#baby silver strolling though the woods with at least a family of bears and a armada of birds and squirrels

[sleepyorchidmonster]

What if king Henrik managed to steal Malleus's egg after defeating Meleanor?

The main point is that the egg WOULDN'T hatch because it needs love (and even in canon it took a couple of centuries to hatch, despite the presence of Lillia and Maleficia).

So after a few tries, he discards his plans and keeps the egg as a trophy. Years pass and a five year-old Silver finds the trophy room while playing. He stumbles into the pedestal holding the egg, but manages to save it before it falls.

The child then senses a tiny heartbeat, and realizes there is a baby inside the egg!

The egg hatches immediately. Baby Silver loved it at once (the way he did once upon a dream).

And that's how we get a Dragon Prince journey (sorta).

After the dragon hatched, Silver went to talk with his animal friends to see if they could help (he loves his parents, but he couldn't just tell them he went to the trophy room to play, some instinct of his was also telling him they couldn't be trusted).

He left the little dragon under the care of a mother bear and went to the library to see if he could find anything. He came across a few old books from before the Silver Owls that described the Draconias (the little prince was so excited! His dragon friend could become a friend friend! He didn't have any friends besides the animals! And the dragon was even a fellow prince!)

But first things first! His dragon friend needed to meet his actual family, they were probably worried sick! So he grabbed a few maps, marked out the closest fae castle, told his parents he would go play with the animals in the woods and left.

The trek was very long and dangerous, but the entire forest was on his side. Baby Silver kept talking to Malleus, explaining life as a prince, introducing his animal friends, and trying to find out if he liked to eat berries.

They avoided war-stricken areas and managed to reach fae territory. And that's when things took a turn for the worse.

Henrik and the Silver Owls found them. Apparently, the egg was missing and a search party was assembled to follow its magical traces. Baby Silver didn't know that, and went to greet his uncle, saying that he was helping out a friend find his family!!

Henrik looked at his nephew, then at the dragon, and went for the kill, literally. The kid couldn't even defend himself, as his uncle cut him down with a simple strike (dawn knight was at home).

And that's when baby Malleus's magic blew up.

A snowstorm of cataclysmic proportions struck, complete with fire tornados and lightning. At the center of it all stood two children, the tiny Silver that was bleeding out, and Malleus, who had taken a human form and was trying to close the wound (he changed forms because he was scared and emulated the only thing he could think of as strong and protection, and that thing was five year-old Silver). Meanwhile, all of the animals formed a protective circle around them.

Luckily, reinforcements soon arrived. Both Lillia and Maleficia came (that storm could only be a Draconia's doing, they would NOT lose the egg again). They made quick work of the rest of the Silver Owls before rushing to Malleus's aid.

The animals let the faes though, as if they knew the dragon had finally found his kin. But Malleus wouldn't let go of Silver, even when the kid started telling him "Look, we found your family!! You're safe!", smiling despite the pain and looming death.

With the use of "Far Cry Cradle", Lillia quickly explained the situation, and the faes made the decision to save the human. They had a much too big debt with this child, who was so innocent it hurt.

They were also keeping the human. If that despicable man was his UNCLE, then no way in hell were the rulers of Briar Valley going to give the child back to his family. It would be a disgrace to the Draconia family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, there a a few ways this AU could go.

1. The faes weren't able to save Silver. They create a monument in his honor and he becomes the only human they respect. Relations with the Silver Owls may improve now that Henrik is dead, if they can convince Dawn Knight his son died to save Malleus.

2. The faes save Silver, who lives in Briar Valley until the end of his mortal lifespan, acting as Malleus's big brother and knight. The Silver Owls are angry, but eventually come to an agreement once they realize there was no mind control involved.

3. The faes manage to save Silver, but the wounds were so grave that he had to stay in magic stasis for a few hundred years. Receiving the BOTW Shrine of Ressurection treatment. Due to the nature of the magic, he lost his memories, got silver hair and became sleepy. He later wakes up and becomes the Silver we all know and love. Malleus still sees him as the older brother, but thinks that now it's his turn to protect the human!

#twst #twst chapter 7 spoilers #twst spoilers #it's a miracle how foreign relations can improve when everyone hates henrik and he isn't around anymore #also silver is just too good a diplomat #briar valley ready to protect this human #he is literally the saviour of the country #realizing that's the closest thing to a dragon prince au #with the whole “prince on a quest to give stolen dragon back to family” #also the feud between elves/faes and humans #and the fact that the human prince can talk to animals #baby silver strolling though the woods with at least a family of bears and a armada of birds and squirrels #silver twst #silver vanrouge #malleus draconia #lillia vanrouge #maleficia draconia #henrik was killed by his soldiers for attacking silver. and then he was fried to a crisp by malleus #how to get adopted by the fae #or how to adopt a dragon as your younger sibling

[veridium]

the dark side of your room

hey, it’s an All Time Low song for the College AU Update!! Woo!

Time for some more queer fluff and anxiety, what I do best!

masterpost // last chapter 

--

Olivia: Hey, still down for me to come over in an hour?

Cassandra: Yeah, I’m just running errands. I will be back but I might hop in the shower. I’ll leave a key under the mat.

Olivia: Ohhh, a key...we’re getting heavy.

Cassandra: Don’t get cocky.

This must be like what people who are ‘Superb Owl’ fans experience the week leading up to the big sports game they all watch. Day after day, since the one when she asked her to come to the party it gets harder to breathe. It might also be from the surmounting happiness that she is in no way used to, that is nevertheless overwhelming. She can’t do what she usually does and hideout in Ellinor’s company, because she is just as nervous as she is -- if not more. Poor Ellinor. Their conversation by the soccer field is still fresh in her mind even two days after. Now, it’s Friday, making it 24 hours until it all goes down.

Whatever ‘it all’ is, remains to be seen.

Speak of the devil. She catches a familiar, similarly petite figure walking past her open doorway while she’s finishing up getting ready for the night. 

“Hey!” she peers out the doorway to see Ellinor fumbling with keys sluggishly, backpack on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

Ellinor glances briefly. “Yep! All good.”

“You sure?”

“...Are you?”

Olivia strolls out into the hall and to her, all the while Ellinor finds her key and slides it into the lock. She stops short of twisting it, mouth tight with bated breath behind it, so it seems. In return, Liv grins in order to provide some form of comfort. 

“At least our costumes look hot.”

“They do. They really do.”

“...Ugh, I’m so worried Dorian is going to make Cassandra want to punch him or something--”

“And if the lesbians scare the shit out of Cullen, I’m gonna--”

“Oh God, Cullen and gays...Cullen and the leftist kombucha hipsters?! Do we even know--”

“We don’t! That’s what I’m saying! And isn’t this Cassandra’s first real thing, going out with a girl?”

Olivia bites her lip. Fuck. She’s right. “Oh no. I’m taking her to the lion’s den right off the bat. Oh my God, why didn’t I think of this. I should have called for brunch like normal queer people do. The fuck is wrong with me?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know the gay agenda protocol for this, you never gave me a copy!”

“You aren’t supposed to have one, Ellinor, it’s not a Reader’s Digest.”

“Pfft,” Ellinor leans unto her hip and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Figure out the heirosapphics all on your own, then.”

Olivia pouts. “You stole that joke from me,” she grumbles, before brushing hair out of her eyes. “I have to get going, I’m supposed to be at Cassandra’s in like...whatever amount of minutes is left. I don’t know.” She pulls out her phone to check the time. Fifteen minutes, to be exact.

“Well then go on, get out of here,” Ellinor shoos, “I got plans too, anyway.”

“With C--”

“Yes, with him! Who else, the Pope?”

Olivia shrugs and dances off back on her toes towards her door. “Touchy Ducky!”

“I hate when you call me th--” the rest of Ellinor’s avarice is cut off by the door shutting. Yeah, yeah, she hates being called a touchy ducky. Which means, naturally, Olivia will have to tell it to Cullen and say she loves it, because pranks are healthy for any sustainable friendship. She giggle-snorts all by herself and searches around for her pair of sneakers she tossed somewhere earlier in the week, the perfect casual cap-off to her black leggings and tank top. Whatever tomorrow night turns out to be, at least she has tonight.

