. (Note: If a request is for a continuation of the other two categories, they will be filed in Milti-parts)

Master Post 1 Link

Master Post 2 Link

Please read the indexes to determine which master post each au is filed in.

As of 02/10/2024: The newest stuff is inside of Master Post 2. If there are many parts from Master Post 1, they will remain on that one.

MASTER POST 1 INDEX:

Multi-parts:

The Royal Consort,

The Bakery is a Front!...right?,

Child Support

Alfred's Boy

The Adoptive Son

Phantom's Number 1 fan

Passion for Fashion

Danny and The Fan Blog

Congratulations! It's Triplets!:

Ghost King Summon dare

The Dauntless Matchmaker

One-shots:

The Assistant

The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Legal Compensation

Love Among Fans

Lex Luther's Youngest

Misplace Baby:

The Infinite Realms Hobby Store:

Obsession Runs in the Family

Farm Hand

Vague Threats

Game of Deadly Love

Retired-Rouge

The Real Blood Son

The Kid of Candles

Magic Older Brother

Keep The God Kid Busy!

Dog walker

Clockwork's Cookbook

Respawn and Relive

The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King

Finders Keeper

What's the rule again?

The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Big Fish in Gotham Pond:

Immunity system:

Wrong Number:

Timeline Prevention Squad

Requests

The Masters are Aliens

Ghost Zone Read

Red Hood's Snow

Jason Sees Dead People

Ghost Dad

Wayne Manor Ghost

The Siren of Iceberg Lounge

Single Dad

The Orginal

The Ghost King's Fibs

Red ParentHood

Woo thy Butler, My Lord

Jason's Doll

Cass the Halfa

Double Vision

Dealeyed Soulmates

Rescue Mission

Danny's Online Persona

Practice makes perfect

Alley Boyfriends:

Demon and Angel Brat:

MASTER POST 2 INDEX:

Multi-Parts

Cave Boy

Cass the Halfa

Danny's Grill

Freelance Inventor

The Audit

One-Shots

Red Yummy

It's all Fun and Games Kids!

Professional Protector of Love

The Backroads

In 30 Minutes or less

One hell of a good bellhop

Mr. Flavor

Danny Fenton's Ex

Corporate Rivals

Requests

Why Ten?

Batman with a gun's lover

IRS's boogie man

Super Robin

Dear Elder Brother's mistakes

The Undead Florist

Pit's Merman

Dullahan is my roomate

Cluster of Cores

#dcxdpdabbles #Master Post Links #Master Post index #Mun speaks

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syneilesis · 8 months

Text

[fic] Where Does Such Tenderness Come From

Where Does Such Tenderness Come From

Ikemen Prince | Clavis Lelouch x f!Reader | G | 6.7k words ao3 link

In another universe, you were Belle, and you fell in love with a prince. And nothing came of it.

A/N: For @violettduchess's One Suitor, One Prompt event! This is a canon alternate universe where Emma had never been Belle and it's reader-chan who became one. It's understandably canon divergence, and everything is slightly nicer in this AU.

I did not expect this fic to be long! It's my first time writing him as the central character in a serious (?) fic, so I don't know if I got him right (it's AU anyway >.>). I've proofread this twice, so any mistakes and inconsistencies that survived is still my fault lol.

Title is from a Marina Tsvetaeva poem. Hope you enjoy! :)

prologue

Sariel observes you as you lay out your arguments for your choice as the next king. He makes no reaction to anything you say—a veritable politician in your eyes. When you finish, he hums, and nods to himself, a small smile creeping in.

“Excellent,” he says, “I knew that I did not make a mistake in choosing you as Belle.”

“I did my best,” you demur.

Outside the chamber, the halls are empty except next to the door, where Prince Chevalier is leaning against the wall, head in repose. He opens his eyes upon your appearance, his gaze cutting in its severity.

He says: “It is done.”

“Yes. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Hmph.” He moves to enter the chamber—most likely to speak with Sariel—but as he passes you, he adds: “Do not forget that you’re indebted to me. I will collect it soon.”

A smile finds its way to your face, the muscles of your cheeks heavy with amusement and apprehension in equal measure. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The title is ignored and he strides away, leaving you alone in the hallway, leading to where your old life awaits you.

You take the first step, then another—and another—and another. To your right, the tall windows glow with the morning shimmer of the palace gardens. And then you think to yourself, you’re going to miss the palace, Sariel, and even the princes. Especially—

No. That’s a dangerous thought. You suppose it’s all for the best. It’s impossible from the beginning anyway.

King Chevalier tells him one day: “A newly formed group of merchants near the Rhodolite-Benitoite border has been engaging in potentially treasonous activities. Investigate it.”

Words of challenge sear his tongue, but Clavis swallows them down like all other instances in the past, opting to plaster an obnoxious grin on his face, teeth almost grinding against each other.

“Oh? And where did you get that information? Surely that little intelligence should have gone over to me before it could reach you. Your dear little fool of a brother no longer trustworthy? How shocking.” The last two sentences are punctuated with the unpleasant grit of sarcasm, but Clavis makes sure that his sentiment is known.

Of course, Chevalier swats the jab away. “Don’t be absurd. Why do you think I’m sending you there?”

There’s an abrupt collapse of everything Clavis has put up in front of his elder brother, and for the first few seconds he just stands there, staring. Chevalier rolls his eyes as if the exchange pains him, as if Clavis is slow on the uptake, which starts him up again, filing this detail for later inspection. For now there are much more pressing matters.

“When will you send me away?” When Chevalier levels him a look due to his wording, Clavis just shrugs, the twitch on the corners of his lips noticeable.

“Tonight.”

“Eager to get rid of me?” Clavis laughs. Then he says, “Of course, of course, as you wish, Your Grumpy Majesty.”

He leaves the office without a glance behind, tamping down the desire for another bout of petty comeback.

◈

Towns situated near kingdom borders always adopt a mixture of its local culture and its neighboring one. The one Clavis visits, while still filled with gardens of the nation’s trademark roses, has the colors and splendor of Benitoite. Because it's the kingdom known for its trade and soft power, budding merchants gather in towns like these to try their luck at trade, and the goods they acquire become part of the local scene. Clavis reminds himself to peruse the current supply of medical ingredients later.

A few minutes’ walk outside the town lies a mansion, considered as one of the sites for social gathering and negotiation of goods. Years ago, a wealthy merchant retired to the then-abandoned mansion and opened its doors for anything market-related. Since then, it has also been used as temporary residence for traveling merchants and trade diplomats.

Clavis is dressed more modestly than usual, but continues to be recognizable to those who know of him. Cyran trails after him at a distance, slower in pace and more alert in observation. Today is reconnaissance—the need for action remains to be seen, but Clavis insists on bringing his sword as both precaution and identification.

As the mansion entrance becomes sharper with proximity, the doors burst open and out comes the person Clavis least expects to see here and now and in the foreseeable future.

You freeze mid-step, eyes bulging in shock at seeing Clavis. Needless to say, the feeling is mutual.

“You—” a storm passes your face, before you remember who you’re talking to “—r Highness.”

It takes him longer to say something, but the glee that lights up inside him makes up for it. “Dear dear dear oh dear, what have we here?”

Underneath the glee: something tender, a twist in his chest that refuses to leave, however dull, beating in sync with his heart.

interlude

Just a few more days left before you decide on a new king. You had a vague idea of who you'd pick; you just needed a last-minute interaction to cement your decision. This was one of the things that you took pride in. At first, hearing Sariel's pronouncement that you'd become the next Belle had been such a surreal experience that you weren't sure if you were just being pranked by your mischievous neighbors. But now, with your notes and your newfound knowledge and the friendships that you'd made during your time in the palace, you're certain that you were going to finish your tenure with ironclad conviction.

You entered your room, humming to yourself. And that humming escalated into a shriek when you found Clavis perched on your bed, his troublemaker smile present.

“Good evening, my lovely partner-in-crime.”

“Not a good evening—you almost gave me a heart attack!”

Clavis laughed—that eventually petered off to nothing. You sensed the shift in mood, and you followed, closing the distance and sitting next to him.

“Did something happen?”

An upward tug of his lips. “What did you think happened?”

“I don't know—you tell me.”

“Oh, my dear partner-in-crime,” he said, singsong, “is that worry I hear in your tone?”

Normally you'd deny it. Perhaps it's because of the approaching day of your decision—it made you feel sentimental and a little more honest—that you told him, “Yeah—actually, yes. I am worried.”

It was worth it for his surprised blink.

You grabbed the opportunity to tease. “What—you're gonna miss me after all this?”

He didn't answer right away, his wide-eyed expression prolonged in the pulsing quietness of the room. Then he recovered, and said with frankness, “You know it, don't you.”

“I'm sorry?”

He shuffled, the rustle of the blankets loud, until his body faced towards you completely. “There's something between us, you can feel it. I can certainly feel it. So why not act on it?” He leaned forward, closer; his scent strong from this lack of distance, and you could almost feel the puffs of his breath.

The sharpness of your inhale sliced through the ensuing silence.

He wasn’t wrong. The burgeoning feelings you harbored for him surfaced in your awareness on the day of your accidental kiss. Try as you might to crumple it into a ball and tuck it away behind you—out of sight, out of mind—things didn’t always end up how you planned for. Love was a tricky thing to maneuver, and it wasn't for long that you gave up denying it—at least to yourself—and cradled it to your bosom, regardless of whether he knew or not.

But accepting the feelings for yourself was vastly different from acting upon it and accepting the consequences.

And that was what you weren't ready to accept.

“Let's say you're right,” you began, slowly and carefully, “what then? What would happen if we acted on it?”

“Then we get what we both want.”

The inside of your mouth tasted bitter.

“What do we want?”

And in the space that followed, there was only the echoes of breath—and the glassy, shuttered countenance of a prince who was unable to answer a simple question.

“Oh, Clavis,” you whispered, leaning away. “I'm sorry, but I think it's better for us if we pretend this never happened.”

You expected a protest, a challenge, a sly taunt that would turn your decision around. But there was only a wistful gaze; lips parted halfway, an aborted response.

