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vivi-the-sky-kid · 3 years

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Sowing the Seeds (of Love), Chapter 1

Aka the Resh/OC Fix-It Fic Nobody Asked for but I'm Inflicting on All of You Anyways as Punishment for Kai's Your Hubris

The King has always been a mysterious figure in the annals of the Sky Kingdom's history, generating both awe and fear within the hearts of the sky spirits. Few can claim to have met them in person; certainly not Tav, a researcher of light creatures for the Vault of Knowledge. But when they discover their research may be used to harm the very creatures they know and love, Tav knows they cannot allow this to happen.

Somehow, they must change the King's mind. If that means throwing butterflies at their royal face, then so be it.

-<◇>-

Warnings: Will be added to each chapter when necessary, but there's not gonna be anything graphic in this (do send me an ask if you think there's something I should warn about tho)

Rating: T (just to be on the safe side)

Pairing(s): Resh/OC

Tag(s): Enemies to Lovers, Fake Dating, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies

Additional Tag(s): Resh and Alef are twins, Resh and Tav are both nonbinary, Resh uses he/they, Tav uses she/they, Resh is demiromantic and pansexual, Tav is biromantic and demisexual, no beta we die like moths in eden

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

-<◇>-

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2,477

Warning(s): None

-<◇>-

Fury powered her strides as Tav marched towards the elevator leading to Elder Lamed's level of the Vault. What they had overheard... it was unthinkable! Outrageous! And they intended to let Lamed know exactly that! She couldn't let her research be used like this. Not to harm the very creatures they had spent their life studying.

Onwards and upwards she went, a lone figure on the elevator. Scholars sorting memory cubes and acolytes tending to the spiritual residue of the Kingdom's history flew past her vision. Finally, the elevator came to a stop, its power diamond moving to rest over the Elder statues, and Tav mustered their psychokinetic powers to fly the short distance to the grassy island. That had been a trick the mantas had helped her master; if not for them, she would still struggle to get around Vault's upper levels like before. They took a breath to steady themself, adjusted the prairie lily clipped to their hair, and moved forward.

As they crested the structure bearing the Elder statues, Tav looked around. She could see no sign of Elder Lamed, which meant, more likely than not, the Elder had withdrawn into their private domain. There was nothing for it but to light the altar candles, sit before their statue, and pray.

Their legs had started to fall asleep when they finally felt the brush against their mind that meant Lamed had heard their prayer, and was ready to listen. She relaxed and let the Elder pull their consciousness into that dreamy world. When they next opened their eyes, they knelt in the same spot, although the elevator diamond was now gone, casting the area in comfortable shadows. In the statue's place stood Lamed, gazing down at her with an unreadable look.

“Ah, so you are the one who prayed. Tav, was it? Head of the light creature research effort?”

“That's correct, Elder Lamed. I've come to you regarding a decision involving my research.”

“Is that so?” Their eyes flickered beneath the mask, before they dipped their head. “Very well. Speak.”

Tav jumped to their feet, hands clenching the fabric of their robe. “Elder Lamed, I cannot permit my research to be used to develop these 'dark weapons' R&D is proposing! Light creatures are beautiful, wonderful creatures that share a great deal in common with us. They are intelligent, gentle, and loving beings. To turn them into weapons is... is... is out of the question!”

The Elder's eyes had grown wide at her outburst, but soon closed as they pressed a hand to their forehead. “Really, Tav, you're being unreasonable. R&D has already gained permission from the King to go forth with this project. Are you saying you doubt His Majesty's judgment regarding the good of the kingdom?”

“Yes!”

Silence filled the domain. Sweat began running down Tav's back as a great pressure weighed down on them. When they almost gave in and knelt once more, it lifted, and Lamed turned away.

“I expect your research to be turned in to the Vault at the appropriate deadline. Is that understood?”

Tav was silent.

“I said, is that understood, Tav?”

“...It is, Elder Lamed.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

With that, their vision swam, and they closed their eyes to ward off the nausea. Upon opening them, she found herself back at the summit, the power diamond shining coldly overhead. They looked up at the statue and sighed.

Resolve filled them once more, and they stood and walked back to the elevator. Lamed may not have listened, but there was one more person she could try to convince. All reports of the King had them as a kind and benevolent ruler who listened to the people, yet these latest projects said otherwise. Which was the truth, and which was a lie? There was only one way to find out.

Tav swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. This was no time to get cold feet. The light creatures were counting on them.

First things first, however. She needed to keep her research out of the wrong hands.

-<◇>-

Another day, another round of paperwork. Resh sighed inwardly as he dipped his manta quill into the inkwell to sign the latest report from the Golden Land's biggest sunsteel refinery. Production was holding steady due to the shipment of light from Daylight Prairie, and they would likely have enough in reserve for the little project Vault R&D had recently proposed.

A soft call from the doorway caught their attention, and they lifted their head. One of the guards—a new recruit, if their nervous demeanor was any indication—was standing there somewhat awkwardly, but snapped to attention once his gaze was upon them.

Yes, definitely new. That salute was just a little bit too sloppy to be one of the older members.

“What is it?” he said, fixing his gaze on them.

They stiffened. “Y-Your Majesty, there is... a researcher from the Vault demanding to speak with you. They refuse to leave otherwise.”

“Return them to the Vault. We have no time for a meeting, let alone with some unknown researcher,” they replied, returning to their paperwork.

“What do they want?” said a new voice, chiming up from the door leading further into the royal quarters.

Resh blinked and slowly turned towards it. Watching the exchange was their twin, Alef, still dressed in the formal wear of the golden mask, yellow-painted pizaine, and midnight-blue cloak they used for being the public face of the King. They must have returned a short time ago from their trip to the Valley.

“Your Majesty, they have requested you withdraw your support for the Dark Matter Bioweapon project.”

“Have they, now?” Resh shook his head. “Unfortunately, it is too late. The proposal has been signed and delivered to the Vault. To withdraw it now would be equivalent to saying We have made a mistake.”

They let the implications of that statement hang in the air like a sword above the guard's head. With a stammered response of, “Of course, Your Majesty,” they left, and soon only Alef and Resh remained in the office. The latter ignored the former's pointed look, turning back to the stack of paperwork that had yet to be completed with another sigh.

“You've been doing that a lot lately. Perhaps you should take a break.”

Resh shot them a glare out of the corner of his eye, but did not stop his work. Only when they had signed a petition to expand the Valley of Triumph, a tally of candle production in the Isle of Dawn, and a request for more light shipments to the Hidden Forest, did they gesture with their free hand to the desk's contents.

“As you can see, Alef, I am kept busy with the affairs of the kingdom. I am King, after all. My guidance is needed to ensure the kingdom's prosperity.” He dipped the quill into the inkwell once more and grabbed another piece of paper—this time, a request from the Valley to provide them with more boats, as some had broken recently.

“I cannot rest until I have dealt with these matters” —and they said this last bit under their breath— “even if they are incredibly dull.”

Alef hummed and moved closer, cloak swishing softly around his body. They picked up one of the papers in the discarded stack, scanned it, and then looked to Resh. “Surely you can rest from these for a short time? All work and no play makes one a dull star.”

“How rich, coming from the one who only concerns themself with attending celebrations and avoiding any work here,” they replied.

Alef narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and shrugged.

“You want me to do some work here? Very well.” They went up to the switch next to the desk, which would summon a guard when activated (not that Resh had ever used it), and called forth their inner flame in one hand to light it. Soon enough, the same guard from before came to the office. They gave the salute again, a little more firmly this time.

“You called, Your Majesty?”

“Is the researcher still here?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty. I was on my way to relay your wishes when you summoned me back.”

“I have decided to grant them an audience. Please have them escorted to the throne room.”

“Oh, uh...” They cleared their throat. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“What are you doing?” Resh said, eyeing their sibling with suspicion.

“Work. You said you were too busy to meet with them, didn't you? Well, it just so happens that I am remarkably free. As your dear elder sibling, it is the least I can do for you, Resh.”

With that, they glided from the office before Resh could stop them, leaving him standing with his hand grasping at air.

They sighed.

-<◇>-

The throne room was easily the largest chamber of the Palace, with a throne built to match—a deliberate choice on Resh's part, during its construction all those years ago. Looking the part was half the battle, and what better way to show your kingliness than by being five times the size of Elder Tsadi, he had said. Which Alef now was, having shifted in size to full height as they approached the throne room. The guards at the entrance snapped to attention, and he nodded in greeting as he passed through.

Near the far wall was the diminutive figure of the researcher, their head craned back to take in the full view of the mural displayed there. Two guards flanked them, ensuring they didn't go anywhere they weren't supposed to be. Alef cleared their throat, the sound echoing to every nook and cranny due to the chamber's acoustics, and every person in the room jumped. The guards soon lined up and stood at attention, and the rogue researcher turned to look at him as he took his place on the throne. One guard said something quietly to them, and the researcher nodded, brushed out their robe, and walked forward beside the guards.

“So this is the spirit who requested an audience with Us?” Alef intoned, glancing down at the guard who escorted them, and they nodded timidly. His eyes returned to the spirit, noting that, even with the crest typical of the Vault's senior members, they barely surpassed most of the guards in height. Despite this huge difference in size between them and himself, they barely trembled.

How interesting.

“We permit you to speak, spirit.”

They bowed in acknowledgment, and upon straightening, called out, “Your Majesty, I must urge you to reconsider this Dark Matter Bioweapon project! Light creatures are our friends. They do not deserve to be treated like mere tools, to be used up and cast aside!”

Alef tilted their head to the side thoughtfully, taking their chin between their thumb and index finger.

“...What is your name, star?”

“My name is Tav, Your Majesty. Head of the Vault's research into light creatures.”

“I see.” They leaned forward, casting their shadow over Tav. “Tell Us, Tav. This project is intended to better the kingdom's future. If light creatures are our friends, do they not owe this kingdom their aid, in whatever form we require?”

Tav stepped forward, their hands balling up at their sides.

“There must be a better way than this! Whatever future that project holds is worse than one where we treat the light creatures as our allies. I know it! Please, Your Majesty, let me show you.”

How very interesting.

And exactly what they needed.

Alef steepled their fingers before them, resting their elbows on the armrests of the throne. A sly grin formed on his face. Though it was hidden by their mask, Tav seemed to sense its presence, because they took an involuntary step back.

“We have an offer for you, Tav.”

At the same time, they called out to their sibling and requested their presence in the throne room.

-<◇>-

Resh sighed as they walked.

At one point, the magnificent tapestries and luminous murals decorating the walls of the throne room had brought him such joy. But that had been many, many years ago—too many to count. Now they were just another feature of the brilliant, intricate, boringthrone room, easily ignored in favor of dealing with the unwelcome researcher currently standing before the throne. The reason they had been called away from their work by their sibling.

“Ah, there you are,” Alef said from their spot on the throne. They turned back to the spirit. “Resh is Our Will, you see. They are the one who approved the project. Now, We will send a message to the Vault requesting that they do not proceed with the project until We permit. You have until then to persuade Resh of the truth of your words.”

...What?

The two of them turned, and Resh winced when he realized he had spoken aloud.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was just wondering what this task you have given me is.”

“Ah, of course. You see, Resh, Tav here would like to show Us that light creatures should not be used in the Dark Matter Bioweapon project. However, We have our duties to contend with, and so cannot leave the Palace for such a matter. You, on the other hand, are Our Will, and so We have decided that you shall go in Our stead.”

Even from this distance, and even with the mask hiding their face, Resh could feel the gleeful smugness radiating from Alef like heat from a flame. Their most venomous thoughts, directed like psychic arrows at their twin, only increased the smugness, and so, narrowing their eyes, they bowed courteously to the researcher—Tav, was it?

“As you wish, Your Majesty. When shall we be departing?”

“I assume Tav here needs some time to prepare their case. We shall permit them a day to do so. On the morrow, you shall follow after them to...?”

“Oh, uh, Daylight Prairie, Your Majesty.”

“Daylight Prairie. I can see why you chose to do your research there.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Tav said, bowing deeply before leaving with their escorts.

When they were gone, Resh unleashed the full force of their glare at Alef, folding their arms before their chest.

“What are you plotting?”

“Why, nothing! Simply giving you the rest you deserve,” they said, rising from the throne. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe there is paperwork with my name on it. Don't be late for the boat tomorrow, Resh. It would reflect poorly on Us.”

With that, they waved and left, shrinking back down to a more manageable size as they went. Resh watched them go, scowling and boring holes into the back of their head.

Then he sighed and returned to the royal quarters to rest and prepare appropriate clothing for this farce.

Alef would pay for this.

-<◇>-

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

#sky children of the light #sky #sky king #resh #resh my beloved /j #hi this fic is technically to blame for the bones thing last night #i'm very sorry #i thought of some potential headcanons and then it spiraled out of control #author's note: a pizaine (also spelled pixane) is a type of armor also called a standard or mantle #while in our world it's made of leather or chainmail #in the sky kingdom they seem to make them out of stone as seen on various spirits

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

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Pseudo Princess Pt.03

The Portrait’s Success

10/02/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 7,071

Warnings: Language, exhaustion (both reader’s and mine), Medieval Bucky

A/N: Welp, finished the chapter. Went back to edit. Ended up adding another thousand or so words to it. Went from 5k to 7k. Sorry they seem to keep getting longer but this isn’t new for me so...enjoy! Also, I’ll probably be using a lot of dresses from Reign as they are gorgeous costumes and fit the semi-historic style but not exactly as accurate as they should be that I’m going for. Let me know what you think. What you love. What’s your favorite part? I love y’all. Sorry I’ve been slow to update. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Not enough sleep. You have been up all night practicing your letters and sounding them out as you trace them.

With burning eyes, you reach for the modest serving of bread, ripping a piece and then dipping it into a small dish of strawberry jam. It’s full of seeds and they stick in your teeth a bit, but the sweet taste is too good to pass up. You have never had such tasty bread, or such tasty jams.

The food is by far the most enjoyable thing about your new life here in the castle.

You’ve been practicing your writing, but you’ve focused on three words only. All proper nouns, but words that you will come to live by.

The first is obvious, for he is your benefactor now. Your adoptive father.

S-T-A-R-K. You write, in big loopy letters that squiggle unevenly across the top of your parchment paper.

With a lick to your lips, you dip your pen back in its inkwell, and start on the second word that you’ve spent all night practicing.

This one will be the most important for yourself. Because it is who you are. It’s you’re name. Letter by letter, same loopy shapes, sloppy lines, but thankfully legible.

You write it out three times before you’re satisfied with it then move on to the word that will change your life forever.

R-O-G-E-R-S. Here in Malibia, Queen Virginia, or Pepper as you’ve been told to call her, was allowed to keep her own surname. Morgana has taken the King’s but in Broklin, you know that you must take King Rogers’s surname.

You don’t really mind. You must belong to that kingdom entirely and not having to lie about your surname by pretending that it’s Stark will help you feel like you truly do.

As you write out his name a fourth time, you tap against the bottom of the S creating a dark pool of ink, blotting across the bottom of the page as you remind yourself that King Rogers hasn’t accepted you just yet.

You’ve decided to dedicate your life to becoming a good Queen. A good wife to his Majesty King Rogers, but that doesn’t mean that he will want you.

You’re poor. Of course, he doesn’t know that but all of this, not knowing how to read or write will no doubt bother him.

You’re also common in your looks. Natasha tells you otherwise but how can you believe her when she’s so blindingly beautiful herself?

She should be the one marrying a king. Not you. What will you do if you fail his Majesty and can’t make King Rogers fall in love with you?

No. You don’t need him to love you. Just accept you.

As long as he marries you, then everything will be fine.

Is it wrong that you want him to love you?

The subtle creak of your door surprises you and you jump, sitting up straight. Like you were taught.

A young girl no older than fifteen squeaks at the sight of you. She’s wearing a plain maid’s gown, white and gray and brown. Stiff and of good quality. Prettier than anything you’d owned before but sturdy like your old tunic.

Hmph. Even the common folk in the castle are different.

“Forgive me, your Highness.” She gasps with a curtsy and stays ducked down. “I did not know you were awake. I was sent to mend your fire and deliver your morning tea.”

You spring to your feet, waving both hands at her, hoping the smile on her face is not full of surprise and helps to reassure her.

