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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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tapestry 👑 XI

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader finds herself in need of allies.

Note: I thank you all for coming along on this adventure with me and I can’t believe we’re already on part 11 over here. Things will amp up in the next chapter and I’m just hoping I can bring into fruition all that I imagine. I love you all, I appreciate you all. You is good, you is kind. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

You sat at the vanity as Marge plaited your hair. You still weren’t used to having her around but the ritual was soothing. Since the feast, not a week past, the king’s attentions had become more adamant, his visits almost daily. He brought his footman and his usual vows of devotion. Though now, they were underlined with darker tones.

You looked tired. You felt tired. The king was not the only royal fixated upon you. The queen did little to hide her distaste but you would not relent in your attendance. It would be to admit a guilt you did not carry. For as much as you tried, your will proved insignificant. It was upon the king’s inclination that you found yourself as you were.

That day was no different. You would break fast at the queen’s table then follow her to mass. A sewing circle, perhaps some recitation, until the afternoon meal. The women would be as they always were. Whispering and wiling away their time amidst their gossip.

Marge finished pinning your hair as you stared into your own distant eyes. “The grey hood should do.” You said.

You tore your gaze from your reflection. You waited for her to near and pull the hood over your hair. It was as plain as all your clothing. No golden tassels like the queen or embroidered flowers like Rose. Grey trimmed in black. Almost nunlike.

You stood as Marge backed away. Before you could enter the receiving chamber, a knock sounded. You stepped aside for the servant to pass and watched as she went diligently to answer the visitor. You held your breath as the hinges groaned and were almost relieved to find your father upon the other side.

“Father,” you greeted stiffly.

“Daughter,” He entered with a dull look. He glanced around the room, his eyes passive as he took in the expanse. He hadn’t even a receiving chamber for his courtly business. “You look well.”

“Thank you,” You clasped your hands together and watched him stroll around the room. Marge closed the door and took her spot along the wall.

“I apologize for not visiting sooner but I’ve been just as busy as yourself,” He preened as he turned to you. “Have you heard of my promotion?”

“Promotion? Why, Father, I hear so little of you or from you.” You returned and he sneered.

“Well, while I do think you’ve behaved rather ridiculously in this whole...affair, it has not been without benefit,” He smiled as he crossed his arms. “Did you not notice the absence of Lord Alan at the feast? Or that I took his place among the counselors?”

“I noticed but I assumed an oversight.”

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Let’s hope that sharp tongue does not see you fall as swiftly as you’ve risen.” He warned. “I am a councilman now, and still your father, and you remain within my reign. The king has yet to supersede me.”

“I could never forget my patronage, father,” You assured. “Not even a fall from a horse could shake such unpleasantness.”

“I know not how the king bears you, but I am only thankful that he does.” Your father dropped his arms, hands on his hips in a stance much like the king’s in the portrait above your mantle. “Do you not wonder how Lord Alan’s seat came to be vacant?”

“Should I wonder, father?” You asked. “And if I should, you might be quick about the explanation for I am due for my attendance of the queen.”

He chuckled. “Why, he did confess to his crime. To planting that whelp inside Lady’s Rose’s womb and he didn’t say a word when the harlot did accuse the king.” Your father could not help the delight in his voice. “The king did consider the dungeon, an axe even, but he is merciful. He did only strip the lord of his seat and order him to marry the girl so that she not continue in her accusations.”

“What?” You were truly stunned. The revelation did account for Rose’s recent absence.

“They will be allowed to remain at court but not without the stain of their sins,” Your father reached up to adjust the pin on his chest; a golden feather which denoted a member of the king’s council. “Though, I think the king’s clemency wanes.”

“Should he need clemency?”

“Oh but daughter, all speak of the crimes which do remain unpunished,” Your father preened. “And as whispers rise louder, he will find it harder to ignore the conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy? What madness do you speak of?”

“Do you think that was truly an accident?” He pointed to your arm still bound in a sling. “Hmm?”

“A nervous horse and nervous rider,” You assured him. “It was a blessing it wasn’t worse.”

“Oh, but why should the queen house such a nervous beast?” Your father raised a brow. “The creature was examined and identified. He was the queen’s newest purchase, barely trained and known for its temper, and yet, she would have it saddled out of a dozen others for the hunt.”

“A coincidence. An oversight,” You felt the heat along your neck. “Nothing more.”

“And that its saddle was ill-fitted and lined with brambles?” He ventured and his eyes lit at the shock that washed over you. “The king outfits his own men and the queen sees to her ladies. And she surely saw to you.”

“That cannot be,” You touched your injured arm. Another day and it would be without the hideous sling. “I don’t believe you.”

“You may not, but should I suggest you have your food tasted before you would nibble at it, I assume you might heed my advice,” He suggested. “The queen has her allies and though the king is yours, his friends will not be so loyal as him.” You stood straight. “Do what you can to find some of your own and realize that I am not so much your enemy as you think, daughter.”

You stared at him. You sighed and smoothed your hand over the front of your bodice. “I should be late if I tarry longer, father, and I suspect you would too. The council awaits, do they not?”

“They do, daughter,” He nodded, half a bow, “Do not take your eye from the queen.”

He marched to the door and Marge opened it for him with a quiet “my lord.” When he was gone, she looked to you. Her concern mirrored your own.

“Do you think the queen truly did it?” She asked.

“I do not know what to think,” You replied. “Or who to trust, so perhaps I should trust no one and keep my thoughts to myself.”

👑

To your surprise, Rose attended the queen that day. She was quiet and her dainty blue eyes were downcast. You caught yourself staring at her as she poked her needle into the tapestry. She did not sew, only pretended to. Her cheeks were red and blotchy and for the first time, you saw the girl behind the lady’s facade.

Joan and Beatrice sat with her as they always did but she did not answer them when they spoke. You did not know what was worse; to have been cast out or that she would remain at court to face her shame. Your own hand was slow without a second to hold the cloth and in your distraction, the fear that bubbled at the sight of the king’s former mistress, you were useless.

When you were dismissed to ready for the evening meal, you lingered and watched as Rose trailed behind the others. She shrugged off Beatrice who huffed and turned to grab Joan instead. You waited for them to depart as Rose dragged her feet. You caught up to her as the ladies turned the next corner.

“Rose,” You said softly. She looked to you and the pain in her eyes turned to anger.

“What? You here to boast?” She stopped sharply. “Can’t you see I’ve already been dragged low enough?”

“I do not wish to boast. I wish to speak to you,” You said calmly. “Peaceably, if we could.”

“Why?” She spat as she raised her head on her long neck.

“Because I am not your enemy, I never have been.” You replied. “Perhaps that is how you saw me but I never saw myself as such.”

“You think I do not see how you pleasure in my disgrace--”

“Have I said a word on it? Have I whispered with the rest?” You asked. “I think you should realize that we are much more alike than you want to believe.” She frowned but did not flee. “We both know the king to be a philanderer and entirely selfish.”

“How can you when he would still have you?”

“Because I don’t want him. I never did and for all I’ve tried to deny him, it’s only encouraged him.” You kept your voice low as you ushered her towards the wall. She followed reluctantly. “And my current favour does not set me above you, it sets me alongside you. Your fate could as easily be mine. Likely worse for I am not a duke’s daughter.”

“So you play at kinship with me? Pity?” She fluttered her lashes angrily.

“I don’t play at anything. You are to marry Lord Alan and have a child who is likely the king’s bastard. This court will not be hospitable and I think it worse that he should keep you here to abide their cruelty.” You looked her in the eye. “We are both alone here but know that you do not need to be. The king declared us enemies, that was not our choosing, was it?”

She blinked and lowered her chin. When she looked at you again, her eyes glistened. “Why don’t you hate me?”

“You’ve enough of that,” You assured her. “And I have too. We needn’t be friends, Rose, but I do not want another foe.”

She sniffed and breathed deeply. “I don’t want another either.” She said. “And I am sorry for you because you are right. We’re not so different and I would wish this on no other.”

“Thank you, Rose,” You glanced down the hall. “You’re not so thorny as you pretend to be.”

👑

After your evening prayers, you returned to your chambers to find the king awaiting you. He rose as you entered and Marge waited nervously to close the behind you. Hugh was in the corner as usual, his eyes alight but unfocused. The fire crackled and the moon shone in between the heavy curtains.

"My lady," The king greeted. "I've been awaiting you most eagerly."

"Oh," You let him kiss your hand. He did not release you as he stood straight. "Your highness, the day has worn on."

"As they do when we're apart," He grinned though his tone was laced with more. "I did think of you as I went about my daily tasks. I had a fitting done today," He steered you around to the sofa. "And I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" You tired of the king and his surprises. "You did not have to."

"Oh but I saw it and thought of you." He stopped before the sofa. "Sit and close your eyes."

"Your high--" He waved his hand to silence you.

You sat heavily and closed your eyes as he bid. You heard him move around the couch and the gentle rustle of something unseen. You folded your hands in your lap and waited. You flinched as you sensed him before you.

"Open, my lady," He said.

He held a bolt of fabric. A gentle silvery muslin embroidered with beaded curlicues. You raised your brows as you gaped at the rich cloth.

"It will need to be lined but I should like you to have a gown for the yuletide." He explained. "One befitting your beauty."

"I've never sewn with anything so delicate," You touched the corner of the fabric.

"I will send a seamstress and my personal tailor," He set the roll down beside you on the sofa. "Tell me you like it."

You stared at him a moment. Only days ago he was threatening you in a dark corridor and now he was back to his doting ways. How far could you push him before he made good on his vows?

"It is very beautiful," You smiled. "Thank you, your highness."

"I will have other fabrics sent. You are in need of a new wardrobe. Perhaps a jeweler too."

"It is too much," You protested but his sharp glance curtailed you. "I thank you for your generosity."

"For you, anything," He smiled just before he turned from you. There was another side to the words. Was he willing to give you anything or give anything to have you?

He strode to the mantle and considered his own image above the fireplace. He leaned on the mantle as he looked up at himself. The room was still and silent. Marge stared at her feet and Hugh looked at nothing in particular.

"I was barely more than your age when I stood for this," He said. "They sent a copy to every princess in the world. In return, I received dozens of portraits. I had my choice of any I pleased."

He slowly turned away from the painting. "My mother wanted Eleanor. She is a fair woman despite her demeanor. The very image of a queen. But her being does not match her appearance."

You listened nervously. You shifted as he paced.

"When we wed, she was still in love with her old prince. She wept for weeks. She tried not to show it but I knew. And she knew I did." He exhaled and hung his head. "We never truly had a hope. A marriage built on fallacy."

"And it cannot be fixed?" You asked softly.

He looked at you and tilted his head. He neared and sat beside you. He took your hand in his.

"No, because I love you, my lady." He kissed your hand. "And there is no end for me but you."

"Your highness."

You did not pull away for fear of angering him. He tugged you closer as he peeked over at his footman and then your servant. He leaned in and whispered.

"You haven't any idea of what I dream of. Of the thoughts that fill my head whenever you are near and when you are not." He squeezed your hand. "I want you, lady, and I want all of you. I swear to you that once I have you in my bed, you shall rarely leave it."

Your face was on fire and you closed your eyes in shame. You trembled and he released your hand so that he could play with a fold along your skirt.

"Even now, I think of pushing you back against this sofa and burying my head beneath these skirts. And when I finished, I would tear loose your modest bodice and reveal the womanly body you so piously keep from me. And I would have all of it. All of you."

"Your highness," You caught his hand and gasped.

"Kiss me," He slid his hand from beneath yours and grabbed your chin. "Kiss me or I shall do it."

You pressed your lips to his. His hand moved to cradle your face and he ran his tongue along your lips. You winced and opened your mouth. He slipped his tongue inside and you struggled to breath as he turned to crush you against the back of the sofa.

He parted, both of you out of breath, and slowly sat back. He hung his head as he collected himself. You stared at your sling and the way your hand trembled within.

"I can wait. I can." He said as if convincing himself. "I promise you that this will be over soon. The new year will see this matter concluded."

He stood and sniffed. He stretched and motioned to his footman.

"I must retire for the night, my lady." He announced. "See that you are well-rested. my tailor should visit tomorrow."

"Your highness," You rose and curtsied to him.

"You must start dressing the part," He said as he neared the door, "And holding yourself as such."

Hugh opened the door and waited for the king to precede him into the corridor. Steven looked back as he entered the hall and smirked just before he set off down the stone. His footsteps echoed until Marge stifled them with the door.

"My lady," She turned to you, "Do you really think he means it?"

"I…" You slowly sat and touched your lips. "I think he does."

#tapestry #king!steve #Steve Rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #medieval au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #dark!fic #dark fic #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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heart-eye-harrington · 4 years

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the last midnight ~ chapter three

(gif by @harringtown, thank you for letting me steal it <3)

Summary: Every aspect of Prince Steve’s life is mapped out with one objective in mind: become king when the time comes. The day of the ball has arrived, and everyone from the castle and village are making preparations. You and Steve find help from very different places.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: brief mentions of grief

Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I’m very excited for this chapter and for the rest of the series as a whole! Thank you for your continued support! ♡

read the last part here

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The day of the ball had arrived, and the castle’s inhabitants were in a fussing frenzy. The servant’s usual buzzing seemed to be amplified to rumbling thunder. Their words roll in through the open door of Steve’s bed chamber and begin bombarding his ears. Things such as the astronomical size of the guest list, the work being done in the ballroom, and the preparations on the royal family’s outfits only amplify the booming cacophony of dread.

Steve does his best to ignore how it goes straight to his pounding heart, hastily throwing on his lounging clothes and combing his fingers through his hair, enjoying the time he has to not be a perfect polished prince. He knows the stylists will come around later in the day to mold him in that image, but for now, he can get away with wild hair and loose flowy blouses.

He looks at himself in the mirror and for a moment, things are okay. He’s just a boy. He’s not a future king, no royal title attached to his name. The weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders, because why should it be there? He’s just a boy.

The anxious cloud slowly rolls in once again, the muffled conversation between guards stationed outside his door dashing the mirage.

“Hard to imagine the prince will choose a bride tonight. Part of me feels bad for the boy. Sure, a princess may grow to like him, but never love. How could they, when their love life is a bargaining chip? He may never know real love.”

Their words were the lightning strike. A menacing storm had been gradually collecting discomfort provoked by talks of this evening, but life could continue despite it. This was the danger that could not be ignored. The pounding heartbeat in Steve’s ears fizzled away, only leaving him with the realization he’d been pushing down for years.

Love was never in the cards for him. It never fit into his parents’ plan. Kings don’t need love, they need power. The only time they need a person beside them is to strengthen that power. To his parents, a queen was nothing more than another piece in the puzzle. They would make the kingdom look more secure, gain allies and resources, and produce an heir, and the vicious cycle continues.

“He may never know real love”

It bounces around his head before eventually sinking to his heart, dragging it down to his stomach. His huge room seems to shrink around him, his feet dragging him out into the corridor before the walls suffocate him. Steve only gets a moment of relief before he meets the guard’s worried eyes emphasized with raised eyebrows. The act of being seen, not merely looked at, is so alarmingly out of place he feels the bile in his stomach turn. He needs to go, and there’s only one place where he feels safe in the castle.

The familiar sounds of clinking metal and hearty laughter lets him know the room’s usual inhabitants are inside. Peaking through the cracked door he sees Robin and her father, both in full practice uniforms, chasing one another around with blunt practice swords at the ready. The sounds of padded running echos throughout the large gymnasium.

The sight before Steve is a break in the downpour, a ray of light through the dark clouds. They were what made this room safe, for in these walls he was just a boy with a friend, a teacher, and a sword. Part of him doesn’t want to disturb them, but any chance of that is dashed when Robin spots the gleam in his eyes through the cracked door.

“Father, I think we may have an intruder” her tone airy and playful. The captain quickly catches on, joining in on her fun. “Oh, well, we can’t have that, now can we? They’ll have to fight there way out of this”

In one fell swoop, he pulls open the door to reveal a giddy Steve and throws him his sword. Steve’s surprised he reflexes are quick enough to catch it before it hits the marble floor. The celebration doesn’t linger, Robin already taking her stance for their battle. Once Steve folds an arm behind his back and extends his sword, mirroring Robin, the fight is on. Robin’s father ducks out fo the room with a sweet goodbye, knowing they don’t need supervision and that this would not be ending soon.

The teens go back and forth, lunging and dodging with expert timing, only fitting for the hours they’ve spent in these walls. As relentless as the fight is, Steve can’t keep his mind from wandering. Dodging Robin’s blade dislodged his guard’s words from the hiding place his mind shoved then into.

As much as he’s come to terms with never finding love, he can’t help but imagine it. Someone laughing at his jokes because they find him funny, not out of courtesy or because they want to impress him. Someone that would look for him first in a crowded room, no matter the crowd’s wealth, power, or charm.

Someone that would reach for his hand instinctively, whether for comfort, out of overwhelming joy, or anywhere in between. With their hand in his everything in the world would be okay, because the person standing beside him is the world now, and they’re so good.

He wanted someone he would miss deeply even if it were just the first day they had been apart since meeting.

Steve keeps finding himself back in the village, kids weaving around him to sit by the fountain. His mind replays the first moment he saw you. The way the sun caught your eyes like they were precious jewels deserving nothing less than to be shown off. Your smile was contagious, not being able to be contained on your face, spilling to everyone who laid eyes on you. The rising sun behind you softened any edges, as if your personality weren’t inviting enough.

One part of your story sticks out.

Before fear grips the prince, the princess holds his hand. In that moment, he knows she’s his true love, and that he would fight any creature to keep her safe, for the touch of a hand cannot be altered by magic. No magic spell can mask or mimic the way a person’s hand makes you feel.

He’s pulled abruptly from his thoughts when he feels Robin’s blade resting against his collar. She’s clearly won the fight, laughing in his face in celebration. Steve pouts, head nodding back and pursuing his lips.

“Wake up your royal highness, you’re in a daze” Robin made sure to emphasize his title, knowing he hates it.

“I’m sorry” his response breathy, almost dream-like. She knows he was distracted, he never let her win this easily. She traces back to the last time they fought last time, and realizes it was before their escape to the town. A mischievous grin pulls her lips as her mind makes the correlation.

“You’ve been off since our adventure” a smug suggestive smile on her lips. Suddenly her gaze is too much for Steve, who turns to the table stationed at the opposite end of the room, stacked with towels for sweat. After hearing her footsteps behind him, he knows there’s no escape, so he gushes.

“It’s the person we saw at the fountain, the one who was telling the stories to the children. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“Well, there are plenty of people out there.” Robin winks, but Steve is having none of it

“Ah, but their spirit, their goodness.” He can feel the smile creep on to his face just thinking about them.

“You don’t suppose they have a sister, do they?” Robin raises a brow, and Steve can’t help but chuckle, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Well, hopefully, your mystery stranger may come to the ball. That is why you threw the doors open, is it not?” They both laugh at the memory of his portrait painting and confrontation with his parents.

“Robin, it was for the benefit of the people.”

She raises her hands defensively “Oh, of course. How shallow of me”

After a beat, Steve thinks aloud “And if they come, then what?” Robin mulls it over for a moment, “then you tell them that you’re a prince, and a prince may take whatever partner he wishes.”

“Ha” sarcasm drips from the single syllable.

“Ha?” Robin questions,

“Yes, ha. You know my parents will only have me marry a princess.” Steve groans.

Robin hums, fully aware of their royal highness’s stupid rules, but caring more about her friend. “Well if this stranger from the village is as charming as you say, they may change your parents’ minds. They are a fairy godmother in training. A flick of their wand and boom, problem solved.”

“Hm, problem solved.” A sad smile tugs his lips. If only it were that easy.

“You never know. You know what my father says, words are your greatest weapon. You saw what they can do to those kids in the village, I’m sure they can charm your parents.” She gives a playful nudge but instead of pushing back, he succumbs to it, allowing the soft push to move him. A smile still plays his lips, but he feels numb, as if shielding himself from what’s to come. Hope, he’s learned, is a strong gift. It’s one he’s barely received, ripped from his hands as soon as he’s united the ribbon.

Robin’s quick to wrap her arms around him in an awkward side hug, resting her head on his arm. Neither of them are good at showing affection, their platonic love language shown in jokes and jabs, but how could she not hug him? Steve leans down a bit to rest his head on top of hers, his hands coming up to clutch her arm.

They stay like that, two people who have been thrown into extraordinary circumstances who were able to find one another. They each thanked their lucky stars every night that they had found each other.

A knock comes to the door, and a messenger peeks through. “Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but the style team is ready for you.”

With one last squeeze to Robin’s arm, he nods to the messenger, acknowledging it’s time to go. As he begins to walk away, Robin runs behind him and rustles his hair, “good luck Prince Charming.”

“Thanks, Robin. Can’t wait to see what they put you into.” He jokes, knowing how much Robin hates formal events and the guard’s formal uniforms.

“Oh, it won’t be half as beautiful as yours. I’m sure you’ll knock’em dead.” She sends him off with a wink and a wave. Steve shakes his head, returning the gesture. As he finds himself being passed from hairstylist to seamstress, he thinks of Robin. Not only has she given him friendship, but the gift of hope, and he can practically feel the silk ribbon it’s tied in. With each stitch of a button and comb of his hair, he can’t help but smile, for with each step he’s one step closer to you.

He hoped to see you again soon.

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Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets as you rush back to the bakery. With the prince’s open invitation to the village to attend the ball came a glimmer of hope that you would see Steve the apprentice again. To say you were enormously excited would be an understatement.

You rush through the door, practically skipping as you tell your father the news. He dusts the flour from his hands, placing them on his hips as you ramble on and on.

“Do we have any of mother’s old clothes? I know she had the most beautiful dresses and fabrics, I could easily make something for tonight. It wouldn’t cost much, you know how expensive Esmerelda the seamstress is, especially with such little notice. Oh, father, I can just picture it! I’d have sleeves like this-” as you begin ghosting your fingers over your arms, imagining what you’d look like this evening, your father stops you.

“Sweet pea, we don’t have any of that.” he looks to you with sad eyes, that if you look hard enough you could see his heart breaking behind them.

“W-what?” you don’t want to believe him.

“I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. I sold all your mother’s dresses and fabrics years ago, right after she passed. Sweet pea, I am so sorry.” his voice a fragile glass, moments away from breaking.

Your first instinct is anger. How could he? She was his wife, but she was your mother. He may have had no use for the clothes and fabrics, but how could he know you wouldn’t? You could grow into them, wear them to keep her close to you. Then you realize what that would do to your father. Seeing his child, the spitting image of his lost wife wearing her clothes. It’d be like seeing her ghost, haunting him. You could never understand his pain or why he did it, as he could never understand yours, but you could try.

“I know father, it’s ok.” you sniffle, quickly trying to hide it with a wipe of your nose. You smile through the stinging in your eyes.

Not another word is exchanged the rest of the day, your father too filled with regret, leaving you to mourn. You mourn your mother and the dream of seeing Steve again. You owned nothing nearly nice enough to attend the ball and would never be able to scramble up enough money to buy something new. So you were left to work the bakery, conversing with excited customers and gazing out the window. You look for any hooded figures with wild hair and curious eyes, but your apprentice friend is nowhere to be found.

With dusk quickly approaching, you know you can’t keep putting off the trip to the waterfall. The thought of walking the same path you had with Steve, but this time without him here, hurt more than you could imagine. You miss deeply, despite having just met him yesterday. It was only the first day you’d been apart since meeting, but it felt like a lifetime.

The forest is beautiful at this time of day. Birds sing love songs, your footsteps on the soft grass adding muffled percussion. Golden orange light breaks through the tree canopy, dancing on the rich green of the forest floor. Soon you hear the distance padding of water upon the rocks, reassuring that you weren’t far from your destination.

Through the trees, you hear a muted cry for help. The voice is weak, urging your feet to run to it faster.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you yell as you run, equal parts hoping that they’ll answer so you can better find them and alerting them that someone is coming to help.

“Right here, sweetpea.” The use of the nickname makes your stomach twist, but still allowing you to find whoever needs help. You’re able to spot them, at the base of a nearby tree sits an elderly woman. You’re quickly kneeling by her side and asking if she needs any help.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any spare food, would you?” without hesitation you reach into the pocket of your apron where you’d stuffed a blueberry scone for your dinner. You offer it to her with a smile.

“Oh, but my dear, this is your dinner.”

“Please, I hope you’ll take it. You need it more than me.” You fold it into her hand and within seconds she’s gnawing on the pastry. Through the crumbs in her mouth, she laughs.

“Hope, hm. What a powerful word.” You give her a perplexed but kind nod, not expecting such an ominous statement. The scone is quickly devoured, the only signs it was here are the crumbs on the woman’s dress and a burp.

“Now, sweet pea, we don’t have much time.” There’s the nickname again.

“Only my father calls me that. My apologies, but do I know you?” your question innocent.

“Who am I? I’d have thought you’d have worked that one out, seeing as the town considers you my apprentice.” A wicked smile pulls her lips thin. You’re left utterly lost. “I’m your fairy godmother, sweet pea.”

“You can’t be.” You laugh lightly to yourself. “They don’t exist. They’re just made up for children.”

“Didn’t your own mother believe in them?” her words take the breath from your lungs. How did she know your mother? As your mind begins racing, the woman stands and pulls a wand from her sleeve. With a simple wave, she’s transformed into a beautiful young woman in an enormous ballgown. Stacked ruffles cascade down the sides of the full skirt, each layer a shade darker than the one above.

“Now, my dear, you can’t go to the ball in that” she gestures to your clothes with her wand. “Let’s get you into something more suitable.”