Only silence.

And that—that was something you were willing to accept.

“Isn’t there something in the contract that says once I’m done with being Belle, I’d never see all of you again?”

You’re looking at Cyran but the question is aimed at him. You’re probably rigidly following the clauses of the Belle contract like an unquestioning soldier, but the desire to cup your face and turn it to his direction bubbles up inside Clavis.

He immediately stomps that part of him. You’ve made your thoughts clear to him before you went home, and a gentleman respects a lady’s wishes, no matter his personal feelings. But here, right now, the way the surroundings frame your form, the bag of tools hanging over your arm, a roll of fabric on the other …

It’s—well.

Beside him Cyran shifts, obviously uncomfortable despite trying to hide it.

“You know, my lady,” he starts. Glances surreptitiously at Clavis. “Did you know that the pri—”

Clavis cuts him off. “Clause 99 only applies to the chosen king. And you chose my dear, beloved older brother for that.” He feels his mouth stretch into a strange smile. “Having second thoughts?”

Finally, your gaze snaps to him. It tastes like victory.

“Of course not!” you say, tightening your hold on your things. “I’m proud of my choice and I don’t regret it. I trust King Chevalier to bring prosperity and security to our kingdom.”

And that victory decays into something ugly, spoiling his expression—the twitch of his cheek, the dip of his eyebrows. You must’ve noticed it, because something flashed in your own expression, like a trap activating. It calcifies your posture into stone.

Cyran feels the shift in the air, and he frantically salvages the mood. “In any case, Prince Clavis is here for a reason, but we didn’t expect you to be here as well. What are you doing here, my lady?”

And in a blink the caution is gone. Your face smoothens into that familiar, friendly shine. Clavis swallows the sourness that has pooled inside his mouth.

“Me?” you say, genuinely confused. “I’m here for work.”

There’s a prolonged silence after, in which Clavis and Cyran feel compelled to look at each other in surprise. But an idea sprouts inside Clavis’s scheming head, and the smile he adorns this time is wild and delighted. It doesn’t escape your notice, because you take a step back out of suspicion, having known him long enough to recognize the signs.

“No,” you say, unprompted. “No. No.”

“What are you talking about?” Clavis says, cheerful. “I didn’t ask anything.”

“I know that look. And my answer is no.”

He takes a step forward. “Even if I asked nicely?”

You take another step back. “No.”

Another step forward. “Even if I beg?”

The step falters. Clavis narrows his eyes like a predator gaining on prey. Almost there. “C-Clavis, no …”

Clavis. Another push. “Even if I tell you that the fate of Rhodolite rests upon this assignment, and that I need you for it?”

A complicated look descends on your face, and Clavis forgets to breathe, waiting for your response. He clocks in the moment you give in, and his hand twitches to touch your lips, tracing the shape of your words.

“All right … All right. What do I need to do?”

He doesn’t raise his hand, doesn’t touch you, your lips, but it overwhelms him like floodwater.

interlude

The books that Emma sent you were heavy on your arms, but you strived to carry them all the way to the library. This was important—a gamble, yes, but crucial to your bet with Nokto. The prince's cooperation was the key, and you're determined to win.

Suddenly, the books became lighter.

“How is my lovely partner-in-crime doing on this lovely day?”

“I am not your partner-in-crime,” you said. Clavis hovered, half of the books appearing on his arms. They seemed as light as feathers when he carried them.

“Oh?” he said in that way of his—a crescendo, like it was a challenge. “The way you hung over me last night, ardently pouring Sariel's liquor at the pond says otherwise.”

“I needed to get my message across to Sariel. Else he'd subject me to suffering again.”

Clavis laughed, as if your suffering was amusing. Then he studied the book cover. “Donating some books?”

“Not exactly,” you said, almost absent-minded. “I'm going to give it to Prince Chevalier. He mentioned before that he was interested in reading some foreign books on political economy, so I pulled some strings to acquire these. I don't know how he'd manage to read them if he wasn't fluent in—”

You stopped. The second set of footsteps were absent.

Several paces behind stood Clavis, unmoving, just watching you with an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“Prince Clavis?”

He tilted his head, his brows in knots. The line of his mouth pulled down in an angry moue.

“You're doing this for my brother?”

“Um, yes?”

He frowned as if he couldn't understand. “Why?”

“Um, because?” It wasn't like you could tell him of your bet with Nokto; that would invite rumors, unpleasant ones, and Clavis was already a troublemaker enough on his own. You didn't want to fend off another set of stressors. You'd just gotten the hang of entertaining this particular prince.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Then—you weren't sure—you heard a click of his tongue before Clavis was back to his usual troublemaking self. But somehow, his smirk seemed to curve askew.

“Well, then!” he said, loud and cheerful. “Let's visit my very intelligent brother together, shall we?”

The merchants buy their story: the palace commissioned you to make uniforms a month before Rhodolite declared her new king. Palace Minister Sariel was so impressed by your work that some princes had noticed—one of whom was Prince Clavis, who consequently requested you to design him a coat.

“It’s displayed in my room, at a corner where I can easily see it and admire its details,” Clavis says with a fond smile, while you gawk at him like he’s weird. The important thing is that the merchants are lapping it up, eyes sparkling with the revelation that their decision to hire you was right, and the opportunity to sidle closer to a prince who’s directly connected to the king. This allows you to stay a few days longer in the town, work longer in the mansion with him as your current client—and that affords you to become his eyes and ears at the places he and Cyran can’t reach.

“I feel underqualified for this,” you tell him later, after the introductions and the meeting that proceeded next.

“Nonsense! You were splendid when you were Belle,” Clavis assures, and that may be a genuine sentiment, but the way it’s conveyed has you glaring at him. “Even now I am grateful that you thoughtfully offered yourself to personally deliver my gift to Chev.”

As expected: you pale at the memory. “I didn’t know you were trying to poison him! I didn’t know you suck at cooking! You weren’t there when I opened the cover and he saw what’s inside! I did not sleep for days!”

Clavis sniffs, and then brings a hand up to wipe away an imaginary tear. “So, so thoughtful.”

And then you pause in reminiscence. Whatever you remember, it has you dedicating your whole attention to him, and Clavis preens under it.

“You know, now that I think about it …” you begin, and the knowing tone you adopt warns Clavis into caution. “Prince Chevalier did eat your cooking …”

Clavis stumbles. “What?”

He must’ve heard wrong. Or you’re pulling his leg. There’s no way Chevalier would indulge him this way—crossing swords, yes, but others? That brother of his would rather march alone into a battlefield to face an army than cater to someone—anyone, at all.

“He took a bite of your dish, scowled, and tried to murder me with his eyes.”

But he doesn’t hear your words; he’s still arrested by the news that Chevalier did, indeed, eat his cooking. And you catch him frozen in shock, because your demeanor melts into something softer.

“Your Highness,” you say, “let’s prepare for step one of our plan, yes?”

Clavis knows what you’re doing, but right now, he has no other choice but to accept your offer of reprieve, so he says, “You’re very diligent for someone who complained earlier, aren’t you?”

You only smile in response.

interlude

Going to his room was always an exercise in courage; going inside, however, stupidity. But Clavis had overtaken you on the way to the library and handed you a tray of food, said, Breakfast for our dear Chevalier; he wanted to eat and our people are too busy to deliver the meal to him. Why don't you do the honor of bringing it to his room?

And now you're in front of his bedroom door, trembling hand poised to knock when it opened on its own and out came the man himself.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

Chevalier took one look at the tray you're holding and your nervous smile and he sighed, as if expecting something like this to happen. But he didn't say anything; just stepped to the side and—surprise, surprise!—let you in.

“Thank you so much.”

You placed the tray on a clean table and waited for him to sit. The silver cover reflected his skeptical face and you began to explain, partly to appease him, partly to fill the tense silence in the room.

“Right. I was told that you asked for breakfast and there was no one available to bring it to you, so Prince Clavis—”

“Hah.”

“—Prince Clavis asked me to do it. And here you are, Your Highness.” You reached for the handle to remove the cover. “Your breakfast. Please enjoy.”

The tense silence graduated into frigid after the reveal, and you squirmed at his icy expression. When you followed his gaze, you blanched.

“Oh my god.”

You should have known. You should have known. The fact that it was Clavis who asked you for that favor should have clued you in, but his smile was pretty at the time, especially when the sunlight that sneaked through the window hit his face in a way that highlighted his amused eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” you stammered, trying to salvage the situation. Chevalier was watching you now with murder in his eyes, and you almost dropped the metal cover. “I-I'll return this right away—pleasedon'tkillme.”

Your limbs locked when you heard him sigh, and a gloved hand reached for the spoon and in your head you chanted no no no but only watched, morbidly fascinated, when Chevalier took a spoonful and brought the abomination to his mouth.

Your jaw dropped.

As he chewed, Chevalier locked eyes with you—a taunt, a warning, a threat—and you gulped and tried your best to be one with the floor.

He swallowed the objectionable thing, which made him even more invincible in your eyes, and took the cover from you. Without breaking eye contact, he set the cover back on the plate and said, “Get out.”

You'd never followed an order so willingly in your life. “Yessir!”

In the mansion’s backyard, there’s a large fountain that stopped working months ago. It’s huge enough that a couple of people can take a soak. While the mechanism for the pump is no longer usable, the caretaker still fills the reservoir with water, and during the afternoons when the sun is high up, the water sparkles gold, a cluster of shiny waves that steals the attention.

On the third day of his stay in the mansion, Clavis meets you by the fountain for a report. It’s a few hours before noon, clouds aloft beneath the vivid blue sky.

“Any progress?”

Your brows knit in thought. “I think so. I don’t know if this is helpful or just a false lead …”

“Let’s hear it anyway.”

As you relay your findings, Clavis glances back at the mansion. Even from where he stands, he can see a couple of silhouettes behind the second-storey windows. Merchants who still doubt his intentions, perhaps; who want to watch his every move.

Suddenly, a plan develops in his mind.

