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ladywaffles · 9 months

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Second Child, Restless Child

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48656104

T | 1/1 | 2.9k

No matter what happens, Ilsa will always find her way back to the desert.

All roads lead to Rome, or so the saying goes. Bullshit, Ilsa thinks. Every choice she’s ever made in her life has brought her back to the desert. The sands are her home, more than London or any of the other cities MI6 dispatched her to ever were. She can still taste the blend of mint tea her father preferred, can feel the sticky glaze of dates on her fingertips, can hear the sounds of the consulate staff getting ready for another day as the morning sun glittered on the Mediterranean Sea.

Spoilers for Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning, Part One

A/N: Portions of this story were originally published as prompt requests. A special thanks to @shoesplease for the beta!

All roads lead to Rome, or so the saying goes.

Bullshit, Ilsa thinks. Every choice she’s ever made in her life has brought her back to the desert. The sands are her home, more than London or any of the other cities MI6 dispatched her to ever were.

She can still taste the blend of mint tea her father preferred, can feel the sticky glaze of dates on her fingertips, can hear the sounds of the consulate staff getting ready for another day as the morning sun glittered on the Mediterranean Sea.

They want her dead, that’s fine. She won’t make it easy for them. Ilsa is a child of the desert, and she’s taking home team advantage for herself.

She wraps herself in earth-toned linens with her pants tucked into her boots, the same way she remembers her mother dressing her on the trips they would take to the tombs of the pharaohs when she was a child. If MI6 wants her, then let them wither under the Arabian sun with her.

Of course, Ethan Hunt is hot on their heels, ready to ride in on his steed and save the day. It’s become sort of a running tally between them: how many times he must lead her out of the Underworld, like Orpheus rescuing Eurydice, like Isis resurrecting Osiris.

There’s a sandstorm on the edge of the horizon that’s threatening to kill them all, but Ethan still finds her. His hair is windswept, not unlike one of the suave heroes she remembers from her mother’s classic movies, and his eyes squint against the sunlight and sand that swirls around them.

The storm threatens to swallow them where they stand. She can barely see a foot in front of her face, but Ethan finds her hand and leads her out of her safe house, protecting her from the assassins sent to take her out, providing her cover when she needs it. He doesn’t say anything to her, because he doesn’t need to. They work as a perfect team, two parts of one singular whole.

Ethan puts her on his own horse, still holding her hand, and pulls her down close enough that she can hear him over the storm.

“You’re dead now,” he tells her. “Don’t come back. Stay dead.”

She doesn’t realize he’s still holding her hand until it’s ripped out of her grasp when she urges the horse to a gallop. Once again, she leaves Ethan Hunt behind. It always hurts, and it never gets easier.

Ilsa is a child of the desert, and she knows how the story ends: Eurydice leaves Orpheus. Osiris leaves Isis.

The dead must stay dead, no matter how deep their love runs.

///

She finds him in Rome, and then he leads her to Venice.

It’s amazing, given the life they lead, that she and Ethan still get to experience some firsts together.

“I’ve never been to Venice,” she tells him, curling into his body.

“Neither have I,” and it’s like a shock is sent straight down her spine. Ethan, the man of many faces, is openly sharing his past with her. Despite his hyper-competence, everyone in their field knows that Ethan Hunt is a bleeding heart, and he keeps his past under tight wraps because of it. He won’t give anyone any advantage to hurt the people he loves most.

To be this open, this vulnerable… she’s never felt more like Ethan trusts her than in this moment.

“You know, I’ve never been to a masquerade, either,” he says.

“Aren’t the IMF famous for their masks?” she teases him. “You must have attended so many galas in masks, at this point.”

“Yes, but never when the rest of the party have also been in masks,” he replies.

“This should be a nice change of pace then.” She squeezes his shoulder and starts to head back to Benji and Luther, but Ethan stops her.

“Wait, just—wait,” he says, grabbing her hand. “Stay here for a moment. Just a little longer.”

She grins. “Alright.”

They turn to face the canals of Venice together. St. Mark’s Campanile stands proud over the skyline, and the Doge’s Palace is just visible on the edge of the horizon. Gondolas and speedboats alike crisscross the waterways, ferrying tourists and residents around the city as they go about their days.

She never truly regretted her choice of occupation until recently, and even then, it’s a bit of a stretch. As much as it would be nice to get out of the game and have a life, she never would have met Ethan if she didn’t say yes to that MI6 recruiter when she was a fresh-faced Oxbridge graduate—even if Ethan Hunt is the only person in the world she wants to share the quiet life with.

Time is running out. Soon they’ll have to go back into the lion’s den. Tonight, they will face off with a woman with a taste for the finer crimes in life and a man who would delight in Ethan’s suffering. She still remembers what Luther said to her, the last time they faced these kinds of odds.

He’s a good man. He cares about you, Ilsa. More than he can admit. That’s one more worry than he can handle right now.

Ilsa turns to look at him, and she wishes she could live in this moment forever: Ethan holding her hand as they take a moment for themselves in the city of masks, the setting sun forming a halo behind Ethan’s head.

Ethan looks back at her, and she can see it in his eyes that Luther was telling the truth. He might never say it out loud, but she knows it. She leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, loathe to ruin the fragile peace they are enjoying with a true kiss. It is her promise to Ethan: I will do my best to stay alive. I will do everything in my power to come back to you, to come back to this. Don’t count us out yet.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly.

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” he murmurs as the sun dips below the horizon.

///

The year before she started university, her father was rewarded for his years of service with a plum posting in Florence, the kind that every diplomat dreams of: low stress, mostly ornamental, little to no chance of local unrest that snowballs into complex political regime change. Ilsa had never been to Italy, having spent the majority of her life in Africa followed by three rainy years in London. She was grateful to be back in the sun, but she still felt like she was on the wrong side of the sea in her bones.

She spends the last days of her childhood running on cobbled streets the Medicis once trod, swindling Italian boys out of their money when they tell her that they don’t hit girls but she’d never win against them in a fist fight as if she hasn’t had hand-to-hand combat lessons twice a week since she was eight, eating gelato paid for with her ill-gotten prize on the steps of Brunelleschi’s Duomo.

She doesn’t hate Florence, but she doesn’t love it either. She knows that any other girl whose father offered her a year abroad in Italy among the masterpieces of the great Renaissance artists would relish the opportunity.

Ilsa wants nothing more than to find out it was all a hoax, that they’ll be on the next flight to Alexandria in the morning to return to the British consulate and her bedroom with the bay window that was perfectly positioned to see the sun rise over the Mediterranean every morning.

She trudges through her last year of school. Ten months in Italy, three years in England. Ten months in Italy, then she’ll plaster on a smile for the admissions committee at Oxford or Cambridge, followed by another three years in England to get her degree as is expected of the diplomat’s daughter. Only then will she hold the reins of her own life, only then can she return back to the desert sands where she belongs, only then will she be free of her father’s career, until he cannot drag her away from the place where her soul is at rest on only the whims of a far away government.

Ten months in Italy. Three years in England.

Her mother takes trips to all of Italy’s most famous sites: an afternoon tour of the Vatican, brunch overlooking the Spanish Steps, a gala at the Palazzo Ducale, dinner in San Marco Square, breakfast by the Uffizi Gallery, a weekend spent flitting between the fashion houses in Milan…

Ilsa has never wanted for educational field trips during any of her father’s postings; her mother saw to that. Italy is the first time she turns down all of them, staring out of her bedroom window onto the Piazza dei Pazzi, wishing for the days when a trip with her mother meant riding in an off-roader Jeep through the Qattara Depression or paying her respects at the tombs of the pharaohs of old.

She reads the book of Egyptian myths given to her by her first tutor in Alexandria and insists on reading them in her rusty Arabic. She tells the comptroller to order her Moroccan mint tea and trades packets of Swiss chocolate for candied dates from the Saudi girl in her class. She makes her opinion of Italy known, as painfully as she can.

When her time in Italy is up, her International Baccalaureate diploma in hand, she packs two suitcases for England.

Ten months down. Three years left.

She doesn’t look back.

///

Of all the people to come to their rescue at the eleventh hour, she never suspected it would be Brandt.

He didn’t like her, from what she could tell of the few interactions she had with him, but he respected Ethan and had more connections than the IMF cared to admit from his time working under Hunley at the CIA.

It’s Brandt, of all people, who comes to the rescue via courier and provides them another safe house, where they’re able to spend a few precious hours licking their wounds in Venice.

Ethan and Benji leave her on the bridge. They usher Grace away to rest under Luther’s watchful, wizened eye. Ilsa waits another full hour before she stumbles away like a tourist drunk on la dolce vita; her appearance is certainly messy enough for it, at this time of night.

It’s not until she’s stumbling into a sinking bell tower that she collapses, back pressed against an aging wood door as she cries. Not twelve hours ago, she was smiling on a rooftop in Venice with Ethan at her side, the picture of a perfect couple on a European tour.

Now, she’s losing him again.

“Hey, hey? Are you okay?”

Hands on her shoulders, fingers under her chin. Probes looking for broken bones or bleeding wounds, a flash of concern in green eyes far too familiar with the sensation.

Ilsa falls into Ethan’s arms and lets him take the lead. He guides her to a plush, if somewhat dusty, settee and sits down with her.

“Are you okay?” he repeats.

“I’m fine,” she sighs, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m fine, I’m okay, I just—I hate this.”

Ethan smiles sadly. “I know.”

(In those horrible hours in Kashmir while they had waited for Ethan to wake up, Julia took her aside and told her to beware of Ethan Hunt.

“He’ll break your heart and smile while doing it,” she’d said fondly. “And he’ll have no idea what he’s done, because the only thing he wants is the best for you, even if it means shattering his own heart into pieces in the process.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Ilsa replied.

Julia had only smiled the same smile that Ethan wears now, and it’s no wonder they were married, because they’re two sides of the same coin. “Why do you think I let him go? Ethan’s too good for the likes of this world. He loves so much, and so deeply, and he doesn’t realize that he wears his heart on his sleeve, because that’s just how he lives. Take care of him, please, but for you,” she trailed off and squeezed Ilsa’s hand. “I’ve been in your place before. I know what it’s like. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”)

“You’re freezing.” Ethan wraps his coat around her, then his arms, holding her as she stops shaking.

“Lying on a bridge in the middle of the night in Venice will do that to you,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat. “Where’s Benji?”

“He went to check in with Luther and Grace. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Ethan takes her hand, and he was right; he’s warmer than she is right now, and holding his hand feels like walking into a warm home, with a fire going and dinner on the table. Her knuckles are skinned and red from her fight with Gabriel. Ethan reaches over and grabs a black pouch out of his bag, then pulls out gauze, antiseptic, and a topical antibiotic.

He carefully cleans each scrape on her hand, sure not to miss even the smallest of nicks, then dots ointment on them and dresses the wounds. He doesn’t let go of her for a moment, working with only one hand at a time. It takes much longer, but they both know the sands in the hourglass are running low, and these may be the last moments they share together for the foreseeable future. She won’t begrudge him this.

They stay wrapped around each other until the sun starts to peek above the canals and Benji returns. Time waits for no man, not even the mythical Ethan Hunt.

It’s time to say goodbye, time for her to die again and run to the farthest corners of the globe while Ethan, and Benji, and Luther, the closest thing she has to a family left, risk life and limb to do what she could not, to stop Gabriel and prevent the next world war.

“I—” she starts, but the words get caught in her throat.

I’m sorry.

I wish we had more time.

I’m coming with you.

“I’ll see you again,” Ethan promises.

She steadfastly blinks away her tears. “You better hurry, or you’ll miss that plane,” she tells him.

It’s a terrible joke, a horrible thing to say when her name is what it is, but it makes the corners of Ethan’s mouth turn up just a smidge, and that makes it all worth it.

He squeezes her hand one last time. Benji is waiting for him in the speedboat already. He needs to go and save the world now, and she can’t go with him.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

And then he’s gone.

///

After she’d lost the battle with her mother over her schooling upon their return to England from Africa, Ilsa attended a stuffy, girls-only preparatory school which boasted an elite student body: young ladies whose fathers could trace heritage back to the Norman conquest, whose fathers wrote and defended the laws of the land, whose fathers were representatives of Britannia’s foreign allies.

Ilsa sulked the entirety of her first month in London. Her mood was not helped by her literature teacher’s insistence on making her feel included, since Miss Faust arrived six weeks after term began. In an ill-advised attempt to connect with Ilsa, Mrs. Fallowes declared that the next book they read would be The Alchemist, a novel set in the very country Ilsa had cried, pleaded, and begged not to leave.

Ilsa hated every second.

She’d read the whole thing in one evening, incensed by the author’s flowery language and the shepherd boy’s ineptitude. She hated the shepherd boy, who came to the pyramids seeking treasure that should have been left for the dead. Grave robber, she called him. Pillager, she named him.

When the novel ended with the shepherd boy returning back to his horrible church for his treasure, having left the desert woman he fell in love with to finish his own journey, Ilsa had grabbed her coat and went for an hour-long walk in the dreary evening—nothing at all like the wide, Egyptian sunsets she loved!—ignoring her mother’s calls as she stalked out of their London residence.

She’d sat silently in Mrs. Fallowes’ class for the next three weeks out of spite, only speaking to correct her classmates’ Arabic.

She hasn’t thought of The Alchemist in so long.

Yet as she stands with the Venetian lagoon to her back as she readies herself to die again, to leave behind all that she has built, to step past the point of no return, she finds herself reaching for a copy of the book she hated as a child in the airport bookshop.

The irony does not escape her: here she is, having extolled all her hatred for this shepherd-turned-treasure-hunter whose journey was a circle, on her own circuitous journey.

Still, she has it better than him. Ethan is not Fatima, left behind with nothing but hope as she goes on her own quest. Ilsa is not the shepherd boy, bereft of any guide to find her way back to Ethan.

She puts the book back on the shelf and pulls out her ticket, tracing her fingers over the destination airport code. HBE, in bold block letters.

Ilsa smiles to herself.

At least her return will bring her back to the sands.

#mission impossible #mi7 #ilsa faust #ethan hunt #ethan x ilsa #lamby.fic

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missgryffin · 1 year

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i want to know who your marauders/lily fan casts are! icb ppl are still fancasting aaron taylor johnson as james in the year 2023

Hahahaha oh my. Like I get that he had his "right place, right time" moment with 2010s fandom because of that one clip from Nowhere Boy, but...he is not James 😂

That being said, I don't actually have concrete fan casts for the marauders. It's way easier for me to give immediate "no's" to fan casts than it is for me to feel a "yes." And I think (and maybe this is true for a lot of people who have grown up with the series and been in/around fandom for many years) that's because I have very strong images of these characters and this world in my mind, which were largely shaped by the original HP illustrations and years of fan art.

But! Typical caveats aside, in all my mood boarding and fic banner making and amassing of aesthetic images (you should see my Pinterest 😅), I have come across some people/photos that come really close to how I picture them and give off overall character "vibes" to me, so I'll share those below:

young Lily Evans (she has my most concrete face claims—Madelaine Petsch and Kennedy Claire Walsh are my go-to's for her)

young Remus Lupin (this pic—and only this pic, ha—of Simon Van Meervenne; the sadness in the eyes gets me every time) || young Peter Pettigrew (this pic/shoot/hair color of Froy Gutierrez—that baby face! those cheeks! post-Hogwarts darkness hasn't warped him yet)

young Sirius Black (these shots of Paris Brosnan—it's the hair length and grungy/eclectic style for me. give that boy a cigarette and a motorcycle, and we're set)

young James Potter (he's tough for me to face claim, but I've been into shots of Oussama Guessoum for moodboards lately—it's the messy, windswept hair and face/jaw structure for sure. and it always helps when there's at least one shot with glasses, even if it is a little overly-seductive for JP 🤣)

#ask #eternal summer face claims #<-this tag is so old #I have no idea what's in it anymore #but safe to say #face claims evolve #and this post has my current faves

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uuchanjustice · 1 year

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Ekubo Week Day 4 - Final Form

(Dimple, Mob and Tome, word count: ~700)

"Mob!!!" Tome burst into the office with windswept hair and her cell phone in her hand. "They're showing the ORIGINAL Aliens Vs. Zombies Vs. Salarymen at Fennel Theater tonight!!! They're gonna have snacks and sell keychains and it's gonna be so fun- oh, sorry, Mr. Serizawa..."

Mob was grimacing and gesturing at Tome to stop yelling, but she realized her mistake too late as the stranger in the office jumped out of his chair in surprise.

Serizawa smiled ruefully at Tome, then turned his attention back to the startled client whose cursed plushie he had just exorcised. "Sorry about that! She's my, uh, niece... so, 5000 yen?"

"You have to come, Mob!!!" Tome whispered to Mob as Serizawa ushered the client out. "This movie is the ultimate cult classic!!! Everyone says it's best experienced in a rowdy theater full of nerds! Who knows when we'll get a chance like this again??"

"Uh, Tome..." Serizawa returned to his desk and fixed the picture frame the client had accidentally knocked over. "It sounds fun, but... isn't it a school night? You should be responsible with your schoolwork..."

"I don't have any homework today!" Tome shot back. (It was half true... she didn't have any homework due tomorrow at least.) "And I bet Mob doesn't either!"

Mob nodded. "She's right, I don't."