--

Only five minutes late, Olivia makes use of the key hiding for her when knocking doesn’t work. When she enters, the holiest of smells -- Italian spices that promise carbs -- greets her first. The kitchen is lit up, and on the stove is a big pasta pot that seems to sing to her. She follows the aroma over to it and finds steaming spaghetti, sauce, meat balls, large forked serving spoon and all. Beside it are two small bowls, and only two. Was Cullen not around? Eh, figures, if Ellinor said they had plans.

That means Cassandra made this. Cassandra made this for her. God, it’s been too long since she had any close associates who knew their way around a kitchen. Ellinor is a walking bio-hazard, Theia knows every order-in number in the city, and Josephine...well, she probably cooks, but she just doesn’t brag about it.

A whine gets caught in her throat -- the kind of “aw” one she makes at puppies in the mall and kids in the park. This is so sweet.

She drops her shoulder bag on the small dining table and lets herself wander. One slow loop around the coffee table, absentmindedly observing all the furniture. Sounds of a shower echo from the other side of the suite, and the mystery is solved just as to where Cassandra is. She must have gotten right into cooking and forgotten to shower when she got home.

Olivia comes to a halt at the mouth of the dark hallway and peeks with growing curiosity...

She’s been down to Cullen’s side, during the infamous occasion she went a bit Rutherferal, but that’s long in the past. Okay, a week, but the past is the past. Cassandra’s, on the other hand, is like some mystical Narnia closet. No one’s been in, and no one’s gotten out as far as she knows. The first time she slept over it was implicitly clear the living room was where she was invited and nowhere else.

What’s so mysterious about a dorm suite bedroom, anyway? What, is she hiding two twin beds down there put together to make a queen? The more she speculates, the more her feet inch closer and closer to the mostly-shut door. The light from the other side almost adds to the temptation. Liv, don’t, this is so weird. Yet, she keeps going, all the way until she reaches the door. She looks back down the other end, silent as sin: the shower is still going. So, against all logic in her head saying ‘stay in your lane,’ she pushes the door open. Expecting the worst, like in that Fifty Shades bullshit film.

The first thing to hit, again, is the smell -- it’s not spaghetti. Lavender? Lavender. In the corner on a desk a diffuser is on, spouting steam into the air. It invites her in like a shiny thing would to a squirrel, and in the process, the rest of the space becomes unfolds: A made bed with navy blue comforter and pillow cases, a stuffed bear against the throw pillow -- wait a minute, she has a stuffed bear? Yes, a stuffed bear with a button nose and all. Is that what she doesn’t want anyone seeing? Just a stuffed animal? I have five under my bed alone...

On the wall facing the door the curtains are pulled but the window is shut, and the floor is completely clean. The laundry basket by the door is almost empty, holding nothing but a t-shirt and a few socks. Up on the wall lining her bed there are origami stars and shapes taped all over, some making what look like constellations. They’re beautifully meticulous, just like Cassandra.

Nothing surprises her more than what she finds in and around her corner desk on the right, diagonal to her bed. Standard dorm honey-colored wood and red upholstery on the chair. Her laptop squarely centered, with a cup of pens and pencils off to the side. Books stacked neatly all around. On the attached shelf above it all are pictures with black frames, all shorter than the gold, silver, and blue trophy for some sport or another.

The pictures, though: that is what draws her in even more. From left to right there are four, total: the first shows two adults smiling with two kids: a boy, standing in front of the man holding onto his arm across his chest, and the other, a girl, held on the woman’s hip. She’s wearing a pale pink babydoll dress, she can’t be any other than six by the look of her baby face and twisted pair of buns in her long, dark hair.

Is that her? Wait, shit, then this must be her family.

The next picture provides more answers: the same adult couple, only the kids are older. The teenage boy is holding a soccer ball against his hip, and he has his hand on his Mother’s shoulder. They’re at the park, or somewhere green, and Cassandra is sitting on the blanket hugging her knees in a similar fashion as she did when she and Olivia lounged on the field. No baby pink anything in sight, though, just grey basketball shorts and a shirt, both a little big on her. The third is one of her and the boy again, her on his back riding piggyback and smiling such a joyous smile, it looks as if she was about to burst. Cheesy, and Cassandra is never cheesy. It’s heartwarming, the way the boy is looking at her from his periphery, chest puffed with pride.

The fourth and final one, though, is just him. He’s much older, and the picture is weathered even with the glass shielding it. As if it spend years just by itself, stashed or crammed somewhere, before finally being framed. The shot is off-center, tilted at an angle that cuts off the top of his head, making the shot look clumsy. He’s leaning against a car front, arms crossed and strong. The washed out lighting, like it was taken by a disposable camera, makes everything seem too bright: except for him, his smile, and his car.

He looks so nice. Why does she never talk ab--

“What are you doing?”

Olivia flinches like a cat struck by lightning, whirling around with her hands linking up behind her. She had been leaning over, soaking up every last inch of detail, but to the outside eye she simply looked nosy.

“I! Ah!” she struggles, “I’m...I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Cassandra shows no sign of intended placation. “You didn’t mean to, but you did.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I fucked up. “I did, b-but, I’m sorry. I just wanted...I think I was just…”

She tosses her clothes several feet into the hamper. “Just what? Going into someone’s room without asking or telling them?”

Olivia blushes and looks away, suddenly aware that she’s standing there with nothing but a blue towel on her and skin still damp from the shower. If there was a God, he would smite her this instant from her foolishness.

“Cassandra, I’m sorry,” she can’t say it enough, “I just--”

“Can you at least let me get clothes on?” Her tone is straight-and-narrow, and Olivia can’t quite discern whether she is deeply pissed or deeply understanding. She knows what she sounds like when she’s losing her cool, and it’s not anything like this. It’s unnerving, to say the least. Though, the guilt leads her to vacate the room without so much as a word, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as she skims past her.

The door shuts, leaving her to think about what she did. And boy, does she: making a slow death-march to the couch where she sits smack-dab in the middle. Every half-second feels like an hour, her knee anxiously bobbing. Her arms haven’t left her chest, and her lungs feel like kiddy pools for air.

Then, at last, Cassandra re-emerges. She’s wearing shorts, a black, slim hoodie, and a frown. Rather than join her on the couch she leans against the corner of the hallway wall and folds her own arms, phone in her hand. Olivia gets the courage to meet her eyes, and when she does, she’s reminded of how fatal ‘disappointment’ can feel.

“Well, I’m waiting,” Cassandra says flatly.

“Waiting for...for what?”

“For an explanation as to why you were nosing around my bedroom.”

“I was...um, the thing is, I couldn’t find forks in the--”

“Olivia Sinclair.”

Liv swallows and curls her legs up against her, hands hooking under her thighs. Humor won’t save her this time. “I don’t know! I just...the door was open, and for some reason, I just kept going and going until I was hip-deep and I just...didn’t think...well, fuck, okay, I didn’t think. That’s what happened. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, just please, don’t…” she’s spiraling into nervousness and it makes her words start to blur into one another. The sound of pleading, the kind that comes from someone who’s grown up being corrected too harshly for her age. “Please, I didn’t mean to...t-to...ugh, shit.”

Cassandra’s stoic, but just as Olivia is about to break from the tension it causes, she sighs through her nose and rolls her eyes, chin lifting towards the ceiling as she does so. “At least you’re bad at lying.”

“I know I c--h-hey! I’m not...I…” as she grumbles, she only vindicates Cassandra’s opinion, and elects to shut her mouth rather than dig the hole any deeper.

“Mhm,” Cassandra hums, moving away from the wall. The way her hips sway, like she has the upper hand and most of the battlefield already won, is both attractive and disconcerting. She comes to the side of the coffee table closest to the couch, sitting down on it directly in front of her. It’s so close, she has to keep a knee on either side of Olivia’s legs, but she makes do.

“I don’t like people invading my space,” she says as she settles in, very matter-of-fact.