With a flick of her wrist, a poof of blue dust flicks from the end of her wand and dances toward you. It covers your clothes and begins to glow, expanding, stretching, and fluffing the worn cotton on your body. You can’t help but twirl, laughing as the magic transforms you. When the dust settles, you’re left in a beautiful blue fabric that shines in the glow of the setting sun. The icing on the cake comes when you look at your feet, finding your shoes are made of glass.

“Oh, it’s wonderful. Thank you, thank you.” You know your voice could never convey just how thankful you were. When you meet her eyes you swear you see a bit a sadness, possibly regret, but it’s gone in a flash.

“Now, I just need to whip up a coach and you’ll be on your way.” Another flick of her wrist and a golden coach sits in the meadow. “Now sweet pea, this is a magic coach that doesn’t require horses or footmen. A spell from my spell-book…” She stops herself, catching the slip, “trick I’ve learned in my lovely, beautiful cottage.” All you can do is nod, and follow her as she leads you to the coach.

“Now, sweet pea, all magic comes with a price.” A sudden coldness fills her words and expression. “With the last echo of the last bell of the last stroke of midnight, the spell will be broken and all will return to what it was before.”

“That’s more than enough time. Thank you.” With a final flick of her wand, the coach is moving. You sit back and gaze out the window. With each roll of the wheels and bridge that you’ve crossed, you can’t help but smile, for with each step you’re one step closer to Steve.

You hoped to see him again soon.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington agnst #the last midnight au

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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Beautiful, Beloved (3/8)

You had met three times: The first, an introduction. The second, a lunch. The third, your wedding. Can bonds be made in such short a time as a week long honeymoon aboard the immensely impressive RMS Titanic?

Yes, yes they can.

Kylo Ren x Reader

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: NSFW content

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The train ride to the port was one filled with so much anticipation you were sure you would simply burst. The small sectioned off room where you and your husband sat was lavishly decorated with beautifully dark wood walls and paneling, brass fixtures, and blue velvet cushioned seats. There was a small table between you where Kylo sipped a drink and you lightly picked your fork at a warm cranberry muffin that you really had no interest in actually eating, your stomach too unsettled from the nerves of embarking on such an adventure as this, your honeymoon.

America, sailing to New York aboard the Titanic of all things! Never in a million years would you have ever dreamt that such a vacation would be yours.

You sat with your hand twined with Kylo’s, as you looked out the train window. True to his word, your husband rose exceptionally early, waking you with him. In no time at all, you found yourself dressed and eagerly making the journey from the estate to the docks of Southampton.

Dopheld and Rose had both joined you, although they sat in the next room over on the train, which was reserved for the servants of the first class passengers. You and Kylo were exchanging knowing smiles and excited glances as the overcast sky was broken by patches of sunshine. You longed to rest your head on his shoulder, but you had been done up completely in all your new finery from Paris, and the hat atop your head was so large that you’d most likely accidentally hit Kylo in the face with all your feathers, if you were to try.

So instead, you looked out the window, completely entranced, and Kylo looked at you, his free hand that was not being held by your own reaching up occasionally to brush against the soft skin just below your ear. It was a tender touch that had you smiling, a smile which only grew as the train chugged its way through the town, officially drawing the journey to a close.

“Kylo! My darling, is that it?” You asked, nearly plastering yourself to the window as a great ship came into view.

You were not the only one who had noticed or anticipated the arrival, and as the train got closer and closer to the port, there was a very palpable energy that could be felt throughout the entire room.

Kylo nodded, gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he sipped some brandy he had ordered from the food service aboard the train.

“I cannot think of anything else it could be.” Kylo said, peering around your hat to get a look at the ship, the RMS Titanic, “Isn’t she grand?”

It had to be nearly a thousand feet long, and it felt just as tall, the way the great smokestacks protruded into the air, only contributing to the England-typical foggy weather. Birds swirled around the cables and squawked and cawed, and you could see the small dots of crewman wandering the ship, preparing it for all the new passengers which would board it on its maiden voyage.

You were giddy from the size of it alone, wishing the train would finally come to a stop so that you could get off of it and onto the vessel.

“Oh Heavens it’s enormous! Absolutely enormous. I’ve never seen such a ship in all my life.” You grinned, and such a reaction made Kylo smile softly at you.

“Do you like it?” He asked, kissing your satin gloved hand, and you laughed brightly, for that would truly be the understatement of the century.

“Like it? I adore it! I have no idea how such a thing can float, surely it would be too heavy and sink – yet here she is, a true marvel.” You cannot stop looking at it, at this feat of engineering.

“The only thing worth marveling at, is you my sweet.” He said, making you blush and duck your chin just so, unused to such blatant confessions.

When the whistle of the train blew and the brakes came to a squeaky halt, it took everything in you to calmly stand and collect yourself, arm looped through Kylo’s as you made your way out of the train hall and down the stairs where you met up with Dopheld and Rose as the two handled your baggage.

Speaking of baggage, you cannot help but stare in wonder as great mechanical cranes lifted platforms piled high with trunks, high into the air and onto the ship from right there on the port. You thought of all the things they had to build specifically for this ship, for the whole of the White Star line. You imagined that the berth had to be custom built as well, not believing that any port could accommodate a ship of this magnitude with ease.

Being that it was the Titanic, the port was simply packed, swarming with people. From all walks of life and classes, passengers dressed in their absolute best awaited entry to the ship. The noise was practically deafening, between the overlapping conversations of a thousand men women and children, that you were so surprised that through it all, your husband’s name was uttered in a tone that offered nothing but suspicion and disrespect.

As you, Kylo, Dopheld and Rose made your way through the crowds of people who were disembarking from the train, you could feel the judgmental stares from higher society who had come off of the first train only moments prior.

“Look – everyone look it’s Lord Ren.” One of them, a woman wearing a fashionable black and white striped dress whispered loudly, not doing anything to really conceal her disdain.

“Oh and that must be his bride, wonder how she hasn’t hanged herself yet.” Her companion, another fashionable young woman in deep purple silks laughed behind her fan.

“Wonder how he hasn’t yet killed her himself.” A third wearing such a largely feathered hat that you wondered how she did not topple straight over, glared harshly in your direction.

Your grip on Kylo’s arm only tightened, and you take it upon yourself to put them in their place.

“Pay them no mind.” You said loudly to your husband, more so for the benefit of them hearing you say it than anything else, “One would think being in the presence of such breathtaking sights would inspire more stimulating conversation than this vapid group is spewing.”

The women gasp in shock, offended, affronted, and you only smirk to yourself and to Kylo, as he fights a smile of his own.

“I am sorry my darling, that you must bear witness to such frivolity. Shall we explore the docks?” He offers, going along with you, but you only shoot the women a look.

“Please.” You say, making a point to dramatically turn your back to the women, your own ruffles and lace and feathers coming across much more elegantly than their ill-fitting garments.

You don’t get too far, before other people begin to take notice.

“Lord Ren!” One of the crewmen came running up to you and Kylo, “Sir I beg your pardon, it is an honor to be in the presence of such nobility. Please, may I take your bags?” He asked, and Dopheld was more than eager to hand them all over, the many trunks and boxes that Kylo had packed for you.

“Oh yes thank you my good sir, I am putting my trust in you, these are mostly belonging to my wife, and we don’t dare want to misplace them.” Kylo slipped him a large note, and the man’s eyes widened, bowing in respect.

“No sir, not at all sir, right away sir!” He said, before disappearing towards where those large electric cranes were, no doubt knowing exactly which room would be yours to put them in.

Kylo leads the way through the people, and you can’t help but feel so excited, a true sense of adventure at this moment. You had never been to America before, never left the continent at all – and what a grand first journey this would be!

Suddenly, you are nearly knocked into quite harshly a young man with a shock of blonde hair comes darting between you and Kylo, whooping and cheering like he had just won the lottery. He’s shouting, held a big sack over his shoulder, and waves a slip of paper in his hand as he and a friend cut through the crowd.

“Watch it!” Kylo barked, immediately righting you in his arms, helping you regain your footing from where he had nearly made you go crashing to the ground.

“Sorry mister!” The young man tossed over his shoulder, but Kylo is far more interested in you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, checking you over, searching your face for any signs that you had been harmed. Instead he finds signs that you are on the verge of panicking – for you are, and you’re finding it difficult to breathe just from the sheer spectacle of it all.

“Yes, yes of course. Just a little overwhelmed is all, there are a great many people.” You tried to explain, but Kylo shushed you gently, held you close as he took your fan from your free hand and waved your face with it.

“You are in dire need of fresh air, Dopheld please, would you help clear a path for (Y/N)?” He asked, and the boy immediately nodded, more than willing to help you.

“Make way!” He shouted, parting a path like he were some prophet.

“Could we please just go onto the ship? I apologize, I didn’t realize how crowded it would be.” You tried to apologize, feeling terrible for ruining the good mood of the afternoon.

The clock was striking a quarter until noon, leaving only fifteen minutes before the ship was set to depart, and you very badly needed to lie down. Kylo thankfully was in no mood to argue with you, as he seemed to never be, and instead was leading you through the path that Dopheld had cleared.

“You have nothing to apologize for, the gangplank is right this way.” He kissed you, square on the lips, making those around you gasp at such a display of affection.

You smiled at the show, face hot from a slight embarrassment at being the center of such attention, but Kylo paid no one any mind as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you some more, to help calm you down.

As his tongue slid against yours, his arms wound around you and you sighed into his embrace. The poor man had to tilt his head awkwardly to avoid knocking over your hat, but you were thankful for such the large brim, as it concealed just how passionate the kiss was – concealed it from one side of you, at the very least.

When the disgruntled men and women gave way to wolf-whistles and jeers from those of the lower classes, did Kylo then pull away.

“Perhaps we should find our cabin straight away.” You suggested, and he only laughed loud, the sound of it unfortunately swallowed by a great big horn that was blown from the ship.

Feeling a new sense of invigoration, you and Kylo ran towards the gangplank up the gangplank, and onto the ship.

You passed the third-class passengers who were getting their health inspection, men and women and children all opening their eyes and mouths and ears for doctors to ensure that no disease or illness could be spread to the others aboard, crew and passenger alike.

A few people were turned away, and you felt a pang of sorrow for them, for how must it feel to be denied entry to such an incredible ship as this?

If you were afraid of heights, you did not look down, but it wouldn’t have even occurred to you to do so, to look back at the hundreds of faces who were waving the ship off. No, you were far too occupied with looking forward, up at your husband, at his handsome face in the sun which had finally managed to beat away the clouds.

Once aboard the deck of the ship, you gasp, hand covering your mouth, at the view.

It was, in a word, breathtaking.

The sunshine really had transformed the entire ship, the white paint practically glittered and shone like the diamonds which were scattered atop the water of the English Channel, casting a bright glow over the entire port.

The deck was a flurry of activity, those very same cranes you had seen were now swinging over your head as they lowered all manner of things aboard – luggage yes, but also great cars which were highly polished, sending a sparkle of their own. There were all sorts of men doing inspections all across the ship, and you spotted one man entirely in white doing such checks as well.

“Do you think that’s the captain?” You asked, excitement showing through your voice and general demeanor.

“I do believe so my dear.” Kylo followed your gaze to the man in white, a thick white beard to boot, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Meet him! No, no we couldn’t possibly. He must be so busy.” Your eyed widen comically as you wave off your flustered appearance. Only Kylo would be so bold as to make introductions to someone so important as the captain of all people.

“Perhaps another night then, we have all week, after all.” Kylo said, making you only shake your head.

The ship had begun to set sail, and you were thrilled by this, by the cheering, the fanfare, the orchestra playing up grand music, until you saw something of a pitiful sight.

“Why do you suppose there are so many of the same ship, over in the berth?” You asked, gesturing to the row of nearly identical boats docked in the harbor, all laid up against one another, listing from side to side.

“Lack of coal,” Rose piped up, her eyes bright as she offered the information she had read in the paper only that morning, “The miners have just finished their strike, there isn’t enough coal yet for all the ships to set sail. I heard they’re consolidating the passengers from the other ships onto the Titanic.”

“Will there be enough space for them all?” You asked, but Rose nodded happily.

“Of course, there’s no sense in overloading a ship with passengers she can’t hold. It will all be fine. Besides, we are not going to be seeing them much anyway, as we’re on the top deck.” She said, pride clear in her voice.

“First class is such a luxury.” You sighed dreamily, proud in your own rights as well.

Kylo kissed your knuckles, before kissing your lips once more out in the open, like the right scoundrel he was.

“It is one that I hope you grow accustomed to, for from now on you’ll never travel with anything less.” He murmured against your lips, no doubt earning him some dirty glares from the elderly passengers which were making their way out and about on the deck.

“I would like to just go to our cabin, if we might?” You asked, lowering your voice as you pressed your lips closer to his ear, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t get my hands on you this instant.”

Kylo only chuckled, and looked around as if he were a spy, searching for someone who might be after them. When he found no such pursuer, he pulled you back around one of the structures which housed a room you did not know. All that you knew was there was shade here in the back, and as Kylo pressed you up against the cool wall, you let yourself be kissed once again.

You had hoped that Rose and Dopheld had taken the hint, had gone to find the cabins themselves, or at the very least busy themselves while Kylo worked very hard at getting the bodice of your dress undone. It seemed to be a quiet corner of the ship, an intimate oasis where there was nothing but the wall, you, and the railing which gave a spectacular view of the port, of the channel beyond.

Kylo was not so concerned with the view, and was much more concerned with freeing your chest, with pulling your breasts up out of your corset so that he could bury his face between the cleavage. He sucked and kissed at your flesh, and you gasped lightly when you felt his fingers ruck up your skirt and petticoat, when you felt his hot hand branding your thigh as he searched through all the fabric to find the smooth skin between your legs, the wet slick of your pussy.

He truly was unashamed, as he released your cleavage from his mouth only to seal his lips over yours as you moaned into him, those deft fingers of his working you open more and more. It was entirely inappropriate, to do such a thing so out in the open, but there were no one around to judge you, not unless you counted the gulls which circled and flew low on the water.

“I am going to ravish you tonight.” Kylo promised, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you, “But I made a promise to myself to make you come as soon as you stepped foot on this ship, and that’s what I aim to do.” He grinned, those crooked teeth of his which you found so endearing shining pearly white.

“Kylo – ” You laughed, a laugh which turned into a long and low moan, such a thing he had to capture in his lips so that no one would find you, would see how he was touching you so, with your tits out as they were.

“Shh, shh just enjoy it.” Kylo said, a third finger joining the others in your pussy.

You leaned all of your weight against the wall, and held his arm in place as he made out with you, eliciting the sweetest sounds and sighs of pleasure. His wrist was turned just so, that he could rub his thumb in lazy little circles on your clit, make your chest heave.

Your hips were unable to sit still, pelvis thrusting down onto his hand, and you were so close to reaching your climax, so close to coming – when all of a sudden the sound of gunshots rang clear and bright through the air.

Kylo moved faster than you had ever seen him, pulling his hand out from between your legs, out from under your skirt, arranging your breasts so they sat comfortably back in your corset and buttoning you into your bodice in record time. He grabbed your hand and the two of your raced from the side of the boat where you had been hiding away, into the fray of scrambling passengers who had all heard the same shots.

“Get down!”

“What was that?”

“Does anyone know?”

“Can someone tell us?”

In all the confusion, dogs began to bark and children began to wail, but you only clutched onto Kylo until crewmen came pouring out of the ship onto the deck, blowing their whistles to gain attention. They were giving no information however, only blowing their whistles, and that wasn’t helping anyone, wasn’t making anyone calm down. You ran to the side of the ship, and watched with fear as more and more gunshots sounded.

“(Y/N)!” Kylo chased after you, holding onto your hand as best as he could while you maneuvered your way through the gathering which had amassed on the side of the ship to listen to the gunshots, to look for the criminal.

Except they weren’t gunshots at all, what everyone was hearing was the sound of cables snapping, of chords and wires tearing apart, breaking free from the hull of those ships which had been laid up in the port, those same ships which had donated their coal in exchange for the Titanic accepting their passengers for this voyage.

The other boats belonging to the White Star line had broken free from their moorings and were heading right for you.

“My god, the ships are turning this way!” You shouted, causing an entirely new panic all your own.

The force from the propellers of the Titanic had caused such a stir in the waters, that it had rocked and swayed those boats docked in the port until they had come breaking free, and now they were being sucked towards the Titanic due to the sheer size of the ship.

No sooner than those words had left your lips, did tug-boats pour out into the water from the docks, armed with many experienced crewmen who seemingly were prepared for an event such as this.

The presence of the boats must have done something to displace all the water, to set the gravitational pull to rights once again, because as one of the ships came ever closer, as the people gasped and backed away as quickly as they could, suddenly it was all still once again.

“All clear!” The foreman blew his whistle, trying to calm the mass of people who were now shouting and yelling, demanding a refund or to be let off the ship immediately. You didn’t blame them, the boat was close enough that you could probably reach out a hand and smack the hull. “Everything is fine! Passengers please being to settle, we will be departing in half an hour.”

Your heart was beating hard in your chest, but Kylo was right there, right there behind you, holding you tight.

He held you in a way that said, ‘I will never let you go,’ and that reassured you more than words probably ever could.

Once the initial shock of the almost crash had passed, you began to laugh, the anxiety bubbling up out of you in a hiccupping chuckle that had nearly everyone around you confused, concerned.

“What a dramatic start to the trip!” You explained to the questioning eyes, and only then did they all nod in understanding, letting out a few laughs of relief themselves.

Kylo wasted no more time in getting your party together, leading you and the servants inside the main area of the ship, away from the deck. He was not laughing, a dangerous, angry glare cast over his features that had you worried.

Was it the interruption of your moment of intimacy? Had you reacted poorly to the near-crash? Or was he simply worried, and this was how he showed it? You didn’t know, you’d have to ask him when you were both safely tucked away in your cabin.

“Could you imagine if the boats had crashed, right here in the harbor? What a waste that would be.” Rose tutted, but Dopheld only shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be worried, she is unsinkable after all.” He pointed out, echoing the same slogan which they had been advertising this ship under for so many weeks now.

“Right you are, Dopheld.” Kylo replied, opening the grand doors to the first class reception lobby, “Right you are.”

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Tagging some pals! As always if you’d like to be taken off or added to the taglist, just send me a message <3 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @plomblooms @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @imaginedreamwrite @formerly-anonhamster @kyloxfem @tinyplanet-explorers @zaneholtzwrites @heldcaptivebychaos @inkstaineddaughter @venusianmaiden @thepilotanon @solotriplets @autumnlovesadam @punk-in-docs

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo x reader #kylo/reader #kylo ren imagine #titanic au #my writing #historically accurate

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evabellasworld · 4 years

Text

I Give You My Heart

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

18+ for mention of rape, sexual harassments, explicit language, and graphic violence. Please click away if you’re a minor. Thank you

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Summary: When Riyo Chuchi's life was threatened, Commander Fox and Jedi Knight Ava Lira and Eva Bella Young are assigned to bring the senator back to her home planet Pantora, where she will be safe from harm. But when the assassin knows her whereabouts, it's up to Fox, Lira, Eva, and Riyo to work together and stop the assassin.

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Navigating through the corridors of the Senate building, a short, violet-haired, Pantoran woman with two light green markings on her cheeks, which she inherited from her family. Both of her parents were rice farmers, and she spent most of her time growing up in the countryside, surrounded by rice fields, buffaloes, eels and mud.

Despite her upbringings, both Riyo’s parents taught her well with mannerism and how to treat others, no matter the colour of their skin or their background.

This was proven when Riyo and her fellow senators, Padmé Amidala of Naboo, Bail Organa of Alderaan, Bibi Haizan of Shili, and many others as well. Being close to Commander Fox, who led the Coruscant Guards, Riyo is determined to fight for their rights to be recognized as sentients.

As she arrived in front of Cantham House, which was located in the left-wing of the Senate building, Riyo gave a soft knock on the door. “You may enter,” a male voice replied to her, which the young senator could note as Bail Organa. The sliding door hissed by itself, and she took a step inside the radiant office, with her colleagues all seated.

“Good morning, senators,” Riyo bowed, as she sat between Padmé and Bibi.

“Morning, Riyo,” Bibi greeted her, in a gruff voice. “I’m glad you could make it to our meeting.”

“Of course, Bibi. This meeting is crucial for us if we want the Clone Rights Act to be passed in the Senate.”

“It’s true,” Mon Mothma of Chandrila spoke, her hands placed on top of her knees, which was covered in her loose, white robe. “Especially during the course of the war, where we witnessed hundreds and thousands of clones killed during the battle.”

“It is crucial that in these times that we need the bill to be passed or more clones would be killed and mistreated underneath our nose.”

"That is correct, Riyo," Bibi slurped her glass of water. "Just last week, I overheard Chae complain to Commander Thorn that she was harassed by some senator while she was making her rounds."

"I heard about that incident," Padmé pointed out. "A lot of female clone troopers have reported similar incidents as well. It seems that the public had viewed them as hypersexual, animalistic beings, which can be linked to sexual harassment, or worse."

"The same can be said about the men as well," Bail added on. "Those prejudiced stereotypes were the main reason why many women felt uncomfortable around these soldiers, even when it has been proven false. Kinda ironic, huh? People stay away from male clone troopers but at the same time, they lust over female clone troopers."

"That's not a good sign," Riyo spoke. "And this needs to change. From how much I spend my time with Commander Fox, Lip, and Yves, I want the public to know that they are capable of having their own complex thoughts and feelings as well. It would be a bad look to the Separatist if we continued to disregard the clones as sentient beings”

“And unfortunately, Riyo, the Separatist has already thought of us this way,” Mon sighed in disappointment. “There were many systems that left the Republic due to the growing dissatisfaction against the clone army and the corruption within the system. If we want to win the system back, we will have to pass a law that will benefit everyone, not just the top one per cent of the population.”

“Hear, hear,” Padmé smiled, as she raised her glass with the other senators. Riyo couldn’t contain her smile as she realized that her dream of getting a bill to the Senate has finally come true, well, almost came true, to be precise. She is one hundred percent confident that the Chancellor and the rest of the senators will listen to her reasons and pass this bill as soon as possible.

If the Clone Rights Act is to be passed, the future of clone troopers will be changed. They would be paid for their services in the Grand Army of the Republic, they would be treated fairly like citizens, and they would be actions against those who treated the clones like crap. Her connection with the Marshall Commander of Coruscant Guard, Fox.

An honourable man, he and Riyo met when she was recently elected as a senator of the Outer Rim planet. She was lost at first, being born in the outskirts of Pantora, but with a bit of his help, and her colleagues, she managed to not only navigate through Coruscant, but her career as a senator as well.

She learned to find her own voice after what happened on the moon of Orto Plutonia, where Riyo had to stop the fighting between the Talz, her people, and the Republic troops as well. The battle may have only lasted for a day, but she cannot deny that there was bloodshed and that people have died in an unnecessary conflict.

Sometimes, Riyo wishes that she had stood up to the Chairman sooner, but at the same time, she took that as a lesson that she learned during her career. She learned that if she stood idly by and let evil prevail around her, she would eventually be desensitized by her surroundings.

It was the truth for most senators who served the Galactic Republic. At first, they had a huge passion inside their heart and promises that they would make for their people on their home planet. But when they start seeing gold, they forget their duty. Consumed with greed, corruption and wealth, they take advantage of their privilege and use them for their own selfish consumption.

Riyo had seen plenty of politicians who were overcome by their lust for treasure and glory. She had once witnessed a senator from a mining system who tried bribing one of the Guards, before he was arrested for attempted bribery. In another incident, a perverted senator had shown a huge amount of credit to Lip, but she tackled him. Unfortunately, due to the senator’s high status, he was let go while Lip was assigned to a menial task for a week.

Remembering all of this, she felt her stomach twist inside her. Where is the democracy that we all know and love? What happened to serving the people? What has become of us, the public servants, who once had dignity within ourselves?

She prays to the moon goddess of Loona that there are senators that have a sense of humanity inside. She hopes that they are conscious enough to vote for the Clone Rights Act, otherwise, she may or may not lose her faith in the Republic.

After a year has passed, the war has grown brutal and the Chancellor of the Republic, Sheev Palpatine has gained more and more power for himself, which worries some senators like Riyo herself.

"Well then, senators," Bibi stood up from her seat. "I should head back to my office, y'know, to prepare ourselves for the next Senate meeting."

"Of course, Bibi," Riyo nodded. "I hope to see you at the meeting."

"You too, Riyo. It's nice interacting with y'all."

As the mint green Togruta was about to step out of Bail Organa's office, the door burst into an explosion, pushing back the senators in the room.

Riyo found herself on the carpeted floor, her ears ringing. Her lilac hair was covered in dust and the remains of the wall, and she felt a bit of metallic taste on her lips.

She could hear Padmé's faint voice in the background as she carried herself, her left foot wobbling. She rubbed her throbbing head and felt something on her ear, prompting her to check.

A thick, warm, red liquid was on her blue fingertips, making her eyes widen. "Bibi!" she shouted, noticing Padmé, Bail and Mon getting up. "Bibi, where are you?"

"I found her," Bail pointed out, pushing away the debris from the Shili senator. Her eyes were closed and her forehead was bleeding, along with her robe covered with dust.

"Could someone please call for help?" Mon Mothma coughed, covering her nose and mouth with her cloth. "We have an emergency right now."

"I'll do that," Riyo volunteered, walking towards the door. "I know a few people who could help us."

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Bloodlust

The manor had emptied as twilight began to deepen. Bodies had been piled outside by the House Guards. Bloodstains in the courtyard had been scrubbed by an army of servants. Soldiers from the local garrison began to gather outside the fortress-like structure, and mobilized militia had begun to turn up- drawn to their liege’s seat of power like moths to a flame.

Relriah made her way towards the guest rooms, deciding to take the place of her son. The boy had already spent the day making his pleas for help and her hands did not tremble the way Stenden’s did. He hadn’t figured out his relationship with bloodshed in the way she already did.