"But that's not all," said Serizawa. "You also need to get a good night's sleep before school, and..." Tome tuned him out and sat down at her and Mob's shared desk, huffing. She gave Mob a Look that meant "we'll discuss this after work" and hoped he would understand what she meant.

---

"So there's something else," said Tome once she and Mob were a full block away from the office after closing. "We have to go with an adult to supervise us, it's the theater's policy or whatever. I was going to ask Mr. Serizawa, but apparently he's too 'responsible', and no way are we asking Mr. Reigen..." She took a deep breath. "I know you don't like breaking the rules, but we're gonna have to sneak in. We could maybe pass for adults with different clothes, I can-"

"Tome." Mob's voice cut through Tome's chatter. "I want to go. But we don't need to sneak in." He smiled. "I know someone who could take us."

---

"I still can't believe you never mentioned this," grumbled Tome.

"It never came up," responded Mob.

A seven-foot-tall, muscly green figure walked next to them, wearing a poorly fitting T-shirt and sweatpants bought from a nearby thrift store. Perched on top of his head was a wig of curly hair.

"Really, I'm more surprised that Dimple agreed to this," said Mob. "He usually doesn't like being asked favors..."

"Are you kidding?" Dimple waved a giant hand flippantly in the air, in a way that he would never admit was influenced by Reigen. "I'd never get in the way of you breaking the rules, Shigeo."

Officially, Mob and Tome were on a job with Reigen and Serizawa. Dimple had called Mob's parents from Tome's phone and done an impressive impersonation of Reigen to explain the situation. Tome's parents only needed a text. She was going to make a great adult one day; she was already living the carefree young adult life.

They approached the run-down theater. Most of the attendees were already inside, so they walked right up to the ticket booth and Dimple slapped the 3000 yen Mob and Tome had given him onto the counter. "Three for the zombies," he said casually.

The attendant looked at Dimple for about one second before deciding that he wasn't paid enough to ask questions. "Go ahead. Concessions on the left, no outside food or drink."

Tome skipped into the theater, dragging Mob alongside her. "Kids, right?" Dimple cracked at the attendant, who was pointedly not making eye contact.

---

Two hours later, the group staggered out of the theater, surrounded by teens and young adults hopped up on soda. Tome's eyelids were drooping, and Mob was clutching his stomach. "Why... did I eat... so much... popcorn..." he groaned.

Meanwhile, Dimple was as energetic as ever. "You were right, Tome," he exclaimed, clapping a hand each onto the kids' shoulders. "That was an unforgettable experience."

"Haha, just wait... the sequel is even..." Tome trailed off and slumped onto Dimple's shoulder.

He shook her gently. "Kid, wake up. We gotta get you home."

Mob gave him a Look that Dimple understood perfectly. He rolled his eyes and lifted the sleeping Tome onto his back. "You guys will be the death of me, I swear," he complained.

"But you're already-"

"Don't go there, Shigeo."

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ekuboweek #ekubo week #mob #dimple #tome #its late i know...... but its here and its something!

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autumnslance · 1 year

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This Home Wrested Forth

((My piece for the Blackest Night @drkzine with lovely original art by @cassigator!

Sidurgu & Rielle go to Gridania and find an unexpected familiar face, who asks the Dark Knight to provide the sort of justice only he can. DRK & WHM story completion, Sid's 2nd person POV. Below the cut for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3.))

Your clan fled the Empire, crossing Ilsabard in search of homelike climes. Aldenard was safe—for now. Even so, the tribe moved often, looking for a place to settle. Every time, you hoped you had found a place to call home.

Later, you think the Fury has a vicious sense of humor.

You were a child; you tended the goats and played with your friends, games that often ended in blood and bruises, for Xaela play rough to prepare for a hard world.

Coerthas had the right sort of mountains and meadows. It was also in a never-ending war with dragons—not legends, but flesh and blood creatures of intellect and fire. Auri horns and scales set your clan apart. From the insults hurled by cursing adults keeping their children away, they thought you were draconic heretics as well.

Knights came, but Xaela are made for war, as your eastern cousins upon the Steppe say. Sometimes you wonder why your people fled west.

You wonder when you dream of the knights’ return, of burning homes and rivers of blood. You stumbled over your favorite goat, its throat slashed, square eyes blank, as a knight dragged you by the hair to join your parents for execution.

“Look away,” Mother begged. But you couldn’t.

Not until it was your turn to face the sword that never came, and instead a man in black armor offered you a new Path.

Rielle is the family you have now, a pesky little sister, though you dare not say it aloud. Fray taught her conjury before his death, and she took to it like breathing. The trials you faced together made her learn quickly, but she wants a proper education, as Fray once did.

You grumble all the way to muggy Gridania. Once you might have found it a pleasant climate, but those days are long gone and you’re wearing full plate.

It’s not your first visit, and this situation is less fraught. Rielle is introduced to other students; a young Padjal, a Hyur adolescent who can hear the Elementals, and—

“Alaqa?”

In your hazy memories, there is a serious girl with pale hair against dark skin, bark-brown eyes often disapproving. Delicate, everyone said; her magical gifts left her ill-suited to be a warrior. Yet she could be cajoled into raucous play and emerge triumphant in her own way.

The serious child survived the slaughter, becoming a quiet woman who smells of moss, with dirt under her nails and conjury in her touch. Her magic tastes like windswept plains and a wildflower whose name escapes recollection. She blinks, similar confusion giving way to elated relief.

“The Matron Herself must have sent you, Sidurgu,” Alaqa says. You worship Halone, so it’s no surprise she venerates Gridania’s patron. You can’t recall your clan’s religion, so why not adopt the gods whose lands adopted you?

The girls get acquainted, laughing at another table. You and Alaqa speak haltingly in your childhood language, tasting the rust in every syllable, each word further opening the creaking gates of memory.

“I spent enough time in Coerthas to know what you are,” she says. “You can help.”

You scowl into your ale. Immediately after finding one another, she wants a favor.

Hearers stand between the people and the Elementals, interpreting nature’s whispers into proclamations. Gridanians understand from their earliest years sustainable practices that keep their Woods in harmonic balance. Newcomers must rely on permission from Hearers to determine if they can integrate into the weave of man and nature.

“While the Greenwrath is a concern, mostly the Elementals don’t care,” Alaqa explains. “Not when it comes to people's daily lives. Elementals don’t experience the world as we do, and they don’t ‘speak’ in words. Hence the Hearers.”

You see where this is going. You’ve seen it among clergy that abuse commoners, among the knights that slaughtered your clan and hunted Rielle. “And some hear what they want, or simply make up what they will, and people can only take them at their word.”

Alaqa nods. “I believe this is happening now to the Ala Mhigans in Quarrymill. Since the liberation of Gyr Abania, there’s been a push to ‘send them home’, nevermind many have been here for over twenty years. Their children are forestborn; the Twelveswood is their home.”

A Hearer using his privileged position to force refugees out. Not the visceral violence of the knights, but violence all the same on people who have suffered enough, who have found a home despite all odds.

A familiar rage boils in your chest, a furious howl rising from the abyss.

Justice is needed everywhere.

Alaqa’s rare smile is fierce, seeing your answer before you speak.

Most of Quarrymill’s townsfolk are native Gridanians—primarily Midlanders, Elezen, Miqo’te, a handful of Lalafell—but a few Highlanders and Hellsguard live in their own small district.

It’s humid, insects buzz about your head, and your boots are muddy. You’ve never yearned more for Ishgard’s icy stone streets. You follow Sylphie as she tends to people in the hamlet. She asks after their health, if they’ve enough to eat. Questions receive brief replies at best; the forest-dwellers are an insular lot. For most, life moves normally, though they mention the Wailers have been giving them a harder time about hunting and harvesting, after Hearer Bannon’s claims that the Elementals are concerned about the Ala Mhigan presence.

The Hearer in question is speaking with a woman, a small child clinging to her skirts. Bannon’s standing too close for propriety, especially with how she’s trying not to step away. He’s perhaps only slightly older than yourself and smiles unkindly as you walk up. She looks down.

“Is everything all right, Greda?” Sylphie asks.

“We were simply speaking about the recent difficulties,” Bannon says. He is fair-skinned and flinty-eyed. “I was offering Mistress Greda guidance on how she may appease the Elementals.”

“Looked like badgering to me.” You cross your arms.

“You are a visitor here,” Bannon says. “You cannot be expected to understand the delicate balance we must maintain at the Elementals’ behest, lest disaster fall.”

“Any gods who threaten their own people aren’t worthy of veneration.”

By necessity, you’ve learned to quickly pick out the righteous from the rotten among priests and knights. This conjurer isn’t difficult to understand. He’s just like some clergy back home. Under your glower, the Midlander’s false smile fails, expression growing thunderous.

“I suggest you make your visit brief, lest such views bring the Greenwrath upon you and yours,” Bannon turns to Sylphie. “Have care with whom you mingle, young lady. ‘Tis easy for such influences to drown out Nature’s voice.”

“I listen carefully,” Sylphie responds coolly.

Greda doesn’t relax even after Bannon leaves. “You needn’t get involved.”

“Someone must. What did he want with you?” You ask.

She looks away. This too you recognize; she’s been made to feel shamed and afraid. You’ve seen it often in the Brume, and familiar anger coils in your gut again. “He says my late husband’s actions are part of the trouble. He… joined the Griffin, you see…”

Sylphie frowns. “While the events at Baelsar’s Wall did cause a stir, why would one rebel’s actions matter more than the Griffin’s?”

You study Greda. A Highlander in her early twenties, shapely, with warm brown skin and dark gold hair.

“That’s his offer? The supposedly upset Elementals will allow you to stay in the forest if you but agree to his suggestion?”

Her head snaps up, cheeks darkening further as she trembles. Sylphie looks confused. “I…I didn’t,” Greda stammers. Tears well in her green eyes. “I can’t be the reason everyone suffers, but I won’t…”

“No. You won’t. And you aren’t—it’s that bastard. I’ve seen enough.”

You walk away, Sylphie hurrying to keep up. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sid? Oh, no wonder Rielle calls you—”

“Don’t.” Gods, you can’t have her calling you a chocobo’s arse too. “Let’s find the others.”

You pause to watch Rielle and Gatty. They’re sitting on the upper walkway built into the town’s palisade, legs dangling as they chat and share lunch. Sylphie joins them, distracted by their enthusiasm and her own youth.

“They’re having fun,” Alaqa says, joining you.

“While they can.” Your life isn’t easy and Rielle remains in it by choice. These moments when she can be the girl she is, with others her age, are rare.

Your duty is going to take that from her. Again.

“Bannon’s supposedly intervening with the supposedly upset Elementals to take advantage of people.”

Alaqa frowns. “If we could prove this corruption of his office to Brother E-Una…”

“You wouldn’t have asked for my aid if you could. Take Sylphie and Gatty back to the city. I’ll need Rielle’s help.”

“What are you going to do?”

You grin. “What I do best. Justice demands no less.”

It doesn’t take long to bait Bannon. Loitering outside Greda’s house while he makes his rounds, followed by accepting a simple adventurer’s job into the woods, soon has you surrounded by the Hearer and six young men from town. You sigh, realizing they’re all Ala Mhigans.

“Promising them lenience from the Elementals if they get rid of the annoying foreigner?”

Bannon sneers. “You are a blight on our Woods. The Elementals will recognize their…dedication.”

Their sacrifice. He’s hoping you murder these boys if they don’t overwhelm you. You draw your blade and shrug. You can try not to kill them.

Though you might have to, as Bannon goes for Rielle. He doesn’t expect her to be battle-tempered, to counter his command of the elements, drawing on those same forces with expertise beyond her years. She’s fought alongside the Warrior of Light, and it shows. Your friend would be proud.

Meanwhile, you are making a fool of yourself. If Ompagne were here, he’d be scolding and laughing. Two youths dash in close under your blade to take you with their fists. Two use lances to match your greatsword’s reach. Two others keep distant with short bows.

They grew up in these woods and are desperate to stay in their home, to fight the perceived threat.

Focus, Sid. Rielle can manage.

You roar, body checking one pugilist into the other, smacks from your gauntlets leaving them dazed, though it earns you a decent blow from a lance.

There’s a shout to the side; Rielle deflects Bannon’s earth spell into an archer, breaking his bow and leaving him nursing bruised limbs. You grin, knowing you look feral, rounding on the lancers. They falter as bloody rage swirls around you. They are not hardened warriors; you remember that as you break their spears and strike with the flat of your blade, cracking ribs.

The last archer stands his ground, Halone bless, though his nervous aim is poor. He doesn’t expect your leap to his position, for you to grab the bow and backhand him with it before flinging it aside.

A strong wind nearly bowls you over.

Rielle shrieks.

Fury colors your vision, the abyss howling against your horns. Bannon dashes into the trees. Rielle tumbles to a stop at the far end of the clearing.

Gatty is already there, magic in her hands. “She’ll be all right,” she calls.

“This way!” Sylphie shouts from the treeline behind you, in the direction Bannon ran.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

She shrugs and points, frowning. “Alaqa went that way.”

“Take care of Rielle and these boys.” You plunge into the forest.

No underbrush catches your armor, no roots trip your feet. Perhaps you’ll ask the girls about that later.

You think you’ve gone a quartermalm when you find Bannon ensnared in spiny vines, Alaqa nearby with hands clenched.

“How dare you, you filthy outsiders!” Bannon snarls.

“How dare you,” she replies. “Falsifying the Elementals’ whispers for your own gain, coercing desperate people.”

“I am a child of the Wood!” He shouts. “I Hear the Will of the Forest!”

“What does the Forest say now?” You ask as you stalk nearer, blade drawn.

He swallows, trembling. Like any other false priest. “Th-the Greenwrath will strike you down!”

“Perhaps,” Alaqa answers. “If the gods decree, so be it.” She looks at you, eyes clear and cold. “But I will not abide a man to drive us from our home. Not again.”

You remember playing with your friends. You remember the goats, your father’s laughter, your mother’s songs.

You remember the burning homes, the blood, the knight’s grip on your hair and your parents’ pleas. You remember Ompagne ending the violence; too late for most, but not for you and her.

Your blade is swift, and more merciful than the Hearer deserves.

You leave the Archer’s Guild after a few bells. You didn’t think you had warranted the Bowlord’s attention, but someone convinced not only E-Sumi-Yan to vouch for you, but the Warrior of Light as well.

The second was less surprising than the first; family looks out for each other, and timing has ever been that hero’s forte.

Rielle is waiting with Alaqa, Sylphie, and Gatty. “It went,” you say before they can ask. “While the Elementals seem silent about Bannon, Lewin still wants me out of his Woods.”

“They’re silent on the matter of the Ala Mhigans too,” Sylphie says. “The Fane’s sending someone new to tend to Quarrymill. Hopefully, they’re more honest.”

“If they aren’t, you can always mention it in your letters.” The ferocity behind Rielle’s grin is familiar; you’re not sure to be proud or worried she’s picking up your habits.

“Or don’t, as it’s too damned hot and muggy in this forest.”

The girls giggle at your growling. Alaqa shakes her head, amusement in her eyes if not on her lips. “With so much more for Rielle to learn, we're sorry to see you leave so soon. Our own fault...”

“More that bully’s,” Rielle answers. “Perhaps you can visit us!”

You groan, thinking of the trouble this group could get up to in Ishgard. The girls laugh all the way to the Carline Canopy. There’s time to try those famous eel pies before catching the airship.

Goodbyes are said, promises to write made. Your duty is taking Rielle from her friends and education, even as you both want to return to your cold, stony city.

Funny how much you’ve missed it.

Alaqa catches your arm and pulls you down to brush her horn along your own. In the tongue of your childhood, she says, “Thank you.”

You straighten, nod, and hope your stoic expression holds, though Rielle’s face tells you it hasn’t. “I did my duty,” you answer in kind. “You’re welcome.”

Rielle leans halfway over the rail to wave as the airship pulls away. You hold the back of her tunic and watch until the trees obscure the view of your friends. Appropriate, somehow; Alaqa and the Ala Mhigans found a home in these woods, while you return to where you found your home.

So long as you can fight, no one will take that from you.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Dark Knight #Blackest Night #Gridania #Ala Mhigans #Sidurgu Orl #Alaqa #Rielle de Caulignont #Sylphie Webb #Gatty Orwell #Conjurers #White Mage #others art

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the-truest-sentence-i-know · 11 months

Text

Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Original Female Character

Rating: T

Summary: In the fourteenth year of their reign, High King Peter and King Edmund travelled to Archenland for a diplomatic visit. King Karim welcomed them in Anvard and they stayed for a full week, dining with his court and the nobles of Archenland.

how Peter met Altiora, and the events that followed

Wordcount: 7.9k

ao3

Narnian Year 1014

Peter had mixed feelings about official visits. Yes, it was important to maintain good relationships with allies, but they often involved negotiation and the quantifying of their relationships, which he found remarkably tasteless. They were not social visits. And since Edmund was so much better at all that than he was, Peter just left it all to him. He would be there if needed of course, and be present at the more performative events when required, but anything behind closed doors was Edmund’s business.

And the girls hadn’t come along this time – they were making their own visit to the Seven Isles – which meant that Peter had no one to spend time with while Edmund negotiated with King Karim.