Olivia is stiller than a grave casket, and stays that way. “Mhm...”

Cassandra smirks drily. “If you know, then why did you do it?”

“Because I didn’t think...”

“You weren’t thinking? You sure about that?” Her stare focuses, as if she has the power to break glass with it alone; only, Olivia is the one to crack.

“I...guess I just wanted to know about you. Maybe I thought your room would...satiate my curiosity.”

Cassandra raises a brow. “Ah, so there’s the answer.”

Olivia wants to leap out the window for a cold breeze. Or escape...kill two birds with one stone, as it were. No one likes their space to be invaded. Why did I do it? That’s such a no-go. God dammit.

“I guess I just wondered.”

“Wondered?”

“About your background. Your...childhood...and your interests…”

“Snooping is a great tactic...if it’s a matter of national security.”

Olivia huffs through her nose. “Oh, yeah, okay, technically that is correct. But...but…”

“But what, Liv? Are you suddenly scared of me?”

No. No, no, no. “No, it’s just!” She stops herself before she is definitely in yelling territory for no good reason. “I’m just nervous about everything, all the time, and sometimes it’s weird. I overthink even when I do impulsive things like go in someone’s room and look at their family pictures and gawk at their teddy bear and their fancy oil diffuser and yes, okay, I gawked. I admit it. It was all gawk….just...gawk-able...fuck, is that even a word? Fuck…” she whispers the last expletive as she leans forward onto her lap, putting her face in her hands. The solace she finds from Cassandra’s discerning capabilities only goes so far, though.

Then, in the self-induced darkness, she hears Cassandra chuckle, low and warm despite the conflict. It’s almost unbelievable, until it’s followed up by the sensation of hands holding onto her forearms and lips pressing to the top of her head. That makes it definitely unbelievable. A lingering kiss, before her hands move up to Olivia’s shoulders and start to rub nice and slow.

“I was only looking for an apology, not to put you to the guillotine.”

“I apologized like five times in one breath, though,” Olivia replies as she lifts her eyes out from her palms.

“Yeah, but you panicked.”

“I did.”

“I was looking for more of a calm, collected, sophisticated apology. Maybe even slightly poetic. Rhyme optional.”

Olivia’s mortification is olympic swimming pool levels, but even then, she finds she cannot escape the desire to giggle at her humor when it shows. It’s both kind-hearted and measured. Her hands go to her lap and she sits up more, chin still tucked from bashfulness.

“I can’t rhyme for shit, but...I can do sophisticated.”

Cassandra grins. “I’ll take it.”

Olivia takes a deep breath, mostly for herself and her still racing heartbeat. “I’m sorry I went into your space uninvited. I should have asked, and communicated, and respected your boundaries. I will take care to do that from now on.” The few seconds of ‘deliberation’ are more than enough on what remains of her nerves.

Luckily, Cassandra ends the anguish with a soft smile. “Very impressive. I don’t forgive you, but it’s impre--”

“What!?”

Cassandra bursts into a laugh, leaning back as she puts her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sor-rry, I couldn’t h...help--”

“You could help it, Pentaghast,” Olivia smiles, and takes it upon herself to push Cassandra the rest of the way down by her shoulders until she’s laying flat and expectant. Rather than do as she did in the field and make it interesting, she jumps off the couch and jogs to the kitchen.

“Kiss my ass, I’m getting pasta!”

“Hey!” Cass jumps up,  “do I not get any appreciation as the cook?”

“No! Psh, you must be new here.” Olivia grabs a bowl and takes hold of the serving spoon.

“Oh am I?”

“Yep! Fresh mea-yAGH!” She shrieks as Cassandra’s hands rush around Olivia’s sides so quick they tickle her, cutting her off in her triumph. She giggles and curls against her hold, dropping the thankfully hardy bowl onto the stove while the spoon remains in a death grip. It’s not enough calamity to distract her from the silly awe she’s in, being like this. And Cassandra just rests her chin on her shoulder and chuckles along. Her strength nearly picks Olivia clean up off the kitchen tile.

“Stoopp! Let me!--” Olivia gets out in between laughs, “let me eat, woman!”

“Woman!? Is that all I am to you?!”

Olivia tries to wiggle free, but it’s a lost cause. “Yes! Ugh!” she huffs as Cassandra inches them both away from the stovetop, “A heartless, tormenting, merciless woman!” She finally pivots around to face her, arms bracing against her shoulders. Cassandra is smiling so big and bright...just like the way she did in the picture. Her arms stretch up straight until they wrap around her neck loosely, and Cassandra only glows more. Their laughs simmer down into tired, but wonderful giggling, and Olivia feels nothing but the urge to keep her this way.

“But...you’re my woman.”

“Yeah?” Cassandra mutters back as their faces draw nearer, her hands travel low down Olivia’s back.

Olivia makes a ‘tsk’ sound with her tongue. “Yeah, but...only part time.”

Gullible if only for a moment, she catches on. “...Ugh. Ok, I deserve that.” They move together as she pushes Olivia back against the edge of the counter.

Olivia gasps and giggles more. “Is this the way you’re gonna try to dance with me tomorrow night? All nice and close, then bumper cars?” Olivia teases, tongue sticking out for added effect.

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, tomorrow night. The party..?”

Cassandra pauses and grins, but loses exuberance. She rubs Olivia’s arm lovingly before breaking from her. Her side-step brings her to the stove, where she picks back up the bowl Olivia dropped, and the spoon she surrendered; the pot needs stirring, apparently.

“Cass?” Olivia asks, feeling a bit left to hang, her hands going behind her and resting on the counter.

“Hm?”

“Is...everything alright?”

Cassandra nods, eyes still on her very important stirring. “I’m just hungry. Running you down must have reinspired my appetite.”

Olivia lowers a brow. “Uh-huh.” Her skepticism is either undetected or ignored, though, as Cassandra spoons the first generous spoonful into the bowl and hands it to her. Once it’s taken off her hands she goes to the second, and is equally as unceremonious with her own serving. Olivia stares down at the amazing looking meal in her hands but can’t seem to just enjoy it. Is she trying to ditch out? Is this a ditch-out attitude? Ugh, she does hate it. She’s just going for--

Cassandra hands her a fork. “I was thinking we could all ride together. I know how to drive Cullen’s car, anyways.”

“I mean, sure, but that means you’d have to…” it’s a wonder it takes her so long to figure it out, but when she does, the sentence doesn’t need finishing.

“Yeah, but that’s fine. I wasn’t planning on it, anyway,” Cassandra seems to read her thoughts anyways, and begins twirling the first bite of noodles around her fork.

“Okay. I just...I dunno, I thought you might want to since you did at Rylen’s…”

Cassandra shrugs, and leans her hip against the stove. Her forkful suspended in the air. “Yeah, but, that’s Rylen’s.”

Olivia scoffs, and begins forking around for a meatball to take a bit out of. “That place isn’t exactly child safety approved. What’s the difference?”

Cassandra swallows and tucks an ankle behind the other. “The difference is I don’t want to be drinking when I meet all your friends at once.”

“Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad. I mean, I went whiskey-hunting up in the cupboards the first...time…” crap, this isn’t a shining example. “You know, nevermind.” She shoves her first bite into her mouth to help ignore the sound of Cassandra’s smug chuckling. At first, she’s pressed, but then she looks down again in amazement.

“What the fuck? Cassandra, this is so good,” she mumbles with a full mouth, preparing another forkful, “oh my God.”

“Have you never had spaghetti before?”

“Ugh! Yes, I have! That’s not…” she forks it into her mouth some more, reckless abandon and starvation taking over. “Holy shit.”

Cassandra smiles and keeps modestly twisting and preparing her mature, normal person serving. “Here I was worrying I wouldn’t compare to your standards.”

“What, am I Rachael Ray all of a sudden?”

“By the way Ellinor looks at you in reverent fear while you explain how you get your onions diced so fine, I’d say it’s a strong possibility.”

“It’s just the way you hold the kn--you know what, I’m gonna just…” Olivia shakes her head, wiping her dirty mouth on her wrist. “Did you just know how to do this?”