He takes a step forward. Another. And another. Until the tips of his shoes touch yours. You're watching him move closer and closer, this time not retreating, which gives him hope. He dips his head next to your ear, mindful of the witnesses inside the mansion, and whispers:

“Do you want to play a game?”

“No,” you whisper back, but the fraction-tilt of your head intimates that you understand his intention. In the corner of his vision, he sees you dart your gaze at the building. You're too quick for your own good.

“That's too bad; it's going to be a fun game.”

“Not when you're too close to me.”

Clavis immediately steps backward. Grins at you, while you only continue to observe him warily.

“You didn't have to move close.”

“But isn't that part of the fun? And besides, we are already playing the game right now.”

“Then why ask me if I wanted to play?”

“I always ask first, you know.”

“Not always.”

“Those that count, then.”

“Fine, I'll play the game,” you say, fixing your posture as if bracing yourself. As if Clavis is an opponent you're determined to win against—which is kind of cute. “Cyran did say something like pretending as part of the plan …”

“Cyran told you that?” He feels an eyebrow twitch. “Well, now, isn’t that unfair.”

“I already said I'll play. I'll do it, come on. I'm ready. I know they're watching right now. Give me your best shot.”

And Clavis laughs. The entire conversation, he didn't miss the fleeting way your gaze drops to his lips, as if remembering a memory that still lays vivid in his mind. It's almost a confirmation, but Clavis knows where you both stand with each other—except despite his want to stay behind the line that you drew for each other, the desire to cross that threshold lingers like an insistent tug.

He steps forward again. And again. And again until again the warmth of your body mingles with his own. His fingers hover on your temple, brush against a stray lock of your hair, insert it behind your ear. His eyes track yours, how they go from point to another point of his face—eyes to nose to cheeks to beauty mark to, finally, lips.

“I'm a gentleman,” he begins, and your gaze snaps back to his, “so I have to ask again: are you playing this game with me?”

It stretches—your gazes at each other. It stretches and lingers and sighs at the stillness of the moment. You swallow, a short-lived dilemma, and then nod, a small one that Clavis catches nonetheless.

“Then—” He angles his head in the most optimal way that their spectators in the mansion could see and brings his lips to yours.

It's just a press, soft and light—definitely longer than the first time your mouths brushed, once upon a time. His half-mast eyes drawing closed, missing the way yours flutter before shutting tight. But the way you press back is apparent, and Clavis knows, down to the marrow of his bones, that you want this too. That you've always wanted this—whatever this is between you. It doesn't matter how vehement and how often your denial is of your feelings; you always look back when you walk away.

He doesn't pry open your lips (that's for another time), but he does sigh at the feeling, the warm pressure that comes from your body almost touching his, the way your hands slowly and hesitantly come up to his chest and clutch at his lapels. His own hand tightens on the back of your head, the other settles on your waist.

It feels like a lifetime—an infinite thread between then and now—before you part, hands still clinging to where they are. You look at Clavis and a sigh escapes you; the nerves on his hands alight with something that could alter the rest of your stay.

“Clavis—”

He lets go of you and retreats, zooming onto the windows of the mansion. Figureless glass, closed curtains. They've seen what he wants them to see. It's up to Cyran to fan those flames further.

“They fell for it,” he says. When he returns to you, you're looking at him with a peculiar expression, and Clavis wants to kiss you again.

He doesn't. Instead he claps his hands, smirks, and says, “Now, we'll move on to the best part of the plan.”

interlude

It happened so quickly you wondered whether it happened at all.

You and Yves were in a heated discussion about pastries, with you extolling the sublime virtues of pouring chocolate over croissants and Yves arguing for more adventurous baking recipes, such as tea-flavored cake. You were both so involved in the conversation that you missed the very obvious pitfall trap in your path.

“And one other thing about this cake—”

Yves never got to make his point because his next step landed on nothing but air.

His scream pulled you back into alertness, and you would've fallen too, had it not been for a hand that grabbed your wrist and tugged you out of the way.

“What—” Your body was dragged into another body, and you whirled around—and your lips touched something like another set of lips—

—before you jerked yourself away, searching for the source.

Clavis stood in front of you, slightly in a daze.

But just as you were to call his name, Yves's voice startled you out of your next move.

“Prince Yves! Hang on, I'll get you out of there!”

When you turned back, Clavis was gone. It was an odd thing; you knew that he'd brag about his trap and laugh at your gullibility, but he prevented you from falling and in that sequence of events you accidentally kissed him.

It was so quick that you might have just imagined it. His reaction, however, was anything but.

Turns out, Chevalier is right: half of the merchants who've gathered in the mansion throbbed with the desire to stage a rebellion. They'd been committed in recruiting people to their cause, convincing them that royalty should no longer hold the power and instead it's the merchants who should. In their hubris, they'd approached Clavis with the intention to pull him into their side, after seeing him kiss you by the fountain. With that image alone the merchants had concocted to themselves the elaborate story of a royal and a commoner falling in love and being unable to stay together because of the differences in status. They'd talked to Clavis, asked about you and his sentiments, complimented his affections, sweet-talked their way into his good graces—At this current state, it is an act looked down upon for a prince to marry a commoner girl, and we sympathize, we really do, so we wanted to change the tradition, we're in talks with Benitoite and Obsidian right now and—and thought to themselves that they'd truly caught a big fish in him.

When Chevalier strides into the path that leads to the mansion, a number of soldiers marching behind him, it's you who notices first. That dampens Clavis's mood somewhat, but he has momentarily forgotten that someone with a great sense of responsibility like you would not greet the king; rather, you retreat further into the mansion, backing yourself into an empty room on the third floor, waiting until the king finishes his business.

“Clause 99 is a downer, huh.” Clavis leans against the doorframe, watching you organize your luggage.

You don't glance at him when you answer, so you have no idea of the expressions that flit through Clavis's face as you speak. “I suppose. The king has become a good friend during the time I was Belle, and now I can no longer meet him again—it's sad.”

“Friend?” The word and its association with his brother sound like a ridiculous combination. “You're friends with Chevalier?”

You jerk and look up at him, surprised. “Yes? I'd like to think that we get along. Is that so hard to believe?”

“You're not ... in love with him?” Sometimes, he’s led to believe that he’s in a scandalous love triangle—your heart torn between a callous beast and a dashing, charismatic villain. It’s the kind of love story that will stir Rhodolitians for years.

You look indignant even at the suggestion. “Of course not! Where in the world did you get that idea?!”

“You were very close with him during that one month, you can't blame anyone for thinking that you two are involved.”

“I don't like him that way! God. I just supply him foreign books every now and then. I know somebody who works at a bookstore and who could get almost any kind of book.”

This is turning out to be a lovely story. “So you were bribing him.”

The look you give him is baleful. “Not bribe—just encouragement.”

He can't help it—Clavis laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until you throw a sock at him. He catches it easily, and he laughs again.

“That's so cute,” he says, wiping tears off his eyes, “dear Chev getting bribes! Books! Of course.”

From where you sit, you grumble.

There's a lull in the moment where you study him, something bright in your eyes that compels him to repeat the words he said to you months ago, in that palace room that once housed you, your scattered notes and your cloths and your sewing tools spread across the bed. The words that slice him open and uproot the foundations of his self. In this lull of a moment, with your clear gaze and your soft expression, Clavis finds his courage once again, and he opens his mouth to say—

“Your Highness, the king has called for your presence.”

The moment passes.

Clavis swallows the words and directs his attention to Cyran, who’s boggled at the thick, tense air in the room. He decides to concentrate on Clavis, who is struck with the longing to send Cyran on a wild goose chase. But he doesn't give in to the urge.

“Goodness, the king doesn't like to wait, does he?” he says amicably, smiling at Cyran, who continues to grow confused. Clavis doesn't move from his place. “It's almost as if he wants to separate me and Belle like a villain in a tragic novel. I should be the villain, you know.”

“Prince Clavis?”

Clavis sighs theatrically.

Then your voice, quiet and decisive—and Clavis has a feeling about the words that will come out from your lips.

“Clavis. You should go.”

He stares at you, all dramatics gone.

“Should I?”

Your luggage has already been organized since a few minutes ago, but you pretend to arrange it still, just to have your hands occupied with something.

“Yes,” you say to your clothes, and it's silent after that. Once or twice: the sound of Cyran's boots tapping.

“Then this is goodbye.”

“Yes.”

One more time. One more time. He waits.

Nothing.

He's not surprised, but it's disappointing all the same.

“Goodbye, then.”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

He leaves the mansion without looking back.

◈

Chevalier orders Clavis to ride the carriage with him and give his report during the journey back to the palace. He follows with a fanfare that he's sure Chevalier will find annoying, but will just grit his teeth and bear the noise. Clavis injects all the ludicrous embellishments he can insert because he can, and because he knows Chevalier's already informed of the details, regardless of whether Clavis tells him the truth or not.

He tries a different tack.

“I do wonder how our former Belle found herself working in that mansion, though.” He observes his brother for any infinitesimal reaction, and all he gets is a set of closed eyes opening, an unimpressed glare beneath those eyelids.

Clavis has a feeling that Chevalier was involved in that little surprise, but he doesn't know how and why.

“The little cub has a debt, and she has finally paid her dues.”

His hands curl into fists. And he stomps the treasonous desire to unsheathe his sword and point it at the king.

“And what debt is that?”

“None of your concern,” Chevalier replies breezily, unperturbed about the growing animosity that crackles in the air.

“Really, dear brother? How cruel of you.” He lets out a frustrated exhale. “That's nothing new, though.”

Chevalier only snorts at that and nothing else.

When they reach the palace, the soldiers line up to greet the arrival of the king, and Clavis spies Sariel emerge from the main doors, his tongue clicking in reflex. Chevalier doesn't wait for Clavis and goes straight to the palace minister presumably to talk about the recent arrests. He's about to sneak out when Sariel's greeting catches him.

“Welcome back, hellcat,” Sariel says, his tone ambiguous enough to interpret his words as disappointed.

Clavis gives him his most infuriating grin. “Missed me?”

“We'll continue this at my office,” Chevalier cuts in, already heading inside, his cloak whipping in time with his movement.

