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flameohotwife · 3 years

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Okay, #41 for the fluff prompt!! (I feel so powerful, hahaha!)

41. "Darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen."

This turned... long! And sad-ish in parts, so I'm sorry! Maybe more hurt/comfort? But there is still fluff. I hope you enjoy!

Rated T. 2.2k words.

“Aang? Have you seen the dumpling pan?” Katara was crouched down, head and shoulders deep in the cupboard, looking for the right pan to crisp the dumplings she was planning on making for dinner. Her husband was flitting about, albeit slower than he once could, on the other side of the kitchen with what she assumed were fruit pie ingredients for dessert. The original Team Avatar were travelling to Air Temple Island from all over the world in a few hours to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the war ending, and their 50th anniversary together. They always tried to get together the week they’d met in Ba Sing Se at the Jasmine Dragon to remember what they’d lost, and to see how far they’d come. Though Aang and Katara hadn’t gotten married until several years after the war, they always counted that day on the balcony as their anniversary, as the only thing that had truly changed with their marriage was the world’s recognition of their relationship and its permanence. They were devoted and dedicated from the very beginning. Perhaps even before that.

“Oh, I’ve got it over here, Sweetie,” Aang called back to her. She jumped up, almost bashing her head on the top of the cupboard before wriggling properly out to stand and face him. Even in his old age he still maintained a certain twinkle in his eye when he was up to something, and Katara’s hands flew to her hips when she saw it.

“What are you doing with my dumpling pan?” she asked, warily.

“I thought I’d cook tonight,” Aang replied, though his hand rubbed the tattoo on the back of his neck tellingly. “I wanted to add some Air Nomad dishes to the menu. Sokka will be bringing some Water Tribe food already, Toph and Suki will have Earth Kingdom, and Zuko and Mai will bring Fire Nation… I just thought I’d add something of my own in.”

Katara’s throat caught for a moment, as it always did when she remembered. His loss always felt bigger on anniversaries, though his grief was an ever-present emotion. It rose and fell like the tides, but was always there, under the surface. Most people saw his smiling face and kind, loving spirit and forgot that there were only two airbenders in the world and why. That Aang had actually known and loved so many of the ones Sozin had murdered. He masked his pain well, but took that mask off around Katara from time to time, when he needed to.

“Sweetie,” she began, stepping forward to grasp his wrinkled hands. “Oh Aang, I was going to make Air Nomad food, too. I would never leave you out like that.” Her tone wasn’t defensive, only calm and reassuring, as she rubbed gentle circles on the blue arrows that adorned the backs of his hands with her thumbs. She wanted to remind him with her touch that his grief didn’t have to be his alone to bear. That she would remember his people with him. Just as she had taught their children old Air Nomad fairytales when they were small, and celebrated their holidays with him, and learned to cook their food. Katara was Water Tribe through and through, but her soul was bound to an Air Nomad. Moreover, she was bound to Aang, and she always felt his loss. Even when he hid it well.

Aang melted into her, then. A hug that was so deeply meaningful it was reminiscent of the one they’d shared on Iroh’s balcony, but with all the weight of his pain crushing down on them along with that promise of love and acceptance. It was as though through this hug she was able to share that weight with him, so she held him tighter. Half a century after learning about the deaths of his people, sometimes the wound still felt fresh, and Katara was always the healing balm to whatever ailed him, even when she knew she could never heal it completely.

Katara stroked his back lovingly with one arm as he clung to her. She waited for his breathing to even out, for his muscles to relax. Waited for a sign that she had taken enough of his grief that he could function again. Finally, he moved his head to kiss her sweetly. It was wet, and salty, but his movements were lighter again. She moved her hands to his face, wiping his tears as she pulled him closer, and he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms fully around her waist and pressing against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He knew his grief was never hers to bear, and yet she did so willingly and with so much love. He could never thank her enough for the way she cared for him when he hit his lowest points. He wasn’t sure he could have made it without her. Sometimes the weight on his shoulders was so heavy he felt like he would sink without her unending love and support buoying him up, keeping him afloat.

“You’re not alone, Sweetie. Never.” Katara continued to caress his face as she looked into his sparkling, sad eyes.”Do you want me to help? I can make the dumplings and the butter tea. I never quite mastered the tofu but I could try if you want…”

Aang silenced her with another kiss. “You’re wonderful,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again. “The best wife, partner, and friend in existence.” Yet another kiss. “I think I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you take a break before everyone gets here?”

Katara laughed, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She reluctantly removed her hands from her husband and settled on making herself some tea and sitting at the kitchen table to observe him. Even though he was aging, Katara still enjoyed watching him when she had a moment, whether it was bending practice, or working hard on something, or even something as simple as cooking. She still appreciated the lithe way his body moved, the smooth, airy motions he made, the way his tongue stuck out when he was concentrating…

She sat back in her chair, grinning over her teacup as she watched him chop vegetables and boil water and roll dough. Sometimes observing him do the most trivial things—like cooking dinner for friends, or braiding their daughter’s hair when she was small, or working in the garden—reminded her how lucky she was to have him in her life. He was the Avatar after all. He could have maids and cooks and servants and never lift a domestic finger in his life, but that was never in Aang’s nature. And he could have chosen anyone as his companion, but he had always and only ever chosen her. Over and over. It was somehow both humbling and assuring all at once.

After some time, she rose from her seat, walking behind him to wrap her arms around him, reveling in his warmth. She couldn’t see the smile on Aang’s face, but she knew it was there when he pressed one arm over her interlocking ones, squeezing lightly with his hand.

She leaned up to press a light kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re awfully distracting, you know,” Aang chided. He turned in her arms to peck her on the nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to watch you cook. I forgot how much I enjoy it.” She gave him a very pointed look and he laughed heartily.

“Well, by all means, enjoy the show,” he said, wiggling his hips for her benefit as he extricated himself from her grip to keep working. Katara giggled. She was about to return to her seat when she noticed the clutter Aang was leaving in the kitchen as he worked, and decided to help him by tackling some of that so he could focus on the food.

When Katara cooked, she was very methodical. Every ingredient, pot, pan, and chopstick had its place, and was immediately returned to that place when she had finished with it. She knew if she didn’t keep up with the mess as she worked, it would pile up to the point that she would feel overwhelmed at the end, so she tidied continually. Aang, on the other hand, was much more impulsive in his cooking. He would think of an ingredient to add mid-stir, and leave the remnants on the counter, never quite sure if he might want to add more later. He would wait to clean up all the messes at once.

There was a time in their marriage where this had driven Katara crazy. The kids were still very young at the time, and the extra mess on top of the cacophony of kid-sounds and clutter and Momo swooping around the house would become too much, so she would constantly buzz around him, taking things and washing and putting them away before he was even finished with them. He would turn around for more of an ingredient and find it wrapped up in the icebox. More than once, he had had to take Katara by the shoulders, kiss her gently, and exclaim, “Darling, I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Now, much like in other parts of their relationship, she had learned which parts of the mess to let be, and which ones she could handle that would actually help him. She sat up with him at night while he transcribed ancient Air Nomad texts and histories; her presence a comfort as he worked through it all and felt the loss more keenly. Tenzin joined him now, of course, when he was home, but Aang still felt more able to work through his grief when she stayed too. When they were younger, she had sewn Air Nomad clothes for Aang and for the acolytes, and eventually taught the acolytes to make them herself not because Aang couldn’t sew or teach them, but because it was one of the things that they both could do. Something that she could take off of his already over-heaped plate.

They balanced each other. He was her rock on full-moon nights or when she missed her parents or when her emotional storm was raging. He was her center of calm when she was worried about the kids or about the world. But today, Aang needed her. So she washed the used dishes for him to use again if needed, and cleared the wrappings for him, being sure to leave the ingredients on the counter. She made sure to give him gentle touches as they worked; a hand to the small of his back as she passed him, a bump of the hip as they worked side by side. Loving smiles and stolen kisses as the afternoon sun fell lower in the sky.

Eventually their friends would arrive and they would be able to laugh and joke and remember together. There would be group hugs and arm-punches and happy sounds and smells would fill their home as they reminisced. Through all of it, Aang would sneak looks across the table at Katara, with a special smile reserved for her. Fifty years! They’d made it fifty years together, in no small part because of everything they had learned through their struggles as they grew together. Because of the weights and grief they shared with one another instead of bearing them alone.

“I may be old, Twinkletoes, but I can still feel your heartbeat when you look at Sugarqueen like that,” Toph jabbed as Aang snuck another glance at his wife. “How can you two be together for fifty years and still act as disgusting as when we were teenagers? I’m not going to have to pull you out of a linen closet at the official event tomorrow, am I? Because we are all too old for that.”

Knowing that she still sent his heart a-flutter the way he did to her warmed Katara’s old bones from head to toe, and she sent a look of her own towards her husband. Aang’s face reddened.

“Oh, no,” groaned Sokka. “Oogies! I’m out.” He rose from the table, pulling Suki along with him. “Dinner was great guys, and I’d like to keep it in my stomach, thanks. So, we’ll see you all in the morning when the kids get here?”

“Sounds good,” replied Zuko as he and Mai rose to join them. “We should probably turn in anyway. It’s getting late.” Aang and Katara stood as well to accompany their guests to the door before everyone went their separate ways.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening as always, guys,” Suki added as she hugged them both goodbye. “Try not to wear yourselves out too much tonight, hmm? It’s not as easy to recover as it used to be and we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Katara feigned shock at her sister-in-law’s tease but Aang only blushed further as Sokka faked retching and promptly exited with their friends. Aang was always so open about his emotions and intentions when it came to Katara, whether or not he intended to be. She simply smirked back up at him and took him by the hand, waving to everyone one last time before pulling him back to their bedroom. And, maybe they were a little extra tired the next day, but it was worth it. Loving each other through the many ups and downs of a lifetime together would always be worth it. Even when Toph berated them for it outside a linen closet door.

#kataang #kataang fanfiction #kataangtag #fluff prompts #katara #aang #atla #sweeties #slightly hurt/comfort #sorry!#adcurtis #asks

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toru-oikawas-milkbread · 3 years

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FIRST: immediately casting a vote for MatsuHana because I love their dynamic and would be pleased to be sandwiched between the two of them 😌

SECOND: I have a daily brainrot for you, this one is very sweet! Who of the HQ boys do you see as being Mama's Boys? 👀 For me the twins immediately come to mind, as does Bokuto since he's the big baby of the family! 😊 I also think Oikawa would've been especially close to his mother and sister. Any thoughts?

This is a really, really long ask answer, so I’m gonna put a read line here so things on my blog don’t get all stuffy, but I think these headcanons were so fun to write and I hope those of you who stop to read them enjoy them!

MatsuHana won the poll because of votes I've had on Twitter, so yay! Honestly, me too. I've been daydreaming a lot about a playful poly relationship with them and I just can't get over the dynamic. How nice it would be to work with Matsukawa during the day (because of my future career plans) and then come home to dinner made by Makki and then all clean up together and cuddle. It's a thought I just cannot let go of

Okay, first of all: I fucking love this idea. Mama's boys end me every time because I just KNOW they won't be a total asshole if they're a loving mama's boy. Second, I agree with the twins for sure, though I think that Atsumu clings to mama Miya a bit more than Osamu does. Like he's the grown up kid who still cuddles with his mom. Whereas Osamu gives me the kind of vibes like he would follow his mother everywhere that they go around the house and never stop talking to her, and even after he moves out I can see him calling her every night on his way home from the store or while he's making dinner

Definitely Bokuto! I think he loves curling up with his mom and running errands with her. He makes me feel like he would love to garden with his mom when he was younger and I think in the future after his mom passes he would take gardening up again and have a little flower patch. Maybe he'd talk to his mom while he planted the flowers and thank her for teaching him everything he needs to know about gardening, only to go to you and sob because he misses her

I agree with Oikawa 100000%. I think he was the clingy mama's boy who would rant and rave to her about every little issue he had while sitting at the table while she makes dinner. She heard about Ushiwaka and Kageyama, and even into his high school years. I think he would FaceTime with her every day when he moves to Argentina because he misses her and he still wants to see and talk to her as much as he can

Picture this: Matsukawa as a mama’s boy. Following her around after school and telling her all about his day. Telling her juicy gossip he hears from Makki because there’s trust that she’d never say anything. Her being the cool mom that he tells absolutely everything to and having such a strong bond with his mom. I think she taught him how to cook and he never forgot her homemade recipes. He loved bringing his s/o home to meet his mom because, uh— hello, his two favorite people in one room? Yes please. And if his mom sensing something off, that person is out. I can see Matsukawa’s mom being like a second mother to Makki as well and thinking of him as another son because of how much time he would spend at their house in his teenage years because he’s Makki and Matsukawa is his best friend

I think that Kyōtani gives off mama’s boy vibes if I’m being honest. Like after losing a match or getting into an argument with a kid at school, I think he would seek comfort from his anger and other people with his mom. Curling up with her on the sofa and eating some yummy food with her. Maybe she teaches him how to bite his tongue a bit better as he gets older and he finally starts listening to her. Kyōtani feels like the kind of guy who wouldn’t appreciate his mom fully until he was a lot older and then see her nearly every day if he could. Calling her on the way home from practice and going “Home” for weekly dinners because his mom’s house is always going to be home

Kageyama as a mama’s boy. Hiding his face in her stomach after a hard day when he was younger and seeking comfort in eating food with her during his shitty middle school days. Talking about his issues with Kunimi and Kindaichi to her after long days and then moving onto Hinata, but before she knows what’s even happening, Kageyama isn’t trashing on Hinata so much anymore and she praises him for that and it encourages him to keep going when he doesn’t know how to use his words

Kuroo as a mama’s boy. Making dinner with her every night, gardening, running errands together on the weekends; even after he moves out, he still frequently comes home to spend time with his mom because they’ve always been close and they’re always going to be, having dinner with his s/o at his families house at least twice a month so that his mom and s/o can have time together because he would love it if his mom and s/o got along. He learned a lot from his mom and he appreciates everything she’s done for him. Kuroo reminds me of a kind guy who would have a fun and playful teasing relationship with his mother as well as respecting her and holding her on a very high pedestal

Suna as a mama’s boy— but not with his mom, with the Miya twins mom. Maybe he has not the best and open relationship with his mother, but I think if he got close with the twins and he made his way to their house, their mother would basically adopt him and treat him as her own. Homemade meals to take home, hugs and kisses to the forehead. Cheek pinches and commenting about how handsome he’s getting as he gets older because she sees him as another son and he gets close to her. He views her as a mother and loves to follow her around with Osamu or call her to tell her about recent accomplishments because he knows that she would be as happy for him as he was happy for himself. Atsumu is jealous, but mama Miya adores Suna and teaches him how to hold himself high and be treated like he deserves to be treated— with love

Akaashi seems like a mama’s boy to me. The kind of guy who loved to learn from his mom and has always held her on a high pedestal because “Wow, my mom is amazing and can do anything!” And that belief never failed for him. I think he leaned to cook, clean, sew, take care of himself, take care of others, etc., from his mother and he’ll never forget that. Because of the way that Akaashi is, I think that he would learn to be respectful to others and his family and never speak cruelly or out of line with someone— all because his mother taught him how to treat even rude people

Oh, god. I went overboard. I love the concept of mama’s boys, and it’s really funny that you send me this because I was just thinking about having a mama’s boy Haikyuu boy as a boyfriend and being treated like a queen because he was raised by the best and taught by the best how to treat and respect women. I have a lot of feelings, anyways… I hope this isn’t too long to read, but thanks for sending these in and letting me get all gushy about our boys!

I am so not proofreading this… sorry if anything is off, that’s too many words for my brain right now 😂

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crashingmeteorz · 3 years

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rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

#rich kid runaways #100 follower celebration #zuko #yue #toph #atla #avatar the last airbender #life happens wherever queue are

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xparadisexlostx · 3 years

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So Idk what possessed me to write this. I wrote it all in one go and it is in desperate need of a proof read and probably and edit... but I doubt I’ll ever do that lol. I’m tired and I’m getting a headache and I still have drafts to work on, so I’m just gonna post it before I lose confidence and hide it like the many, many other drabbles I’ve never posted.

I don’t know why I wanted to write this in first person. That usually annoys me, but for some reason it just sounded right in this case.

So this drabble is primarily about Beck and Cora, how they meet, and the relationship they have. Obviously I did a LOT, if not too much, condensing because otherwise this never would have ended.

For context, Cora is Beck’s sort of adopted mom. She his a centuries old witch who was possessed, years ago by a spirit of hospitality. Over time the two merged into one being and that is why she’s pretty much immortal. Because of what she was she was made an outcast by her own people, the clan of the Grey Owls. Here is her face claim.

_____________________________________________

A long life makes you accustomed to loss. You learn people are better at a distance. Far enough away that you can’t really make out their faces, and their voices turn to echoes by the time they’re in your ears. Any closer than that and you risk the pain that comes with a proper meeting. I found that out the hard way when Hattie passed.

It was agonizingly slow. At first she just needed a bit of help with getting up after a long day in the garden. And then she couldn’t go as far on our evening walks. Eventually she couldn’t make it out to tend the flowers that she loved so dearly, and she forgot the names of the dairy goats we’d raised by hand and bottle. And when I saw Death come peacefully across the border of the Living Dream, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight and invisible to my love, I lifted her up in my arms and carried her out to the fields of flowers. She didn’t remember my name, but she held me close to her with what dwindling strength remained in her arms, and laid her head on my heart while I whispered a silent goodbye.