She knocked on the door. “Lady Highdawn?”

There are no words, but there is no silence that answers her.

The weight of the woman striking the floorboards and traversing that short distance to the doorway is too palpable, too solid, to be unheard.

Little had been asserted of her presence following the Manor’s defense: Thanidiel had sent courier to speed up the march of those following, she had turned in her ceremonial armour for repair, and she had sought her solitude.

But now it was to be broken, and the woman dressed down to tunic and trousers bows her head upon catching view of Relriah,

“Highdawn will do,” is the immediate correction.

“Highdawn then,” the lady affirmed her with the slightest of nods. Reflexive, subtle, courtly, betraying to the soldier that she had been no more than a court lady all her life. “I’ve spoken with my family, and I’ve been given the authority to speak on Stenden’s behalf. May I come in?”

Once inside, her gait seemed to relax. Her posture uncoiling from strict procedure, as her shoulders seemed no longer pulled back by an invisible corset.

“My son is not one to mince words, so I neither will,” Relriah gave a brief pause to the gravity of what came next. “We need your help. We’ve received word that the Emberhearts will be fighting this war alone. Shalemarch to our east have responded to our declaration of war with Westheath by advancing their armies across the provincial border, throwing their lot in with them. The Cloudrend Glades to our South have declared their independence- And will serve neither side.”

“All we have to fight this war on two fronts are the militia still loyal to our Banner. In regular circumstances, My Father’s gambit would’ve paid off. My family would be dead, and their armies would cross into our lands unopposed, except for our truest loyalists.”

“But-” She gave a meaningful nod at Thanidiel. “Arenias did not take into account that Sederis was friends with the greatest killers the Kingdom of Quel’thalas has ever produced. All of them tested in war, and none of them have been found wanting. I’d have us use this against him.”

The veteran speaks up at last. “You all keep saying that - ‘the greatest killers of Quel’Thalas.’ Do you know what that means for those left over? I question as it appears that the aristocracy here is not as blooded as those Southern outside of Sederis and Lirelle.” As callous as her manner is - the intonation of her voice does not imply insult or criticism; but the seeking of awareness.

“We drove most of the slaughter of the Phoenix Wars outside of what the Blackbloods committed, and even that was minimal compared to what would have been if they had lived and rode with me,” further contextualises, reminds, of the consequences of accepting such a manner of guardianship to the cause of Emberheart.

There is want of more to be said - the unspoken words held suspended in the lift of her breast and the tension of muscle in her throat. But for now, the Phoenix Guard’s ear flicks and her jaw steadies as Thanidiel awaits Relriah’s thoughts there.

Relriah took neither offense to her mannerisms. It was in-fact refreshing, to speak with someone who did not have to hide her intent behind honeyed words and speechcraft. She nodded as Thanidiel plied her points. The Lady had kept up to date on the war’s events as they progressed. An obsession that pulled her through the depths of her grief over Sederis.

“In the case of the Emberglades, it was we who were the leftovers of Mereded’s slaughter,” She explained. “Sederis’ father forged the nation with bloodshed. Unifying the provinces under one banner. It’s reflected in our borders, our conscription laws, and why our sons and daughters have it in them to fight to the death.” She gave a pause. Wishing away thoughts of that ill-fated battle for the isle. “For better or for worse, killers are exactly what we need now.”

Thanidiel’s understanding seems to clarify some with mention of Mereded; the heldback hesitation there ebbing into a nod; it was not as though she would have been judged as hard to convince in the first place. The once-Kintaris thrived off the warbeat of horses and spears and battle. Though it would be also as easy to observe that her drive had taken on a different note, here, in the Emberglades - it showed in her steadfast presence over the family than to fly into the heat of bloodshed.

But such a stalwart demeanor did not dismiss the predatory search of conflict underneath.

“I ask for one thing; a land parcel in which either myself or those like blood to me may settle in the aftermath of service.”

“Then it is yours,” Relriah replied with no hesitation. “The end of this war will see Lords disposed and their lands... redistributed. Or, there is the Broken Bulwark- A place that has been given a clean slate, if it is a clean slate that is preferred by you and yours.”

“Then a deal is struck, one as old as the kingdom itself. Your sword, for your land.” Relriah’s expression remained grim, even as they came to terms. “But if I may, I had another request. One that is more personal in nature. So do not feel obligated to see this through.”

“Do you have children, Highdawn?”

The soldier takes a moment to narrow her eyes at the courtlady - a squinting sort of expression of ‘Are you serious?’ before some manner of context for Relriah’s benefit is added to her thoughts. It causes a relaxation; all of that sharp dwindling to something simply factual.

“I have been in the standing military since I was of fifteen winters, Lady. Domestic matters are beyond my placement in life.”

Relriah takes Thanidiel’s expression harshly, more still her response. It reminded her that the lady in front of her was the personification of the Thalassian soldier. Doing battle so the ones like her did not have to. But she swallowed and took it all in stride, for it proved that she, of all the others they had called for aid, was the right person for her request.

The Lady nods. “Domestic matters have been my entire life. Like a good and proper lady, I’ve always stood dutifully by the way-side. To be traded from one family to another. One brother to another. Like a thing. And I bore with it. I bore with it, because I did not mind.

Relriah looked Thanidiel in the eyes, as truth began to spill from her lips. Her truth.“If I was the price that needed to be paid for peace and a loving family- Then so be it. I did not mind. My importance was secondary to such things. But I love Stenden. More than myself. And I can bear it no longer,” her voice wavered for a moment, showing the cracks between her courtly demeanour. “I love him fiercely. I would burn worlds for him. And though his hands shake at the sight of carnage, mine don’t. My blood rushes at the chance to cause it to those that would dare threaten him.”

She composes herself once more, pushing the anger that had risen within her down inside her chest. It was a righteous anger- and it burned as bright as any star. “So. My request: It is tradition in the Emberglades that their Lord marches with them into battle. I will be going in my son’s place. Solendis is already creating pronouncements that will rally the militia to the cause of a mother trying to protect her son- and I need to be able to defend myself. I have no illusions, I am no front line soldier nor will I to pretend to be one. But should it become necessary, I must be able to hold a guard- make a strike- and at least die a death befitting of an Emberheart.”

Thanidiel spoke. “He is not ready to soldier? He is not too young for such things - even if he is merely to be present with the army than to ride into any battle. There were those as young as me when I enlisted, and some a winter or two older. Soldiering is more than bloodshed; it is the maintenance of order, roads, food supply. The men would be spirited to see such care.”

Still, her words end on a contemplative rumble, like a great beast stirring from underneath snow.

“It is not that I do not think my son is not ready for such things. Rather my husband intends to make me a symbol for the people to rally round. A mother protecting her cub. A woman with a fury unlike any other against those who would bring harm to her family.” She recalled the headliners that Solendis had been drafting in his office. The Steward had busied himself there, lacking the facilities of his usual headquarters in Kearn- Under Illithia’s jurisdiction.

“But I will not lie. I prefer it this way, because it keeps Stenden out of harms way. Should I die, only a court lady falls. Should he die, the Emberglades will likely die with him.”

“There is much put into Stenden,” Thanidiel replied. “Concerning the fate of Mereded’s legacy. Solendis seems capable, as do you. And if you are close to Sederis’ age, then it is not as though a death of… any family member would cause such harm outside of the heart.”

It is both an observation and a question on Relriah’s views of the Emberglades - why things are the way they are.

“Of course,” the lady of the house conceded. Another heir wasn’t out of the realms of possibility, as much as the thought angered her so. “But men with good hearts are hard to come by- and there is no guarantee that the next of my loins will be as suited to the Legacy Stenden carries.” She banished the thought from her mind’s eye.

“If I conduct myself right-” Relriah added. “If we can see this war through as I hope we can, then it shouldn’t need to come to that. Hence my intent. Hence my request.”

“You would not be the first greenling I’ve trained,” is the slow enunciation that drips from her maw, almost confused that Relriah’s request was one to strengthen herself. Thanidiel seems to have expected the woman to have asked her to ward the Lordling, if the other were noting the shift of muscle in her expression when words had declared otherwise.

“This would be accelerated, but you will have peers to guide you as well when Crow and my personal men reach these lands. Many of the latter were raised under my own command, fresh from the fields of the Dawnspire province.”

Lady Emberheart felt a weight she had carried since that decision was made began to lift off her shoulders. “Then you were more perfect for the role than I had imagined,” Relriah smiled. “I will absorb whatever I can in the time between now and my first battle. My life has kept me from the martial aspects of life, but I am a fast learner. Moreso when there will be lives at stake.”

“It will not be a matter of you retaining the rote of it all, as we drill even when we are all blooded, but I suspect you will be… uncomfortable for many weeks. The physical realities of combat and the tools we use, for bloodshed or civilwork, is beyond the strength of body cultivated in a courtwoman. We will need to target that and ply you a different mealfare.”

That is strangely polite of Thanidiel to not outright say that Relriah will be aching of body and her bowels afoul - nevermind the discomforts of camp and march.

“I am prepared for the hardships to come,” Relriah bowed her head, accepting what Thanidiel had to say. Though the Lady was soft, she was not weak. It took a different sort of strength to be used, to exercise restraint, and to be cowed by life yet retain any modicum of herself. Bred and raised to be a chess piece on her father’s chessboard- before she was stolen for Mereded’s. She was not a stranger to suffering. This would just be a different sort of pain. And for her son, she would gladly bear it.

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

#Epilogue #Funerals #Aftermath

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monstersdownthepath · 5 years

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Spiritual Spotlight: Ydajisk, the Mother of Tongues

Chaotic Neutral Protean Cantor of Language Evolution, Lost Words, and Slang

Domains: Chaos, Knowledge, Rune, Trickery Subdomains*: Protean, Thought, Language, Innuendo

Concordance of Rivals, pg. 21

Obedience: Recite, copy, or graffiti a text in a dead or self-created language in a public place, regardless of whether any others understand the meaning, and provide no translation. Benefit: Gain a +4 sacred bonus on saving throws against language-based effects.

(*IMPORTANT NOTE: The Subdomains are my best guess; Subdomains are not listed in Concordance of Rivals)

A step above Ssila’s Obedience in that, while it requires your act to be seen publicly, you can still stealth it by simply using graffiti in a public place so you’re not as likely to be arrested or seen as a menace.

Canon dead languages in Pathfinder include Ancient Osirion, Azlanti, and the ever-popular Thassilonian (the language of the Runelords), by the way, and studying any of those three languages is an automatic +1 to your character’s Cool Points if you manage to work it into their character concept. A DM may make it a little more difficult for you to acquire them, as dead languages are difficult to resurrect with mere points in Linguistics, but you can just cheat and have it be part of your character’s backstory. Anything can happen in your backstory!

You can also go the route of just making up a language. It has to be consistent, but you don’t have to go all out and present your DM with a journal filled with runes that help them decipher what you’ve written; you can just say it’s being consistent! And it’s yet another way to get Cool Points for your character, having them write journals or a diary in their own unbreakable code. Ydajisk requires their followers to deliberately not provide a translation for anything they create, leaving others to puzzle over the strange sounds coming out of this person’s mouth or wonder if the new paint all over city hall is an occult symbol or harmless vandalism. It’s also a pretty easy Obedience to hide, if you don’t want people knowing who you work for, since you can get away with translating an existing document into another language. It’ll make you look eccentric, but in a charming way.

The benefit is, sadly, rather poor. Many of the most dangerous spells in existence don’t rely on language, and this spell really only protects you from the seldom-seen Litany spells. It DOES work on Suggestion, though, which is commonly used and devastating if used right, but all in all this benefit is too narrow to matter in 99% of cases.

Boons are gained slowly, gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. Servants of the Monitors, though, can enter the Proctor Prestige Class as early as level 8. If entered as early as possible, you can earn your Boons at levels 10, 14, and 16. You MUST take the Monitor Obedience feat, NOT Deific Obedience. Monitors grant only a single set of Boons.

Boon 1: Sibilant. Gain Aphasia 3/day, Sonic Scream 2/day, or Tongues 1/day.

Nice! Tongues has almost unrivaled utility if you’re trying the diplomatic route in unknown territory, allowing you to speak and understand any spoken language. You can slap it on the party face if you’re not already the Diplomancer, and it can last for hours at a time at higher levels! Since you’re in the business of learning languages, though, you may end up the party polyglot in due time anyway, reducing its usefulness as you put more and more ranks into Linguistics. If you don’t plan on following through on that, though, it can be useful to carry Tongues around with you... Unless you plan on going into combat.

Sonic Scream’s damage is way too low to consider once you advance past level 4, coming in at 4d4 and halving each time it’s used (up to three times per cast). If it didn’t eat your standard actions to use it might have been worth picking, but as it is, using your standard action to deal 2d4 or 1d4 damage is abysmal. Plus, there’s the fact that Sonic Scream prevents you from casting any other spell with verbal components until you use all three of its charges, so casting it just to deal with a swarm of tiny foes will see you creamed by any of the survivors as your ability to fight back is severely limited.

Aphasia is a spell very few people look at, understandably so. It’s a compulsion and mind-affecting spell and is only level 1, meaning its DC is 11+Cha, pathetically low unless boosted via feats or other spells. However, it’s also basically a Save-Or-Suck if used on an enemy spellcaster because, among other things, it keeps the victim from using any spells with verbal components. It also prevents them from communicating with their own allies and ruins their coordination, so there’s rare moments when hitting someone who’s not a caster also works, such as versus enemies with some form of rallying ability, or the power to inspire themselves or their allies with words alone. Slapping it on a dimwitted creature that relies on orders from another entity to function also works.

It’s a hilarious spell to have, is what I’m saying, but it requires some pretty heavy investment if you want to keep it useful at higher levels.

Boon 2: Burning Tongue. 3/day as a standard action, you can transform your mouth into a serpentine maw with a tongue of roiling energy. This grants you a ranged touch attack that targets a single creature within 30 feet. The attack deals 8d6 points of Sonic damage and renders the target confused for 1d4 rounds. In addition, a creature hit by this attack must succeed at a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod) or it is unable to communicate through any spoken or written language for a number of hours equal to your Wisdom modifier.

Oooooohhhhh, now this is a REAL nice power. A beefy 8d6 Sonic damage--one of the least-resisted elements in the game!--on a ranged touch attack, so not even a mountain of armor can protect against it! And, you will likely realize, a confusion effect stapled onto it that hits automatically. No saving throw to avoid or shrug off the effect early, it’s an automatic confusion for 1d4 rounds and only immunity to mind-affecting effects will protect you from it! It really doesn’t matter who you slap with this, because it’s ALL equally hilarious. People under the effects of Confusion have a 1/4 chance of acting normally, wasting their turn doing nothing, hitting themselves, or hitting the closest available target.

That’s a four-sided coin flip each turn and, with only 1d4 rounds to its effect, there’s a chance they won’t be inconvenienced by the confusion at all... But that’s still 8d6 damage you knocked their nose in with, and since you can do it 3/day you can just hit them again next round! The only unfortunate limiter to this power is its 30ft range, requiring you to get within slapping distance of about 84% of all Pathfinder’s nasties, a dangerous place to be if you’re not a melee character.

I do like the touch that you get a snake mouth while using the power, though. I wonder if you can perform the transformation even when you’ve got no more uses of this ability for extra Intimidation points.

Boon 3: Screams of the Deep. As a standard action a number of times per day equal to your Charisma modifier (min 1), you can cast either Power Word Blind, Power Word Kill, Power Word Stun, or Word of Chaos as a spell-like ability, treating your character level as your caster level. You cannot use the same spell-like twice in a row. The saving throw DC, when applicable, is equal to 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha modifier.

hold on let me

Why, Ydajisk, if you wanted my hand in marriage you needed only to ask. You didn’t need to do this for me!

Some deities are content with giving you a level 9 spell as their final Boon, while most of the Monitors are often too busy to provide you with such power. The Mother of Tongues, however, says “No, MY flock deserves the best” and hands you two level 7 spells, a level 8 spell, AND a level 9 spell on a silver platter. Not only that, but they’re GOOD level 7/8/9 spells! Really hope you didn’t dump Charisma, buddy, because if you did you’re really missing out.

Barbatos may finally have some competition in the Best Boons Ever bracket, though I’ll admit that an obedient Pit Fiend is still more flexible than the Power Word spells. They can only affect one creature at a time, are mind-affecting and compulsion effects (Death is also a death effect, obviously), and require the victim to be below certain HP thresholds, but they offer no saving throw and their effects can often end a battle as soon as they’re cast. Word of Chaos is the unique one here, affecting everyone within a 40ft burst of you and blasting non-Chaotic entities in the radius with pure chaos energy, potentially killing anything too low on the totem pole for you to deal with while crippling everyone who’s more on your level.

Unfortunately, Word of Chaos has zero effect on creatures with more hit dice than you have caster levels, so using it to crunch the boss of a given adventure is a no-go. Extremely effective for wiping out their low-level backup, though... unless, of course, they’re Chaotic. And watch out for non-Chaotic allies you may have, because Word of Chaos doesn’t differentiate between friend and foe.

The only real “weakness” of this Boon is that you can’t use the same word twice in a row, but this isn’t a huge impediment. Its Cha-per-day restriction isn’t much of a restriction when you consider that other deities who hand you the Power Word spells (such as Orcus, off the top of my head) limit you to 3 or 1 a day, whereas a Charisma-based caster can rattle off lethal words up to ten times a day if they have a bunch of Cha-boosting magic items. The power of this Boon lays in the fact that it specifically doesn’t fall into the “save this for later” trap by giving you the option to use it on smaller mobs with how many times per day you can throw it out, potentially saving you way more resources later.

A real good Boon! 11/10! And Ydajisk is a pretty good god to serve, because they’re just a weird book collector! 12/10!

You can read more about them here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Neutrality Notes #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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starscreamloki · 5 years

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A Golden Shackle and a Captured Mind

Chapter Three

Taglist: @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes,

General taglist: @kaitdidittxx, @lusty-loki, @destiel1597, @fairlightswiftly,@lokikingofasgardslover713, @daddymarvel, @vesperazylra, @annievvv7, @myclock, @hiddlestoner3095, @occasionallywittyavengers, @wintertink, @jane-labban, @whovianwookie86-captainxev, @blondekel77, @bambamwolf87, @loki-is-the-best-villian, @wegingerangelica, @kcd15, @sparkling-gayyy, @nildespirandum, @hiddles-rose, @boredbrooder, @furstinnajoelle, @nimsaysno, @drakesfiance, @littlefrogstuff, @elsusan, @lisalisa007, @alexakeyloveloki, @herbalxhealer, @mrshicks38, @angelrosepotter, @inumorph, @holykryptonitekitten, @catalinaacosta, @fuckmesideways123, @neeadinghugs, @tonaathena1996, @tomloki-lokitom, @tina8009, @dosleches, @awkwardfangirl2014, @wickednerdery, @ask-sigyns-blog, @womanontheedgeofnothing, @wrappedinlokisarms, @dangertoozmanykids101, @wolfsmom1, @michellearel1,

Still shamelessly tagging: @coffee-with-bucky, @book-dragon-13, @buckmesideways22 and @anamelessdragon

Warnings: Violence

Words: 5572

Summary: (Loki x Bucky, third POV Loki and Bucky) Dumped on earth with a bothersome trinket stuck around his wrist, Loki is left to his own devices to find his way in the Human world. Of course, it doesn’t even last an hour before he gets himself in trouble. Luckily Bucky is there and something of a mutual understanding starts to take shape. Bucky, however, is dealing with some problems of his own in the form of Tony Stark who is a little bit too fixated in trying to keep earth safe. But maybe this new-found understanding - maybe even friendship - benefits both the God and the Asset.

A/N: We’re going to encounter some fighting and illusion shit from Loki’s behalf. I hope that it isn’t messy and understandable. Writing fighting-scenes clearly is difficult.

Previous chapter

----

The cop had moved through the apartment without a word and when he had concluded that the men he was looking for weren’t there, he had moved on.

Loki and Bucky had moved on after that as well, not wanting, and being able to stay.

Loki had used his magic again to alter their looks, though he had made it so that when Bucky looked down he saw himself, but the reflection he caught of himself in the windows of the city through which they were moving, weren’t him.

“Where are we going?” Loki asked as he followed Bucky who swiftly and determined led them through the city.

“I’m going to whoop Stark’s ass!”

That gave Loki a halt and he grabbed the Soldier’s arm to stop him. Bucky roughly pulled himself free with a scowl on his face but he stopped his mad rush to look at the God.

“Not that I don’t support vengeance, but as you might understand I am not very keen to go there,” Loki said. He still didn’t know what Stark wanted from him, let alone that he trusted Bucky. “Besides, are you just going to barge in there and lay waste to everything or do you actually have a plan?”

“The plan is to kick his ass,” Bucky growled.

“Getting yourself killed, you mean,” Loki sighed. He caught a flicker of anger and defiance in the other’s eyes and patted his hands in the air in a soothing manner.

“You’re coming or not?”

Loki contemplated the offer. He really would love to kick the Man of Iron for his rude behavior, but one look at the golden bangle around his wrist checked him. His hand went to the metal and he twisted it around his arm, fumbling with the thing.

No words were needed as Bucky understood why the God wouldn’t come, and he slung his backpack from his back, pulling a piece of paper and a pen from it and scribbling something on it. “Here,” Bucky said and pushed the paper in Loki’s hands. “I’ll find you there,” and the Soldier slung the backpack over his shoulder again and walked off.

Loki looked at the paper and at the messy written address. With an afterthought he flicked his wrist to dispel the illusion around Bucky and he walked off.

Loki wandered through the streets of New York until he had found the place. It turned out the be a worn-down wearhouse and if the outside of the place was any indication on how the inside would look, it would be dreadful indeed.

He tried the door but it was locked. With a little bit of magic he unlocked it and he entered the building. For a moment the Prince wished he was back at the previous place for that had been better than what he encountered now. Then his mind wandered back to Asgard, his lascivious chambers, the servants that would attend his every need, the beauty of the Realm Eternal, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

Snapped wires of electricity hung from a crumbling ceiling. Old, unknown machinery stood like silent sentinels around the place covered in a thick layer of dust. Stuffed in a corner was an old and dirty mattress, the wooden chair that stood in the middle of the room looked on touch away from breaking to splinters.

Loki sighed. With a glimmer of magic he repaired the chair and cleaned the mattress after which he laid down on the latter. He fidgeted with the golden bangle and slowly, exploringly, probed at the magic within with his own Seidr. It was going to take him months on end if he wanted to unravel it, but thus far he didn’t have any other options.

He could do what the Human had suggested, trying to find the solution that would get the bangle off, but that would be playing to Odin’s wishes and that wasn’t something he wanted. He would figure it out, one way or another.

Loki tried to unravel the magic for a while until he was starting to feel drained. He didn’t want to waste too much magic and thus he clasped his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

At some point he must have dozed off because a sudden bang of metal roughly pulled him from his reverie. Immediately the God was on his feet, his Seidr ready at his fingertips to defend himself. He hated being caught unaware.

Loki spotted someone moving through the room and he visibly relaxed when he saw the Soldier coming for him. “This is a dreadful place,” he said as a matter of greeting.

“Don’t worry. You won’t be staying here for long,” Bucky growled.

Suddenly Loki felt wary and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, his gut knotting painfully. What did the other mean by ‘you won’t be staying for long’ instead of ‘we’?

Bucky seemed to notice that Loki had noticed and the air around them grew dense with tension. Loki didn’t speak, just narrowed his eyes and made himself ready for whatever the Soldier would throw at him - be it words or objects.

“I’m bringing you to Stark,” Bucky said with a low growl and made for the God to capture him.

Loki ducked away from Bucky’s grasping fingers and quickly spun to a place where he had more room to move and defend himself.

“Bucky, what-” Loki started but had to dodge again as the other lunged for him. Loki caught the Soldier’s wrist. “What happened?” he inquired sternly, hoping to get through to the man. This behavior was different from what Bucky had displayed the passed hours and Loki wanted to know why.

Bucky twisted out of his grasp. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he growled. “But you’re coming with me.”

Loki slid into a battle-stance, no need for words to let the other know what his choice was; he wasn’t going to come along.

Bucky was on him within an instant, punching fast and relentless, and Loki had to duck and twist to avoid his blows. Normally he would launch attacks of his own, but he knew he couldn’t do that because he couldn’t afford the bangle to take him down, and thus he relied on his speed and abilities to dodge.

He got sorely pressed as they danced around the room. The God defended the punches effortlessly, blocking Bucky’s metal arm without batting an eye. Loki may have been considered weak and scrawny by Asgardian standards, he was still a stronger warrior than a Human, enhanced or not.

The Soldier drew a blade from somewhere and attacked without holding back. Loki didn’t summon a dagger of his own, knowing he would use it to attack. Bucky also seemed to pray on his inability to launch an attack of his own, unnecessarily leaving himself open for an attacks, inviting, taunting the God.

The only hope Loki had was that the Soldier would tire before he did, but he guessed that would be a small chance. He had to attack to come out of this on top and he had only one change!

They twisted and spun through the room, crashing into walls, destroying machinery and the chair that had stood at the center of the room was shattered to tiny bits by now.

Loki purely played on the defense, studying Bucky’s movements and attacks, hoping to catch a pattern. But the guy was a whirling maze of different attacks, never doing the same thing thrice and it left Loki with little to work with. That was until he spotted an opening and on a whim took the chance.

He launched himself forward with a lung-tearing scream, the bangle already working its magic and trying to stop him but he barreled through the pain. Without holding back he hit Bucky in the temple, knocking him out with a single blow while the bangle tried to burn him up from the inside out.