“No way, I learned a long time ago. It’s one of the few things I can cook off memory.”

Olivia eyes her as she takes another bite. She wants to ask where, or who, did. Someone, at some point, had to have taught her -- and maybe there’s a story. A funny story, or a cheesy one. It doesn’t matter what kind, as long as it is one that could help her discover more about what makes her tick. Olivia’s never wanted to know every crumb of a person like this before like she does now, for her.

“Hm. Good to know, but I think I wanna know if you got the better bowl.”

Cassandra peers up, nonplussed. “What? But, it’s the same dish…”

Olivia draws herself in, step by devious step. “You sure? ‘Cause I think I gotta do a quality check.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. This is a democracy, right?”

Cassandra snorts, twisting another forkful just as Olivia is about to collide with her. She holds it out carefully, bowl underneath for insurance. “You are ridiculous.”

“Mhm,” Olivia repeats, before she takes the bite with glee.

“And this is a democratic-republic, woman.”

“...Woman?” she asks, but with her mouth full, it sounds more like ‘wuhmin.’

They link eyes, and Cassandra shakes her head slow. “You heard me.”

Olivia swallows, wiping the corners of her mouth and proper, before she sets down her bowl off to the side. She does the same with Cassandra’s, so that it can rest beside hers.

“Say that to my face,” she dares, pitting her torso against hers.

In return, Cassandra tilts her head, hand wrapping around her. “I just did. That was kind of the point.”

“You really don’t know how to play along with things without critique, do you?”

“I just don’t like double-standards.”

Their mouths veer in close as Olivia’s hands slide up her Cassandra’s arms. “You don’t like a lot of things.”

“No, but I like you.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Oh? Prove it.”

That’s the kind of thing you say right before you get kissed so well the world could end around your feet and you wouldn’t care: which is exactly why she said it. And the competitive look in Cassandra’s eye doesn’t disprove it. But just as she’s about to make her move, a ruckus erupts on the door. Out of nowhere Cassandra’s hold turns from casual to protective, and she whirls around to face the corner where the door is shaking from what sounds like hooves rather than fists. It isn’t long until the perpetrators are identified.

“Cass! I really gotta pee, help a guy out!”

“Yeah, Cass!! wake up, grandma!”

“Answer the group chat!!”

Three voices, all somewhat slurred, and definitely gregarious. Cassandra’s shoulders release and she moans in disgust, letting go of Olivia and marching towards the door to save it before the hinges break. She opens the door wide and fast, and two of the three stumble in while she stands by.

The boys make various ‘woah’ sounds as they collect themselves. Olivia recognizes one of them, the guy who opened the door at Rylen’s party. Which means he must be Rylen, of course. The other has a fresh undercut and is wearing a white v-neck and jeans, too well-dressed for a jock she’d think. The cloud of Axe-smelling odor overtakes the room and makes Olivia’s nose itch.

“What have I told you all about coming over on the weekends?” Cassandra asks, indignant. 

They all straighten up. The third of them, a woman with brown hair tied back and wearing jean shorts and a sports bra underneath a flannel, walks in with keys in-hand. “You said...uh...call?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I said.”

“We’re just stopping by! We cut through campus on the way home. A break was in order.” She glides on through between the two others, immediately spotting Olivia standing with a thoughtless bitch face on. Or, she must be, because she stops dead in her tracks, and even backs up.

“Woah, dude, I’m sorry,” she puts his hands up, “I didn’t know--”

“Hey! You’re Ellinor’s friend!” Rylen manages to collect himself. He shoots a look at Cassandra and smiles big, “wait...what are you two doing wi--”

“You said you had to use the bathroom,” Cass is quick to usurp, still glaring.

Rylen’s happy-go-lucky act subsides, and he keeps his head down as he walks off out towards the hall. He gives a “Yes, Ma’am,” before disappearing completely.

“Sorry, Cass,” the one in jeans says as he pulls out a chair and sits sideways. “We haven’t been...uh...well, we’ve had a few.” He whisper yells it like he’s trying to tell a secret across a room. Oh boy.

“I couldn’t tell,” she replied, shutting the door and going to the cabinet. “You need water?”

“Nah!”

“Uh huh, okay,” she takes a couple plastic cups out and goes to the sink.

While she is busy filling them with tap water, Olivia is still there like a Greek statue, unsure of what to do. Jocks in close proximity like this feels...odd. Like they’re just as apt to sniff her hair as shake her hand; or maybe that’s just her snobbery. She takes hold of her elbow and slides herself up on top the counter to the right of the stove, reminiscent of her climbing escapade at Rylen’s house, only now she’s just trying to keep out of the way rather than day drink.

The seated guy’s gaze flickers over to her, as if he just now realizes she’s there, watching. “Hey, I’m Krem. I don’t think we’ve ever met,” he waves.

She nods once, and manages a grin. “Hello.”

“So your name is Hello? Is it a f-family name?” he gurgles out the last half, unable to keep himself from chuckling while the other stands wide and joins in. Oh great, they’re both laughing at her, and she’s only said one word. Can she phone a friend? Surely Ellinor knows what to do.

“Krem, cut it out,” Cassandra hands them both their cups. “This is Olivia. Olivia, these are some of my teammates, Krem and Lysette. You already know the brute using too much of our soap in the bathroom.” She returns to Olivia’s side and places her hand on the stove handle where a clean towel hangs.

Olivia side-eyes her, before the staring from both of them provokes a response. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Cass, is this the girl you--”

“Not a word, Lys.”

“...Right,” Lysette answers, rolling her lips shut and looking off to the side. “Well, good to meet you finally. We see you on the field with Ellinor all the time!”

“Yeah, we...we do that,” Olivia shrugs, but it comes off a little mechanical in her attempt to be approachable.

Krem finishes a gulp of water. “I think we had a class together. Was it anthropology…?”

“Oh, hah, no it couldn’t have, I haven’t taken any anthro classes here.”

“...Oh! Gotcha. Hm. I wonder who that blonde was then…”

“There are quite a few of us around. We have a local chapter established. We call ourselves “The Bleach Bunnies.””

They both laugh, a bit uncoordinated, but they laugh. Cass shoots her a grin, but in her Captain persona, she can’t shake her vigilance for her inebriated peers. A door opens from out in the hall, and heavy feet track on the carpet towards where they are all congregated.

“So, Liv,” Rylen dusts his hopefully freshly washed hands off, “you have eyes for our Master and Commander, here?”

Cassandra growls. “Rylen.”

“No, no, Cass! This is tradition--”

“Since when is it ‘tradition’?”

“Since uh, 2003! Approxim-manly!” He waves a hand dismissively, and Cassandra rolls her eyes and snorts with frustration. “Now, look. You’ve let Cullen get all the action from us even though  you’ve been having a little escapowerade all on your own.”

“Esca...power..?” Olivia tilts her head and looks to Cass for answers, but she’s above trying to figure out the linguistics of the situations. The scene from Finding Nemo where Marlin yells ‘it’s like he’s trying to speak to me, I know it!’ comes to mind.

“You know, a randall-view--”

“Okay, okay,” Krem saves his friend from further butchering the English and now French language, “I think she gets it, dude.”

“Alright, fine! But she has to do the thing!”

“What thing?” Lysette asks, folding her arms against her leather bomber jacket.

“She has to do a shot!”

Do jocks just test each other for every little rite of passage with shots? Is that all there is to their courage? Jesus Christ. Olivia waits for him to say something, anything, to clue in that he’s joking. Or that he’s wrong. But he just stands there, t-shirt, khakis, crocs and all, hands sliding into his pockets and chest puffed out like he’s the big ol’ man of the house.

“Rylen, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Olivia says calmly.

“Oh? You think yourself above the rules?”

“No, I think myself already indebted to you in the amount of half a bottle of whiskey, the one I nabbed out your cupboard about…two? Three? Weekends ago. I prepaid my hazing process.”

They all go quiet, eyes and mouths agape at varying degrees. Even Cassandra has teeny bit of a wince on her lips. 