“No. Please, stand up. It ain’t—It’s no problem. Don’t let me stop you from doing what you were told to do.” When she doesn’t rise, you hurry to her and place your hands just underneath her elbows to coax her up.

“Thank you, your Highness.” She watches you with curiosity as if she’s trying to read you, but she goes about the room doing her work while you keep out of her way.

Soon the fire is roaring again and she’s serving your tea while you munch on a biscuit smeared in purple jam. God, this food is going to kill you, it’s so delicious. Once more the door opens, and you jump.

This time, you see two figures, one tall with red hair. The second shorter with fluffy brown hair.

“We’ll wake her gently. Then we can-” Natasha is telling Peter then stops and straightens out of her stooped posture as she spots you standing by the small cards table that’s been cleared for you to eat on. “Oh. You’re already awake.”

You smile at her, then look beside her at your guard. “I am. Good morning. Good morning, Peter.”

“’Morning your Highness.” Peter smiles.

“I thought you’d be exhausted after all of your lessons yesterday.” Nat confesses, a small chuckle in her voice as she moves towards the thick curtains that have blocked out most of the light from coming in through the floor to ceiling windows in your room.

“I was tired.” You admit, feeling a little bit of shame for not sleeping. “Do we have a lot to do today?”

You put your teacup down, biscuit dropped on its plate as you move to take a seat. Your body is finally catching with your fatigue and feels a hundred pounds heavier suddenly.

“Well, we’re meeting his Majesty for breakfast, then we are to go meet with the painter for your portrait. We must get something out by tonight if not tomorrow. King Rogers is eager to see you.” Natasha finally wrangles the curtains open and her smile slowly fades into an expression of dour disappointment. “Oh, Y/N!”

She chastises you, the maid staring with wide eyes at the apparent liberties that Natasha is taking. Peter also looks shocked. You however cringe because you know that she can finally see you for the sleep deprived mess that you are.

“Um…if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to get changed and…yeah…” Peter says, ignoring your pleading looks for him to stay as he slips out, following the maid, then shuts the door.

You’re chewing on your lip when Natasha reaches out to touch the space underneath your eyes.

“You’ve always looked a little tired—and I figured it was just because of your circumstances—but this is unacceptable. We’re supposed to be painting you today to entice King Rogers not warn him. I told you how important this portrait is.” She growls and goes to fixing your hair.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper.

“Were you up all night?”

You nod as she finishes with your hair.

“Why?” She asks and you can’t help it, you jump to your feet and skip to your desk.

You pull out the piece of parchment you’d been writing on then hand it to her.

“I was practicing. When I must sign my name, I wanted to be able to do so nicely and I thought…maybe, to help him see that I want this as much as he does, that I could write to him? But my writing is so terrible. I needed to practice.” You lean around the paper as she looks it over.

Her expression seems to soften, her hand running over the repeated letters and finally that ink blot at the end. It’s almost as if she can guess what you’ve been thinking, and her eyes wander to the desk where you left the small compact with King Rogers’s portrait open to look at as you wrote.

You hurry to grab it, shut it, and hold it in both hands. Slightly embarrassed but it’s Natasha. If anyone is going to know your mind inside and out, it should be her. She’s your lady.

“This looks good, your Highness, but you’ll need much more practice before you’ll be able to write an acceptable letter.” She says as gently as she can manage.

You deflate, your sleep deprivation suddenly too much.

“Does it look that bad?” You look at your scriggles again, trying to see them with fresh eyes and not with the effort that you’ve spent the night using to do them.

“No.” Natasha’s hand finds your shoulder. “No, your Highness. You have made much progress. I only mean that it’ll take time before you can write to his Majesty King Rogers. You still need to learn how to spell other words. Not just names.”

It feels like you’re being hammered into the ground. Every word, although she means it in comfort, makes you feel as if you’ll never be good enough.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We have time. Not much, but I’ll help you.”

As she wraps an arm around your shoulder, you frown and reach out to touch the last iteration of Rogers that you’d written.

“He’s going to be so disappointed with me.” You worry, knowing that you’re nothing special. Worse because not only are you not a real princess, but you’re uneducated.

Then, like the flipping of a switch, Natasha says sternly, “We don’t have time for that.”

She pushes you away and hurries to your wardrobe.

“I’ve allowed you to wallow in a bit of self-pity the past two days because this is not your fault and you’re taking on something that even I would find hard to do but if you’re going to do this, you need to go in with your chin held high. Can you do that?”

You stare as she rifles through your dresses, frowning at each one as if none of them are right.

What answer can you give her? There’s only one answer. You wouldn’t have agreed to do this if you weren’t sure that you could dedicate yourself completely to it and you have! You haven’t even tried to run away.

Part of that is because this place is nicer than any place you’ve been before. But it would be a lie to say that you don’t miss your village. You were no one there but at least you were on somewhat equal footing with all of them.

Even in the village you were slightly lower, uneducated as you are, but you were accepted. You belonged there in a sense. You were your own woman. Hungry most of the time. Alone. But it was home.

“Your Highness?” She checks, turning back to you. “Can you do this? Truly?”

There’s a wavering of confidence in her green eyes and you realize that you don’t want to let Natasha down. Or the Kingdom. Or his Majesty.

“I can.” You nod, hating the way sleep seems to call you making your words slur a little and your shoulders slump. You stand up straighter, chin up. “I will.”

Natasha’s face relaxes, her smile more than makes up for her rightful scolding. “Good. Your dresses aren’t finished yet.”

“Oh.” You worry. “Then, maybe we should wait to do the portrait for when they are? I need to look my best for King Rogers.”

She sees through your attempts to ditch and gives you a knowing smirk.

“Nice try. You should have slept.” With a sigh she places her hands on her hips.

“Who didn’t sleep?” You turn towards the familiar voice eyes bright but worried too as King Anthony moves in with Peter trailing behind him.

“I-”

“Our new princess was up all night practicing her writing because she wants to impress Steve.” Natasha’s tone is teasing, and your neck and ears burn in slight embarrassment.

Wait…why does she call King Rogers by his first name. That’s weird right? Not normal?

The King smirks. “Is that so?” He moves to the parchment on the table and gives it a look.

“I…I wanted to write to him.” You confess, but now that you think about it, it was a silly plan.

You don’t know how to spell. You don’t know how to read. You’re learning but it’s only been two days.

“I’m guessing you saw his portrait?” The King checks.

“I gave it to her night before last.” Natasha moves away from the wardrobe to stand beside her king.

“They all fall for his looks.” The king teases. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Y/N. Steven Rogers might be handsome, but he comes with baggage. Really big, heavy baggage.”

“I know.” You counter, moving to lean against your bed post. “Natasha told me.”

His dead wife. What sort of man has he become since that? You can’t think that it will be anything but bad.

“He’s marrying you because he has to. And he still might not. Which is why we have to trick him into it. Maybe we can make him feel responsible for you somehow?” He wanders deep into thought as Natasha finally looks up at Peter and what looks to be a bunch of shiny burgundy fabric.

“What’s this dress?” She asks.

Oh, it’s a dress. Stupid sleep deprivation.

“But I don’t wanna trick him.” You say quietly, everyone else too distracted to hear you.

“That’s her dress for the portrait. I started having it altered the moment she arrived. Steve’s preferential to reds.”

“This isn’t red.” Natasha laughs. “This is burgundy. Like wine.”

“It’s in the red family.” The king argues.

“Tony…” Natasha laughs.

You’re too sleepy to keep paying them any attention and your eyes are glued on the dress as Natasha holds it up and out to look at.

Damask burgundy silk with golden embroidery along the waist, sleeves, and bust make up the bodice. The skirt is long and slightly ruffled underneath with rough tulle. Your under dress will help you keep from feeling it but this dress is slightly puffed at the skirt.

It’s beautiful but nicer than anything you’ve worn to date.

“Isn’t that too nice?” You wonder, maybe his Majesty made a mistake? You’re not going to a ball. More importantly, can you do the dress justice?

“What?” He turns to you, eyebrow quirked as he eyes you with incredulity. “Nothing is too good for my daughter.”

Your heart skips a beat and warm flutters fill your tummy as he looks back at Natasha and begins to explain something fully unaware of how his claiming you as his daughter has made you feel.

Peter on the other hand moves around them towards you and holds his arm out for you to take hold of. “Are you alright, your Highness? You look a little sick.”

“I’m okay.” You assure him. “I just…”

Wait…Peter doesn’t know about you, does he?

“It’s been a long time since his Majesty called me his daughter. I forgot what it felt like to hear.” You confess which is not a complete lie.

“Was it hard in that school you went to?” Peter asks, concern written all over his kind face, hazel eyes laced with secondhand sorrow.

“It wasn’t easy.” You tell him, again, not a complete lie. “Everything is better now that I’m here. I only hate to leave it so soon.”

“But you’ll be going to another castle, right? And Natasha and I will be coming with you.” He promises. “You won’t be alone.”

“Yes, that does make me feel better. Thank you. But I hope-” You steal a glance over at Natasha and the king as they rummage through your wardrobe and argue about the dress.

“You hope?” Peter urges.

“I hope I can make him happy. King Steven? I really want to make him happy, Peter.” You worry.

“You will.” He nods. “You’re really pretty and nice and you don’t act stuck up like most of the other ladies at court. He’d be crazy not to like you, your Highness.”

His words nearly make you float. “Thank you, Peter. That means so much to me.”

He beams and Natasha’s voice pulls your attention. “Come, your Highness, let’s get you into this burgundy gown.”

“Oh, will you drop it? You’re like a dog with a bone.” King Anthony tells her.

“Did you just call me a dog?” Natasha glares at him and it shocks you how comfortable around each other they are. How relaxed in convention. Even Peter. He calls Natasha by her name instead of her title.

Is that normal?

“I said like a dog. There’s a difference.” King Anthony says, but he chuckles. When his eyes fall on you as you stop before her, he sighs. “We’ll just have to tell Tom to make her prettier than she is at the moment. We can’t have him painting her looking that tired.”

“You won’t lie through my portrait, will you?” You demand, feeling strongly about giving King Rogers exactly what you are. If he doesn’t want you, you’d like to know now instead of later when he’s married you and he’s unhappy with what he has.

“No, not lie. We’ll just paint you more rested than you are.” His Majesty assures you. “Peter, Tom should be in the main hall by now. Show him to the third courtyard out by Pepper’s vegetable garden. We’ll have him paint her on the bench in front of the pink and white peonies. It’ll look good with the dress.”

“Right away, your Majesty.” Peter affirms and hurries out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once gone, the king turns back to you, frown in place. “Look, kid. I really need you to start playing your part. The modesty is a good touch, there aren’t many people from privilege with it so, keep that but you can’t keep questioning every time I want to lavish you with a gift. You’re a princess. Start acting like one.”

Feeling remorseful, you nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

“Also, I’d really prefer it if you called me ‘father’. You should only refer to me as Majesty when you are referring to me to someone else or introducing me to someone I haven’t met. We’re feeding everyone the story that you were sent abroad but I don’t really need them to think that I shipped you away without affection to keep you out of sight.” He urges. “If I’d really had a daughter with emotional problems, they’d have had to pry her from my arms if they wanted to send her away.”

As he speaks the words, you know that he’s thinking of Morgana. She’s still missing. But you get what he’s saying. If you act distant with him, people will think that he never visited and sent you away so that he could pretend you didn’t exist. That’s not what you want for him either.

He’s been nothing but kind to you and considerate.

“Yes, f-father.” You frown. “Sorry. Father.”

That’s better. Sounds more natural.

“She’ll pick it up, Tony. Don’t worry.” Natasha assures him.

“Right.” He says. “Get her changed, curl her hair a little. Waves. Maybe a braid or two but keep it simple. Steve will respond more to her innocence than regality.”

“I thought we weren’t trying to trick him?” Natasha challenges.

“We’re not. I’m trying to sell him my daughter.” He looks at your stunned expression and shakes his head. “Not like that. We’re not getting any money for you. I just mean, I have to make you appealing to him.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” You ask for what must be the millionth time.

“He doesn’t have to like you.” Tony nods. “He just has to marry you. Breakfast in ten. Hurry up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting still for hours and trying not to fall asleep is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

Natasha keeps clearing her throat to remind you to sit up straight and you hear her most of the time, but Peter catches you once or twice when you’ve teetered to the side after dozing off.

Tom, the artist painting your portrait clicks his tongue every time you move and you bit your lip which makes him frown.

“Sorry.” You mutter, then sit still.

Your only solace is that the cool breeze, in combination with the warmth of the sun, is bliss. It’s this comfort that seems to lull you to sleep repeatedly so, good and bad.

Normally, according to Natasha, portraits like these are usually done over several days but because of the urgency to get your portrait to King Rogers, you sit on the white marble bench for nearly ten hours before you’re allowed to get up.

No bathroom breaks. No food. No water. It’s not torture but after two days of constant feeding, it hurts.

“Thank you, Tom.” Natasha tells the painter as he packs away his brushes and paints, staring proudly at his portrait.

“Can I see it?” You ask, Peter scurrying up to help Tom balance his bag as he begins to pull away the canvas he’s painted you on.

“Get that to his Majesty for approval immediately.” Natasha continues, ignoring your question.

“Wait,” You struggle to move.

Your ass feels numb, legs weak, head is splitting, stomach growling, eyes burning. Before you can get two steps, Tom and Peter are gone.

Disappointed, you’re so done with the day and yet, “Are you ready? You’ve got your reading and writing lessons in five minutes.”

You almost whine, complain that you’re exhausted, and you need to sleep when Natasha’s questions from the morning remind you that you’d told her you can do this.

“Yes.” You reply, tired and not doing a very good job at hiding your drowsiness with the saddened lilt of your voice.

“Just a few more hours, princess, and then you can sleep.” She assures you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder to help support you as you walk towards the door back into the castle.

“Okay.” You relent as your stomach grumbles loudly.

You’re pulled to a stop.

“Damn.” Natasha exclaims, stopping just inside the doorway to look at you apologetically.

Your shock at her swearing is maybe not pronounced enough but you’ve sworn lots yourself back home. And much worse than a simple ‘damn’.

“I’m so sorry, your Highness. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Natasha’s remorse is touching but you shake your head and give her a smile.

“It’s okay. I’ve gone longer without eating.” You assure her.

“Not under his Majesty’s care you haven’t. Can you make it to your lessons without me? I’ll run and get you something to eat if you can.”

“Of course, I can.” You nod. “I’m not completely useless.”

She smiles and then grabs the front of her navy dress and rushes off down the hall and out of sight.

She moves so gracefully and her navy dress and its sparkling silver embroidery make her look like a piece of floating night sky.

You hope that you can move with her grace soon.

Halfway to your lessons room, you begin to teeter from left to right. Shutting your eyes for steps at a time and all you want to do is sit down and sleep. You’re very tempted, as you pass several sturdy wooden chairs and benches as you make your way through the light limestone halls of Castle Stark.

But you persevere and keep going.

When your eyes close a third time, they stay shut much longer and you don’t realize you’re sleep walking until you’re slammed into a large firm body that very nearly knocks you off your feet.

Eyes shooting open, you watch as a tall man with shoulder length dark chestnut hair and gorgeous ice-blue eyes drops his bag and an array of scrolls he’d been carrying under his arm. The contents of said bag go spilling out across the floor along with his scrolls. Books and quills and a box of what looks like cookies that spill out across the floor.

“Oh, damn!” You exclaim, unthinking. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I had my eyes closed.”

In a panic you throw yourself to the ground and begin to gather the spilled contents. Ignoring the cookies because those are ruined now. Fuck.

Way to go, Y/N.

“It’s alright. Please, don’t trouble yourself.” The man says, his deep tone easy and flowing.

As you both reach for a small black journal, you gasp at the sight of his left arm. It shines in stunning silver. It’s not a glove. Of that you’re sure because his metal fingers close around the leather book and he pulls it to him.

“You lost your arm.” You blurt without thinking, so surprised and no filter in your exhausted state.

The man swallows and you finally look up to take him in properly. He is indeed handsome, and his blue eyes are stunning. His lips are full and pink, his brow intense but kind. A full beard covers his otherwise strong jaw. You can see the peeking of a dimple on his chin.

He’s wearing a black leather tunic, black pants, tall knight’s boots and several pieces of armor. Primarily a shoulder guard on his right shoulder, emblazoned with a plain white star.