With a gasp Loki fell to his hands and knees, almost choking on the agony that coursed through his veins. The magic was merciless as he felt his blood boil and black splotches swam across his vision. He couldn’t lose his consciousness and thus he focused his breathing to remain calm and to welcome the pain instead of fighting it.

The agony would make him bend, like a palm would bend under a desert-storm, but he, just like the palm, would not break.

After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than minutes, the angry hot flares that ran through his system started to lessen until it faded away completely.

He rolled to his back, panting heavily, every movement sending a jab of pain through his muscles. He turned his head to look at Bucky and noted that he was still out - at least some good luck for him.

When he felt like he could move again without his muscles screaming in agony, he put himself to his knees and dragged himself to the Soldier.

He checked for a pulse and was glad that he found one. At least he hadn’t murdered the guy, though that wasn’t a reason for his heart to make such an odd, little jump. Had he really grown to like this Human? Preposterous!

Next he examined the side of Bucky’s head. No visible wound but his punch would leave a nasty bruise. Loki called on his Seidr just to make sure the Soldier wouldn’t suffer a concussion, or worse; a fractured skull. He found no damage.

Just as he was retreating out Bucky’s head, his Seidr violently sucked him back into the Soldier’s mind.

Loki was a little awestruck as he witnessed first hand what had transpired in the last hours, explaining Bucky’s strange behavior.

***

With purposeful strides Bucky entered the Avengers Compound, searching for his target.

He was still angry and he was sure Stark had send those men. They had compromised everything he had worked for until now and he was sure the fragile bond he had with Loki had been shattered now. He could start all over again and he didn’t like it.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Loki had gone to the building or that Bucky had to go on a wild God-chase through the city after he had finished with Stark.

He still didn’t know what the inventor wanted with the Trickster. The others seemed to have divided opinions - some of them wanting him on the team, others wanting the God locked up on the raft, and he was sure that there were a couple who’d rather see Loki dead.

Bucky wasn’t sure where he stood with his opinion. In the last few hours the Trickster hadn’t been that horrible and the Soldier was still convinced that Loki’s hissy fit in New York a couple of years ago hadn’t been fully of his own violation. He had seen and studied the footage, and though the God had come across as evil and malicious at that moment, he had also seen small signs of some fishy things. Something greater and more dangerous had been at work there. Bucky wasn’t a hundred percent sure if that was due to the footage, or do to his gut-feeling - something he trusted more than anything.

Bucky rounded the corner and went straight to the lab, sure he would find the inventor there. Tony’s patterns had been easy to study, and seeing that the man had send in cops and had lost his objectives, he probably wasn’t sleeping.

Bucky was right.

With a scowl on his face he pushed open the door to the lab. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled before Tony had even gotten a greeting of some sorts past his lips. “Sending cops after me!”

Tony turned to face bucky. “Hello to you too,” he said with a feigned smile. Bucky didn’t respond and just riveted him to his spot with a glare. “You sounded different on the phone,” Stark answered as if it would explain everything.

For a man who was so intelligent he could be so stupid at times. There was no lack of empathy or smarts there, Stark sometimes just seemed blinded by the obvious.

“That wasn’t me answering!” Bucky bit.

“You lost your phone around him?” Bafflement written on Tony’s face. “That is just reckless behavior.”

Bucky gave him a foul look at the berate he received. “It’s what a Trickster does!” He shouted, taking up defense for the God. Slowly he started to doubt if he was still willing to hand Loki over. Even if it was just out of spite.

Before Tony could answer he spoke again, the anger still evident in his voice. “And I said no contact!”

Tony shrugged. “I said I would contact you. It isn’t my fault that you’ve been so careless.”

The inventor’s nonchalance grated even more on Bucky’s nerves and his fists clenched at his side. “What do you want with him anyway? You’re gonna lock him up?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

That was it! Within that second Bucky decided he was not going to hand Loki over on a silver platter to the mad inventor. If he wanted the God for whatever reason he hid, Iron Man could come collect the God himself.

“I’m not going to bring him to you.”

“And why is that? Are you going to compromise this entire mission just out of spite? We’re a team man!”

Wildly Bucky closed the distance between them with a couple of big strides. “No!” he hissed in Tony’s face who just looked at him a little offended for invading his space in such manner. “I’ve never been part of this team.”

Tony didn’t waver and answered camly. “Part of this team or not, you are going to bring him in!”

“You’ve fucked up!” And with those words Bucky turned on his heel to leave.

“Don’t turn your back on me, Winter Soldier!”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks and slowly, threateningly, turned on his heel.

“You can bring him in willingly, or I’ll force you,” Tony shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony said calmly and continued to speak in a language Bucky knew all too well. He had hoped to never hear those words again and yet her was the inventor spinning them at him, pronounced perfectly. “Желаниe.”

Longing.

“Pжавый.”

Rusted.

“No!” Bucky shouted and launched himself at Tony, ready to shut him up.

“Семнадцать.”

Seventeen.

Tony got the word out and pieces of his armour flew at him. Bucky smashed two pieces out of the air before they ever reached the man and he threw a punch aimed at his jaw. Tony ducked just in time, caught his suit’s gauntlet which quickly wrapped itself around his arm, and blocked Bucky’s next blow.

“Рассвет.”

Daybreak.

Tony grated out the word under the visible strain that was put on him.

Bucky saw nothing but red, his anger trying to get the better of him, but more so was it fear that took hold of him. He needed to get out. Now! If Tony would complete the sequel… He didn’t want to hurt anybody.

“Печь.”

Furnace.

Bucky broke for a run and suddenly something came flying for the Soldier and he was just in time to smash it out of the air, but he couldn’t avoid the next invention that came at him. Cold metal wrapped itself around his right wrist, pulling him backwards.

The words were already having their effect on him and a little part of his brain wanted to surrender, but he kept fighting it.

“Девять.”

Nine.

“Доброкачественные.”

Benign.

Bucky looked down at the metal ring and he tore it of his being without thinking. The next metal ring flew at him, this time aimed for his metal arm but he dodged.

He resumed his flight but out of nowhere - and probably from behind - more rings came at him and for the moment he was occupied with fighting the inventions.

He had a hard time dividing his attention between running, Tony - who was also coming at him now almost fully suited up - and the flying things. A blast from Iron Man's repulsor send him flying through the air and the rings wrapped themselves around his being.

Homecoming.

“Один.”

The blind-hot rage didn’t diminish as he struggled with his bonds which had hauled him through the room and had plastered him against a metal wall. Whatever Stark had invented, it was strong and probably designed specifically for him.

Damn him!

“Возвращение домой.”

One.

Before Tony spoke the last word he had the audacity to give Bucky a nasty smile. Weirdly enough Bucky’s thoughts went out to Loki. Not because he cared that much for the God, but because he knew he would be send after him, to retrieve him, no matter what the cost. Pangs of guilt and remorse were the last thing that ran through his system before the blinding rage dimmed.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Freight car.

Bucky felt his mind go blank for a split-second and he stopped trashing his bonds, almost going limp plastered against the wall.

“Солдат!” Tony said sternly.

The word penetrated his ears and drifted through his mind. Soldier!

He knew the correct answer.

“Я готов отвечать.”

Ready to comply.

With a couple of clicking sounds the metal rings released him and the Asset fell to the floor, deftly catching himself and hauling himself upright.

Tony smirked. “And then to think there was once a day I wanted you dead.”

The Asset didn’t reply. He hadn’t been asked or commanded something, so why bother to speak?

“Winter Soldier, I want you to bring me Loki,” Tony commanded. “Alive.”

“And the rest of his condition?” he asked in a monotone, merciless voice.

“If you harm him because he resists, so be it, that is his choice.”

***

With a gasp Loki exited Bucky’s mind, a hundred questions answered and a thousand more unanswered.

Bucky stirred for a moment but didn’t wake up, and Loki decided to put him on the mattress to make the man a little more comfortable.

The revelations shone a new light on the situation and now he was positively sure that Bucky had been brainwashed, had meant him no harm and chose his side! The former left a sour taste on the back of Loki’s tongue and involuntary he was swept back to his attack with the Chitauri - the reason he was here.

Loki shook his head to push the memories away.

He looked around the room, seeing the havoc they had created in their struggle, and with a bit of his magic he repaired the chair so he could sit down on something better than a dusty, concrete floor.

He took a moment to study the Soldier, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary - not that it would show in this state - but Loki could tell. He briefly considered tying the other up, just in case he would come back to conscious and would attack him again, but Loki decided against it.

He spotted Bucky’s backpack in a corner and fetched it, rummaging through the contents. At least there was some food there and a bit of water and it was only now that he felt the dryness in his throat. He gulped down almost the entire bottle and then refilled it with his magic - a simple trick but very useful - and put the bottle next to Bucky.

Loki also found a notebook. He decided to read it to pass time and still his curiosity.

It didn’t take long before Bucky regained consciousness. With a groan he put his hand to his head, his eyes slowly finding Loki who was already sitting up straight and ready for another attack.

“You’re reading my journal?” Bucky asked with a raspy voice while he reached for the bottle of water and drained the contents.

“Not the best I have ever read but entertaining nonetheless,” Loki deadpanned.

Bucky scoffed. “What the hell happened?”

“You have some dangerous problems, Winter Soldier,” Loki said calmly. He caught the brief gleam in Bucky’s eyes at the name but he didn’t make for him. The Soldier didn’t show any signs that he was going to attack and Loki relaxed.

“You don’t know half of it,” Bucky grunted, obviously trying to avoid the subject.

“I know more than you think, and not just from this journal.” the God threw the notebook at Bucky who deftly caught it. “Though I am still wondering what Stark’s motivations are,” he mused.

The Soldier quickly sat up, looking at him with narrowed eyes, suspicion written plain on his face. “What-”

“I got a peek into your mind,” Loki confessed and quickly added, “accidently,” as he noticed Bucky getting angry. “I saw what Stark did.”

Bucky was obviously dismayed, and Loki was sure he would be as well if someone had done those things to him - either using the man so vicious or scouring around in his mind like he had done.

“You have no idea why he wants to bring me in?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Sure he, or someone else, must have given you a reason otherwise you wouldn’t have sought me out in the first place.”

Bucky sighed. “It wasn’t just me. We, the Avengers, were all set in place. Different places around the world, waiting for you to show up. I was just the one closest to you.”

“How did you know I was coming?” Loki questioned but already gave the answer himself. “Thor!”

Bucky nodded.

“You informed them.” It was an accusation but Loki couldn’t refrain his voice from asking it in a questioning matter.

“I called it in. They all know.”

Loki nodded and briefly wondered why Thor hadn’t come for him yet. His brother hadn’t exactly tried to defend Loki - he hadn’t seen his brother at all since they dumped him in that cell awaiting trial - but he had expected Thor would at least have come for him. Even if it had only been to jostle him and try to talk some ‘sense’ in him.

“Now what?” Loki mused. Currently they had more than one problem on their hands. A golden bangle around his wrist and Stark using Bucky for his own twisted designs. He didn’t quite recall when his personal problem had become their problem and vice versa, but the God felt quite resentful towards the Man of Iron for sending Bucky at him like this.

“We kill Stark.” Bucky made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world, harboring an anger and wrath behind those blue-grey orbs which made Loki feel a little giddy and malicious.

“Again, I do support your will for vengeance, but if Stark uses those words on you we are back where we started.” Loki fidgeted with his fingers, his index-finger running over the pad of his thumb. “I could, of course, counter that with those words as well but that is ju-”

“You wouldn’t!” Bucky exclaimed.

Loki gave him a look. “Oh, but I would,” he said darkly and then made a gesture for Bucky to calm down. “As I was trying to say, it is inconvenient to fight in such fashion. Especially if those other pesky Avengers decide to choose a side as well.”

“You obviously have a plan,” Bucky remarked and Loki nodded. Clever human!

He was silent for a moment, letting the suspense built and working on the other’s nerves just because he could, but also because he briefly questioned himself, not knowing if this was a wise idea.

Bucky, however, wasn’t doing well with the silence. “What?”

“I could magically destroy those triggers in your mind.”

***

“No!”

No way in hell that this God was going to tear his mind apart! Hydra had already used it as their playground, he wasn’t going to let Loki be the next one in line.

Loki only raised an eyebrow - he had expected the dismissive outburst.

“I’m not going to have a God of Lies rummaging around in my mind!” Bucky said harshly and added, “I don’t trust you,” to emphasize his point even more.

“The feeling is mutual,” Loki grinned and weirdly enough Bucky could appreciate the comment. “Then what? You’re going to stuff your ears with cotton?” Loki deadpanned and gave him a small, amused smile.

The worst part was, Bucky was actually considering it. Anything but Loki playing around in his brain or someone using those words on him.

“Any progress on that bracelet?” Bucky asked, trying to change the subject.

“No. Like I said, it might take me years,” Loki said sourly. “And you are changing the subject.”

“You noticed,” Bucky said dryly, giving him a look that said he was done with talking about issue. “We need a plan.”

“We need to get out of this disgusting place,” Loki retorted, wrinkling his nose.

“We need to set priorities,” Bucky countered.

Right now they were in an abandoned warehouse with no comfort at all - something that didn’t bother Bucky, but the spoiled Prince seemed to get antsy.

Then there was the problem with the bracelet. Loki couldn’t attack. Well, he could, but it would cost him dearly. But the God’s defenses were good enough if they ran into some enemies.

That left the question what Stark exactly wanted with Loki and the shimmering anger and will for revenge itching under his skin.

Maybe they could combine the first and the latter problem in one solution.

“I might have an idea,” Bucky said. “It might need some fine tuning.”

“I’m listening.”

Bucky told Loki his ideas, and Loki made some good suggestions which they integrated in the plan. Within an hour they were on the move through the city, their destination one of the Avenger safe-houses.

They settled themselves in an old factory that had a little more than just a chair and a mattress, and made themselves dinner and having light conversations while Loki maintained an illusion.

Bucky was a little on edge for what was about to come. They had only one change and if they blew it, if something went wrong, then the consequences could be disastrous for the both of them.

After a couple of hours Loki suddenly said, “he is here.”

They both got into their positions and without knocking Tony entered the building, taking up the scene before him.

Bucky sat in a chair where Loki maintained an illusion that made it look like the God was bound there. For the last couple of hours this was what the trickster had been showing, and with that Bucky beating him up.

Loki had shape-shifted into Bucky and sauntered through the room - a sight that still unsettled the Soldier himself very much.

“Soldier!” Tony said and Loki as Bucky turned on his heel. “I had said that if he opposed a problem you could neutralize him in a way you saw fit, not that you needed to beat him up.”

“You won’t tell me what the hell you want with him-”

Tony nodded and finished his sentence. “And you thought he would have the answer.”

Loki as Bucky shrugged.

“Well, now you have him, I might as well tell you,” he said to Loki as Bucky.

Bucky himself - who looked like a beaten up and bloodied Loki - slowly lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at the inventor.

Bucky briefly wondered about the sanity of Tony. Was he going to reveal his masterplan right now? Had the movies and endless amount of villains he had fought taught him nothing? A quick glance at Loki confirmed that the God was wondering the same.

“I just want to bring him to the Avengers Compound to study his magic.”

“Why?” Bucky rasped in Loki’s voice.

“To make the world a safer place of course,” Tony quipped. “Fury was right. We are outgunned, especially regarding magic.”

“You want to study my magic so you can do… what? Make stronger weapons from it or against it?” Bucky asked.

“Whatever is necessary to keep earth safe!” Tony answered harsh.

“You’re coming with me, Reindeer Games,” he said, moving for Bucky, Stark’s armour already crawling into place over his form.

“I have heard enough,” Loki said with a growl which drew a brief, raised eyebrow from Stark who then ignored him and proceeded his advance on Bucky.

The moment Iron Man touched Bucky - from whom Tony still thought was Loki - the illusion fell, showing Bucky calmly sitting in the chair, unbound. Bucky couldn’t see Tony’s face behind the metal mask but he could imagine it very well as he heard Stark muttering in surprise.

Bucky didn’t want to give Tony a moment to recover from his stupor and flung himself at the man, trying to punch him. Iron Man easily blocked it, as Bucky had expected, and immediately he pushed a second assault which got stopped mid-punch.

“Cease your attack now, Soldier! Stand down!” Tony shouted.

Bucky paid him no heed. Anger coursed hot through his veins, his vision narrowing only to focus on the man in the metal, his mind flooded with only on desire: revenge.

He was vaguely aware that Loki was around too, but as they had agreed upon the God would stay on the sidelines and aid the Soldier with magic where necessary and defend himself if Tony came at him.

Both Bucky and Tony pushed their attacks. They threw punches and kicks whenever they spotted an opening, Bucky twisting this way and that to stay clear of the beams Tony shot at him, Iron Man on his turn hard pressed by the sheer strength that was fuelled by Bucky’s rage.

For a moment Tony caught hold of Bucky, a stalemate of less than a second but what felt like minutes, and both took the moment to draw a breath. At least, that was what Bucky thought they did.

“Longing.” The russian word penetrated Bucky’s ears as Tony spoke it with a panting breath.

He could feel the word tug at something in his brain. He didn’t want to give in and tried to shut the feeling out with his rage, but if anything, it only seemed to fuel that tugging.

Bucky doubled his efforts, attacking Iron Man relentless who suddenly kept parrying his every move or simply took the hit in favor to return one.

“Rusted.”

A flash briefly blinded Bucky’s sight as the word hooked itself in his mind. He could feel himself starting to slip, like water running through the cracks. Then a sudden calmness washed over him and Bucky’s slowly blurring vision started to clear again. He could feel the odd sense of something countering the words, snapping at the pull that tried to drag him down under and back to the Asset.

Taking advantage of the situation Bucky fought on, throwing punches left and right and pushing Stark backwards with his attacks.

The man started to sound frantic, almost desperate as he kept spitting the russian words. “Seventeen. Daybreak.”

It was weird to hear the words without them taking further root, the serenity that coursed through him giving him a much better focus at the task at hand; neutralizing the enemy!

“Furnace.”

Still Bucky felt a sense of despair. What if this was something new? The calm before the storm, so to speak. What if by the last word he suddenly toppled over the edge? Then all would’ve been for naught and he would lose his free will and Loki would get locked up in a box to be used as guinea-pig.

Suddenly Stark broke his assault on Bucky and the Soldier had to catch himself mid-attack. He spun around just in time to see Iron Man flying at Loki, barreling into the God with full force.

The feeling of calmness left his system as if someone had flicked a switch. The sense of dread spread through him as he feared for what would come, or better said, the part of him that would come for him.

Loki was easily keeping up with Iron Man, his Godly powers far greater than that what was harboured within the suit.

It was only now that Bucky realised Loki had been playing with the biker-gang who had attacked him on the day they had met. Had Loki truly wanted, he would have raised his kill-count without breaking a sweat.

Bucky launched himself into the fray just as the next word in the trigger-sequence was uttered by Stark. It felt as if he received a punch in the gut and head at the same time, but the Soldier would not be deterred.

With a lot of effort he pulled Iron Man from Loki and Bucky caught the green shimmer of magic as the serenity washed over him once again.

They could win this as long as they kept their efforts combined.

Bucky was currently crouching low, having landed lightly from a mid-air attack and looking up at Tony with rage still shimmering in his blue-grey eyes. Iron Man was already on his hind-legs as Bucky had driven up the pressure to wear out his suit. Even though they hadn’t won yet, Bucky’s confidence grew.

That was until from the corner of his eye he saw some very familiar metal rings flying towards him.

Next Chapter

----

I thrive on coffee

#loki #bucky #loki x bucky #loki fanfic #bucky fanfic #loki fanfiction #winter soldier #winterfrost #tony stark #iron man #steve rogers #captain america #tom hiddleston #sebastian stan #robert downey jr #chris evans

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nikkalia · 5 years

Text

Gotta Get It Right: Dinner and a Show

TITLE: Gotta Get It Right

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 14

SUMMARY: Aleksa lived as an Inhuman at SHIELD's beckon call, but dreams of another life have her questioning everything she’d ever known. Just when she settled into a life of peace and quiet, she's called back to duty. Enter Loki.

PAIRING: Loki/OFC RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Just language, mentions of PTSD and torture

Tumblr masterlist Also on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409323/chapters/43756231

Feedback is always appreciated (just being an attention whore screaming for comments/reblogs)

Tags: @christy-winchester @hovianwookie86-captainxev @wolfsmom1 @fadingcoast @mrshiddleston-uk @igotloki @fandom-and-feminism @mischievousbellerina @odinsonsobsessed

Loki pushed Aleksa’s chair in before seating himself. A servant appeared from the shadows, pouring mead into golden goblets.

“Thank you,” Aleksa said softly, bringing shocked looks from the servant and Loki. “What?” The servant struggled for an answer before looking to his master, who dismissed him with a wave after his own cup was filled. “Seriously? You don’t acknowledge the people that are working for you? I thought Asgard was sooooo much more enlightened than that. Do you even know their names?”

“Those that serve in this palace are to be neither seen nor heard. It is honor enough for them to be selected for a position on the staff and...”

“Bloody hell.” She stood and moved to the servant. “What’s your name?”

The wine steward was paralyzed in fear. His gaze shot to Loki and Aleksa stepped to block it. “I...uh...Beiner, madam.”

Aleksa turned to the maid standing next to him. “And yours?”

“I-Ingun, my lady.”

“Ingun. Beiner. Thank you both. Your work is appreciated,” she glared at Loki, “even if that appreciation is never expressed.” The servants shot each other looks of awe as Aleksa resumed her seat, muttering. “How in the hells do you expect to have the respect of your people if you can’t even acknowledge their existence? You’re no better than they are.”

Loki searched for the proper response. Odin all but forbade communication with the servants unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then he spoke with the same venom he afforded his adopted son. Loki never considered any other behavior towards the staff possible, much less appropriate.

“Perhaps it is a tradition that bears updating,” was all he could come up with.

Aleksa rolled her eyes and turned her focus to the plate before her. The platter was filled with several small slices of meats and cheeses, vegetables, and a chunk of bread. Other dishes on the tables held more of the same, accompanied by various fruits and loaves. The thought of devouring everything in front of her crossed her mind, followed by a wave of nausea that reminded her of her restricted abilities. Despite her hunger, she’d have to take it slowly or risk leaving a mess for Beiner and Ingun to clean up later.

Loki had already begun to eat, albeit cautiously. This early exchange of power, or so it seemed to him, appeared out of nowhere and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Or of the woman sitting across from him. She seemed to be evaluating the food set before her. Was she considering the possibility of poison, or perhaps mind-altering drugs? He felt compelled to take his bites intentionally as if to convince her that the food was safe until her pace slowed to a stop.

“Is the meal not to your liking?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve barely touched your plate. If the food is not satisfactory, I can...”

“It’s fine,” she snapped, dropping her fork onto the plate. She pinched the bridge of her nose before blowing out a sharp breath. “I...I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with the food.”

“The company, perhaps?”

Loki spoke so softly that Aleksa barely heard him. “I’ve had worse.” She leaned back, rubbing the skin beneath the bracelets. “I’m still...adjusting to these.”

“Perhaps, in time, the need for those will be eliminated.” He resumed his meal, aware of her gaze focused on him.

“What, exactly, do you plan to do with me?”

“Are we beginning our interview?” Loki paused to take a drink. “I’ve not yet established my terms.” Aleksa groaned in response. “Don’t worry. You may find that my terms are as much to your benefit as they are to mine.”

“And it’s always about your benefit, isn’t it?”

“It is good to be the king,” he grinned. “No question should be asked before the one prior is answered to the asker’s satisfaction.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re never going to be satisfied with any of my answers.”

Loki chuckled. “Satisfaction is not in my nature, pet.”

“I won’t tell you again,” she growled, a hand moving toward the knife. “Don’t call me that.”

“No promises.” The glare he received was strangely arousing. “We will continue until all questions are answered or we’ve exhausted ourselves for the evening. Have you any ground rules for our discussion?”

“I would say no lying, but I don’t suppose I have any real way to tell if you’re trying to deceive me or not.”

“Allow me to offer a gesture of good faith, then.” Loki produced her dog tags and placed them on the table. "Oh," he added, tossing a trio of tiny vials in her direction, "these are also yours. Whyever would you consciously choose to carry Kree blood within you?"

She reached for the tags, sliding the chain around her neck before picking up a vial. Memories of their implantation tore through her consciousness, her own screams echoing in her ears. The burning sensations that consumed her body returned, accompanied by the smell of turmeric that somehow permeated the first terrigenesis cocoon. It lasted for months, leaving her a near zombie when she finally emerged. Everything hurt, even the energy she relied on. It was only the beginning of her torture.

Aleksa became aware of Loki’s gaze steady upon her, the concern it held living somewhere between compassion and fear. “I didn’t,” she whispered. “Where did you find them?”

“One was positioned near your heart. The other two on either side of your spine at the base of your skull. A kill switch for an errant pet, I presume.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She slammed the knife blade into the table, millimeters from Loki’s hand. He only raised an eyebrow. “Use that word again and we’re done.”

His eyes moved slowly from the blade to her face, surprised by the calm he found there. “As you wish,” he whispered. “For now.” Aleksa returned to her seat. “Are we agreed?”

“Fine.” She nodded, mindlessly massaging her wrists. “You first, I assume.”

“Indeed.” Loki reached for his cup, drinking slowly as he considered his words. She began to absently pick at the plate in front of her, and something tore at his heart. “Actually, no. You posed a question that I failed to answer.” Aleksa looked up from her food. “What, exactly, do I plan to do with you?”

She watched him take another drink when he paused, waiting for her reaction. “Well?”

“I’ve not yet made a full decision.” She started to respond when he held up a hand. “What I have determined is that you will be brought out of the dungeons and given rooms here. You will begin training with our Seider masters to regain control over your abilities and learn their proper usage. I am considering allowing you to engage in other activities, but for now, this seems enough.”