Rylen, now rebuffed, blinks like that white guy gif. “Uh...oh. Indeb-ted.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh...that would...yeah that would do it. Wait, but, I thought Elli--”

“She had the rest of it, but she shared that with Cullen. I alone took down the first half.”

“But...but you’re tiny.”

Cassandra scowls while the others try not to giggle. Olivia only shrugs a second time, and picks up her bowl of spaghetti and brings it to her lap.

“What can I say: the shorter the woman, the closer to hell, Rylen.” A bit more comfortable, she lifts the fork of noodles to her lips. For some reason the other two start to making low noises of ‘oohs!’ and ‘uhh!” which seems to mean they approve? Or are at least entertained. It occurs to her that this must mean she bested him.

“Good one, Olive,” Krem remarks, so cheerful that she doesn’t have the heart to correct him on her name.

“I think that is answer enough,” Cassandra agrees, shifting her weight onto her feet. “I think you all should get going, it looks like the night’s just begun for you.”

“Ah, yeah, shit,” Rylen shakes his shoulders and saunters with that wide machismo walk, sizing Olivia up some more in his inebriated state, before he ushers them all with him. It all happens as quickly and rumbly as it began, and they stampede back from whence they came with much less fuss. A symphony of “Later, Cass!” and “Sorry, Cass!” with one “See ya, Olive!” as the cherry on top of a socially-awkward sundae. At last the door shuts, swiftly locks, and the quiet is welcomed back into the room. The nice, sober quiet.

Cassandra comes back, palms pressed to her thighs before she uses them to rub her face with a little exasperation. “Ugh. That won’t be the end of it.”

“Do they come around often?”

“More during the season, but...now it’s playoffs, so I don’t know. Rylen’s place tends to be headquarters, but sometimes...they just...ugh.” She elects to stand in the middle of the tile floor and fold her arms. She still looks a bit anxious, trying to decompress from the rush of events. Olivia can’t help but fixate on it while slicing a meatball that’s too big for one bite. Did that actually scare her?  

“Hey,” she holds up the forked half and offers it, and takes on her best ‘Rylen’ voice, “I think you need more meat, bro.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and grins with dread. “Don’t even start.”

“Bro, come on, get that protein. How else are you supposed to get--”

“No one ever says ‘get that protein,’” she chuckles and walks to her, and Olivia spreads her knees to invite her in; something she happily plays along with. All trapped in her hold, Olivia feeds her the sacred bite, and tries not to burst into giggles again.

“Do you still need your proof of my affection for you?” Cassandra inquires, wiping the corner of her mouth and then resting her hands on Olivia’s thighs.

There’s the penchant to continue the jest and say no: put up a fight and see where it gets her. Olivia is always ready for more playful fighting. But what can you say to a woman who was ready to deploy herself as a human shield against the unknown forces on the other side of a burgeoning door?

“I think I’m good.” She sets down her meal in favor of the rim of Cass’s hood and brings her in even closer.

“Are you sure? Because I did have a plan of action.”

“A plan?” she says hushed, “and what is this plan, exactly?”

“Uh...debating over whether to watch Titanic or Love, Actually. Then debating over the acting abilities of either cast. Then...more debate about the historical accuracies and politics that you will inevitably bring up when a male character is awful or another character is racist--”

“Or classist. You forgot classist. I hate that shit.”

“Yes. Classist.”

“Yeah.” Her smile widens, and she knocks noses with her playfully. “I suppose that all could be evidence to further support your claim. I can oblige. We should get started though, it’s already kinda late and I might have forgotten my ID to get into my dorm after 10...again...because I’m a dumbass.”

“Or you could just not go home.”

Olivia’s stomach erupts into butterflies drenched in pasta sauce and garlic seasoning, so much so her back arches like she’s being secretly zapped up with electricity. “I...could also do that.”

“What, you don’t want to?”

“No, I do, I guess I’m just...nevermind. I’m down!”

She smiles again. “Okay, good.”

“On one condition.”

Cassandra blinks and stops just as they are about to kiss. “Hm?”

“Only...if we do the thing I wanted to do the first night I stayed over.”

“You...you still want to make a pillow fort?”

Her shoulders bunch up in pre-eminent glee. “Yeeaaah.”

Cassandra sighs, but it doesn’t sound completely out of patience. “Alright, fine, you drive a hard bargain.”

More butterflies. More spaghetti butterflies. I can’t wait to brag about this to Ellinor, she’s gonna be so jealous. Yeah Cullen can eat two burgers in five minutes flat but can he say that he made a pillow fort?!  Can anyone? This is some next-level shit. They kiss to seal the deal, and to her delight, she tastes like marinara.

#college au update #adventures of ellinor and olivia #day & age #friendship fic! #modern thedas au #WOOOOOO I LOVE ME SOME FUNNY FLUFF

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Toward Safe Harbors (Part 4/5)

Harley leads Tony back to his place. They’ll be alone, as his mother brought his sister to her job at the tailor shop in town and Harley’s father walked away from the family years ago. Harley shrugs when Tony tells him that it isn’t his smartest plan - bringing a stranger back to his home, alone.

“We don’t have much worth stealing and if you’re going to kill me then you’re going to kill me. Though I’m warning you, I have my slingshot.”

“Still kid - not smart,” Tony sighs.

Though Harley isn’t wrong about there not being much worth stealing. Their home is four walls of stacked rocks, built to last, but cracks can be seen through the mortar. The straw roof should’ve been replaced years ago. They have an old wood shed, where Tony is welcome to bunk the night according to Harley, but it’s much, much emptier of wood than it should be this close to winter.

Harley offers up a few horse blankets and Tony doesn’t ask whose bed they came from, because there’s no horse in sight or stable to keep one. Tony even gets to eat. He eats one of the last fish they had, which Harley was meant to replenish today at the river, baked using the small fire still going in the hearth.

The entire time, Harley talks and asks a million questions and Tony tries not to confirm anything about himself so that Harley can have plausible deniability.

“So why are you running away from the king? Don’t you get, like, showered in gold and food and stuff?”

“Okay, kid. Where’s your axe?” Tony deflects as he sucks the last bit of flaky flesh from the bones.

“Are you going to kill me with it? That sounds painful.”

Tony sighs. “I haven’t decided yet. But first I’m going to chop some wood and then see how I feel. So - where’s the axe?”

(Watch out for the break!)

Tony’s body hurts. He needs rest and probably to see a doctor. He’s willing to admit that, at least inside his own head. Still, he can’t eat Harley’s food and take his blankets and put him at risk by aiding Tony’s treason while leaving Harley nothing in return, so he and Harley hunt down the axe.

The axe is duller than Hammer’s sense of humor, such that Tony’s surprised that Harley bothers to brag about all the wood he’s chopped with it. No one is going to believe him, and Tony points that out right away. He instructs Harley on finding a whetstone, and when that fails to turn one up, eventually they manage to find a rock that will work well enough.

Tony shows Harley how to sharpen the axe, with the proper safety procedures and everything. Pepper would be so proud.

Then Tony chops wood, having Harley drag logs to him and then cart away the splintered logs to stack in the shed. It’s not enough, not by a long shot, but they’ll be warmer for a few more days this winter at least.

Tony had meant to show Harley how to set traps for fish and snares for rabbits, but Harley’s already two steps ahead in that regard. Tony helps construct a few more to have extras on hand, but then moves onto instructing Harley the best dirt to water ratio to fill in the holes between the rocks in the wall so that it won’t crumble and fall out again.

Harley soaks it all in like a sponge and spits back out questions and commentary, such that Tony wishes he could drag Harley into one of his workshops and see what his mind could create with more resources. Miniature catapults that have mud hit the high spots on the wall, out of Harley’s reach, are only the beginning.

Tony ducks back into the shed when Harley’s mother and sister are due to arrive back, and he promptly falls asleep on the blankets.

Harley shakes Tony awake the next day, after his mother and sister have left again for the shop.

Tony groans and gives himself an extra moment to let his body tell him how angry it is at life before he levers himself to his feet. He shakes out the blanket before starting to fold it.