“Well?” Clavis says later, when he and Chevalier are back in the office, with the familiar documents and books and pens. The smell of ink and paper permeate the whole room.

Chevalier doesn't let him breathe before saying, “I'm assigning you to root out any potential rebels here.” He points to the capital city on the map.

Clavis almost throws the documents he's holding in Chevalier's direction.

“Care to elaborate?”

Behind the king, sunlight filters through the windows. It's late afternoon, so the shade of light has warmer and richer hues that paint Chevalier's silhouette into something more welcoming. Kinder.

Clavis almost gags.

“Merchants are not the only ones to harbor such thoughts about royalty. We constantly monitor the activities of nobles, but hidden among the common people are spies that could spread provocative notions. Just because we're stable at present does not mean that Obsidian will let things as they are.”

A point that he grudgingly accepts, but the question still remains:

“Is this my punishment for all the times I put spikes on your bed?” To have such an elementary mission—it feels like Chevalier's insulting him. And doing a great job at it.

“Fool of a brother,” Chevalier says, and presses his cheek against his waiting hand. His look can be interpreted as fondly exasperated. “What does it mean to spend more time in the city? I will not spell it out for you.”

It takes Clavis exactly twenty seconds for the implications to set in, and he shoots a disbelieving glare at Chevalier, who's back to his documents and is no longer acknowledging his existence.

So he tells him, “I hate how I'm beginning to understand you.”

“Thank the little cub for that.”

epilogue

In between commissions, you take a walk at the square, strolling around and admiring the always-lively people of Rhodolite. Times like this you miss Emma—the person you owe the most in your life. She's happily married to someone from Benitoite, and based on the letters she's sent you, she's having the time of her life there. When you're not too busy at work, one of her letters says, come visit me here! I miss you!

You try hard at planning for an extended trip, and Emma has promised to have all expenses paid—which is a nice thing to hear, all things considered.

You stop by the fountain, and as you gaze at it you're reminded of the fountain at the mansion near the Rhodolite-Benitoite border. The sky was clear during that time, still waters shimmering under the bright sun. How it illuminated the parts of Clavis that’s adjacent to the fountain like an inchoate halo.

You're reminded of the fountain, but you remember like a solid, sturdy thing, the memory of your kiss. The way you tried to deny him—resisted him until the last moment, when you thought to yourself, This is my last opportunity, at the very least let me take it.

The water doesn't reflect you sharply in this fountain as the one in the border, but you can still make out the longing in your eyes, the downward curve of your lips. It ripples due to a child throwing a coin into it, and you watch the way the child runs back to her mother, before returning to the reflection and discovering someone else next to you.

Clavis grins in the reflection.

“Your Highness!” you start, placing distance between you, which he decimates by taking another step your way.

“Oh my goodness—fountain inviting fond memories?” he says, goading.

“Shouldn't you be busy doing prince things?” you prevaricate, continuing to back away, and him continuing to move forward.

“'Prince things'? What a way to describe the role of royalty,” he comments, ignoring how you're readying yourself to run. “If you must know, I'm on duty today.”

You're almost close to an alley. “On duty? For what?”

“That's classified.” He's alit with glee saying that. “Why would a non-royal need to know top-secret information?”

“I don't know? Why are you talking to me when you could continue on your top-secret duty?”

It doesn't make any sense. You've already said your goodbyes in the mansion, and that was supposed to be the end of it. You went home biting your lip, suppressing your tears from bursting out of you. You've already accepted your prince-less life the moment you stepped out of the throne room, your signature fresh in that parchment that declared the next king of Rhodolite. Once, Chevalier had given you grace, and in time you've dutifully paid your debt. And in that act he gave you another: a final opportunity of committing Clavis into memory.

Clavis seems to read your thoughts, because he quirks his lips and takes your hand and raises them between you, entwines his fingers with yours.

“Why not?” he says, and you want to shake him. “Why do you run away?”

“Because—” you stammer, and Clavis takes this chance to tug you forward, bodies flushed against each other. You can feel his heartbeat racing, and it stops you from attempting to escape his hold.

His eyes are serious when you lift your head to look at his face. It's almost refreshing.

“I'm going to ask you again,” he murmurs; you can feel the rumbling of his chest as he speaks.

“And my answer will be the sa—”

“But is that what you really want?” he challenges. His free hand snakes around your waist, his grip firm and with conviction. “Is it truly that?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“A 'yes'.”

“No—”

“King's orders, you know.”

That makes you pause. Clavis smirks at your confusion, so he elaborates.

“My dear elder brother doing something right for once.” He grunts. “That is vile. I'll never say something like that again.”

“You're not being fair. Why don't you give up?”

“Oh, my dear partner-in-crime,” Clavis says, and the hand on your waist moves up. The other he brings near his lips. “It's always the difficult ones that I'm drawn to.”

You let his lips touch the back of your hand. When he moves it to his cheek and his gaze pierces yours and he gives you the most dazzling smile you've ever seen, your resolve crumbles.

“Okay,” you finally say. “Okay. You win.”

Clavis's joyous laughter fills the air before he kisses you.

#one suitor one prompt ccc #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince fic #ikepri fic #ikemen prince fanfic #ikepri fanfic #ikemen prince clavis #ikepri clavis #ikepri clavis fic #clavis lelouch #clavis lelouch x reader #fic #my fic

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seekfelt · 11 months

Text

4* Gemini Yachiyo Tsuruhime - Bond Stories

To die together, like Castor and Pollux... Isn't that what we should've been?

The True Esssence of Fear

Location: Siegfeld Rehearsal Room

Yachiyo: (Gemini is a constellation split in two. To express that, this costume has a black-and-white asymmetrical look... The lace and decor work to tie everything together.

That's what I was going for, at least! It'd honestly look better if the top was all-white.)

But two brothers, huh... I'm still not sure whether to play Castor or Pollux at all—)

Karen: WOAH, is that one of the Star Celebrate costumes???

Yachiyo: W—... Jeez, Karen-san!?!?

Karen: Heheheh! Surprised to see little ol' me? Shiori-chan told me you were near, so I thought I'd visit.

I knocked, but nobody answered, so I took a peek!

Yachiyo: That's not~... Why'd you come to Siegfeld?

Karen: What the what? I sent you a text, right??

I was all like, "Thanks for supervising my Taurus! I'd love to talk more about the constellations, so I'll be there!!"

Yachiyo: I didn't get... a text...?

Karen: Huh. HUH.

HUUUUUUUUUUUH????

I'm sorry!! I sent it to Hikari-chan by mistake!!!!!

I got a reply like, "I'll wait. No need to inform beforehand." and I came right here.. but...

Yachiyo: So your first instinct's to always text Hikari-san?

*giggle* That's so cute...! You two must be really good friends♪

Karen: I'm sooo sorry... Now I made Hikari-chan wait too... Maybe I should write up an apology...!?

Yachiyo: Do as you like~ I'm still checking over the costumes, so it'll be a short while before we get to discuss the constellations anyway.

[Some time later]

Karen: *sigh*... There's the metric ton of "Karen, you numbskull"...

Yachiyo: Done with my work♪ So, did Hikari-san forgive you?

Karen: Yup. She said she'll forgive me if I could withstand polishing my tiptoe—... my pointe technique!

Ugh... Hikari-chan's a harsh teacher, though, so! I'll have to prepare myself!!

Yachiyo: ...Sure is nice to feel that way.

Karen: Feel that way...? In what way?

Yachiyo: It's nice to feel supported by your loved ones, I mean!♪

Karen: Ohhh! That! I know right!? Makes me feel like I'm over the moon~!

Karen (Io): "That's why I, Taurus, would like to get a return on that favor.

Tell me the story of you twins, closer than anyone else."

Yachiyo: Aha... ha... Isn't it a bit sudden...

Karen: WDYM?

Yachiyo: Thing is... I'm still a bit unsure on how to play Gemini, so...

Karen: Oh, I see... Being asked to do an etude without a script's always a surprise!

Yachiyo: Exactly. "The constellations shining in the sky will lead you, shooting star, to tomorrow..."

Karen: Mhm! A story about us giving our most precious things, then leading the shooting star onto the next constellation!!

Yachiyo: This "most precious thing" business is a bit vague to me.

Based on the star sign, sure, but then it's up to the performer to choose... You feel?

Karen: Yeah...

Oh, I got it!! If you're having so much trouble, how about we try consulting Gemini directly?

Yachiyo: ...

Karen: Sooo from what I remember, the story of Gemini is—

Yachiyo: ....Originally based on two sons of Zeus, Castor and Pollux.

They were very close, but the elder Castor was only a mere mortal. Pollux, the younger, was blessed with the power of the gods, giving him immortality.

In battle, Castor loses his life...

Karen: WHAT?!?

Yachiyo: Lotsa twists and turns in this tale~ Then, in mourning, Pollux begged to his father Zeus:

Yachiyo (Pollux): "I implore you, deal me the same death as my dear brother. We were born together, so I plead to you, for us to die together as well—"

Yachiyo: Touched, Zeus took half of Pollux's divinity and ascended the brothers to the heavens... Theeeee end♪

Karen: O-Oh...

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Yachiyo: Ahahaha! A beautiful tale, is it not♪ The love between two brothers is super—

Karen: Y... Yachiyo-chan?

Yachiyo-chan... why are you crying?

Yachiyo: Huh...?

Even if Thousands of Years Were to Pass[1]

Yachiyo: I'm... crying...?

O-Oh!! I am!! Why the hell am I crying on my own... Ahaha, sorry, this is embarrassing~

Karen: Yachiyo-chan...

Yachiyo: Um. You see... I'm not really the type to discuss things like these with others... so I end up just monologuing.

There's another precious half of "me".

She'd stand on stage beside me when nobody would... Ever since I was a kid, she guided and protected my heart.

Karen: Just like me and Hikari-chan!!!

Yachiyo: Wow~ Do we really compare to such a lovely relationship?

But, yes, close enough... She was just that important to me, like she was the stage itself.