Aleksa bit back the instinct to question further. He’d given more information than she expected but not everything she wanted, and she knew he was holding back. By the same token, she was desperate to keep him distracted as she worked to decipher the energies that kept her power in check.

“Are you satisfied with the answer?”

She met his gaze. Was there...hope in his eyes? “It’ll do.”

“Very well. Why were you sent to retrieve the Tesseract?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” She swallowed hard, garnering a glare from him. “I suppose ‘it’s classified’ would be enough of an answer?”

The glare darkened. “No.”

“Of course not.” The sigh that escaped her lips stopped Loki’s continued protest. “I had multiple sets of orders. Rescue the team and their research if possible. They were the priority.”

“We’ve already discussed this.” His tone matched his eyes. “And you’re not holding up your end of the bargain.”

“Then let me finish.” she snapped. “Get the team and their data were my orders from SHIELD. The order to get the cube came from someone else.”

“Not Fury? Curious. Who was it?” He leaned closer, growling. “Who?”

“Gideon Malick.”

Loki laughed. “Do you think me so stupid as to not know the players on that pathetic little planet? Malick is the Director of the World Security Council. He gives Fury...”

“Oh shut up!” she shouted, the force knocking over the goblets on the table. “You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do, your Highness. Malick comes from a long line of HYDRA worshippers. Last I heard, he was their undisputed leader. He’s playing both sides.”

“And so were you, it seems.”

“I know where my loyalties lie.” She sighed again, feeling the power in her body a bit closer to balance. “So does Nick.”

“And Malick?”

“He’s not interested in loyalty.” She toyed with the vial closest to her, speaking absently. “All he wants is power. The more, the better.”

“The Tesseract.” She nodded, trading the vial for a piece of fruit. Loki leaned back in his seat, arching his fingers in contemplation. It seemed that Midgard was going to continue to provide a bit of entertainment for some time. As was the woman across from him.

Aleksa chewed slowly, staring at the vials on the table, losing herself in memory.

“It’s not permanent, Colonel. Merely an insurance policy. You bring back the cube, I remove the vials. An easy mission for someone of your unique talents.”

“And if I fail?”

“You’ll go out in a blaze of glory, preferably on Asgard.” The sinister grin sickened her. “Or your heart will explode in your chest. Either way, you’ll be just another soldier lost to PTSD.”

“Not before I kill you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Wha-” She blinked, finding Loki’s wide eyes fixed on her glowing hand. “Fuck,” she whispered, forcing the power to dissipate into the air. “Why do you do that?”

“I didn’t.”

“I meant screwing with my head. Why plant memories, trigger...this?”

“I had nothing to do with whatever you just experienced,” he pointed to her hand.

“Gods dammit Loki, what in the hells have you done to me?”

“Nothing.” Her chair went flying as she leapt up, leaning over the table. “While it is within my abilities to trigger flashes of individual experience, I do not possess the power to generate and implant full recollections. So this is decidedly not my doing.” He spoke softly, hoping to defuse her frustration. “My guess is that you are experiencing the restoration of your own memories as your mind continues to heal. Whether this comes from your exposure to the Tesseract or something else, I can’t say.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“I know what it is to have your thoughts bent and twisted to someone else’s will.” He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to calm his own nerves, wondering if he’d overestimated his ability to control her. “I am capable of a great many things, but I would never inflict that experience on another creature.” Their eyes locked, giving him pause. “Ever.”

Her head dropped as he rose, lifting the chair back to its original position. Loki stood next to her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, scarcely able to hear her whispers about fear passing through her. He barely touched her back when she spoke.

“I’m fine.” Low, even, and a little forced.

“Now who’s lying?” She straightened herself, looking at him with a smirk, and a soft smile crossed his face. “Do you wish to continue, or would you like to end our interview for the evening?”

Aleksa’s mouth opened to reply but closed without a sound and a shake of her head. “Yeah, I don’t have the mental capacity necessary to keep up with you at the moment.”

“Then we will continue another time. One of the servants will see you to the guest chambers for the evening.” His speech was cut off by a loud growl originating in Aleksa’s stomach. “Along with something more to eat.”

Her face turned sheepish. “Thanks.”

“Rest well, little one. Your training will begin in the morning.”

She followed Ingun to the door, stopping just short of it to turn and face him. “I do have one question I’d like to have answered now.”

“Which is?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were showing compassion towards a prisoner. Why?”

Loki approached slowly, sliding his hands behind his back. “Because you are my guest, not a prisoner. I much prefer to think of you as a potential ally. And,” he hesitated for a moment, noticing a few strands of silver mixed into her red hair, “I always take care of my allies.”

They stared at one another for a moment, each trying to read the other. Aleksa finally decided that she needed rest more than anything and nodded before returning to her path out of the library. Loki watched her exit his suite, a smile slowly crossing his face.

#loki #loki fanfic #avengers fanfic #agents of shield fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #gotta get it right #Loki/OFC

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incubatordruid · 5 years

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MtG Month of the Ship, Day 5 - "I Love You”

Emrakul returns to bring you another story of romance in the multiverse! Today it's a pairing that has become possible thanks to War of the Spark, and that I am rapidly developing an obsession with, Domri x Vivien.

One benefit of being sealed in a moon is that nothing disturbs my thoughts. It is far better than the noisy entropy of the world below, and is also a decent improvement over being trapped in stasis on Zendikar with Ulamog and Kozilek. Especially Ulamog. He snored. And without such disturbances, I am free to think on the nature of the planes and their inhabitants, and to look in on them from time to time. I have come to be particularly interested in the development of the deeper relationships that the plane-bound seem to have with each other, and the emotions associated with those relationships. It strikes me that I should perhaps investigate how these patterns emerge in the younger members of these species. And there is one in particular who presents a particularly interesting case...

“Wooooo!” Domri stood up on the back of his rendhorn, pointing his staff at the nearest intact section of stone wall. The stampede of war-boars around him charged straight through it, smashing its cleanly-cut bricks into pebbles. “For the Clans! For Nicky B! For freedom!” He’d stolen that battle cry from a Boros angel that he’d knocked out of the air the previous day. Well, originally it was “For the Legion, for Ravnica, for freedom”, but screw the Legion! Screw Ravnica! And what did the Boros know about freedom, anyways?

Sigh. Another human dead-set on destroying things other humans have built. Why do they do that? Time’s arrow, entropy’s pull, and sometimes things like me impose enough destruction on the world, yet somehow humans find ways to add to it.

On the other side of the now-nonexistent wall stood a Selesnyan vernadi, its marble chambers and staircases curling around and through the branches of the tree at its center. Domri spat at it. Whoever built this thing deserved to be impaled by an arynx. Even if the top dragon hadn’t asked Domri to annihilate the place, he probably would’ve done it anyways. No tree deserved this kind of disfigurement. Plus, there was always a chance he’d attract the attention of--

A bellow from his left, followed shortly by the squealing of boars, grabbed Domri’s attention. A ghostly green bull, larger than any Domri had ever seen on Ravnica, was barreling through his mob of boars, tossing them left and right. Just behind it, a trio of slender maaka, the same ghostly green, leapt from boar to boar, surgically ripping out each one’s throat. And a little bit beyond them, oh please let it be her, there she was! Vivien… Domri made a note to himself to ask if she had any more names… strode through the space that her animals had cleared, flanked by a pack of spectral wolves, of which she was clearly the alpha.

Domri felt himself blush, and didn’t even mind. He’d first seen Vivien a few days ago, when she’d summoned an immense lizard of some sort that had whipped a hellkite to death with its tail. She’d only lingered for a moment before she was called away by another of the “resistance” - that was how Domri had learned her name - but in that moment he’d already known that he wanted to find out more about her. So since then, he’d been directing Gruul scout parties specifically to follow her, under the pretense that Bolas was interested in capturing her. Not that he would ever actually tell the big N.B. where she was. She was far too beautiful to become just another one of the dragon’s playthings. Instead he’d followed the scouts’ reports himself, and managed to catch a few glimpses of her before, each time, she vanished into whatever concealment was around. And each time, Domri felt that same hard-to-describe feeling, akin to the excitement of demolishing an Azorius library, but so much better.

Well, it’s rather reassuring to know that at least someone else in the multiverse is as confused about this feeling as I am right now. Perhaps it is this way with all the youth among the plane-bound, perhaps they all begin without good words for this sensation.

And now here she was, finally, paying attention to him! Domri let out a yell, half out of battle rage and half out of excitement, and channeled a spell through his staff, turning the entire horde of boars and other beasts under his command to focus fully on Vivien and her small pack. She noticed this shift immediately and called her animals back to her with a quick hand gesture. Still with a look of total calm on her face, she drew her bow, conjuring a brilliant green arrow, and raised her gaze to look right into Domri’s eyes. The warm feeling around Domri’s cheeks intensified, and, looking away just so slightly, he channeled that feeling into a shouted command. “Charge!”

The battle was over within minutes. Corpses of boars lay in heaps around the Selesnyan courtyard, blood running out and staining the white marble flagstones. Domri’s rendhorn, too, lay dead, its neck crushed by the jaws of one of Viven’s enormous lizards. That lizard was now continuing the destruction of the Selesnyan temple, which made Domri feel oddly giddy. Domri himself was caught in the claws of another lizard, his feet dangling inches above the ground, his staff out of reach. Vivien, barely even winded, stepped over a few corpses to stand eye-to-eye with him. She was more beautiful up close, Domri thought, and looked even better covered in blood.

Vivien retrieved a knife from her belt and held it to Domri’s throat. “Servant of Nicol Bolas. Do you have any last words?” Her voice was stern and measured. It had the same air of authority that Borborygmos’s voice had had, though with none of the spittle and stench. Domri opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“None? Then your death will be silent and--”

“W-wait!” Domri’s voice cracked. The thought of dying this way felt surprisingly okay, but at the very least he was going to tell her. “I think -- I think you’re beautiful!”

“What.”

“I just think, the way you move so gracefully, it’s like a prime maaka on the hunt,” the words rushed out of him almost uncontrollably, “and how you can command your pack so perfectly, and all the different animals that you can call on, it’s so amazing. It makes my heart go all funny. Vivien, I think I love you.”

Domri felt Vivien’s grip on her knife tense, and then loosen. She tucked it back into its sheath on her belt. Then, with a silent gesture, she called a pair of wolves to her side and instructed the lizard to drop Domri. “Uh, um… I guess, thank--”

“Go tell your master Vivien Reid is coming for him.” She seemed as calm as ever. What did that mean? Did she feel the same way? “Now.”

“Ahhh-- yeah. Right.” Domri turned around to hide his silly smile. Reid! She’d told him her surname! “I’ll just… I’ll tell him. Um.” He turned back around to see Vivien still staring at him. “Maybe… see you soon?” With that, he broke into a dash and leapt over the remains of the wall his boars had destroyed earlier. He’d see her again. He’d make sure of it!

It may be a crucial point to note that the statement “I love you” correlated with the highest peak of that bonding emotion that has been of interest to me. It is, of course, not the first time I have heard those words spoken. Though in the past usually I have heard them in association with a person’s last moments, quite often before one of my extensions claimed them and their companions. I wonder if, in light of my new knowledge that that statement carries such emotional impact, I should feel worse about that.

In any case, “love” seems as good a term as any to stand in for this bright, sweet-tasting emotion of connection. Love. Love love love. A good word. I suppose I shall go looking for more of it.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

#mtg #fanfic #domri rade #vivien reid #war of the spark #mtgwar #tw: violence #notice me senpai #MTGShip

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dia-luneris · 6 years

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Elenion

(OOC note: Sorry for the timeline fuckery, but this is more past stuff. It takes place before Damien and Lady leave Ishgard. I was offered a chance to write for Khatayin's character, Elenion, and couldn't resist)

Elenion Fonteyne was only thirteen summers, when her parents were taken from her. The circumstances surrounding their deaths were mysterious to say the least. But they had been buried, and the will read. It was decided that young Eleni would go to live with an Uncle, though according to the family tree, he was more of a cousin.

The man assigned to take her to her new home, got out of the carriage. He took the hand of his young charge, and helped her down the steps. She looked up at the house, and wondered if she could ever get used to living somewhere that wasn't home.

After a few knocks on the large wooden door, they were allowed in. Eleni held the hand of the man, quietly taking in her surroundings. They stopped before a large staircase. Eleni's grip on her caretaker's hand tightened. The couple she was expecting to see eventually made an appearance.

The man was tall, with unusually pale hair. His wife, looked kind and motherly. She wore her hair down, partially spilling over one shoulder. It was dark, and full of waves. The husband was the first to step forwards. He seemed mad, or maybe not impressed. Eleni chose to look at the floor, rather than at him. Her chest felt tight, as though she were about to cry again. She listened as the adults talked about her.

"Your ward, as was agreed upon, Lord Luneris" The man who brought her here, spoke as though it were a business exchange of sorts. "You are certain there is no-one else who can take her?" were her potential guardian's words. "You are her kin, according to the records". "We'll take her, won't we, dear?" the woman spoke up. Eleni lifted her head to the voice. The woman's tone was hopeful.

The husband sighed "Fine. We'll take her in..." He looked bad tempered, but him relenting when his wife asked, made Elenion suppose that he wasn't that bad. She was handed over, and parting words were exchanged. That was that. This was her home now, and this couple, her new family.

Eleni wandered out of her room. They had eaten dinner, and the couple had left her to explore the house. She had already taken everything out of her suit case. At least everything that she could carry over.

Maybe when the other things, from her actual home arrived, it would feel better here. But she somehow doubted it would ever feel better. In truth, she had been desperately trying to hold on to a sense of calm, after her parents had 'passed on'. But the urge to scream, and cry kept threatening to take her over. Every time she cried, she felt weak, and helpless. And she hated it. There was nobody to hold her, everyone was gone. She had a new family now, but she didn't know these people. It would feel strange being held by them.

She found herself looking at portraits in a grand hallway. Some of the men looked like the lord she met today. They were handsome, but not very happy looking. They didn't seem to know how to smile.

Eleni carried on dawdling, stopping at a large painting of a dark haired man, with a woman who looked a lot like mother... she looked to the side, and there she was, again. An oval shaped portrait of this lovely, smiling woman. Her eyes were a gentle blue, and her hair a very light blonde.

Eleni wanted to reach up, to touch the painted face, but she wasn't tall enough. Before she knew it, her eyes ran over with tears. They rolled down her face, and she gasped, feeling her heart breaking again. She let out a loud sob, her shoulders shaking.

She had no way of knowing that the master of the house was watching her. And that it pained him, to see her doing exactly what he once did as a child. He would leave, silently. Her never knowing he was even there. She heard foot steps approaching her, but they belonged to another. A hand was placed on her shoulder, firm but not without care.

Eleni threw herself against the man, clinging to him, crying into his clothing. He sighed quietly, and hugged her "I came to find you... My mother and father said that you had come to live here". The girl did not respond, sniffling, still holding him tightly.

Over time, Elenion had settled in. The man who had held her while she cried, was the couple's son, Lord Damien Luneris. She came to see him as a brother, which was nice. She'd never had a brother before.

His parents, she had gotten used to as well. His father was still unimpressed with the entire world, but had shown her care, handing her books, and baked treats. She smiled up at him, and he ruffled her hair with a hand, taking care not to look at her. He made it a point to maintain that she wasn't really getting to him.

The mother of the family, Lady Diana, had also taken to her quite well. The older woman would enjoy helping her with her hair, and taking her to tea parties. Everything seemed quite well, that was until she had overheard Lord and Lady Luneris discussing Damien's education.

The young Lord was to leave Ishgard again, in order to continue his training in Thaumaturgy. The thought made her sad, very sad. She did not want to lose her brother. Elenion made her way out of the house, quietly. She used the servant's entrance, to not draw attention to herself. She just wanted to be alone outside for a while, and didn't want a chaperone.

Ele traipsed along the streets, not really sure where she even wanted to go. The cold air bit into her a little. She hadn't really thought it through, before leaving, that she may need a cardigan. "Hey, what are you doing out here on your own?"

Lady Stefania Emal strolled over to her. She was accompanied by an Elezen woman, who looked to be carrying a longsword at her hip. No doubt a bodyguard of some sort. Stefania took her jacket off, and draped it over Ele's shoulders "Here, you will catch a cold".

Lady Stefania was a role model of sorts for Eleni. She admired the way the woman wore trousers, in place of a skirt. She was even wearing long boots today, rather than heels. Ele was embarrassed to be caught out in the cold by her "I will be alright..." The three women sat down on a bench.

"Have you heard.. that Lord Damien is going to be leaving soon??" Elenion asked, deflated. Stefania dipped her head "Yes. I asked my father if he could get the proper permissions for me to accompany him". Ele jolted "You're leaving too?!" she looked on Stefania with dismay. Lady Emal brought her hands together, and an elbow on each knee "It would benefit Ishgard if I went into training as well".

"But-but I thought you wanted to become the Azure Dragoon! And to slay Nidhogg!" Elenion near shouted. "I could be considered a Dragoon yes, but likely never one of the Knights Dragoon, and especially not the Azure Dragoon. But If I can learn to heal, or set enemies on fire... then it would really help". Ele's shoulders drooped "You just want to follow him, and you won't admit it".

Stefania smiled "I would follow him anywhere, but not like how you think. It's more in a sense of duty. My family owes his a lot. And I think my place, would be making sure he comes home safely. Sure, he has more combat experience than I do, but everyone needs someone to watch their back". Elenion wore an expression that said ‘sure... whatever you say’

"Anyway, we should get you home..." Lady Emal stood herself up "Lady Diana will be worried about you" she turned her head to Ele, and offered a hand. Elenion reluctantly took it. It was going to be hard for her, without either Stefania, or Damien, but she would have to learn to manage. For now, she would allow the woman she looked up to, to hold her hand, like she would a child.

It could very well be some time until they would meet again.

Thank you to Khatayin Dagasi of Balmung for the collaboration <3

@thegrumpylizard

#ff14 rp #ff14 #FFXIV #Ishgard #Balmung #final fantasy #final fantasy14 #ffxiv stories

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winglesscrows · 6 years

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a drop of truth

AO3 I Patreon I FF.net

Merlin (BBC) I G I Merlin & Arthur I 5k

Arthur has a truth serum, Merlin lies more than he tells the truth. Who else would Arthur use it on?

Read on AO3 I Patreon I FF.net or under cut

A single drop of the water-like potion will make the victim tell the truth. The effects will last an hour, and once the victim slept, they would remember nothing as they woke. Arthur had come into possession of such a potion, but knew not how to use it or, rather, who to use it on. The vial which held the potion contained roughly ten drops, and while Arthur could think of many uses this potion may have, he felt honor bound to never use it. Who was he to force the truth from an enemy, and what friend would lie to him? He contemplated gifting it to his father, but decided against it in fear that he would abuse its powers. Morgana likely kept many secrets that his father benefited from being ignorant of. So Arthur kept the vial for himself, letting no one know he possessed it, waiting for an opportunity to arise.

When Merlin became his manservant, Arthur thought of using it on him to ask why he was here, and why he was the way he was, but the boy seemed honest and straightforward, so Arthur saw no use for it. Until he did. Merlin drank poison for him. He didn't say how he knew �� refused even – and was rather adamant about drinking the poison in Arthur's stead, being the only one in the room believing that it would kill him. He almost died for him, but would tell no one how he had acquired the information. Merlin was not an enemy, but he wasn't quite a friend either. Arthur didn't feel guilty about wanting to force the truth from his servant.

Two weeks later, Arthur put a single drop of the truth potion into Merlin's water-skin as they were out hunting and watched as Merlin drank it without being any the wiser.

Arthur waited awhile, not knowing how long it would take for the potion to take effect. After five minutes he asked a question to test its effects.

“Why were you late this morning?”

“I overslept,” Merlin answered, not sticking to the lie about helping Gaius with some herbs, which he had told that morning, as he had stumbled into his chambers with breakfast. The potion was working and Merlin would remember nothing of the next hour when he woke up in the morning.

“Why did you drink the poison?” Arthur asked casually.

“To save you,” Merlin answered without hesitation. Arthur thought that perhaps that was one of the effects. The victims would answer immediately with the truth. Of course, saying the truth didn't necessarily give Arthur the answers he actually wanted, because Merlin had answered the question truthfully, but remained as elusive as ever.

“Do you know who was responsible for poisoning the chalice?” He tried instead, hoping it would get him closer to getting some answers.

“No.” Interesting.

“Who told you that it was laced with poison?” Arthur pressed, remembering that Merlin had said that someone had seen it being done.

“A servant girl from Mercia, but I think Gaius suspects that she was in disguise,” Merlin said, finally giving a good answer. Arthur nodded as he thought of his next question with the new information in mind.

“Why would she tell you? It could have been her doing.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin agreed. Even with the truth potion in effect, it didn't really stop them from having a real conversation, it only meant that Arthur could be certain that Merlin wasn't lying to him – not that that was normally a concern, “Maybe she wanted Bayard to drink it? He did offer.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. Merlin knew less than he had hoped (he didn't even know what he had hoped would come from this conversation), but the potion was still in effect, so he should take advantage of that.

“What do you think of me?” Arthur asked then, a little smirk on his lips as he eyed Merlin. He saw Merlin smiled before he answered.

“Arrogant,” he said, almost laughed, “A prat, but not as much as I first thought.”

Okay, so Merlin didn't like him that much. Arthur kind of knew that already. But that begged the question.

“Then why did you save me?”

“It is my destiny.”

Arthur asked no questions after that.

In the following year, there were many instances where Arthur thought of using the truth potion on Merlin, but Arthur waited, keeping a list of things he would like to ask him. The truth about Sophia (he was certain that Merlin could not have knocked him out with a lump of wood and done it so forcefully that Arthur literally forgot about it), how his father had slain the wraith of his uncle (Merlin might not have been directly involved, but Gaius probably knew, so maybe Merlin knew as well) and Merlin had tried to tell him something back in Ealdor, which had begun to bug Arthur.

But then came the Question Beast, its bite a fatal one, which Arthur miraculously survived. Arthur had to use it. He didn't even know if Merlin had been involved, but he needed answers and Merlin was the only one whom he could use the potion on without him finding out. And it wasn't that he hadn't thought of just asking Merlin without the help of a truth potion, he had, but in the past year he had learned a couple of things about his strange manservant. Most importantly he had learned that Merlin rarely lied, but that he kept secrets. Merlin was very good at serving Arthur half-truths, or changing the subject when there was something he didn't want to talk about. He could lie, and despite what he had claimed, Merlin could lie quite well too, but Arthur also knew that Merlin didn't like to lie. At his core, he was an honest person, and Arthur believed that Merlin had a reason for keeping secrets.

But Arthur needed the truth about this. Anything Merlin had to offer, he needed.

“How did I survive?” He asked, still bedridden with Merlin tending to him.

“I made a deal,” Merlin merely spoke, and Arthur wasn't quite following.

“What kind of deal?”

“A life for a life.” So magic.

“Whose life did you bargain?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mine.”

“That's why you said goodbye.”

“Yes.”

Arthur bit his lip before he continued. Getting answers had been easier than he had anticipated, since Merlin was the reason he was alive, but he was starting to regret having this knowledge.

“Why are still alive then?” Arthur asked sadly, “Will I lose you?”

“Nimueh didn't honor the deal,” Merlin explained, “She tried to take my mother's life instead. Magic was angry with her and took her life instead.” Merlin spoke as if magic was entity, as if it was a person. It puzzled Arthur, but then again, what did Arthur know of magic? Even studying it was outlawed.

“So you won't die?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want you to blame yourself for my death,” Merlin answered sincerely.

Arthur bit his lip, another question on his tongue, “What do you think of me?”

Merlin smiled, perhaps happy to change the topic, “Arrogant,” He said again, “A prat, but not as much as I first thought. You are also stupidly brave.”

Arthur smiled at the addition, and repeated another question: “Why did you save me?”

“Because you are my king.”

Arthur didn't question it. He didn't think he would like the answer.

Arthur felt like a bad friend for continuing to use the truth potion, but it seemed to be the only way to make Merlin tell him a whole truth. After Morgause, Arthur wasn't seeking information, but rather an opinion that he knew Merlin wouldn't give him without being forced to.

“Do you think she told the truth?” Arthur asked. It had been a day since he had attacked his father, and Merlin had stopped him by saying Morgause had been lying. Only after Arthur had calmed down had it crossed his mind that Merlin could have been lying to make him stop, knowing he wouldn't listen to anything else. It had also occurred to him that his father had never actually denied Arthur's accusations.

“Yes,” Merlin said, confirming Arthur's suspicions.

“Do you know if she said the truth?”

“No, not for certain.”

“Why did you tell me she lied, if you believed it to be true?”

“You were going to kill your father. I had to stop you.” Merlin talked as if he is a knight on a mission. Perhaps he was. How many times had he saved Arthur now? He truly didn't know the answer.

“Don't you think he deserves it?” Arthur asked sharply. His anger at his father resurfacing, but no longer thinking of striking him down with a sword. He thought that it was Merlin's calming presence that was keeping him grounded. Keeping him from making a mistake.

“Perhaps,” Merlin said slowly, something akin to hatred bubbling to the surface, before it was calmed and he looked kindly at Arthur, “But you don't.”

Arthur didn't think too much about the answer, too focused on Merlin's kind eyes. He asked a familiar question instead.

“What do you think of me?”

Merlin didn't smile as he answered this time: “Arrogant.” He said for the third time, “Stupidly brave and just. You don't always listen when you should.” Arthur noted how Merlin no longer thought he was a prat. He still called him that though, so maybe it just wasn't important. Or perhaps the nickname had merely turned endearing now that they were friends.