So he wandered the area around the castle, on foot because where he wanted to go had far too uneven ground for his horse. It felt good, scrambling over rocks in the cool mountain air. He had his small notebook in his pocket, which he pulled out periodically to scribble down some phrase or other as they came to him. It was rare that he had the time to indulge in this hobby.

In the distance, he saw a large twisting oak, one that looked marvellous for climbing. As he approached it, he caught a glimpse of light blue fabric in the branches. He walked around the base of the tree until he could see the person more clearly.

It was a girl – a woman, probably around Susan’s age. She had long dark hair that she shoved unceremoniously out of her face when the wind whipped it around. She moved up through the branches gracefully despite her long dress, pulling herself ever upwards with remarkable strength and agility. Her loose sleeves fell back as she reached up, exposing toned muscles under her brown skin.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as he watched her progress. He thought about saying something, then decided against it. Solitary tree-climbing generally meant one wished to stay solitary. And she looked so satisfied with herself as she climbed, he could not interrupt her.

Soon, he could no longer see her. As he turned to go, he spotted two light blue slippers lying, haphazardly discarded, at the base of the tree. He smiled again and turned to leave, pulling out his notebook as he did so.

She was all windswept hair and chapped lips.

High in the branches, dark eyes followed him as he made his way back to the castle.

The grandest dinner was that evening, with nobility from all across Archenland coming. Edmund appeared to be happy with the day’s discussions, so Peter could just relax that evening.

“I’ll give you the details later,” Edmund said as they walked down the hallway toward the murmuring sounds coming from the Great Hall.

Peter nodded. Having money and trade and whatever else on his mind would make it difficult to concentrate on putting on the charm that evening. He hated the way that phrase sounded in his mind, ‘putting on the charm.’ It wasn’t that it was an act, per se. It was just another part of their role as rulers.

Before they entered the hall, Peter took a moment, a breath, and put on a pleasant smile. Edmund rolled his eyes and Peter resisted the urge to shove him.

“You make everything way too complicated,” Edmund said as they walked inside.

“High King Peter and King Edmund, of Narnia!” a courtier called out as they entered.

I never feel more like a boy playing in his father’s clothes than when every face in a crowd turns to me, expecting a king.

Peter’s fingers itched for a pen as he smiled and strode over to greet King Karim.

“I trust you had a fine day outdoors,” King Karim said, clapping him on the back jovially.

“In your country, how could I not?” Peter said with a broad smile.

King Karim laughed and turned to Edmund. “Your brother, ever the flatterer,” he said.

Now that business had been settled, the atmosphere was much more loosely comfortable than previous evenings had been. Peter let himself relax.

He had just finished his first circuit of the room when the courtier at the door called out: “Lord Hannes and Lady Kameela, and their daughter, Lady Altiora.”

Peter glanced over at the unfamiliar names – were they from the West, perhaps? – when his eyes caught on the third figure. She wore a dark green dress this evening and her hair was tamed back into several pinned-back braids, but Peter knew her in an instant. She walked a step behind her parents, scanning the room curiously. Her eyes passed over him once, then flicked back for just a second, so quickly that Peter thought he had imagined it.

The three of them paid their respects to King Karim and his family. Edmund came to stand beside Peter.

“You don’t know who he is, do you?” Edmund asked in a low voice after a minute.

Peter sighed. He should know who they are. “Are they from the West?” he murmured, keeping a pleasant expression on his face.

“The westernmost province, actually,” Edmund said. “The trip is long, so it is usually only Lord Hannes who comes to Anvard.”

“So we’ve never met his wife before?” Peter asked, keeping his voice low as the family of three began to walk their way. “I know we haven’t met his daughter.”

Edmund smirked and once again Peter deliberately did not shove him. “No, we haven’t met them before.”

Peter smiled at Lord Hannes. “It is a pleasure to see you again,” he said.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly. “The pleasure is mine.” He inclined his head to Edmund. “Your Majesty.”

“And these must be your wife and daughter,” Edmund said, turning to Lady Kameela and Altiora. “Although when they entered, I was sure I must have misheard, for I thought they must be sisters.”

Lady Kameela laughed. “I thought King Karim said the elder was the flatterer,” she said to her husband, a Calormene accent lilting her words. “It seems they are both skilled in that art.”

Edmund grinned and kissed her hand. “Madam, I assure you, flattery is not in my repertoire. Honesty, on the other hand…”

Peter looked over at Altiora, who watched all of this with an amused expression. He stepped toward her. “What do you think of my brother’s flattery, my lady?” he asked quietly. “I rather think he will get himself up a gum tree someday.”

She looked up at him curiously, but he just smiled pleasantly.

“If by ‘up a gum tree,’ you mean ‘in trouble,’” she said. “Then I would have to agree with you, Your Majesty. Unless, of course, he is entirely sincere, in which case he will be most in danger of enamouring anyone to him.”

“Doesn’t flattery inherently entail some sort of insincerity?” Peter asked.

“Perhaps ‘gallantry’ best describes it then?” Altiora asked, tone innocent and teasing.

Peter snorted, then quickly cleared his throat to disguise the sound. Altiora’s congenial smile tightened slightly like she was trying not to laugh. Peter glanced over to see if Edmund had noticed, but he and the lord and lady had moved further into the crowd.

“Oh,” Peter said. “I suppose I never greeted your mother properly.”

“I’m sure she will forgive you the oversight,” Altiora said. She placed her hand gently in the crook of his elbow and guided them along the edge of the room. “I don’t think I’ve heard of a gum tree. Do they grow in Narnia?”

Peter shook his head. “They only grow in warm climates, I believe. I’m not even sure if they grow… here.”

“So it’s true then?” Altiora asked. “You and your siblings come from another world? Where these gum trees grow?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I’m afraid I do not remember a lot of that other world. It’s gotten rather vague over the years.” He frowned. “I don’t think gum trees grew in the country we were from. It wasn’t very warm there either.”

“So you traded in one not-warm country for another,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose we did. But it is a lot warmer now than it was when we arrived.”

She smiled. “I remember the first time we saw green to the north,” she said. “A scout had come from the border to tell Father, and we travelled to see right away.”

“I understand there was very little contact between Narnia and Archenland during Jadis’s rule,” Peter said.

“Father said that in the beginning, before his time, there was always a fear that she would advance on us next,” Altiora said. “When that dissipated, I think most people just tried to ignore it all.”

Peter nodded.

“I do remember being told stories of her hags and witches sneaking into the mountains and kidnapping children though,” she said with a laugh. “Scared me to death when I was small.”

“I am surprised at anything scaring you, my lady,” Peter said. “Certainly heights do not.”

“I live in a mountainous country, Your Majesty,” she said with a smile. “It would not do to be afraid of heights.”

“So,” Peter said. “What is it you enjoy doing, besides climbing trees and making an incredibly charming conversation partner at parties?”

“It is bold of you to assume that I am enjoying this,” she said with an attempt at sounding reproachful that he could see through easily.

“I’m sure a lady of your talents could extricate herself from an unwanted conversation.”

She smiled. “Climbing is my chief hobby,” she said. “My governess was a faun and I used to play with her children. I was never as nimble as them, so I had to learn to keep up.”

Peter smiled.

“What?” Altiora asked.

“Nothing, I just–” He ducked his head. “I’m not sure if you learn about the same constellations as we do in Narnia,” he said. “But there’s one, the Leaping Lady. She looks like she’s lept into the stars, but her goal is higher still.”

“What a pretty way of putting that,” Altiora said. “I don’t think I know that one.”

Peter smiled. Was it cheating to use words he had written before?

“Is it visible now?” she asked.

“Yes, I believe so.”

He had barely finished speaking when she grabbed his hand and began to tug him toward a side door. When he resisted slightly, wondering if it was entirely appropriate – this had never really come up before – she looked back at him.

“Show me?” she asked.

And, well, he couldn’t say no to that. To her. He was a gentleman.

She led him through twisting passages, hardly hesitating.

“I thought you rarely came to court,” he said quietly, not sure why he was whispering.

“I have an excellent sense of direction,” she whispered back with a grin.

Soon there was a little wooden door and they stepped through it out into the open air. Altiora let go of his hand, already looking up at the stars. She turned in a slow circle, head tipped back and eyes bright, and Peter couldn’t tear himself away.

“So,” she said. “Where is this Leaping Lady?”

Peter managed to pull his eyes away from her and looked up as well. “There,” he said, pointing eastwards. “Do you see those three little stars clustered together? That’s her hand.”

She came closer to him, right at his side so she could follow his hand. Her brow furrowed as she looked. Then she ducked under his arm and stood so her back was against his chest and leaned her head back. Peter’s breath caught in his chest.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I see it now.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Right, uh,” he said. “Then you follow these two stars down her arm.” He traced the stars with his hand.

Altiora laughed suddenly. “It’s like she’s holding hands with the Sayaad.”

“The what?”

“Sayaad, the Hunter. It’s one of the constellations my mother was taught about.” She took his hand in hers and traced up the Lady’s arm again to the cluster of three stars. “That’s his hand as well,” she said. “And that’s his body, and there’s his horse.”

“I see,” Peter said, even though his eyes were more focused on her hand in his. Her fingers were more calloused than he had expected – probably from the climbing – and she had a thin gold band on her ring finger. The sight nudged some old piece of knowledge in the back of his mind with a sense of disappointment, though he wasn’t sure why. The ring didn’t mean anything to him, at least not that he could remember.

She turned slightly to look at him. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said with a quick smile. “I was merely thinking that my brother and I will be leaving for home tomorrow, and…” He paused. “I don’t suppose you’d–” He hesitated.

Altiora turned around fully. “You don’t suppose I’d what?” she asked softly.

Peter exhaled a chuckle and ducked his head. “Lady Altiora,” he said with a slight bow. “Would you consider doing me the honour of travelling with us to Cair Paravel and staying for a visit?”

She smiled. “Well,” she said. “I shall certainly take it into consideration.”

Then she seemed to notice how close they were to each other and took a step back. “And if my parents are to consider it with any seriousness, we should probably go back inside before they notice we’ve gone.”

“Right,” Peter said. “Yes, very good.”

She looked back with a smile as she led the way back inside.

“So,” Edmund said later that night when they had retired to their chambers. “You disappeared for a little bit there.”

From his tone, Peter had an idea of where this was going. “Yes,” he said. “I needed a little fresh air.”

“I noticed that Lady Altiora was also missing at that time,” Edmund continued. “Did she need fresh air too?”

Peter sighed. “If you must know–”

“Oh, I do.”

“–we were looking at constellations.”

“Stargazing. Very romantic.”

“And speaking of Lady Altiora,” Peter said over him. “I’ve invited her to come to Cair Paravel with us.”

Edmund’s eyebrows rose. “That’s rather hasty. You just met her a few hours ago.”

“I just asked her to come visit,” Peter protested. “Not to marry me.”

Edmund’s smile widened and his eyebrows rose higher. Peter groaned and let his head fall back onto the back of his chair.

“I didn’t mean it like–”

“You, dear brother, are well and truly smitten,” Edmund said, sounding absolutely delighted. “I can’t wait to tell the girls.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed this was payback for his teasing about the Terebinthian girl last summer.

Then he looked at Edmund. “Was it actually too hasty? Etiquette-wise?”

“No, I’m sure her parents are thrilled,” Edmund said. “So long as they don’t know about your secret rendezvous under the stars.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You make it sound much more scandalous than it was.”

Edmund grinned. “You’re lucky that I know you well enough to believe that,” he said. “Because others would interpret your blush much less charitably.”

He glared at Edmund, then rose. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sweet dreams!” Edmund called after him.

They took breakfast in their rooms the next morning. Afterwards, Peter wandered about the room, picking up books only to read a line and put them down again, walking to the window, then sitting down in a chair, and then immediately getting up again. Edmund was writing a letter to the girls and glanced up at him every so often. Finally, he put his pen down.

“If you want to see her,” he said. “Go see her. Or else go outside. I can’t concentrate with you pacing around like that.”

“I’m not pacing.”

There was a knock at the door. “Lady Altiora, Your Majesties!” called the guard outside.

“Come in!” Peter called, then he hissed to Edmund, who was grinning at him. “Not a word, Ed.”

“I will be as silent as the stars above,” he said, and Peter managed to not throw a pillow at him.

The door opened and Altiora stepped inside. She wore a lavender dress today and had her hair down. Peter crossed the room to greet her.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said, trying to ignore the feeling of Edmund’s eyes on him.

“Good morning, your majesty,” she said with a curtsey.

“I trust you slept well,” he said.

“I did, thank you,” she said. “And yourself?”

“Well, as well, yes, thank you,” Peter said, and he swore he could hear Edmund stifle a laugh. “And how are your parents?”

“They are well,” she said. “And your–” She looked over and saw Edmund. “Oh, your majesty, I did not know you were there.” She curtseyed quickly.

“Don’t worry,” Edmund said. “I’m not.”

Altiora looked at Peter curiously and he just shook his head. She smiled. “Anyway, I came here to tell you my parents agree to let me come,” she said.

Peter brightened. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Narnia is beautiful this time of year, and Cair Paravel is lovely, and I’m sure my sisters will adore you.”

Behind him, Edmund coughed.

“Perhaps we should…” Peter gestured to the door.

Altiora looped her arm through his. “Sure,” she said with a small laugh.

“Don’t wander too far,” Edmund called after them. “We plan to leave at noon!”

A few hours into the ride north, Peter was certain he was the luckiest man alive. Altiora looked like an artist’s personification of freedom as she rode next to him, hair loose and eyes bright. And she seemed to find him funny – which Edmund considered something of a miracle.

They camped out under the open sky with the whole entourage, and Peter and Altiora slipped away from the group to tell each other about the stories they saw illustrated in the stars. They lay side by side in the grass – a position that almost felt too intimate, their arms almost touching. Peter could smell the soap she used on her long dark hair – lavender-scented.

The moon had waxed over their days on the road and now was bright enough to make Altiora’s features so striking Peter could hardly look away. Our sentimental friend the moon, Peter thought and wondered where he had read that.

“What’s the English word for that? Kanfuud?” Altiora was saying, squinting upward. “A porcupine, but small? Not as prickly?”

“A hedgehog?”

“Hedgehog, yes, that,” she said. “I always wanted one of those as a pet.”

“Are you fluent in Calormene?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” she said. “My mother made sure I was brought up in both English and Calormene.”

Peter nodded. “Hmm.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Hmm, what?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That’s probably very useful,” Peter said. But what he was thinking was that he had always struggled with Calormene. He was thinking that Narnia’s relationship with Calormene remained strained. He was thinking that he hated to think about it like this, but Altiora was kind of perfect.

He liked her. A lot. And he knew it would be easy to fall in love with her – if he hadn’t already. But, as a king, all he could think was that she would make the perfect partner. The perfect queen.

“What are you actually thinking?” she asked softly.

He smiled. “I am thinking that I am very happy to have met you, Lady Altiora.”

She moved a little closer, rising slightly on her elbows, and kissed him softly, then pulled away. “And I, you,” she said, with a growing grin. “High King Peter, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of–”

Peter laughed and kissed her, interrupting his titles. “Peter will do,” he murmured against her lips.

Narnian Year 1015

Pale sunlight trickled in through the curtains. Altiora reached out sleepily beside her, finding the other side of the bed empty, but still warm. She opened her eyes blearily and saw Peter in the meagre light, pulling his boots on near the door.

He looked over when he heard her moving and smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said quietly, coming over to the side of their bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up.

“The White Stag has been spotted in Lantern Waste,” he said. “Ed and the girls and I are heading out. I know hunting isn’t your favourite pastime.”

“Mm,” she agreed. “Stay safe.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “With any luck, we shall have stag for dinner,” he said. “I’ve invited some guests; we’ll throw a little party.”

She pulled him down for a proper kiss.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured against her lips and laid her back down.

She smiled up at him and pulled the blankets back up to her chin. “See you tonight.”

He looked back at her one last time before heading out the door. Altiora rolled over and closed her eyes, sleep claiming her once again.

Cair Paravel bustled with activity as everyone prepared for the banquet that evening. The kings and queens were all talented hunters so no one doubted that the stag would manage to evade all four of them. With the help of the head housekeeper, Altiora oversaw it all, walking through the kitchens finalizing the menu and looking over the list of local nobles and friends who had been invited. It kept her quite busy all day.

Guests arrived as the sun began to set but there was no word from the kings and queens. Oreius sent out Teba, an eagle, towards Lantern Waste and Altiora assured the guests that they had probably just lost track of time.

She was just greeting the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Beaver when Oreius tapped her shoulder. He looked rather grave.

“Your Majesty,” he said and gestured for her to step aside with him.

“Please, excuse me,” she said to the Beavers with a warm smile.

Oreius led her to the edge of the banquet hall.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is one of them injured?”

Oreius shook his head. “Teba could not find them,” he said in a low voice. “Not on the road back, nor in the villages along the way.”

“What? But they know that area so well. Surely they could not have gotten lost.”

“I have sent out more scouts as well as asked the dryads for their help,” Oreius said. “We should not worry until we know more.” He looked out at the sea of guests pointedly.

Altiora nodded. “And we mustn’t worry anyone else,” she said.

“Precisely, your majesty,” he said.

“Very well.”

She made her way to the head table, to her place to the right of Peter’s chair.