A lot's happened, though. Now she's watching me from the audience—

Karen: The audience... So she isn't with you on stage anymore?

Yachiyo: Yeah! I've made some great friends, and I've found the place where I belong, so she conceded "that" spot in my life to them.

But that's exactly why—I'm scared.

Karen: Scared?

Yachiyo: After staying with me all these years, I wonder how she looks at me now.

From the audience, she can see me. But when I'm on stage? It's so bright, I can't even see her... That's why I'm so scared.

Karen: ...

Yachiyo: Is it really okay for me to be the one enjoying these brilliant days?

For me to be surrounded by my friends? Clashing with them?

For me to be the only one moving on with my life?

To die together, like Castor and Pollux... Isn't that what we should've been?

I just can't help but worry... How does she view me now? Is she angry, perhaps—

Karen: YOU'RE FINE!!!!!!!

Yachiyo: Huh...?

Karen: You said she's like the stage itself for you, right? That must definitely 100% mean.... You're fine!!!!!

'Cuz I know Yachiyo-chan loves the stage VERY, VERY MUCH!!!!!

Yachiyo: Y-You're being pushy...

I'm just saying she might hate me now. If my "most precious" feels that way, I...

Karen (Io): "Let's hear it, then, Gemini... From the other you."

Yachiyo: !!

Karen (Io): "Your story, your way of life... Tell me this, and the 'most precious thing' born from it."

Yachiyo: ...I—

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???? (Castor): "You wanna know how I feel about my li'l bro? I'm MAD! He's being an idiot!"

Karen (Io): "Of course, that anger..."

???? (Castor): "I knew he wanted to die with me! I know!! But I wanted him to LIVE FOR ME!!"

Karen (Io): "*chuckle*... Just as I thought!"

???? (Castor): "He better get that in his thick little head, yeah? I know he can, worrying over me so damn much."

"But y'know... It cheers me up, seeing him look at me that way."

Karen (Io): "It does?"

???? (Castor): "Whenever that kid thinks of me, our hearts begin to form a harmony.

We are a pair of stars. Do you know the name of the radiance that unites two into one?"

Karen (Io): "This radiance... Could you tell me?"

???? (Castor): "*giggle* Yes! Of course, I'll tell you. Our most precious thing to give to the Shooting Star—"

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???? & Yachiyo (Castor & Pollux): "Its name... is love."

This is related to Yachiyo and Chitose's names. Yachiyo means "eternity" while Chitose means "a thousand years". The "chi" in both names is the 千 (thousand) in the title of the bond story.

#shoujo kageki revue starlight relive #starira #24;tsuruhime #1;aijou #????:chitose #HELLO.

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a-random-pillow · 1 year

Note

Many would like to know how the Hidden City turtles met April or Cassandra. However, I want to know how Leo met Hueso in your AU.

I'll start with our dear April since she has less backstory. She meets the turtles the day she meets Mayhem. By that I mean she gets poofed into Draxum's lab. Mayhem didn't mean to but the human had grabbed them, and they had been heading to Draxum's to 'spy' (Watch the family Drama). She recognizes Lou and proves herself in a fight against Big Mama's henchman while they are trying to return her topside. This happens when she is around 10.

Now for the Caseys, these poor babies. In this AU Cassandra is older by 1 1/2. It might not be that much time all things considered but she took her big sister role VERY SERIOUSLY.

In this AU there are kinda two foot clans, the normal foot lead by Shredder/Saki and the Mystic Foot lead by Lieutenant and Brute. They fled to the Hidden city after the Clan was destroyed and rebuild there, far from any pesty Hamatos. Brute and Lieutenant find out about the Dark Armour and start to plot but haven't done much yet.

Neither of the Spilnters know about the Dark Armour because the Dark Armour was keep a secret expect for the elders who would monitor to make sure no one started to rebuild it.

So how did Cassandra end up with the foot? At a young age 3-Year-Old Casey and 5-Year-Old Cassandra found a wayward portal to the hidden city. It was their favorite place to explore! Their parents didn't care where they were so nothing stopped them form spending days at a time there. After a year Brute finds Cassey, he mistakes her for a lost child. Casandra gets Casey to hide and he watches as the Brute takes her away.

He never returns to the Hidden City after that. When he is older he doubts he even had an older sister, their are no pictures of her and the Hidden City seemed so unreal. Even by his standards. He is sure it's just old Trauma merging with old Trauma, that's why the guy had a foot face.

During the series Cassandra is low-key looking for Casey because she was indoctrinated into believing the foot was good and wants her brother to be happy and badass with her. She tells Lieutenant and Brute who both are like 'shit' and help her look but after seeing how intertwined Casey is with the normal Foot they realize they can't pull him out without risking exposure. So they lie and say they can't find him, since if Cass realizes her baby brother is fighting the foot with a hockey stick she will probably destroy haft the city in the name of 'protecting' him.

Now Senior Hueso, tbh he would probably still run Run Of The Mill but with illusions magic to make it look normal, unless you are a regular. Most of the customers are people who believe that Humans, Yokai and Mutant can all live togther. Lou loves it since he doesn't get too many weird looks and Draxum tolerates it. They go there for family dinners regularly so Senior Hueso knows them well. He meet them when they were 5 and is pretty much their petty wine uncle. Draxum has added extra mystic security since he is hella paranoid about humans. Hueso also knew young Casey and Cass, he would give them free pizza and nearly adopted them.

I hope I answered your questions!

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i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper · 1 year

Text

The ball - Brienne of Tarth x Faerys

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Visual of Faerys

Master list

Prompt from here: 49: Your mistake was not in the hiding place. It was thinking you could hide from me in the first place.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2.322

"My lord, it is with great honor that I send this letter in hopes of your highness honoring my daughter and me with your presence on the island of Tarth. Purpose of which being a ball."

Selwyin of Tarth

The one who received the letter had no interest in travel yet didn't necessarily want to refuse the lord. So he called upon his older sister.

"Come on Faerys we can't flat out refuse them. Plus you are the better dancer between us." Her brother argued. "I am better dancer, but you know as well as I do brother mine that people wouldn't appreciate seeing two women dance." Older of the two spoke with amused voice and snarky smirk on her face, knowing this was Rhaegar's way of asking for forgiveness given he had been an ass past few days. "Oh, come on. We both know they wouldn't dare speak ill to or for that matter of you. Knowing my dear sister, she would knock them on their asses before they could even think of a bad thing. Plus who said anything about dancing with a woman?" He spoke his mind and did so with pride in his elder yet ending in teasing manner. Girl barked out a laugh. "You were so much more interesting when you were drinking milk instead of my blood and babbled gibberish instead of sound mind." Rhaegar laughed at her prods. "What can I say? I had good role model."

"You know dear brother mine that flattery will bring you nowhere, right?" Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders with arms in the air "Well it's worth a try, given the fact I saw you smile when I read the letter and asked you to go in my stead... I already presume you are willing to go but not without torturing me first." No way that she could miss the way his smirk shined when her face contorted in embarrassment. "You are an ass. You know that?" She spoke as she hugged him. "I will be departing as soon as I get my belongings ready, see you soon little one, do keep out of trouble my dear baby brother. I love you." Hug was reciprocated just as tightly, as her brother nodded. Usually he would chastise her how he isn't a kid anymore, but not now. Never when she is going on a trip, knowing very well that no matter what no one is hundred percent safe. "I love you too, be safe." Pulling back she smiled and nodded leaving him to get ready.

Travel to Tarth was peaceful and pleasant, the sea was kind. As the woman walked off of a ship she saw welcoming face of graying man his eyes gentle blue, tall in stature but not imposing. Moving her eyes from him to the girl beside her breath caught in her throat, she stood taller than her father, sandy yellow hair slicked back, eyes deepest shade of blue. "Welcome to the island of Tarth my lady. How may we be of service?" Man spoke, getting sense of herself girl smiled back and spoke. "Thank you my lord, I am elder sister of Rhaegar Targaryen. He couldn't come, so he asked me to go in his stead." Recognition flashed on man's face as he nodded and bowed. "It is my honour to meet you my lady. My name is Selwyin and this is my daughter Brienne." He spoke as he gestured to a girl on his side. "The honour is all mine my lord, my lady." Faerys smiled as she spoke. The lord of the house turned to one of servants and spoke "Get lady Faerys's chamber ready." The woman was immediately on her way, he gestured to walk with him. Soon Faerys fell in the same step with Brienne, smiling up at her she spoke. "Well it is good to know I won't be the only one here to suffer with men." Her tone was teasing intending on starting friendship with tall girl on her side. But realised she might've said the wrong thing given the way her shoulders stiffened and eyes squinted. "No men will be chasing me, I'm afraid you are in it on your own my lady." Brienne's voice was clipped. Instantly recognizing she may have spoke out of turn Faerys rushed to apologize. "I am truly sorry if I offended you my lady. I meant no harm or ill will with my words, they were merely a joke. Poorly thought one as I see." Faerys spoke with genuine regret lacing her voice. Brienne nodded and spoke "Just Brienne is fine my lady, I'm no lady." Faerys looked confused. "But you are daughter of lord Selywin that makes you a lady by birthright. Now it is another thing that you don't wish to be referred to as such. But then I must insist you call me Faerys." She smiled at the taller of the two. Brienne nodded.

Few days have passed past initial misunderstanding between the two have become fast friends. It was day of the ball, and Brienne was glowing, the lords were fighting for her attention threatening to duel when they thought it was their turn. Faerys sat on the side with other maidens not really registering what they talked about, well not until... "Look at that beast, I don't know how can they even look at her let alone dance with her." Faerys's turned to the source of the voice to see all dolled up woman in her forty's probably a mother of one of the youngsters. Not being able to keep her mouth shut Faerys spoke. "Says the one who looks like shes years past her expiration date and was meant for cemetery months ago." Blinding rage took over silver haired girl as she stood up to leave. Woman went to stand up so she could be on eye level but was stopped. "If you dare to stand up, make scene and ruin my friend's evening I will make sure to let my lion feast on your insides and I dare anyone to try and stop me." Of course her threat was empty she had no lion nor would she feed human to it, but intimidation is very useful weapon. Her eyes bulged out, fear overtaking her as she sat back. Faerys walked away not wanting to spend even a second more with such people. As she moved through the shadows she saw few boys sniggering and high fiving each other curiosity getting better of her she stalked toward them. "Did you see her face. I didn't know she could get any uglier than she was but I was wrong. I admit." One of them spoke. Frowning Faerys looked around just to see Brienne with tears streaming down her face she bumped into someone he gently led her back to dance floor, drying her face of tears and speaking to her she nodded every now and then soon smiling. Seeing she was taken care of Faerys walking to the boy she spoke loudly.