We had never had any children. Back then we only escaped the scandal of being together by living on my family’s land and growing or making most of what we needed. People in the towns whispered, but they let us be so long as we didn’t make too much noise. That wouldn’t have been any life for a child. Children need community, friends, and more love than just two mothers could bring them. The mortals would have never accepted a child of ours, and the witches had cast me out years before on account of what I was---what I am.

I buried Hattie in the flowerbed, and I left my home after that. The place I had been made, where I had settled for three centuries, had nothing to give me but pain. Even England reminded me all too much of what I had lost. I was alone, and I imagined that somewhere else I could find a place where I was content with that once again.

And I did. In a cottage deep in the Sierra Nevada mountains, I found the peace that had evaded me for so long. People stopped by in the occasional way: lost travelers, rapscallion youths, the occasional farmer looking for good dairy stock. That was the way for well over a hundred years. It wasn’t until the storm of ‘01 that it all changed, that I noticed the pie I was cooling on the windowsill was gone, and there was only a small muddy handprint in its place.

In the afterglow of a lightning strike I saw him there. A great, hulking bear, tall as the horizon, pale as a fresh pressed bedsheet, illuminated against the black sky. On his head were horns made of trees, and his claws were gnarled roots. On his back he carried a forest with a heart-tree that glowed gold. My brother, older than me by millenia, scarcely seen but ever familiar, always present. He looked from me to the barn, and stared, transfixed, by whatever he saw, and then he was gone.

I pulled on a raincoat and stepped into my boots, and raced across the yard to the shelter of the barn. The goats stirred in their pen, and the chickens let out a low squawk of protest as the building flooded with light. I found my pie in the back stall and a trail of blueberry pawprints leading away from it and into a pile of hay, where I found a small, trembling kit, little enough to fit in my one hand.

She shook like a leaf, whining up a terrible storm, as I tucked her beneath my coat and took her into the house. The promise of a proper meal convinced her to turn back into the girl I already knew she was, but she still shook so hard that she lost half of every bite she tried to take. I might have scolded anyone else for stealing, but she was so slight, too small and slender for a girl her age, and she was covered in mud and briars and sticks that matted in her golden hair. And when I put her in the tub to scrub her clean I saw the bruises and the cuts that no branch had inflicted.

Looking back on that night I never had the chance to hold her at arm’s length. From the moment I plucked her out of the hay and pressed her to my heart, she was mine. I couldn’t keep her. The Fox Bitch wouldn’t allow it. And no one would listen to me when I told them of the heinous crimes Elea Tandy was committing against her own kin. No one cared when I complained of the local coven teachers casting her out.

I made myself content with what I could have, and I taught her what an old witch could when she escaped that awful house and made her way through the forest to me. I showed her how to sew up a skirt as well as a wound, and taught her what the woods had to offer when her mother denied her supper. When she couldn’t read my spellbooks I taught her songs and rhythms to help her remember words and order. How to milk a goat, how to shear a sheep, how to tie a good and proper knot, and how to cook anything you found or caught. Our time together didn’t always last long, and when she left I felt it like a stab to the heart, but she was mine. The baby Hattie and I never got to have, filled with more kindness and curiosity and life than anyone else I had ever met.

And I ought to have known by the sight of my Brother what she was, and that she could not belong to me, or to anyone forever, but it wasn’t until months later, when I saw him again, watching her ride through the woods with a wild abandon, that I understood.

Feral. A term that makes every parent clutch her pearls and shiver in fear, even though they barely know what it means. Feral witches are born to leave. They are only a brief bridge between the Dream Realm and the physical, destined to merge once more with the Nature Spirit from which they came.

She was not mine to keep, but I held on.

I held on in agony as she ran off, desperate for freedom and adventure and a respite from the violence of her home. I smothered her in loving arms every time she came back. But she came back less and less. It was too dangerous, and every time she risked us both. I told her I didn’t care, and that I wasn’t afraid of Elea Tandy… but I knew that she was.

She was right to be.

Even I had never imagined Elea could be so vile and twisted as to kill a familiar. And to make a child watch… It turns my gut even to think of it now. I thought it would be the death of her, and it likely would have been if her brother hadn’t turned on their mother himself. He tried to bring her back to life, and so did I. But there was nothing but fathomless despair behind those blue eyes. I finally had her safe beneath my roof, and she was dying in my arms just like Hattie had. No amount of love could ever replace what she had lost when Dawnbreaker had been hanged before her eyes.

After ages of lifelessness, she eventually became restless in her grief, and I imagined I was witnessing her end. I put her in my car and drove her as deep into the wilderness as I could, and when I wrapped my arms around her I said that same silent goodbye. I barely made it home before my own sorrow and anger threatened to drown me. She was too young, I thought, and how unfair it was that she should die having tasted so little happiness, having felt so few kind touches. Brother would care for her upon her return, but why had he ever allowed her to come from the womb of that wretched woman? I had gifted her all the love that I could, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough in the face of all the pain she had been put through.

I hated him for that. Perhaps I still do.

I left California the same way I left England, distraught, and purchased new land on the secluded shores of Lake Erie. I told no one where I went, and no one would have ever asked.

When I saw the golden horse upon my lawn some years later I thought it was a reflection in the Living Dream, a spirit of what once was lingering, but the girl upon its back was no longer a child. Even at a distance, even after all those years, I knew her face, and when she ran into my arms I held her tighter than I ever had before.

She was alive and more vibrant than I’d ever seen her---all golden curls and smiles and a wild glint in her eye. We rode horses on the shoreline and sang foolish songs around a campfire. She told me stories of where she had been and everything she’d seen as she wove crowns from wildflowers. The next evening she showed me the scars where the mountain lion had nearly ripped her life away, and then demonstrated her new form with such ease that I felt my knees go weak. Even at such a young age the power swelled around her.

Feral. The very thing that had made other witches reject her had allowed her to thrive. In the wilds she had found the peace and happiness that others had so cruelly robbed her of. And I felt a pride blossom in me that I’d never felt before.

She left me again, as I knew she would, as was her nature, but this time I didn’t feel grief. For as long as she was on this Earth, she would return to me. That much I was certain. And that much has always been proven true.

Now, without the fear of her mother’s viciousness, she comes to me more frequently, and she can linger in my house as long as her wild spirit will allow. Our time together isn’t so rare… and yet I know that it is still brief.

Each visit I see the spirit grow within her, each year the magic grows stronger. It pulls in more animals, and it bends nature around her without her even noticing it.

She doesn’t see my Brother when she is sitting upon her golden stallion, basking in the sun as it cuts through the forest branches, but I think she feels him. As the animals gather all around her and play like newborn lambs, as she feels the embrace of the woods around her, I think she feels him watching. Her eyes glisten and she smiles with a fondness that breaks my heart. I think that if she just takes one step she will be lost to me forever.

I call her name when she raises her hand to touch what she cannot see, and with the slowness of a drunkard she blinks her eyes. When she looks back at me in those moments I know she can see across the centuries. She knows what I am.

Again I call her name. It’s selfish, maybe, to want to hold onto her. Perhaps I do nothing but hold her back. But she smiles at me, and the mist evaporates from her eyes to reveal that mischievous sparkle.

“Come away from there, girl.” I say, beaconing her back toward the house with a wave of my hand and I watch my Brother’s eyes with unbecoming smugness as she presses her golden stallion forward and exclaims “‘Race ya!’” as she charges back home.

#my drabbles #post type: unformatted

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 4 years

Text

His Prophet

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: God AU, romance, fantasy, protective Taehyung, arranged marriage vibes (kinda), kingdoms and castles, and medieval aspects dotted around, royal au sorta

Words: 9.8k

Warning(s):(Y/n is pushed around in one scene, is that a warning?)

a/n: go ahead and blame the GDA for this (and I was listening to creepypastas during work and one particular story’s ending twist inspired me in a non-spooky way). Also, I’d like to say it took 20 minutes for me to find a photo that wasn’t rejected by my computer to make this godforsaken banner.

summary: The royal Sun God of Navern is a complete recluse; the polar opposite of what one would immediately assume of the God of the Sun should be. Being the only God in his kingdom, he stayed within his castle walls- or at least it is assumed. Staff and servants of the palace only see him occasionally in the halls or peering out into the gardens. It was the dreams of one certain townswoman who worked in a small library that he happens to run into one night that changes everything.

The Kingdom as Navern was a prosperous kingdom, even if smaller in comparison to other neighboring kingdoms. Of it’s few larger cities and small towns, the capital city and home of the Navern Palace was named Vicious. The city was home to all sorts- merchants, blacksmiths, traveling priests and devoted followers of the kingdoms single God; any occupation or profession one would think of, it would probably be found in Vicious.

However, what one thing masses defined as unordinary was a woman who could read and write and who was just as intelligent as a man living in a run-down, two-story library.

The bottom floor of the brick build and metal-framed building was filled with bookshelves upon bookshelves of books of all kinds. Fantasy and children books, adult novels of fiction and non, and documentation of the kingdom’s history. Encyclopedias and thick bricks books of words and information that- if it had the right reader- could suck them in with knowledge.

The top story was closed off from the public. Small living space was where the family of the library lived when the store was closed. A small living room with only two rooms and the kitchen was right off the far wall of the living room, not even a wall to separate the two. It was small, but cozy for the small family of three.

In the past, this small library with two small step stools for high shelves and one small ladder used to belong to an old man and his wife. They had a small child, a little girl when the couple was early into their middle-aged years. As that little girl grew up, her father taught her to read and write and would often raise her as if she were a son. She still wore the suffocating dresses and low heeled shoes of a child as a requirement of her mother. Her father had her help him with broken shelves and squeaky doors, learning a good chunk of labor in her early years.

On the other hand, her mother still pampered her and grew her into a proper young lady. Manners and ideals of a woman and one-day future housewife. Cooking, cleaning, chores, shopping, sewing and all the factors that lead to proper womanhood. Oddly enough, that little girl didn’t mind all the things she was taught.

All her talents in both ladylike behavior and otherwise was an opportunity to learn. And if the girl had anything it was craving for knowledge. She greatly enjoyed reading on the downtime she had and would often recommend books to the boys in her grade school- something she would regret as it lead to years of ridicule. She was simply too smart for a girl.

At the age of 13, this little girl lost her mother to sickness. Catching a cold was all it was, but she just got worse and worse and her father couldn’t keep up with doctor bills. Eventually, the sickness claimed the girl’s mother and it was just her father and her in the apartment and the library. 5 years later, when the girl is 18, she loses her father next.

He had been called to help damper out a raging fire in the Nothern part of the city. Some criminals had started a fire in the small prison to try and mask his escape.

The older man never came back to the library, only a messager did to tell the girl that her father had been killed pursuing the escapee. Leaving the 18-year-old young lady, leaving you, to inherit the library fully.

Things from then got painfully stressful for the better part of half a year. Managing the library and your personal life. Trying to get accustomed to running everything by yourself and not letting the snarky remarks of young men behind your back as you hammered loose bricks back into the outside bricks. Working day in and day out and also having to run errands for families in need for extra money kept you busy and balancing your schedule wore you out.

There were many times you thought about giving up the library, no matter how much you loved it. You came close so many times to that decision, but the memories of you and your family always made you rethink and keep the building in your possession. Many men had come along and tried to buy it from you to wreck it down and rebuild something else where it stood- you always declined.

Years went by and as time passed, things slid into a certain pace of ease and you were finally able to live comfortably. You were 24 years old now. Still managing your library and keeping your home in shape, you also stood as an independent woman. No man or person of romantic interest simply because you had no interest or time for a partner at the moment. Besides, the men in the city, or at least your part of it, had no interest in a woman who threatened to be smarter than him. Bruised egos are a lethal attack to men it seemed.

However, there were a handful of women who respected you a great deal with your knowledge and ability to disregard the judgemental stares and comments from others. It wasn’t just men who sneered, but the women who were a bit too rich in both money and unrealism gave you stink eyes. Sometimes the rich women were even more threatened than the men were even when they couldn’t count anything other than bills.

You were busy restacking the shelves with books that had been returned that morning from mostly children and a few older generations. Your dress wrapped around your torso as you wore your corset, looser than a lady should, and the skirt hitting your ankles. You dusted your hands off with each finished task on the white apron tied around your waist. Small, brown, worn-out flats covering your feet. Working all day with heels just would not suffice. Your hair wrapped around your head in tied upbraids. Uncomfortable, but out of the way.

You were more tired than the day before from the dream you had last night. The dream wasn’t frightful per se, but something about it made you jolt awake. Each time you went back to sleep, the same dream came back and the same dream woke you up. It was hours before dawn when you decided to forget any further sleep and just get up. An early start to the day wouldn’t be so bad. It gave you time to take books off shelves and clean them only to restock them- a task tedious but long overdue.

The dream was one set in your city, the city of Vicious. In fact, in each dream you were outside, just walking around running some sort of errand for the local older woman or fetching medicine for the bedridden old gentleman for a small bit of money. And in each new errand and each new dream, you kept seeing the same people and the same faces you had grown up knowing. However, it’s one person’s stature that always caught you off guard.

The wore a brown, long robe with the hood always flipped up. Masking their face and hiding their body, just walking down the path like every other citizen of Vicious. You would always unconsciously think of them as a traveling beggar from some other town in Navern. It was when the hooded figure moved to seemingly lift their head to look towards you when you always jolted awake. Perhaps it was your brain trying to tell you that you woke up because whatever person that hooded figure was, wasn’t someone you had seen before. Without a proper face to register, you just woke up to avoid it altogether.

You never got a fearful or unsettling feeling in your dreams or afterward, so you didn’t think too much of it. However, it wasn’t just that night you had that dream. It was present the night after and further on. Night after night it was all sorts of different dreams with different errands and different people, but that one cloaked beggar always was present. Still not giving you a feeling of discomfort, but the reoccurrence of this dream made you halfway convince yourself to spend some saved up money on a doctor’s trip.

It’s that night when you contemplate medical aid that you had a dream set in a doctor’s den. Sat in his dinky little office, but instead of a face, the doctor had a long mask on. In fact, the whole doctor wasn’t even human, but a giant, humanoid raven with black feathers and dressed in a tailcoat of the most wealthy bank owner. Waking from that dream with a shiver and a line of sweat down your spine, you might actually consider that one a nightmare.

You decided at nearly midnight to go out and clear your head with a walk. It was a late and dangerous time for a woman to be out, but the idea of sleep made you shiver. Maybe some time to clear your head in the quiet nighttime would help ease you.

Changing from one of your father’s old shirts that you wore to bed every night into your least flattering skirt and small poet’s blouse, you threw a shawl over your shoulders. Not even bothering to tie your hair back. It wouldn’t be a long stroll, just one to breathe in the clean air and take in the silence. When you looked out your window, you smiled as you saw the moon shining brightly overhead- even though it was only halfway through the new moon cycle. It would light your path along with the small patterns set outside homes for those who had late-night workers as part of their family.

Inside Navern Palace dwelled the Sun God of Navern, Luos. Luos was a God who was revered and respected, even as a shut-in God. He ruled and took care of his kingdom from the comfort of his palace walls. Any word he needed to hear of, he’d turn to his Water Mirror, a vase with a wide mouth and filled with water. A few taps of Luos’s fingertips against the water, causing ripples and he could see to the furthest reach of his precious kingdom.

He did love him home. Navern was were he grew up as a human with a different, human name when the kingdom was first birthed. His devoting to his home was what caught another God’s eye- the supreme God of all that was known. When he died as a young man due to his efforts in fighting in a long war, the Ruler God revived him as something far greater than human and giving him the new name of Luos and the insignia of a butterfly. Thought, he never forgot his original name- and he refused to abandon it altogether. It would be like throwing the long memories of his deceased parents away and he absolutely would not do that. His original name stayed solely with him as he lived as Luos.

Luos was not always a shut-in, in fact, he used to be rather outgoing and always spoke and hopped around from town to town among his kingdom. But, many years ago, something changed and all of a sudden he closed his doors for good. He wouldn’t set foot outside palace walls and on some days his palace servants couldn’t even get him to go out into the gardens full of sunflowers he so much loved.

He’d been this way for nearly 20 years now. Only the oldest in Vicious have a vague memory of their royal God walking the streets.

It was never announced as to why Luos locked himself away into his own prison. There had been no wars, no famine. Crime had been on the lower side of the scale and he had no negative reputation with his people that was noted. However, he still made the ironclad decision and his people could do nothing to change his mind.

However, it was nearly two weeks ago that he started to question his seclusion. He had grown quite accustomed to his reclusive past couple of decades, but for the past couple weeks, he’s had this feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He’d stand at one of his many grand windows just staring over the castle’s main gates to the rooftops of town across the thin, brick bridge that connected the castle to town over the clear watered mote surrounding his palace.

It had been a long time since he had the urge to go out and see his capital again, however recently it had been the hardest urge to suppress in his day to day, reclusive life. The Sun God himself had changed vastly from when he had first started his Godly duties. The thin, childlike innocent he used to hold in his face had matured out into a sculpted jaw and eyes that had seen many things and consumed more knowledge than humans could take in.