“Why do you stay?” Arthur asked this time. Merlin could have left so many times. Arthur sometimes thought he would. Every time Merlin told him a truth he didn't believe. Every time Arthur's anger got unjustly turned on his servant, merely because he was close by. Every time Arthur gave him extra chores because he made one small mistake. Every time Merlin had almost died.

“You are my king and my friend. I would never leave.”

Arthur hoped that would remain true. He had gotten too used to Merlin's presence to want to be rid of it. He found it hard to imagine a future where Merlin wasn't by his side, supporting him through trying times and cheering him up with stupid jokes.

Friends shouldn't force each other to do things they wouldn't want to do, but Arthur justified slipping another drop of the potion into Merlin's drink with the belief that friends shouldn't lie to each other anyway. And Arthur knew that Merlin must have lied. How could he have killed a dragon and not remembered? It didn't make much sense.

“How did I kill the dragon?” He asked a couple of nights after it had happened... or not happened. Whatever it was.

“You didn't,” Merlin answered, quite as expected, but Arthur was still disappointed. It would have looked good on the list of his accomplishments. Arthur Pendragon, the dragon-slayer. Or maybe not. The dragon was his family crest. Maybe he should kill them.

“Who did?” Arthur asked, because the attacks had stopped, so someone must have killed the dragon. Was it Merlin? Arthur knew his manservant was capable of more than he let on, but he doubted that he had the ability to slay dragons.

“No one,” Merlin answered, and Arthur took a deep breath. Great. The dragon was still alive (or at least Merlin believed it to be).

“It lives?” Arthur asked, just to be safe.

“Yes.”

“Why did it stop attacking?”

“I commanded it to stop,” Merlin answered casually, Arthur having to do a double take on that. If it wasn't for the truth potion, he would have thought Merlin was joking.

“How could you do that?”

“I am the last dragonlord.” The statement was spoken with pride. Arthur would have been proud too.

“Then why did we search for Balinor?”

“He was my father. When he died, I inherited his gifts.”

Arthur swallowed the information like he would one of Gaius' nasty potions. A truth he didn't want to know. A truth Merlin hadn't wanted him to know. A truth he should know. A truth Merlin shouldn't have carried alone. A truth which Merlin would carry alone as soon as morning came.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said, at a loss for words, feeling bad for how he looked down on Merlin for crying over Balinor's death.

“Don't be,” Merlin said as if he was comforting him.

“Would you ever tell me about your powers?” Arthur asked, almost dreading the answer.

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“But not with the truth?”

“No.”

Arthur sighed. One day he would ask Merlin for the truth and he would give it to him. No truth potion needed.

“What do you think of me?” Arthur asked again. It hadn't been long since he had asked last, but a lot of things had happened. Perhaps Arthur had changed. Perhaps Merlin thought differently of him once again.

“Arrogant,” he repeated. Arthur thought Merlin would always think that of him, “Stupidly brave and just. You are kind-hearted. Sometimes, I think you are too kind.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked again.

“You are my king and my friend. I would never leave.”

“Uther is your king,” Arthur corrected, but Merlin looked him in the eyes, and spoke without hesitation.

“Uther is no king of mine.”

Arthur didn't use the potion for another two years. There were many reasons for that. He felt guilty for making his friend tell him a secret that could get him killed should the wrong people find out (Arthur decided to ignore the fact that those wrong people were mainly his father). Being a dragonlord was simply considered too close to having magic in Camelot – hence why there were no dragonlords left. They had all been killed, except for Balinor, who had been forced out of the kingdom, and even when beyond the border, he had been hunted again, forced to leave his pregnant lover behind. All because of the king's madness.

And now that Uther believed that the dragons were no more, he would not hesitate to kill Merlin. Merlin who was good and kind and under Arthur's care and protection. Arthur trusted Merlin with his life and he wouldn't betray that trust. If he did, he could never earn Merlin's truth. And that was the other reason why he didn't use the potion. He wanted Merlin to tell him his secrets on his own terms. Arthur couldn't keep forcing his hand, especially when his servant was none the wiser.

But then Morgana betrayed them and Merlin acted like he had known it would happen all along. Arthur didn't have time to find out the truth until after they have taken back Camelot, and that ordeal had brought its own bag of questions. One drop of the potion reminded Arthur that Merlin's truth must be treasured, yet he did not hold back with the questions.

“Did you know about Morgana?” Arthur asked immediately, but Merlin merely smirked.

“Be specific,” he teased, still trying to cheer Arthur up despite being under the influence of a powerful potion.

“Her betrayal,” Arthur clarified, and Merlin bit his lip.

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Arthur asked through gritted teeth. Only his faith in Merlin held him back from doing something he would later regret.

“You wouldn't have believed me,” Merlin answered sadly, and Arthur hated that it was the truth.

“How long have you known?”

“Since we found her,” Merlin said, the truth clearly upsetting him. They had been friends too.

“How did you find out?”

“I followed her as she met with Morgause and she tried to kill me.”

That surprised Arthur. Morgana had tried to kill him, yet Arthur had never noticed. He felt a pang of guilt knowing that Merlin had likely been hurt and Arthur would have only made it worse by complaining about Merlin not doing his job properly.

“How did you survive?” Arthur asked instead of asking something that would make him feel worse about how he had treated him in the past.

“I am dragonlord,” Merlin confessed, unaware that Arthur already knew of his powers (Arthur was surprised that Merlin didn't make much of a deal of it being revealed), “I called Kilgharrah for help,” Arthur assumed that Kilgharrah was the name of the Great Dragon, and that Merlin was using his name to cover up from the fact that he wasn't dead as best he could under the influence of the potion. Arthur wondered if Merlin had figured out that he had been drugged.

“Did you ever try to stop her?” Arthur asked, not knowing if there had been anything to stop, but Morgana being Morgana, there likely would have been many times where she would have schemed something.

“Yes. I almost killed her,” Merlin confessed again, and shun away from Arthur, ashamed of the truth. Merlin was no murderer.

“Explain,” Arthur demanded. He needed to hear this story. Merlin was unlikely to give it to him willingly no matter the circumstance.

“I was shown a vision of her killing the king. I tried to prevent it, but she fell down the stairs as I tried to stop her.”

Arthur didn't question the bit about visions, and continued with Morgana.

“How did she survive?”

“I asked Kilgharrah to help heal her,” Arthur nodded as he began to see a pattern of the dragon healing people. Arthur had no idea dragons could do that.

“If you knew she would betray us, why did you save her?” Arthur asked puzzled. He would have let her die, he was certain.

“Because you would have been hurt,” Merlin said sincerely and looked at Arthur for the first time since the topic of Morgana's almost death had begun. He looked at Arthur so kindly that the prince couldn't understand what he had ever done to be looked at like that. He changed the topic.

“What did you and Lancelot do when you took off by yourselves?”

“We went for the cup of life,” Merlin explained, and Arthur presumed that that had made a lot of sense. But the cup would have been well-guarded by immortal soldiers. Not even Lancelot would have been good enough to get past all of them.

“How did you get past an immortal army?”

“I used Excalibur,” Merlin said, as if Arthur had any idea what that was.

“What is Excalibur?”

“A sword forged in a dragon's breath with the power to slay the dead,” Merlin said, his eyes marveling, “A sword forged for you.” The fact that Merlin had probably made it went unsaid.

“Then why don't I wield it?”

“You will,” Merlin smiled, “When you are ready.”

Arthur nodded slowly, and asked his last two questions.

“What do you think of me?”

“Arrogant,” Merlin laughed, “Stupidly brave and just. You are kind. The kindest person I know.”

“Why do you stay?”

“You are my friend and I love you. I would never leave.”

Another year went by without Arthur using the potion, but then Lancelot died. Arthur felt guilty. Guinevere felt guilty. Merlin felt guilt. Arthur's hand shook as he put a drop in Merlin's drink.

“Why do you feel guilty?” Arthur asked, his voice sad. It had only been a couple of hours since Lancelot's funeral.

“It should have been me.”

“Why you?” Arthur asked. He didn't want to lose Merlin. He couldn't lose him. He wanted him to know that, but under the effect of the potion, the words would be empty. He wouldn't remember them.

“It is my destiny- no, I- I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want to lose him. I didn't want to lose anyone. It should have been me,” Merlin rambled, clearly not having sorted out his own emotions or truths. Merlin was in pain. Arthur wanted to know why he was suffering so much.

“Was Lancelot special to you?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered, holding back tears.

“Why?”

“He knew my secret,” Merlin's hands trembled. Arthur didn't know what secret he was referring to, but he was slightly hurt that Lancelot had known something Arthur either didn't know, or Merlin didn't know that he knew. Because Merlin had never told him, but somehow Lancelot knew. Arthur knew he was a possessive person, but it shouldn't have been right to ask for the secret merely out of jealousy. But Arthur did anyway.

“What secret?”

“I have magic.”

As soon as the words were out, Merlin slapped his hand over his mouth and took a few steps backwards, away from his prince – his king as he had claimed. His eyes remained locked on Arthur's shocked face, and he breathed heavily, tears forming in his eyes and spilling over, running down his cheeks and over his hand still keeping his mouth closed. Arthur couldn't move. He had thought that Merlin being a dragonlord was overwhelming, but this? He didn't know what to do with this knowledge.

Merlin's eyes tore away from Arthur, and found the goblet still on the table. His eyes went wide with realization as it dawned on him what Arthur had done – must have done for Merlin to so unwillingly spill his secret. He lowered his hand, trying to speak, but nothing came out at first, until he slowly whispered his name.

“Arthur...” Merlin sounded hurt, in disbelief and Arthur expected him to be angry with him, disappointed in him for using such methods against someone he claimed was his friend, “I'm sorry,” Merlin said and Arthur was shocked anew. This wasn't what Merlin was supposed to do, “I'm so sorry,” he repeated, the disbelief being replaced with fear. “I'm sorry. You couldn't trust me to be truthful so you... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur tried, wanting his servant to stop apologizing, but he didn't know what else to say. He tried to take a step towards him, but Merlin backed away from him, frightened, scared, scared of the man he called his king and friend. The man he had claimed to love.

“And now you know,” Merlin continued, “I'm sorry, Arthur, I'll- I'll do whatever you want. I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to find out like this.”

Merlin slid to the floor, still crying and mumbling his apologies, while Arthur was still frozen in place.

“If-” Merlin sobbed, struggling to speak against the tears, “If I meant anything to you, could you- could you grant me one favor?”

Arthur wanted to say 'yes, anything', but the words got stuck in his throat. He didn't know what to do. He wanted Merlin to stop crying. Stop apologizing. Stop acting like Arthur would suddenly hate him when Merlin was the best person he knew. He wanted everything to stop. He wished he had never asked.

“I don't want to burn,” Merlin sobbed, his hands shaking as hugged himself, the thought of fire being too much for him, “Will you kill me?”

Arthur felt like he could throw up as he heard the request. The plea for a painless death. A death Merlin expected, and accepted so easily that Arthur hadn't been able to keep up. Arthur didn't know what to say, but he slowly leaned down to embrace his crying servant. Once in his arms, he could feel just how much Merlin was shaking, but Arthur couldn't find the words of comfort he knew should be uttered. He returned to something familiar, holding his friend close, trying to convey that he would never hurt him.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are kind and brave and just,” Merlin sobbed, and Arthur wanted to say that that wasn't true. If he was kind and just, his crying friend wouldn't think that he would kill him, “You are the strongest person I know.”

Arthur wanted to shake his head. He wasn't strong at all.

“Will you leave?” Arthur asked. Merlin might not remember, but Arthur needed to know that Merlin at least had the sense to protect himself.

“I would rather burn.”

Arthur shed tears as he knocked Merlin out, holding his now unconscious manservant in his arms as he wept over the reality of this man, who had nothing but undying loyalty for a king he believed wanted him dead. He didn't deserve it.

The next morning, Arthur was woken by a bright and smiling Merlin who had no idea of what had aspired the night before. As Merlin smiled at him, going through his plans for the day, a frightening thought entered Arthur's head. For all his apologies, Merlin never once asked Arthur for forgiveness.

After the revelation of Merlin's magic, Arthur realized something about his servant. Something he should have realized long ago. Everything that Merlin did, he did for Arthur. Okay, so perhaps that bit was obvious, and Arthur had kind of known that for a while, but that wasn't exactly what Arthur had noticed. No, what he had noticed was that Merlin would often let Arthur come before what was right. He should have figured it out with Morgause. Merlin had lied to keep Arthur from killing his father, and while that had technically been the right thing to do, Merlin had put the blame on magic.

He should have figured it out with Morgana. Merlin had saved her life despite knowing that she was the enemy, all because Arthur was hurting. Arthur suspected that Merlin would gladly lay ruin to a kingdom if it would make Arthur happy for a week.

So when his father died, Arthur needed Merlin to be honest with him rather than trying to soothe his grief. Because in his grief, he had called magic evil and Merlin hadn't stopped him. In his grief, he had blamed the old man – whom he strongly suspected of being Merlin in disguise – for his father's death and Merlin had said nothing. Arthur needed council. Honest council.

“Is magic evil?”

“It is neither good nor evil. It merely is,” Merlin answered, honestly, wisely.

“Did magic kill my father?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, saddened.

“Whose magic?” Arthur hoped that Merlin wouldn't say his own.

“Morgana's, I suspect,” he said instead, Arthur being thrown for a loop.

“How is it her doing?”

“There was an amulet,” Merlin explained, “It reversed the effects of the healing, killing him instead. We didn't notice it in time,” Merlin looked full of regret. Of course he did. If it had worked, Merlin would have believed that he could open Arthur's mind about magic. Instead, it seemed to have resulted in the opposite.

“So you tried your best to save him?” Arthur asked, trying to kill two birds with one stone.

“Yes, I-” Merlin's eyes widened, “How did you figure it out?” Shock and fear formed on his servant's face as he backed away from Arthur slowly.

“It's you eyes,” Arthur explained, “I would recognize them anywhere.”

“I'm sorry, Arthur,” Merlin cried, “I tried, I-”

“It's okay,” Arthur interrupted, and hugged him. He didn't want Merlin to be as scared as last time. This time he was prepared. This time he would react better. Be a better friend.

“Will you send me away?” Merlin asked frightened. Arthur knew that Merlin feared banishment more than death.

“No,” Arthur said and shook his head.

“Kill me?” Merlin trembled, his voice growing small.

“Never,” Arthur reassured, pulling Merlin in closer.

“I betrayed you,” Merlin sobbed, “Lied to you. Failed you.”

“You didn't fail me,” Arthur said, you never could, he didn't add, “You didn't betray me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What do you think of me?”

“You are the best person I know,” Merlin said and hugged Arthur firmly, afraid of Arthur letting go.

“Would you ever leave?”

“I'd rather you burn me.”

Arthur held back tears as he realized that once again, Merlin never asked for forgiveness.

As king, Arthur always held a trial when someone committed a crime. Arthur stop the persecution of the druids. Arthur never burned a single person. Arthur saved magic users who had never caused any harm, and Arthur tried to clean up the mess his father had left him. Slowly, he rebuild his kingdom, hoping the land he had created was fairer than before.

Lifting the ban on magic was no easy task. Personally, he had a lot to overcome and, legally, his father had made the law hard to change. It was a slow process.

Two years after his father's death, Arthur faced the disir. They gave him a choice. It wouldn't be hard for to choose, yet he still asked for Merlin's advice, wanting to know what his wise servant had to say on the matter. Curious as to how Merlin would convince him to lift the ban.

“Magic has no place in Camelot,” Merlin said and Arthur was shocked. He wanted to ask him why he was lying about something as important and momentous as this, but he didn't. He waited until he had given him the potion.

“Why don't you want me to legalize magic?”

“I do.”

“Then why did you tell me not to?”

“I want Mordred dead,” Merlin's voice was cold as he spoke. Arthur didn't know what Mordred had done to deserve Merlin's hatred. Merlin hardly hated anybody.

“Why?”

“He is destined to kill you. Destiny has not been wrong yet,” Merlin's voice was still cold. He didn't look at Arthur as he spoke.

“Is he loyal to me?”

“For now.”

“If he has done nothing wrong, you shouldn't condemn him,” Arthur said, in disbelief that Merlin would do all of this just to ensure Mordred's death.

“I just want you to live,” Merlin said, his voice desperate and pained.

“You would choose me over magic? Over your own freedom?” Arthur asked slowly, the reality of Merlin's choice hitting him hard.

“Always,” Merlin spoke, his voice strong with loyalty and determination.

“It isn't right,” Arthur pleaded, and Merlin looked down, in shame.

“I'm not as good as you.” Arthur wanted to say that it wasn't true, but he could feel an argument coming. He closed the conversation.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are the best person I know. The kindest, the bravest and the fairest. I wish I was more like you.”

“Will you follow me?”

“Through hell and back.”

All Arthur asked of the disir was time to change the law.

The ban was lifted after a year, but Merlin didn't tell him about his magic. Arthur had just one drop of the potion left, and he was determined to use it. He invited Merlin into his chambers, made him sit down at the table, while Arthur remained standing, leaning over his chair, looking at Merlin.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked his servant, holding up the vial and his servant shook his head.

“It is a truth serum,” he explained and Merlin looked scared for a moment, “Whoever drinks it will tell the truth for one hour and will not remember anything after sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Merlin asked slowly, and Arthur moved away from the table. He took two goblets from the cupboard and poured water in both. He gave Merlin one and put the rest of the serum in his own.

“Why...?” Merlin wondered out loud, but Arthur interrupted him.

“Now you know that I won't lie, and you can tell me anything you want, since I won't remember anything in the morning anyway,” Arthur drank it all before Merlin could interfere.

“I know about your magic and I don't blame you for hiding it from me,” Arthur said as soon as the potion entered his system. Merlin let his jaw drop, before composing himself and asking a question.

“How you do know?”

“You told me.”

The puzzle pieces fell in place slowly, before Merlin asked his next question.

“You've used it on me before?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Nine times.”

Merlin nodded slowly, coming to terms with what Arthur was telling him.

“When did I tell you about my magic?”

“After Lancelot died.”

“Why aren't you angry with me?” Merlin asked, almost frustrated, perhaps angry with himself on Arthur's behalf, “I lied to you. I lied to you, and you knew it.”

“You were scared,” Arthur said quietly, “You thought I was going to kill you.”

“What else did I tell you?”

“You are a dragonlord. The Great Dragon lives. You knew of Morgana's betrayal long before she revealed herself. You tried to save my father despite hating him. Destiny dictates that Mordred will kill me. Those are the biggest truths you have told me.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief, “And you still kept me after all that,” he mumbled to himself, before turning his attention back to Arthur, “How could you know I was loyal to you? Did you ask?”

“I didn't have to.”

“Why?” Merlin breathed, more frustrated with the situation than Arthur had anticipated. Did he want to be punished so badly?

“You wanted to die for me. You said you would stay and follow me through hell. You said you loved me.”

Merlin snorted at the last part: “Truth-serum me must be very mushy.”

Arthur smiled: “I quite liked it.”

“Probably because you knew I wouldn't remember.”

“Probably,” Arthur agreed, he had never really thought about it.

“You don't believe Mordred will kill you?”

“No.” Arthur said simply, “You shouldn't listen to destiny.”

“Who then?” Merlin challenged.

“How about your king?” Arthur suggested cheekily and Merlin laughed.

“Sounds good.”

There was a moment of silence, Merlin smiling to himself, before he asked another question. A question that made Arthur laugh before answering.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are incredibly loyal. Braver than any knight and wiser than any scholar. You are the best person I know.”

“Would you ever make me leave?”

“Never. You are my friend and I love you.”

“Sappy,” Merlin commented, “Did you get that from me?”

“Yes,” Arthur confessed, “It is the truth though.”

“It is.”

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #a drop of truth #long post #fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

The hand that feeds

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, oral, intercourse).

This is dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader has served the royal family for years, but her newest master may be too demanding.

Note: Hey yo! If you wanna leave some feedback, a like, or even reblog, that would be chill. I just decided on a little Loki love today so I hope y'all enjoy!

No one thought the kingdom would stay the same in the wake of Odin’s death. No longer shrouded by the old king’s obstinacy or iron grip. But none had expected an absentee heir. The former prince had not been seen since his coronation. His golden hair topped with a crown even brighter.

It was rumoured he had gone to Midgard to win over the woman he loved. Others suggested he was off getting into his usual trouble. Many expected more of him now that he had inherited the throne, though not so many were truly surprised. Asgard’s ruling family had never been known for their integrity.

The only who seemed to benefit from his absence was the one who often suffered in his presence. Loki was left at the head of the council to sort out the daily duties and attend to whatever trouble rose in the realm. While his brother was away, he could play out his dreams of being king. Though, should Thor be away long enough, he might just stop playing at it.

Even now, Loki sat in front of the throne, forbidden by right to perch upon it. He was a placeholder, nothing more. You watched from your vigil at his shoulder. You had not stood there since the old king ruled. Several months since then. It felt like a lifetime.

Odin’s death marked the end of your tenure. First, you’d attended his wife but upon her demise, he kept you on. A reminder of his beloved. A loyal servant who nearly died in her defence gifted with preference for years of service. And it had all so easily dissolved upon the new king’s ascent.

Until that day.

As you prepared to tend to your new duties in the kitchen, Helga stopped you and took the kettle from your hands. Her square jaw was a sharp as ever as she gave her orders. She handed off the brass vessel to another and stared you down.

“Seems you have been called back to your former bearing,” She said. “The prince has need of a cup bearer this morning as he hears the people’s grievances. And judging by the crowd, he will be in sore need of wine.”

You set the large goblet and pitcher on a tray and set off for your duty. You did not miss it. Standing endlessly as you listened to the complaints of farmers and lords alike. The king’s, or in this case, the prince’s diplomatic, at times terse, response.

Loki signalled you with two fingers when he was in need of a sip, more often a gulp. He didn’t look at you as you offered the cup or as he placed it back on your tray. Several times you had to angle yourself to catch the goblet. As the morning turned to afternoon, your feet ached. You’d quickly forgotten the toll of the task. Your hips, your knees, your arms from balancing the tray. You hid it all behind a servant’s mask.

At last, the day’s session came to an end. Loki stood and the servants and audience bowed as he did. Even as you dipped your head, you didn’t miss the glimmer of satisfaction in his emerald eyes. And he didn’t miss your glance. He squinted as he caught your errant gaze. You lowered your lashes and righted yourself.

He neared, his cape brushed along the toes of your slippers as he passed. “With me,” He said under his breath, “I should like some fresh wine.”

“Your highness,” You followed him through the door behind the throne.

“I’ll be in my solar.” He said curtly. “Bring enough for Lord Bjarke, as well.”

“Yes, your highness.” You replied.

He turned down the hall and left you to scurry away. His cloak flapped noisily around his long strides and seemed to echo around you as you turned the corner. You quickly rinsed his goblet and grabbed another. You went to the cellar and found a bottle of the Northern red. It was his favourite, you recalled from the nights he attended supper with Odin.

You were quick to arrive at his solar. You knocked and he called from within. You entered with the customary bow and he gestured to his desk. Lord Bjarke scratched his thick black beard as you set down the tray and poured their drinks. He seized his almost at once as Loki barely noticed your presence. You backed away courteously and neared the door.

“Stay,” He didn’t look at you, merely pointed to the corner to the right of him. “We may need more wine.”

“Oh we may,” Lord Bjarke guffawed as droplets glistened in his grey-streaked beard. “Maybe some ale.”

“Well, let’s attend to important matters before you get too deep in your cups,” Loki warned as he spread out a parchment and leaned over it. “Despite your rank, my lord, you cannot so openly infringe upon the royal forest.”

“Infringe, my prince, I was granted land for my service to your father.” Bjarke argued.

“You were but I have that grant right here,” Loki took another paper, “It does not include my family’s hunting grounds.”

He slid the deed across to Bjarke and reached for his goblet. He sniffed before he sipped. A slight curve of his lips as he set the cup aside. For a moment, his eyes strayed in your direction but he quickly corrected himself.

“No animals venture along that border. They are too meek for that.” Bjarke scoffed. “I see little issue in me expanding my crops.”

“I do. I’m sure my brother would too. And despite my father’s favour for you, if he were still alive, he’d very much have an issue with this.” Loki hissed. “And I suspect you know that, hence why you’ve waited until his death to trespass.”

“Trespass? No...I--” Bjarke stuttered.

“Yes,” Loki insisted. “So, I will give you two options, and let me warn you, my lord, I am not in the habit of lenience but I should allow you this one oversight. So, you can cease your trespass on royal land and we can drop the matter altogether or you can carry on and pay the crown eighty percent of your harvest for use of our land.” Loki smirked. “Oh, and of course a fine for the crime itself.”

“I--I think you forget yourself, my prince, you might be head of council but it does not make you king. As I recall, your brother wears the crown.” Bjarke snarled.

“And he has left his duty to me. I am his voice now and my will is his. So, you make your choice. Be gracious for the wealth you’ve already acquired, or insist on your greed and lose it. If it were a rainy day, I should make the choice for you.”

Bjarke grumbled and drained his cup. “I shall relent, my prince.” He stood and slammed down the goblet.

“Let’s not forget ourselves, my lord, I could have made this same offer in front of the people. Could’ve declared your crimes to the kingdom itself. Though, it wouldn’t have been much of an offer then.” Loki warned.

“Yes, your highness,” Bjarke swallowed his anger and bowed. You watched the man, named for the bear he resembled, stomp out of the chamber. His heavy boots could be heard as they faded on the other side of the door.

You stared at the carved wood. Parchment rustled along the desk as Loki resumed his work. His ring softly clinked against the goblet and you looked over as he leaned back in his chair. He stretched his legs out beneath the desk and hooked one over the other as he reclined lazily.

“You’re a clever one.” He mused as he glanced over at you.