“You could stay, you know. If you want,” Harley offers with a shrug as he looks away.

Tony hides a smile and doesn’t pause. “Impressed with my chopping skills? You’ll learn.”

“It helped. So we won’t be as cold this winter,” Harley says as he wraps his arms around himself and pouts up at Tony.

“That means you need to get chopping,” Tony replies as he hands the square of blanket back over to Harley. Maybe he should remind Harley that if Tony is seen here, it would mean Harley’s entire family gets sentenced with aiding a traitor. This house will be warmer than jail, at least.

Tony decides not to bother reminding Harley of the trivialities. “Stay smart, kid,” he tells Harley, his voice warmer than he meant it to be. He ruffles Harley’s hair to dispel the emotion, and then takes off into the woods.

Harley had offered up enough information about the lay of the land for Tony to get a good feel for what direction to take. He decides not to try his luck by going through the rapids again, and he would’ve had to use the forest to sneak over the border into Bucky’s kingdom anyway. More woods, really, is his new plan. He hopes his ranger skills are better than what Rhodey says they are.

First, though, Tony risks heading to town though he avoids the more well-traveled roads.

Tripping over branches and getting snagged on bushes gets old fast, and Tony breathes out a sigh of relief when the town finally comes into view. He walks through the quiet back streets and snags a shirt drying on a clothesline. Tony slips it on over his current shirt and breathes a sigh of relief at the additional layer, adding warmth and a thin shield against his growing baby bump. Also now it’s no longer obvious that he’s wearing swim gear.

He continues farther into town, wondering if the tailor shop he passes is the one that Harley’s mother and sister work in. He spots the food stalls ahead, though, and continues forward.

The busier streets also contain guards, he discovers, and he ducks around a corner. Most of the guards are wearing the red and silver insignia of the crown, working for King Alpha Justin, but a few of those that patrol the streets are clothed in his own red and gold.

Stark guards, here? Why?

Tony considers leaving the town immediately, but then his stomach rumbles. He couldn’t bear eating more of Harley’s food, and at least here there look to be stalls doing well for themselves. The owners don’t look dirty and malnourished, at least.

Tony turns back onto the street, adopting the same tired stroll as most of the other shoppers. A few people brush past him with baskets half-full, racing to complete the morning errands, and Tony hangs back behind them. A few apples fall into his pocket while a woman haggles over the price of the half-bushel, and then a small section of cheese from the stall down the way, but Tony bypasses the bread as a guard hovers nearby, eyeing the wares.

Pockets heavy, Tony dodges past one last group of guards - who are eyeing a few omegas clustered in a doorway, rather than the crowd - before he lets his shoulders relax. He turns the corner, picking up his stride when he’s out of direct sight, when he hears a shout.

“Thief! Thief!”

Tony doesn’t tense, doesn’t turn, just keeps walking and heads for another corner and mentally plans his route out of the town.

A shove from the side has Tony stumbling and he whirls, ready to spring, but the man only runs past him and takes the corner Tony had planned on. Tony is already turning in the opposite direction, rejoicing for the perfect distraction, and then a kid darts by yelling “I got him!”

The kid turns the corner after the thief, and then a woman shouting, “Peter, no!”

Tony doesn’t see any guards yet - what are they doing? - and the kid was small - what is he thinking? - and Tony ends up cursing and racing around the corner to find the kid standing over the man laid out on the ground, smug as can be.

“Got you,” Peter brags, but then the man kicks out and Peter drops to the ground, hard.

They wrestle, Peter clinging on even as Tony hears Peter’s head slam against the ground with a crack. Tony rushes up and takes over, yanking the kid out of the way of an elbow to the face and tossing him to safer territory. Tony blocks a kick to his ribs and then twists away from a punch - and okay, now the man has a knife in his hand and the kid looks like he’s coming back for another round.

“Stay back!” Tony yells as he dodges another blow, the thief’s swings getting more and more wild. When the thief darts a glance at Peter and then takes a step toward him, Tony picks up his pace and then finally manages to connect an uppercut to the chin that knocks the man out.

“Kid. Seriously. What were you thinking?” Tony pants as he kicks the knife away and checks that the man isn’t playing dead (or actually dead, on that note).

“I had him,” the kid defends. “I mean, I did for a moment, there at the beginning. You saw that right? I had him - he was out on the ground and everything!”

“Yeah, sure, good job. Next time leave it for the guards. Or learn a few more moves,” Tony finishes with a sigh, seeing the stubborn jut of Peter’s chin.

Then Peter does a double-take, his eyes going wide. “O-Omega Stark?”

Tony tenses, a denial at his lips when the kid steamrolls right over it. “Oh wow! Seriously? What an honor to meet you in person, I mean, I saw your designs on the irrigation system over in Manhytten and they were amazing. You’re amazing, I mean, I mean, your stuff is amazing. Not just stuff, you know, they’re these great things and -”

“I got it, kid. Thanks,” Tony says, feeling flattered despite himself. “But, uh, given current circumstances, do you mind keeping this run-in quiet?” Though Tony doesn’t think that might be possible with this one.

“Of course!” Peter agrees, nodding so hard that Tony worries about his neck.

Then, “Peter!” the woman calls from the end of the street, and there are a group of guards behind her. Unfortunately, the guards are in Stark red and gold and recognize Tony immediately.

Tony flees down the street with calls of “Stop! Omega Stark, stop!” behind him.

Tony keeps running. He twists and turns at every opportunity, dodging people and carts and debris as he goes. Eventually the clanking footfalls and yells of his name fade from hearing, but Tony presses on until he’s finally back at the perimeter and throwing himself back into the forest.

Tony settles into a light jog, as fast as he can go while making sure he doesn’t trip over branches or break his ankle in a rabbit hole. Rhodey has told him enough stories about tracking - animals and people - for Tony to keep an eye out for rocky ground or water so he can hide his trail, but speed is his best ally.

How long will it take to muster a search party, one with someone experienced in tracking? How long until the news spreads, confirmation that he is alive and a traitor to the crown? Tony passes a hand over his stomach. Not obvious enough for the guards to have noticed, he thinks, or at least for any of the guards who care about the truth. Going into town had been a stupid risk.

Later that afternoon, though, Tony forgets all his regret about going into town as he bites into the hunk of cheese he had stolen. His stomach gurgles at the change, and Tony barely stops himself from wolfing down the entire bit. He’d go back and shower the cheese-maker in gold, if he could, and name them the best cheese-maker in the kingdom.

Afternoon turns into evening, and Tony pushes on. He walks through as many of the last few sun patches remaining, but eventually the coolness turns into cold. He begins to shiver, and Tony picks up a jog again despite the protest in his muscles to help warm them.

He hasn’t heard a tracking party, but would he? Tony darts a glance behind him, but sees nothing but trees and shadows.

No fire tonight, he knows, though the knowledge saddens him. No need to help his hunters find him, even if Tony had the energy to start a fire, even if Tony would really, really like to be warm. Instead, when Tony stops for the night he burrows down into the half-rotten roots of a dead tree still standing and shovels dirt over himself.

In the morning, he forces himself to get moving again. Eating the remaining cheese helps, except now he doesn’t have anything to look forward to. The apples still bouncing around in his pockets had never been his favorite fruit.

His stomach grumbles as he walks. His body aches with the treatment it’s received recently. His fingers are numb, still too cold, but Tony rests them on his stomach. His child, his child, his child. They had better be a sweet, easy-going baby after what is turning out to be a terrible pregnancy.

A child who never cries, shares all their toys, doesn’t talk back. Tony smiles at the image. The chances of his child being anything like that are slim, and even worse because of who their father is. He doesn’t even want a child like that, not really. He’d start with a child who is alive and happy, and hopefully one who doesn’t contract a hundred health issues because Tony can’t plan an escape properly.

He walks. Later he hears wolves - or maybe trained dogs - howling, and then he jogs. He sees no one, but he focuses more on the ground in front of him than behind. When he sees a stream, he walks in it until his feet are past numb with cold and he falls more than he moves forward.