"I challenge you to a battle. You may choose horseback riding, sword fight or hand to hand combat. He looked at the girl smirk on his face. "The only combat you can and would be able to have with me is the one in the sheets." He spoke smugly.

"With the likes of you? Who makes a lady cry in her own halls while you are the guest, the one who has mouth nastier than pig stalls, the one whose stench is biting my eyes? No. Now, sword, horse or hand to hand." Faerys spoke the guy just smirked. "Hand to hand. I will beat you and then take you in my rooms." He spoke as he took his stance.

"May I have honor of fighting for you my lady." Spoke a man who was speaking to Brienne just moments ago she smiled gently and thankfully at him but shook her head. "Thank you for the offer but there is no need for that my lord. This piece of work is mine." He nodded. Soon fight started he threw punches as she avoided every single one, dancing around him.

"What is the meaning of this?" lord Tarth spoke as he saw man trying to hit me. "The meaning is that this wench challenged me to a battle and I accepted so when I win I will take her in my rooms and fuck her hard enough for everyone to hear." He stopped attacking as he spoke looking at the lord Tarth.

Faerys had enough honour to not attack him while his back is to her. But the second he turned to attack again his fist flying to her gut and landing, Faerys didn't double over like he expected, no she stood there looking unimpressed. "You call that a hit? I've met grandmothers hitting harder." He continued with his barrage punching her face, gut, legs but nothing happened not one yelp of pain, not one wince just stone cold face. Then it came, fist square to the jaw, tooth flew out and blood spilled trough his lips his jaw dislocated to the right side. He was on the floor whining in pain, tears streaming down his face. "Pathetic. I let you land at least dozen hits and yet you are down after one." Gasp was heard in the crowd and soon woman flew to her son. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BEUTIFUL SON?!" She screeched. "I gave him a makeover. He looks better like that." She spoke and then turned to the man on her beside "Don't you agree?" Smirking he nodded. Soon the brat was taken out of the foom and to the meistars, room was soon empty besides the man who's name I learned was Renly, lord Tarth and Faerys. Brienne disappeared in the middle of the fight. "I hoped that this day would be different, that people could see past her height and see wonderful person but it seemed it is a lot to ask for. Until you two, I want to thank you both for being there for my daughter. Lord Renly my offer still stands."

"I would be honoured to be with your daughter but I do not look for a spouse right now." Renly spoke. Smiling apologetically at the man, he just nodded and smiled back. "And to you my lady, thank you. I couldn't do that for it would create a rift but the satisfaction I felt when I saw that boy on the floor was immeasurable. Especially after the words he said." Faerys smiled and nodded in thanks.

Soon under the guise of being tired she left. Her concern for Brienne only growing with every second. That is until she remembered something Brienne told her.

"When I need calm I go to the forest by the stream, when I need fresh air I go to the ocean and when i need space I go to the mountains."

With clear indication where she was Faerys rushed to the forest.

She was right. There Brienne was sitting by the stream her back to Faerys but still she could see small shaking of her shoulders and quiet sobs. As she walked towards Brienne she purposefully stepped on to a branch so Brienne knows she is behind her. Immediately turning to see what is behind her, Brienne comes face to face with her friend. "How did you...?" Voice rough from crying, her eyes puffy and red.

"Your mistake was not in the hiding place. It was thinking you could hide from me in the first place." Faerys spoke with smile on her face, she sat beside Brienne "Whatever they said to you cry so, it wasn't true." Tall girl shook her head. "But it was. I am no lady but I'm not a warrior either. I'm something far too beastly for anyone too look with anything but disgust. I mean I was betrothed three times. One dying two years after betrothal, one being old man whom I challenged to a duel in which if I won I wouldn't have to marry him and one being straight up disgusted with my appearance so much that he called it off mere minutes after meeting each other." Sobs wracked her body again, clearly torment of people taking it's toll on her. Taking Brienne's face in her hands Faerys spoke. "But it isn't. Your hair is like finest silk, your eyes are bluer than the seas of this isle, and your smile God your smile is most precious thing i have ever seen. Your beauty is unconventional, it is rare and not many see it. But it doesn't mean it's not there. But my dear Brienne as beautiful as you are physically nothing matches your heart. You are kind, courageous and honorable. Body fades with time, heart and mind stay forever."

Soon sapphire blues were dry, sobs stopped and were exchanged with a small smile and reddened cheeks. "I... I have no idea what to say to that." She was bashful. "You don't have to say anything my friend. What you do need to do is go get some rest. You deserved it after today." Brienne nodded, soon they were in front of her room. "This is me, good night Faerys." The girl smiled and pulled Brienne in a hug, and then kissed her forehead. "Good night, Brienne." With that she pulled away and walked in to the darkness of the corridor. Leaving blushing Brienne behind.

Soon it was time to depart. To live sapphire isle and go back home. Brienne and Faerys promised to keep in touch and visit each other, and they did. Until few months after when her father was dead and she was forced to flee with her life. Leaving Brienne to think that her dear friend is dead for good, never to return. She cried herself to sleep that night and many ones after.

#movies #got #game of thrones #brienne of tarth #reader #oc #original female character #brienne x reader #angst #hurt #comfort #hurt/comfort #ball

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rinfarts · 5 months

Text

Ostara Irel Escanor

Mother Chimeris. Her story has already been mentioned in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/rinfarts/724924361270804480/chimeris-ostara-escanor-15-years-old-at-that

Now I’ll just try to complement it. (English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes. Please be understanding)

The king and the people of Orlandor weren't supposed to find out the truth about how bad things were in the neighboring kingdom. Otherwise, Giran himself would have begun to dictate terms to Meridian, not caring about the wishes of his “wife.”

No, it was clear that a disease was raging there. But only a few dared to check the scale of the epidemic. No one tried to become infected and bring the infection to their native lands. Therefore, when the Meridian Elders took Chimeris away, Ostara began simulating an accident.

A couple of days later, sad news came to the king from the far side of the palace. His daughter fell off a horse during a walk, breaking her head. The doctors couldn't do anything. He was more angry than sad. However, Giran had not expected anything good from this part of the family for a long time.

He formally attended the funeral, already thinking about how many weeks later it wouldn't be shameful to send his grief-stricken mother to some monastery. He did not recheck the circumstances of the tragedy in detail. In his understanding, it was unprofitable for Ostara to lose Chimeris, because at least some of the lady’s well-being rested on their common child. __________________________

It should be noted that even before this whole situation, the woman was looking for ways to prosperity. She couldn’t count on a lucky break (if the death of a quarter of the population and almost the entire ruling family of Meridian can be called such). Ostara established connections with her “husband’s” brother, Duke Cotul.

At one time, he lost in the race for the throne due to the fact that he had weaker magic than Giran. But over the years he made up for it with charisma and a sharp mind. Step by step, the Duke gained new supporters, approaching the coveted crown. Giran saw this, but there was little he could do.

Communication with Ostara, on the one hand, entertained the man quite well (few people in the palace could joke sarcastically with him on equal terms), on the other hand, it made him very nervous. She persistently promoted her interests, although in fact she possessed nothing other than magical abilities and ancient blood. And she refused to strengthen their secret agreements through Chimeris.

The girl was interesting to Kotul:

1) Like a sorceress. He was still vulnerable to losing his magic like other Metamurian men who possessed it. And he was looking for not very powerful partners with whom he could agree on an exchange of mana.

2) Like an alchemist. It was through the Duke that Ostara obtained many instruments for her daughter so that she could develop her skills. So, unlike many, he knew about these abilities and even requested some elixirs.

3) As entertainment. Yes, she is his niece. What do you want from medieval morals? Giran had a bunch of other daughters - older, more beautiful and more beloved. With the support of local aristocratic families. So the marriage of Chimeris has not even been discussed yet.

Kotul at one time offered his brother a ransom for her. But he, out of inherent harmfulness, set the price at such a price that it was comparable to the budget of a prosperous province. The Duke gritted his teeth, decided that the game was not worth the candle and went to negotiate through Ostara. For her own reasons, she, too, was not enthusiastic and was stalling for time, but at least she maintained the appearance that she did not see anyone other than a “dear friend” as her son-in-law.

She did not even tell the Duke the truth about Chimeris. For Ostara, Kotul was a valuable (in the absence of others) ally, but not a person worthy of trust. So he really considered the girl dead.

The Duke expressed much more sincere condolences than Giran, promised to help Ostara if anything happened, and went to get rid of heavy thoughts in the company of his concubines. __________________________ A little later, the king was overthrown and killed. Almost no one knew the details. But Kotul, as the new ruler, suited many residents so much that they did not want to find out the details. Only Ostara, who weakened her “husband” with a curse in time, was more or less aware of what was happening.

The new king significantly thinned out the family, getting rid of all the heirs and heiresses who could pose at least some danger.

And a few months later, wonderful news came from the healed Meridian. That Princess Chimeris, who died in Orlandor, ascended the throne as queen and the new heart of the world.

The Duke was furious. Ostara not only violated their old agreements by independently changing her daughter’s fate, but also made him look like a fool. This undermined trust between the allies. After all, if she hid such a “trifle” from him, what was stopping her from starting a major adventure behind her back again?

In addition, Ostara essentially prevented Orlandor from absorbing its weakened neighbor. If the Elders had to negotiate with Giran or Kotul, the conditions for Meridian would not be at all enviable.