The collar of his black silk shirt peeks out from the neck of his tunic, laced shut. Around his hips rests a long sword and on the opposite side a dagger.

“I’m sorry. That was so rude of me.” You gasp, flustered by your slip. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” He smiles. “Don’t apologize. Forgive me, I was also not watching where I was going.”

“Here.” You reach for a scroll and hand it to him. “I’m sorry about your tin of cookies. I…I can see if I can get you some more? There are these good biscuits that they make in the kitchen here. With jam they are very tasty. Or if you like plain cookies, I can make them myself?”

It’s been a while as you hadn’t been able to afford the flour to make them, but the kitchen in the castle is well stocked. You could make them if Natasha and his Majesty let you.

“That’s not necessary. Really.” The man says, smiling at you kindly.

Together the two of you finish picking up the mess you’ve made and when he has the last scroll tucked underneath his arm, you step back with a smile.

“I really am very sorry that I bumped into you.” You fuss. “I haven’t slept and I’m a little out of sorts.”

“You haven’t slept?” He asks curiously, adjusting his cargo.

“No. I was up all night practicing my writing.” You confess, not thinking. If you’d been well rested, you might not have told him any of this.

“Practicing?”

“I don’t know how to write.” You nod. “Or read. And I’m supposed to get married soon. I…I’m terrified of disappointing my husband.”

The handsome stranger smiles and looks down at the ground, then back up at you with those kind blue eyes. “I don’t suppose any man who marries you will be disappointed. Unless he’s a fool? Not many ladies would have stooped down onto the ground to help me pick all this up, much less offered to make me cookies when there are so many servants to do it for her.”

He seems to think about it for a moment.

“In fact, they would have probably held me responsible for crashing into them and left me here to pick it all up myself.”

“That’s not very nice.” You shake your head. “Besides, I was the one falling asleep while walking. I really am very tired.”

“Can you not go to bed early?” He asks, purely out of concern.

“No.” You shake your head, lips sloping into a pout. “I need to go to my lessons. Writing and reading and etiquette.”

Oh! This is a good chance to practice your lying in the heat of the moment.

“I spent a long time away from my family and now that I’m back I want to make them proud.” You sigh.

“Why were you away from your family? If you don’t mind my asking?” He steps closer so that the two of you aren’t speaking across the hallway at each other.

“I was ill. I had many issues, emotionally, and my father and mother sent me away to get help.” You explain and the young Knight’s eyes seem to brighten with recognition.

“You’re the Princess…uh…Y/N. You’re the daughter Tony and Pepper had before they were married!” The Knight exclaims.

Oh, shit. You hadn’t even thought about it from that angle. The fact that you’d have been born out of wedlock, considering your age. Wait…Tony and Pepper? Someone else going by first names? What’s going on here?

“Don’t you think that maybe they sent you away because of that and not because you were sick?” He jokes, pulling your attention away from the lack of convention.

“Are you saying that my parents cared more about their reputations than they did for me?” You frown, not liking this point of view at all. “That they didn’t love me enough to keep me?”

The Knight goes a little pale. “No. Oh, God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is.” You frown.

“Okay, it is what I meant but I did not mean to cause offense. Forgive me. Sometimes I speak when I shouldn’t.” And he does look sorry. “Please, your Highness, forgive me.”

You consider him for a moment then maybe it’s because you’re so tired and don’t have the energy to stay upset, you nod. “Okay. I forgive you.”

He beams, his smile wide and stunning.

“So, it is you set to marry Steve, and not the Princess Morgana?” He asks, stepping closer as two maids walk by giving you both curious looks.

“I am.” Your worries are brought back by his mention and you remember that you should be at your lessons. “I should go to my lessons. I need to work hard if I want to please him.”

“He’ll be lucky to have someone so pretty and kind as his wife.” The Knight says. “I think you might be just what he needs. His old queen was kind but stern, like him. Fixated on duty. I think a sweet-tempered queen with eyes that shine like the sun will do him a world of good.”

Your ears burn hot like fire. So many compliments loaded into one statement…how does a woman recover? However, you are distracted enough by the way he sounds so familiar with King Rogers that you can ignore the flattery.

“Do…do you know his Majesty King Rogers?” You gasp, astounded by the luck you have. He sounds as if he knows him intimately.

“I’ve known him my whole life.” The Knight says. “My name is J-”

“James!” Natasha’s voice makes you jump, echoing around the hallway and turning your heart into mush.

“Lady Natasha.” The Knight named James says, and his voice wraps around the name like a caress. He likes her!

“Barnes.” Natasha frowns as she comes to stand beside you, a small basket held in her hands. You can hear the slosh of liquid—probably wine—coming from within. “Why are you keeping her Highness from her lessons?”

“We bumped into each other. She helped me pick up my things from the floor.” He tells her, smirking with amusement as she turns blazing green eyes on you.

“Your Highness, a Princess does not get down on the ground. You call for someone to come and pick whatever is dropped for you.”

“Oh, don’t do that to her Natasha. Don’t turn her into one of your stuck-up court ladies. She’s perfect just as she is.” James pleads, genuine in his praise and in his desire to keep you the same. For King Rogers?

“It’s my job to help turn her back into the princess she was born to be and that’s what I’ll do.” She gripes.

“Steve won’t like her if she’s like those ladies. Let her be who she is. He needs a little sugar in his life.” James teases, making your neck hot again.

“Did you just refer to the Princess of Malibia as sugar?” Natasha demands.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s not what I mean. She’s nice. And look at her smile. She’s perfect for him.” James assures her and for the first time since you’ve come to the castle and seen King Rogers’s portrait do you feel any sense of relief.

“Am I really?” You beam up at him, your smile wide but sleepy.

“You bet your bottom you are. I guarantee he’ll be worshipping the ground you walk on.” He smiles.

“James!” Natasha gasps, then hands you the basket. “Your Highness, off to your lessons now. Go on. I will follow.”

“But…”

“Please, your Highness, you’re already late.” She urges and because she’s always there for you, you go.

You don’t go far, however. You stop around the corner to listen. Not very princess-like behavior but you don’t care. You’re sleepy and you’re so curious about King Rogers. This man, James, he knows him. Childhood best friends! It doesn’t get any closer than that.

“First off, don’t refer to her bottom. She’s a princess and she’s going to marry Steve. What is wrong with you?” Natasha demands.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Secondly, what are you doing telling her things like that?” Natasha demands, glancing down towards the hall where you’re hiding with worry.

“What?” He chuckles. “She is sweet. And nice. And honestly, if I didn’t have my eyes set on someone else, maybe I’d have tried to make her fall in love with me a little?”

“You think every woman wants you.” She frowns at him.

“All but the one that matters.” He flirts, moving a step closer. “When will you agree to marry me? I’ve asked you six times already.”

“Ask me six more times.” She quips.

James chuckles again.

“I really wish you hadn’t filled her head with all that ‘perfect for him’ nonsense.” She frets.

“But she is perfect for him. Margaret was always so…She was kind and strong and after what happened to her, I think maybe Steve needs to have someone he can watch over. Someone he can protect.” James reasons.

“Yes, but she’s expecting love, James. She’s told me that she must make him like her nearly a hundred times since she saw his portrait and I’m afraid that she’s only going to make herself unhappy. He’s closed himself off from feelings like that since Maggie. I don’t think he has it in him to love like that again and the princess is already so enamored and I’m pretty sure she’s never been in love before. What if he breaks her heart?

“Then she’s stuck living with him in that castle and she won’t be able to leave, so she’ll just have to deal with it. I keep wanting to beg Tony to cancel this stupid plan because she’s the one that’ll suffer, and she doesn’t deserve that. Because you’re right, she’s nice and sweet, and she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

“What if he’s cruel? What if he resents her? He needs to marry her and have children because that’s what he must do but he doesn’t love her, James. What if he never can? Maybe I should take her away from here?”

“Shh, Natasha,” James closes the distance between them, his hands finding her shoulders which he caresses with affection. “Don’t worry about Steve, I’ll do what I can to help them along. And Steve isn’t cruel. You know him. He’s just…dealing with everything that happened.”

“It’s been two years, James. He still won’t dance. He won’t smile. When’s the last time he laughed?”

James sighs, “I know that things don’t look promising, but he’ll love her. I know it. She is perfect for him. And once she’s pregnant, I know that those protective instincts will kick in for him and he’ll devote every second of his life to her. And you’ll be there, too. Always by her side.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Natasha sighs, “I will be.”

“I think this girl is special.” He says, “For her to get you to love her so much so quickly?”

“The princess has had a difficult life. I want her to be happy now. She takes on so much. She just came back home and now Tony’s sending her away again, just to bury the hatchet?”

“That’s not why they’re doing this, Nat.” James chastises.

“Oh, really? When’s the last time the two of them were in a room without going at each other’s throats? All because of that stupid treaty the team-”

“Nat.” James frowns. “Not here.”

“Sorry.” Natasha says.

Team? What team?

“I know it’s frustrating. But they’re talking. They’re writing to each other. That’s a good thing. And as for the princess, she’ll be happy. I promise. She will, just, maybe not right away. You and I can be a team. We’ll do what we both can to ensure that her heart is as unbroken as when she first arrives.” James insists.

“You can’t promise that. I can’t promise that.” Natasha says, relaxing a little as James closes the distance a bit more, pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped around her torso.

“I can. I will do everything in my power to make sure that he sees her for the blessing that she is. For you.” He smiles at her, seducing her with his kind manners and consideration.

“I’m still not going to marry you.” She smiles, a half smirk with the corner of he lip sloping up seductively.

They both seem intent on seducing each other.

“Aren’t you?” He checks.

“No.” She shakes her head but stops when his lips meet hers.

Quickly you slide back, moving as quietly as you can down the hall until you can walk at full speed without being heard.

Natasha has been your champion since arriving here. Her positive attitude has kept you certain of the task you have set before you but to see her doubts spill out so quickly and numerous, your heart begins to writhe with fear because what if she’s right? What if you’re dooming yourself to a life without love?

There are worse things. You remind yourself again. You know that all you can do is hope that he marries you.

At least, if you marry him, you will have a place. Your home will always be Broklin’s castle and your family will always be the King, even if he doesn’t love you and would rather have his first Queen. You will finally belong somewhere and on one will be able to take that away from you.

Reaching into the pocket of your dress, you pull out the small silver compact that Natasha had given you and pry it open to stare at King Steven’s handsome face.

Those storm blue eyes…

Now all you have to do to ensure your survival is make sure that you don’t fall in love with him. And really, how hard can that be?

It’s late afternoon and you’re making your way from your room with Peter at your side, sharing a bag of berries that his Majesty had sent to your room.

“They’re tart.” Peter chuckles. “Here, keep the rest, I might not stop eating them if I keep going.”

You laugh with him. “So? Help me finish them. I’m eating too much as it is with all of this food they send to my room.”

Your dress is simpler today, plain white with a sheer pink underlay. You’re a gleaming pearl underneath warm yellow light. Your corset is still tight however, so despite the comfortable dress, there’s a hint of discomfort in the way you stand.

“No. I’ll finish them.” Peter argues.

“That’s the point.” You laugh.

“Princess!” A shout from the end of the hall startles both you and Peter.

He drops the bag of berries into your open hand and jumps in front of you to shield you on instinct. You nearly drop the berries but just manage to catch the small sack.

A man you’ve seen every day but never spoken to marches towards you, his short graying curly hair and stocky build give you comfort for some reason. He looks like a teddy bear, even though you’ve seen him grumble and roll his eyes a few times at his Majesty. Everyone acts different than they should. You still don’t understand it and are beginning to think you never will.

“Happy?” Peter says, then looks back to you as if he’s let something slip. “I mean, Harold, Sir Harold Hogan. Your Highness, I’m not sure you’ve officially met the King’s personal secretary?”

“I haven’t.” You assure him and try to look as unphased as possible by the nickname slip up. “Sir Harold, it’s nice to meet you.”

Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan bows to you, then stands up with an excited gleam in his eye.

“Your Highness,” He smiles. “His Majesty would like to see you in his office.”

“Right now?” But, what about your lessons?

“Yes. Now.” He nods and begins to walk away.

You hand Peter the bag of berries and begin to follow Sir Hogan.

“Don’t worry.” Peter says, “I’ll run and tell Master Rymond that you’ll be late.”

“Thank you.” You call out to him just before you turn the corner. “Is it very important, Sir Harold?”

“Please, call me Happy. Everyone does.” He smiles at you, no sign of the severe man you’ve seen over the past few days.

“H-Happy, have I done something to anger my father?” You check, keeping up the lie even with the King’s right-hand man. Does he know the truth?

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nothing like that. He’s actually really pleased with you.”

“Why?”

“King Rogers has written back about your portrait.” Happy begins, shocking your arms into numbness from nerves. “We sent it last night and he got it early this morning.”

“A-and he’s written to father about it?” You ask, your voice barely above a nervous whisper.

“He loved it.” Happy assures you.

“King Rogers loved my portrait?” You ask, all astonishment and disbelief. “He actually said that he loved it?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. But he said he wants to marry you as soon as possible.”

You can’t breathe. “And wh-when is that?”

“Day after tomorrow. We leave in the morning for Broklin. You’ll meet him tomorrow night and, in the morning, you’ll be married. Y/N Rogers, Queen of Broklin.” He looks back at you and you stop walking, the sound of blood rushing is deafening, like the sound of roaring carriage wheels as they crash into puddles of water.

Then everything goes black as your body falls backwards.

Happy’s last cry of, “Princess!” echoes in your ears.

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glass-phoenix · 4 years

Text

TRP Flag: Zayneth Shadowspite - Glass Phoenix

Directory Information: Race: Sin’dorei Class: Musician Age: Adult Eye Color: Fiery fel green Height: 6′0″ Body Shape: 178 lbs. (Muscular, heavily built) Birthplace: Sunsail Anchorage Residence: Silvermoon City

Additional Information: Pronunciation: “Zay-neth” Nicknames: Zay, Zayne, Phoenix, Demon-Fingers Scars: Severe burn scars around missing eyes, though hidden by a robust illusion. Affiliations: Scryers, Armies of Legionfall Vitality: Healthy and well. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Orcish, some Draconic

Personality Traits: Chaste (5) < Lustful (15) Altruistic (14) > Selfish (6) Compassionate (15) > Monstrous (5) Cautious (3) < Impulsive (17) Playful (17) > Serious (3) Swords (19) > Spells (1) Extroverted (7) < Introverted (13)

Physical Description: On the short side of average height and blessed with broad shoulders and sturdy muscles, this elf is generally unremarkable amid a sea of very pretty people. His jaw is usually bearing a day-old blond scruff and his long hair seems more like carelessness than fashion. Close inspection reveals that his eyes seem slightly off, glassy and imperfect at tracking those around him. He gives no impression that he finds it difficult to see. Lately, he's been spotted wearing a worn strip of red leather across his eyes like a demon hunter.

His clothes are generally sturdy leather or netherweave. He speaks quietly, puts on no airs, and often keeps to himself. Those who get so close into his personal space as to be uncomfortable for all parties may realize he smells like incense smoke.

History: Records in Silvermoon City list the Shadowspite family as mercenary soldiers of no noble line. Only one family member is listed as 'living' though two remain on record.Supporters of Kael'thas in the months after the destruction of the Sunwell may recall Zayneth and a tall, burly woman among his followers. Those with very clear memories of that time may know that he followed Kael'thas to Outland and was among the Sunfury who lost faith in the Sun King in the end. A few demon hunters may recognize him as one thought to have died on his first hunt near the Hand of Gul'dan in Shadowmoon Valley.

Some people may have seen this soft-spoken, quiet man playing guitar on a street corner in a northern residential district of Silvermoon with a hat set out for coins. Others may have seen him with the Succulent Tart performance arts troupe, or blowing glass in a small shop in the Bazaar district.

----------

Demon hunter: This character has been written as a "failed," washed-out demon hunter who never attained full hunter status. Over the course of the Legion expansion, he'll have that second chance. He's never been to Mardum, nor shares the experience of years locked in the Wardens' Cage.

At First Glance:

Smells like... Woodsy incense and warm leather.

Shiny! Wearing a pendant of a small, silver penguin on a silver chain.