Tony doesn’t sleep well that night.

In the morning, he presses on.

He eats his last apple.

He presses on.

Another night, another morning.

Tony presses on.

He hasn’t heard any barking. Has he lost them?

He presses on.

Maybe a fire is worth it. If he could be warm, if he could eat - he could stage a trap. He could confront them, if they found him. He could outmaneuver a couple of guards, right?

Tony considers this idea. Dying from exposure is better than execution, but still not high up on things he’d like to do. He keeps his eyes peeled for anything that looks like a good spot - lots of dead branches still trapped in trees, uneven ground, rock formations.

He pauses in a sun patch with the excuse to give himself extra time to scan his surroundings as he soaks in the tiny bit of warmth. Nothing he sees suits, though he’s been lowering his standards all afternoon. Tony breathes out a sigh, then another breath onto his fingers red and swollen with cold.

Something - instinct or paranoia  - pings down his spine. Tony rotates in a circle, evaluating the scenery from the ground to the tops of the trees. A hawk caws from above, circling high. Nothing. The forest chirps and trills and rustles as before.

Tony grabs a hefty branch, still scanning.

And the hawk circles. It’s above Tony, and continues to circle.

Tony bites back a curse and looks around anew, adrenaline pumping into his system and giving him another breath of energy. A trained hawk, most likely, with its owner sure to follow.

There was a grove of trees, tightly packed, that he’d passed not too long ago. Tony spins to run back and then stops when a woman stands in his path.

She’s dressed in greens and browns, face and hair streaked with mud. There’s a dagger on her belt, not yet drawn.

Tony raises his branch anyway. She’s just out of swinging range, she’d gotten that close to him.

“Omega Stark,” she says. Her voice is almost a purr, pitched low. “I am Natasha. I am here with Alpha Prince James.”

“Sure you are,” Tony replies, keeping his eyes on Natasha. His heart skips at Bucky’s name, but he only clenches the branch in his hands tighter. “And what does that matter?” Natasha might be telling the truth - please let her be telling the truth - but might not. It could also be a trap, set by Hammer to see if Tony would reveal the alpha father.

Natasha raises her eyebrows, showing surprise. It doesn’t look genuine to Tony, too practiced in faking his own reactions in court.

“You aren’t headed for his kingdom, to see him?” she asks. She steps into swinging range.

“You assume that I’m headed in a specific direction,” Tony deflects, his body loose and ready to move.

Natasha cocks her head and stares at him, her gaze piercing. Something is off, and not just with Natasha’s facial expression. He doesn’t know what it is, his brain feels like it’s running in circles and maybe if he wasn’t hungry and cold and - that’s it. He doesn’t know.

Natasha doesn’t have a scent under the dirt and mud that she’s rubbed on herself. She’s not an alpha, beta, or omega; she’s a null. A rare designation that leaves them without social status and so funnels nulls into becoming spies, assassins, or thieves. Without a scent, they’re nearly impossible to track and, when trained properly, rarely ever seen. But the question remains: who is Natasha working for?

“Sam! Over here,” Natasha calls out.

Tony steps back until he can see the new man approaching and Natasha without turning his back on either one.

“Redwing found him first. You definitely don’t get to claim this one!” Sam calls back. He holds out his arm, and the hawk dives down into the trees and pulls up to land on the wrist bracer.

Tony’s gaze flicks back and forth between them, and then it focuses on two men running through the trees, catching up to Sam and then bypassing him on their way to Tony. The one in front draws Tony’s attention, though, and his grip on his weapon loosens.

Bucky. Even dressed in drab grays, browns, and greens with his face streaked with mud, Tony recognizes him. For the first time since that breakfast with Hammer so long ago, Tony’s heart lifts.

Tony steps toward him, but then Natasha inserts herself in his path. Tony growls, caught off guard and unable to suppress it. She ignores Tony and holds up a hand to Bucky, who skids to a stop in front of her. Steve, Tony recognizes, is just behind Bucky.

“What?” Bucky snaps, his gaze still locked on Tony.

Tony clenches his branch tighter so that he no longer can feel his fingers trembling. The relief is overpowering, and Tony wants to collapse in Bucky’s arms and forget everything.

“We can’t be found here with your scent all over him. Wait until we cross the border,” Natasha explains.

“Get out of my way,” Bucky orders, his bright blue eyes flashing. Steve puts a restraining hand on Bucky’s shoulder that Bucky promptly shoves off.

Bucky’s gaze finally lifts from Tony to glare at Natasha and with the loss of Bucky’s hypnotizing stare, Tony feels thoughts filter back into his head. “She has a point,” he acknowledges, resigning himself.

Bucky looks back to Tony, and his gaze sets Tony alight. “I don’t care,” Bucky growls. “You’re mine.” Then Bucky pushes Natasha aside and sweeps Tony into his arms.

Tony drops his branch to be able to wrap his arms around Bucky in return. Warmth, he purrs. Bucky and warmth. Bucky squeezes Tony even tighter. If Tony could simply crawl into Bucky’s body and remain there, he would do it and be happy.

Probably a weird thought to have, but Tony’s in a weird place. Bucky came for him. Bucky looked for him, trespassing to do so. Bucky came to find him. A stupid plan. If Bucky or any of them had been caught, it would’ve had terrible consequences. It’s no less stupid of a plan than his and Bucky’s entire affair, and yet still Tony hadn’t dared to hope that Bucky would come.

“Tony…there were rumors. About you being, um, with child?” Bucky asks softly.

Tony hesitates and then nods, burying his face in Bucky’s chest.

Bucky tightens his hold on Tony and Tony almost sobs in relief.

“It’ll be okay. I got you, doll,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “I got you.”

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha bucky #omega tony #mpreg #prompts #hddnone

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 1)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Masterlist

I have this entire thing written already so I’ll be posting a new part a day over the next week. I hope you enjoy!

Once upon a time, there lived a small girl of about three years of age. She lived in a large farmhouse on the outskirts of Prythian, a small kingdom in peaceful harmony and run by seven High Lords. Feyre, as this small girl was called, had two loving parents and all the imagination in the world. Her mother was a beautiful woman who cared for their farm and all the animals with almost as much love as she gave her daughter. Her father was a hard working merchant who regrettably spent very little time with his family but cherished the time he did. Though her mother was a bit vain, Feyre was constantly taught to have humility and kindness for all things. They lived very happily together.

In the northern edge of Prythian, there lived a small boy of four years of age in a huge palace. His father, the young High Lord of the Night Court, and his mother, the young High Lord’s consort and mate. The boy’s name was Rhysand. Referred by the Night Court as Prince Rhysand, the boy led a charmed life of silver spoons but also of gilded cages, rarely being allowed to leave the palace grounds. His mother, Mary, was a generous and beloved queen, caring for her people and her son with all her heart. The High Lord was kind but also strong and strict, leading the Night Court with a firm hand. They also lived happily.

Feyre’s mother and Mary were in fact very good friends, having grown up together—a friendship they maintained even when Mary became royalty. The women took weekly walks and had tea together but they rarely had their families engage as both their husbands were very busy. Their kids played together sometimes, when Mary would invite Feyre along with them to the palace, but Rhys had his teachings so the two children rarely had time to play.

Feyre remembers that the two women used to sing a song whenever they were together, a song about first love called ‘Ten Minutes Ago’. The song was meant to be sung by a male and female throughout the verses but Feyre remembers fondly that the consort and her mother would alternate the parts over their strolls.

About six months after the Night Court princess was born, something horrible happened. Mary and Feyre’s mother went for a walk in the woods outside the palace grounds with the baby. Consort Mary had denied the guards’ escort and the two women walked the woods alone.

Their remains were found hours later seeming to have been attacked by a pack of bears.

All of Pythian grieved, the High Lord was in disarray, and the young prince was left in utter confusion of where his mother and sister had gone. For Feyre and her father, mourning the consort and princess was bad enough but Feyre also lost a mother and her father lost a wife.