“Good evening, everyone!” she called out and the room began to quiet. “It appears that the Stag has not yet been caught, but the kings and queens are quite determined to succeed,” she continued. “But not to worry, we have more than enough food here this evening, and you are all welcome again when the Stag is caught. Please, enjoy your dinner!”

And to her relief, they all did so readily. She sat down in her chair, trying not to look at the four empty chairs on either side of her.

Before she began to eat, Mr. Tumnus came up to the head table. “You look so alone up here,” he said. “Come, sit with us.”

Altiora smiled gratefully and joined him and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and other close friends of the kings and queens. She tried to enjoy the evening, talking and laughing with the rest, but kept glancing at the main doors, as though Peter and his siblings would come bursting through triumphantly at any moment.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Mrs. Beaver asked finally.

“Of course,” Altiora said quickly.

Mrs. Beaver followed her gaze to where she had been looking at the doors. “No need to worry about them,” she said kindly. “They can all take care of themselves.”

Altiora nodded. “It just feels very strange to be here alone.”

Mrs. Beaver patted her hand. “Peter will be back before you know it.”

Altiora smiled and nodded and pushed down the growing dread in her stomach.

Later that night, when the guests had gone home and Altiora was very deliberately not pacing her and Peter’s bedroom, there was a knock on the door. Altiora left the bedroom and passed through the sitting room to open the door. Oreius stood in the hallway.

“What is it?” she asked quickly, stepping aside so he could enter, his hooves loud in the quiet of the night.

“The scouts have returned,” he said. “There is no sight of them yet, but we have expanded the search to the entire northeast of Narnia.”

Altiora nodded. “Thank you, Oreius,” she said, then paused. “Is now when we should begin to worry?” She hated how small her voice sounded.

“No, your majesty,” he said gently and she got the feeling he was just trying to reassure her. “We have no real reason to believe anything has happened to them. Perhaps their pursuit of the Stag has led them further afield.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Rest, your majesty. There is nothing more to be done now.”

And his voice and demeanour were so calming that she almost believed him. She bade him goodnight and went to bed, curling on her side, back to where Peter would usually lay. He had been gone longer than this before, she told herself, and on much more dangerous exploits.

But at least then she had known where he was.

She was awoken by a maid, Sally, shaking her shoulder.

“Your Majesty,” she said quietly. “Oreius wishes to see you in the council chambers.”

Altiora was immediately awake. “Did he say what it was about?” she asked, getting out of bed. She pulled the curtain aside, but it was still dark outside.

“No, your majesty.”

Sally already had clothing laid out for her, but Altiora shook her head, reaching for her robe instead, pulling it on over her nightgown. Sally nodded and handed her her slippers.

The halls of the castle were quiet and dark as Altiora made her way to the council chambers. The dread in her stomach had grown so bad she thought she might be sick.

A guard outside the chambers pulled the doors open and she entered. Around the table sat most members of the Council, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. Oreius stood beside the chair at the head of the table – Peter’s chair. The chairs to his right and left – Susan’s and Edmund’s – were also empty. Mr. Tumnus sat to the left, across from Lucy’s empty chair. Altiora hesitated in the doorway, unsure where to sit. She did not generally attend council meetings.

“Your Majesty,” Oreius said, bowing slightly. “Come.” He gestured at Peter’s chair. “With the kings and queens absent, this is your place.”

Altiora felt very small as she crossed the room and sat in the chair. She was suddenly very aware of her appearance – the plain robe and her hair in a simple braid down her back. She looked out at the others around the table and resisted the urge to shrink in her seat. Even though most of those around the table looked like they had just woken up, they were more dressed than she was.

She looked up at Oreius. “What’s happened?”

“The horses of the kings and queens were found,” he said. “Wandering the hills near Lantern Waste. As they were all dumb beasts, we cannot know when they parted ways with them.”

Everyone was looking at her now and she realized they expected her to be leading this meeting.

She took a breath. “And have the searches in northeastern Narnia been completed?” she asked.

“Not yet, your majesty,” Oreius said. “But they so far have found nothing.”

“Lantern Waste is not far from the border with Ettinsmoor,” a dwarf, Dukar, said.

“We mustn’t jump to conclusions about our allies,” Mr. Tumnus said.

Dukar scoffed. “The last giant incursion was only two years ago,” he said. “If we’re jumping to conclusions about anyone, it should be them.”

“What of the countries beyond the Western Wilds?” Lord Allric asked. “They have never been our allies.”

“But they have also never been openly hostile,” Colonel Brinley pointed out.

“Perhaps they were simply biding their time,” Dukar said.

The discussion went around and around for some time and Altiora looked over at Oreius. “Are any of these countries a real threat right now?" she asked quietly.

"Ettinsmoor has always been the most aggressive,” Oreius said in a low voice, leaning down. “But their new king has made many changes, so if there is foul play here, then I doubt they had anything to do with it.”

Altiora nodded, then turned back to the table when she heard someone mention Archenland.

“…I know they have always been our closest ally,” Lord Allric was saying. “But–” He stopped and looked at Altiora. “No offence meant to you, your majesty, but we must consider all possibilities.”

Altiora nodded. “Of course, I understand.”

“Archenland gains nothing from this,” Colonel Brinley protested. “Perhaps if High King Peter had fathered a child, some might–”

“That is pure speculation, Colonel Brinley,” Oreius cut in. “And useless in this discussion.”

“I think we should hear what Queen Altiora has to say,” Mr. Beaver said suddenly.

All eyes on her again, Altiora cleared her throat. “I think… I think that without evidence, it is of no use to suspect our allies, especially if we don’t know if there is anything to suspect them for,” she said slowly and nodded to Mr. Tumnus. “However, I believe we should, for now, keep the… disappearance as much of a secret as we can, in case it be taken as a sign of weakness by any who would want to do harm to Narnia.”

“I think that’s very sensible,” Mr. Tumnus said.

Everyone nodded and Mrs. Beaver smiled at Altiora.

“I agree,” Oreius said. “We will wait for news from the search in the northeast, and then convene again to discuss any new information.”

As everyone left the room, Mrs. Beaver came up to Altiora. “Take heart, dear,” she said. “He’ll find his way back to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Beaver,” Altiora said.

The next morning, Altiora woke up slowly and reached out absentmindedly to the other side of the bed. It was empty and cold, and she opened her eyes, remembering the events of yesterday. She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy over their bed.

She had woken up naturally, which meant that no news had come during the night. Every worst possibility whirled through her mind, and she scrunched her eyes shut tightly.

“This isn’t helping,” she muttered to herself and dragged herself out of bed. She stepped into her slippers and walked over to the west-facing window, pulling the curtain aside. The morning was misty and she could only just barely see the dark spot of the woods over the horizon.

“Where are you, Peter?” she asked the cool morning air, then shook her head and turned away from the window.

She found Oreius in the small dining room, speaking with Colonel Brinley and another officer she didn’t recognize.

“Ah, your majesty,” Oreius said. “I hope you got some rest.”

Altiora nodded. “Is there news?”

He shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

After breakfast, Altiora found herself pacing the halls of the castle. She wandered every corridor and passage, trying – she wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to do. She had to do something.

Finally, she went to the stables and asked that her horse be saddled. As she was about to leave, a guard came up to her.

“Your Majesty,” he said, slightly uncertainly. “The general has asked that no one leave unless it is necessary."

“I’m just going for a short ride,” Altiora said.

“I’m sorry, your majesty, but I have my orders.”

Altiora sighed and handed him the reins. “Do you know where I can find Oreius?” she asked.

“He should be in the barracks,” the guard said.

Altiora passed through the barracks, ignoring the strange looks the soldiers gave her and burst into the office. Oreius looked up.

“We haven’t–” he began.

“I can’t stay cooped up in the castle,” she interrupted. “I need to go outside and do something.”

“Your Majesty,” he said calmly. “Until we know more, we must be cautious. Our first priority, after finding the kings and queens, is your safety.”

“I realize that but–” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I just– I feel like I should be doing something.”

“I believe the sitting room has been set up with card and board games.”

“That’s not–” She took a breath. “I want to do something useful.”

“Your Majesty, at this point, there is nothing you can do,” he said.

She nodded, her frenzied energy suddenly falling away, her stomach dropping in a way that felt like how she had heard vertigo described. Her lip began to tremble, and she felt tears prickling in her eyes. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to keep her breathing even, hands twisting tightly together.

“There, now,” Oreius said, leaning down and cupping her cheek. “Do not be discouraged, they’ve only been gone a day.”

She took a long shuddering breath and opened her eyes. “Thank you, Oreius.”

Then she fled the room before her tears began to fall. She went into the first empty guest room she could find – the one used by visiting royalty – and curled up on the window seat, drawing the curtain between herself and the rest of the room. She leaned her forehead against the glass window and let the sobs tear from her chest out her throat. She let herself finally feel the fear and anguish that she had been pushing down. She drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her skirt.

She imagined Peter in some enemy’s dungeon, shackles around his wrists and ankles. She imagined him wounded and lost and alone, trying to find his way home. She imagined him–

She couldn’t even think the word.

She imagined his body broken, defeated. She imagined his pain. She imagined his life snuffed out and never seeing him again.

And when her tears subsided, she stared out the window for a while, watching as the sun began to slowly make its way across the sky.

No one had come to find her, so there was no news. There was nothing to be done. So she just sat there.

When the sun started to set, she heard a commotion out in the hallway and left her hiding place. In the hallway, she bumped into a guard.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

He bowed quickly. “Your Majesty,” he said. “The scouts have returned. I believe General Oreius will be hearing their report in the Council chambers.”

Altiora nodded and set off in the direction of the Council room. Only Oreius and a captain were there when she entered.

“Your Majesty,” Oreius said. “I was about to have someone look for you.”

“What have you found?” she asked the captain.

“Nothing, your majesty,” he said. “None of the trees nor the other nature spirits, nor any creature in northeastern Narnia has seen any sign of them. Neither did my troops.”

Altiora reached out a hand to the table to steady herself.

“But we will keep looking,” Oreius said. “We simply need to broaden the search.”

The rest of the council soon arrived and Altiora took her place in Peter’s seat. Mrs. Beaver moved a chair next to her and held her hand as the captain explained in more detail the area that had been searched and exactly how much nothing had been found.

Oreius once again stated the need for a broader search and Altiora voiced her agreement.

No one else had much to say and the meeting was soon over. Altiora was not hungry and instead, she climbed the spiral staircase up the tallest tower. She stepped out onto the roof and looked out toward the west. In the dark, she could see the lights of the villages and how they disappeared under the trees.

Her eyes climbed up into the night sky, where the Leaping Lady and the Hunter still held hands. She thought it was rather cruel that they still had each other when she and Peter did not.

She stood there for a long time until she could hardly keep her eyes open, and then she went to bed.

Days passed. Then weeks. They stopped having council meetings every day since the news was always the same: that there was none. And when they did have meetings, Altiora rarely spoke, except to voice her support for whatever suggestions Oreius made.

Altiora spent her days wandering the castle aimlessly or, more often, standing at the top of the tower facing westwards.

She knew they worried about her. Mrs. Beaver began seeking her out at mealtimes to make sure she ate. Mr. Beaver offered to teach her how to play various card games. And the first time Mr. Tumnus found her at the top of the tower, he had dragged her away from the edge, begging her not to throw herself off of it.

Finally, searches of each region of Narnia had been completed. Since every Narnian knew, the news had spread and their allies had joined in, searching their territories for any sign of the missing monarchs.

“If there was any foul play,” Colonel Brinley said at a council meeting. “We would have heard by now. There would have been threats.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

“I think,” Lord Allric said, with a cautious glance at Altiora. “That we may have to begin to plan for the possibility that they are, well, gone. And that we may never know what happened.” He inclined his head to Altiora. “I am sorry, your majesty.”

Altiora nodded. “Peter once told me,” she said suddenly. “That he and his siblings came into this land through a doorway in Lantern Waste.” It was the most she had said in a meeting in weeks.

“You think they may have gone back to their world?” Dukar asked. “Why would they do that?”

“He also said that their coming here was an accident. They didn’t mean to,” Altiora continued. “Perhaps that happened again.”

Mr. Tumnus nodded. “It was at the lamppost that I first met Queen Lucy,” he said.

“It would explain why they seem to have vanished entirely,” Oreius said. “And why no one has seen them since the day of the hunt.”

The funeral was held in late summer, with the warning of autumn cool on the wind. A large stone was placed in Lantern Waste near the lamppost, carved with the inscription:

In memory of our beloved monarchs

To the glistening eastern sea, Queen Lucy the Valiant

To the great western woods, King Edmund the Just

To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle

And to the clear northern skies, King Peter the Magnificent

Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.

Altiora held her father’s arm tightly as what felt like thousands wished her their condolences. By the end, she felt like she had no tears left.

Her parents asked her to come back home with them, but she couldn’t.

“My place is here now,” she told them.

Not long after that, concerning reports began to come from the West. Telmar was moving troops and war machines to the border. Telmarine scouts were spotted further and further into Narnia.

Council meetings became war meetings. Altiora relied even more on Oreius than she had before.

She still spent most of her time in the tower, still looking west, but for different reasons now. She could not yet see the Telmarine troops, but she soon would.

She knew that Peter and his siblings had initially come to Narnia to help free her from the Witch’s rule. A small piece of hope blossomed within her that perhaps they would return to do the same with the Telmarines – who gained ground nearly every day.

She watched from her tower as they approached, as the situation became more and more dire. She waited, hands on the battlements and wind in her hair, to see Peter ride in with his golden hair and determined eyes and save the day.

Narnian Year 2303

Peter sat against the crumbling stone wall, head tipped back and eyes closed. Around the fire that crackled in front of him, his siblings slept, curled up on the ground.

They were in Narnia again. In Cair Paravel. And now that his siblings slept, he let himself fully process that.

He looked up at the sky, where the roof of the Great Hall used to be. The sky was clear and there was the Leaping Lady, skirt blown wide by an invisible wind, arm outstretched, holding the hand of the Hunter.

The place where he had proposed to Altiora was feet away from where he sat. They had gotten married in this room. In this castle, he had fallen asleep and woken up beside her for far fewer nights and mornings than they had thought they had.

And here he was, hundreds of years late back from the hunt. And she was gone.

“Everyone we knew, Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers,” Lucy said as they looked at the wall carvings in the Howe. “They’re all gone.”

Susan looked at Peter and squeezed his arm. “And Altiora,” she said softly.

Caspian looked at him curiously but Peter just shook his head. They were here to win an impossible revolution. He didn’t need to be distracted.

Some days later, Peter wandered the tunnels of the Howe, refusing to admit to himself that he was lost. In the distance, he heard singing, a melody he recognized. It was an old Narnian folk song about a nymph who loved a dryad, if he recalled correctly. He began to follow the sound. The nymph never dared to tell the dryad and instead spent her life slowly carving out a new path for her river to ensure that the dryad’s tree was always well-watered.

He glanced inside the room and saw a faun cleaning and oiling leather armour. She was singing something else now, another melancholy song.

“In the tall towers of the castle

Like the mountains of her home

She can see far across to the Waste

There she waits every day for her husband to return

He hasn’t yet, he hasn’t yet, he hasn’t yet.”

Peter didn’t recognize this one. He leaned against the wall outside the doorway, listening.

“And when the enemy approaches

And her armies all have fled.”

Her voice climbed mournfully.

“Still she stands in that tower facing west

She’s the only one they find when they breach the castle walls

Altiora the Lonely, Altiora the Last.”

The last line hit Peter like a punch to the gut, but still, the song went on.

“And on the days when the mist

Clings to those old, old stones

People say you can still see her standing there

She will remain at her post until her husband rides home

He hasn’t yet, he hasn’t yet, he hasn’t yet.”

Memories flooded his mind, ones he had pushed down for so long. Altiora. Her long dark hair. Her laugh. Her eyes so dark brown they were almost black. The callouses on her hands from climbing.

Inside the room, the faun continued with a different song, but all Peter could think of was Altiora, strong and determined and hopeful, standing on the western tower, waiting for him to come home.

He took a shaky breath and wandered the tunnels, more determined this time. He finally found Trumpkin in conversation with Trufflehunter.

“Trumpkin,” Peter said, interrupting them. “When you said the Telmarines invaded not long after we left, what did you mean by ‘not long’?”

Trumpkin looked at him strangely. “Does it matter exactly how long they’ve been here?”

“I just– I heard this song about Altiora and–” Peter stopped, trying to compose himself.

Trumpkin looked at Trufflehunter, who shot him a glare. “His wife, Trumpkin,” he snapped. “Altiora was his wife.”

“When the Telmarines invaded, was she still…?” Peter asked.

Trufflehunter gestured for him to sit down, then said, “You have to understand that most records from that time have been lost. Whatever we know comes mostly from oral history, like that song.”

Peter nodded.

“The stories go that after you and your siblings’ disappearance, your wife took her place as Narnia’s queen. They searched for months to no avail. Then, some years later, the Telmarines invaded. When they reached Cair Paravel, most Narnians had retreated to the mountains or the deepest woods, but Queen Altiora refused to leave the castle. She supposedly locked herself in the tower, which was where the Telmarines found her when they took the castle.”

“And what–” Peter was breathless. “What did they–?”

“They took her captive, but – and the stories are unclear on how – she escaped and lived her life in hiding with the rest of the Old Narnians,” Trufflehunter continued. “She is supposed to be buried by your majesties’ funeral stone.”