Blindfolded Wearing a strip of well-worn red leather across the bridge of his nose. It's all the rage these days.

* Bright eyes. Really bright. Fiery bright. Woah, dude, lay off the fel magic.

* The Old Lady (his guitar...) A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Currently (IC): Black leather? Check. Muscled arms? Check. Charming smile? Check.

Other Information (OOC): I like big words and I cannot lie. http://glass-phoenix.tumblr.com

Inventory:

Worn Blindfold Armor Head “A well-worn strip of red leather, tied across the eyes.”

Silver Penguin Pendant Jewelry Necklace “A small silver pendant of a penguin on a silver chain, engraved ‘Z.S. - Tournament of Ages - Penguin Dip Champion’.”

The Old Lady Instrument Guitar A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Lava Rock Bracelet Jewelry Bracelet “A bracelet of pitted black lava rock, livened up by a rainbow of seven colored beads: carnelian, amber, tiger’s eye, serpentine, turquoise, lapis, and amethyst.”

Set of Keys Tool Keys “A set of jangly keys! There’s several of varying shapes and styles.”

Simple Dagger Weapon Dagger “A small, simple dagger of good steel and minimalist design, meant as a back-up or last resort weapon.”

Portable Nether Pocket Container Bag “A small netherweave pouch with a flap that unfolds to give it a much wider opening than it seems. Might actually be a pocket dimension.” Glass Eyes Prosthetic Enchanted “A pair of enchanted glass orbs which are nigh impossible to crack or break.” ----- Brown Bucket Hat Armor Head “A battered old brown bucket hat.”

Oversized Hand-knit Blanket Decor “An oversized hand-knitted blanket.”

Box of T&R Chocolates Container Box “A box of chocolates from T&R Chocolatiers.” The Devil Cordial Consumable Food “Ghost chili in coconut milk-tequila creme in dark chocolate shell.” Use: Enjoy a chocolate.

Moonlight Orb Trinket “A light-weight glass orb about five inches in diameter. Enchanted to glow with a soft, white light.”

Refreshing Massage Oil Consumable Cosmetic “Swiftthistle and peacebloom are combined in a lovely mixture which increases mental clarity and provides a pick-me-up any time of day or night.”

Nagrand Sky Pillow Decor “A pillow embroidered with a scene of the night sky over Nagrand.”

Box of Incense Container Box “A small container of varied scents and quantities of incense.” Bloodthistle Incense Consumable Incense “A powdered incense made primarily of bloodthistle soaked in mana potion. Excellent for mana fatigue. May become addictive.” Use: Burn the incense. ----- Peacebloom Incense Consumable Incense “A stick of sweet, calming peacebloom incense.” Use: Burn the incense. ----- Sungrass Incense Consumable Incense “A braid of dried sungrass meant to be burned as incense.” Use: Burn the incense. ----- Sandalwood Incense Consumable Incense “A stick of soft, woodsy sandalwood incense.” Use: Burn the incense.

Hairsticks Jewelry Hair “A pair of elegant glass hairsticks shaped like single glass roses. Available in black, red, pink, and blue.”

Inkwell Container Bottle “A short, sturdy inkwell of smoked glass bound in bands of decorative silver.”

Perfume Bottle Container Bottle “A delicate glass bottle for holding perfumes and fragile oils.”

Glass Dream Globe Decor “A glass globe about the size of a grapefruit with strands of glass stretched inside the smooth sphere like taffy. It’s said that hanging a dream globe in the bedroom traps the bad dreams in the globe where the strands of glass cut them up and the morning sun burns them away.”

Stained Glass Windchimes Decor “A beautiful windchime made of multiple pieces of stained glass strung together to clink in the breeze like glasses at a party.”

Box of Glass Animals Container Box “A collector’s edition box of six glass animals hand-blown by the master glasswright of Shadowglen Glassworks. May include: dragon, puppy, pig, butterfly, horse, dragonhawk, bluebird, tiger, sheep, octopus, frog, star, cat, wolf, ox, crane, or fox.” Glass Bluebird Trinket “A bright, cheerful blue bird made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Butterfly: “A lovely orange and black butterfly made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Dragon: “A bright blue and purple dragon made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Frog: “A comical, bright green frog made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Horse: “A sprightly, golden brown horse made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Octopus: “A spooky purple octopus made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Pig: “An adorable, bright pink pig made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Puppy: “A cute, friendly black and white puppy made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Sheep: “A whimsical white sheep made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Star: “An iridescent blue star made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Tiger: “A fiercely cute orange and black tiger made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Fox: “A mischievous black-footed orange fox made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Cat: “A curled-up, sleeping calico cat made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Wolf: “A grey wolf howling at the moon made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Crane: “A bright red crane made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Ox: “A stalwart brown ox made of hand-blown glass.” Glass Dragonhawk: “An elegant red and gold dragonhawk made of hand-blown glass.”

Intimate Insertables Container Box Sweet and Simple Intimate Insertable “A basic design which may range from straight and narrow to broad and bumpy. Available in red, blue, purple, and clear. 45 gold.” Short and Round: “A squat, squashed design meant for back door play. Available in sunset or midnight. 40 gold.” Fun Textures: “A spicy design which may range from twists, spirals, swirls, or sequential bumps. Available in red, blue, purple, green, or clear. 60 gold.” Adventurous: “A unique design which imitates the tentacles of a sea creature. Available in blue, green, or purple. 75 gold.”

====================

Zombyneth Shadowspite - Glass Phoenix

Directory Information: Race: Sin’dorei Class: Musician Age: Undead Eye Color: Icy blue Height: 6′0″ Body Shape: 178 lbs. (Muscular, heavily built) Birthplace: Sunsail Anchorage Residence: Silvermoon City

Additional Information: Pronunciation: “Zom-bee-neth” Nicknames: Zay, Zayne, Phoenix, Demon-Fingers Scars: Severe burn scars around missing eyes, though hidden by a robust illusion. Affiliations: Scryers, Armies of Legionfall Vitality: Stone cold dead. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Orcish, some Draconic

At First Glance:

Smells like... Woodsy incense and graveyard dirt.

Shiny! Wearing a pendant of a small, silver penguin on a silver chain.

* Blindfolded Wearing a strip of well-worn red leather across the bridge of his nose. It's all the rage these days.

Bright eyes. Really bright. Icy bright. Woah, dude, lay off the frost magic.

The Old Lady (his guitar...) A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Currently (IC): Mold-eaten leather? Check. Muscled arms? Check. Ghoulish smile? Check.

Other Information (OOC): I like big words and I cannot lie. http://glass-phoenix.tumblr.com

====================

Menagerie:

SHADOWGLEN GLASSWORKS

Stained Glass Windchimes: 35 gold Glass Dream Globes: 25 gold Perfume Bottles: 9 gold Inkwells: 7 gold Hairsticks: 16 gold per pair Glass Animals: 14 gold each Collector’s Edition Box of six glass animals hand-blown by the master glasswright of Shadowglen Glassworks. May include: dragon, puppy, pig, butterfly, horse, dragonhawk, bluebird, tiger, sheep, octopus, frog, star, cat, wolf, ox, crane, or fox. - 90 gold (for six and a nice cherry-wood storage box)

All listed items can be given to you through TRP3 Extended. For custom orders, including many other types of glassware, please arrange a private consultation. Special/custom orders can include but are not limited to: table sculpture, stained glass windows, lamps, glassware, intimate items, marbles, and glass jewels for jewelry. Most private orders include a tumblr post with writing and photos to serve as an item to show your friends!

#TRP flag

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aticklishtem · 5 years

Note

Oooooooh! I think the prompt “Smile for me!” would be great with lee!Beppi and ler!Grim Matchstick. Beppi had a bad performance or something and Grim, wanting to help a friend out, trying to cheer him up! Just a thought.

AAAAAA I’m sorry this took so long lol but this prompt was so adorable I just had to do it justice!! I hope you like 💜

this may also be considered a sequel to Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Dragon? c:

Funny Business

However far off, Grim Matchstick recognised crying when he heard it.

He wasn’t used to hearing it here, though, on his daily glide over the typically cheerful chaos of the carnival when he spotted a lone figure huddled behind one of the tents, away from the bustling crowds. He’d recognise that colourful face anywhere - but he’d never seen it look so miserable before.

“B-Beppi…?”

“Huh - Grimmy!” His friend startled as Grim descended from the sky, springing to his feet with a smile, but it didn’t light up his face like usual. “What a super duper dragon-sized surprise! I didn’t even see you there - must’ve had my head in the clouds, ha! Get it, ‘cause…balloons - air…” Beppi faltered, looking close to deflating for a moment before he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Anyway! What can I do ya for?”

“Oh - I was just p-passing by and I heard, uh…” Grim fidgeted with his claws, taking in the dull pink tinge of Beppi’s usually bright yellow eyes, the telltale tear tracks smudging the paint around his cheeks. It was painful to see his pal in this state - and even more so when we he was obviously struggling to keep up the happy act. “A-Are you okay? It’s not like you to hide away from an audience…”

“Pffft, I’m just fine, dandy as candy, don’t you worry!” Beppi waved a hand dismissively, but his smile was growing shakier by the second. “Just a rough crowd, that’s all, but that’s the biz! Even if - even if no one laughed the entire show until someone started throwing popcorn - that doesn’t mean you’re a failure of a funnyman who should probably just pack up the rubber chickens already ‘cause the people deserve a good clown, and - and…”

“H-hey, sssh, don’t be silly! Well - s-s-sillier than usual…” Grim slid his arm around Beppi’s shoulders, pulling him into an awkward but heartfelt hug. He was more used to making people cry - albeit unintentionally - than comforting them, but Beppi immediately threw his arms around him, sniffling into Grim’s scaly shoulder as he patted his back. “It’s gonna be okay. D-do you want me to get Djimmi, or…?”

“No!” Beppi’s head jerked up in alarm, grabbing Grim’s arm with both hands as if afraid he’d fly away. “No, don’t tell Djim, I don’t want him to - no sense causing a kerfuffle over silly ol’ me. Look, I’m feeling better already, see?” He rubbed his eyes before baring his teeth in an unconvincing, slightly unsettling grimace.

Grim frowned, not buying it, but then an idea sparked. He wasn’t sure if it’d work, but Beppi always tried his darnedest to cheer him up when he needed it, so maybe it was high time he returned the favour.

“C-c’mon, you call that a smile? I know you can do better than that - you taught me how to smile, remember? Let’s see, I think it w-went a little something like this…”

Beppi’s eyes widened in realisation as Grim’s stubby but strong arms encircled him before he could bolt. “Grimmy, wait, you don’t gottahahaha -!” He instantly burst into giggles as Grim scooped him up, wiggling his claws under his arms as he did so.

“Gotcha - there it is!” Grim beamed triumphantly down at his ‘prey’, cradling him in his wings so his claws were free to scribble and pinch at his sides. “My f-f-favourite laugh - see, such a swell clown, the best, the sweetest li’l ball of giggles! Whatever would we all do without it, without you?”

He may have been teasing, but Grim meant every word; tickling Beppi was like a carnival game in itself, his reward the honks, snorts and squeaks of pure delight as he ineffectively batted at Grim’s hands, only making him want to try every spot to see what other noises he might win. “Okahahay, okay, I’m smihihihilin’!”

“F-folks can’t get enough of this one - he’s a r-real rib-tickler!” Grim lifted his tail to loop around Beppi’s wrists, retracting his spikes so as not to hurt him while leaving him at the mercy of his claws as they danced over his ribs like a piano - evidently hitting the right notes as Beppi squealed with laughter, bucking and writhing in his grip.

“Hehehey - thahahat’s my johohohoke!”

“Then it’s g-gotta be a good one, right, with how much you’re laughing!” Grim couldn’t help chuckling himself, affectionately nuzzling his snout into Beppi’s neck. “Mmm, the t-t-tickle monster’s got a real taste for giggly little clowns. I think I spy a s-snack!”

He began nibbling, careful with his fangs, from Beppi’s neck down over his ribs and lingering at his belly until he was shrieking helplessly, the vibrations almost tickling Grim too.

“Nooohohoho not thahahat! I’m toohoohoo -!” Beppi’s laughter tumbled out in loud, uncontrollable, infectious peals when Grim flickered his forked tongue over the dip of his bellybutton, long beyond coherent speech, but he could just about decipher one word:

“…my mahahahakeuhuhup…!”

“Oh!” Snapping out of his merciless monster role, Grim stopped, uncoiling his tail from Beppi’s wrists and letting him flop into his arms. “S-sorry - I got a little carried away…”

“D-dohon’t be. I needed that.” If Beppi’s facepaint was smeared before, he now resembled a candy cane that had been left in the sun too long - but one glowing with genuine joy and gratitude, still giggling weakly as he hugged Grim’s neck. “How about that, I created a tickle monster! I’m so proud! And just a teensy bit terrified.”

“You brought this on yoursehehelf!” Grim snorted as Beppi’s fingers scrabbled up his neck and behind his ears, before somersaulting neatly out of his arms before he could retaliate. He stuck his tongue out in response, waggling it in playful threat. “M-maybe next time, I’ll bring a couple extra heads.”

“Oooh, them’s fightin’ words.” Beppi gasped in faux-offence, clutching his heart theatrically. “Ya don’t wanna mess with a clown, Grimbo - we always get the last laugh. Speaking of - yikes, better skedaddle to make the next show. Can’t let the kiddies see me like this, they’ll think it’s the ghost train! Hey - why don’t you come with! Guest of honour?”

Grim opened his mouth to politely decline - his appearance at any show usually caused more trouble than it was worth - but Beppi’s eyes were so big and hopeful, his grin restored to its usual irresistible brilliance in a way he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of, and, well, who was Grim to turn down the greatest show in Inkwell? Besides, he had a feeling folks would be a lot less hasty to heckle Beppi with a dragon in his court.

“Sure. I’d b-be tickled.”

#beppi the clown #grim matchstick #lee!beppi #ler!grim #fINALLY IT'S DONE i hope this was somewhat worth the wait lmao <33 #askfic #requests #ruthe2018 #tem writes #my fic

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findingschmomo · 7 years

Text

[IwaOi] And All the Prince’s Men Part II - Meetings

Title: [IwaOi] And All the Prince’s Men Pairings: IwaOi Rating: T Genre: Royal AU, Child Abuse, Angst, Friendship

Iwaizumi feels winded, again, by the admiration for his Prince that takes hold of him. It’s a feeling that springs up on him at times, more often than not, growing more powerful each day.

Links: AO3

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi Hajime calls, voice tinged with annoyance as he kicks his horse faster. He can hear the distant laugh of the first Prince of Aoba Johsai egging him on. He grits his teeth.

“Catch me if you can, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sings, having his horse dash out expertly through the trees. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and follows close behind, equally as skilled. Hoof beats tear up the dirt path, mere seconds apart from each other, winding through trees, leaping over roots and dodging around rocks. The air is filled with horses breath and beautiful princely laughter. Iwaizumi would deny joining him in his laughter, but his face is a painting of carefree joy as the breeze blows on his face and courses through his short hair.

Oikawa is finally forced to halt his ride when he comes up to an incredibly dense patch of forest. He pulls on his reigns, letting out another laugh. He turns his horse around as Iwaizumi comes to stop in front of him and he raises his hands in surrender.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “Come on, we need to start packing.”

“I don’t even want to go.” Oikawa whines, sinking into his saddle dramatically, the complete mood shift making Iwaizumi’s eye twitch, “Especially if Father’s coming.”

“He’ll only come as far as Karasuno, it won’t be that bad.” Iwaizumi assures, turning his own horse around, “So stop whining. Come on, it’s your grand debut.”

Oikawa snorts, “What a stupid tradition.” He brings his horse to a walk, heading out of the forest with Iwaizumi by his side, “Sending fourteen year olds to neighboring kingdoms just to watch them suffer.”

“It’s practice,” Iwaizumi says, his tone a tad defensive.

“Who’s side are you on?” Oikawa whines.

“Definitely not yours,” Iwaizumi smirks, “Plus, it’s my first time visiting these places.”

“Who says you’re coming? I think I’ll have you replaced, you’ve been so mean to me all this time.”

Iwaizumi punches his arm weakly, “Everyday I long to be granted freedom from dealing with your bullshit.”