“Perhaps I should select a prophet,” was his constant reoccurring thought recently. The thought poured into his head one night when sleep had been actively avoiding him. He had heard in an old wise tale that when one cannot sleep, it is because someone else is dreaming of them. He questioned the truth behind that because he had not set foot outside in so long, no one had the reason to dream of him at all. He was even more confused as to why he suddenly had the compelling idea to suddenly rope in someone to be a chosen prophet.

Even when he thought about the suggestion, he could never think of a face or name that would fit the title. He felt a nagging in his chest and with each possible candidate he could choose to help spread his word and ideals, the nagging would worsen. It was as if his subconsciousness was rejecting each person he knew within the castle- almost pressuring him to go outside the palace. Perhaps he truly should. Perhaps he should go and venture out into his capital and try to see if a single one person could cure this nagging that had begun to irritate him.

So, late at night when the castle was quiet, he dressed in slacks, shirt, and cloak before he left. Walking out of his room and throw the abandoned halls to the back gates of the palace, rounding around the entire castle to avoid as many guards as possible. If he were seen leaving, the guards would most definitely make a fuss about it and the gossip would spread from Navern’s farthest board lined town before dawn. As far as anyone else was concerned, he still hadn’t stepped foot outside the palace perimeter.

The moment his feet hit the loose dirt from across the mote’s bridge, he took a sharp breath. It was like his soul had missed this feeling of his cities roads. He felt at home already, even after all this time. He flipped up his hood, hiding his pitch-black hair and smiled as he stepped onward once more, a joyous hop in his step. The moon named Selene, guiding his way forward. He looked up at her bright surface and smiled a silent thanks for invisible guidance. The moon was always motherly towards him.

Selene says she doesn’t play favorites, but Luos was definitely a favorite- even if she denies it.

Your stroll outside was a quick as you wished it to be. You walked to the wishing well of stone of ice-cold water in the center of Vicious as you sat on the thick stone of it. The sounds of the water calmed you and the area chilled your skin even beneath your shawl enough to raise your skin in gooseflesh. The wind blew slightly in small wisps, making you unattractively breathe in strands of your hair.

Fed up with it, you took the loose tied around your wrist you carried with you everywhere and began to sloppily tie your hair back at the low of your neck. Not very tight, but enough to keep it from entering your mouth and causing you to gag or choke again.

It was very bright out for it being the middle of the night. Part of you regretting now bring a book out with you. You could easily read a chapter or two with the moon’s brightness this night. You half contemplated going back home only to come back to the fountain and do just that when a small gasp sounded behind you.

Jumping to your feet and whipping around, you were met with a cloaked figure with their hood flipped up. You gasped lightly yourself. It was just like your dreams and now you half expected yourself to bolt awake at home in bed. You clenched your eyes shut, expected your mattress to be pushed against your back any moment, but nothing happened. You still breathed the fresh air, still heard the fountain’s water, and still felt the chilly air of the nighttime.

You squinted your eyes open just a sliver, still seeing that cloaked figure across the fountain. You squeezed your eyes closed against and reached under your shawl to your shoulder and pinched your skin. The top trick in the books, if you want to wake up from a dream, pinch yourself.

“Why are you hurting yourself?” You gasped as your eyes shot open. You had been so preoccupied with yourself that you didn’t even hear this cloaked stranger walk over to stand in front of you. Their deep voice had a silky tone to it and it was most definitely a male’s voice. He stood so close to you, nearly toe to toe and yet you still could not see him under his hood. Just like the dreams, his cloaked figure had no fae you could see. However, you’d never heard them speak before, so perhaps this was some sort of lucid dream? “Miss?” He spoke again.

“I, um, I’m trying to wake up,” you dumbly replied. A reply which made his shoulders shift- the only physical thing you could see as a response to your words. You then heard a small, low chuckle from beneath his hood.

“Are you trying to say that you’re sleepwalking?”

“Perhaps, I’ve been known to do remarkable things before,” you unconsciously spoke back in a teasing manner. You then remembered that to most, and almost all, you weren’t supposed to speak to men so highly. ��You were a woman of independence and held your head high despite your differences of other women, but the lessons of manners from your mother flooded back into your head. You quickly took a step backward, leaning back and away from the stranger and covered your mouth with your fingertips. “I apologize for my tone!”

The stranger quickly lifted his hand to his chest, palm towards you. His cloak opened to show what seemed like black pants and a white shirt beneath it. Boots tucked into his trousers. You partial hoped he wouldn’t raise his hand higher and demand more respect like many, entitled men would without hesitation.

“There is no need to apologize!” He quickly dismissed. He lowered his hand back down, his cloak closing back again at his front. His pushed forward chest straightened back down as he saw you relaxed slowly but surely. “Why are you running about the city so late at night, Miss?”

You bit back the urge to ask him the same thing in return but knew better than to avoid your basic ladylike manners again. You cleared your voice, straightening back up.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping for a while now. I thought that perhaps the night air would help clear my mind.” You didn’t hear the small gasp he took in.

“Trouble… sleeping?” You nodded towards him, brow raised at his curious tone. He cleared his throat. “When did your trouble begin? Perhaps if you talk about it, it would help.” You contemplated his offer. A listening ear of a stranger who offered willingly was far easier and cheaper than visiting a local doctor. You just looked up at him, head tuning in curiosity.

“Are you truly willing to listen to my late-night woes? Me, a stranger.”

The strange man turned around, backing up to the edge of the fountain and took a seat. He just looked up at you with his hidden face and offered you to take a seat beside him. You relented and even though you didn’t know who this man was and you didn’t recognize the voice as anyone you may have met before, you felt oddly calm. You sat next to him before speaking.

“I suppose it started at the beginning of the month’s moon cycle. When the moon was dark and unseen, that’s when it all began. So, a couple of weeks ago.” You fiddled with your fingers, looking at your lap instead of up at his hidden features. You missed the man’s chin drop as he suppressed the urge to push his palm against his mouth in shock. He just remained still and rotated his hand to silently tell you to continue, not trusting his voice. You sighed. “I normally sit and read before trying to sleep again, but the dreams just keep reappearing over and over again.”

“You can read?” He asked inquisitively. It wasn’t said in a disgusted tone, not even condescending. He was genuinely curious.

“I… can. My father taught me when I was young and it would be odd if a librarian lacked the skill to read her own books.” He could tell by the way he put his hands together in his lap and pushed his legs up to his toes and back down that he wanted to know more. “My father’s library in town was passed to me when he passed. My mother had already died so I had to learn to manage it on my own, but that was nearly 5 years ago now. I’ve put it behind me and it isn’t so bad as it seemed at the time.”

“I apologize for your losses,” the strange offered his condolences. “However, I’ve not known many women to read and write efficiently. Are you ridiculed for it?” He asked lightly as if trying to avoid any conversational landmines. He smiled lightly with a small huff and looked down at your hands.

“I am, very often honestly. Truth be told, I seem to provoke men and the wealthy women of the city because of my skills. I’ve tried teaching children, but their parents berate me. I’ve become deaf to their insults now, however.”

“You’re a respectable woman,” the strange told you. The compliment seemed so truthful it sent you into a small recoil. He chuckled as your reaction. “A strong, intelligent woman shouldn’t be deemed unordinary, but revered as a genius. You all weren’t’ just made for family expansion and chores. Or so, I believe.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter. You pushed your hand over your mouth, knowing it was late and if you were to wake anyone, they’d stalk into the city center with a stick or ladle, shooing the noisemaker away. You missed the small smile the stranger hid under his hood.

“I apologize,” you forced between stifled laughs. He shook his head.

“No need, I think your laugh is beautiful.”

You calmed down as you took a breath to regained your breathing. “I’m not sure where you come from, stranger, but you are vastly different from any other man I’ve met.” He was silent for a moment.

“Believe it or not, I’ve lived in Navern for many years. I’m a bit of a recluse and don’t get out much. I work from home, in a sense.”

“Is that right?” You asked, a teasing hint of skepticism.

“I swear to Luos himself,” He said, cringing at his words. You nodded. You both continued to sit and talk for a while longer before the moon had moved drastically in the sky. The stranger was soon standing, taking your hand gently to help you to your feet. His fingers seemed to linger on your skin as he let your hand go. “It’s getting far too late for a lady to be out. I’ll walk you home,” he offered with no room for rejection.

When you both stood outside your home, the stranger looked through the dark windows. The outlines of filled shelves sketching over his vision. Looking up, he saw a window, probably to your room away from your shop. You removed the thick, cooper key from around your neck that was on a rope of leather before slotting it into the door. Turning it to click it open. You turned back to the stranger.

“Thank you for your company tonight. I really did appreciate being able to speak and be myself without being sneered.” Your voice was soft and filled with genuine happiness.

“I can guarantee that your company and conversation pleased me far more than you. It has been far too long since I spoke to someone.” His voice was soft and calm, you could hear the smile on his face. “Next time, let’s talk inside and in the daylight instead of sitting outside in the cold.”

“You would come to visit me, wouldn’t you?” You teased lightly. You were shocked when he nodded immediately. “Well, if that’s the case, could I see your face?” You gently asked, not wanting to pressure him. He was still a stranger, but you felt so calm and easy about him. You just wanted to see him just once- but perhaps he would decline your request. He had his hood up this whole time without movement to lower it.

“I don’t usually show my face outside of my home,” he started and your face started to fall, “however, I think I can make this exception.” Your fae jumped back up as you bit back a smile of victory. He lifted his hands to open his cloak and grip the sides of his hood. Pushing the fabric back, your smile fell into the face of awe.

He was gorgeous. Long, black hair that brushed passed his eyes. His eyes dark but light reflected off them in specs of the most wondrous color. His hair was curled with waves and framed his face well. His jaw is wide and sharp. His voice seemed to fit his face a far better than you couldn’t have ever imagined. He chuckled at your reaction to his face. He put his hands on either side of his neck before dropping them.

“For the first time tonight, it seems you do not have any words left,” he jested.

You just licked your dry lips and hid your face, trying not to let your cheek heat too much. “May I ask one more request?”

“I suppose,” he drawled. You picked at your fingers, nails tapping together.

“May I ask your name if I offer mine back?” You gingerly looked up at him, eyes looking up first before your head lifted in follow. You could see a small jolt of hesitation at your question. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’d recognize you anywhere even without your name.” He took that as a compliment of compelling looks.

He faltered in his step as he moved to take your hand, raising it to push the back of your knuckles to his lips. His eyes closed gently as he kissed your hand, your mouth opening and your cheek flaring in the cold night breeze. He opened his eyes as you noticed that one eye had a monolid while the other was double eye lidded. He smiled widely, the purest and cutest smile you’d ever seen.

“Call me Taehyung,” he cheered lightly. He dropped your hand, as you offered your name back with a small flustered stutter. Y/n was a wonderful name and fit you perfectly. He watched you go inside and even saw your shadow trot up the back staircase to your apartment. He looked at the top window and saw a dim light of a lantern you had just lit before he smiled.

He did feel a bit guilty for not telling you the name he went by now was Luos, but Taehyung was the only name he felt he should give you. His original name was much less intimidating than the Sun God Recluse, Luos. He flipped his hood back up and made quick work of his way back to the castle. Already impatient to see you again and without him really noticing, the nagging in his chest had subsided.

It was two weeks ago when your dream started to subside. That night you spent talking with Taehyung for so long seemed to take your dreams away. You were shocked when he showed up at dusk, knowing at your library door the very next night. He claimed he couldn’t wait to see you again, so here he was. You immediately let him inside without a hassle.

You’ve been talking with Taehyung for two weeks and you greatly enjoyed everything about him. His attitude was uplifting and even when he spoke about topics that angered him, his anger was justice and the points to support his rage were solid. He was knowledgable and well versed in many things. The conversation never died with him.

You were comfortable with him, especially since he always marveled at your abilities. He watched with awe as you caught you repaired a shelf once, and nearly ate enough for four men when you cooked for him the first time. He could read well but preferred hearing you read to him, claiming to love hearing your voice.

It was no mystery how fast you were falling for Taehyung. The romance was something you didn’t think was optional for you, but Taehyung waltzed into your life at night and wasn’t a creepy serial killer. Taehyung had seriously raised your bar of men’s standards and he probably had no idea how you inside turned into mush when he showed up at your home with his giant, wide smile.

Taehyung also always only visited you when night was falling and always cloak. However, it was early in the morning once when he decided he couldn’t wait another long day to see you again. Sneaking out of the castle was harder in the morning, but possible. Still cloaked and hooded, he hid his small smile from the sun’s shadow. His smile wilted when he saw the corner of your library-home come into view.

You had just unlocked the library door and moved to put the hanging ‘open’ sign you had painted and decorated with Taehyung one night to symbolize for people to come and go as they please. He wanted to smile at the idea of you using it, but the young men around your age coming towards you made his teeth grind.

You had just hung your sign on the front window of the door on the small nail you had put on the door a few nights ago when you felt a small shove on your shoulder. Your dress today hit the ground and you nearly toppled over by stepping on the fabric. Your corset of white pushed the dress against your stomach, pushing your chest up, and your torso felt pain as you nearly bent over in the course that was tight.

You regained balance with a small huff as you adjusted your apron on your front. The two men were two fellow rude boys you had grown up with. They had yet to outgrow their childish bullying, and you doubt they were would. You figured they should just marry each other at this point. With rotten, toxic attitudes like theirs, there is no way they’d find wives.

One man, a small sprout of bone was Lix. The other was a bit broader, but no looker for sure; he was named Horan. Lix was more a verbal fighter, not having much strength when it came to fist to fist confrontation. Horan was the opposite. He was dead stupid, but his power balanced out what Lix didn’t have. It was a poetically stupid match made in some twisted heave.

Lix turned to your sign before taking it off the door and looking it over. A small frown on his face as he’s eyes squinted.

“What awful handwriting!” He crowed, even if your handwriting was a perfect script. “I knew it, women should stick to cleaning and looking after little rugrats,” he spits before he threw your sign with a flick to his right. The wooden plack spun as it descended and hit the road with a puff of dirt. You gasped lightly before you ran towards it.

Kneeling in the dirt, you picked it up, the road sticking to your fingertips and filtering under your nails in grounded, small pieces. Dirt would be pushed into your apron and you’re sure you’d have to dust it and wash it all out later. When you looked at the sign in your lap as you knelt on your knees, you recalled how happy Taehyung looked when it as down. Your eyes began to tear.

There was a small murmur of on-lookers who watched the two men push at you. You knew you had no authority to act out, even if you wanted so badly to shout at them. You’d have no ally if you did, no one stood in your corner. You were alone and the fact that everyone watching and gossiping you get pushed around didn’t move to help you, only proved your point.

You could only stamp your feet and curl your fingers around the wooden, painted ‘open’ sign as you held your tears back. Lix started marching up behind you, you could tell from the dainty footsteps he took. Horan’s was much more heavy in terms of his weight. You could feel his presence right behind you, the looming feeling of this man looking down on you. He kicked dirt at your back, debris mixing into your hair and rolling down your dresses back from the collar as you shivered at the sensation.

You felt pathetic as you just let it happen. You could feel him step closer and the shadow you saw from your side showed him reaching out towards you. You expected him to grab your hair and pull you to sit straight. You just shut your eyes in a panic to avoid anyone seeing your unshed tears.

Lix’s nasty grip never came. Instead, a near set of steps rushed from in front of you and came to halt. A shadow of someone blocking the sun from you clouded your shut eyes as you peeked them open. A pair of black boots were in front of your down casted vision. You could vague hear Lix squawking in pain before the new arriver stepped around you and shoved Lix back. You heard his ass his dirt as he whined. Horan was soon stomping to defend his attacked friend, but soon the stomping stopped.

You lifted your head, turning to your back to see who had interfered. You didn’t know of any townsfolk would who defend you. A woman who was so vastly different from others. Your mouth opened to a quivered form as your tears fell. That familiar cloak a blessing to your eyes.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. You weren’t shocked to see him, you were just relieved to see you had someone to help you. You cried further when you realized you finally had someone in your corner. Taehyung protected you and he had flipped down his hood. His hair was even more beautiful shining off the sun. You wanted to see his eyes in this light- it was probably more breathtaking than seeing them in the candlelight of lanterns.

Horan remained still, frozen mid-charge. Taehyung glared at him and it was blood-chilling enough to freeze the unintelligent giant in his tracks and even silence the gossip of others. Some even moved to remain their work, trying to play coy as if they hadn’t witnessed the assault without assistance. Lix had picked himself off the ground, not sure where to move to, Taehyung eyes burning them into place.

“Make yourself scarce,” was all he seethed. A threat underlined in his words. Lix and Horan were quick to flee. Taehyung’s shoulders slackened as he turned to you, sitting in the dirt and holding the sign in your arms to your chest, hugging it as if it were some precious treasure. His eyebrows dipped, sad to see your tears. He moved to you, kneeling to rub his palm against your wet cheek and push his fingertips into your hair, combing out bits of dirt.

He raised his eyes over you, looking at the people still cocky enough to keep starring. He glared again. “Return to your duties and mind your business!” He yelled, everyone obeying without hesitation and soon all eyes were off you. Taehyung looked softly back at you before he gently picked you off the ground.

Walking you into your store, he took the sign and set it gently on the window sill. He locked the door once you both were inside. He rubbed your arm softly as you palmed at your eyes, trying to dry them. Taehyung moved to stand in front of you, grabbing your cheeks and bending to look into your glasses, red eyes. He rubbed your skin with his thumb, his large hand holding your head.