“Our funeral stone?”

“When it was accepted that you and your siblings were gone, a stone engraved with your names was placed in Lantern Waste,” Trufflehunter explained. “The words wore away decades ago, but the stone is still there.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you, Trufflehunter.”

“And, your majesty,” Trufflehunter said as Peter began to turn away. “She never lost hope, your queen. All the stories agree on that point. She always believed you would return.”

Peter was unsure if that made it better or worse. All he knew was that it made him want to leave this whole damned war to Caspian and Edmund so he could lie in the deepest caverns of the Howe and weep.

But he could not. It was his responsibility to take care of his siblings and put Caspian on the throne, and, by Aslan, that was what he was going to do.

The day before Caspian’s coronation, Peter travelled alone to Lantern Waste. He found the lamppost and beyond it a large stone, worn smooth over time.

He fell to his knees at its base, pressing his forehead to the cool stone.

“I came back,” he whispered. “A bit late, I know. I wish you had been here to–” He closed his eyes and tears slipped over his cheeks. “I never meant to leave you. I’m so sorry.” He knelt there for some time, letting himself cry.

When he was finished, he sat on the ground, leaning against the stone, and told Altiora about all that had happened since they parted.

“I think we’re leaving again soon,” he said finally. “We’re not really needed here anymore. The last time, Narnia needed us to rule. Now she has a king. I wanted to make sure I came here before we left, so I didn’t leave you without a proper goodbye again.” He dug his fingers into the grass. “Farewell, my dear,” he said. “I love you and I miss you and I hope someday to see you again.”

#my writing #mine #chronicles of narnia #narnia #peter pevensie #peter pevensie x ofc

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hellas-himself · 2 years

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ZevWarden Week 2022 Day 2- Gold

This is not what day 2 looked like originally, but then I went to the lake and saw the sunset and that inspired me to do something else lol I hope you enjoy!

Everyone was gathered round the fire, listening to Sarel tell a story about some elvhen god or something. Zevran wasn’t sure. He stopped paying attention the moment Leliel had joined them. She wore a dress of a deep blue velvet, embroidered in gold at the end of the fitted sleeves and the long hem. The neckline was rather modest in comparison to the dresses and robes she’d worn before but that made no difference. Her long hair was loose, the greatest proof it was a day of rest. Leliel looked like the maiden of some great tale, the kind of princess only a righteous, shining knight had the honor court, to have her love them in return.

That thought gave him pause. He blinked twice and found Leliel looking at him, a lovely blush on her cheeks. She smiled at him, something timid and sweet all at once. He felt himself smile, and then she giggled, quickly looking away.

Leliel was… Zevran had never quite met anyone like her. Nor had he ever felt so close to someone, either. He genuinely enjoyed her company, listening to her talk and laugh. He had also never welcomed the touch of another, or sought after it. Her embraces, the way she held his hand- it was not to say it did not terrify him. Such vulnerability had never ended well for him. But in the process of gaining her trust, he’d come to trust her, too.

Zevran enjoyed making her laugh, coaxing out all the ways she smiled because of him. And when she blushed! He loved when she blushed and even more, he loved when she did the same. Zevran was certain in all his life he had never smiled as much as this, laughed so much out of true mirth before. She loved to tease him and tell him terrible jokes that from anyone else would never make him laugh. He cherished every secret, every tiny memory she held close to her heart that she entrusted him with. And when he found himself spilling out his heart to her in the dark of night, instead fearing that his weaknesses would be sold to those who would harm him… he felt relief. Weightless.

And Zevran knew only a fool would let such a blessing escape their grasp.

“Zevran?” His name was spoken softly and he looked up to find Leliel standing before him.

“Ah, my darling warden. I did not see you there.”

She laughed and twirled the end of her hair.

“The story is over… I wanted to go look at the ruins before the sun went down.”

Zevran rose to his feet. With the threat of the werewolves gone, a small walk through the forest was of no consequence.

“I would love nothing more, preciosa.”

She beamed at the pet name, more so when he offered her his arm.

They did not wander far, Leliel was so easily fascinated by the small columns across the lake that they were still in view of the Dalish encampment. He held her hand as she carefully walked across the rocks and branches along the shore, her other hand holding up the hem to her dress. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of her dainty leather shoes.

They walked along the lake shore until she caught sight of elf root, which she showed him how best to harvest. Zevran offered her the satchel attached to his belt to carry it in. He showed her which berries were safe to eat and then chased her around after she bit the berries he had held up to eat for himself and ran off. He caught her up the hill, taking her up in his arms and spun her around. They were both breathless when he set her down; she was smiling, her hair windswept and her lips slightly stained with the berries. Her skin was golden in the slowly setting sun, her eyes alight- Zevran had never wanted to kiss someone as much as he did right then.

“You’re a dream,” he softly said, admiring the way her eyes widened just slightly. At the way she began to blush.

“I won’t always be,” was her whispered reply. “You know that.”

“I do.” He brought a hand to her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “But I also know that my days are brighter because of you, even when we’re faced with so much death and uncertainty.”

“Zevran…”

“I wish to be at your side, for as long as you allow it. Since the day we met, with that sexy sword of yours at my neck, I told you I was your man, without reservation. That has not changed, Leliel.”

There she went again, giggling and smiling at him as though she saw something precious in him. He knew if he said nothing now, he’d let himself retreat back into the darker depths of his mind. He’d ruin everything before it even began.

“Tell me then, preciosa, will you have me?”

“I want to be with you, and I want you to be mine… as much as I wish to be yours.”

Zevran felt his face get warm. He did not deserve her, he knew, but he wanted to try… wanted to believe that he could try to be enough.

“And Zevran, I want you with me not out of obligation or some life debt- you owe me nothing.”

“I… I wish I could express how much that means to me. I am for once at a loss for words.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leliel said gently, before her smile turned coy. “Your words alone are not what keep me drawn to you.”

So Zevran kissed her. It was no more than the softest press of his lips to hers, but when he pulled back, her blush had deepened and she was smiling.

“Kiss me again, Zevran.”

And who was he to deny her?

#zevwardenweek2022 #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #first kiss #zevran x surana #zevran x leliel #fanfic #i feel like i'm missing tags idk

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ermakeys · 2 years

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Cocoon

Chapter 2: Atin Squadron

Warnings: War, Trauma, PTSD, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence

AO3

Naire meets Atin Squadron in its entirety along with a few other residents of the GAR base.

A chime at Naire’s door ripped her from the lines of code she was staring at on her datapad. She blinked at the door a few times, trying to orient herself as the numbers still drifted in front of her. The chime sounded again and she called, “Come in!”

The door slid open and a clone trooper peered inside. His helmet was tucked under one arm, so Naire took a quick look at it to memorize the pattern painted there: Mostly black with the shape of a white bird and its wings reaching across the face. Most notable about his armor was the red cross of a medic on his shoulder pad and chest.

“Lieutenant… Spoof?” the trooper asked with a frown, bringing the lightning tattoos over his brows closer together. Naire hurried to stand up when she realized she’d just been blinking up at him from her desk for several seconds now.

“Yes, sorry, just lost in thought,” Naire apologized, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She held out her hand to the medic and tried not to flinch when he gripped her hand to give it a shake. “How can I help you, trooper?”

He gave her a small grin and reached up to brush a hand through his short, dark curls with a chuckle.

“Actually, I believe I am supposed to be helping you, lieutenant. Commander Bes’bev asked that one of us give you a tour of the base.”

Naire glanced back at her desk where she’d left the datapads running their decryption programs. She had been able to unlock most of the pads to her code, but a few had locks on them that her predecessor had added for extra security. Nothing too difficult, it would just take time. Naire snatched up her original datapad that she had connected to the rest and her hat and stepped towards the door.

“Of course, thank you…”

“CT-2921 or Henny,” he supplied, stepping back to let me out. Naire sealed the door behind her and started to put her hat on when he held up a hand with a grimace. “I wouldn’t bother with the hat, lieutenant. The winds here will rip it off the moment we step outside. Maker knows how the locals keep theirs on.”

Naire laughed softly and lowered her hat, holding it out for him to see two almost invisible metal circles stuck to the inside seam. Henny blinked in surprise and Naire tapped the side of my headscarf with a smile.

“Magnets. That’s how,” Naire said and put on her hat in a way that Henny could see one side click into place. “It won’t stop my hat from being ripped off entirely in very bad winds, but they help.”

Henny chortled, holding up a hand to hide his obvious amusement. His shoulders visibly shook as a pair of officers entered the barracks looking very windswept. They took a moment to comb their hair back into place and then put on their hats. As if nothing was amiss. Naire nodded politely as they passed them and Henny wheezed when they stepped out of the barracks.

“Maker, my brothers and I have been guessing for months on how the locals do it,” Henny gasped, wiping at his eyes before slipping his helmet on. As the wind buffeted her face, Naire wished she had a helmet herself. Henny’s helmet turned down to look at her and she could hear the grin in his voice. “Please, do not tell anyone. I want to hold it over them for a while first.”

Naire laughed, shaking her head.

“I can do that. Just let me know when it is alright to reveal the secret.”

Henny promised he would as the two of them began to walk across the base. A darkened base. It had been three hours since Master Su had left Naire in her quarters and since then the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and mountain ranges. Lights illuminated the base and she had heard vehicles returning from and setting out for their patrols. The compound was busy and Henny and Naire stood on the edge of it.

“Here on the northern side we have the command center and the two barracks,” Henny pointed out, gesturing to the buildings. “The clone barracks take up more space, so the garages are over on our side, the western side. The estern side has the clone barracks, the medbay, the mess and storage.”

Naire nodded along and Henny waved at her to follow him. They walked along the western side toward the garages and she peered inside as they watched a Juggernaut slowly roll back into the garage. Henny waved down the row of garages and said, “Because of the winds we have twenty HAVw A6 Juggernauts deployed on Edar and only five LAAT. We don’t have many pilots that can manage these winds.”

“Even among the Edari, pilots that can navigate these winds are valued highly,” Naire added softly and Henny glanced down at her.

“Our clone pilots have had a few close calls and command would rather not risk us or our equipment on risky maneuvers when we can use the Juggernauts instead.”

He waved at a few troopers that climbed out of the Juggernaut and called out to him before continuing our tour. The southern end of the base had a gate and gatehouse for the Juggernauts to drive through and Naire stared out over the rolling hills and mountains beyond the base while a trooper at the gatehouse greeted Henny. Or the hills and mountains she knew to be out there in the dark.

They crossed the dark landing area and passed the storage areas to step into the medbay. Henny’s shoulders seemed to relax a little once he stepped inside and he removed his helmet with a sigh. He grinned down at her and said, “This is the medbay where I hope I never have to find you.”

A clone captain called for Henny and the latter glanced between Naire and the captain with a frown. She nodded for him to go and followed slowly. He obviously knew most of the clones they had seen. It didn’t surprise her. As a medic, he would get to know more clones than just his immediate squad.

The captain and Henny were looking over a datapad with frowns and when Naire stepped closer they both looked up. They straightened and Henny cleared his throat, gesturing towards her.

“Captain, this is our new intelligence officer, Lieutenant Spoof.”

“And I’m Iason,” the captain introduced himself, holding out his hand. Naire smiled even when he shook her hand and Iason sighed down at the datapad. “My apologies for stealing Henny from you for your tour. I swear, the Ne’tra Gi Company does their best to frustrate me with their medical reports.”

Naire tilted her head at the unfamiliar Mando’a word. She could remember it from earlier as well, but she hadn’t had the chance to ask about it then.

“Ne’tra Gi?”

“‘Black fish’” Iason and Henny translated at the same time. They glanced at each other before Iason continued, “Commander Bes’bev chose the name for the company after his first battle on a planet that had these sea mammals that whistled like he and his instrument do.”

Naire’s brows rose in surprise and she mimed the shape of the sharp metal pipe she had seen on his belt.

“That pipe on his belt is an instrument?”

“A Mandoan bes’bev. It’s a wind instrument from Mandalore that he was given back during training on Kamino,” Henny explained and then paused when Iason shot him a look. Naire glanced between the two when Henny fidgeted with a nervous cough. “A-anyway, shall we move on to the mess? It’s almost dinner time.”

“Sure. It was a pleasure, Captain Iason.”

They stepped out of the medbay and moved towards the mess hall. Even from the outside and with the wind Naire could hear the loud noise of a large group of troopers inside. Henny and Naire stepped inside and she sucked in a breath as the full force of the noise hit her.

“How many troopers are stationed at this base?” Naire asked, leaning closer to Henny so he could hear her over the noise of his brothers. Henny fiddled with his helmet with a thoughtful frown.

“The 424th is permanently based here while other companies come and go as necessary,” he answered, waving at a few troopers that passed with their trays of food. “Part of the 421st is here at the moment, but will be shipping out again in a few days. I’d say we’re just shy of seven hundred.”

Naire felt more than she heard her stomach rumble and glanced at the line for food. It wasn’t too bad at the moment. Maybe she could ask Henny to eat with her while she asked him-.

Her eyes widened in surprise when a trooper raised his arm and waved at her from the line. Was that Solus? He was in full white armor and had the same crew cut as a few other troopers around. In front and behind him in the line were his black, white and blue armored brothers who were glancing between him and Naire.

“Spoof!”

That confirmed it. That was definitely Solus.

“You know the shiny?” Henny asked with a small frown and Naire waved back tentatively. Solus’ smile widened and he turned to the trooper in front of him to say something. The trooper shook his head, but Solus argued.

“If it’s the trooper I’m thinking of, I met him on the transport here.”

Henny hummed as Solus left the line and jogged towards Henny and Naire. He was almost vibrating with excitement as he grinned at her and exclaimed, “There you are! Have you been settling in?”

The sheer energy radiating off of him was almost overwhelming. Still, he was being nice. Naire held up her datapad that flashed with the different progress bars of her decryption programs running and chuckled, “Got straight to work. How about you?”

Solus laughed loudly and shook his head at her.

“Familiarizing myself with my squad and battalion. Layouts, orders, strategies, the likes,” he rattled off with a wave of his hand. “Nothing too big.”

Naire heard Henny make a sound from the back of his throat and looked up to see him frowning.

“That ‘nothing’ could save not only your life but that of your brothers,” Henny scolded Solus in a worried tone. “Make sure you memorize everything or the Seppies will be the least of your concerns.”

Solus began to shrug when another clone appeared behind him. This trooper’s curls were cut close to his scalp and he had a tattoo of two pincers appearing on either side of his neck. Naire briefly wondered what was on the back of his neck, but his angry scowl made her flinch as he grabbed the back of Solus' plastoid armor and shook him.

“Your sergeant didn’t give you permission to leave the line, ik’aad,” the trooper snapped as he gave Solus another good shake, causing him to yelp. Naire’s ears twitched at the Mando’a word. Ik’aad. Baby or a child under three. She flinched again when his narrowed brown eyes found her. “Apologies, lieutenant.”

Naire’s new title dripped with sarcasm when he said it. She gulped even as Henny raised a placating hand and hissed, “Crab, please-.”

‘Crab’ silenced Henny with a glare. His attention was removed from Solus long enough for the new trooper to focus on Naire again. He grinned, unbothered by Crab’s grip on him and said, “Spoof, you should join us for dinner. Chess said-.”

Solus yelped again when Crab let go of his armor to smack the back of his head.

“Did they teach you no respect on Kamino, ik’aad?” Crab demanded in an angry snarl. He sneered down at Naire and grabbed the back of Solus' armor again. “Ignore him, lieutenant. We won’t bother you with-.”

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. Crab obviously didn’t want to be anywhere near her. Yet Solus' crestfallen look…

“I don’t mind,” Naire interrupted with a nervous laugh. She glanced towards the line to avoid their looks. “It would be good to meet the squad.”

Naire yelped when Solus suddenly grabbed her shoulders and began pushing her towards the line with a delighted whoop. She looked back to see him grinning and behind him a seething Crab and concerned Henny.

“Great! I’ll introduce you to the others!” Solus exclaimed and shoved them both into the line where he had been. The trooper in front sighed, rubbing a hand over his bearded face and glared at Solus while Crab and Henny inserted themselves in the line behind Solus. Naire could hear Henny apologizing to the troopers behind them and she tried to shrink. She already disappeared in a crowd of clone troopers since she only reached the top of their shoulders. She wished she was even smaller now.

“I told you to leave the lieutenant be,” the clone sergeant in front of Naire scolded Solus. He had the same curly crewcut as Solus, but a well-kept beard across his face that rounded out his face even as he frowned with his hands on his hips.

“It’s Spoof’s first day on the base too. She should sit with us,” Solus argued and the sergeant curled his lips in a silent sneer. Naire’s eyes flickered down when she saw his gloved fingers trace over the handle of one of three knives on his utility belt. Two more blades than she had ever seen on a trooper. He moved forward with the line and just shook his head, causing Solus to slightly tighten his grip on Naire’s shoulders with a lighthearted chuckle. “Spoof, meet Sergeant Kad’la of Atin Squadron.”

“And ik’aad’s new babysitter,” Kad’la drawled and smirked when Solus began to protest. He took the tray he was offered with the set meal and glanced between the next tray and Solus. “Since you insisted on dragging Lieutenant Spoof here, you can carry her tray for her and bring it to our table.”