“Your highness?” You wondered.

“The wine. Northern. You remember.” He grinned. “My own father never recalled, but you do.”

“With respect, your highness, your mother always made certain to have it stocked for you.” You replied.

He nodded and took another drink. “My mother…” He repeated. “I heard a tale about you.”

“A tale?” You raised a brow.

“This kingdom is full of rumours, it is hard to know which to believe.” He finished the cup and set it down. He motioned for you to refill it. As you stepped forward, he watched you. “It is said you tried to save my mother.”

“I failed, your highness.” You set down the pitcher. “She was much braver than me.”

“My father liked you, too,” He carried on. “I recall that. Very fond of you, indeed.”

You tilted your head but said nothing.

“But my brother sent you back to the kitchens.” He shook his head. “Very unfortunate.”

“I am a servant. I go where I am bid.” You replied evenly.

“Loyal to a fault,” He remarked. “You are better than the kitchens.” He took another sip and swirled the wine in the cup, watching the small tidal he created within. “I am in need of a chambermaid.”

He held your eyes as he drank. You stood in patient silence. A servant’s duty.

“So, you go where you are bid. I bid you in my chamber.” His eyes flared and he chuckled. “Pardon my poor wording.”

“Your highness.” You bowed and he focused on you. Trying to see past your facade.

“Well then, best be off to your new duties.” He said. “You will attend my supper as well. Tonight is a feast and I expect more of this.” He doffed his cup.

With your dismissal, you left and hurried down the corridors. Helga would be unhappy with your re-assignment but you wouldn’t have to deal with her much.

You fell into your duties easily. They were familiar; second-nature. The only difference was Loki. He wasn’t much in his chambers; mostly his solar or the great hall. Yet, you were almost always in his presence. He kept you close, to refill his goblet or fetch him some other fancy.

You tidied his chambers, attended his plate, and saw to the order of his solar. Thor remained gone and Loki remained as he was. Overworked and overjoyed. He basked in his temporary power, at times, you thought, a bit too much. At other times, you saw his mother in him. He was pensive, often quiet, but his menace set him apart.

You could see it in his eyes. He read other people; measured them and how he could use them. You could tell he was still trying to do so with you. You caught him staring at you at times. Others, he’d speak to you as he had that first day. Never happy with your answers, always pushing for more. It was harmless; it was Loki. You’d seen him do the same to his own blood. His little games.

The day had been tense. Loki met with Odin’s old master of war, Lord Eadric. The grizzled veteran was unhappy with the new king’s absence. Unhappy with the prince’s work. He shared Odin’s distrust for the dark-haired son. Their meeting turned to raised voices and spilled wine.

You stood in the corner as Eadric stormed from the room. The door shook in its frame. The old man was stronger than he looked. Loki gripped the edge of his desk as he sat. Wine dripped down the wood and his angry breaths filled the silence.

You righted the pitcher that had been overturned and took the cloth from your apron pocket. You wiped the desk and bent to clean the floor. You mopped up the mess and sensed his gaze on you. You looked up as Loki watched you. His features had softened and he no longer looked so angry. You turned back to your work and stood as you finished up.

“Thank you,” He said quietly as he rubbed his forehead. “I think I will take my supper alone. In my chamber.”

“Your highness.” It was an order. Most of his words were.

You bowed and left him, the wet cloth in hand. The door closed behind you and was followed by the sound of metal on stone. He had thrown the goblet. You retreated quickly away from his solar and sought out the kitchens. You were not eager to return to the agitated prince.

You tossed the cloth in the hamper meant for dish towels and grabbed a tray from the stack. You loaded up a platter and placed a lid over it. You stopped by the cellars for a bottle of Northern red and carried on to the prince’s chambers. He often ate in his solar or at the feast table with the court. It was best he keep to himself after such a display.

You set down the tray as you entered and lit the lanterns one at a time. His receiving chamber was large but cozy. A black bear skin before the hearth, a velvet chaise atop it. You carried the tray to the round table and set the wine beside it. You knelt to stoke the fireplace before you tended to the chamber.

It was already tidy. Your work was truly minimal. Loki didn’t leave much of a mess. You knew, however, if you left, he would be unhappy. You had done so one night on the presumption that your duties were finished and he had reprimanded you for it the next day. And the day after. He made sure you learned your lessons well.

You waited by the wall. You stood patiently as they time passed slowly and cursed your fortune. Among servants, your position was an envied one but it was just as tedious as any other.

When the door opened, you were ready to close your eyes and attempt to doze upright. Loki swept in and you greeted him with a bow.

“Wine,” He demanded as he pulled his chair out and sat heavily.

You neared the table and poured the wine steadily. You corked the bottle and set it back down. He took it swiftly and drank deeply. It was half-empty when he drew it away from his lips. You remained close, ready for his next order.

He licked his lips and looked up at you. His green as twinkled as if he only just recalled your presence. He considered you as his brows twitched.

“Sit,” He waved to the chair in front of you. You looked down at it but didn’t move. He waited and repeated himself tersely. You pulled the chair out and sat lightly. His mother had let you sit with her but never Odin, or any other. He put the cup down and slid it over to you. “Have a drink.”

“Your highness,” You protested. “It is against palace rules for servants to indulge.”

“I said drink,” He commanded. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your marm.”

You blinked and grabbed the goblet by the stem. You looked into the dark depths of the wine. You sipped from the golden rim daintily and placed it back on the table. He scoffed and shook his head.

“Finish it,” He said.

You resisted a frown and took the cup once more. You brought it to your lips and he pushed the bottom of it up as you drank. You drained it and coughed as he finally let you pull it away. He took the goblet as you wiped your mouth with your sleeve and he chuckled.

“Are you hungry?” He asked as he removed the lid from the platter.

“No.” You answered, your throat still seared from the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Very well,” He accepted and speared a carrot with his fork. “Heimdall says Thor should return shortly. Who knows how long he’ll remain though.”

You nodded and kept quiet. He looked up from his plate and watched you as he chewed. He swallowed and smirked.

“Don’t you ever get bored of it? Watching others eat and drink and whine? Cleaning up after them?” He asked.

“That’s my duty, your highness.” You replied flatly. “As you have yours.”

He nodded and took another bite. He ate as you saw the thoughts bounce across his face. His jaw tensed and the vein stuck out on his forehead. He finished and replaced the lid on the platter. He refilled his own cup and drank from it deeply.

“You may clean this up,” He motioned to the dishes. “And fetch another bottle and a cup for yourself.”

You rose without argument. He wasn’t of the mood for it, not that he ever was. You gathered the platter and cutlery on the tray and swept from the room. You grabbed a second bottle of red and another goblet and headed back. You dreaded your return.

When you entered, Loki was stood by the hearth. His hand was on the mantle as he stared into the flames. You set down your wares and waited for him to speak. He barely seemed to notice your presence. His fingers tapped on the stone ledge and he turned suddenly.

“Remove my cloak for me.” He commanded.

You neared and he stood still for you. You unclasped the green cape from each shoulder as he watched your hands. You draped it over your arm and left him to hang it on its hook along the wall. You heard the chair scrape on the floor as he sat again and you turned back.

“Another drink,” He insisted.

You went to the table and poured him a cup. He pushed the other up for you to fill. He took his goblet and pointed to the other chair. You sat and he handed you the second cup. He clinked his against yours and took a gulp. You mimicked him, the wine bitter on your tongue.

“I’d think servants would be more in need of a drink than nobles,” He commented. “I don’t know how you bear us.”

“Barely,” You returned without thinking. You clasped your lips shut and set down your cup.

He chuckled and drank some more. “You are...amusing, dear.” He emptied his goblet and placed it on the table. “I see why my mother liked you.”

He stood and stretched his arms as he stepped away. He yawned and paced the perimeter of the room. You made to rise and he stopped you with a raised hand.

“Ah. Finish your wine.” He ordered. “Then you may assist me in retiring for the night.”

You looked over at him as he continued to stride along the room. He watched you and smirked. He nodded for you drink and you lifted the cup. You took large gulps, each swallow easier than the last. You held in a belch and set aside the goblet. Your cheeks were warm and your head felt fuzzy.

Loki came up just behind you and leaned over you to check your cup. He touched your shoulder and backed away. “Very well, then. I should like a bath drawn.”

“Your highness,” You stood a bit too quick and grabbed the table.

You righted yourself and turned to pass him as he stood by the door to the bedroom. You swept into the bath chamber and worked the pump until it began to spew hot water. You stepped back and turned as Loki entered behind you. His eyes followed your movement and he began to undo the clasps along the chest of his jacket.

“Towel,” He said. “You shall attend to my bath this evening.”

You bowed your head, the words caught in your throat. You went to the bedchamber and grabbed a towel from the closet. You returned to the bath chamber and blanched. You almost stumbled as Loki’s pale ass greeted you. He stood in the large round tub, naked, and lowered himself with a groan against the side of the basin.

You hung the towel on the rod and kept your eyes on the floor as you turned. You folded your hands in front of you and listened to the water splash down. You could hear him moving around and you bit down on your tongue. A female servant attending a male noble in his bath was unseemly. Helga would say it was forbidden.

“You may turn the water off.” Loki declared.

You refused to look at him as you neared the large tub; big enough for six of him. You bent and twisted the faucet and straightened up. The steam dampened the front of your apron and you smoothed it out as you resumed your stance. You blinked as you tried to clear the fog from your head.

You could feel his eyes on you. The way he always watched you. You could not tell if it was spite or intrigue. Likely the former. You raised your eyes to his and he stared back. His arms were stretched over the rim of the basin as the steam rose up around him.

“I hear the servants bathe in the river. Is that true?” He asked.

“We do,” You assured him.

“Hmmm, I always thought to sneak down and see for myself…” He grinned. “Perhaps you’d be there?”

The heat spread from your cheeks and down your neck. Your chest filled with fire as you held his gaze; speechless. He chuckled to himself and it hung in the air. His eyes fell from yours.

“Join me.” He said.

“Your highness?” You glanced at the door.

“Get that grimy apron off and join me,” He repeated.

Your mouth fell open. You clutched your hands together and gaped at him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“I won’t tell you a third time.” He warned.

It took a moment to find your strength. You pondered the door again. If you ran, would he come after you? Even if he didn’t, you were certain he’d have you not only out of his service, but out of the palace. You swallowed and reached back to untie your apron. Your fingers were clumsy as they tugged on the knots.

You lifted the apron over your head and sling it over the counter. You knelt to remove your sandals and kept your eyes on the tile. You unbuckled your belt and your plain gown fell loose. You placed the braided leather on your apron and slowly lifted the fabric along your legs.

The more skin you bared, the more you trembled. When you bathed in the river, there were dozens around. But there had never been any princes. As you freed yourself from the gown, you looked up to find Loki’s eyes set on you. Your thigh-length shift did little to conceal your curves. You folded the dress up with the rest of your clothes.

“Go on,” He breathed.

You tensed and grabbed the hem of your shift. His gaze didn’t waver as you pulled it up and you braced yourself as you bared yourself to him entirely. You tossed the shift a top your dress and neared the tub.

You lifted your leg over the large circular basin and stepped inside. You tried not to look at Loki as you lowered yourself against the stone. You hugged your knees to your chest and hugged them shyly. The water shifted as he moved and you tried not to flinch.

He came up beside you, his arm behind you as his hand settled on your wrist. He gripped it firmly but did not pull. He leaned into you and his hot breath added to the steam.

“Now, now, I know you’re not daft.” He purred and slowly moved your hand. Your legs fell and left you prone.

You bit your lip as he guided your hand further down. He pressed your palm to his cock and you winced. He pushed your fingers closed around him and you turned your face away from him.

“Don’t let go.” He demanded. He removed his hand and grabbed your chin. He made you look at him as you clung to his cock. “Move your hand, dear. Up….” You slowly glided your hand along his length and he exhaled deeply, “Down...again. Oh yes.”

You kept the motion as he hugged you closer. His hand slipped from your chin and crawled along your throat. He cupped you breast and then the other. He played with them, fondled them, and tweaked your nipples before he bent to take one in his mouth.

You pushed yourself against the marble desperately and let go of him. He growled against your flesh and grabbed your hand. He replaced it on his cock and nipped you. You whimpered and stroked him again.

His hand went to your thighs and kneaded the flesh. His fingers dipped between them and you wriggled against him. He raised his head with a sneer. He leaned close and spoke in your ear. “Be a good servant and tend to your prince.” It was a threat. Serve your prince or serve no other.

“Your highness,” Your voice was thin; scared.

He dragged his fingers along your folds and around your clit. He his lips to your temple as he breathed into your hair. He caressed you as your hand continued to play with him. His touch grew firmer, quicker, and stoked a new heat. You shuddered and closed your eyes. A dark laugh escaped his lips as he felt your body surrender.

His fingers slipped down and he pressed his palm to your clit. His fingers circled your entrance and slowly dipped inside. You gasp as he pushed deeper, curving to find your special place. You quivered as he moved his hand slowly. The friction along your bud added to the sensation.

You could barely keep your own hand moving as he played with you. He pulled back and his other hand stretched along your neck. He worked his fingers harder, faster, and the water rippled around you. Your breath hitched and you struggled to catch it as your core began to bloom.

It swelled and swelled until you came suddenly, a pathetic mewl escaped your lips. In your rapture, your hand had still but gripped Loki tightly. He rocked his hips and pulled his fingers out. He brushed your hand away from his cock and stood.

He moved in front of you and grabbed the back of your head. He forced you onto your knees and dragged you closer. You brought your hands up to push against his thighs but he was much too strong. Your arms shook as you struggled with him. Half-drunk and still awash in the afterglow. You were weak, senseless.

“Open up, dear,” He grabbed your chin with his other hand. “Don’t you know the punishment for a disobedient servant?”

Your eyes rounded. The thought of the leather strap flashed through your mind. You opened your mouth and he pushed inside. Your hands slipped down as he sank to the back of your throat. He went deeper until you gagged, and only allowed you a moment to steady yourself.

He pulled you back and thrust back in just as quickly. He held you in place as he fucked your face and you splashed helplessly in the water. His grunts mixed with your gags and the stir of the water around you. He plunged down your throat and stopped. He shuddered and removed himself in a single motion.

He let go and you fell back, barely keeping your head from hitting the marble. You gasped and choked as you reached around you blindly and turned to crawl out of the tub. He caught your hips as you were halfway out. He pushed you against the marble so that you were bent over the edge and slapped your ass. You yelped and he did it again.

“Not so fast,” He taunted as his nails dug into your hip and his other pinched your ass. “My ever loyal servant, you know better than to leave before you are dismissed.”

His cock poked your ass and he guided it down. You squirmed and he held you against the tub as he rubbed along your entrance. You reached out for the floor, so far away. There was nothing else to latch onto. He pushed himself along your folds and spread your juices along the tip of his cock.

He aligned himself and delved into you. You swung out behind you and tried to push him away. He ignored your fingertips as they poked his hip. He bottomed out and you exclaimed. He was too much. Too big. It hurt and yet as he pulled back, your walls quaked. Delighted by the feel of him inside you.

He grabbed your arms as you struggled and pulled you back by your elbows. With your hips still against the basin, he thrust into you. Your back arched painfully as he restrained you and his wet flesh clapped against yours. You whined and whimpered with each plunge. The pain mingled with pleasure as your head spun in shock and confusion.

“Please,” You begged. “Please…”

“It is forbidden for a servant to lay with a noble.” He snarled as he fucked you harder and harder. His fingers grew tighter around your arms. “But, should anyone…find out…” He spoke between grunts, “Who do you think will suffer?” He growled and let go of your arms.

You held yourself up against the tub and he rutted into you. His hand snaked around to play with your tit as his other hand squeezed your ass.

“Not me. Fuck.” He panted as sped up. You hung your head and tried to fight the rapture as it rose within you. “Gods, you’re tight.”

You shook as you came. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. But he knew. He could see the ripple along your spine and the tremble in your thighs. He slammed into you harder and moved his hands to your hips. He clung to you as his thrusts turned spasmodic and his voice rose in a snarl.

He pulled out of you and spilled his seed down your thigh. He rubbed his cock along your skin to spread his cum and smacked your ass again. He backed away and your arms collapsed. You slid down into the water; breathless against the marble as you looked up at him in a haze.

“It won’t be so bad, my pet,” He bent and caressed your cheek, “A favoured servant earns certain favours.”

#loki #dark!loki #fic #loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #dark loki #dark loki x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #thor #mcu #marvel #au #darkverse #dark!verse

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kirachama · 6 years

Text

sinners like us (saeran x reader, part v)

summary: For days there’s been a boy in the hospital room next door who won’t stop screaming. And, against your better judgement, you decide to find out who exactly this guy is.

rating: 13+ (mentions/allusions to neglect)

notes: oof. managed to finish in time, though i could have done a better job at proof-reading so please excuse any typos. ;; thanks to kelsey for her help!

probably not the most amazing chapter since no saeran, but he will be back next chapter! instead this chapter just has a lot about mc. tbh, i’ve been so very nervous about it so i hope you guys do enjoy!

also ray route so soon! i’m very excited but also very nervous...

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

It was rare for you to leave your room on your own.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like to go out, but you’d already explored every nook and cranny of your home only to find nothing really of interest. When you were younger, the maids would occasionally play hide and seek with you. But when your parents found out, they ordered them to stop, saying that a child shouldn’t be interfering with an adult’s work.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

The door to your room quietly creaked open, revealing one of the house maids. You looked up from your desk and watched her, waiting for her to explain the reason why she’d come. If anything, she had probably come to tell you that your parents had signed you up for yet another extracurricular activity. You’d thought that violin and piano lessons would have been enough.

“...yes?”

“...A family has moved in next door,” the maid said quietly. You’d noticed the moving trucks from the window, but you still didn’t understand why she had come to tell you. “...they have a child around your age.”

Your eyes widened. A… child? You felt something warm burst in your chest. A neighbor your age was someone you could befriend. Maybe your parents wouldn’t let the servants play with you, but perhaps they’d be more lenient with a child. Automatically, you rose from your seat and made your way to the door. The maid, with a small smile on her face, stepped to the side, allowing you to run past. You bounded down the stairs and out the front door. When you got to the gate, you promptly unlocked it and ran onto the sidewalk toward the neighbor’s house.

You watched as a bunch of movers carried a myriad of boxes into the house. Where was the child? Your head whipped back and forth as you searched. The maid had never said if they were a boy or a girl, but you figured you’d be able to find them amongst the sea of adults. But you couldn’t seem to find them. Were they maybe inside?

You wondered if you could maybe sneak inside. Your parents would be mad if they found out. But it always felt like they were mad at you anyway; they never let you have any kind of fun.

“Excuse me?”

You jumped at the sound of a voice behind you. Slowly, you turned to find a young girl around your age.

“I… uh…” you tried to think of something to say, suddenly feeling nervous. “I… live next door.”

The girl’s smile brightened at the sound of your words. “Really?! It’s nice to meet you! My name is Eunju Kim!”

She outstretched her hand towards yours and after a moment of hesitation you extended your own hand to meet hers.

“I’m…”

“Mm…”

The dream fades out as you slowly begin to stir. Part of you wants to go back to sleep, but you’ve crossed too much of the conscious threshold to go back now. You blink your eyes open to find Eunju staring at you, an amused smile playing at her lips.

“Good morning, sunshine, or should I maybe say, good afternoon?”

Your face scrunches up a bit, “...what... time is it?”

“One in the afternoon,” she answers, the smile never leaving her face. “You know, you’ve been getting up late these days… is it perhaps because of your recent midnight visits to a certain screamer boy?”

You flush automatically at the mention of Saeran.

Eunju’s smile widens upon seeing your response and you look away from her, feeling even more embarrassed. After you told her that he’s not as bad as the screaming might imply, she’s taken every possible opportunity to tease you. Eunju leans closer toward you and asks, “...did you see him last night too?”

Part of you thinks that, at this point, it should be obvious, given what she just said. Despite that, Eunju merely watches and waits, an expectant look glowing in her eyes. Finally, you nod, “I… did.”

Looking delighted, Eunju follows up with another question, “Did you guys go on another garden date?”

Your face immediately heats up and you sputter, “Th-that wasn’t a date!”

“You don’t think so?”

“No! I just thought it would be a nice place to go since he’s always stuck in that room!”

Eunju raises an eyebrow and you have the feeling that she doesn’t believe you. “Then what did you do last night?”

“I…” you hesitate for the briefest second. You don’t really want to lie to Eunju but you also don’t want to tell her what you’re actually making. They’re supposed to be a surprise. “I was showing him how to make paper stars.”

“Paper wishing stars, huh…” She glances over at the table beside the hospital bed where a few tall jars filled to the brim with hundreds of the colorful stars sit. The both of you had worked on them together, slowly filling jar after jar over the past couple of months. Gingerly, she reaches in one of the jars and pulls out one single star and rolls it between her finger. Then she looks up at you, “...hey, do you have feelings for him?”

You can see where she’s coming from, but at the same time it seems like such an odd thing to ask. “...we haven’t known each other for very long… Plus I can’t even say I know him very well.”

“And since when has either of those things been a requirement for liking people?” Eunju argues in a gentle tone. “Some people click right away. Like how you and I did.”

You recall the dream you had earlier. After that very first introduction, you and Eunju had become the best of friends. And it’s been that way ever since. Acknowledging her point, you nod, though… “I’m not really sure if you can really say he and I clicked…”

“But you keep going back, don’t you?” she points out.

“And? Do you think I like him just because of that?” you frown a little bit.

“It’s just… I’ve never seen you so interested in someone else…” She pauses for a moment, then then adds in a thoughtful tone. “Maybe you don’t have feelings now, but I think that you definitely could if you gave it a shot. He certainly seems like he could be interested in you.”

You almost tell her that that’s not possible, pushing down the memories of the closeness from the night in the garden and the smile from night before. It probably wouldn’t be wise to look to much into his actions and assume his feelings from those, but along with those memories the memory of that fluttery feeling also comes to mind. And if all those love stories Eunju’s shoved your way over the years are any indication those feelings are possibly a prelude to more profound feelings. “I… maybe. It’s still… too early to tell.”

Eunju gives you a satisfied you a satisfied smile, “Maybe… You know, maybe it’d help if you actually went home once in a while and pick out some nicer clothes to wear when you visit!”

“What?!” you exclaim. “I do go home!”

Eunju crosses her arms, giving you a pointed look, “And when was the last time you went home?”

You take a quick second to think about it, “...two days ago.”

“...maybe I should ask the nurses to not let you use the showers so you go home frequently like a normal person.”

“Two days is not that long. Plus, you know as well as I do that I’ve stayed longer! Besides…” you pause to give her a cocky grin. “Who do you think the nurses are going you listen to- you or me, the hospital director’s kid?”

“...you never know, maybe they’ll listen to me; make you go home every night and give your parents some peace of mind.”

You scoff automatically, “I doubt they’re worried; they know where I am.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eunju frowning with a concerned look in her eye. You know exactly what she wants to say. The two of you have had that conversation countless times over the years. You know where she’s coming from, why she has the opinion that she does. Eunju has a good relationship with her parents while yours is… complicated.

You barely saw them as a child, but they’d make all sorts of demands in regards to your education and extracurriculars without considering your feelings in the slightest. It was terrible, suffocating even. But through some miracle, they allowed you to spend time with Eunju and her family so long as your grades didn’t suffer. And even now you’re grateful for it; Eunju and her parents gave you a place to go when things got too hard or lonely at home and if it weren’t for that you may have turned out much worse off.

“...don’t say that… They’re just… busy, you know?” Eunju tells you in a soothing voice. “...I’m sure they care, they just have their own way of doing it.”

“...I guess,” you mutter bitterly. “...if they didn’t care, they probably would have ignored me completely when I asked if they’d help your family with the cost of you staying here.”

“...yes, and my family and I are eternally grateful for that.”

“It’s the least I could have done… given everything your family has done for me,” you say softly. The only benefit you’ve ever seen from being your father’s child is that it made it easy for Eunju to get access to treatment when she became ill. It was the first time you’d ever begged and pleaded with him for something. You’d like to think that maybe you got through somehow, but there’s a tiny part of you thinks he may have agreed to get you to leave him alone. “Everything is good, right? The room? The food?”

Eunju laughs a little, “Yes, yes, everything is just fine.”

You pout a tiny bit at her nonchalant answer, but you also know she probably wouldn’t tell you anything different. “...well, if you do need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

She smiles and nods when the both of you hear a knock on the door. A second later it slides open and reveals one of the nurses. She shoots the two of you a smile as she comes in with a tray in hand.

“I’ve brought your lunch!” the nurse says cheerfully, setting the tray down on the overbed table. Then, with a wave she heads back to the door. “I’ll be back to take the tray in about an hour!”

Eunju nods her head and starts to eat. In the meantime, you reach into your bag and fish out a bag filled with strips for making paper stars and busy yourself with making those. After a couple minutes, Eunju starts to finish up so you get up and walk over to the fridge on the other side of the room. You open it and inside is a long row of pudding cups that you bought for Eunju. While they’re not the most healthy treats in the world, the both of you have loved them ever since you were kids. Usually the both of you end up eating one a day. Two if it’s a really bad day.

“Why don’t you give one to Saeran?” Eunju suggests from behind you.

You turn to look at her, “You sure?”

She shrugs, “It’s not like I’m hurting for pudding. Besides, you’re the one who bought them after all.”

You look back at the pudding cups. Somehow, you doubt Saeran’s getting any sweet treats along with his meals outside of fruit. It’s not that fruit is bad, it’s just not the same though… But does he even like pudding? You don’t even know… What if he doesn’t? Would bringing a pudding offend him if he didn’t?

“What’s up?” Eunju asks, interrupting your internal debate.

“...what if he doesn’t like them?”