Oikawa laughs, sincerely, “You’re so cute, Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, flicking his tail at his face. Iwaizumi swats it away, feeling his face redden at the complement and touch.

They ride back into the castle grounds, leaving their horses in their stables and making their way into the Great Hall. The servants are in a rush, packing last minute gifts, clothing and supplies. Iwaizumi dips away to help them, but Oikawa follows after him, talking to the servants.

Iwaizumi helps load the wagon, noting where everything is being stored. Once the wagon is stocked he heads up the steps, dragging the Prince right behind him and shoving him into his bed chambers.

“Pull out all the stuff you want to bring. And don’t take all day.”

“Yes, yes, I know! You’re no fun when you’re stressed.” Oikawa sighs, flinging open his wardrobe to dig around his clothing options, “While I’m picking stuff out, write this down, alright?”

Iwaizumi sighs, sitting down at the desk chair and pulling out a sheet of parchment, “Ready.”

“Aki Reina, a new scullery maid apprenticing under Ahana. Straight black hair, brown eyes, a mole near her nose to the left. Soft voice. Loves apples.”

“This is so creepy.” Iwaizumi groans, writing the information down dutifully regardless.

Oikawa throws another outfit onto the bed, “Information gathering is not creepy. It’s necessary.”

“Nothing you do is necessary.” Iwaizumi retorts, corking the inkwell shut.

“Hold on, I have a letter I need you to write.” Oikawa calls at the noise, and Iwaizumi lets out a sigh as he ready’s himself, popping it open again.

“Ready.”

“Dearest Makki-chan--“

“I am not writing to Lord Takahiro.” Iwaizumi snaps, dropping his pen down, “My hand writing is crap and you know it.”

“Don’t be self conscious, Iwa-chan. Come on, it’s a short one.” Iwaizumi groans but lifts his pen again, waiting. Oikawa smiles, “Dearest Makki-chan, I hope you are doing well! I for one have been assigned the arduous task of introducing myself to every royal family bordering us due to an archaic tradition, that neglects the fact it is all such a pointless endeavor, especially when given the fact of my specific circumstance, that, as you unfortunately bore witness to, the King has sold me out to another Kingdom, making my ascendency impossible and my place at diplomatic tables moot, and given this context I’m sure you can readily agree of just the kind of farce my life has unfortunately become. All this to say, please do kindly send me letters these next few weeks, for I will surely be in need of the entertainment. With love, Prince Tooru.

“Did you get all that?” Oikawa asks once he’s finished reciting.

“Of course not!” Iwaizumi snaps.

“It was three sentences!”

“I couldn’t spell half of the words you were spewing out of your mouth.” Iwaizumi grumbles, crossing his arms. He hopes the anger in his voice hides his embarassment, “Write your own damn letter, I’ll pack your clothes.”

They switch posts, working in tandem at their tasks until the Prince is fully packed, and the letter written and sent. While sending it off through one of Matsukawa’s messenger birds, Iwaizumi is given his own message from a butler.

“Where’s your dinner outfit?” Iwaizumi asks, as he hurries back into the room.

“Packed, why?” Oikawa responds, putting down the pawn he’d been moving on the chess board.

“You’re dining with your family, now.”

Oikawa groans, sinking further into his seat, “Must I?”

Iwaizumi digs out the outfit, laying it on the bed and turning to the Prince. Oikawa stands up with a sigh, holding his arms out as Iwaizumi frees him from his garments in favor of a new, fancier outfit, “We’ll be gone for a while. They want to see you.”

Oikawa snorts, “I’m going for mom.”

“Prince Tobio’s going to miss you.” Iwaizumi reminds, helping the Prince with his cuffs.

“Good. I hope he drowns in his tears while I’m gone.” Oikawa spits out.

Iwaizumi glares at him, pinching his arm hard enough to earn a pained squeak, “Don’t talk like that, come on.”

“He’s the worst, Iwa-chan. He’s got dead fish eyes and he copies my every move. Oh, and, did you forget? He’s stealing the Kingdom from me.”

“He’s just a kid who wants to be like you. And you can’t blame him for all that.”

“I hate him.”

“No, you don’t,” Iwaizumi insists. He takes a step back, “Sit down so I can do your hair,” He orders, and the Prince acquiesces with a sigh, closing his eyes as Iwaizumi carefully brushes his hair. It had taken him weeks to learn the exact process, to understand which hairs are swept which direction, to master how to avoid horns sprouting in his way.

“He’s going to make a terrible king. Prodigy my ass,” Oikawa glowers as he is brushed, eyes closed.

“He’s like, nine years old. All nine year olds make terrible kings.”

“Whatever, why are we still talking about him? Come on, let’s just get this dinner over with.”

The pair descend down the steps, through the Great Hall into the dining room. Oikawa makes his way into his seat beside his younger brother, across from the King and Queen. Iwaizumi helps him into his gloves before taking his place by the wall. He stands beside Prince Tobio’s new attendant, a young boy with tall spiky hair.

Iwaizumi nods at him, and the boy waves awkwardly back, face reddening at the attention. He must be nervous, Iwaizumi thinks.

“Tooru, it’s nice of you to join us.” The King says, as he cuts his chicken breast.

“It’s nice of you to invite me.” Oikawa spits back, taking a sip of his wine.

“Tooru, are you all packed?” The Queen cuts in, before the fight could escalate any further.

Oikawa nods, “Iwa-chan and I just finished.”

“Are you excited for your trip?” She continues with a smile.

Oikawa purses his lips, taking his fork in his gloved hand and stabbing it into his food, “I guess.”

“It’s an important trip.” The King reminds, “You’ll be the face of Aoba Johsai.”

“It’s for the best, then. I’m the prettiest face we’ve got.” He smirks, tilting his head slightly and batting his eyes. The King does not seem impressed, but the Queen can’t hold back her giggle.

(Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face.)

“You have to take this seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously.” Oikawa groans, sinking into his chair, “Maybe I’d take it more seriously--if that’s even possible because I’m definitely taking it seriously--if I wasn’t being shipped to another kingdom in a few years never to see the light of day.”

“Tooru, we are done talking about this.”

“Tooru, at least give it a chance. Prince Wakatoshi is a sweet boy, and Shiratorizawa is a powerful nation to have on her side.”

“Powerful but inelegant. And Ushiwaka is so boring! All he ever talks about is his stupid farming policy he helped his father implement.”

“Tooru, this discussion is over. Now eat.”

Oikawa stands up, peeling his gloves off and throwing them at his meal, “I’ve lost my appetite,” he announces, bumping his leg on the table as he turns away. His silverware rolls to the ground and Prince Tobio picks up the fork, “Wait! You’re leaving in the morning!”

Oikawa pauses, shoulders sagging as he turns back around to face his little brother, “Yes, Tobio, I’m leaving tomorrow. We’ve known this for weeks.”

“Will you bring me something back?” The boy asks, his arms waving as he speaks because he’s too awkward to know what to do with them otherwise. Oikawa watches the silver fork flying about the air cautiously.

“No,” he answers easily, “Too busy. I have to take all of this very seriously, don’t you ever listen?”

Prince Tobio blinks at him, “Ok. Will you bring me something next time?”

“No.”

“Ok. What about the time after that?”

“Goodbye Tobio.” Oikawa responds instead, “I’m going to bed.”

He leaves the dining room, and Iwaizumi means to follow but pauses in front of the youngest prince, “He just wants your gifts to be a surprise. We’ll bring you something, don’t worry.” He offers, but Prince Tobio’s expression doesn’t change. Eyes big and wide, blinking up at him.

It is unnerving. And they do look like fish eyes, Iwaizumi hates to admit. He quickly bows to the royal family before following after his own Prince. He finds him climbing the stairs, and he falls in step with him easily enough. They make it back to the Prince’s chamber in silence, before Oikawa collapses into his chair.

Iwaizumi digs in his wardrobe for his pajamas, laying them out on the bed before turning back to Oikawa, “Will you relax?”

“I am relaxed.”

“Your claws are ruining the arms of your chair.”

Oikawa flicks his tail in annoyance, gritting his sharp teeth, “What if I just, don’t come back? Just. Just leave.”

“Oikawa.”

“That’s what he wants. What he wants me to do, that is. Disappear. Then his problem is gone.”

“Do you want to give him what he wants? Stand up so I can dress you.”

Oikawa stands up obediently, “Of course not.”

“Well, there’s your answer.” Iwaizumi replies, unbuttoning his shirt, “Stop thinking about it. Here, let me quiz you.”

Oikawa sighs, arms drooping, “Ok.”

“Hamacho Dayu.”

“He’s the head gardner. His favorite flowers are lilies. He has a wife and two kids younger than Tobio.”

“Aizawa Sumiko.”

“Um, hold on. Uh, she’s, oh, she’s the blonde! The, uh, cook’s apprentice! Who’s father is a butcher in town, yes.”

Iwaizumi helps Oikawa put on his slip over his horns, “Futakuchi Kenji.”

Oikawa opens his mouth and then narrows his eyes, “You tried to trick me! He’s the first Prince of Datekou.”

Iwaizumi smiles, “Just keeping you on your toes.” He straightens back up once he is finished, “Want another one?”

“No, I’m tired,” Oikawa yawns, crawling onto his bed. He lies down, raising his arms up and making grabbing motions with his hands, “Come, come Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, slipping out of his tunic and folding it neatly on the ground, “You are so annoying, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Oikawa teases, “Did you want to sleep on your floor? Go right ahead.”

Iwaizumi huffs, crawling in beside the Prince because it’s true. But not completely, because he honestly does like sleeping next to Oikawa, who might as well be a human campfire, keeping him warm all night. He doesn’t remember the last time he spent the night in his own room. Years ago probably.

Oikawa nuzzles in close to him, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s, “Iwa-chan, I have a new assignment for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Help me find the library at every castle we visit. I want to look for books on demons.”

“Ok.”

“So I can learn how to put curses on my enemies.”

“Go to bed, Oikawa.”

------------------------------------

“Father, I can’t believe this! This is supposed to be my debut, and you bring that brat along?”

“Tooru, you’ve caught quite the snake tongue lately. Or have you always had it? Let me guess, you’re tired? Do you need to sit out of this meeting? If you wish I can cancel the rest of your stops and let you spend the summer convalescing at the Shiratorizawa castle.”

Oikawa bristles, his mouth a thin line, but he remains silent as they step off their mounts in front of the castle doors. Iwaizumi helps unload the Prince’s baggage, handing Kindaichi--he had finally learned Prince Tobio’s new attendant’s name--the lightest to carry.

A tall man dressed in Karasuno’s colors, black and orange, greets them at the doors. His brown hair is tied in a loose bun and his hands seem to shake as he greets them. Oikawa smiles at him, as they pass through and are finally greeted by the Kings of Karasuno.

“Welcome, Prince Tooru, to the Kingdom of Karasuno, it is a pleasure to be hosting you as you traverse the lands. We are honored to be your first stop.” The black haired King greets with a deep bow. Iwaizumi knows, from drilling Oikawa constantly, that it’s King Sugawara Daichi.

He tries to remember Karasuno’s history. He knows the Kingdom had been on it’s last legs only a decade ago. It was from a myriad a problems. A long standing war with the neighboring Kingdom of Nekoma, unrest in the countryside, bankruptcy and distrust of the royals had all but manifested in a coup d’etat.

Iwaizumi can’t really remember the resolution. He knows it has to do with the previous King abdicating to his son, King Sugawara Koshi, and him marrying a commoner, the man speaking to Oikawa now. But more must have happened too. He’ll have to ask Oikawa about it tonight.

“Oh, you’ve brought Prince Tobio!” King Koshi, the silver haired king, exclaims, smiling down at the young boy holding his father’s hand, “What a wonderful surprise!”

“I thought he deserved a little head start.” The King chuckles.

“Well, do come in, we can talk in the dining room. Tanaka!” A bald servant, probably around Iwaizumi’s age, hurries over, “Could you take Prince Tobio to where Shouyou is? I’m sure he’ll have much more fun spending time with someone his age.”

Iwaizumi follows the royals into the dining room, leaving Kindaichi to follow after Tobio nervously. He takes his place against the wall. He finds Karasuno’s architecture quite gloomy, all dark colors and little decoration. The castle is definitely in need of some renovating. He notices a cobweb in the left corner of the ceiling. Not a good first impression. He wonders what kind of spider lived there.

His green eyes shift back down to where the royals are seated. There’s an array of snacks on the table that make Iwaizumi’s mouth water, but years of watching others eat before him had trained him to hide it. His eyes cling to Karasuno’s signature cuisine, meat buns, which feature heavily in the buffet.

Iwaizumi wonders if he’ll be able to try any before they leave. He’ll have to make Oikawa share with him at some point. He watches the royals converse in idle pleasantries, nibbling from the spread. But then Iwaizumi sees it, sees the calculating glint in Oikawa’s eyes, sees his smile stretch a bit too far, and he feels himself shudder.

Oikawa, the Demon Diplomat, has arrived.

(Oikawa hates him when he calls him that, for obvious reasons. Iwaizumi still thinks it’s pretty funny.)

“You’ve both done such a marvelous job these past few years.” Oikawa comments with a sigh, eyes sweeping along the room before resting on the Kings.

“Why thank you, it has been difficult, but we are incredibly proud of how far we have come,” King Daichi nods.

“Indeed,” Oikawa readily agrees, dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief, “I wonder just how high Karasuno can fly? It would be a shame for your wings were to be clipped too soon.”

The Karasuno Kings frown, “And why would they?”

Oikawa is undeterred from the sudden tension in the air, dancing his way through the conversation with ease, “Well, I’ve heard tensions with Nekoma are rising again.”

“Old tensions never really die.” King Koshi supplies, smile forced on his face.

“Of course, but we wouldn’t want to repeat the past, would we? We wouldn’t want to start a war over another strip of worthless land now would we? What did the people call that war again?”

The Kings share a glance, but King Koshi steels himself, “Battle at the Garbage Dump.”

“People can be so cruel.” Oikawa sighs, taking a bite of his meat bun, “Nekoma is restless still, and as powerful as ever, I’m sure you’ve noticed?”

“What are you proposing?” King Daichi asks, eyes narrowing.

“I believe it’s time we open up a trade route, the profits of which would be beneficial to both our countries. The people of Karasuno love fish, don’t they? How dreadful to be a landlocked nation at times. Their only option is to turn to Nekoma’s markets, which only helps fund them. What I propose is a trade agreement in which Karasuno trades exclusively with us, and has full access to our sea imports. In exchange we receive access to your famed crow feathered quills.”

The Kings share another thoughtful glance, taking the piece of paper to their side of the table to skim over. Oikawa folds his hands. Iwaizumi feels a swell in his chest.

King Daichi speaks up first, “We’ll have to think this over.”

“Of course,” Oikawa agrees, “That’s why I have brought it up now rather than later. Best to mull these things over for a few days.” He smiles and the Kings before him seem to visibly relax, “I’ll leave you to your discussions. I’m terribly tired from the long journey, and should retire for the evening. Father, are you coming with me?”

The King of Aoba Johsai nods, face grim, and follows his son out of the room. Oikawa pauses at the door, a moment longer, to say one last thing, “The best thing Karasuno can do in the face of the northern threats of Nekoma and their allies in Fukurodani, is to grow closer to the Miyagi continent. Aoba Johsai would love to open the doors to these friendships. I hope you take my plan into consideration. I am excited to learn more of Karasuno culture during the rest of my stay.”

As they walk down the hall, Iwaizumi can’t help but clap Oikawa’s back with pride. Oikawa grins at him, sticking his tongue out. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, nudging his shoulder with his own. Oikawa stifles a giggle and waves him away, lest his Father call him out.

As they turn the corner they bump into a frantic Kindaichi, pale in the face, “Oh, sire! Please, I can’t get them to stop!“

“Is something wrong? Where’s Tobio?” The King asks, his first words in a while. He had been tense the entire meeting.

Kindaichi leads them out to the court where the servant from earlier and another shorter one are attempting to separate two screaming nine year olds from tearing each other’s hair out.

“Tobio!” The King roars, and Prince Tobio falls limp, fingers no longer clawing at Prince Shouyou’s arms. The ginger beneath him scrambles back, spitting out a few more taunts before the two servants can get a hold of him as well.

The taunts are too tantalizing though, and Prince Tobio fires up, “No, you’re an idiot, idiot!”