Ostara was angry too. The daughter should have taken her out of this “hole” even before her coronation. And now she stubbornly did not answer letters. From the moment the deception became known, Kotul took the lady into custody, so she could no longer go home secretly. The news of Chimeris's accession took her no less than the Duke by surprise. Until the very end, she counted on the position of regent in her native kingdom.

While sorting through the papers left by his brother, Kotul came across correspondence with the monastery. Giran really hoped to get rid of his “wife” in this way. Now this idea seemed interesting to the Duke. True, he decided to choose another temple - dedicated to the element of Light. Being in which for Ostara, who possesses dark magic, would be akin to torture.

Soon the woman was tonsured a nun (although she honestly tried to knock out the abbot's eyes with tonsure scissors). Neither the joyless life of the monastery, nor the influence of the opposing elements pleased her. Ostara tried to contact her daughter several times, but never received a response. The lady remained in the dark until the end of her life: whether Chimeris betrayed her, or whether the letters were intercepted by a third party. A few years later the woman died. __________________________

The story of Chimeris (if anyone is suddenly interested) : https://ficbook.net/readfic/13293038 __________________________

I'll say a few words about Ostara's design.

I belatedly realized that this art would be difficult to use as a reference. Due to the specific lighting, everything seems darker than it really is. According to the original idea, Ostara has ash blonde and light skin.

Blue and brown are the generic colors of Orlandor (which was already seen in the art with the teenage Chimeris). Ostara got darker, richer shades to match her character.

The lady wore outfits of this color scheme forcedly. In her native lands, she preferred gold and black.

I wanted to portray her as dangerous, powerful. Give pointed features. Plus emphasize belonging to the vector of Darkness. The shadows behind the back and the silhouette of a bird separating from them (s - symbolism) are manifestations of Ostara’s magic. Scourges woven from darkness are capable of wounding no worse than steel.

However, the lady specialized more not in direct battles, but in weaving intrigues. Which was greatly facilitated by the other side of her gift - the curse. In theory, any sorcerers can resort to them, but only the dark ones are capable of so skillfully placing and removing the ligature of curses from a person.

Partly this feature saved her when the werewolf child was born. Ostara limited the girl's abilities with curses so that she would not transform in front of witnesses, which would be difficult to get rid of.

With the advent of Chimeris, a lot has changed in her life. All their actions had to be carefully calculated in order to keep the secret and their lives intact. Everything was complicated by the fact that it was difficult for the child to convey some things visually. So Ostara looked for any opportunity to explain to Chimeris HOW the surrounding people and galhots treated werewolves.

On the main square of the capital, executions of those considered werewolves took place from time to time. The wounded victims were pushed onto the platform amid the joyful and angry screams of the crowd. Sometimes an different nature was actually noticeable in them - the converts had little control over their bodies, becoming covered in fur or scales. But more often they looked like people. Perhaps some of them were even tried in vain. But the ax of the executioner in any case looked frighteningly inevitable. At the instigation of Ostara, Chimeris attended such executions from early childhood.

This also served another purpose - to demonstrate as much as possible that their side of the family was NOT sympathetic to werewolves. Has nothing in common with them. The lady even got a skillful imitation of jewelry for werewolf fangs (the budget would not have been enough for the original) - the latest in fashion among Orlandor beauties. This is the set shown in the picture.

#w.i.t.c.h #ostara escanor #w.i.t.c.h ostara #chimeris escanor #w.i.t.c.h chimeris #w.i.t.c.h fanart #чародейки #w.i.t.c.h fan character #w.i.t.c.h au #w.i.t.c.h oc #dark sorceress #dark witch

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toa-kohutti · 10 months

Text

A Moment of Eternity (Toa Dysphoria)

The Matoran Aegide becomes a Toa, but immediately finds he's not happy with his form. Is he so different to his brothers and sisters, or is he not alone? And what will the Turaga think when they find out that your destiny feels like a mistake?

A (sort of) Pride Month special - a short little story about the necessity of change, inspired by my dear friend KDNX's work.

Also available on AO3.

This was a moment often overlooked. To others, it was nothing more than the briefest period of time. Only a few seconds between two states of being, it wasn't worthy of the history tablets. But to the Matoran Aegide, it was an eternity. The moment swallowed his world whole, submerging him in it, drawing him in alone and forcing him to feel its totality. It ought to be a moment of honor, yet it was a moment of fear and doubt for Aegide. As it dissipated, permanence ready to catch him, he wished it could be undone.

A minute before, Aegide stood in the modest, almost cramped, stone temple that stood atop Mount Norik, surrounded by familiar Matoran and his three Turaga. The elders of the small island whispered to one another as the six Matoran around them each held a Toa Stone. To try and calm his nerves, Aegide looked around to each would-be hero, wondering why they were chosen. First he saw Dekani, a Matoran of Sonics, no doubt chosen for her renowned athletics, then Fatala, probably for the raw power of her Magnetism element and not her timidness, and Kohutti, for her leadership skill and, soon, Gravity powers. Next to him on either side were Pomak, the kindest Matoran of Stone he’d ever met, and Fetoki, the Iron crafter who repaired everything on the island with her mechanical skill. Fetoki’s eyes met his, and they shared a silent moment of doubt that they belonged. Turaga Cemaka said she’d chosen him for his bravery, but others saw him as foolhardy. As he turned to the glowing red Toa Stone placed in his hand, he didn’t feel very brave.

He turned the stone over in his hand, considering it one last time. It was physical proof that he’d been chosen, that he was due to become a hero. Aegide wanted renown, he knew this much about himself, but to take the step of actually accepting what the stone would do to him felt strange. He wasn’t smart like Fetoki, kind like Pomak, or full of potential like Fatala. He was a daredevil, not a protector. But… maybe he could be one. Resolve began to build in his chest, his weak-feeling fingers balling into a braver fist. He didn’t know what he would be like when the transformation was complete, but he knew that he would be greater. So with a deep breath, he accepted the destiny laid out before him.

He reached out with his very being to the Toa Stone within his loose grasp, and it in turn reached back out to him. His entire perception was drawn into a bright light, the crimson from the stone fading to an all-consuming whiteness that surrounded him completely, leaving him all alone inside it. Time seemed to halt for a moment in familiar fashion, like he was mid-dive off a cliff. But the daredevil Matoran was not plummeting towards danger as a show, he was alone, and now at the mercy of the stone in his hand. His eyes shot around, confirming a void of white light around him everywhere. He couldn't move any of his other muscles - his body was frozen in the position of contemplating the stone. Normally, this moment of helplessness was a thrill. But this was something unknown to him, something new and utterly terrifying.

He panicked. He took a breath - or rather, his body tried, but his frozen muscles followed no command. He thought to his Turaga, Cemaka - and his memory of her as a Toa. How did she survive this moment? How did she feel when she was transforming, changing into a Toa? Was she brave? Or was she scared like he was? He felt strange not knowing where he was going. He could take a real danger with ease, but this? He called on the memory of her rescuing him from the explosion at sea, a proud, strong warrior who lifted the wreckage that trapped him with her mind to carry him to a new home, and felt a small comfort.

As if a reaction to his memory, his imagination, the Toa Stone’s glow shone brighter. He let his eyelids close and flutter open, and he saw the memory of Cemaka’s form as a Toa, and her silhouette around his body, enveloping him. The imagined vision of her was a reprieve for a moment. He could handle it like she did. He breathed out - and this time, his body listened, letting the air out of his lungs.

But when he breathed in again, he was met with a new sensation entirely. His breath was quick, short, and shallow. His lungs weren't filled, as if they were resisting him. The terror began to claw back to the surface, wrapping its wretched talons around his warm heartlight. What was happening to him? It was as if his physical form was barely there at all, and the reflection of Cemaka was what was truly real. He couldn't feel his body, but he could see another's - and it slowly sunk into his mind what was happening. His shallow breath suddenly tasted sour as a strange fear shuddered through him. The image of a Toa... was him now.

It started with his feet. The panels of armor began to painlessly break apart and reshape themselves, the Protodermis reforming into a new shape unlike his old one, more flexible, stronger and broad. He felt his flesh go with it, muscles weaving themselves into new joints that he didn't have before. He saw his hands break apart, fingers separating to meet the fingers of the Toa's silhouette, that imagined form now becoming his reality. The Toa Stone slowly broke him apart and reformed him into a new body, one broader, stronger, more ready to protect.

But in this transitory stasis, a fracture of time that should fill him with pure elation and reverence, he was instead filled with a strange emotion. He silently cursed that it didn't have a name to him. Unfamiliarity? Doubt? Confusion? Fear? It was all of those, but none of them at the same time. He wanted to cry out, to be rescued from this moment, to not change. But it was too late. His muscles had knit themselves into a new form, and there was no going back.

The light began to dissipate. Aegide shut his eyes, hard, and his jaw quivered. His... jaw quivered. He could move his body again! He took a breath again, and felt more air pushing deeper into him than ever before. It felt good in a way, but at the same time, it meant that it was over. Destiny had decided.

He opened his eyes to see a dull stone, now deprived of power. As he looked around, he saw his friends, now teammates and comrades, astonished at themselves. Kohutti, now a Toa of Gravity, marveled at her own hands, while Dekani stretched and Pomak flexed to feel his new strength. Fatala seemed nervous but not regretful, only anxious because she wasn't covered in pink paint like she preferred to be. But one of them was different.

Fetoki locked eyes with Aegide, and an instant understanding passed between the Toa. She was terrified, as terrified as he was. They looked so much the same, like Cemaka did. But neither of them was happy about it. His mind was flooded with questions for her. He wanted to know if he truly wasn't alone, if she felt the same strange doubts and fears he did. Their forms didn't suit them, he knew that. But before he could speak, their Turaga broke the silence.

"You are all Toa now," Turaga Gorrf’s time-carved, creaky voice practically boomed in the small stone-walled room, "and you all must serve the Matoran of Carana. It is an oath you all swore when you took these stones, and the Great Spirit expects great things from you."