“Let’s not open up right now,” he whispered so softly to you. You nodded, not able to trust your voice yet. “He gently pushed his lips on your forehead, his brows crunching as he held his lips against your skin for several seconds, feeling pain in his chest from seeing your own pain. H epulled from your forehead before he grabbed your hand. “Let’s go upstairs. You have tea? I’ll make you some” You just nodded again, following him upstairs.

Taehyung spent that day with you. He cleaned your face and wiped your tears. He reassured you and made you speak your frustrations. He took care of you in a way you didn’t think a man ever would. He made you change out of your corset and set your apron in the wash bin to soak the dirt stains out. He brushed your hair out before he sloppily pinned it up. He stayed by you all day and far into the night. When you fell asleep that night, you shocked to wake up the next morning without a single dream to plague you. Even more shocking, you gasped lightly when Taehyung was sleeping in front of you, eyes shut easy and arm under his head as a pillow.

He never left your side. All that previous and all night, he was there. You cupped your mouth as a wae of resh tears spilled over the side of your face. You pushed your face into Taehyung’s neck, startling him awake as he rubbed your back.

“What’s wrong/ Tell me? Did you have a nightmare?” You just shoo your head as you hiccup. “Y/n?” You cried tears of relief and realization as you finally attempted to yourself that you were in love with Taehyung. So very much in love with him.

He left the night of day two he had been with you. He wanted to stay longer, stay forever if he could, but he knew he had to get back to the palace. One day without his appearance wasn’t odd, many assumed he was probably locke din his room. However, any longer and he feared someone would grow nosey.

He left you that night as you flushed at the kiss he pushed on your forehead. He held your hand softly before he flipped his hood up and ran off. You went back upstairs, suddenly exhausted and fell into sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the murmur outside. You rubbed your eyes, going to your window and opening it. There were people whispering with cupped hands as they pointed to your library. You assumed they were still talking about the debacle two days prior with Lix and Horan. It wasn’t until you came downstairs when you saw two people standing with their backs to the front windows of your library.

Unlocking the door and opening it, the two people turned to you. They were both men and dressed in guard uniforms. They were from the palace and part of your blood froze. Why were castle guards standing at your storefront? You swallowed as you greeted them.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greeted trying to remain calm. One stood forward, holding a spear in his arms as the tip pointed high to the sky. He seemed to be the higher rank of the duo.

“Fine morning, Miss. I do not wish to alarm you, but we have immediate orders to escort you into Navern Palace.”

“What?” You choked. You took the time to look around again. You noticed that instead of all judgmental eyes, some gazes were envious or even respectable. They looked at you like you were some higher being or had some power over them. You crunched your brow.

You were ready to talk to the guards when you felt someone run into your back, knocking you forward a step. You turned around and saw Lix, Horan in front of him his arms stretched out. The bigger man had pushed the smaller and the look Lix gave you when he saw it was you he rammed into was one of almost terror. He straightened out as he stood beside Horan, both bowing deeply towards you.

“We’re sorry!” He cried as they ran off like scared children. Your brows flicked up higher. What in the world was that? Were they scared Taehyung would show up again? You momentarily forgot about the guards until one cleared their throat to gain your attention back. The one who spoke to you scolded his underling.

“Do not force her attention by force in such a rude manner!” He shouted as you quickly hushed him.

“No! It’s fine! I’m not offended or anything.” You sighed when the higher-ranked guards only bowed to you and offered his thanks, the younger mirroring his actions. “So, I’m to go to the palace?” You asked, trying to restart the original conversation. The guards stood right up again.

“Yes, Miss. Luos has asked for you.” YOu gasped lightly.

“God Luos asked to see me?!” The guards nodded. Your mouth grew dry as you swallowed to try and find saliva. You licked your dry lips. “I- okay.” You relented. If the God of your kingdom really did request you there, you had to go. You hoped he didn’t mind librarian clothes and a slightly stained apron. You had no time to change and get ready as the guards had begun to usher you off after you locked your library door.

As you walked with the two men, you watched some children smile and wave you. Some women stared in awe at you as if they knew something you didn’t. Men looked at you in caution as if they were committing a crime if you met their gaze. What possibly could’ve happened overnight to get gazes on you in a totally different light?

The moment you crossed the brick bridge across the mote and stood at the giant gates of the palace, you looked in open-mouthed awe. The castle was a gargantuan wonder up close. It took your breath away. The sides of it were as beautiful as the Sun God it housed you were sure. The idea of you probably meeting the God of the Sun, Luos made your stomach turn. He had been silent for so long, what did he suddenly pop back into the public gossip for? And to summon you of all people in Navern?

You were lead to a wide, open, beautiful throne room. The throe at the back of the room at the end of the long, golden rug and up 4 steps of marble was empty. No God was there. You stood walking closer to the throne and taking in the fabric, patterns, and creation of it. Itw as a wonderfully beautiful chair. You gasped with enough force to knock the breath out of you when the heavy, tall doors of the throne room wheezed open again and a voice echoed behind you.

“Would you like to have a seat on my throne?” The voice so scarily familiar and you hesitated to turn around. Surely your mind was playing tricks on you. There was no way. You heard the echoing steps come closer to you as your back remained towards him. Luos was behind you, that you knew for sure- he addressed this throne you stared wide-eyed at as his after all. You felt him stop behind you, his loom presence burning at your back. “Will you not turn to look at me?” His voice was lower, quieter. You gripped your have stained apron as you took one step forward, putting distance between you and he as you then slowly stepped around to face him.

Your eyes were focused at his feet. He walked barefoot. Golden anklets around his skin. His trousers were black as they were rolled at his shins. Following his pant legs up, his white shirt was long and loose on his body. Following it up higher, you saw a golden robe of printed suns adorn his shoulders and you could vaguely see bracelets of gold wrap up his forearms like guards. A thick golden collar of jews around his neck and a crown of golden spikes sat on the crown of his head. Dramatic and much like the rays of the sun.

This was Luos and as you looked into his eyes at his face, you gasped. This was Taehyung.

“I hope the sudden call to my home wasn’t too alarming, Y/n,” he told you softly. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but you weren’t screaming yet so he considered it progress. You just stood there, gaping at him in silence. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, making you flinch, but not back away from him. He smiled softly. “Is who I am truly that shocking?”

You didn’t know how to politely say ‘yes it fucking is shocking’, because the man you’ve been visiting with the past two weeks was a God. You gasped, taking another step backward. He rose his brow in confusion as his hand hovered in the air now. You had let the God of Navern into your rackety all home. You gazed at him in starstruck gazes for hours before. You had told him so many personal events and facts about yourself and you began to flush.

Luos, God of Navern’s Sun had picked your pushed and bullies body off the dirt road just two days ago and had stayed at your home with you alone for over 24 hours. Your cheeks grew darker.

You had fallen in love with Luos and you didn’t even know it.

Was that wrong? You started to inwardly panic. Was it against some scared law of Gods for a human woman who was clearly outcasted from her city to fall for a God? Even if it was unknown to you in the time you were falling, would it be punishable by some degree? Was that why he called you here?! Had he seen through your obvious red faces and stuttering and brought you heard to punish you for your feelings that you should or should’ve been feeling?

Taehyung stepped forward, seeing your mind start to flip. He grabbed your shoulders and pushed his lips against your forehead. Just as he had before. He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t change just because of who he was. He was guilty of hiding the ruth from you, but what choice did he have? He was a shut-in God only a couple of weeks ago, but now he was determined to change it all. And he’d need the help of a prophet for that.

“Calm down, dear,” he soothed. His warm hands pushed against your covered shoulders and you did start to calm. Trying to ignore your warming ears at the endearing name. He felt you slacken after some time and moved to look at you again, stepping just a bit away from you. “Are you alright now?” You nodded. He took his hand and pushed your hair from your face to see you clearly. He smiled at your flushed cheeks. “Red is a color that suits you,” he teased.

You were silent as you looked at your feet. Biting back a ‘shut up’ because in all honesty, how do you talk to him now? Wasn’t it rude to be so direct to a Sun God. A royal God who lived in the royal palace of his own kingdom. You had to watch what you say and say it all respectfully. Taehyugn seemed to know your thoughts as you felt his thumb rub beneath your ear, his hands dipping under your jaw to lift your head up to meet his gaze.

“Do not change yourself because you see me as Luos. My name truly is Taehyung and everything I’ve told you about myself these past weeks is all truthful. I’ve never once lied and I never once will.” He dipped his eyelids, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I don’t want to appear different to you now, so don’t treat me any differently.”

You raised your hand to push over his that held your jaw the other staying fisted loosely around your apron. Taehyung smiled at your palm’s warmth. He watched you take a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your lips. You looked up at him warily.

“I won’t get punished for being blunt to a God?” You asked carefully. You were blunt, yes; but you were always careful of your words towards him. He smiled.

“Of course not. Why would you be punished if the God you’re speaking to gave you pardon?” You finally smiled a small bit. One that made Taehyung break out into a smile so large he nearly let out a small giggle at you. The way he held your jaw and squished your cheek combined with your small smile, he almost pushed dimples into your cheeks.

You both stood in silence for a while before Taehyung dropped his hands from your jaw and moved to hold your hands in his. Threading his fingers with yours. He was affectionate before, sure. He would often plop his head into your lap as you read to him and of course he slept beside you that one night he decided not to leave your side. However, his laced fingers with your brought warmth to your chest.

“Do you remember when you talked to me about your dreams that first night we met?” You nodded. “You remember when you explained that the hooded figure would always appear and you’d wake up?” You nodded again, not sure where he was going with this. “Well, I think that actually was me.” You lightly breathed in an air of confusion. “Sometimes,” he began, “humans are born with something close to supernatural powers. Some can move objects without physical touch, some can see pasts and futures of people, others can even control the mind of others. Then, there are some like you, who are shown prophetic dreams of things to come.”

“Come to think,” you started with a raising brow, “my dreams did stop after that first night we met. I just thought it was because I finally talked about them. However, you’re saying-”

“I believe you were meant to have those dreams and you were meant to meet me that night. That night I felt like I met someone I was always destined to. Prior to that, I had this nagging in my chest,” he lifted his hand to push against his torso, “and it compelled me to go out into town. It cannot be coincidental that I met you that and the nagging abandoned me.”

Taehyung stopped his talking before he looked over your shoulder. He took your intertwined hands and moved to drag you towards his throne. Helping you to not trip up the marble steps, he soon stood with you at his throne of gold. He held your hands tightly.

“Navern is my precious kingdom I care so much for. I’ve had my time of being reclused and I need to go back into my kingdom and reclaim it with new eyes. I cannot do that on my own. I need someone to help me and to help keep me balanced and straight. They will also help keep my words strong to my people who believe in me and my Sun.” He took a deep breath before he removed on hand from yours and took to his pocket, pulling a scarlet red sash from his trousers that had a hair comb wrapped inside of it.

It was a beautiful piece. A golden frame with solid, silver teeth with gaps made to avoid severe tugging of the hair. You slowly reached out with the hand not held by Taehyung as you ran your fingers over its heavy glory.

“It’s beautiful,” you told him as he smiled.

“I know. It belonged to my mother. A long, long time ago.” You looked up at him with a bit of sadness in your eyes. You knew how he loved his parents, he had told you all about them one night and got a bit more emotional than he’d like to admit recalling so many memories. “I want you to have this now.”

“What?” You breathed.

“Y/n,” he put the comb and it’s scarlet fabric in your open palm before he brought your other hand up to sandwich the comb in your hands. His hands around your own before he lifted them to his forehead. “I want you to help me regain the social regime I have let die. I want you to wake up in this palace day by day with me. I want you to stay here and use this comb as you stay with me as my chosen Prophet.” His voice cracked like he was going to cry admitting it all. “I’ve never-,” he took a breath, “I’ve never been in love before. I died too young so long ago I never experienced it. However, I know now I’m positive that I’m falling in love with you.”

Your breath was sucked out of your lungs like a vacuum because of his words. “Do,” you started small, gaining his attention as he looked at you, lowering your hands back down, still holding them tightly. The comb’s cold material warming in your palms. “Do you really mean all of that?” You squeaked.

He nodded so quickly as he took a step closer. His nose was inches from you as he looked down at you. His feet stood between your shoes as he looked back and forth between your eyes. He truly was a beautiful man. “Yes. I swear, I-I mean everything.” He was so fearful you’d say no to him. What would he do if you left this palace and didn’t take his words with you? Would he still be able to visit you in town at the library? Would you avoid him? Shun him? He was scared of the negatives.

“What would happen to the library?” You asked softly. He knew it was important to you. Rundown and aged, yes, but it’s the place you spent your life with your family before they were gone. Taehyung wouldn’t let anything happen to that small, cramped home of yours. He loved it just as much as you. It’s where he spent so much time with you and learned so much about you. Where he ate with you and comforted you and slept beside you.

Taehyung loved that library.

“I’d keep it safe. I don’t want anything to happen to that library or your apartment you claim. It’s so precious to me now. I’d make sure no one got inside it to vandalize or. Nothing would happen to it and I’d keep it safe from ruin. If something is weak, I’d work to rebuild and fix it.”

“You’d do that for a small library when you have such a grand castle?”

“In a heartbeat. That’s the place I got to spend so many memories with you,” he softly admitted out loud. “You don’t need to agree to my request,” he told you, heartbreak in his voice. He wouldn’t force his wishes on you, no- never would he do that.

You slowly pulled your hands from his, opening your palms to see the golden comb in all it’s beauty again. You then handed it to Taehyung, having him hold it as you unraveled your messy, braided hair. Holding locks of it ver your shoulder, you looked at him and smiled.

“Can such a comb even brush such messy hair?” Taehyung’s face nearly split in two at the smile that erupted into his face. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, lifting you off your feet and toes to hold you so tightly. YOu felt his chest breathe heave, relieved sighs. He set you back down on your feet.

He moved to kiss you again, but not on the forehead. No, this time his lips fell beneath your eye. He kissed you and when he pulled his lips from your skin a small mark had begun to outline onto your skin. Shining with golden light before forming the shape of a butterfly, his insignia animal. He smiled again as he moved to sit you down into his throne.

He then moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles much like the night he first met you when he left you for the first time. He kissed your knuckles before he smiled up at you with his innocent, childlike smile.

“We’ll have to get you accustomed to the castle, my dear,” he giggled. He began to lead you to a room of seamstress servants to exchange your ordinary librarian clothes with fine, silk robes of the Sun’s golden glow.

The only thing he kept secret from you now, was the fact that not only were you his Prophet, he also may have told the townspeople that if they mess with his fiance and future wife again, he, the God Luos would not be pleased. Of course, you didn’t have to know you were engaged quite yet.

a/n pt.2 - Tell me all what you think! I spent 5 hours writing this in one sitting and I’m pretty proud of it ngl. So lmk!!

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Tale as Old as Time - Chapter 4

Rami!Prince Adam x Reader

Summary: A prince cursed. A young woman aching for adventure. The classic tale of seeing beauty within.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @xviiarez, @rogerina-owns-me, @brianssixpence, @mirkwoodshewolf, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye, @queenmylovely, @queen-paladin If you’d like to be added, let me know! There’s only one chapter left!

A/N: Time for the most famous part of the story!

Warning(s): None!

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 here we go!!!

In the morning, Rami was true to his word and he retrieved you at nine. Then, you walked together to the garden. He told you that he spent every morning in this place because it always put his mind at ease. That made you question even more.

“Why do they mean so much to you?” you asked. “The roses.”

He reached out for one and delicately touched the petals with the pad of his paw.

“My mother planted them,” he said.

“Your mother?”

He nodded. “She worked hard at maintaining them because roses were her favorite flowers. She was a bit of a romantic.”

You smiled. “She sounds wonderful.”

“I’m sure your mother is equally wonderful,” he replied.

You looked away sadly and paused, remembering what you could of your own mother.

“She passed away, actually,” you said. “When I was still a little girl.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened to her?”

“Pregnancy complications,” you told him. “My little brother didn’t survive either.”

“That’s horrible,” he said. “I see now why you’re so close to your father.”

“I see now why him taking a rose upset you so much,” you said. “If he had known, he would never have -”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. I...it’s done now.”

You nodded.

You walked together a little further.

“Do you like gardening, Y/N?” Rami asked.

“Oh, yes,” you told him. “I started last year after reading about it. I like to grow things I can turn into something else.”

“So, food?”

“Yes,” you said. “I’ve really enjoyed helping Daisy out.”

“Daisy is a kind soul,” he said. “She’s been a joy to this castle.”

“She told me how you saved her,” you admitted. “It was so...compassionate. It surprised me.”

“Yes, I...I’ve been very bitter about my fate, and I never wanted to burden anyone else with it,” he said. “But Daisy resonated with me.”

“Well, what about the servants that remained after your parents died?” you asked.

“I tried to dismiss them, but they refused,” he explained. “Mrs. Carson insisted I needed looking after since I was still so young.”

“It’s a testament to you that they’re so loyal,” you said.

He looked away bashfully and you smiled to yourself.

“Tell me about you,” he said, facing you again. “About your life in the village.”

“The trouble with talking about my life in the village is that I barely had one,” you said with a sigh. “Every day was the same. Go to town for the day’s needs, come home and fix breakfast, get Papa to take his medicine and see if he needs help with his new invention. Then, spend the afternoon reading.”

“Mrs. Carson did tell me you love books,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah. Ever since I was a child, I’ve longed for adventure. To have something magical and unexpected happen. To see far off places. Books were my primary form of travel.”