The High Lord’s family and the Archerons had no more connection after that. Feyre never saw the prince again as the Court fell into despair. The High Lord still kept up his duties but was less kind and more strict.

The prince was shielded from the people. He grew up as a fierce warrior and hunter, killing animals of all sizes in the mountains that took up half the Night Court.

Feyre’s father coped in a different way: plunging himself into his work. However, it didn’t take him long to realize that Feyre needed a mother. Eventually, he married another, a woman named Amarantha Hybern with two daughters of her own—Nesta and Elain.

Soon after the marriage, Feyre’s father turned ill. The doctors did all they could, but he died of a broken heart just before Feyre’s eight birthday.

Amarantha, who had been pleasant in her husband’s presence, turned wicked. She treated Feyre like no more than a slave and placed the weight of the house, chores, and overall upkeep of the farmhouse on the young girl. Nesta and Elain followed their mother’s lead, making Feyre their servant and living like they were royalty. They even stopped calling her Feyre—’Cinderella’ seemed a fit name for their little sister, as she was always covered in cinders from the hearth.

As the girls grew, Nesta and Elain became calloused and mean, vain and pompous. Feyre on the other hand, grew up patient and kind, graceful and beautiful. The memory of her parents were clouded with the harsh words and acts of her new family, but she retained their love. She promised herself that she would remain kind, humble, and loving no matter what the Hybern’s did to her. And she kept that promise.

By the time Feyre was twenty two, she was an absolutely charming young lady with beauty to spare and a heart of gold. She was especially gifted with animals. All the creatures on the farm were her friends, even the mice—all but Attor, Amarantha’s wretched cat.

Her Stepmother despised her. She piled on work, moved her to the attic, dressed her in rags, and fed her table scraps, but Feyre never talked back, never became angry, and never disobeyed.

At twenty two Feyre would have been allowed to leave, but she couldn’t fathom the thought of leaving her parent’s home and decided to endure the wrath of Amarantha and her step sisters.

Prince Rhys grew up hurt. His father never fully recovering from his mate and daughter’s death and pushed it on his son, teaching him to hunt and battle instead of how to rule. Rhys was kind but fierce, intelligent but cunning, always ready for the next hunt.

However, when he reached 20 years old and his father fell sick, Rhysand decided to leave the Court to learn how to be a High Lord. He could see that his father would not be fit for the job soon.

Now, a week before his twenty-third birthday, Rhys returns from his studies to the Night Court….

...

“Rhys!” The High Lord exclaims, strong enough today to get out of bed. He walks over to his son and envelops him in a hug. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, boy.”

“I’ve missed you too, father.” The prince replies as large footsteps sound through the halls. Rhys catches a glimpse of long brown hair before he is pulled into another hug. “Woah, sasquatch.” He mutters, trying to regain his footing. His best friend and Captain of the Guard thumps him on the back, then pulls away. Rhysand looks Cassian up and down, now having to tilt his head back to see his brother’s face. “I must not be in as much shape as I thought—you’re bigger than me now. I was only gone for two years!”

Cassian shrugs. “Snooze, you lose, man. How are you doing?”

“I’m great! Better than great, I’m grand!” Rhys’ smile is contagious.

“Didn’t do too much sleeping around while you were gone I hope?” The High Lord asks, nudging his son with a smile.

Rhys straightens up. “Please father, I went there to learn to be High Lord.” He can’t even keep a straight face through the whole sentence and all three men burst out laughing.

“Well you can tell us all about it later. For now, I need to speak with you.” The High Lord places a hand on Rhys’ shoulder and leads him to the staircase. “Cassian, will you excuse us please?”

“Sure, I’ll talk to you later, dude.” And then Cassian marches away. Rhys hopes he is going to find Azriel. The three of them have been apart for too long.

“What do you need, Dad?” The prince asks as they walk into his office. The High Lord sits down in his chair and Rhys sit across, suddenly nervous.

His father takes a deep breath. “I’m dying Rhys.”

“Wow, that’s one way to kill the mood,” Rhys mutters and the man scowls but otherwise ignores the statement.

“You knew this was happening so I’m not easing you into it but because of this fact there is something you need to do.” This gets Rhys’ attention and his joking demeanor vanishes. The High Lord attitude he’s been trying to perfect assumes his features. “Your birthday is on Sunday and I have planned a three day ball in your honor, the last day being your birthday.”

“Sounds fun,” Rhys nods contemplatively. “Who’s invited?”

“All eligible ladies in the Court and some princesses from neighboring ones.” The High Lord responds and Rhys’s smile drops. This is not happening. “At the end of the three days I want you to pick a consort.”

Rhys stands abruptly. “No,” he states, glaring at his father. “I will not pick a wife out of your ‘eligible’ ladies. I will not marry for advantage. I will marry for love. I’m waiting for my mate.” He swears they’ve had this conversation a dozen times.

His father remains calm, passively looking up at his son from his chair. “Who’s to say you won’t find your mate at the ball? Or fall in love with one of the ladies enough to remember that mates are not always a sure thing?” He asks and Rhys grinds his teeth. The High Lord sighs and holds up his hands. “All I’m asking is that you give them a chance. Make an appearance to the public, dance with some fair maidens, and keep an open mind. Can you do that for me?”

Rhys stands ramrod straight and contemplates the proposal. He is mad as hell but he can’t deny his father this, he has to at least try. “Fine. Send out the invitations.”

...

Feyre is just finishing her afternoon chores when a knock comes at the door. Nesta and Elain are upstairs singing and her stepmother is reading, so Feyre rushes to answer before the sound disturbs them. A royal mail carrier stands with a large envelope in his hand.

“Invitation to a grand ball in honor of Prince Rhys for Lady Hybern,” he proclaims and hands the note to Feyre. He’s turned around and down the steps before Feyre even closes the door. She just stares at the invitation in awe.

“Stepmother!” She exclaims as she runs to the sitting room. Amarantha lets out an irritated sigh.

“You interrupted my reading,” she scolds. “This had better be good.”

“Oh, it is Stepmother! We just received an invitation to the royal ball-“

“Royal ball?” Amarantha practically squeals, springing out of her seat and snatching the note from Feyre’s hand. “Nesta! Elain! Stop that racket and get down here this instant!”

Pounding is heard from the hallway as the girls run down the stairs in their highheels. Amarantha finishes reading the invitation and looks like she is about to faint.

“What is it, mother?” Nesta asks.

Amarantha shoves the invitation into her daughter’s face. “We are invited to the royal ball in honor of the prince’s birthday. It says that every invited eligible maiden is to attend.”

The girls squeal and start asking questions. Feyre’s ears perk up at the mention of every maiden. That means she can go as well.

“Cinderella!” Amarantha calls and Feyre jumps from her excited haze. “Run down to the tailor and have them make seven elegant dresses, you know our sizes.”

“Stepmother, why ever would we need seven? There’s only four of us.” Feyre reminds helpfully and Amarantha looks at her like she is missing a screw.

“What do you mean?” She asks, genuinely confused.

Elain pipes up before Feyre can answer. “Oh, mother, she thinks that she’s coming with us. How cute.” Feyre feels her cheeks heat as the girls snicker.

“Well, why can’t I come with you? The invitation says every invited maiden is to attend.” She argues defiantly.

“No,” Nesta chortles gracelessly. “It says every eligible maiden.”

Elain nods. “And you are not eligible.”

Feyre is hurt. Sure, her hair is grimy with soot, and her clothes are old and torn, but with a nice bath and a new dress, she could look just as beautiful as them.

“No,” Amarantha chides. “You are not going to the ball. The event will be three days long so I need three dresses for Nesta, three for Elain, and one for me. You will just attract unwanted attention. Besides, we can’t show up with our servant girl, we’ll be a disgrace!”

They’d called her worse, but Feyre still feels the sting. She muffles it for now and just nods. “I understand Stepmother, I will go fetch the tailor.” She says quietly.

“Good girl. When you get back, finish the chores.” Feyre nods again and leaves. Tears sting her eyes and she doesn’t let them flow until she is a safe distance away from the farmhouse.

Masterlist

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