Holding his tray with one hand, he gestured for Naire to follow him and she slipped out of Solus' grasp. The younger trooper complained until she heard a whack and a yelp. A quick look behind her showed Solus ducking his head to take two trays while Crab glowered behind him. Kad’la led Naire away from the line and towards a table with four troopers already seated. He set his tray down and she gulped when four pairs of eyes focused on her.

“Lieutenant Spoof, this is the rest of Atin Squadron,” Kad’la introduced them and he narrowed his eyes at the four troopers. “A squadron I hope will that behave themselves better than their new ik’aad.”

Two troopers with short curls tried to hide their chuckles and Naire thanked her lucky stars that their armor was different, they looked to be nearly identical otherwise. One had lines coming from a central point on his sternum, while the other had a pattern of circles of varying sizes. Kad’la waved at them and said, “Those two schoolgirls are Chase and Pebbles. Our pilot and mechanic respectively.”

“And sometimes co-pilot,” the one Naire assumed was Chase piped up, nudging Pebbles who flashed a shy smile even as she wondered about the dark circles under his eyes. The third trooper snorted and shook his head at Chase’s comment and then grinned up at her. She had at first thought he had a beard like Kad’la, but he had triangle tattoos along his jaw and chin, mimicking the sharp jaws of a carnivore.

“The triangle fool is Edee.”

“Hey!”

Chase laughed at Edee’s shout of protest at his description and Edee swatted his hands aside when he tried to poke at him. The final trooper whose armor was nearly entirely black with white snowflakes didn’t even look up from his food. He only looked up with an annoyed frown when Chase nudged him.

“And finally, Gaht’yc.”

“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Naire said with a small smile and tried not to wring her hands. Luckily, Solus appeared with Crab and Henny and everyone hurried to sit down. Solus complained when Naire was pulled down to sit between Kad’la and Henny, but was silenced with a withering look from Crab and Gaht’yc.

“You’ve bothered the lieutenant enough,” Chase scolded Solus with a smile to soften his tone. He then turned his grin onto Naire and she picked at her spoon nervously. “Besides, we haven’t had a chance to speak with our new lieutenant yet.”

“Kaysh mirsh solus.”

Naire glanced over at Crab at his muttered words and he glowered down at his food as he ate between Gaht’yc and Solus. Chase took the opportunity to point his spoon at her and asked, “So, they’re having you investigate Ospilt’s assassination?”

Naire nudged the porridge sludge that was dinner with her spoon and grimaced.

“Officially, I don’t know what my exact assignment will be until tomorrow,” she admitted carefully and sighed. “I was rushed over here from the Venator Negotiator and Master Su just told me about Ospilt’s death a few hours ago.”

“The Negotiator! That’s the flagship of the 7th Sky Corps.”

“I bet she flies like a dream.”

Naire snorted a laugh at Chase’s and Edee’s dreamy tone and shook her head.

“I’ve heard pilots complain about how slow the Negotiator is to maneuver.”

Edee and Chase shot Naire identical grins and the latter sighed, “But she’d pack a harder punch than any of our LAAT here on the base. Easier to wipe out Separatist bases with more firepower.”

“True. The pilots I’ve heard prefer smaller and speedier aircrafts for quick maneuvers.”

“What about you, lieutenant?” Edee asked, leaning around Henny to wink at Naire. “Do you prefer a powerful assault or a quick flyby?”

His tone and wink had Naire’s face heating even as Henny smacked him. Kad’la growled a low warning and Edee raised his hands with an unrepentant grin. Naire mumbled some sounds and started to actually eat to keep herself from answering that loaded question. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the others from asking their own questions.

“Where are you from?”

“How did you get assigned here?”

Pebbles’ and Chase’s questions overlapped and Naire swallowed the nearly flavorless paste down with a grimace. The rest of the squadron was wolfing their food down and she silently wished she could do the same without choking. The less time it spent near her taste buds, the better.

“My family is from the Edari system,” Naire answered after taking a sip from her cup. She glanced at Henny when he got up and left, but returned her focus to the squad when he waved at her to stay seated. “I grew up and lived on the moon Ruus and here on Edar. If I were to take a guess, I would say they wanted an intelligence officer from the system.”

“I didn’t know the GAR could use their braincell,” Gaht’yc drawled which earned him a snort of agreement from Crab and a few chuckles from Edee, Pebbles and Chase. Solus glanced around the table, cheeks stuffed with food and obviously curious, but a shake of his head from Kad’la had Solus focusing on his food again.

“Lieutenant Ospilt was from Coruscant,” Kad’la said with a sigh. His fingers drummed against the table surface after he pushed his nearly empty tray away. “He mentioned not making much progress because the Edari are isolationists. Your presence should make things run more smoothly.”

Naire tried to keep her expression neutral as she hummed at his words. If they didn’t know, her objections to this posting mustn’t be public knowledge for whatever reason. Most of them seemed friendly enough. She didn’t want their smiles to turn away from her just yet.

“Ha! It wouldn’t be hard to make more progress than Ospilt ever did,” Gaht’yc laughed with an icy smile. “The man couldn’t stand anyone different than him.”

“Gaht’yc…” Kad’la warned and Naire glanced nervously between the two. She jumped when Henny appeared at her other side and set down two steaming cups.

“Gaht’yc is right, Kad’la,” Henny said with a shrug. He pushed one of the two cups towards Naire before taking a sip out of his own. “Ospilt was brilliant, but he could never see beyond his own experiences. He didn’t like adapting to Edari customs. He didn’t understand why they weren’t embracing the galactic community more.”

Crab scoffed and pushed his half full tray back.

“The di’kutla shabuir hated anyone that was different from him.”

The statement was loaded with so much unspoken rage. The entire table fell silent as the rest picked at what remained of their food. Naire looked down at the cup of steaming liquid Henny had brought her and cupped it between both hands.

She could remember arriving on Coruscant. She remembered how much her parents and brother struggled to adjust. How herself and her sister had done their best to adapt. They had all resented the change. They had all found their own coping mechanisms. Some were healthier than others.

Naire took a sip from her cup and felt some of the tension drain out of her as the heat traveled down. Henny cleared his throat and leaning closer, murmured, “Tea. Should help you sleep later.”

Henny turned his focus onto Crab and Kad’la as Naire blinked up at him a few times and he urged them to eat more of their meals. Kad’la sighed before picking at his food again while Crab just glared at the medic. Gaht’yc and Edee joined Henny in a goading and playful manner of encouraging the grumpy trooper to eat. She smiled at Henny’s thoughtful gesture. Her sleeping rhythm was going to be off for a while, but hopefully-.

“Lieutenant Tadir?”

The table fell eerily silent and Naire looked up to see two officers standing behind her. Not clone troopers, but natural born humans in the sharp, gray uniform of the Republic. The taller of the two with the sergeant insignia smiled at her and declared, “Chros Gremate and Kaed Thegon. I wanted to formally welcome you to our humble base on Edar.”

He extended his hand towards her and Naire quickly set her cup down. She twitched when his hand enveloped hers in a firmer shake than she had expected. She tried to smile back and said, “Thank you. I-.”

“I also thought I should inform you,” he continued, releasing her hand and Naire flinched at the interruption. Out of the corner of my eye she saw Kad’la narrow his eyes and tense. Gremate didn’t seem to notice as he kept his smiling focus on Naire and waved at the tables around them. “These tables are used by the clones, not us.”

Naire dug the tips of her fingers into the fabric of her gray pants as she felt the palms of her hands become clammy.

“We are not allowed to eat in the mess hall?”

Gremate and his companion, Thegon, laughed at Naire’s question and she used the chance to glance at Henny. The medic’s eyes were wide with worry, but they weren’t focused on herself or the two officers in front of her. His attention was on the other side of the table.

“No, of course we can,” Gremate chortled and gestured towards a table in a corner near the food dispensary. It was empty of clones, but a handful of officers sat there. “That table is reserved for us for every meal. No clones sit there as we don’t need to bore them with what we’re doing in the command center.”

“Yes, please spare us clones with your important work.”

Crab’s growl made Naire’s shoulders jerk up as it dripped with enough sarcasm and resentment to flood Tatooine. Gremate’s pleasant expression turned bored while his companion sneered. Naire risked a look over her shoulder to see Gaht’yc holding Crab’s shoulder and growling something into his ear. Crab however just scowled up at Gremate.

“I apologize if you felt I had invited you to be part of this private conversation, trooper,” Gremate said with a slow blink that looked utterly condescending. “Perhaps next time wait until you are spoken to.”

“Sorry, I’m not born smart like you are. I don’t understand your nuanced nattie social cues.”

Gremate’s companion took a step forward, opening his mouth to say something. Naire flinched when she heard the benches scrape as nearly the entire squadron stood up as well. She tried to become smaller than she already was as she noticed the conversations around them had died. The mess hall that had been loud as people came to eat had fallen silent and were watching them.

Gremate’s companion stopped in his tracks when six clones stood up. Whatever he’d been planning on saying died as he raised a fist to surreptitiously clear his throat instead. The majority of Atin Squad wasn’t even paying attention to him. Ghat’yc, Chase and Pebbles were hovering around a glaring Crab while Solus stared at them from his seat with wide eyes. Henny had grabbed a scowling Edee’s arm while Kad’la had stepped in Crab’s line of sight to block Gremate and his companion.

“I wonder sometimes where all our funding is going,” Gremate finally said with a fake smile directed Naire’s way. He crossed his arms and tapped a finger against his sleeve. “Perhaps we should ask the Kaminoans to review their programming, if cannon fodder is all the clones are good for.”

Naire heard the rattle of plastoid armor around her while she felt her mouth fall open in shock. She dimly heard a hissed warning from Kad’la directed at Crab, but her mind was lightyears away. Her family back on the Negotiator was cannon fodder to Gremate. Even-.

Naire’s datapad chimed loudly in the heavy silence and she jumped as if a blaster had gone off right next to her ear. She grabbed her datapad and saw the notification that one of Ospilt’s datapads had been decrypted. She quickly stood up and her fingers tightened on her datapad when Gremate and his companion didn’t step back to make room. Naire swallowed and murmured, “Thank you for welcoming me, sergeant. The gesture is appreciated, if unnecessary.”

Her hands were trembling. She held her datapad close to her and before Gremate could answer, Naire turned to Atin Squad. She shot them a shaky smile and said, “Thank you for the tour and letting me join you for dinner. I look forward to working together.”

Heart thundering in her ears with nerves, Naire grabbed her nearly empty tray and slipped away. It continued to roar in her ears after she’d dropped off her tray and rushed out of the mess hall. It was only when the doors of her quarters closed behind her that she dropped to the floor, gasping for air. Tears blurred her vision and she whimpered softly as her heart ached.

Cannon fodder.

Gremate said they were just cannon fodder. That they were expendable. Implied that it didn’t matter if they died.

Naire’s datapad chimed again and she sniffled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Her fingers shook as she tapped the screen and saw the new notification. A fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks when she saw the message was from the Negotiator. Naire turned off the screen and pushed the datapad away from her.

Her knees tucked against her chest and arms wrapped around her legs, Naire lowered her head and cried.

0 notes

finelinevogue · 2 years

Note

ELLIE ELLIIEE!!! imagine that little clip at the start of as it was but like in real life and it’s his children going ‘come on daddy, we wanna say goodnight to you.’😭😭✌️

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME WHAT--

but yes... i carried it on for you...

Harry was late again.

He was busy in the studio, trying to figure out how to finish up one of his newest songs. The way that this song was turning out, he was sure that it would become his next single.

It was exciting that he was so into his new music, diving deep into the creativeness of it all. However, it has meant that he has been coming home late into the evenings. The studio was out in the countryside, about an hour away from your house in London, so he was often caught in rush-hour traffic.

"Mommy, when's daddy coming home?" Daphne asked, tugging on your midi-skirt that you'd worn all day. It was a hot summers day and your children had missed their dad all day, wishing they could have a garden picnic with him and their teddy bears instead.

"Soon, baby."

"You said that yesterday and, and, and then he didn't come for long." Your daughter pouted, her lips pushing themselves out just like your husbands.

You sighed, not wanting your daughter to be sad. It was close to her bedtime now and there was no way that a picnic was happening now, but she would be just as content with a message as she would be seeing his face.

"Shall we call him?" You suggested.

Daphne started jumping up and down in joy, clearly thinking she had succeeded in getting what she wanted but luckily for her you wanted to see Harry just as much.

Walking out of the kitchen and into the lounge you picked up your phone and sat down on the green-velvet sofa.

“Hiya! Hiya!” You smiled at your other baby girl, Rosie, who was laying on her blanket on the floor in the middle of the room. She smiled when she saw you and kicked her tiny legs to show that she was excited to see you.

Daphne climbed her way up onto the sofa, pulling on your skirt to hoist herself up. She came and sat next to you, her tiny legs stretching out but not being long enough to even hang over the edge.

You opened your phone, smiling at the background being Harry and your two girls. Pulling up his contact, you pressed call on his mobile and let it ring. Normally he picked up within two rings, but he didn’t this time. Instead it rang all the way to voicemail. You didn’t want to let it ring without leaving a message, however, because the last time you did that he got really worried over what you had originally been calling for.

“Hi babe. Just calling to see where you are and what you’re up to. The girls wanted to say hi!”

You passed the phone over to Daphne, “Come on daddy, we wanna say goodnight to you.”

“You heard the little miss. Alright. We love you and see you soon.” You ended the call.

It was twenty minutes of silence before Harry made his appearance, however not on the phone. He walked straight through the front day and allowed Daphne to run straight towards him.

“Hello gorgeous!” He smiled, kneeling down to give her a big hug before picking her up and situating her on his hip.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, m’love.”

“Did you listen to my voice in the mail?” She asked, pressing her tiny hands into his hair to brush it out of his face. He looked slightly windswept, but gorgeous nevertheless.

“Of course. In fact, you were so cute that you made it into my new song.”

“I’m a singer like you?” Daphne gasped, looking very happy with herself.

“Always.” He kissed the top of her head and then let her down on the floor. Just as he guessed, she ran into the room which she knew that you were in allowing him to follow without calling you out and waking up Rosie.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Daphne shouted as she ran into the lounge.

“Yes m’flower?”

“I’m in daddy’s song.”

Harry walked in the room at the same time as she made her prideful announcement, making you look up at him from where you were laying on the sofa. You had been admiring baby Rosie on the floor when you had heard Harry enter the house. You had no doubt that it was him entering, which is why you allowed Daphne to run and greet him.

“You’re what?” You asked confused, watching as she went to sit down on the floor beside her sister.

“He said so.”

“Care to explain?” You smiled, looking at Harry who was making his way over to you.

Without hesitating, he flopped his entire body on top of yours. He let his head fall into the depths of your neck, secretly kissing you there as your daughters were too busy engaging with each other to notice. He moved up and let his lips touch yours gently. It was your welcome home present for him.

“Her voicemail was just what I was missing from the song. So I added it.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. She’s the best addition to the final album.”

“It’s finished?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He smirked.

“Well done you.”

“Now I can spend the rest of my summer holidays with all my favourite girls.” He kissed your lips again once, twice and then three times for good luck.

“Proud of you.”

“I know.”

“Missed you too.”

“I know.” He smiled, kissing you once more.

He was finally home.

1K notes · View notes

beom1e · 3 years

Text

SOUL WATCH

everybody had the soul watch app, because everybody was curious to meet their soulmate. it was an app that told you when or how and gave you hints, but never who. and due to all the pressure, you downloaded the app too... just to find out you didn’t even have a soulmate after all.

PAIRING yang jungwon x gn! reader

THEMES soulmates au, highschool au, fluff, humour

matching jewellery was a trend among soulmates when it came to being a highschool student. those that had found theirs wanted to show it off, basically shoving it into the faces of those that were still searching. walking down the corridors was a constant reminder that you didn’t have a soulmate for yourself, as matched couples would walk hand-in-hand with shiny bracelets or be seen wearing those missing piece style necklaces.

mondays. after freeing yourself from the couple-filled hallways, you sat down at your desk and placed your books onto the table with a huff. trying to block out your classmate bragging about meeting their soulmate over the weekend, you noisily checked around in your bag for your pencil case.

then came the clicking of your teacher’s heels as she entered the classroom, and there was a rush of students finding their seats. the squeaking of chair legs and quiet chatter only made you more annoyed at the world. to say discovering you were soulmate-less a few weeks prior had put you in a permanent bad mood would be an understatement.

but everything lit up as soon as yang jungwon appeared in the doorway. he apologised for being late, cheeks flushed and hair windswept. heat rose to your own cheeks at the sight of his sorry smile.

much to your dismay, he was a few seats to the back and to the right of you. he disappeared from your sight, making you slump sadly in your seat.

‘today is international soulmate day,’ your teacher smiled, setting her powerpoint up behind her. ‘as you all may know. there are many types of soulmate links out there, but i want to know about yours. so research and write about it — its origin, its rarity — and hand it in at the end of class.’

not sure what to do, you raised your hand. ‘what if you don’t have a soulmate?’ at the sound of your voice, jungwon looked up from his notebook. he didn’t have a soulmate either.

‘everybody has a soulmate, y/n,’ she reminded you. ‘maybe you entered your details into soul watch incorrectly.’