You both chuckled.

“My mother loved to read,” Rami said. “She always had something on hand. And she read to me a lot. My father wanted me trained in more sporting things like riding and archery, but mother insisted on my studies as well.”

“She sounds like a wise woman,” you replied. “And a bit like my mother.”

“It’s a shame they never met,” he said sadly.

“They probably would have been great friends,” you agreed.

A beat passed. The wind blew through the garden, making you shiver. It was a crisp autumn day, but winter would arrive before you knew it.

“Let’s go in,” Rami suggested. “I’ll have Mrs. Carson get a fire going.”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders.

“There’s something I’d like to show you first,” he said.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him as he offered you his paw. Smirking, you took it. He led you inside and toward the dining room. It was too soon for lunch, so your curiosity was piqued.

“Where are we going?” you wondered.

“You’ll see,” Rami replied mischievously. “It’s a surprise!”

You giggled and continued to follow him. You were going around a corner when he suddenly stopped.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

“Why?” you returned.

“Just do it!” he insisted with a grin.

You shook your head and obeyed. Rami took a moment to admire your face as you stood there. The sunlight pooling through the window struck it just right and for a moment, it appeared you were glowing.

“Well?” you questioned. “Are we going to continue?”

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

He took your hand again, and he began to slowly lead you down the hall. You couldn’t be sure how much further you traveled with your eyes closed, but it seemed only a few seconds passed before he stopped you again.

He dropped your hand, and you resisted the urge to crack open an eyelid and peek at what he was doing. You squeezed your eyes further shut instead. You heard a metallic click and the rattling of a chain. Then, the creak of rusty door hinges.

“Rami?”

“Just a few more steps, Y/N,” he replied, guiding you forward.

You knew you had entered another room because the smells changed. It was a bit musty, but there was the distinct scent of parchment and leather.

Even with your eyes closed, you felt the room brighten as some curtains were pushed back and the sun began to warm your skin. A smile began to part your lips.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked eagerly.

“Just one more second,” he told you.

You heard his footsteps come up behind you and his paws fell gently to your shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “Open.”

You opened your eyes, squinting at first at the brightness, and then looked around. Your mouth fell open.

There were books everywhere, on every wall from floor to ceiling. And the ceiling was as tall as a cathedral. Sliding ladders covered whatever height one might need, but there were also staircases up about halfway, with a path going all the way around the room. It was as appealing to you as a Christmas feast, and you couldn’t wait to sink your teeth in.

“Rami, I - I’m speechless!” you cried. “I’ve never seen so many books!”

“This is our library,” he said, a pleased smile on his face. “But I figured it could be your library, if you like it.”

“I love it!” you exclaimed. “You’re really giving it to me?!”

“Of course!” he said. “Friends give each other gifts!”

“Oh, but I could never return the favor!” you said. “This is….Rami, this is the sweetest gift I have ever received. I can’t thank you enough.”

“That smile is all the thanks I need,” he replied. “Besides, it’s I who should be thanking you.”

“What for?” you asked.

“Life was so dark for me before you came here,” he said. He glanced out the window and then back at you. “You brought me sunshine, Y/N.”

You beamed. That made you feel warm and fuzzy from your head to your toes.

“Can we have lunch in here today?” you requested. “Please?”

The look on your face made him realize in that moment that he could never deny you anything. You owned him.

“Whatever you like,” he assured you. “I’ll let Mrs. Carson know.”

You began exploring the shelves and Rami told you the books he’d read, so you pulled a few of those first.

“After I read them, we can talk about them,” you said.

“We can try,” he chuckled. “I haven’t read in so long…”

“We can read it together then,” you said. “And jog your memory.”

“That’s perfect,” he agreed.

Thomas came up and got a fire started in the fireplace. Then Mrs. Carson and Daisy brought up your lunch within the next hour. Daisy was also amazed by the room, since - like you - she had never seen it before.

“Wow!” she gasped. “This must be every book in the world!”

You smiled. “Do you like books, Daisy?”

“I dunno,” she said. “I never learned to read.”

You blinked. “What?”

“No one ever taught me,” she explained. “I learned how to cook and sew and speak, but never reading or writing.”

“Would you like to learn?” you offered. “I can teach you.”

She grinned. “Oh, yes please!” She looked nervously at Rami. “Is that alright, sir? I’ll still do all the cooking, it won’t interfe-”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Of course, Daisy. Take all the time you need.”

“We’ll have our first lesson tonight, after dinner,” you said.

She giggled. “I’m looking forward to it!”

She practically skipped out of the room. Rami looked over at you.

“That was a kind offer,” he said.

“It’s important for people to know how to read, especially women,” you replied.

“I agree,” he said.

You smiled at him. “So, what should we read together first? Shakespeare?”

“Goodness, no,” Rami said. “He’s dull.”

“Shakespeare?” you questioned. “Dull?”

“Yes!” he insisted. “Let’s start over here…”

In the coming weeks, you made excellent use of the library. Every morning, after your walk, you settled in for tea and reading. You made things exciting by reading aloud and acting out whatever you could. Mostly, you liked hearing Rami laugh.

In the afternoons, he would take some time to himself, and retreat to the west wing. You remained in the library. You decided to do some research into curses, hoping to find some way to break the one on Rami.

Unfortunately, the queen’s collection had little information on such matters. The books about magic mostly warned against its use and the ones who practiced it. Most solutions to magical incidents were unhelpful. You needed a concrete way to break this spell. But it seemed that Rami’s case was unique. You could find no other record of a similar curse and how it was broken.

After one afternoon of difficult research, you heaved a frustrated sigh and pushed the book away from you. Now that you were spending so much time with Rami, you pitied him all the more for his situation. In fact, you rather liked him. If you were his sunshine, he was your moonlight - soothing and peaceful, with a touch of mystery.

With another defeated sigh, you picked up the book and returned it to the shelf. You got the same hopeless feeling you had when you first arrived at the castle, only it wasn’t for yourself. Rami was a prisoner in this cursed body. And there was no key in sight.

Tears began to well up in your eyes at the injustice of it. You sniffled, but were unable to stop them from falling down your cheeks. Even the warmth of a crackling fire couldn’t soothe your aching heart.

You looked out the window. Snow was falling gently from the sky, adding onto the already thick blanket on the ground. The snowman you and Rami had built in the courtyard looked rather lonely, but then you watched as Rami appeared and walked over to it. You smiled to yourself when he put a hat and scarf on the head. At the same time, it broke your heart.

Rami actually had such a tenderness to him. He deserved to be a man again.

A soft knock on the door diverted your attention. Daisy stood in the doorway.

“Y/N?” she asked, brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”

You wiped your face and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Just getting sentimental, that’s all. Are you ready for our lesson?”

She brightened and nodded. You sat together beside the window to begin. Daisy was learning fast, but there was still a long way to go. You never realized just how important it was to learn early in life. Though, Daisy told you few girls in her village ever learned to read. Only the rich ones.

It made you grateful for your home. Your town had its issues, but you were able to attend school and choose your own way. That was nice. The thought also made you miss your home terribly.

You and Daisy studied for about an hour when Mrs. Carson came to get her to start dinner. You could tell Daisy was disappointed that her lessons couldn’t be longer, but she never complained. You were just putting the last book away when you heard a hard and sudden thunk against the glass of the window.

Startled, you examined it. Snow was splattered over the glass. You looked out and saw Rami standing several yards away, tossing another snowball up and down in front of him. You opened the window.

“Is that a challenge?” you called out.

“Only if you’re not chicken!” he returned.

You snatched your cloak off the back of your chair and wrapped it around you. Since the library was on the first floor, you climbed right out into the yard. Immediately, you knelt down and packed some snow into a ball.

“You’re on,” you said.

You hurled the snowball directly at him. He turned his back and it exploded across his cape as he laughed. You couldn’t waste any time, so you crouched again to make another. Rami launched the one in his hand, but you ducked, so it collided with the stone of the castle walls.

Mrs. Carson and Daisy returned to the library. Daisy decided she wanted to try something new in the kitchen and test her reading ability by consulting a cookbook for dinner. They were coming to ask you where to find one. They were surprised to find you absent from the room, even though they could hear your voice nearby. Then Mrs. Carson spotted the open window.

Both women went and looked out of it. There you were, down in the snow, wrestling with Rami. Both you and the prince had collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“Well, things have changed between them two!” Daisy laughed.

“Yes, Daisy,” Mrs. Carson agreed. “I think...there may be something there that wasn’t there before.”

“What’s that then?” Daisy wondered.

Mrs. Carson watched as you brushed snowflakes out of the hair around Rami’s face.

“Affection,” she said.

That night, as Anna helped you dress for bed, you accepted the loss of your life in the village. There was a pang in your heart at losing your father, but you found what you were looking for.

“What are you smiling about?” Anna teased as she draped your dress over the chair for your vanity.

“I’m just happy,” you replied innocently.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

You sighed. “It’s silly since it’s been months, but...I finally feel at home here.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Y/N.”

You gave her a quick hug before crawling into bed.

Rami was being helped out of his things by Thomas. The butler had served as butler and valet to the king, and now served Rami the same. As Thomas gathered Rami’s wet clothes from the floor, he noticed that the prince was….humming.

“You’re in a fine mood tonight, sir,” he remarked.

“Things are changing, Thomas,” Rami said. “For the first time since my mother and father died, this palace feels like a home.”

Thomas blinked. “You’re falling for her, aren’t you? Y/N?”

Rami shook the excess water off his fur. “I...I am.”

“Well, that’s great!” Thomas cried. “The spell should be broken!”

Rami’s face fell. “It’s not that simple. She has to love me too, remember?”

“Don’t get discouraged, sir,” Thomas said. “There’s hope.”

“How?” Rami wondered. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

“Of course, she’s a beautiful girl,” Thomas said. “And I think she’s beginning to see you, too, sir. To really see you.”

“You mean, you really think she’s starting to love me?” Rami wondered. “I’m still a beast!”

Thomas shook his head. “No, sir. You have always been a prince.”

A beat passed as Rami tried to gather himself. He had no words to express his gratitude for Thomas in that moment.

“I…” he began, but trailed off, unsure.

“You ought to do something romantic for her to let her know how you feel,” Thomas suggested.

“Like what?” Rami wondered.

“The New Year is coming up,” Thomas said. “Have a ball.”

“A ball?” Rami questioned. “Who would come?”

“Make it a private ball,” Thomas said. “Just the two of you, but get dressed up - you in tails, she in a gown - go all out.”

“You really think that would work?” Rami wondered.

“It can’t hurt to try,” Thomas said. “And you are on a time limit, sir. Now’s the time to take a risk.”

Rami looked over at the rose. Thomas was right, time was running out. The rose was curved over itself as it wilted, and more petals were all around it. He watched as another came off the stem and fluttered down to join the rest.

“You’re right,” Rami said. “It is time to take a risk.”

He straightened up. “Talk to Mrs. Carson. I want the main ballroom cleaned as soon as possible. I’ll help. I’ll need new clothes, so speak to Anna about tailoring some of my father’s old things. And Y/N will need a gown. Let her pick anything she wants from my mother’s collection.”

“Very good, sir!” Thomas praised.

“Oh! And Y/N is to know nothing about it, only that it’s a surprise,” Rami said. “The cleaning, the preparation, is all to be done as quietly as you can.”

“You are truly a romantic, sir,” Thomas said with a grin. “We will have it done.”

“Thank you,” Rami said. Then he swallowed. “For more than just this.”

Thomas nodded with understanding. “We will always take pride in serving you, sir. Good night.”

“Good night, Thomas,” Rami replied.

With that, the butler bowed and left. Rami sank down onto the bed, thinking of you. He really did have hope now. Whether or not you fell for him romantically didn’t matter as much to him. Just to know that he had you as a friend, someone who cared about him that wasn’t a servant or family member, was enough to make him optimistic. Not just that he could be a prince again, but that there was a life for him as he was now.

The new year was in a week. During that time, you noticed that the staff were unusually busy. Mrs. Carson was barely around when you needed her, Anna seemed flustered, and Thomas might as well have vanished. You only saw Daisy during your lessons. Even Rami was spending more time away from you.

“Is something wrong?” you asked him as you went for your daily walk through the garden.

You still took the walks, despite the frigid air. Rami found it refreshing and you thought roses were particularly beautiful in the snow.

“No, why do you ask?” he returned.

“Everyone has been rather...distant,” you explained. “Have I offended the staff?”

“Certainly not, they adore you,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about, Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”

“Believe me, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “Everyone loves you.”

You did not shy away at the word love, so he didn’t regret saying it. Instead, you smiled.

“I love everyone here too,” you said. “That’s why I’m worried.”

“I know it’s odd, but just trust me,” he said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. There’s just...a little more work than usual to be done.”

“Why?” you pressed.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Ugh. You and your surprises.”

You glanced over at him and met his gaze, confirming to him that you were teasing. You loved his surprises because they kept your life at the castle interesting. A little adventure.

The following day, Anna took you to the queen’s old closet. You were astonished by the size of it - it was almost the size of your whole room! - and got a little overwhelmed.

“The master wants you to pick something elegant,” Anna said. “For your surprise.”

“I don’t have much experience with clothes like this,” you admitted. “It all looks elegant to me.”

“I’ll narrow it down for you,” she offered.

She walked toward the back and selected four dresses. Each of them was stunning. The first was emerald green and velvet, and you thought it would be appropriate for the time of year. The second was a deep red, with white lace accents around the collar, which you also thought very wintery. The third was a sapphire blue, with jewels adorning the waistband. Then the fourth one really grabbed your attention. It was golden-yellow, made of satin, with a stunning sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

“Which do you like?” Anna asked.

“The yellow one,” you decided. “It’s like sunshine.”

You would never forget the day Rami told you you brought him sunshine. Well, now you’d make it as literal as you could.

“Good choice, Y/N,” she agreed.

“Anna, aren’t these a bit formal?” you asked as she helped you out of your day dress.

You’d need to try on the new dress since the queen was a little taller than you, with slightly broader shoulders, so Anna needed to make adjustments.

“Of course,” she said, looking up at you with a smile. “They’re ball gowns.”

Your brow furrowed. “Ball gowns?”

“Yes,” she said. “Stay there while I grab a petticoat.”

“Petticoat?!”

When Anna had the dress on you - petticoat and all - you were stunned by your appearance in the mirror. Anna gazed at you as well, and you saw her eyes begin to water.

“Anna!” you cried. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she sniffled. “You just...you look like a princess.”

You turned back to your reflection. You did look like a princess. You felt like a princess. But you were still yourself. Though this was something you never even imagined in your future, it felt right. You smiled.

“I look beautiful,” you said, half to yourself. “I never thought I could look like this.”

“It’s not just your sweet face, you know,” Anna said. “It’s you.”

You blushed at her words, feeling humbled by their sincerity.

“Thank you,” you said.

She grinned. “Come on. Let’s pick out some shoes and a tiara.”

“Oh, I couldn’t wear one of the queen’s tiaras!” you insisted. “It feels...wrong.”

“Y/N, if she were here, she’d lend them to you herself,” Anna said. “After everything you’ve done for her son -”

She stopped herself. You took her hand.

“Anna, what do you mean?” you questioned.

She shook her head. “I’m just being silly, but you’ve made a change in him. A great one.”

“How so?” you continued.

“It’s difficult to explain,” she said. “But you’ve given him hope.”

You let that sink in. You had given Rami hope? Well, he had given you a new life - a life filled with more than you even thought of. You had your own library for goodness sake! That was always a dream of yours.

“I...I don’t know what to say,” you told her. “I’m glad he’s happier. I’m actually happy too.”

She hugged you. You closed your eyes in her embrace, letting yourself feel and accept her appreciation. It was an odd feeling, but a good one.

“Now,” she said, pulling away. “Shoes and tiara.”

“I really don’t feel like I can wear the tiara,” you said. “I’m not a princess.”

“Very well, if you insist,” she conceded. “At least let me give you this.”

She picked up a comb from the shelf to her right. It was a beautiful hair comb made of gold. It had diamonds and rubies across it, but they were so delicate and dainty they reminded you of freckles.

“That will be perfect,” you said.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and you were in your room most of the day preparing for your surprise. Anna had tailored the dress to fit like a glove, and it looked impossibly more beautiful. You took some time to walk around in the heels, since you had never worn shoes like that before, but you took to it quickly. Then, Anna and Mrs. Carson showed you the basic waltz steps.

Rami was fidgeting as Thomas helped him dress. The prince had not worn anything new or tailored in many years. He hadn’t been trying to see or impress anyone. But tonight, he wanted very much to impress you. To show you how much he cared for you.

When everything was ready - your hair was done, the dress was on, and the final touches were finished - you walked to the main hall. There, you saw Rami. You beamed. He looked dashing in his suit with tails. It fit him exactly, so you could see his whole form. He stood up straight as you approached, his smile widening with every step you took.

“Welcome, madam, to the New Year’s Ball,” he said when you came to a stop in front of him.

“A ball?!” you gasped. “I’ve never been to a ball before!”

Your cheeks reddened with bashfulness, and Rami saw your concern.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you. “It’s just us two.”

You brightened. He offered his arm and you took it. Carefully but confidently, he escorted you down the stairs and into the room to the left. What you saw took your breath away.