“Tobio!” The King shouts again, snatching his son’s arm and pulling him away.

“Amazing.” Oikawa half laughs, “Tobio wants to start a war.”

Iwaizumi covers his mouth to hide his snort.

The King shoots them a look, fingers tightening around the young Prince’s arm, “We will be taking our leave now rather than in the morning. Kindaichi, go get the horses ready. Tooru, I will see you in a few weeks.”

“Unfortunately,” Oikawa agrees with a biting smile.

The King glares at him, in one of his rare moments of pure open fury, but he says nothing as he leaves, dragging a frightened Prince Tobio after him.

“You’re pushing it a lot lately.” Iwaizumi comments as he helps undress Oikawa later that evening.

After apologizing for the squabble, they had spent the day touring the castle grounds. Now, in the safety of his private guest chamber, Oikawa seems subdued, tired from the day and quiet. His shields are low as he speaks, “Why not? There’s nothing else he can take from me now.”

Iwaizumi frowns. Oikawa pokes his wrinkly forehead, earning a scolding look. He grins, “He’s gone now. So let’s stop talking about him. Quiz me.”

Iwaizumi sighs as he slips into his own pajamas, “Kunimi Akira.”

“Tobio’s old attendant who quit. He helps with the horses now, planning to join the knights.” Oikawa responds as he slips into the bed.

Iwaizumi crawls over to him, “Watari Shinji.”

“Oh! He’s the new trainee that destroyed part of the barracks during a fight.”

“No, that was Kyoutani Kentarou. How could you mistake that?”

“Who’s Watari then?”

“Uh, I think he’ the groundskeeper’s son. Knows where everything is at all times.”

Oikawa nods, snuggling a bit closer.“You know,” Iwaizumi says, to the darkness, “You don’t have to do this. No one expects you to know every single person in the castle.”

“Well, I want to.” Oikawa replies petulantly, “Who knows what resources we have at our disposable if we don’t make an effort?”

Iwaizumi feels winded, again, by the admiration for his Prince that takes hold of him. It’s a feeling that springs up on him at times, more often than not, growing more powerful each day. Regrettably, it makes him slip up, “You were amazing today.”

Oikawa sits up, eyes shining unnaturally in the light, his movement too fast that his one horn knocks into Iwaizumi’s chin painfully. He groans, but Oikawa has no time for it, “Did Iwa-chan just complement me? Without prompting? Say it again!”

“You’re hearing things.”

“Say it again!”

“Must be the ghosts of Karasuno’s past mistakes haunting you, I didn’t hear shit.”

Oikawa laughs, swatting Iwaizumi’s chest, “Oh, and they say I have a snake tongue.”

“Is your tongue actually forked?”

“No!”

“Are you sure!”

“Of course I’m sure! I’ve had it fourteen years.”

“Are you checking right now?”

“Got to bed, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi chuckles, rolling over and pressing his face into his pillow. But before he slips into his dreams, a memory jolts him awake and he sits up, “Wait, Oikawa. Hold on.”

“What?” Oikawa asks, yawning into his hand but peering up at him curiously.

“Smuggle me one of those meat buns tomorrow. I want to try it.”

“You know you could get your head shaved for that here.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. I don’t live here.”

Iwaizumi swats him with his pillow, “You definitely know. You stayed up all night reading everything on Karasuno this past week. Is it true?”

“Stop hitting me! I’ll get you your stupid meat bun. Now go to sleep, I have to represent our Kingdom tomorrow all by myself.”

“We’re doomed.” Iwaizumi breathes into the air with a mournful sound. Oikawa jabs his side.

“Iwa-chan is very talkative tonight. What a shame he uses it to spout out terrible lies.”

“Alright, I’m sleeping. Good night, Your Highness.”

“Good night, minion.”

----------------------------------

“Woah.” Iwaizumi breathes out.

Oikawa smiles smugly, slowing his horse to a stop at the castle gates. He looks over at Iwaizumi’s gaping face, “Paintings don’t give it justice do they?”

The Kingdom of Datekou’s castle looms above them, formidable in its stone architecture, a veritable fortress on a hill. From their spot at the bottom, still far, they can see the green and white flags billow in the breeze around it. But the castle itself is not what makes Iwaizumi gasp, but the walls surrounding the entire castle grounds.

Tall, thick, impenetrable and reaching higher then he’s ever seen. Do they really stretch all the way around like this? Iwaizumi gets off his horse, holding her by the reigns as he walks over to touch the stone work. He runs his fingers along the textured surface, marveling at the impressive handiwork.

“I want to climb it.” Iwaizumi murmurs, staring up at the top of the structure. It must be twice as tall as Aoba Johsai’s fence, maybe more.

Oikawa snorts, “You would need a ladder. I hear it extends downwards a few feet into the ground too.” Iwaizumi looks down, fingers twitching at his sides. Oikawa rolls his eyes, “Iwa-chan please refrain from digging up our neighbor’s yard, you might cause an international incident.”

Iwaizumi huffs, returning to his mount obediently after one last look at the wall.

Oikawa brings his horse back to a walk as they enter the grounds. Iwaizumi keeps in pace, looking around the manicured lawns. He glances back to make sure their entourage of guards and servants have all made it through the gate.

As they climb the hill, a young man greets them with a deep bow, “Welcome, Prince Tooru, to the Kingdom of Datekou. The Queen is very excited to speak with you. Please follow me, we will help your servants move your things into your quarters.”

Oikawa thanks the short man, “And what is your name?”

“Moniwa Kaname.” The servant responds, a bit surprised.

Oikawa smiles at him, “Lead the way, Moniwa.”

Moniwa looks a bit unsettled but nods, nervously turning away to lead them into the fortress, “Of course, follow me.”

Oikawa glances back at Iwaizumi, eyes darting toward Moniwa, and then back. Iwaizumi sighs, digging up a piece of paper and charcoal that he keeps on his person, scrawling down the name to add to the pile. Oikawa flashes him a quick grin, before setting his face into his princely smile and turning back to the Great Hall.

The Queen greets them warmly at the steps. Oikawa kisses her hand, laying on his charms expertly. She smiles at him. Iwaizumi bows deeply and she doesn’t spare him a glance, keeping her eyes on the foreign prince, “It is a pleasure to have you here in my court. Kenji! Come meet Prince Tooru.”

A boy trudges over from the corner of the room, looking both bored and aggravated. Iwaizumi guesses he’s just a tad bit younger then them, maybe twelve? The way he slouches, Iwaizumi wonders how the tiara doesn’t slip straight off his head. He straightens when he reaches them, crossing his arms and raising his brow.

“So this is the prettiest prince in all of the lands, huh?” Kenji mutters, unimpressed.

Oikawa’s smile is tight.

The Queen admonishes him, “Kenji, Prince Tooru is on his debut trip. You might want to learn from him, your trip isn’t too far from now either.”

Prince Futakuchi Kenji rolls his eyes, “He probably doesn’t even know how to lay bricks. His hands are so dainty.”

“Kenji!”

“It’s alright, Your Highness,” Oikawa assures, “Kids will be kids. Prince Kenji, do you help lay down the stones for your beautiful walls?”

Prince Kenji purses his lips, “No, but I supervise the masons.”

“I would love to watch them work sometime while we’re here. In fact, we had to stop on our way up to marvel at your guarding wall! Quite the feat of human ingenuity.”

Iwaizumi does not know how Oikawa does it, how he brings out the passion in people and manipulates their moods to his whim. A part of him thinks its magic, but another part knows it’s just Oikawa doing what Oikawa does best. Because Oikawa is magic. In more ways than one.

“Come,” the Queen interrupts with a smile, “Why don’t we talk in the dining room? Kenji, you should join us as well.”

“Fine,” The foreign Prince sighs.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa follow the royals out of the Great Hall, into a large hallway. Iwaizumi marvels at the castle, each wall carved with incredibly detailed patterns. He longs to run his fingers along them, but he keeps his hands at his sides.

“Oh,” the Queen says, as they reach the entryway to the dining room. Her eyes have finally taken in Iwaizumi’s presence, “You should dismiss your servant.”

Iwaizumi blinks. Oikawa smiles, “Iwaizumi is my personal attendant. He’s supposed to stay with me at all times.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. A custom in Aoba Johsai,” the Queen nods slowly.

“That’s so weird,” Prince Kenji mutters.

“We like to keep important matters private here,” the Queen explains, and her eyes seem a bit too stern on Iwaizumi’s face. Apprehensive. Distrustful.

“I do not wish to impose. Iwaizumi, you are dismissed. I will check in with you again when I retire,” Oikawa orders, barely sparing him a glance.

Iwaizumi hides his clenched teeth through a neutral expression, giving him a bow, “As you wish, sire.”

Iwaizumi leaves the entryway, leaves the Great Hall, leaves the castle entirely. He walks, hands balled into fists until he reaches one edge of the grand wall. It’s even more formidable far from the gate, no gaps for even light to pass through it.

He kicks it. Longs to open up a crack and let the sun poor in, let everything in. Let him in.

Sometimes, Iwaizumi forgets.

He forgets where he stands in this world. A poor orphan boy spit on by society. Not meant for such luxury. Never meant for it. He was supposed to be a knight after all, or a farmer. Never an attendant.

He pulls at his tunic in frustration. A costume. No matter how hard one scrubs the grime of poverty does not come off him. He will always be a servant boy, forgotten in the corner, and not worth acknowledging. Not worth including. Worth nothing. Worthless. He kicks the wall again.

A hand rests on his shoulder, forcing him to whirl around. Another teen stands before him, tall, with a terrifying face. No eyebrows and an unflinching stare. Iwaizumi swallows.

“What?” he asks.

The white haired teen points at the wall where Iwaizumi had been kicking, “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi mutters, kicking at the ground instead.

The teen nods, content with the apology and walks away. Iwaizumi watches him go, mussing his lip. He glances at the castle, at Oikawa, working his magic. He glances back at the retreating teen and lets out a sigh before trotting after him.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he falls into step beside him.

The teen does not seem surprised by his presence, or at least his features do not change, “Aone Takanobu.”

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwaizumi supplies. Aone nods, “I’m from Aoba Johsai.” Aone gives another nod, turning left on the path. Iwaizumi follows.

He finds himself by a destroyed flower bed, the stones scattered around, somehow torn from their home in the dirt. A pile had been started, an attempt to regroup them from the ground.

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asks.

Aone crouches down to lift a rock and move it to the pile, “First year mason.”

“Ah, a klutz huh? Not meant to be?” Iwaizumi tries to joke.

Aone doesn’t seem to register the humor, shaking his head, “It takes time to learn.”

Iwaizumi ins’t sure how to respond to this level of maturity from a boy who might be his age or maybe years older. Instead, he leans down and helps pick up the stones. Once they’re all in a pile, Aone starts placing them back in their designated space, rebuilding the simple little barrier of the flower bed.

Iwaizumi hands him the rocks as he does so, falling into a comfortable silence with the Datekou boy. He decides he’s a fan of him. It’s rare he gets a moment of silence with being at Oikawa’s talkative side all hours of the day. This sense of peace is nice. Refreshing.

When they’re finished Aone stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees and nodding at Iwaizumi, “Dinner is soon,” he advises, pointing back toward the castle. Iwaizumi gives his own nod then, sending a small wave as he treks back up the hill to the fortress.

Aone waves back, taking a different path.

When Iwaizumi reaches the castle, dinner has already been served, he moves to enter the dining hall when a maid leads him away to eat with the other servants in the kitchen. He huffs but doesn’t complain.

Finally, once dinner is over, he reunites with Oikawa who simply waves him away again, “Iwaizumi, go prepare my new quarters will you? I will join you in a moment.”

Iwaizumi feels his eyebrow twitch, but he bows all the same and follows one of the Datekou butlers to Oikawa’s guest quarters. He pulls out the Prince’s pajamas in preparation, figuring that must have been what he meant. And then he sits down in the chair, seething.

It takes another half hour before Oikawa slips into the room with an exhausted sigh, closing the door behind him. Iwaizumi knows because he had counted the minutes, each one adding to his festering anger.

“Iwa-chan! This day was so long! They’re all so serious here!” Oikawa bemoans, slipping into the seat across from his attendant, “And boring! I’ve learned way too many things about rocks from that stupid brat of theirs.” Oikawa lets out another sigh, peeking his gaze over at Iwaizumi. He frowns, eyes squinting, “You’re mad at me.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. He glares.

Oikawa sits up, “Why are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sire. Am I even allowed to be mad at royalty?”

Oikawa groans, slipping back into his seat, “What did you want me to do? Offend them by having you stick around? It’s different here. There’s a lot more degrees of separation.”

Iwaizumi knows he’s right, but he still feels sick thinking about it.

“You know they wanted you to be in the servants’ quarters in the other wing? Actually they’re assuming you’ll be there after ‘preparing my quarters’ which was the only thing I could come up with to get you here.” Oikawa sighs.

“Should I go?” Iwaizumi asks.

“No. I haven’t seen you all day.” Oikawa insists, putting a hand over Iwaizumi’s, “If they get mad I can just say it’s a cultural difference. Which it is, so we’re not even lying.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, “Not many attendants sleep beside their princes.”

“Well, not many princes are demons with nightmares.” Oikawa counters.

Iwaizumi smiles, despite everything, and lets out a defeated sigh. He turns his hand around to play with the Prince’s fingers. He can never stay angry at the Prince for very long.

Oikawa grins at him, squeezing his hand in turn, “Now, come on, quiz me while we change.”

Iwaizumi sighs, standing up to undress the Prince, scanning his mind for names, “Sugawara Shouyou.”

“The young prince of Karasuno. The one Tobio tried to murder.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “Shimizu Kiyoko”

Oikawa huffs, “Pretty medicine woman at Karasuno, not very bright.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “Just because she didn’t flirt back doesn’t mean she’s not very bright.”

Oikawa turns his head away with a stern frown, “Whatever, give me a non Karasuno one!”

Iwaizumi sighs, rummaging in his head for something because he would rather not dig through his notes. He smiles mischievously, “Aone Takanobu.”

Oikawa blinks at him, “Masonry prodigy in Datekou. How do you know him?”

Iwaizumi blinks in turn, “I met him today. How do you know him?”

“That brat mentioned him at least five times while I was trying to talk policy with his mother,” Oikawa sighs, “Were you trying to trick me, Iwa-chan?”

“I think it’s time for bed.”

“Never mind that, do you know what I learned today?” Oikawa says, pulling away from Iwaizumi once he’s been dressed, “Nekoma is not the only country interested in demonology. Karasuno is too.”

“They are? We couldn’t find anything in their library.” Iwaizumi frowns, following Oikawa into the bed.

“I know! Apparently, they don’t like to advertise it, they’re working on their image. But apparently they have a wealth of knowledge on the subject! I wish we could just go back there and snoop around some more.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “You’re just trying to think up excuses to bail on Shiratorizawa.”

“That’s just a bonus.” Oikawa assures, turning to face Iwaizumi on his side. Iwaizumi smiles at him sadly, bringing a hand up to brush one of Oikawa’s waves behind his ear. His fingers trail up, running along the ridges of his horns.

Oikawa hums, closing his eyes, but Iwaizumi can tell he’s still tense beside him, so his next words are no surprise, “Do you really think he’ll make me do it?”

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh, bringing his hand back to his side, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I could ever love him,” Oikawa whispers into his pillow.

“You don’t even know what love is. You’re fourteen,” Iwaizumi mutters back, trying to inject some humor into the conversation.

Oikawa doesn’t take the bait, just flicking his unnaturally bright gaze up at him. His brown gaze holds on green, and Iwaizumi feels his skin prickle. But then Oikawa closes his eyes, “Goodnight, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi lets out a soft breath, turning his face to stare at the ceiling, “Goodnight, Oikawa.”

------------------------------------

Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa in the carriage, trying to rouse him from his sleep. Oikawa groans, swatting him with his tail. Iwaizumi grabs it in retaliation, tugging it mercilessly, which elicits a whine from its owner.

Oikawa opens his eyes, grabbing his tail back, “That hurts, you know!”

“We’re here,” Iwaizumi says, peering out of their curtained window. Oikawa takes a breath, masking himself, before poking his head out to see.