“What kind of person doesn’t like sweets?” Eunju responds in a matter-of-fact tone. “And on the off chance that he doesn’t, you can just eat it yourself. It’s a win-win, really.”

She has a point. If he likes it, then you’ve done something nice for him and if he doesn’t then you get pudding. You nod a little to yourself deciding that you’ll bring him one later. Then, you grab a pudding for you and Eunju before shutting the fridge. After you hand her one, you take yours back to your chair, popping it open the second you sit down.

You should probably have a proper lunch, but pudding will do for now. Using the tiny spoon that came with the pudding, you take a bite. You don’t know what they put in this pudding but it always tastes so good and before you know it you’re eaten the entire thing. Eunju, on the other hand, seems to be taking her time, she’s about halfway done by the time you finish.

There’s another knock at the door, and you glance in that direction wondering who it is. The door slides open and the person who walks in is Dr. Kwon, Eunju’s doctor. He glances at you first and smiles, “...I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, should I?”

You bow your head respectfully, “Hello, Dr. Kwon…”

He nods, acknowledging your greeting and turns to Eunju, “And how are you feeling today?”

Eunju puts her spoon down and gives him a smile, “I’m doing well.”

“That’s good.”

He walks a little more into the room and and gives you an expectant look. Realizing that he wants to have a private talk with Eunju you rise from your chair. You shoot her a smile, “I’ll be back later.”

Eunju nods and you give her a small wave, and walk past Dr. Kwon out into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It’d probably be a good time to get lunch or something. You wonder if you should just get something from the hospital cafe or go to one of the nearby restaurants. Both the main entrance and the hospital cafe are in the same direction, so you figure you can think it over as you walk. You’ll pass Saeran’s room too, so maybe you can pop in and say a quick hello. It’d be different to see him during the daytime hours.

But as you start walking you realize that there are a couple people outside of Saeran’s door, one of the nurses and a young man with bright red hair. Too bad. You’ll just have to wait until later to see Saeran. The man talking with the nurse bows a little, looking somewhat apologetic before the nurse says something to him and walks away. You wonder if Saeran was causing problems again. But you didn’t hear screaming so it must have not been too bad.

Hearing your approach, the man turns his head toward you. Now that you can see his face a little better, something about him seems oddly familiar even though you’re fairly sure you’ve never seen him before. Someone like him seems like they’d stand out. You make eye contact and and his expression changes to something akin to recognition. But as you walk past he doesn’t say anything.

At least not at first.

“Excuse me?”

The two of you are the only ones in the hallway now so you’re the only person he can be talking to. You stop and turn around to face him. Now that you’re closer you can see him a little more clearly, and it becomes apparent to you why he looked so familiar.

The hair is different, and the eyes are different, but… this man looks a lot like Saeran.

#saeran x reader #mystic messenger fanfic #saeran x reader fanfiction #saeran choi #mystic messenger fanfiction

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peakyposts · 6 years

Text

Don’t Be Late

Michael Gray

(warning: mentions of sexual assault)

When you’d first met the Shelby family they were instantly weary of your arrival. Why had you decided to show up when you did? Michael pleaded your case for weeks and months before even a sliver of trust came your way. It was the point that Michael had brought up when Tommy had come to you for a favour. Michael couldn’t understand why they would want someone they didn’t trust for a job.

“I just need someone they’ve never seen before, Michael,” Thomas had tried, “and at least this way she can prove she’s trustworthy.”

“And knowing her since I moved to that village isn’t enough?”

The two stared at each other, looking like they were about to ring the other’s throats. They been arguing for almost an hour, not even acknowledging your presence despite the entire thing being about you. Though, it was you who stopped them from going at each other, stepping in front of Michael to remind them you were still there.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You asked, looking between the boys, Tommy smiled and from behind you you could feel Michael roll his eyes.

“Yes”

“No”

Both you and Tommy narrowed your eyes this time, Michael sighed in defeat, rubbing his face with his hands. Smiling happily, you turned back to his cousin.

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation. Even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel the shock that Michael was feeling. You were usually the one getting the two of you in trouble, but this wasn’t just risking a stern talking to from your mums, no, this was risking getting caught and taking a bullet. “I will be paid for my services, correct?” Tommy smiled at you and couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“Yes, I will see to it that you are paid a handsome amount for your efforts,” he assured you. You watched as his hand went to the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a stack of notes that he held out to you, “buy yourself a pretty dress and I’ll have Michael pick you up before the gala,” he said, urging you to take the money in his hand.

Michael reached out his instead, taking it while his other moved protectively around your waist. You could see Thomas suppress the annoyance but couldn’t comment on it before Michael led you away and out of the office, not bothering to say a goodbye.

You felt the eyes on you as you danced, both on you and the considerably older man holding you closer than what would have been deemed appropriate for the event. Tommy had been assured the man never went anywhere alone, be it with a mate or with a woman, as long as he has someone by his side. Your only job was to get him to leave the room with you, into a hidden room away from all the people for Tommy to confront. He assured you you’d be safe but as the man turned you around you could see the watchful eye of the few Blinders who made it.

“You look beautiful, love, what did you say your name was?” The man asked, you couldn’t help but smile back at him, though he was nearly twice your age, you had to admit he was a handsome man. Shame he would probably be dead by nightfall.

“Viktoria Smirnov,” you lied, growing up in a strict family, in a boring village, full of people looking for a bit of gossip, you had been forced to develop that skill.

He hummed again, and it was a bit like the hum Michael would make when you’d crawl onto his lap on late nights, it made you realize you had to start working harder. It was the last effort that would get him to leave with you, and even though it was your only job that night, it was the only thing that could get the rest of the night moving smoothly. As much as you could you moved closer, standing with your chest pressed to his now as your hands started moving down his arms.

Leaning his head down, he barely let his lips touch you ear before whispering, “you are a very beautiful woman, Miss Smirnov.” It wasn’t just his hot breath that you felt, it was also his hands started to roam further and further down your back. You smirked and went up on your toes, doing to him exactly what he did you to. You used the opportunity to look over his shoulder and the first person you saw was one of the Blinders, he was looking straight at you pointing to the watch on his hand. You had no more time to be hinting and persuading, you needed to get him out of that room at that moment.

“Beautiful enough to fuck me in the washroom?” You whispered not bothering to hide your bluntness. He stiffened at your words and you rolled your eyes, men were easy. With him still looking away from you, you took the opportunity to look around for Michael, and when you found him you smirked. Michael Gray was not a happy man. He caught your eye and you winked, mouthing the words ‘love you’ before pulling away from the man.

“I’m sure we can find better accommodations in a home like this.” You had to suppress the urge to narrow your eyes, you’d planned with Tommy to take him to the servant’s toilets, it was the most secluded place in the house that offered an easy get away. The job not getting done wasn’t the most of your problems either, if he’d take you anywhere else they wouldn’t have time to get to you before anything was forced to happen. It was a thought that every other man there with you that night was having as well, such a young woman was not safe around men like these.

Wrapping your arms back around his neck, you tilted your head and put on your sweetest smile, “I’ve never had sex in a washroom, I’m sure you can understand my urge to do so,” you said, a hopeful look plastered on your face. After a second of watching him, you finally saw him nod and step away, taking your hand in his.

“Then who am I to deprive you of an experience?” He started guiding you away from the party, and you passed Michael as he did.

“Don’t be late,” you barely whispered, you may have been playing the role a bit too well, but nothing would make you sleep with that man. If the boys were late, who knew what would happen. Rich men tended to get what they want, by money or by force and you wanted neither.

He started leading you towards the first floor toilets but you quickly pulled him in the other direction, stating that anyone could walk in if they used those and that you’d heard a server talking about another lavatory down the steps. He was reluctant but he followed you anyway, his care for location already gone at the idea of you. He looked around every corner that you’d rounded, afraid of what others would think of him if they saw what he was doing.

“Embarrassed of me?” You teased, trying to hide the anger that was boiling up. It was ridiculous, getting angry, it was not like you were hoping he’d be proud of you. He said nothing, however, staying silent until you finally reached the door you knew to be the toilets. Tommy had described it to you that morning, explaining it was easy to miss if you weren’t a regular user.

You turned to look at him when he quietly shut the door, your fingers fidgeting at the idea of being left alone with him for even a minute. You couldn’t help but wonder how other girls felt, not all of them had the benefit of knowing at least four armed men were going to come save them. If you were that scared, what about them?

“You’re not a whore, correct?” The question shocked you, you had never been mistaken as a prostitute in your life. People usually made a point of commenting how innocent and nice you looked, far from any whore you’d ever known. He must have noticed the shock because he quickly put his hands up in defense and as he stepped towards you he made sure to assure you he was just asking as a precaution. “Whores talk, love,” he tried to justify himself. You wanted to cringe at his use of the word love, at that moment you didn’t want to hear it coming from his mouth.

As he stepped closer you couldn’t help but step back, it was when you felt a sink hit your back did you finally stop, your eyes darting behind him at the wood door.

“Like a bit of a chase,” he admitted, smiling down at you as his hands came up to rest on your cheeks. They’d warned you about flinching away, but against your better judgment you did exactly that, just as his lips were about to press onto yours, you turned your head, making them land on the top of his hand instead. “Not that much chase.” He sounded angry, you knew the voice of someone trying hiding their anger all too well.

“How about a smoke?” You asked, hopeful he was like the rest with their addiction. From your bag you pulled out your case, offering him a cigarette. However, before you knew it the case was knocked to the ground and he’d forced you to turn around, the roughness making you gasp and shut your eyes.

You prayed for Michael, or Tommy, or anyone to walk in right then. He was proving that no matter how a person looked, they were always an ugly monster underneath it all. You felt as if you’d gone deaf as he started pulling at your clothes, your ears ringing as you tried to fight back the tears.

However, before he could touch you the beautiful sound of Michael Gray broke through the ringing and you sighed in relief.

“Oi! Off her, now!” He yelled, not even hesitating as he pulled the man away from you, punching him square on the jaw. He fell to the floor and you smiled down at his shocked face.

“Miss Smirnov?” He gasped.

“I have no idea who that is, love,” you spat the word, as if it was poison in your mouth. As you walked over to retrieve your now broken cigarette case, Tommy and the rest of the boys arrived, only offering you a nod before pulling the man to his feet. Michael walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders letting you bury your face into his chest. “I’m alright,” you whispered, barely heard over the sound of the man grunting in pain.”You were almost late.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, they’d started a toast once we noticed you leave and they had people watching every exit,” he continued explaining but you stopped him by pressing your lips to his. His kisses were the only ones you’d ever allow.

“Alright, alright, you can get to that later, we have our information we just need to get rid of him,” Tommy stated, he stood in front of you with both a proud but tired look on his face, “we’ll meet you back in the betting shop,” he said looking at you, giving Michael one last smile you walked off, fixing your appearance as you did. “She did good today, now it’s your turn to do your job,” he told Michael as you left the room. You did good today, it was starting to look up for you then in the Shelby Family trust department. You silently cheered to yourself when the door finally shut, the smile not leaving your face as you confidently walked through the party and out of the house.

#michael gray #Peaky Blinders #michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders imagine #mine

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spideyxchelle · 7 years

Text

okay guys, here is part 2 of the spideychelle regency au

you definitely should read part 1 before jumping into this or you will be insanely confused. ALRIGHT BACK TO THE PAST. LET US DO IT.

There are many benefits, Peter finds, to being a man of wealth and means. Being the ward of a great Duke offers him privileges that reach farther than any he would have known as a simple blacksmith or even as a officer of the British Royal Navy. He has access to art and culture and finery and food like none he has ever experienced. His blankets are made of finer material than any tails he had owned prior to being ennobled. His dearest Aunt May lives in a home that is triple the size of their old residence.

The greatest benefit of all, the greatest treasure of his life, is the honor of knowing Princess Michèlle of France. It is also his greatest sorrow.

He blesses and damns the day Anthony ennobled him. For if he had never been elevated to such a title he would have lived his entire life without knowing her person. Some days the thought of living a life without her is enough to cripple him and others it feels like a life free of her might have been a mercy. There is no rest, no peace for Peter while Michèlle orbits his world.

To long for that which he cannot have is the keenest, sharpest pain to Peter for he both has her and does not.

They have stolen moments at Windsor Castle while she stays at Court and thinly veiled correspondence while she is away, but it is not enough. He wishes to have her on his arm, to make a house and a home together, to have her for a wife and a partner and his dearest friend.

Princesses do not marry wards, he can nearly hear Anthony’s voice in his head.

He resigns himself to never seeing her again a hundred times over, but these bargains with himself never last. One word from her has him taking his fastest horse to Windsor Castle to take her company. A chilly ride through the night on horseback is worth one dance, the smallest brush of her fingers.

Fourteen months from their first meeting, Michèlle sends him a note. He is out on the grounds of Carlton House with Sub-Lieutenant Barton hunting for game when the servant rushes out from the house and presses a small note in his hand. His confident, Edward, gives Peter a significant look, “It is urgent, my lord.”

There is a sharpness to Edward’s tone that immediately puts Peter on edge, “Thank you, Ned. You’re dismissed.” He hands his musket off to Sub-Lieutenant Barton and tightly smiles, “You must forgive me. It is urgent.”

His friend furrows his eyebrows but if he wishes to say anything about the letter, he does not, “Of course, my lord. I shall return next Tuesday. Perhaps the game will be better, then.”

“My deepest apologies, Sub-Lieutenant.” The two gentlemen stiffly bow at one another before Peter stalks his way back up to Carlton House to read the letter. Edward only gives Peter urgent messages when they come from Michèlle and something akin to fate is breathing down Peter’s back. He knows whatever is in this letter will bring him nothing but pain.

He marches on.

Once he is in the safety of his private parlor, he begins to pace. The letter feels heavier than the usual stock of parchment he receives, while the letter is small the words inside them must way a hundred tons. He hopes he is wrong, but with a glance down at the letter he confirms it is indeed from Michèlle. It bears her seal.

His shaky fingers he cracks open the hardened wax and the sound of the breaking wax could be his heart breaking as well.

The letter holds his deepest despair.

Officer Parker

Honorable Marquess Lord Stark,

I write this letter to inform you of my engagement to his royal majesty, Prince George.

There will be a celebration of this union at Windsor Castle in nine days time. I dearly hope you will be able to attend and share in my good fortune.

With great admiration, your beloved friend,

Princess Michèlle

Nine days.

Peter crushes the parchment in his hand and throws it into the flaming fire.

Nine days.

In nine days time, he will be expected to stand idly by with the rest of court while Michèlle marries the King’s son. He will be expected to toast and dance to their happy nuptials. He will be expected to delight in the birth of her sons to another man. He will be expected to surrender all memory of her to the wind and pretend their own happiness never existed.

The memories of her smile and laughter will be banished from his mind. He has nine days to relish in them before he must put them aside forever.

That first dance will haunt his dreams, he knows it. Their first kiss will be the only kiss he will ever know, ever indulge in, for how can he have another after having her? All of the moments that followed that first night he is not sure he could forget, even though he knows he must.

For how does one forget a person such as she?

He remembers it all at once. The way she stole from the castle in the middle of the night and rode wildly into the darkness with him on her tails. The twilight kisses. The evening spent in the woods near the pond where Michèlle had waded waist deep into the water and shouted poetry at the sky.

No woman could ever tell poetry to the heavens and make the Gods listen, he is certain. Only she.

He remembers their dances and hidden smiles in the center of crowded halls. He remembers her letters, the ones that were a novel-length long about her childhood, her favorite books, her dreams for a world better than their own. He keeps those mementos in a box under his bed with a dusty pink ribbon stolen from the dress she wore the first night they met.

Nine days is not enough time to forget a world of love.

Peter knocks the door to Anthony’s private study open like a man possessed. “Did you know?” he accuses his warden.

Anthony takes one look at Peter and he sees the knowledge swirl in his eyes. Anthony knew and purposely kept it from him. “Your dalliance with that girl could not have lasted, Peter. You know it.”

“You lied to me.”

“I protected you,” Anthony challenges, clamoring to his feet, “as I have done and will continue to do. My brother is not a kind man. His greatest pleasures in life consist of making others miserable. I joined the Naval forces to separate myself from his poison.”

Peter shakes his head, “And what, may I ask, does this have to do with me?”

Anthony walks around the front of his desk and grabs Peter’s shoulders, firm and desperate, “I have no children, my boy, because I was not permitted to marry. Any children of mine would be a threat to his throne, his lands and titles and his children’s claim to the throne. George is not a popular ruler, whereas I have always been beloved by the people.” Peter feels Anthony’s nails biting into his jacket, “Your existence, your status as my son and heir, drives him madder than he would ever dare show. His jealous poison trickles down to you. And I have tried to keep his hatred from you, to keep you safe and well-cared for.”

“I do not understand. This has nothing to do with her marrying the prince,” Peter begins.

“It has everything to do with that, Peter. He is having your Michèlle marry his son for hate of me, for hate of you.” Anthony pauses for a length before speaking softly, “You cannot imagine your affections of her have gone unnoticed at court. You only travel to Windsor when she is visiting, you only dance with her at every ball, you only look to her in a crowd of thousands.”

Peter’s knees collapse inward and he falls unceremoniously into the nearby chair. His happiness for which he must now be forever barred is a purposeful slight on behalf of the King?

Peter rubs his weary eyes, “I must go to her.”

Anthony sits opposite of him and searches for Peter’s eyes, “And what can you imagine will your arrival achieve?”

“I-” Peter swallows, “If I do not go to her now, I will spend the rest of my days regretting it.”

Anthony nods, his face betraying sadness beyond any that Peter could have imagined he was capable of. For the first time since meeting Anthony, Peter thinks, he looks old. “I will have the a horse saddled for you.”

The ride to Windsor Castle feels longer and harder than it ever has in the past. Rain beats down on him like the heavens are weeping for him, or perhaps they are laughing at him. He has no trust of any God now.

When he arrives a servant girl, Betty, greets him. He knows how he must look, dragged through water and mud for miles, but he has no time to consider such trivialities. Betty curtsies to Peter as he dismounts from his horse, “M’lord, we wasn’t expecting any visitors this time a’night.”

“I shan’t be long.” He squints at the servant girl and recognition flushes his system, “You’re Edward’s sweetheart, yes?”

She blushes, “I ain’t never been called no sweetheart, m’lord, but aye. I know him some.”

“Ned receives letters for me from Windsor on behalf of Princess Michèlle. You’re the one who gives him the letters, aren’t you?”

Betty swallows, “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re-”

“It’s alright,” Peter assures her, taking a step forward, his eyes blazing, “You will never be in any trouble by my hand, I swear it. Are you her lady?”

She nods, skeptical, “One of ‘em, m’lord.”

“Please, I beg of you, tell her to meet me. She will know where.” He kisses Betty’s hands, a final moment of hope.

Peter remounts his horse and makes his way toward the forest. The same one where she would kiss him at dawn and recite poetry to the woods. The same place where she laid her curls across his lap and spoke her mind more freely than any person he had ever had the pleasure to know. The same woods where he fell in love with her five times over.

He waits on a tree stump near the pond that she recklessly jumped into one evening and counts the hours as they pass. As the sun begins to rise in the east, his heart plummets.

Until he sees her walk through the thick of the trees with the pink hues of the early morning a backdrop to her beauty.

He stands not because a gentleman is expected to stand in the presence of a lady but because she moves him to his feet. And he knows she realizes that is why he is standing, too, because her smile is exasperated but all-together fond. There is love between them. he knows it, true and steadfast.

When they are feet apart, he bows his head and she rolls her eyes but curtsies. As he stands to his full stature again, his eyes never leave her. If this is to be their last moment he does not wish to miss a minute of it.

He invades her space in the span of a breath and crushes her mouth to his. Ever kiss they have ever shared prior to this one has been a pale imitation of love. He pours it all into this kiss as her face is tucked safely between his two palms. Propriety is nothing compared to the feel of this extraordinary woman in his arms.

“You cannot marry him,” he demands between kisses. “You cannot.”

Her hands grab at his lapels, drawing him impossibly closer, “I have loved you to distraction and I will always love you, Peter.”

He chokes into their kiss, tears pouring down his face, “Do not.” His voice breaks, “Do not talk like this is goodbye.”

She pulls herself out of his embrace and turns wildly on him, “What would you have me do, truly? My duty is to my family.”

“I could you be your family. We could run away. The world is vast and wide,” he reaches for her and she yanks her arm away.

“You speak as though I have a choice. A woman has no choices, Peter. I do as I am bid.”

“The world can be different, better. We have spoken of it,” he implores her. “We have spoken of it here. In these very woods.”

“It was all a fantasy, Peter. All of it. You and I. These woods. They were stolen moments and I have cherished them, but I will do as I am told. I must.”

He snatches her hands in his and kisses each of them sweetly, “Please, Michèlle.”

She makes a noise that sounds horrible and sad and she turns his face up to kiss her. This kiss is her love for him, he can taste it. “I am,” she whispers against his lips, “I am better for having known you.”

“Michèlle,” he gasps, “Please.”

“I love you,” she says one last time before she is prying herself from his arms and disappearing into the trees. He stands frozen in shock for moments before he is chasing after her between the trees. The cold morning air nips at his cheeks as he runs but no matter how hard he pushes himself to find her, he can never quite reach her. She is gone.

The journey back to Carlton House is long. He makes no stops and sets a punishing pace for his horse.

When he arrives home he speaks to no one, he takes no food, he answers no letters. Anthony and his Aunt May try to speak to him but he does not leave his room for nine days.

He awakens on her wedding day and reads through her letters. If he inhales deeply enough he can smell her perfume, or perhaps that is his imagination. His body convulses at every sound of the bell, marking another hour past.

Then, mercifully, the day is over. And she is married.

Like a man possessed, Peter begins to pack. Anthony finds him the day after Michèlle’s wedding day putting on his Officer’s uniform and his guardian stalls, “The sea will not change what has happened.”

“No,” Peter agrees, “but it will take me far away from here.”

“India is a long journey.”

“Yes,” Peter buttons the front of his Officer’s uniform, “I intend for it to be.”

Anthony looks pained by his going but extends his arm for a hand shake. The man extending his well wishes is not the Duke or his guardian, it is his Admiral looking through time at the fifteen year old he had once been. The two men clutch hands in a firm grip. “Safe travels, my friend,” Anthony whispers.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Tony?” Anthony smiles.

Peter shrugs, “It suits you, m’lord.”

“Your Grace,” Anthony corrects him and their first conversation lives again in this room.

It takes Peter fifteen days to get to the port and when he arrives Captain Rogers and Lieutenant Barnes are there to greet him. The three men smile at each other and it is Captain Rogers that says, “For the king and the crown.”

Peter shakes his head, “For England.” He will never wish the king well again in his life.

The journey to India and the return trip back home takes Peter over three years to complete. The boy he had left behind in England is a distant memory, but those memories shine when he dreams of her and her smile. The world and woman he tries to leave behind stick to him the whole while he is away, he could not banish thoughts of her much less than he could stop breathing. She is a part of him.

However, the distance does make the suffocating feeling in his chest feel more manageable.

When he touches down in England after his years abroad he thinks home looks very much the same. He had hoped for some kind of worldly difference. If it was much changed than it would have been easier to wipe away his thoughts of a time before.

Yet, Carlton House looks unchanged with one major exception.

Peter stands over Anthony’s grave and feels too much, it numbs him. His Aunt says gently at his shoulder, “The fever took him six months back.”

“Did he suffer?” Peter asks.

“He was in good spirits,” she smiles, “until the very end.” Aunt May clutches Peter’s hand, “He spoke so fondly of you, Peter. You were his son in his mind.”

Peter gives a watery smile and reads the gravestone to himself.

Here lies Duke Anthony “Tony” Stark

Admiral. Friend. Father.

“Yes,” Peter agrees, “Yes, he was.”

The upkeep of Carlton House falls into his hands and it takes him three months of work before the house is back to its grand state before Tony died. And when those three months are up he cannot avoid a trip to court. He has been expected for some time now.

Everything is a blur as he travels: the countryside, the people, the castle.

The world only sharpens when a little boy with sharp angles and full lips collides into Peter on the grounds of Windsor. He staggers back and stares.

The two year old boy fumbles with his toy and lisps, “I’m sorry, my lord. Miss Betty hid my toy.”

“Tony!” A voice calls. A voice he has heard every night in his sleep for the last three years. A voice he is almost certain is not real. Michèlle’s voice. “What did I say about running off?”

“Sorry, Mama,” the boy ducks his head.

When their eyes meet three years slip away. If he had ever been afraid that his feelings had faded with time this moment proves him insurmountably wrong. She still makes him feel like that first day at the ball, where their eyes met across the room.

“Tony?” Peter says her son’s name, but he knows it sounds more like a question.

She nods, “He was dear to someone I once knew.”

Peter remembers himself and bows, “Your majesty.”

She curtsies as lamely and uninspired as he remembered. “Yes, I know who I am.” Her voice is a strained attempt at teasing, “Lieutenant Stark, how lovely to have you home. You look well.”

“As do you,” he says and he cannot keep the longing from his tone.

They share a long, lingering silence before the little boy between them interrupts their moment, “I’m Tony.”

Peter startles and grins. Then, he drops to his knees and offers his hand to the little boy, “It is a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty.”

“No,” the boy juts his chin out, “Just Tony, please.”

“Of course,” Peter concedes, “Just Tony.”

His eyes glance up at Michèlle who is looking down at her son with so much fondness and love that he cannot hold the past against her. For if she had not done her duty she never would have had her boy.

He swallows thickly and stands. He bows perfunctory, “Your Majesty.”

“Peter,” she says quietly. He hates how quickly he stops. “I have never stopped.”

“I never will,” is what he says before he takes his leave of her.

The past staying where it should. In the past.

#regency au

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