The ballroom looked brand new. The gold and bronze decor gleamed in the low candlelight of the bright chandelier. The floor was waxed and it shined beneath your feet. It all sparkled and glittered, making you feel like you were truly a royal. You had never seen such grandeur in your life.

“Rami!” you cried, stepping forward to take it all in. You spun around to get a proper look. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

In the corner, sat a string quartet. You shot Rami a questioning look.

“There can’t be a ball without dancing,” he said.

He nodded to the players, and they began a soft, slow melody. Then, he looked back at you. He lowered himself at the waist, bowing. Then he offered his hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

You blushed. This was like something out of a book you had read. Only, Rami looked quite a bit different from the heroes you were used to. You smiled to yourself because you realized it didn’t matter one bit.

“You may,” you replied. “My prince.”

He rose to his full height again, grinning. You took his hand and he led you out onto the floor. One hand was in Rami’s. The other was on his massive shoulder. His free paw went to your waist. Then, he took that first step. The music crescendoed, and you began to dance.

Your heart swelled with the music and the sway of your body. Rami was a patient and helpful partner, so you felt like you had been waltzing since before you could walk. No step was out of place. You didn’t miss a turn. Your cheeks began to ache from smiling, but you couldn’t feel it. All you knew was the sense of belonging right in Rami’s arms.

Tale as old as time True as it can be Barely even friends Then somebody bends Unexpectedly

Just a little change Small, to say the least Both a little scared Neither one prepared Beauty and the beast

Ever just the same Ever a surprise Ever as before Ever just as sure As the sun will rise

Tale as old as time Tune as old as song Bittersweet and strange Finding you can change Learning you were wrong

Certain as the sun Rising in the East Tale as old as time Song as old as rhyme Beauty and the beast

Tale as old as time Song as old as rhyme Beauty and the beast

You and Rami slowed to a stop as the music faded down. You were out of breath as you looked at each other, each of you enthralled by the other.

“Y/N, I…” he began, but trailed off.

“Could we step outside?” you asked. “It’s suddenly quite warm in here.”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

Taking his arm again, you walked out to the balcony. The night was bitterly cold, and you shivered as the wind hit your warm skin. Rami removed his jacket and wrapped it around you. Together, you walked over to the edge and looked out over the woods. The stars above you looked like jewels across the sky.

“What were you saying?” you asked.

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for quite some time now,” he said. “You see, after getting to know you, I…”

“Yes?”

“I want to know if you’re happy here,” he said. “With me. In the palace. I...are you?”

“I am, Rami,” you told him. “Truly, I am. There is one thing, though.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What is it? Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

“I miss my father,” you admitted. “I miss him so much it makes me ache sometimes. If I could just see him and make sure he’s okay, I could…”

Rami’s mind went right to the solution.

“There is a way,” he said.

Your eyes went wide. “There is?”

“Come with me,” he said.

He led you back to the west wing. You had not returned there since the incident with the robbers out of respect. It felt like a milestone that he was inviting you up this time. You went to his room, where the mysterious rose still stood, only looking worse than the last time you saw it. Rami picked up a gold hand mirror and held it out to you.

“This can show me my father?” you questioned. “I thought it was from the enchantress.”

“It will show you anyone,” he said. “It’s how I found you when you were in the west wing that day. Just tell it who you want to see.”

You were skeptical, but you trusted Rami. So, you held the mirror before you.

“Show me my Papa,” you said hesitantly. “Please.”

The mirror glowed, so brightly you had to look away at first, and then a picture formed. Your father was in his bed. Little crimson stains lined the collar of his shirt. He was white as a sheet and sweat covered his forehead. He coughed violently and you winced as you saw more blood dribble into his beard.

“Papa!” you gasped quietly.

Rami heard the cough and saw your face. His heart began to sink. The situation was dire.

“Oh, Papa,” you sighed, tears welling up in your eyes. “He’s so sick.”

You looked desperately at Rami. He looked back at you. He knew what he had to do, but his heart was hammering fast against his chest in protest. He glanced at the rose and then back at you.

“He needs you,” he said.

Your brow furrowed. “I…”

“It wasn’t a question, Y/N,” he continued. “Your father needs you.”

He took a deep breath. You watched him, holding yours as you waited for what he would say next.

“I release you,” he said. “You’re no longer a prisoner here. Go home and look after your father.”

You blinked at a tear slid down your cheek. “I’m free?”

“You’re free,” he confirmed.

His heart stopped hammering. Now, he felt it breaking. You would leave here and never return.

“Rami, I...I don’t know what to say,” you replied.

“Don’t say anything,” he said. “He needs you. Be with him.”

You took his paw between your hands.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “You’re a kind person, Rami.”

He looked away. Mostly because he didn’t want you to see his own emotion. You started to hand the mirror back, but he stopped you.

“Keep it,” he said. “It’s a gift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I don’t need it anymore.”

A beat passed. You chewed your lip to think of something else to say. But what do you say to the person that you had this unique experience with?

“Take care of yourself, Rami,” you said.

“You too,” he returned.

His paw fell out of your grip and he went to the window. Feeling a terrible sense of dread, you left him there. You hurried to your room so Anna could help you change and pack.

Rami listened to your footsteps die down the hall. Then, Thomas and Mrs. Carson entered.

“Well, sir,” Thomas said. “How did it go?”

“She’s leaving,” Rami replied dully.

Mrs. Carson gasped. “How could you let her leave?”

“I had no other choice,” Rami answered. “I love her.”

When you were changed and packed, you hurried out to the stables to grab Dotty. You got her ready as quickly as you could with your shaking hands. As you galloped out of the courtyard and away from the castle, you heard a mournful roar echo from the west wing. Rami’s cry. Your heart shattered.

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Shadowed Hearts/Winter Souls (Final Chapter)

COMPLETED MASTERLIST HERE

***************

“Patatina!” Tony stepped from the house and into the gardens, clapping his hands a few times. “Where are you, beauty?”

“Antonio!” Natalia looked up from her roses and laughed. “Do not call my daughter a potato! How is that sweet at all?”

“Hush, my Mama called me her little potato every day until I was half grown.” Tony retorted and clapped his hands again. “Morgan Alianova! Where are you?”

“Here we are.” Pietro came from behind the hedges, steps slow and purposeful, hoarse voice softer than usual, his gaze focused on the little girl holding on to two of his fingers and toddling along beside him. “Tell your Tonio that little legs walk very slowly, and calling us potato won’t bring us along any faster.”

“Pet-pet.” Morgan was Samuel’s child, but she had Natalia’s green eyes and a smile to rival Tony’s, stubbornness that reminded them every day of Ronin, Wanda’s sweet spirit, a temper that would shock even James, and ever since her arrival the previous August, the child had had Pietro wrapped right around her little finger.

“Pet-pet.” she said again and Pietro nearly melted. The words were most likely random babbling, but Pietro was sure Morgan was trying to say his name. “Up.”

Pietro picked Morgan up without hesitating, hiding the grimace from his injured arm pulling under the baby’s weight and leaned in to bump noses with Morgan. “Let’s go see your Tonio.”

“Ah, there’s my potato bug.” Tony held out his arms for Morgan and once Pietro was close enough, Tony took her cuddled her close. “Come along, tiny love. I have sweet things for you to eat before dinner.”

“Wanda?” Natalia raised her voice in clear disapproval and Wanda poked her head out of the kitchen window to smile at her. “Are you giving Morgan sweets before dinner? You will spoil her!”

“No! I would never!” Wanda denied immediately, and then amended, “Well I am making pastries and thought our patatina would enjoy a taste? Surely that’s not terrible, Talia, you are being too strict again. Antonio, hand her here so she can have some. A little sweetness will not do any harm.”

Wanda tore off a piece of fresh pastry and held it out the window, and Morgan clapped her hands in excitement as Tony held her up high enough for Wanda to pop it in her mouth.

“There has to be cuter names for a child than little potato.” Natalia sighed. “But Antonio has been calling her patatina since she was born, I suppose it’s too late to change it now.”

Piero chuckled quietly and bent to wipe a smudge of dirt from Natalia’s forehead before settling gingerly onto a close by bench. “Tony calls her little potato because she is sweet and round. Tis no different than you calling her little kitten. So long as the words are said in love, what does it matter?”

“No one eats kittens.” Natalia retorted and Pietro countered, “But we have each said at least a thousand times that Morgan is so sweet we could eat her up...”

“Fine fine fine.” Talia relented, sitting up and stretching to relieve the twinge in her back. “But if she grows up to tell other people her name is potato I will have to have words with Antonio.”

Pietro smiled again, and held out his good arm for Morgan when Tony came back with the baby, wiping away pastry crumbs from Morgan’s cheeks and taking her right back to the other side of the garden where they had been sitting beneath a fruit tree and plucking flowers.

“Her laugh is like sunshine.” Tony commented as Pietro disappeared with the toddler. He had a piece of pastry for himself and one for Natalia as well, and Natalia dusted her hands off before taking it. “I think the birds sing and clouds part when she smiles.”

“I think having Morgan around has made you poetic and ridiculous.” Natalia made an agreeable noise when she tasted the pastry. “But I agree. She has chased the shadows away from our life, hasn’t she?”

“Mm-hmm.” Tony broke off another piece of the sweet treat and offered it over. “Mama sent a message to say they are coming at the end of the month. She has piles of new clothes for Morgan and something for you as well. I’m glad you and Mama are so close Talia, but I can’t imagine what you have in common.”

“No.” Natalia hid a smile. “No, I don’t suppose you would imagine what we have in common. I’m sure it’s only Morgan that has brought us so close.” Tony shrugged and pushed the rest of his pastry into her hand. “No Antonio. No more sweets!” Natalia put a hand to her stomach and shook her head. “I will never be slim again if I keep eating everything Wanda bakes!”

“You are more beautiful now than you were the night I met you.” Tony said truthfully, brushing his knuckles over Natalia’s cheek and blatantly admiring the way she filled out her gown. Her collarbones didn’t stand out beneath her skin anymore and after a year and a half eating Italian fare, Natalia's curves were soft and full, and even though she no longer wore elaborate hairstyles or fancy gowns, Tony was sure Natalia had never been so lovely.

“Having Morgan erased your hard edges.” he murmured. “And now you look like an angel.”

“I think those words would mean more if they were said by a man with a vested interest in seeing me undressed.” Natalia teased. “But thank you all the same, Antonio. What are you working on today, has Signore Beretta come along with another plea for you to work for him?”

“He has.” Tony clipped a particularly red bloom and placed it in Natalia’s basket for the house. “But I turned him away. I don’t want to work in Brescia when my family is here in Chioggia. I told him he could send me special pieces to repair but that I would not be returning to the main estate.”

“You are happy with your own work space?” Natalia inclined her head down to the storage shed Tony had converted into a shop. “Even though you don’t have much room?”

“It’s not as if we need the money.” Tony countered. “The shop is only to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied. There is no reason for me to travel for work, and I don’t like being away from you anyway.”

“A workshop in Chioggia is a far cry from being a Prince of Brescia.”

“And I am a far cry from the man I used to be.”

Natalia’s lips lifted in a smile. “And we are all so grateful.”

“I love you, Talia.” Tony kissed her cheek and stood up again. “But I do have something to finish for Signore Beretta so I have to leave you to your roses.”

“I’ll find you for supper.” Natalia promised and waved him away, going back to her gardening with a contented sigh.

The past year had been one of change and adjustment, of making room for a little one in their lives and learning to trust each other in new ways and to trust others in ways no one expected.

Howard and Maria came by often, making the journey from Brescia at least once a month and while it had been a challenge for Tony to accept his father’s newly changed personality, and a surprise for Natalia to be around so happy a family, every visit brought more and more smiles.

Howard and Tony had began working on small projects in the workshop, spending more time together now than they had in Tony’s entire life. Tony had began opening up to his Papa, even laughing together as they worked and when they were late for supper because they were distracted by a project, neither Maria nor Natalia could manage to be upset.

Maria’s extraordinary and mostly secret past bound her and Natalia together through shared experiences and the million quiet ways they protected their families every day. When Morgan was born, Maria moved into the house for several weeks to help with the cooking and cleaning and to trade shifts with Wanda and Natalia so they all managed to get enough sleep. Natalia’s constant worries about her baby’s safety were quieted because Wanda would never let anyone hurt Morgan, and Maria would simply kill anyone who tried, and the relief made those first weeks of motherhood much easier.

Ana and Jarvis came around even more often than Howard and Maria. Ana taught Wanda to cook traditional Italian dishes and was more than happy to watch Morgan all day so Natalia and Wanda could take extra long baths or spend time on their sewing. Jarvis spent days working with Pietro to help the boy regain more muscle use and flexibility, accompanying him on walks and playing catch since the simple act of tossing and catching improved Pietro’s limited hand eye coordination.

When Morgan turned a year old, they held a party. Wanda made cake and both sets of Grandparents-- Ana insisted on being called Grammy if Maria was called Nonni-- spoiled the girl absolutely rotten while Tony stood at the door of the parlor and held Natalia as she cried, soothing her with gentle words, blinking back his own tears.

Natalia cried because she had never once in her entire life thought to have a moment where her baby played in a room full of family, a room full of people who loved her to heaven and back.

Tony cried because the room was so full and yet seemed so empty all at the same time. Morgan signed ‘thank you’ to Howard because Natalia had wanted her to learn a little bit of sign language, and it made Ronin’s absence all the more palpable. Jarvis laughing when Pietro insisted Morgan looked like him hurt because Morgan looked more like Samuel every day and Samuel wasn’t there to see it.

“James would love her.” Natalia whispered that day. “She has our Ma’s family name Alianova and he would love her for it.”

“James would love her for a thousand different reasons.” Tony had countered, and Natalia only cried harder.

Word had come weeks ago of the end of war in Sokovia. The Tsar had officially washed his hands of the entire mess, withdrew his soldiers and emptied the prisons of Sokovian rebels. The revolution had existed for decades, cost thousands of lives and exhausted the supplies of an empire already stretched too far, and the Tsar had finally had enough.

If Sokovia does not want to be Russian, let them fend for themselves.

“We are free.” Wanda whispered as she read the message. “It’s over. The prisoners are freed and the Tsar’s men are gone. Natalia, this means our soldiers could still come--”

“Don’t.” Natalia hadn’t wanted to hear what Wanda would say, she had even looked away from the hope in Pietro’s gaze. “No. This is our life and this is our home and we left everything behind. Don’t say-- don’t make me hope-- I can’t bear it.”

Tony had agreed and they let the topic drop, but Natalia knew Wanda and Pietro whispered about it in the kitchen and she knew Tony had taken James’s rifle from above the door of his workshop and sat with it in his hands for a long, long time.

They all hoped, even Natalia hoped right now as she pulled weeds from the base of the rose bush. She hoped and she prayed and she wanted but Natalia had lived too difficult a life and known too much loss to think there was ever actually a chance--

“Da Da Da Da Da.” Morgan chattered as she came around the hedges and Natalia wiped away her tears before the baby saw, cursing herself for letting her mind wander, angry that she’d given in and let herself think too long about who was missing from their family.

She missed Ronin and Samuel and she missed her brother and nothing about Sokovia had been safe but at least they had been together and now--

“Da Da Da Da Da.” Morgan said again and Natalia turned with a ready smile and arms outstretched to take her from Pietro.

“Morgan, come here tiny love, come to Mama.”

But Morgan wasn’t looking at her, and she wasn’t holding Pietro’s hand and this time when Morgan asked, “Da Da?” Samuel answered hoarsely, ”Yeah sweetheart, your Da Da finally made it home.”

Samuel.

“Hello, my love.” Samuel whispered, and when Natalia tried to get to her feet, Samuel fell to his knees instead, crushing her to his chest with one arm and holding onto Morgan as tight as he dared with the other.

“Samuel.” Natalia could barely get the word out, could barely breathe. “You’re home? You-- my love, you came home, you came--you found us--"

“I’m home, Talia.” Samuel repeated over and over, smoothing his hand over Natalia’s hair and down her back. “We made it home.”

Pietro stood behind them with a hand over his mouth and tears tracking down his cheeks, but when Wanda screamed from inside the house he turned and ran as fast as he could to the kitchen, limping up the stairs and cursing that he couldn’t move any faster.

“Wanda?” He called anxiously. “Wanda are you alright? You need to come outside and see--” Pietro stopped in his tracks when he saw Ronin in the kitchen, the archer holding Wanda as she sobbed into his shoulder. “R-Ronin?”

Here. Ronin signed clumsily, holding onto Wanda and reaching out for Pietro. “Come here, son.”

“Ronin.” Pietro stumbled forward and fell into the hug. “What--how-- you’re home? You’re home? How?”

“There’s time for questions later.” Wanda shook her head, trying and failing to check her tears. “It doesn’t matter how. I only care that we are together again.”

Natalia had barely managed to get to her feet with Samuel’s help when Ronin came out into the garden with Wanda and Pietro on either side, and she would have collapsed right there if Samuel wouldn’t have caught her.

“Ronin!”

Ronin dropped the twins hands and went running for Natalia, scooping her up into his arms and twirling her around. “Ronin, you came home--” The archer set Natalia back on the ground and covered her mouth in a long awaited kiss. “How are you home? How did you make it--”

“Da Da?” A quiet voice, and Ronin froze, tipping his head so he could hear better. “Da Da?”

Samuel came closer holding Morgan, and Ronin looked between the baby and Natalia in shock, then down to spread his fingers over Talia’s stomach. “We-- we have a baby?