The glittering gates of Shiratorizawa open before them, each topped with a golden eagle, the national animal. Iwaizumi thinks they’re pretty cool. Oikawa finds them overrated and gaudy.

“Hey, if I make a run for it now, how far do you think I’ll get?” Oikawa asks, as their carriage makes its way up the path, “Oh my God, they’ve got servants lining the whole path to welcome us.” Oikawa cries, looking away and covering his face.

Iwaizumi pokes his head out again, eyebrows raising, “Damn.”

“I hate this,” Oikawa mourns, sinking into his seat.

“This is like, completely up your ally. You’re always looking for stuff to grow your ego.” Iwaizumi points out.

“Yeah, but this is different! They’re just excited their future trophy is visiting.”

Iwaizumi leans back in his own seat, “It might not be that bad. I mean, the Kings in Karasuno seemed to share power pretty evenly. Not everywhere is like your dad and mom.”

“But I don’t want to be a King of Shiratorizawa.” Oikawa snaps, “This isn’t my home, and these aren’t my people! Not to mention, Aoba Johsai will fall apart under Tobio. My ascendancy is for the greater good!”

“Uh, huh.” Iwaizumi replies, unimpressed, “Oh, Ushiwaka’s out there. Hey, do you think he’ll remember my name this time?”

“Ugg, I’m gonna have to kiss him again.” Oikawa groans, falling to the side until he’s horizontal in his seat. Iwaizumi blinks, eyes darting straight to Oikawa at the words.

“You kissed him?” He asks, incredulously, the words tripping over his lips as they barge out of his mouth.

Oikawa peeks through his hands, “It’s like, a thing here. Like a greeting. You kiss everyone.”

“What?”

“Not on the lips! Like, on the cheek. You wouldn’t expect it since they’re all so serious here but whatever. Weren’t you with me last time when I almost vomited? Oh wait, no, that was when you were sick with a fever, I remember now.”

Iwaizumi frowns, feeling his face heat up a little, “Do I have to do that?”

“Probably not,” Oikawa sighs, “Hey, but can you do it for me?”

“Hard pass.” Iwaizumi replies, standing up, and opening the carriage door as the horses come to a stop. He extends a hand to help the Prince down before falling into step behind him.

Prince Wakatoshi Ushijima stands before them, surrounded by servants sending their many greetings and bows.

“Welcome, Tooru.” Ushijima greets stepping forward wne placing his hands on the other Prince’s upper arms. He leans down kissing each cheek while Oikawa begrudgingly does the same. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes trained on the ground.

“Hello, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa replies once he pulls back.

Ushijima lets out a small sigh, “Must you call me that?”

“Yes, dear, I really must.” Oikawa sneers, moving past him, “I’m much too tired from the journey to discuss much, I think I will be retiring to the guest quarters early, oh and no need to show me, I know where they are.”

“Oh, in actually we have prepared you your own bed chamber.” Ushijima remarks, stopping Oikawa in his tracks, “We assume you will be visiting quite often, and we would hate for you to have to repack constantly. This way you can leave things here.”

Oikawa swallows, “Great! How thoughtful of you.”

“Thank you.” Ushijima responds with a nod. Oikawa grits his teeth when he smiles, “In the morning once you’re rested we need to have a meeting with the wedding planner.”

“Wedding planner?” Oikawa bristles, “The wedding isn’t for another four years!”

Ushijima seems to falter, almost as if he agrees, but his eyes grow stern again, “Father says it’s always best to plan ahead.”

“This is insane!” Oikawa shouts.

Ushijima frowns, glancing around the busy hallway, at the servants looking over at them. He turns around, “Let me show you to your room.”

Oikawa falls into silence as they make their way up the ornate stairs and down the hallway to a section of the castle he is unfamiliar with. At the end are a grandiose pair of double doors. Ushijima opens them to reveal a gargantuan sized room, a giant bed, a chaise lounge, multiple wardrobes, a stocked bookcase and desk. Thick velvety curtains frame the windows.

Iwaizumi places the luggage on the ground, taking in the room as neutrally as he can. “I hope this room will be to your liking,” Ushijima says, “If you need anything do not hesitate to ask. One of my servants will come collect you in the morning. There is an attached room for your attendant through those doors. I wish you a restful sleep.”

Once Ushijima closes the door behind him Oikawa visibly sags, crumpling to the floor and letting out a groan. Iwaizumi nudges him with his foot, “Can you at least mope on the bed? It looks incredible.”

“I don’t want to sleep in it. This room is just to show how off how much wealthier they are then us,” Oikawa snaps, squirming about on the floor.

Iwaizumi turns away to look through the bookcase. Shelves and shelves of books on agriculture, a few on politics and some light reading crowd it, “Aoba Johsai is pretty wealthy. We look better off than Datekou and Karasuno.”

“Karasuno can barely stand on its own, who knows if it’ll make it another decade. Datekou has always been pretty stagnant, they keep to themselves.” Oikawa replies.

“Why is Shiratorizawa so rich anyway?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling out a book to flip through it. Definitely too high level for him. He slips it back in place on the shelf.

Oikawa has rolled onto his back, staring up to the ceiling, “They’re just in a lucky spot. Lot of fertile soil here. They grow everything they consume and have a huge amount of surplus to trade out. We get a lot of our food from them, actually.”

“Really? I thought our soil was good too.” Iwaizumi turns away from the bookcase completely, taking a seat on the desk chair backwards. He rests his arms and head on the back of it, looking down at Oikawa, “You look like an idiot, by the way.”

“Our soil is good, but more for flowers and aesthetic plants than food products. And, don’t be mean, Iwa-chan. I’m suffering.”

“I don’t think Ushiwaka is all that excited to marry you either.” Iwaizumi points out, “He looks miserable too.”

“That’s just his face.” Oikawa replies, “He should feel honored to have the chance to marry me. Have you seen me?”

Iwaizumi looks unimpressed, “Remember when Prince Kenji called you ugly?”

“Shut up! He was a brat anyway,” Oikawa huffs, sitting up from the floor.

“Yeah, I’ve kind of realized that all royal kids are brats.”

“Except me.”

“Especially you.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, standing up from the floor. He places his hands on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, leaning down so their faces are practically touching. Iwaizumi stares at him, “Um, wha-?”

“Iwa-chan, I have an important mission for you.”

“Okay, but I’m going to need you to take two steps back.”

“This is to help you focus. This mission is very important.”

“I literally can’t focus on anything except your foul breath right now.”

“My breath is not foul!” Oikawa snaps, but he pulls away all the same, glaring at him.

Iwaizumi sighs, resting a hand on his palm, “What’s the mission, sire?”

“I have a bad feeling I’m not going to have a single moment alone while we’re here,” Oikawa murmurs, “I need you to investigate the library here by yourself, and try to be sneaky about it. More sneaky then before. I’m sure Father and King Ushijima talk to each other all the time, and I don’t want him to hear about me researching demons.”

Iwaizumi nods, “Alright. So you don’t want me to tag along with you and Ushiwaka?”

“I’ll suffer alone, for the good of the Kingdom.” Oikawa sighs, laying a hand upon his forehead dramatically, “Oh! That reminds me.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to each of Iwaizumi’s cheeks, watching them flame up from his touch. Iwaizumi makes a choking noise, reeling back and staring wide eyed at him, “What was that for?”

Oikawa giggles into his hand, “A palette cleanser,” he replies, spinning away, “Now, come Iwa-chan! I want a bath before I sleep.”

Iwaizumi touches his cheeks lightly. His face is burning. He takes a breath and then scrambles out of the chair to follow after his Prince.

---------------------------------

“Ushiwaka-chan, I will not have any purple at my wedding, so help me.”

“It is our national color.”

“Your national color. Honestly, this is grounds for canceling the wedding. This color palette is absolutely garish.”

Ushijima huffs, closing the book, “You are a very difficult person.”

“And you’re absolutely charming.” Oikawa bites back.

“Thank you.”

“Oh my God! I was kidding!”

“Oh.”

Oikawa groans, sinking into his chair, “Can we stop doing this? When am I meeting with your father about policy stuff? I’ve been here for days!”

Ushijima shakes his head, “Your father already came by a few days before your arrival so your schedule would free up.”

“Free up my schedule? For what? Picking colors for a ceremony taking place in four years?”

Ushijima nods, “That is what it seems.”

Oikawa throws the book onto the floor. Ushijima stands up wordlessly to pick it up, carefully placing it back on the table. He hesitates sitting back down, remaining standing, “You act as if you are the only one unhappy with this arrangement.”

Oikawa sighs, “Well, I’m the only one trying to stop it. If you’re so unhappy tell your father to call it off, I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

Ushijima shakes his head, “Father only gives me freedom when it comes to agricultural policy. As the one Prince of Shiratorizawa I have certain duties to follow, no matter what. One of them happens to be marrying you and ensuring a strong alliance with Aoba Johsai.”

“Do you even have emotions, Ushiwaka-chan? Do you feel anything at all for other people?”

“You can be very cruel at times, Tooru.” Ushijima comments, flicking his gaze, “Of course I have emotions, I am a person after all. I love my father. I loved my mother. I admire you. You are very talented. I envy your control of words. But I also pity your pessimism, and that worthless pride you cling too.”

“Worthless pride, eh?”

“You would do well here.” Ushijima continues, “We could be an incredibly powerful couple that could bring Shiratorizawa into a golden age. My domestic policies paired with your mastery over diplomacy, we would be unstoppable. Our marriage is much more palatable when you think of it as a business partnership.”

“Everything you’re saying right now is making me nauseous,” Oikawa gags, “How would you feel if I gave you that same spiel to convince you to come be a King of Aoba Johsai? Would you be jumping at the chance?”

Ushijima stays silent as Oikawa stands up, “That’s what I thought. Don’t lecture me about my worthless pride when all you do is keep your head in the dirt. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be retiring early.”

By the time Oikawa returns to his chambers, Iwaizumi is already there, sitting crosslegged on the floor. His back is turned from the door, busy sifting through a stack of books at his side. “Welcome back,” he calls without turning around.

He grunts when Oikawa drapes himself over his back, arms encircling around his neck and face burrowing into the crook between his shoulder. Iwaizumi puts the book down, reaching a hand up to touch Oikawa’s hand, “You ok?”

“No.” Oikawa murmurs into his neck, squeezing tighter, “Give me a moment.”

Iwaizumi waits, patiently, drawing circles on the back of Oikawa’s hand with his finger. He feels Oikawa’s breathing evening, feels his horn press against the back of his head awkwardly, and smiles.

Finally, Oikawa lifts his head, disentangling himself from Iwaizumi to sit beside him on the ground. Iwaizumi feels cold without his presence, but doesn’t comment, nudging Oikawa’s knee, “Look, I found some books that might be helpful.”

“You found demonology books?” Oikawa gasps, grasping at the first book he finds.

“I found a couple books on the occult, a lot on the dangers of black magic, and some stuff on witches.”

Oikawa deflates slightly, but he leafs through the book in hand, “I guess it’s a start.”

“More than the other libraries.” Iwaizumi reminds.

“I wish we were visiting Nekoma.” Oikawa sighs, “They seem to be the experts in this.”

“I think you have a better chance visiting Karasuno again.”

“I guess, but Father won’t let me leave so soon. I’ll have to wait months, maybe even years.” Oikawa bemoans.

A knock resonates in the room, and the door slips open. Iwaizumi instinctively, pulls his weight to shield Oikawa from the intruder, while Oikawa focuses on masking himself.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Ushijima says as he closes the door behind him, “I did not feel we left on good terms, and with your departure from Shiratorizawa soon, I wanted to speak with you again.”

“I’m kind of busy right now, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa snaps.

“I know. I simply wanted to say that I understand you have difficulty leaving your emotional attachment to your own kingdom. I have been trying to brainstorm different ideas to rectify this issue. One idea I thought of is if I were to give you a thorough tour of all of my Kingdoms wonders? So that you might see it’s merit over Aoba Johsai?”

Oikawa glares at him, “No, Ushiwaka. I have no interest doing anything like that. Now please, I’m busy.”

Ushijima frowns, “Alright, I will try to think of other possible solutions.” He straightens up, but his eyes catch upon the myriad of books on the floor, “I see you have made use of our library. It is the largest in the continent, we have partnerships with many other kingdoms.” He leans down, picking up a book curiously, “Are you interested in the occult, Tooru?”

Oikawa shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, “I like to know about everything.”

Ushijima nods, “Are you searching for anything specific?”

Oikawa weighs his options but then decides it’s all hopeless anyway, so he shrugs,“Demons.”

“Demons?” Ushijima echoes, putting the book back down neatly, “May I ask why?”

“Curiosity.”

“I completely understand. When I was younger I became particular fascinated with Thrips Tabacis, or thunderflies as they are more commonly known,” Ushijima replies with a sense of sympathy.

“What,” Oikawa blinks, “are you talking about?”

“They are an insect that devastate onions. I remember spending all night reading a book about them and their impact on the southern countryside.”

“What do they look like?” Iwaizumi asks curiously, leaning into the conversation.

Ushijima seems surprised at the question, as if he’d forgotten Iwaizumi was even there. It irks the attendant, but he swallows it down. Ushijima recovers quickly, turning to him, “They are incredibly small, with a larg-“

“This does not matter.” Oikawa cuts in, annoyed.

“Bugs are cool.” Iwaizumi mutters. Ushijima nods, echoing the sentiment.

“I want to go to bed. Can you go, Ushiwaka-chan?”

Ushijima frowns but acquiesces, standing back up, “I don’t believe we have books on demons in the library. If you would like I could request some from Karasuno or Nekoma.”

“Wait, really?” Oikawa asks, eyes suddenly alight with hope.

“Of course, I can have them sent directly to Aoba Johsai as well.” Ushijima adds helpfully.

“Ah, no, don’t do that.” Oikawa shakes his head, “Could you actually have them sent here? You can leave them in this room. I can read them when I visit again.”

“If that is what you prefer.” Ushijima shrugs, moving back toward the door.

Oikawa springs up, catching Ushijima’s arm, “Wait! And this has to be a secret. Don’t let our fathers know.”

Ushijima blinks, “Why?”

“Just trust me. If you want this partnership to work we have to trust each other right? Well, here’s your first test. Do you understand?” Oikawa replies, brown eyes stern, boring into the other’s face. His grip tightens on the other Prince, fingers digging into his skin.

Ushijima looks down at Oikawa’s hand on his wrist, and then back at his face. He lets out a sigh, “Understood.”

Oikawa grins, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to both his cheeks. Ushijima complies automatically. Iwaizumi looks away. Ushijima gives the attendant a nod and finally slips out.

Oikawa makes an exagerated gagging motion before swooping down to Iwaizumi to kiss his cheeks. Iwaizumi shoves him off, “Stop doing that!”

Oikawa can’t help giggling, even as Iwaizumi starts pelting him with pillows and cushions in retaliation.

------------------------------

The first thing Oikawa does when he returns home is hug his mother tight.

The first thing Iwaizumi does when he returns home is get dragged to the barracks.

The barracks weren’t necessarily an unfamiliar place for Iwaizumi. He had spent a lot of his time talking to the knights in training, watching them run and spar. He was always ready to offer himself up to them for practice and the knights themselves were eager to have him because he was strong and like-able.

“It’s such a waste they keep you locked up in that castle!” He remembers one of the head knights exclaiming, giving his shoulder a strong pat.

He doesn’t think of it often, but his mind does wonder, at times, what could have been, if he had been left to the knight program. But he can’t imagine not being by Oikawa’s side, not spending his days bickering with him over breakfast, riding around the castle grounds, and marveling at him and all his talents.

“Iwaizumi, you need to talk to him.” One of the trainees that had dragged him away begs, “He won’t listen to anyone! And if he keeps this up he’s going to get himself killed.”

“Why me?” Iwaizumi asks, following the boy to the barracks.

The other trainee looks at him like it’s obvious, “Everyone listens to you, Iwaizumi. Even Prince Tooru! And he doesn’t even listen to the King half the time!”

The statement makes Iwaizumi feel weird and he tries not to think about it too much. Luckily, he’s distracted almost immediately by an angry shout.

“Get your hands off me!”

Iwaizumi sighs, realizing immediately who the gruff voice belongs to. He turns the corner, finding the newest problematic trainee, Kyoutani Kentarou fighting off other trainees. Where were the guards? Useless. He lets out a sigh, “Settle down!” He roars, crossing his arms and trying to seem older than he really was.