"Show us our faith is well placed, heroes." Cemaka's smoother voice calmed him for a moment, but it also filled him with an instant shame. He was like she was. So why did he reject it? He should be proud to be like her, to be a hero. But he wasn't. And from looking at Fetoki, he could tell behind her gruff mask that she wasn't either. The Great Spirit, faith... it all felt like a weight on his conscience.

"Now go, my friends." Turaga Lumuka, the third and youngest Turaga of the island, smiled behind her noble Rau. "Go, and learn what it means to be a Toa."

Aegide swallowed and nodded as a murmur swept across the six of them, before they all began to walk out of the modest, ancient temple that they had transformed within. The sunset's light shimmered across the mountain, and Aegide, a Matoran - no, Toa - of Fire, shivered in the cold atop it. The six stopped before they split off towards their respective Koros, looking to one another, a strange silence underscored by the whistling of the wind. Kohutti finally broke it, fitting as she was the designated leader of their brand-new team.

"So we're all Toa now." She turned her hands over in her own view, cocking her head to look at them like a confused Rahi. "It's... surreal, isn't it?"

"It's incredible, is what it is!" Dekani beamed behind her mask as she swung her arms out in a sudden twirl. "I feel amazing! I'm going to be so fast!"

"Just remember that you're not going to be in any races anymore." Pomak's deep, smooth voice was underscored by a chuckle. "It's not fair to the Matoran now that you're twice their height and can use that mask of yours."

"My mask! I nearly forgot! Gotta go!" Elation filled Dekani's eyes as she whipped around and bolted, activating her Kanohi Kakama - the Mask of Speed - and carving a trail down the mountain in a sudden blur. The snow she kicked up gently fell to the ground in a cloud that obscured her, leaving only the sound of the wind reacting to her and the footprints she left.

"Well, on that note..." Kohutti said, folding her arms in disapproval at her teammate's disappearance. "I suppose we'd better all get to our Koros too."

"Wait, I have a question!" Fatala's hand nervously shot up, waiting for permission to speak.

"And that is?" Pomak said.

"Why do we look different? I thought Toa Teams all looked the same." She asked, before realizing how silly she sounded to herself and shrinking, drawing her shoulders together in anxiety.

"Well, what happened when you became a Toa?" Pomak asked. "I was reminded of Gorrf when he rescued me all those centuries ago. Did you think of Lumuka, since you were brought to Carana later?"

"Well, I did." Kohutti shrugged, looking towards the group. "I can only assume Fatala and Assane did too." Fatala simply nodded, not wanting to speak up again.

"I thought of Cemaka." Aegide finally spoke, but as if it were an admission of guilt. "I know you hadn't met her so... this is what she looked like as a Toa, I guess." He presented himself, looking down at his form without much joy. He saw a barrel chest, broad and thick, with shoulders and arms to match. He was only outmatched in bulk by Pomak, and it felt so wrong to him. He was lithe as a Matoran, and now he felt as if he were a brick with a Kanohi on top.

"Well, I think you look wonderful." Kohutti smiled behind her mask. "You too, Fetoki. Even if you don't want to hear it right now."

"You're right, I don't." The Toa of Iron finally broke her silence with a slight snarl. "You look lanky and vulnerable."

"I agree." Kohutti said, inspecting her own armor and finding it lacking. "If I bring you some scrap, will you help me make it into Toa Tools and armor? I feel almost maskless in this armor alone."

"You'd better bring me something interesting." Fetoki muttered. Kohutti shot a glance at Aegide about her attitude, and he met her with a shrug. "But I'll do it. For all of you, if you like."

"Thank you." Kohutti smiled. "Now, I've got places to be. I'll see you all later." She started down the mountaintop, taking a different path, towards Leba-Koro - a much longer journey than the others, which was probably why she wanted to leave so soon. Pomak wordlessly nodded and started towards his own Wahi, with Fatala nervously scrambling towards hers in tow.

Aegide turned back to see Fetoki, who started to drag herself through the snow towards the entrance of the mountain's innards. He had so many questions for her, he couldn't just let her go back to her Koro alone.

"Wait!" he called out to her, and when she didn't respond, he started to run towards her. He was so much faster than he was used to being that he nearly tripped over his own large, floppy feet, and let out a little noise of astonishment as he made it to her. "I-I want to talk to you!"

"I don't." Fetoki stopped and turned before muttering dryly. "Go away."

"No, I think you actually do, because -"

"Because what?" Fetoki growled at him. "Because I'm tall and thick now like you? Are you sure you didn't get thicker in the head?"

"Because we're both... like this." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She immediately threw it off with a jerk of her arm, but he continued to speak even after a quick snap of "don't touch me" escaped her mouth. "Because you feel wrong too."

"What do you think you're doing?" She barked at him, balling her fists and taking a broad stance. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me into something because you feel bad for me? Or are you just dumb enough to think you're better than me?"

"Fine, I'll say it straight if you want me to." He said, folding his arms and becoming aware of his large chest once again, causing him to shudder. "I... need your help."

"Everybody needs my help. But nobody's ever considering me as a damn Oropi instead of a diligent worker, and now they’re gonna just consider me some kind of hero." She turned away from him with a huff, and started to walk back again.

"Wait! I think we can help each other!" He pleaded with as desperate a voice as he had. "You're not alone! I don't want to be like this!"

"This is our lot." She muttered. "The Great Spirit decided it for us. We don't have any choice but to use what we have. Destiny, and all that."

"I... I don't care." Aegide said. "I don't care what the Great Spirit wants for me right now. I don't want this. And-and you don't either, and maybe we can figure something out! You're smart, maybe you can-"

"Toa aren't masks or pieces of scrap!" Fetoki snapped. "What do you expect me to do? Weld some garbage on to you like I'm going to do to Kohutti and magically fix you?"

"No, I-" He stammered, before being cut off by Fetoki in a rage.

"No, you just want to stop feeling like a poor confused little child, and you're making it my problem!" She jabbed a finger into his broad chest, twisting it to underscore her point. The attention to his body made his heartlight dim and his mouth dry, and all he could do is stammer uselessly. "This is our destiny, like it or not, and we have to deal with it. I'm not happy, you're not happy, and as far as the Great Spirit is concerned, we can both go to Karzahni about it!"

"I..." Aegide's head sunk. "Y-you're... right. I'm sorry." He flopped down onto the ground, his knees' impact cushioned by the soft snow.

"So go to Karzahni for all I care." Fetoki said. "I'm going to swallow this and be a hero like I'm supposed to."

A third voice traveled through the chill air and cut through their argument. "Is that any way you should speak to your brother?" The two looked up to see Cemaka on the hill, spinning her jeweled staff and watching it scatter light across the snow. "Come now."

"T-turaga..." Fetoki also dropped to her knees in shame, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"You should be apologizing to Aegide," her smooth voice echoed atop the mountain, "and to yourself."

"M-myself?" The Toa asked. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Cemaka hummed to herself as she waddled over to sit next to the two Toa in the snow. "I think there's something you two ought to know about my past."

Fetoki bristled. She never cared much for stories, Aegide knew, but he hoped she would hear the Turaga out for this one. "What is it we need to know?"

"You two imagined me as a hero when you became Toa, that much I can see." She said, placing a hand on each of the Toa as she flopped into the ground. "But I wasn't always like that."

"What do you mean?" Aegide said, confused. "You were..."

"Yes." Cemaka nodded to him. "I was rebuilt. I was rebuilt by my," She halted on the word, cringing a little as if it were painful for her to mention, "superior, multiple times. I used to look a lot more like Lumuka than I did either of you."

"But..." Fetoki's voice creaked. "This is what the Great Spirit decided for us. Would it not be wrong for us to be rebuilt?"

"Oh, please." Fetoki gave a dismissive wave. "If we can rebuild Matoran, why can't we rebuild Toa?" She leaned in closer to the two Toa, looking between them before she spoke again. "Don't tell the others, but I think we ought not to worry this much about destiny. It's coming for us no matter what, and if it's not meant to be, it won't be. But I don't think destiny says that you need to stay the way you are forever."

"Turaga," Aegide struggled to speak, "I don't understand. Isn't it an insult to you that we'd change away from your image? I wouldn't want to offend my Turaga."

"No." The elder's voice was plain as day. "In fact, I'd be very happy if I never had to see you two looking like that again."

"...Really?" Fetoki broke the silence with a furrowed brow and tilted head. "How can that be?"

"It's simple, my friends." Cemaka placed a hand on each of the Toa’s shoulders. "Seeing that form reminds me of a, well, poor time in my life." She admitted. "My... my superior was not someone to be proud of in many ways. And a reminder of that is a little unwelcome." She gently shook her head.

"Then, what about the others?" Aegide asked. "Are they, too, reminded of a poor time?"

"From what I've spoken to them... those were the glory days." She shrugged. "I think they're proud. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you too. But I also can see that you're not happy. You wear it on your armor clearer than air."

"So... neither you nor the Great Spirit will mind us changing?" He said, a kernel of hope starting to grow inside his chest.

"I can't speak for the Great Spirit," the Turaga said, "But for myself, I don't mind at all." She stood up on her rickety legs and turned from them, nodding gently. "Now go on, go. I think you two have some work to do. I'll see you again when you're ready."

Aegide looked to Fetoki, who seemed somehow less nervous after the Turaga’s guidance.. "Well... if I bring you some quality scrap..."

"I'll build you just about anything." She met his gaze with a tiny smile, and a rare sense of sincerity. “I promise.”

"D-do you think you could make me a jetpack?" He asked, as he shot up to follow her. "I mean, I can fly with my Miru, but what if-"

"I made a mistake making a promise to you, didn't I?" She grumbled. The moment of sincerity passed, her gruffness having returned as the pair started to walk down the snowy hill towards an entrance of the dormant volcano they trod upon.

The Turaga simply smiled to herself as the two started back towards Fetoki's home, hoping that the two would find their happiness - and knowing they'd be some of the strangest Toa she'd ever meet.

#my writing #bionicle #bonkle #bonkles #bionicle fanfic #bionicle moc #my mocs #toa #bionicle fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #toa of fire #aegide #toa aegide #dysphoria #this one's about a toa that don't like hims body

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