Natalia wiped at her tears and reached for Morgan and kissed her cheek before passing her to Ronin and stepping back into Samuel’s arms. “She is just over a year old now. I learned I was pregnant just after we were all in Kiev together.”

“She looks like me.” Samuel said in awe and Wanda giggled, “Tony tells people we leave Morgan in the sun too long, and that’s why she doesn’t look like him!”

Samuel grinned and Ronin snuggled the baby closer, closing his eyes as Morgan’s chubby fingers touched at the scar that split his cheek. “Hello, little love. You don’t know me yet but you will. I’m your Papa.”

“Pop.” Morgan broke into a grin and mimed the sign for father over and over. “Pop Pop Pop Pop.” and then over at Samuel. “Da Da Da Da Da.”

“I wanted her to know both of you.” Natalia kept wiping her tears away until Samuel just bent and kissed them away. “Both her Da’s, whether you were here or not.”

“Well, we’re here now.” Samuel pressed another kiss to Natalia’s forehead, then leaned over to smoosh a kiss to Morgan’s cheek as well, letting the baby grab at his finger as he went. “We’re both here, little one. Both your Da’s.”

“Oh-- oh wait.” Wanda held Pietro’s hand tight as they came down the stairs. “What about James?”

Natalia’s eyes went very wide and very afraid, but Ronin soothed her, “James is fine, he came home with us too.”

“Well then where is he?”

“Exactly where he belongs.” Samuel took Morgan back so Ronin could hold Natalia again, but then he reached for Pietro as well and pulled the boy into a gentle hug. “James went to find Tony.”

***************

Tony could not hear anything from the house in his workshop at the bottom of the hill. There were bells all around the Chioggia property in case there was an emergency and Tony was needed immediately-- Wanda had one in the kitchen, there was one at each side of the garden, another hanging in the tree by the water where Pietro sat and one hooked to the balcony of the master bedroom.

Since Morgan had been born, the bells only rang if Wanda was calling him for supper or if Tony had gotten distracted working and his parents or Ana and Jarvis had arrived for a visit. They had yet to be rang in any sort of emergency, so when the bell in the kitchen and one in the garden started ringing, clanging, over and over in a panicked rhythm, Tony about jumped out of his skin.

He hadn’t heard Wanda’s scream when Ronin had found her, nor had he heard the shouts from the garden as their little family welcomed Samuel and Ronin home again, so Tony didn’t realize anything was amiss until the air split with ringing.

His heart in his throat, Tony set aside the revolver he’d been cleaning and knocked his stool over as he scrambled to get moving, to run out the door, to check and see what the hell was happening to his family.

“I’m coming!” he shouted even though he knew they couldn’t hear him. “Talia, Wanda, I’m coming! Hold on! Hold--”

There was a man in Tony’s doorway, tall and broad, long hair and a nearly grown out beard, ice blue eyes and an empty, pinned up sleeve on the left side of his body and Tony stopped mid step and stared, whatever he was going to say falling away in a wash of disbelief.

“Dunno why you look so surprised.” The voice was deeper than Tony remembered, or maybe time and distance had twisted the memories, but it was still familiar enough to nearly send Tony to his knees right there on the workshop floor.

And the smile, dio mio the smile was the same and the cocky tilt to his head and the way the words sounded teasing or perhaps even challenging but were full of hope and longing and love.

“-- I told you I’d cross a thousand mountains to find you.”

“James.”

His soldier smiled again, exhausted and weary and thin, but still every inch the man Tony had watched ride away on Zima’s back almost two years ago now.

“...Samuel and Ronin?”

“Prob’ly got their arms around Talia and the twins and aren’t lettin’ go anytime soon.”

“...Right.” Tony folded his arms and then unfolded them, scuffed his feet on the floor and told himself not to stare but he couldn’t stop staring. “How-- how did you find us?”

“War ended.” James kept his eyes on Tony, drinking in the long lines of his frame, the way Tony’s skin had turned golden in the summer sun, the tremulous smile tipping Tony’s mouth up at the corners. “We came home to the manor, found the safe beneath where the Falconers Lodge. You left us money, guns, directions to get us home. Nothin’ was gonna stop us from finding you all again.”

“James.” Tony’s voice finally broke, caught. “James, I--”

James muttered something harsh in Sokovian and closed the distance between them in two big steps, wrapping his good arm around Tony’s waist and hauling him in to crush their mouths together. “I missed you, Tony, dorogoi. I missed you.”

“I can’t believe you’re home again.” Tony kissed James over and over, tasting the tears that overflowed and spilled down their faces. “You came home again.”

“With you I am warm, as if winter has left my soul.” James said hoarsely, clutching at Tony’s waist hard enough to bruise, breaking the kiss to tuck his head to Tony’s shoulder, mouthing over the curve of Tony’s throat and shuddering through a body racking sigh. “A thousand mountains to find you, Tony. I crossed them all to find you."

****************

The evening found the entire family together in the parlor like they’d done so many times at home in Sokovia.

Ronin and Pietro sat on the couch and Wanda sat on pillows at Ronin’s feet so both he and Pietro could read her lips as they talked. Samuel sat right next to Ronin and Natalia perched on his lap, burrowed into her love’s arms and reaching with one hand towards Ronin because she couldn’t stop touching either of the men.

Morgan toddled from person to person, charming her Da’s with happy smiles and waving her hands in the air in excitement whenever anyone tried to pick her up or offered her a snack from the table.

“She’s perfect, love.” Samuel kissed Natalia’s cheek. “Prettiest little girl in the world.”

Beautiful. Ronin signed and when Morgan caught the motion, she ran through her own little bit of sign language, signing father and hungry and more and please over and over until Ronin laughed and tore her off a big piece of cake, grinning in delight when Morgan signed love love love love and pop pop pop as she did another lap around the room.

James stood at the door like he always had, half in the kitchen and half out, watching over his family with sharp eyes. More often than not his gaze landed on Natalia and his heart squeezed at the sight of his sister looking so healthy, happy and content, a baby with their Ma’s name tugging at Talia’s skirts and begging for up.

He hated that Pietro was so hurt, but he could see the resilience in the boy, could see the spark of laughter in Pietro’s uninjured eye and a hint of the familiar laugh in the smiles Ronin coaxed free.

Wanda had flourished into a beauty, maturity and wisdom in her movements and her voice and James knew without having to ask that the girl had stepped up when Talia could not, more than likely keeping the older woman settled just by her presence, by the way she was so quick to jump up and help with the baby.

Nineteen months he and Samuel and Ronin had been kept in the Tsar’s prison, nineteen months they had been hurt, starved, threatened and beaten. Six months in they’d taken James’s arm, a month after that Ronin had lost the hearing in his bad ear entirely, damaging the other side enough that he rarely spoke at all anymore. Samuel had survived it all, but the horror was etched into his eyes and into the scars on his back but right now---

--right now, Samuel and Ronin had their arms full of loved ones, right now they were playing with their daughter and kissing Natalia and laughing with the twins-

--And Tony was pressed up to James’s chest, arms set securely at James’s waist, making no attempt to hide how badly he wanted to be held, making no attempt to hide how badly he wanted to hold.

No more secrets, no more hiding.

After so many bad days, so many weeks of hell, James wanted nothing more than to stand here and hold the one he loved while his family rested safe and together in their new home, but he still had one thing to ask, one thing to know.

He picked up Tony’s hand from his waist, rubbed his thumb over the tattooed insignia on the inside of Tony’s wrist and whispered, “Lord Antonio Carbonell Stark, nobile dei marchesi di Brescia. Is your heart still mine?”

Tony spread his fingers over James’s heart and didn’t hesitate to whisper back, “Of course it is.”

“I love you.” James said then, simple and powerful and enough to take Tony’s breath away. “And I am sorry I did not tell you before we said goodbye.”

“You told me.” Tony countered with a shaky smile. “I was just afraid to hear it.”

James didn’t release Tony’s wrist for a long minute, staring down into his eyes as if searching for something he couldn’t quite find.

“What do you see?” Tony asked anxiously, “What are you looking for?”

James shook his head. “I was looking for shadows sweet thing, but I can’t find any. Nothing but gold and light in your eyes. No shadows at all.”

“I love you.” Tony breathed and James nodded, finally releasing Tony’s wrist so he could draw him into a long kiss.

“I love you too.”

***********

Epilogue

***********

The masquerade ball began at sundown and as the clock struck midnight, the orchestra’s tune changed to something livelier, a tune meant to encourage the dancers back to the floor to show off costumes and masks as they whirled around with their partner.

Pietro was mysterious and suave with a half-face mask and feathered hat tipped low over his eyes, a coat swirling around his feet and gloves on his hands as he led different partners out on to the floor. The debutantes were entranced by the way his smile was a little bit crooked and the raspiness of his voice, the older women fascinated by the mystery of a man all in black.

Wanda was simply stunning dressed in all red from the veil in her hair to the shoes that peeped out beneath the gathered and bustled gown. She was the belle of the ball and surrounded by a flock of admirers no matter which way she turned, her dance card full within a few minutes of arriving.

Natalia stole the air from the room in her peacock gown, the altered neckline just as low as had been the night she and Tony met, the jewels just as brilliant, her hairstyle just as intricate. But tonight her smile was only for her loves, Ronin in dark green as the English outlaw Robin Hood, Samuel as a falcon, feathers of black, red and brown flowing down his cape. They danced every dance together, taking turns trading Natalia between their arms and laughing simply because the woman they loved was laughing and it was wonderful.

James was a wolf tonight, hulking and fierce with his fur cape and necklace of claws and teeth, silver painted across his face to make his eyes glow. He looked dangerous and wild and every inch the ghost that had wreaked so much havoc across the continent.

He was a startling contrast to Tony who came as a phoenix, wrapped in brilliant colors of fire yellow and brilliant orange, bold red and rich browns, foregoing his mask to match James with paint, lines and swirls of gold on his cheeks and up to his forehead, sweeping down to his jaw.

Together they were light and dark, hot and cold, shadows and winter fading to sunshine and spring as they moved across the ballroom together.

Tiberius and his wife were in attendance and Tony stepped away from James only long to bring Natalia to meet them. He proudly introduced Natalia as his wife and then just as proudly turning to kiss James square on the lips as Natalia laughed out loud and let Ronin sweep her away onto the dance floor again.

It was a beautiful night, a beautiful masquerade and when James led Tony out onto the balcony and down into the gardens, Tony didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back, didn’t try to hide when James reached for him.

“I love you.” James whispered into a kiss, the moonlight catching the silver on his face and reflecting off the blue of his eyes. “Antonio Carbonell Stark, my heart is yours.”

“My heart is yours.” Tony whispered back, and as the music spilled from the masquerade and filtered through the night air into the gardens-- “Stay with me.”

“I’m staying.” James swayed them slowly to the music, holding Tony as close as he could. “I’m finally home with you, my love.”

***************

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and-then-there-were-n0ne · 4 years

Text

The Fairy Tales

Women live in fairy tale as magical figures, as beauty, danger, innocence, malice, and greed. In the personae of the fairy tale — the wicked witch, the beautiful princess, the heroic prince — we find what the culture would have us know about who we are. The point is that we have not formed that ancient world — it has formed us. We ingested it as children whole, had its values and consciousness imprinted on our minds as cultural absolutes long before we were in fact, men and women. We have taken the fairy tales of childhood with us into maturity, chewed but still lying in the stomach, as real identity. Between Snow-white and her heroic prince, our two great fictions, we never did have much of a chance. At some point, the Great Divide took place: they (the boys) dreamed of mounting the Great Steed and buying Snow-white from the dwarfs; we (the girls) aspired to become that object of every necrophiliac ’s lust — the innocent, victimized. Sleeping Beauty, beauteous lump of ultimate, sleeping good. Despite ourselves, sometimes unknowing, sometimes knowing, unwilling, unable to do otherwise, we act out the roles we were taught. Here is the beginning, where we learn who we must be, as well as the moral of the story.

The Mother

Snow-white’s biological mother was a passive, good queen who sat at her window and did embroidery. She pricked her finger one day — no doubt an event in her life — and 3 drops of blood fell from it onto the snow. Somehow that led her to wish for a child “as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the embroidery frame.” Soon after, she had a daughter with “skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.” Then, she died. A year later, the king married again. His new wife was beautiful, greedy, and proud. She was, in fact, ambitious and recognized that beauty was coin in the male realm, that beauty translated directly into power because it meant male admiration, male alliance, male devotion. The new queen had a magic mirror and she would ask it: “Looking-glass upon the wall, Who is fairest of us all?” And inevitably, the queen was the fairest (had there been anyone fairer we can presume that the king would have married her). One day the queen asked her mirror who the fairest was, and the mirror answered: “Queen, you are full fair, its true, But Snow-white fairer is than you.” Snow-white was 7 years old. The queen became “yellow and green with envy, and from that hour her heart turned against Snow-white, and she hated her. And envy and pride like ill weeds grew in her heart higher every day, until she had no peace…” Now, we all know what nations will do to achieve peace, and the queen was no less resourceful (she would have made an excellent head of state). She ordered a huntsman to take Snow-white to the forest, kill her, and bring back her heart. The huntsman, an uninspired good guy, could not kill the sweet young thing, so he turned her loose in the forest, killed a boar, and took its heart back to the queen. The heart was “salted and cooked, and the wicked woman ate it up, thinking that there was an end of Snow-white.” Snow-white found her way to the home of the 7 dwarfs, who told her that she could stay with them “if you will keep our house for us, and cook, and wash, and make the beds, and sew and knit, and keep everything tidy and clean.” They simply adored her. The queen, who can now be called with conviction the wicked queen, found out from her mirror that Snow-white was still alive and fairer than she. She tried several times to kill Snow-white, who fell into numerous deep sleeps but never quite died. Finally the wicked queen made a poisoned apple and induced the ever vigilant Snow-white to bite into it. Snow-white did die, or became more dead than usual, because the wicked queen’s mirror then verified that she was the fairest in the land. The dwarfs, who loved Snow-white, could not bear to bury her under the ground, so they enclosed her in a glass coffin and put the coffin on a mountaintop. The heroic prince was just passing that way, immediately fell in love with Snow-white-under-glass, and bought her (it?) from the dwarfs who loved her (it? ). As servants carried the coffin along behind the prince’s horse, the piece of poisoned apple that Snow-white had swallowed “flew out of her throat.” She soon revived fully, that is to say, not much. The prince placed her squarely in the “it” category, and marriage in its proper perspective too, when he proposed wedded bliss — “I would rather have you than anything in the world.” The wicked queen was invited to the wedding, which she attended because her mirror told her that the bride was fairer than she. At the wedding “they had ready red-hot iron shoes, in which she had to dance until she fell down dead.” Cinderella’s mother-situation was the same. Her biological mother was good, pious, passive, and soon dead. Her stepmother was greedy, ambitious, and ruthless. Her ambition dictated that her own daughters make good marriages. Cinderella meanwhile was forced to do heavy domestic work, and when her work was done, her stepmother would throw lentils into the ashes of the stove and make Cinderella separate the lentils from the ashes. The stepmother’s malice toward Cinderella was not free-floating and irrational. On the contrary, her own social validation was contingent on the marriages she made for her own daughters. Cinderella was a real threat to her. Like Snow-white’s stepmother, for whom beauty was power and to be the most beautiful was to be the most powerful, Cinderella’s stepmother knew how the social structure operated, and she was determined to succeed on its terms. Cinderella’s stepmother was presumably motivated by maternal love for her own biological offspring. Maternal love is known to be transcendent, holy, noble, and unselfish. It is coincidentally also a fundament of human (male-dominated) civilization and it is the real basis of human (male-dominated) sexuality:

[When the prince began to search for the woman whose foot would fit the golden slipper] the two sisters were very glad, because they had pretty feet. The eldest went to her room to try on the shoe, and her mother stood by. But she could not get her great toe into it, for the shoe was too small; then her mother handed her a knife, and said, “Cut the toe off, for when you are queen you will never have to go on foot.” So the girl cut her toe off, and squeezed her foot into the shoe, concealed the pain, and went down to the prince. Then he took her with him on his horse as his bride… Then the prince looked at her shoe, and saw the blood flowing. And he turned his horse round and took the false bride home again, saying that she was not the right one, and that the other sister must try on the shoe. So she went into her room to do so, and got her toes comfortably in, but her heel was too large. Then her mother handed her the knife, saying, “Cut a piece off your heel; when you are queen you will never have to go on foot.” So the girl cut a piece off her heel, and thrust her foot into the shoe, concealed the pain, and went down to the prince, who took his bride… Then the prince looked at her foot, and saw how the blood was flowing…

Cinderella’s stepmother understood correctly that her only real work in life was to marry off her daughters. Her goal was upward mobility, and her ruthlessness was consonant with the values of the marketplace. She loved her daughters the way Nixon loves the freedom of the Indochinese, and with much the same result. Love in a male-dominated society certainly is a many-splendored thing. Rapunzel ’s mother wasn’t exactly a winner either. She had a maternal instinct all right— she had “long wished for a child, but in vain.” Sometime during her wishing, she developed a craving for rampion, a vegetable which grew in the garden of her neighbor and peer, the witch. She persuaded her husband to steal rampion from the witch ’s garden, and each day she craved more. When the witch discovered the theft, she made this offer:

… you may have as much rampion as you like, on one condition — the child that will come into the world must be given to me. It shall go well with the child, and I will care for it like a mother.