‘i don’t have a soulmate either,’ jungwon spoke up. you turned in your seat. ‘so what do we do instead?’

‘this is the first time i’m hearing of people being soulmate-less,’ she chuckled awkwardly, slightly panicked. ‘well, you’re both part of the student board aren’t you? just head down to the main hall and help the others set up for the soulmate dance.’

the soulmate dance. just the thought of it made you roll your eyes. you’d never attended, because you didn’t show interest in finding out until those few weeks ago, but you knew how cheesy it was. it was like every other kind of dance, totally cliché and super boring. except, you got to bring your soulmate.

you packed up your things as quickly as possible. as horrible it would be having to decorate for a stupid highschool dance that you wouldn’t even attend, at least jungwon would be at your side. and he must’ve understood your suffering, especially during international soulmate week on international soulmate day that just happened to fall on a monday.

you slung your bag onto your shoulder and followed jungwon out of the door. he walked slightly ahead of you, holding open each door for you which you quietly thanked him for.

when you made it to the main hall, the bright pink colour palette made your eyes burn. ‘this is going to be a long week,’ jungwon sighed, dropping his bag and leaving you at the door. mentally agreeing, you placed your own bag down beside his.

you sort of felt bad for jungwon. it was depressing to know that you weren’t ‘destined’ for anyone, and that you’d have to find someone the old way. he seemed even less of a fan of soulmate week than you were, but he did seem really down about not having a soulmate of his own.

it was wednesday morning and you’d missed your bus. annoyed with yourself, you had to run to the nearest bus stop in hopes another bus would arrive soon. that was where you saw jungwon and his friends, all of them being upperclassmen.

trying not to be seen, you awkwardly leaned against the outside of the shelter and looked off to the side. ‘it’s not like i like them,’ jungwon argued, which earned a few laughs from the boys. ‘why would i ask them to the soulmate dance if we’re not soulmates?’

‘because you don’t want to spend saturday studying alone in your room?’ sunoo teased, ‘if they’re not matched, then you can ask them. no big deal.’

the bus pulled up in front of them. you waited for them to get on before following, avoiding eye contact and taking a seat at the back. ‘good morning, y/n,’ jake turned around to face you. ‘i didn’t know you take this bus.’

‘i don’t,’ you awkwardly replied. ‘i was late and missed my own bus.’

‘are you going to the dance on saturday?’ sunoo also joined in, smiling brightly at you.

‘oh, uh,’ you nervously fiddled with the straps of your bag. ‘no, i don’t have a soulmate.’

‘well, we were just telling little wonie here that you don’t need a soulmate to go,’ jay patted jungwon’s head, making the younger boy complain about him messing up his hair. ‘you could come with us.’

‘thank you...’ shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you looked between all of the boys who were staring eagerly at you. ‘for the offer... but i don’t want to go. it means a lot, i just don’t do school dances.’

the bus conversation was probably the most awkward thing that happened to you that day. or during lunch time, when you took a seat on a bench facing the sports field. there was jungwon once again, playing around with the same friends. you watched as jake gave up on running around and collapsed to the floor, with everyone mirroring his actions seconds later.

you’d always had a crush on jungwon. he was always so sweet and polite, with the perfect balance between humour and seriousness. you saw him as someone you could easily rely on and trust, despite never being close to him. his cheeks always had this natural blush and his laugh was addictive, and he looked so serious whenever he was concentrating. you felt your heart racing whenever he was around, but you never had the courage to confess to him.

as you got lost in your thoughts, you made eye contact with him across the field. panicked, you began packing your things away and into your bag. then you left, trying not to move too quickly so that it didn’t look suspicious.

after classes, you were called into the main hall once again. knowing today you’d have to be painting, you grabbed your change of clothes from your locker and headed into the changing rooms. coming back into the hall, you were met with jake and sunghoon covering each other in the baby pink paint.

you slipped past them and looked around for something to do. and then someone tapped on your shoulder. it was sunoo, who asked if you could help him with painting the banner. jungwon passed by you, sending you a soft smile before hurrying off towards jay. how did he seem to be everywhere?

on friday afternoon, as you were exhausted from all the decorating you’d been doing, you were so glad to be able to go home and enjoy your weekend. the whole week had been a complete disaster, and you now had a strong dislike towards the colour pink. but much to your dismay, the head of the student board asked you to attend the soulmate dance in order to keep an eye on the students. why he chose you specifically, you had no idea.

so on saturday morning, you tried your best to drag yourself out of bed. though you really didn’t want to dress up for a highschool dance, there was an outfit you had in mind. things weren’t going to change, you weren’t going to randomly get a soulmate, but you stupidly had hope things could change.

you spent most of the day considering backing out, but gave in because you didn’t want to disappoint your classmate. you arrived at the main hall an hour and a half before the event, ready to set things up.

a few students were around, moving tables to either side of the hall. a large red carpet was being rolled through the centre of the room, leading out onto the school gardens. you turned around at the sound of your name, bumping into the source. they reached for your hand, preventing you from toppling over.

a shock of electricity shot through your arm, forcing you to snatch your hand back. ‘i’m so sorry,’ the voice spoke, and much to your dismay, it was jungwon.

you felt your heart racing again, heat rising to your cheeks in an instant. ‘it’s ok,’ you reassured him. ‘it was my fault, so i’m the one that’s sorry.’

‘well,’ he smiled. ‘i guess i’ll see you around.’

honestly, you felt like an idiot. he heard loud and clear just a few days ago that you didn’t want to go to the soulmate dance, but here you were. maybe he would realise you were being forced into it, but if he didn’t, then that would be humiliating.

you shook your head to clear yourself of all the thoughts. ‘y/n,’ turning on the spot, you were met with the sight of jay coming towards you. ‘you’re looking lost. i thought you weren’t coming.’

‘change of plan,’ you simply replied. ‘i was asked to help set up some things.’

‘well, i need help carrying some things in from the truck outside,’ he offered. ‘if you’d like to help.’ nodding, you followed behind him at a distance.

the sky was clear — not a single cloud in sight — and the sun was shining brightly. the back doors of the truck were open, workers from the catering company lowering large bottles of drinks onto the ground. jay gestured towards the cluster of fruit juice bottles before grabbing one for himself.

they were heavy, but you managed. walking at jay’s side, you couldn’t think of a conversation starter to make it all a little less awkward. but thankfully, or maybe not, he spoke up first. ‘you do know that jungwon has a crush on you, right?’

the bottle fell from your grip. panicked, you reached forward to catch it again. clearly the universe was on your side in that moment, because it didn’t split.

‘uh, no,’ you forced out a laugh, feeling your entire body heat up. ‘i did not know that.’

‘he denies it,’ jay shrugged, helping you lift the heavy bottle back up from the ground. ‘but we all see the way he looks at you. after he found out you were soulmate-less too, he wanted to ask you to the dance tonight. but when you said you weren’t going, he gave up on that idea.’

what were you supposed to say to that? as you placed the bottles beside the snack table, jay pushed them under it. turning around to see jungwon on the other side of the hall, you felt yourself swallowing your words before leaving to the outside again.

but avoiding jungwon wasn’t as easy as you had hoped. he seemed to be in your line of sight at all times and in all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you were avoiding him. after all, if what jay said was true, then the feelings were mutual. still, you couldn’t shift your mind away from the shock you had felt at his touch. you thought maybe you were going crazy and had imagined it, until your phone buzzed with a notification.

leaving jay to bring in the rest of the drinks, you leaned against the exterior wall and pulled out your phone. a notification from soul watch lit up your phone, 0 days until you meet your soulmate. eyes wide, you looked around the area, hoping to see someone checking their phone in that same moment. was that even possible?

you weren’t sure what to do. search for your soulmate? or would they just come naturally to you? did this mean jay was your soulmate? it was a possibility, considering you were with him when the notification came through.

‘you coming inside?’ speak of the devil. you quickly hid you phone, putting on a fake smile and nodding. ‘people will start arriving soon.’

as soon as the hall began to fill up with people, you wished you had never came back inside. you really needed some time and space to think everything through. there was that electricity when jungwon had helped you up, but then you should’ve gotten the notification in that moment, right?

you grabbed your phone from your bag, going out into an empty corridor. sliding down the wall beside the door and pulling up the soul watch app, you searched your profile for details. but all the information it had was about your soulmate link, which happened to be a countdown. and now that the countdown was over, there were no more hints?

you were in complete disbelief, but the soulmate dance wasn’t the place to be researching this.

‘i guess you got it too,’ you looked up to see jungwon. ‘you’ve been avoiding me all day, so you must’ve.’

‘i have not been avoiding you,’ but the redness of your cheeks suggested otherwise. ‘and got what? i don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘a sudden notification that you’ve possibly met your soulmate...?’ he sat down beside you.

‘well actually,’ you could’ve laughed at how stupid you were about to sound. ‘i was avoiding you because of what jay said earlier. and i thought there was no way you could be my soulmate otherwise i would’ve received the notification after we bumped into each other.’

‘who else could possibly be your soulmate?’

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ you turned your head to make eye contact. he quickly looked away and down at the floor, wishing he hadn’t been so bold with his last statement. jungwon was never this forward with people he wasn’t yet close to.

‘i know jay told you that i like you,’ he admitted. ‘and i’ve always known that you like me back. i just never thought to bring it up because i didn’t have a soulmate, and i thought you would have one.’

‘but you have a soulmate now,’ you reminded him, a smile lighting up your features. ‘or... however that works. do you think it has to do with us touching for the first time back then?’

‘you felt that too?!’ his eyes widened as he stared back at you. ‘i thought i was going crazy.’

‘do you want to go back inside?’ you gestured to the door into the main hall. jungwon shook his head, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

‘we could...’ he trailed off, looking behind himself at the exit. ‘or we could ditch this snooze fest and do something fun instead... like go to an arcade?’

‘sounds like a plan,’ you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the ground. he checked if the coast was clear before running towards the exit, the sound of your laughter filling the empty corridor.

#enhypenwriters #enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshot #enhypen oneshots #yang jungwon #jungwon #yang jungwon au #yang jungwon fluff #yang jungwon oneshot #yang jungwon oneshots #jungwon au #jungwon fluff #jungwon oneshot #jungwon oneshots

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knowyourworth-sellyoursoul · 3 years

Text

Proposal

Ask: Hii welcome to fandom 😆 i hope you have lots of fun 🤭❤ so i saw your post and i was thinking: could you please write Bucky proposing to fem!reader? Like he tries to come up with something special but gets a bit nervous and ends up just telling reader why he loves her and does the whole kneeling thing hahaha 💗

Thank you so much for your ask @alotofrandomfangirling. Here it is!

This got away from me and I am not sorry???

Author’s Note: Brief mention of anxiety. This is fluff central. Seriously it is going to rot your teeth.

This is my first fic for this fandom and I would love to have more prompts! I am just getting back into the writing game and this was so fun to do! Also in my world I do not acknowledge Nat, Steve and Tony’s deaths. RIP Marvel but I’m different.

Bucky paced anxiously inside your small foyer. You had sent a text twenty minutes ago letting him know you were on the way home. He flexed his arms in the t-shirt he was wearing-one of your favorites on him- and glanced at the door again when he passed it, willing it to open. On his second pass in front of the door, he pat his pocket, making sure the small box was still there. A snort behind him made him look up. Steve stood in the doorway leading into the living room.

“It’s going to be fine Buck.”

Bucky grunted and continued pacing. Steve watched for a moment before snagging his shoulder, stopping him on his fifth pass in front of the door.

“Seriously Buck, what’s got you all worried.”

Bucky looked him in the eye for only a moment before his thoughts came tumbling out.

“The flowers. I ordered too many. She has allergies Steve! She’s not even going to be able to stop sneezing long enough for me to-“

“Buck they’re carnations-her favorite- which she told you was because they didn’t make her allergies act up and-”

“-‘they last forever’,” Bucky interrupted, smiling at the words you said each and every time he picked up your favorite flowers for you. “What about the candles? We have cats Steve! Those goblins knock everything over if it so much as touches a surface they want to sit on.”

Steve laughed as one of your cats, Queen, took the opportunity to come prancing through the foyer to follow her brother up the stairs. Bucky watched as she swished her tail at him. Queen was originally your cat and she had not taken too kindly to her new brother, Bronx, that Bucky had introduced to the family after a particularly awful mission.

Bucky took a deep breath and smiled at Steve. “Okay I guess the cats won’t be a problem.”

Steve nodded his agreement and released Bucky’s arm. “Just relax pal. She’s going to say yes.”

From the other room a large crash came through the walls. Bucky ignored it. Sam and Nat had said they would help set up the living room for tonight. They could handle it. Another second later he heard a curse through the wall and a quiet thump that had him wondering if they had broken your favorite picture frame. Steve held up his hands to keep him in the foyer as he went to investigate. With the situation under control, Bucky began pacing again.

Three minutes and twenty seconds later, Bucky heard your car pull into the driveway. He took a deep breath and shook out his arms, the metal clinking lightly when he shook his metal hand roughly. “She’s here guys.” Without another word he watched Nat, Sam, and Steve leave through your side door. He could only hope they had successfully set up the room for him.

Bucky took one last steadying breathe as your keys jangled in the door and you pushed it open in a flurry of movement. You looked windswept, keys in your left hand, three bags slung over your right shoulder and your phone pressed into your ear through what Bucky could only assume was the reversal of gravity.

“-and I understand your frustrations Ms. Danner, but we need to work together to come up with a plan for Dante. At this rate, he is going to fail English I and I certainly don’t want him to have to repeat the class again next year.”

Bucky met your eyes as you registered his presence and couldn’t help his breathe catching for a moment. You smiled at him largely, eyes crinkling slightly and cheeks turning a dusty pink. He returned your smile and grabbed the bags off of your shoulder as you kicked the door closed. Seeing you working was something he could never grow tired of. He asked constantly to come watch you teach at your high school. Each time you laughed lightly at him and smacked his chest playfully. “The students would think I’m trying to intimidate them with my extremely handsome and famous boyfriend.” He would roll his eyes at your compliments and ask once more. Your response was always the same, “Once I can introduce you as my husband and people can see you’re mine, then sure.” It always made Bucky laugh how possessive you were over him. It wasn’t an unhealthy amount as he knew you trusted him, but he still loved to see you want him and want other people to know you were his.

You brushed past him with a small peck on his cheek while kicking off your shoes. You headed up the stairs and into the bedroom. Bucky knew you would be changing into your comfiest clothes. He walked your bags into the office to the right of the foyer and set them down. As he waited for you to come back downstairs, he watched Queen and Bronx run down the stairs. Before he could grab them, they sprinted into the living room.

“Hey babe!” He turned to see you coming down the stairs in your sweatpants and tank-top, hair pulled back into a messy bun and glasses sitting askew on your face. He smiled as you reached him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He corrected your glasses as you looked up at him. Before leaning in to kiss you, he bopped your nose gently with his metal finger, sending your face into a little scrunch that he adored.

“Hey doll.” He gave you a kiss. “How was the last day before break?”

You sighed and leaned your head against his chest. He could feel the tension leaving your muscles as you stood there, just breathing. It was something that you had started doing a long time ago to help him with his anxiety and dissociative episodes. You called it co-regulation. Bucky tightened his arms around you as he matched his breathing to yours, finding the moment with you in his arms the calmest he had felt all day. After a minute of standing together, breathing and hugging, he felt you pick up your head.

“It was fine. I had to make the last few phone calls about failing students. It seems even after the Blip, kids don’t want to show up to school even to socialize.”

Bucky laughed and let his arms slide away from yours. As he opened his mouth to respond, a massive crash sounded from the living room. You both turned in that direction to see Bronx and Queen running back out from there and up the stairs.

“Shit.” Bucky muttered as you walked into the living room. He heard you let out a large gasp and an “oh my gods”. He followed you and groaned at the scene before him.

Where there was once what Bucky could only assume a delicate display of flowers was now a massive puddle with petals scattered everywhere. Candles were knocked down from their perches and wax covered surfaces Bucky wasn’t even sure it could get removed from.

“Those goblins! I am going to put them back out on the streets I swear!”

Bucky watched as you surveyed the room with a questioning look. Suddenly the box in his pocket was extremely heavy. He felt his right palm get sweaty and he flexed the fingers on his metal hand.

“This isn’t what I planned.”

You turned around to him, the questioning gaze still sitting on your face.

Bucky glanced around the living room, eyes frantically searching for something that he could anchor himself with. It was ruined. He couldn’t propose to you like this. It wasn’t right. He felt his pulse jump slightly as your hand gently rested on his chest. His eyes snapped back to yours and it wasn’t until he felt your hand moving up and down rapidly that he realized he was hyperventilating. You looked at him calmly, waiting for his breathing to slow down.

“I wanted it to be perfect.”

He watched you nod.

“It isn’t.”

You smiled then, shaking your head. “It’s our home Bucky. It’s always going to be perfect.”

“There’s wax in the carpet.”

“I have a trick for that.”

“I’m going to throw those two monsters out onto the streets.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will!”

You laughed then. “Honey, you’d miss them too much. You’re their dad through and through. You once threatened the neighbor when they complained about Queen running into their garden.”