The trainees in the scuffle whirl around, and the pair drop Kyoutani who snarls at them. One of the trainees explains in a whine, “He keeps pushing our cots outside!”

“I don’t like people near me.” Kyoutani huffs, glaring at the others distrustfully.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. What a dumb reason for a fight. What a dumb reason to be dragged away from the Oikawa’s homecoming gathering. He grabs Kyoutani by the collar and pulls him out of the barracks entirely. He dumps him on the ground, ignoring his snarls, “You need to shape up, Kyoutani.”

“Fuck off.” Kyoutani spits, “I’m not sitting through a lecture from some silver spooned pansy.”

Iwaizumi is unimpressed, “I’ve got a silver spoon in my mouth, huh?” Iwaizumi takes a step closer, leaning into Kyoutani’s crouched form, “What makes us so different? We’re both orphans. We’re both fortunate enough to be employed by the royal court. We’re both fed and housed. Is it that you’re training to be a knight and I’m not? So that makes you better than me? Stronger than me? We both know that isn’t true.”

“I am stronger!” Kyoutani glowers, shoving Iwaizumi away from him as he stands up.

“Oh yeah?” Iwaizumi says, and theres a new glint in his eye as he straightens himself up, “You want to prove it?”

Kyoutani squints his eyes at him, baring his teeth, “How?”

“Arm wrestle. Simple feat of strength. Let’s go.”

Kyoutani leaps at the challenge, and the pair make their way back to the barracks to borrow a table. When word spills out of the battle, trainees pour into the room to surround the pair. Kyoutani bristles at the attention but tries to stay focus, holding his arm out. Iwaizumi takes him, and the fight begins. There are chants from each side and although it is a close match for the first few moments, Iwaizumi wins with a powerful, decisive thud.

Kyoutani insists on a rematch, and another, and another, but Iwaizumi trumps him each time, letting out victorious laugh after victorious laugh. Kyoutani glowers as the group of trainees cheer around him. And it is in the midst of this celebration that they are interrupted.

“Pardon the intrusion! Is Iwaizumi in here?” Oikawa calls into the room, smiling with amusement at the merry making around him.

The trainees all freeze before quickly bowing deeply to the Prince in greeting. Iwaizumi and Kyoutani stand up, and when Kyoutani doesn’t move further, Iwaizumi slaps him on the back, “Bow to your Prince,” he orders sternly. Kyoutani grumbles, but does as he’s told.

Oikawa chuckles into his hand, “It’s alright. It’s been a while since I’ve visited the barracks.”

One of the trainees steps forward, words clumsy and flustered, “You were away on your trip, we understand.”

“Oh, thank you Fujioka, you are much too kind. How is your sister?” Oikawa responds with his signature smile.

The trainee’s eyes widen, a grin overtaking her face at being remembered by someone so important, “She’s completely recovered!”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear it.” Oikawa nods, turning his sparkling brown eyes to gaze upon green, “I’m sorry to interrupt all the fun, but I need to steal my attendant back.”

Iwaizumi pushes his way through, waving a goodbye to the trainees before falling into step beside Oikawa. When they’re safely out of earshot, Iwaizumi leans in, “Is something wrong?”

Oikawa shakes his head, “No, I just missed you is all.”

Iwaizumi feels his neck flame up so he puts on a deep frown to mask it, “That’s dumb.”

“Sorry, Iwa-chan! You’re stuck with me!” Oikawa calls in a sing song voice, as he speeds up his step to more of a light jog. “Oh but, can you get the mail! I might have gotten letters while I was away! I’ll see you in the room! Bye!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, now that the true reason has been revealed. He lets out a sigh, but obediently heads over to the mail on the other side of the castle. It’s a long walk that Oikawa hates and Iwaizumi is thus, accustomed to doing.There are some letters from a few nobles, one from Ushijima, and one from Karasuno. He pockets them, cracking a crick in his neck he developed during the long journey and heads back toward the Great Hall.

He doesn’t get very far when a hand rests on his shoulder, making him freeze. He looks up to see the King smiling down on him. He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine at the sight. He quickly brings his head back to look straight ahead. He could never figure out how to look at the King properly.

“Iwaizumi, it’s good to see you again. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Iwaizumi nods, words incapable of passing through the knot in his throat. He feels like he’s choking, feet cold as the King steers him up the stairs and to his private study. He had never been alone with the King before. He had never wanted to be.

The King’s study is as grandiose as expected. Ornate book cases tower him on either sides of the wall. A beautiful oak writing desk sits by the window, covered in papers and fresh ink. The King takes a seat, offering Iwaizumi one as well. But Iwaizumi’s legs are locked at the knees and so he stays standing.

“There’s no need to look so terrified, Iwaizumi.” The Kings says, “I’m here to thank you.”

Iwaizumi blinks, but the tension does not leave his shoulders.

The King takes a sip of the wine in his hand, “How was your trip?”

“It was good, sire.” Iwaizumi answers.

“I heard all about it, our neighbors are quite impressed with Prince Tooru,” The King replies, and Iwaizumi can’t help the proud smile that dances across his face. The King sees it, his own smile flitting across his face, but his eyes are dark, “It’s too bad they don’t know the truth, don’t you agree?”

Iwaizumi’s smile slips from his face, but he stays quiet.

“There’s no need to play dumb, Iwaizumi. I know you know Tooru’s little secret.”

Iwaizumi stays resolute in his silence, keeping his eyes trained on a spot on the wall behind the King’s head. He holds his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

“Tooru’s vice will bring ruin to this kingdom, that is obvious. Or is it not? Your eyes are so expressive Iwaizumi, I can see your thoughts so clearly. You can’t lie can you? Do you not realize how dangerous Tooru is? How dangerous he continues to grow? Shouldn’t you know, first hand, how terrifying a demon can be?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond.

“Emotions rule him, Iwaizumi. He may act cold and calculated, ready to manipulate the world, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. In a flash he loses control, and the kingdom plunges into chaos. Do you not see that?”

Iwaizumi remembers he needs to breath and sucks in a breath as discretely as he can.

The King snorts, “I’ve waited too long, hoping something would change, and now the Kingdom adores their first Prince. I did not count on a demon’s powers of manipulation. I have two options, Iwaizumi, before me. One, is already in place, make him Shiratorizawa’s problem. Let him wreak havoc up there. My other? Have Oikawa reveal his true colors publicly so the Kingdom turns against him.”

The King stands up, hefting his body out of his seat and turning away to look out his window. Iwaizumi can’t bear to relax, staying tense and alert as the King begins again, “I recieved the most interesting news from the Queen of Datekou while you were away. Do you want to hear it?” He asks, turning his face around at him. Iwaizumi doesn’t respond.

The King turns back toward the window, “She spoke about Tooru’s tact and charm. But she also mentioned how odd, the cultural differences between our two kingdoms. How interesting that we have attendants sleep with their masters,” Iwaizumi squeezes his fingers into his palms, sweat accumulating on his brow.

“Now, imagine my puzzlement reading over that passage! Sleeping with masters is not a practice I have ever heard of,” The King chuckles, turning back around. He takes another sip of his wine, walking over to where Iwaizumi stands, “But then I began to think, and I realized something wonderful,” he chuckles, “Tooru has been so hard to expose because his pride gives way for so little. I could only imagine it would fall apart when you took away something he truly loved. But Tooru is so stingy with his heart, and for the longest time the only thing he cared for was his mother.”

The King’s hand falls on his shoulder once more, squeezing it enough for Iwaizumi to let out a choked gasp, “Until, that is, he met you.”

The pressure on his shoulder is released, and the King sits down on the lounge chair, taking another sip of his wine. It takes all of Iwaizumi’s will power not to crumple to his knees.

“You can continue your affair with my son. In fact, you have my full blessing. You have finally given me my trump card against the evil clinging to this castle, and I thank you for it.” The King smiles lifting his glass as if in a toast.

Iwaizumi speaks up for the first time and his voice is soft, crackling at the edges, “May I be excused, Your Highness?

“Of course, Iwaizumi. Say hello to Tooru for me.”

Iwaizumi forces out a nod before walking out of the study. He takes measured steps down the stairs and slips through the servant’s hallways into the yard. His feet build into a run as he races through the grounds to the west edge. He falls to his knees, weight buckling as he gasps for breath. He crawls between the bush and the fence, practically too big to fit now but he manages anyway.

The hole has long been filled, but he is not here for it. He sits, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning against the fence. He wants to scream, adrenaline coursing through his veins, fear stabbing into his heart. His breaths are short and manic, his eyes are leaking, and his mind feels like its breaking.

His shoulder aches and he wonders if it’s bruised. It burns under his tunic and he longs to claw away the touch of the King’s cruel hand. The King had the nature of their relationship wrong--Iwaizumi doesnt really want to think of what he was implying--but the King was right regardless.

Oikawa had given him his heart and his trust years ago when he’d offered him a bowl of miso soup and a secret name. And Iwaizumi had given him his when he’d vowed to complete any and all of his missions.

He always thought that to be his strength.

But maybe it was a terrible weakness.

Terror seizes through Iwaizumi as he considers scenarios, countless scenes that could happen at any moment. Tomorrow. The next day. A year from now. The possibilities were endless. Oikawa stood in front of audiences all the time.

The King could order anyone to attack him, to kill him, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need reason, he could fabricate anything. He was the King. Iwaizumi was just a servant boy in the castle. Replaceable. He could be killed at any moment and Iwaizumi was strong, sure, but he was fourteen years old. He knew the odds were not with him in this kind of battle. He would not win. But Oikawa would be the one to lose.

Engulfed in demonic rage, revealed to the world as the monster he was casted to be.

Iwaizumi can’t bear the thought of being the chrysalis for Oikawa’s downfall. To be the reason the life he had worked so tirelessly to construct slips out of his fingers. To ruin the reputation he had built through sweat and tears throughout the lands. To commit his name to the annals of infamy.

All these thoughts rattle in Iwaizumi’s head, bruising his insides as he weeps in the bushes, in the dirt. Powerless. A simple pawn on a chess board, ordered to die for the King’s benefit. He feels nauseous, hacking as he tries to swallow down his sobs with little success. Is this what his life is to be? Dedicated to another only to ruin him and then die? To be forgotten in the shadow of the wall, to be barred entry from rooms at the mercy of others, to sit obediently until his sacrifice was needed?

And Oikawa. Iwaizumi can not bear Oikawa’s face as it flashes in his mind’s eye. But it is there. Always there. A beautiful, stunning face, framed by spiraling horns. And Iwaizumi rips at the bushes in frustration, thinks how cruel and unfair the world to be. Wishes the King were as fragile as this bush, his bones mere twigs to snap with his hands.

Iwaizumi stops himself when he feels the sting of a thorn stab his finger and bead blood. He takes a deep breath, and another, and another. Taking a moment to gather himself. He wipes his mess of a face with his handkerchief, taking another breath. He stands up.

The moon is high in the sky.

He makes a decision.

He will not be the reason Oikawa Tooru falls.

He makes his way back to the castle, takes a quick kitchen break to gulp down a cup of water, before climbing up the steps to the Prince’s quarters.

Oikawa is waiting for him, as expected, reading a book. He looks up, pout already in place. But the moment he lays his eyes on his friend the pout dissolves from his face as concern overtakes him. He stands up, “Iwa-chan! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Iwaizumi responds gruffly, and he can’t look Oikawa in the eye because it hurts.

Oikawa stands before him, and Iwaizumi hates that the Prince has grown taller than him, because it means he consumes his entire field of vision. No escape.

Powerless.

“Iwa-chan, what happened?”

“Nothing. Here’s your mail.” Iwaizumi digs the letters out of his pocket, dropping them on the desk, “Let me get you changed.”

“Iwa-chan, something’s clearly wrong. What happened?”

Iwaizumi ignores him, stripping the Prince of his clothes and redressing him in his pajamas. Oikawa eventually falls silent when he realizes he isn’t getting anywhere. But it’s short-lived, because soon his voice fills the air again, panicked, “Where are you going?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t turn around from the door, “Bed.”

“In your room?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa looks dumbfounded, eyes searching, but Iwaizumi keeps his head turned, “Isn’t that what it’s there for?”

He closes the door and curls up on the floor.

Iwaizumi had forgotten how cold the nights were alone.

----------------------------------

It takes a week to get everything ready. It takes a week to to talk to the guards about transferring. To inform his fellow servants. To stake out a spot in the trainee squad. It takes a week but he does it. There is only one thing keeping him.

Oikawa knows too, because he’s smart. He has picked up on everything Iwaizumi has been doing, on his distance, on his frequent meetings in the barracks. He knows what he is doing but he can’t make sense of it. Of why his best friend in the entire realm has stopped giving him the light of day. Has started fulfilling his duties to the bare minimum in silence, locking himself in his own room as much as possible.

But he does know what is coming. What Iwaizumi has been building up to for the past week. And it terrifies him. So he hides. He keeps busy. To delay it. To pray this just blows over. To wish everything could be ok. Why is everything not ok?

Iwaizumi manages to corner him in a secluded area of the grounds one evening, request in hand, and face full of resolve. They had barely spoken this week. Oikawa growing more frustrated and annoyed and angry. Iwaizumi growing more nauseous and resolute. When they meet in the middle it is an explosion of misery.

“I’m not signing it,” Oikawa hisses, smacking the paper away from him as if it offends him. (It does.)

Iwaizumi keeps his face as neutral as he can, bending down to pick it up, “Please sign it.”

“I’m not signing it. I’m never signing it. What is this about, Iwa-chan? I don’t understand!” Oikawa’s voice is shrill and it breaks Iwaizumi’s heart further. It hurts to hear his Prince like this. And because it hurts so much he knows he has to do this. He grows angry at Oikawa for prolonging the moment.

Iwaizumi holds the paper out again, “Please sign it.”

“Is that all you’re going to say to me? I take you in for five years, I give you all my secrets, and this is all you give me?”

Iwaizumi feels his hands fisting at his sides, “All I give you? I have given you everything!” He snaps, a righteous anger coursing through him, and he latches to the feeling, because it is better at filling the gaping hole in his heart. His tone is hateful, “I served you hand and foot for five years, you ungrateful brat!”

Oikawa is taken aback, eyes flashing red in his own fury, “How dare you speak to me like that! Remember who I am, I’m the first Prince of Aoba Johsai!”

And Iwaizumi feels venom fill into his mouth like bile rising up his throat, “That title is worthless and we both know it. Soon enough you’ll be enjoying your life free of suffering, being waited on hand and foot like always at the Shiratorizawa castle, and you’ll only need to spread your legs for Ushijima to attain it. Poor you.”

There’s a crack in the air, and Iwaizumi falls to his knees, clutching the side of his face. He blinks back tears, looking up to see the Prince towering over him. Thick horns spiral from his head, eyes red, a darkness clouding around him. He looks terrifying, and for the first time, Iwaizumi feels fear grip his heart when he looks at Oikawa’s foreign face.

(But his hands aren’t talons, Iwaizumi thinks in the back of his mind, and his slap did not break my skin.”

“I may have a worthless title, but at least my life has value. Remember, Iwaizumi, you were nothing before I chose you and you will return to nothingness without me.” Oikawa picks up the paper, eyes dark and empty, “I’ll sign your request if you are so desperate to be rid of me. I won’t keep you here. I’m not a monster.” He scratches his signature into the page with his pen, throwing the crumpled sheet on Iwaizumi’s fallen form, “I hope you enjoy your newfound freedom, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Oikawa turns, making his way back toward the castle. Iwaizumi stands up, rubbing his face and holding the sheet of paper tightly in his fist. He thinks of calling out to him, but his voice is gone. Escaped in the midst of the fight, as if his soul had left him. As if a part of him so central to himself had left him.

He turns and walks the opposite way, towards the barracks. Feet heavy with each step but heart hardened by resolve. The fight had proven how necessary this was. Oikawa had revealed his demon self in a flash, had not even thought of the consequences of being seen in such a state.

Iwaizumi knows he is doing the right thing.

But it still kills him to do it.

#iwaoi #hq #haikyuu!!#iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #kyoutani makes his appearance #as does EVERYONE IN THE SERIES #LOOOOL #my shitty fics #enjoy!!!!

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