“She’s a cat! They can’t expect her to understand property lines.” Bucky smiled and then looked around your ruined living room. On the mantle was one flower still intact. He reached over and grabbed it, handing it over to you. You plucked it from his hands and pressed it to your nose.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He waited until your eyes were open again before kneeling down. His metal hand whipped the box out of his pocket and quickly flipped the lid. Inside was a beautiful ring, subtle in design and shining brightly against the back satin of the box.

“I wanted this to be a romantic moment for you because we aren’t doing this a second time. I don’t intend on letting you go anywhere (Y/N). For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.” He watched as a few tears fell from your eyes and you began to tremble. His other hand reached out to hold your waist gently, grounding both you and him in the moment.

“I thought that I was too broken to find something special like this. To find peace. Then I met you and my entire life shifted. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I never went to pick up Peter that day and I just can’t imagine. I love you so much sometimes I wonder if there is room for anything else in me. I want our life together. I want our family- cats included.”

At this you chuckled and dropped down to your knees in front of him. Both hands framing his face as your watery eyes searched his. Bucky smiled and plucked the ring from the satin, holding it out to you.

“Will you marry me?”

It took only two seconds as you collected yourself to choke out a yes. Bucky grinned wildly and slid the ring onto your finger. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed you back enthusiastically, pulling you closer and then both of you up into a standing position.

Bucky pulled away and looked down as something grazed against his calf. Queen looked up at him and meowed. Bronx came into the room and laid in the mess of petals on the carpet, proceeding to groom himself.

“We’re late for their dinner time.”

Bucky groaned and as he pulled away from you.

“Can’t I have one moment!?”

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?”

One of the men grins behind a full beard, popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans.

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself. But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?”

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.”

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,”

She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she ghosts the key over the ignition.

“Come have lunch...please?”

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully.

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene.

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent, she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

“Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them.

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,”

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road.

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute, he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday, like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,”

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,”

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek. “Yeah,”

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?”

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger.

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly, pushing his sunglasses into his hair.

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly. Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.”

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge and Mitch snicker beside her.

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone, Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,”

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly.

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside.

“Jumping out a window’s ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby.

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly.

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?”

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on.

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers.

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away.

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close.

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow.

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence.

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car.

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?”

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead.

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips.

Home.

Next Chapter

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles writing #harry fic #ybmh

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askwillet · 3 years

Text

WIP - Family Dinner

So, surprise! I’m still here! While I’m no longer active on this blog, I’m still very active on my main tumblr - so feel free to check on that if you want.

Someone asked if I was still writing Willet fanfic, and to be honest, I haven’t written fanfic since 2018. However, I have about 70 files in my drafts just surrounding Willet. So even though I most likely will never get around to finishing them, I decided to post my least cringe worthy one here. (And this is because someone asked me on my main blog and it was quite sweet ngl)

A few key points:

I have not touched this file since 2018, which means there are probably a good chunk of grammar mistakes.

The characterization of the characters are slightly off and not the way I would have written the characters now

however i’m like lowkey happy with Franny’s characterization in this, so there’s that

I think I had originally planned a short one-shot and it turned out to have a lot more exposition than I was (am?) used to writing. So there really isn’t anything exciting happening

The idea I think stemmed from a tumblr post where someone brought up the idea of Wilbur’s and Violet’s families meeting, but both side trying to appear as normal as possible. But it’s Violet meeting the Robinsons for the first time

So yeah, without further ado - I present probably the only WIP I am comfortable with sharing.

Tapping impatiently on the side of the pay phone, Wilbur listened to the ringing, wondering if anyone was even home to pick up. He turned around, scanning the train station, until his eyes landed on his girlfriend. She stood off to the side with her duffle bag clutched in her hands and his book bag in front of her feet. Even though she was about fifteen feet away, he could still see her tapping her fingers on the handle of her bag, a nervous tick of hers he discovered long ago.

He watched, still paying attention to the phone resting between his shoulder and his ear, as she tucked a strand of her inky colored hair behind her ear and chewed nervously on her lower lip. She seemed nervous, which was understandable considering she was coming to meet his family. If he had been anyone else, he wouldn’t really be able to see why she was nervous. After all, most people have a parent or two, possibly a sibling, and a really close family pet whose bombardment at the beginning of the visit would be the only thing to worry about.

But his family was far from that.

She finally caught his eye. He tried to muster a reassuring smile, though he felt his stomach sink with dread as she smiled back, her blissfully unaware about the chaos she was going to walk into.

“Hello?”

Startled, Wilbur turned quickly. He accidently wrapped himself around the metal cord. The phone was yanked from his weak grip and went crashing down against the side of the glass case. He dove for it, ignoring the glares of a mother who pulled her child far away from where he stood. Placing it to his ear, he prayed for it to be one of his parents.

“Mom?” he said warily.

“Wilbur!” his mother’s shrill voice came from the other end of the line. Wilbur sighed a breath a relief. “Are you here yet? Do you want us to come pick you up? The offer is still on the table.” She sung that last part. Sung.

“Well…” Wilbur turned to look at his girlfriend. She had dropped her duffle bag next to his, her hands now preoccupied by the subway map a tourist had shoved at her. His eyes did a clean sweep of the tourist. Instantly, he felt a twinge of jealously hit him. He marveled at the man next to his girlfriend. The wrinkled suit, his windswept hair, and a perfect row of pearly white teeth that beamed down at his girlfriend were a clear sign of flirting, but Violet didn’t think that.

Wilbur frowned as she laughed at something the man said before pointing at the map. She handed over the map, her eyes still dancing. Her fingers gently brushed over the man’s wrist, but it went unnoticed by the both of them as he said something back to her. Wilbur watched as she waved cheerfully goodbye and the man doing the same. His stomach sank at the notion and he quickly turned before she could see him spying on her.

By then, he had let his mother sit in two minutes of silence, in which she had decided to fill by screaming at him.

“…Wilbur! Are you still there? Are you using a payphone? I admire the effort, especially since you know how much I love it when you call by payphone, but it’s ridiculously unreliable. Oh! If you can, do you think you could take a picture of the payphone? Lazlo’s been complaining about not having a muse for his painting and I think it would be nice …”

Well, to be honest, it wasn’t screaming. It was more like loud talking and a consistent stream of words pouring into his left ear.

“Mom,” Wilbur tried to cut her off. Her voice continued to fill the silence. Her questions of what he ate for lunch and if he was bringing back laundry filled the small gap he created. Growing impatient, Wilbur threw his head back, covering the phone with one hand while he looked up for a sign that he hadn’t momentously screwed himself over. “Mom,” he repeated with extra force. She stopped suddenly, as if she had hit a wall. Despite not being able to see her, Wilbur could see her tilting her head in confusion.

“What?” she asked, her tone no longer carefree, but laced with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” he said a bit too quickly. He coughed in attempt to clear his throat. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to know if everything was okay at home and you know… stuff like that…”

His mother’s silence filled the phone for a good five seconds before she said, “Everything’s fine. Why would you ask that?”

Wilbur scratched his neck. In his mind, he had imagined this conversation going much smoother. He had the words already planned out in his head. It wasn’t one of his five-minute plans that he made on the fly. Those plans didn’t usually carry so much weight. But this one, this one require careful stepping.

This one required a precision of words that he needed to have down to the finest detail.

“No reason,” he mumbled. “It’s just that… well, um, I kinda just wanted to know if everyone could just, well, tone down for this week. It’s only for a week! And I wouldn’t be asking for much!”

“Wilbur,” his mother’s voice rose steadily.

“Really! I’m just saying, we could all benefit to acting a little bit differently for the week! Think about it! We could become …” Wilbur trailed off as the heat crept up his neck. Pulling at his collar, he shifted the phone in his hand, catching a fleeting glance of his girlfriend. He was stumbling, and his mother was already on alert.

“Wilbur Robinson,” she said. No longer was there concern or carefreeness. Instead, her words lashed like a whip, ready to defend what she had to. “What’s going on? And you better tell me the truth.”

“Did I ever mention how young you are?”

“Wilbur.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat again. “It’s just that, I kinda, maybe have a girlfriend.”

He pushed the phone quickly off his ear, waiting for his mother’s squeals of delight.

She disappointed him as she remained quiet on the other side.

“And,” he slowly drawled. He turned back to his girlfriend, waving to her as he spoke back to his mother. “she’s sorta coming home with me to meet with the family, but I might have left out a small, tiny, really unimportant when you think about it, detail of our family.”

“Which is…”

That we’re insane. That we don’t fit the criteria for normal. That we have our dog eat at the actual dinner table. Wilbur listed in his head. His face grew uncomfortable red as he thought them, feeling ashamed that he was embarrassed by his family.

“That we live with everyone in our entire family,” Wilbur finally squeaked out.

The line remained silent.

This was it. This was how he died. If possible, his mother was going to crawl through the phone and strangled his perfectly attached head off his neck. And then she was going to disown him as her son.

#willet #drabble #oof has it been a long time since i've used this blog #remember when i did a whole restyle and it just completely fizzled out after that #no?#me neiher

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rantingwriter · 3 years

Text

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 4

Trigger Warning: strong language, long hospital stay, and angst if you squint.

“No, I’m serious,” You are laughing so hard you nearly drop the little brush you were using to paint your nails. You were listening to your fellow patient and quickly rising to new friend status, Hime, tell you and another patient you were starting to befriend named Ayame, about the time a patient went up to every female therapist and asked them out. “I watched this guy go up to Yumi and ask if he could have her number. When she said no, because he is her patient, without missing a beat he asked her.” She takes on the pose the guy pulled during the exchange and mimics the voice as closely as possible, “so when I leave on Friday I can come back and ask again? And at that same moment, her husband walks in and says-”

“You’ll have to buy dinner for three then.” Yumi had been listening and helped to finish the story.

Hime fake gasps in shock, “you stole the best part!”

The whole table laughs and the nice recreation therapist takes a look at your progress. “Very nice, I like the colors you chose.” You had gone with your favorite color and added a neat little sticker to both middle fingers.

“Thanks, I wanted to flip people off with style,” you half joke as you blow at the polish to speed up the drying process.

She chuckles, “I’ll have to keep that one in mind next time I get mine done. How about you two?” She looks between Ayame and Hime to check their progress.

“I kept it simple with a dark blue, [y/n] promised to help with my hand.” Hime was missing an arm and had gauze around half of her face. The doctors still don’t know if her eye will be fully functioning or if she will need to be fitted for a glass one once they remove the gauze. “It’s been a royal pain trying to paint my toenail instead of my whole toe.”

“It’ll take time to adjust, but you did really well.” Yumi praises.

“I went with teal and tried that crackle stuff,” Ayame holds her hand up as high as she can. She had a spinal injury that affected her upper body. She was working to regain mobility, but it was still unclear if she would ever regain all of it or just part of it. She still has a molded jacket on so she can only focus on her arms for now anyways.

Yumi leans forward to get a closer look, “Very nice, much better than last time,” you can hear how excited she is to see the progress. “Maybe next time we can try those stamps.”

“We’ll see,” she rests her hands fully on the table and hefts a sigh. “It’s still hard to hold my arms up for longer than a few seconds.”

“Remember when you started? You couldn’t hold up your wrist, you are doing great and don’t you forget it. Same goes for you two, I’ve heard you started standing without the parallel bars [y/n].”

You nod in confirmation, “they still need to adjust my prosthetic, or I’ll be pulling a Captain Morgan every time I stand up.” This gets a chuckle from the people who drank rum or at least seen the commercials. “Once the adjustment is made, Mayu told me we would try walking.”

“I wish you luck, I’ll be rooting for you.” She holds her arms up like she is going to start a cheer.

“Miss? Can you show me how this works again?” A man at another table waves to catch Yumi’s attention.

“Be right there! Keep up the good work,” with that the young woman hurries over to help the other patients.

“Alright, I think my nails are dry enough now.” You pick up the bottle Hime had been using and gesture for her to hold her hand out.

She does so and Ayame takes the chance to ask, “so, what’s the deal with you and that Hawks guy?”

You shrug, “he just likes to visit, why do you ask?” Your gaze never leaves your task as you speak.

“Rumor has been going around that you two are dating,” your hand jerks up and you end up painting part of Hime’s pinky.

“What? That’s ridiculous,” you quickly grab a cloth to wipe away the excess. Unaware that your cheeks are burning hot with a blush. “Why would I be dating a pro hero?”

“He is easy on the eyes, could probably get you anywhere you want to go for free, and on the top ten leaderboard. Sounds like a good deal to me,” Hime comments, earning a slight deadpanned look from you.

“He barely has enough free time to make visits, I highly doubt he has the time to date. Besides, he is the guy who crashed into me and gave me a concussion, not exactly the best first impression.” You try to wave it off, but deep down a small bud of feelings was starting to grow for the winged hero. “If anything, I appreciate him for his help and would be happy to have him as a friend...for free trips.” You add on the last part quickly earning a snicker from the two girls. The group wraps up shortly after you finish Hime’s hand, the three of you go your separate ways to rest up before the afternoon groups. You weren’t expecting to make friends while you were hospitalized, but the three of you ended up bonding rather quickly. Both girls were like you, they were here because of that villain attack. Their injuries were different, but they understood the frustration and the struggle better than anyone. It has really helped you, especially on the days where you feel like you can’t get out of bed. As you roll into your room, a faint tap on your window alerts you to a visitor. You sigh a chuckle as you open up the window for Hawks to come in. “You know, they have this magical entrance known as a door.”

He rolls his eyes, holding in a smile as he sets a bag of food down on the little table. “Where’s the fun in that?” He tugs his gloves off and shucks off his jacket. “It’s getting warmer and warmer out there,” he is visibly sweating and his messy, windswept hair is clinging to his forehead. He fans himself with a wing as he flops into the chair near your bed, “what have you been up to?”

“Just finished up a group,” you show off your nails, he nods idly as he looks at them.

“That’s considered therapy?”

“Well, I only went because two of my new friends were going and they needed it more than me.” You hefted yourself into your bed, “remember the girls I told you about last time you were here?”

“Hime and Ayame?” You nod in confirmation.

“Yumi said it’s good practice for them to work on smaller, more precision based tasks.”

“I guess it makes sense when you spin it that way.”

You nod again and peek into the bag he brought. “Did you buy one of everything off the menu?”

He laughs and shakes his head, “no, I thought about it, but no.” He grabs the container taking up most of the bag. “I figured we could share.” He opens it up to show it holds fried chicken.

“Is that all you eat? I feel like you bring fried chicken every time.”

“No, it’s my favorite, but I eat other stuff too.” His feathers ruffle up and his cheeks puff out, you can’t help the bubble of laughter at the sight. “If you don’t like it, I’ll jus-” You snatch a piece before he can pull it out of reach.

“I didn’t say that,” he snickers as you take a huge bite. “Anything is better than hospital food.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he uses his feathers to move the table so you both can reach comfortably.

“I guess the jello is okay, but the rest of it is barely palatable.” He shakes his head, “I swear, it’s like they took goo and shaped it into food.”

The two of you continue to talk while you eat, you give him an update on your progress, he talks about his daily patrols. You have grown to love his visits, even if they weren’t as frequent as you would like them to be. “So, I’ve been curious,” he wipes his hands and face clean after finishing the last of the chicken. “What is your quirk?”

“I can make cloth,” you hold up a hand to show tiny holes in your fingers, “I run thread through my fingers and it weaves together.” His brows lift in amazement, “I’ve earned the nickname of human sewing machine at my old workplace.”

His brows knit together in confusion, “don’t looms make cloth?”

You could hear the loading sounds in your head as you think about it, “oh shit, I’ve been living a lie!”

Laughter fills the room, one of the nurses in the hall checking in on you, “everything all right in here?”

“Yes, sorry if we are being loud,” you wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling softly. The nurse acknowledges both your statement and the hero in the room before leaving to continue their original task. “Man, I don’t know why that never occurred to me until now.”

“If it makes you feel any better, when I started flying I would run into windows constantly.”

“No way,” you look skeptical as he continues.

“I’m serious, I thought the buildings just had openings and I would smack into the window.”

“Do you still do that?” He gets really quiet, his feathers give him away as you fall back on the bed laughing.

“Only when I’m tired!” He tries to back pedal, but to no avail. “Anyways…” he shifts the conversation back towards you. “The reason I was asking was to see if it was anything like this guy I know; Best Jeanist.”

You tap your chin, he has been helping you learn some of the more prominent heroes, at least when the two of you are talking about his work stuff. “He’s...the guy with a super long neck right?”

“Long collar, but close enough, he can manipulate people’s clothing.”

You shake your head, “I can’t really manipulate the cloth, I can manipulate threads, but it’s limited.” You look around the room for something to showcase your ability. “If I had some spools I could show you. I don’t want to mess with the hospital stuff.”

“I’ll bring some next time I visit!” He looks excited, his wings fluttering lightly. His phone suddenly rings, he quickly answers and frowns, “Damn, I gotta go, they need back up to catch a villain robbing jewelry stores.” He pulls his jacket on, a thump from something in his pocket reminds him of something else. “Shit, I forgot,” he pulls out a can of WAX coffee and hands it to you. “Hope it’s not too hot.”

You take the can and smile, “Thank you.” He gives you a two fingered salute as he falls out the window backwards. You watch him fly off to aid whoever called him, you hate to admit it, but you miss him already.

#reader insert #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami #pro hero hawks #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fluff #long shot #tw: hospital #part 4 of 6

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