Mama didn’t think twice — she traded Rapunzel for a vegetable. Rapunzel’s surrogate mother, the witch, did not do much better by her:

When she was twelve years old the witch shut her up in a tower in the midst of a wood, and it had neither steps nor door, only a small window above. When the witch wished to be let in, she would stand below and cry “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! let down your hair!”

The heroic prince, having finished with Snow-white and Cinderella, now happened upon Rapunzel. When the witch discovered the liaison, she beat up Rapunzel, cut off her hair, and cloistered her “in a waste and desert place, where she lived in great woe and misery.” The witch then confronted the prince, who fell from the tower and blinded himself on thorns. (He recovered when he found Rapunzel, and they then lived happily ever after.)

Hansel and Grethel had a mother too. She simply abandoned them:

I will tell you what, husband… We will take the children early in the morning into the forest, where it is thickest; we will make them a fire, and we will give each of them a piece of bread, then we will go to our work and leave them alone; they will never find the way home again, and we shall be quit of them.

Hungry, lost, frightened, the children find a candy house which belongs to an old lady who is kind to them, feeds them, houses them. She greets them as her children, and proves her maternal commitment by preparing to cannibalize them. These fairy-tale mothers are mythological female figures. They define for us the female character and delineate its existential possibilities. When she is good, she is soon dead. In fact, when she is good, she is so passive in life that death must be only more of the same. Here we discover the cardinal principle of sexist ontology — the only good woman is a dead woman. When she is bad she lives, or when she lives she is bad. She has one real function, motherhood. In that function, because it is active, she is characterized by overwhelming malice, devouring greed, uncontainable avarice. She is ruthless, brutal, ambitious, a danger to children and other living things. Whether called mother, queen, stepmother, or wicked witch, she is the wicked witch, the content of nightmare, the source of terror.

The Beauteous Lump of Ultimate Good

For a woman to be good, she must be dead, or as close to it as possible. Catatonia is the good woman’s most winning quality. Sleeping Beauty slept for 100 years, after pricking her finger on a spindle. The kiss of the heroic prince woke her. He fell in love with her while she was asleep, or was it because she was asleep? Snow-white was already dead when the heroic prince fell in love with her. “I beseech you,” he pleaded with the 7 dwarfs, “to give it to me, for I cannot live without looking upon Snow-white.” It awake was not readily distinguishable from it asleep. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow-white, Rapunzel — all are characterized by passivity, beauty, innocence, and victimization. They are archetypal good women — victims by definition. They never think, act, initiate, confront, resist, challenge, feel, care, or question. Sometimes they are forced to do housework. They have one scenario of passage. They are moved, as if inert, from the house of the mother to the house of the prince. First they are objects of malice, then they are objects of romantic adoration. They do nothing to warrant either. That one other figure of female good, the good fairy, appears from time to time, dispensing clothes or virtue. Her power cannot match, only occasionally moderate, the power of the wicked witch. She does have one physical activity at which she excels — she waves her wand. She is beautiful, good, and unearthly. Mostly, she disappears. These figures of female good are the heroic models available to women. And the end of the story is, it would seem, the goal of any female life. To sleep, perchance to dream?

The Moral of the Story

Pieces. The loneliest of mornings. I remember thinking, our last time: If you killed me, I would die. — Kathleen Norris

I cannot live without my life. — Emily Bronte

The lessons are simple, and we learn them well. Men and women are different, absolute opposites. The heroic prince can never be confused with Cinderella, or Snow-white, or Sleeping Beauty. She could never do what he does at all, let alone better. Men and women are different, absolute opposites. The good father can never be confused with the bad mother. Their qualities are different, polar

[…] There are two definitions of woman. There is the good woman. She is a victim. There is the bad woman. She must be destroyed. The good woman must be possessed. The bad woman must be killed, or punished. Both must be nullified. The bad woman must be punished, and if she is punished enough, she will become good. The moral of the story should, one would think, preclude a happy ending. It does not. The moral of the story is the happy ending. It tells us that happiness for a woman is to be passive, victimized, destroyed, or asleep. It tells us that happiness is for the woman who is good — inert, passive, victimized— and that a good woman is a happy woman. It tells us that the happy ending is when we are ended, when we live without our lives or not at all.

- Andrea Dworkin, Woman Hating

#andrea dworkin #woman hating #feminism #radical feminism #intersectional feminism

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quaememinisse · 4 years

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Helpful Husband Chapter 2

Title: Helpful Husband

Genre: Romance/fluff

Word count: 2,041

Author's note: Previous chapter here

Bucky didn’t like leaving Cherise alone for long periods of time during this final trimester. Her pain had been getting worse and he genuinely feared that she would go into labor prematurely. Something similar had happened with their daughter, Christina, and she had to be born via emergency C-section. Earlier in the week, Bucky had suggested they temporarily move into the Avengers Facility until after the baby is born, because he didn’t like to worry about being at work while Cherise was home alone with Christina if something should happen. He had realized it was an issue when the previous week, he was tucking his daughter into bed and she fearfully asked him whether mommy was dying. When he’d asked Christina why she would ever think such a thing was happening, the girl admitted that she got scared because she had gone into the kitchen and found her mother groaning in pain leaning against the counter as she tried to finish cooking dinner. At the time that it happened, Bucky was teaching a self-defense class in the evening, something he did a few nights a week in addition to or instead of the fitness classes he usually taught during the day for veterans. He was upset when he tried to talk to Cherise about it and she downplayed it. Truthfully, Cherise hadn’t noticed her daughter sneak around the corner to the kitchen and pause to watch worriedly as she tried to breathe through a moment where the baby was sitting in such a way that aggravated her sciatic nerve.

Cherise promised that she would explain to their daughter that sciatic pain isn’t deadly. But that didn’t seem to put Bucky at ease. Cherise wanted to be at home, where she was most comfortable. Bucky compensated by cutting back on his hours at work, so that he could spend most of his time staying home with Cherise, who wasn’t working for the remainder of the pregnancy. He was otherwise dropping Christina at school, picking her up, and doing the grocery shopping and house work. It had taken a while to convince Cherise just to leave work in the first place. She was usually in the labs at the Avengers Facility, doing whatever she did with Dr. Banner, Dr. Selvig, Dr. Cho, etc. There was really no need for Cherise to work, as Bucky had explained to her earlier in her pregnancy, considering all the VA benefits he had been owed over the past couple of decades, which was enough to take care of Bucky and his family. On top of that, Cherise was family to the Avengers, and her maternity leave was paid. They weren’t suffering in the least financially.

Cherise is simply the kind of woman who always wants to be productive. Bucky had learned the hard way that if she couldn’t be productive, it made her unhappy. He felt sad coming home at the end of the day or from grocery shopping to find that Cherise was groaning in pain on the couch, sometimes crying, because she wished she could go for a run or to her lab. It didn’t seem to matter how many times Bucky told her she was pregnant and should go easy on herself, that it wasn’t going to last forever, she would still get frustrated and want to exert herself in some way or other. To compensate for that, Bucky kept the house spic and span, so that Cherise couldn’t make the excuse that anything was a mess in the house that she just had to clean up. It wasn’t that he never cleaned, it was that Cherise liked things very particularly and often beat him to certain household chores.

Still, Bucky tries his best to keep Cherise entertained. He had gone so far as to plant new lavender shrubs in the front yard, and add a Zen garden area with more hydrangeas to the backyard, all in Cherise’s favorite colors. He even started having movie nights with her almost every night of the week to show her old films from the 20s, 30s, and 40s, things that he grew up with, to try and keep her mind busy. He stopped joining Sam and Steve on Friday nights for beers at one of their favorite bars. All Bucky could do was focus on his pregnant wife and try to think of new ways to make her comfortable, or at the very least, smile.

Thus, when he drives back home after dropping Christina at school, he’s delighted to find that Cherise is still asleep past 9AM. He decided to cook her some eggs and pancakes with a side of fruit before venturing again into the back of his side of the closet, where he had hidden her body pillow the previous night. Little did Cherise know, he decided he would take off from work today, have someone else cover him, so that he could bring the pillow to Dr. Banner and have it fitted with wires to give it heating capacity. He just knew that it would help Cherise out at night with sleeping. He knew she needed it badly and was sorry he’d forgotten it was stored away. He didn’t like leaving her for long, but figured this was a small task that could be completed relatively quickly. He’s not at the facility long before Cherise texts him around 11:30AM asking him how his day is going. She had texted Bucky a picture of the empty plate of food he had made for her. He smiles, hoping she actually enjoys his cooking, because some days, she still couldn’t eat much without nausea.

“Aaand…it should be all set now,” Dr. Banner explains, twisting something further into the body pillow before an intern starts to close it up with needle and thread.

“Thanks, Bruce. I really owe ya one,” Bucky explains, extending his flesh hand to shake. Dr. Banner’s green hand encircles Bucky’s entire fist briefly, gently.

“Nah. It’s nothing. When she finishes sewing it closed, just, uh, don’t forget the remote,” Dr. Banner explains, pointing to the table where he has left a few tools.

“And let me know if it needs anything else.”

The physicist grins and makes his way towards a closed off room behind glass walls to continue working on something with Dr. Selvig. And briefly, Bucky understands why Cherise can’t stand to be on maternity leave. The labs at the Avengers Facility are always active, and fascinating, things going on and experiments running that Bucky can’t even make sense of. He figures it’s exciting to Cherise, and had he not been doing a lot to keep her occupied, he would also have gone stir crazy being at home most of the time. Bucky decides to drop by the new agent recruit training level to briefly catch up with Steve, who asks him whether Cherise has agreed to move into the facility for the remainder of her pregnancy.

“Says she’s more comfortable at home. So, I stopped working. For the most part. I don’t like the idea of her being home alone all day while she’s so close to our son’s due date,” Bucky explains nervously, shifting the pillow over his left shoulder with ease.

“I don’t like it either, Buck. Sometimes I’d pass her in the cafeteria and swear she was taking ten seconds to move one foot,” Steve explains, cocking a wheat gold eyebrow, “I thought we were going to have to straight up fire her to get her out of the labs and on leave.”

Bucky giggles for a moment.

“Yeah, she’s been in a lot of pain these past two weeks or so. The doctor said it’s normal, but it keeps her up at night, it’s so bad. I can’t stand seein’ her in so much pain while I just lie there, feeling none of it. I’m just glad Bruce was able to help me get this pillow upgraded. I’m surprising her with it tonight.”

“Well, you know you’re family to the whole team around here. Everyone’s always eager to help,” Steve explains as they start down some stairs. The Captain wipes sweat off his brow before opening a bottle of water and downing half of it. He’d promised Bucky he would keep a few rooms vacant in the facility for him and Cherise to move into, should he be able to convince her she needed some place he trusted more than the general hospital.

“When’s the little guy due?” Steve asks, opening the door to one of the rooms so that Bucky can see that they had brought in a bigger bed. It’s bigger than the one in Bucky’s and Cherise’s room at home, and Bucky wishes Cherise would have seen how much more rolling around she could be doing at night without waking him up.

“She’s almost eight months,” Bucky sighs, pushing a hand through his hair anxiously, reminiscing carrying Cherise to the tub before the sun was even up this morning, “So, about a month away. I’m excited, but at the same time, I’m not ready to see her go through a difficult labor. She had that with Christina, too.”

“Don’t worry, Buck. Reese is a trooper,” Steve says reassuringly, planting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder supportively.

“Well, I’ll talk to Nat tonight. They’re still close. You know how women are. Maybe I can get her to convince Reese to come spend time here. You know there’s always extra space for you guys and your little ones.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

When Bucky walks through the front door, the first thing he does is call for Cherise.

“Kitchen!” she yells, and he catches a whiff of what smells like fries or potatoes baking. He stealthily and quickly makes his way up to their room with her pillow, hiding it behind his clothes.

“James!” Cherise calls from the kitchen.

He smiles to himself, fishing the remote out of his pocket and hiding it in his boxer drawer.

“Comin’ doll!”

And when he makes his way into the kitchen, he finds Cherise frying potatoes at the stove. His nose hadn’t been far off.

“Natasha was saying there’s a room for us at the facility.”

“There always is, doll,” Bucky explains, cradling her hips in his hands and kissing the top of her head.

“Well, look at this bed! She sent me pictures,” Cherise explains, reaching for her phone and handing it to Bucky. He fights a laugh, thankful that Steve’s wife has managed to get Cherise interested in the room again. He simply thought that with all their advanced technology and staff, it was probably safer than a hospital. He only wanted the best, should the delivery be difficult as he remembers it being with their daughter.

While Cherise is in the tub and their daughter is tucked in, Bucky sneaks the pillow out of the closet and starts to set it up on Cherise’s side of the bed. By the time she comes out of her bath, she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open. And when she looks to find a large lump under the quilt, she cocks an eyebrow at Bucky. He only smiles wide as she feels the lump, at first assuming it’s their little girl playing games with her, but when she peels the blanket back to find the pillow she had forgotten about, she gasps.

“Where did you find this? …Why is it so warm?” she asks excitedly, pulling her towel off and crawling into their bed, allowing herself to be enveloped.

“I had it upgraded for you, baby. So your pain doesn’t keep you awake all night.”

Cherise turns to face Bucky with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.

“You’re the perfect husband.”

“I could get used to hearing that!” Bucky laughs. She kisses him appreciatively. Cherise snuggles up to him while they start on another movie, and she only shifts a few times due to a limb falling asleep. Bucky doesn’t hear her groan in pain once. It doesn’t surprise him when Cherise falls asleep before she can catch the ending of City Lights, leaving him to sleepily press both his flesh and bionic hands to her belly and smile at the sensation of his son kicking his palms.

#story #Bucky x OFC #Bucky #fanfic #love #husband #mushy #romance #pregnancy #Avengers #Steve Rogers

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gl0wupdiaries · 4 years

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Novena for the Month of May

My grandmother was born on the 25th of August 1937. She grew up with five other siblings (she is second to the eldest), all of which are female, to a Spanish mother and an Ilocano father. She lived a simple childhood in their town, and like any other typical Filipino child during her time, one of her earliest memories was when she managed to place her right hand over her left ear, which meant that she finally qualified for elementary school. There she would learn how to sew, knit, garden, manage poultry, and many more.

A picture of a brusque lady, Norma is usually seen playing a competitive game of softball in the muddy fields of her hometown—wearing her bloomers, and is often picking fights with the boys in her class, like that one time when she punched an aviation officer’s son during recess for making fun of her elder sister. Leaving a reddish and swollen mark on his nose, my grandmother got called to the principal’s office, forced to explain herself in front of the aviation officer after her incident with his son. In a coy and mischievous manner, my grandmother, who was then 10 years old, explained that his son was simply wrong for assuming that he can make fun of anyone he likes just because his father is in position—and that the school doesn’t need students like him. Putting the aviation officer to shame, my grandmother was punished for her disrespectful act by receiving more homework and schoolwork than the rest of the kids for a week.

She always looked forward to her math classes, enjoying the challenge that it gave her, and would often compete with her sisters at night to see who would finish their maths homework the fastest. Under the warm light of their lampara, they fought, laughed, and pestered each other as their mother watched them while waiting for their father to come home for dinner. Living most of her childhood years under the Japanese occupation, most nights for her and her family consisted of dimmed lights, quiet conversations, and tightly shut doors and windows, fearing that they might be seen and located by the Japanese soldiers. Her father, often wary and vigilant, slept near their house entrance, in case intruders try to come in.

She lived in a simple bungalow. The outside façade of their house was full of herbs, plants, and flowers that her mother grew, they had a basement containing pigs and poultry for their livelihood, and their main house consisted of two bedrooms for her parents and her sisters, a living room, and a kitchen. She would often recall the homeliest part of her childhood home: the kitchen. There, she spent most afternoons with her mother, who was frequently sick, learning about Kapampangan dishes, house chores, and life lessons. She distinctly remembers the short bamboo poles placed at a corner of their kitchen, where their glasses were placed for drying.

Growing up, she looked up to her grandfather, Tatang Kiko, and would always visit him in his home after school. He is frequently seen riding his kalabaw with a wooden cart attached to its back, which they called gareta, containing fruits and vegetables that he harvested as a farmer and sells on the market located at the heart of their town, or bayan. He was kind to her, giving her apples, mangosteens, and even tomatoes to bring home for her sisters, taught her majority of what she knows about gardening today, and even showed her the proper way to ride a kalabaw. Almost every day, during her elementary and early high school days, she would visit her Tatang Kiko, and would enjoy his company and humor. She found a sense of comfort with his presence, a feeling that she had a difficult time finding in her own home, because of the tension within her family caused by her mother’s sickness and their poverty-stricken life.

One hot summer in the month of March, when the camachile (Manila tamarind) trees were in full season and being picked by the local children of Floridablanca, my grandmother was on her way to visit her Tatang Kiko after a long day in school. Taking her usual route in the sandy roads of their baranggay, one of the local vendors of their market ran towards my grandmother, bringing with her devastating news. Her Tatang Kiko was on his way home from a kaningin session with his friend; he was seated at the trunk of his friend’s truck filled with sugarcane. As it passed by the rocky portion of the mountain, he fell out of the truck. His friend, still clueless, continued to drive his truck, not knowing that he ran over Tatang Kiko.

My grandmother, crying, dropped all her stuff on the ground and ran as fast as she could to her Tatang Kiko. Not once did she stop to catch her breath; she kept running until her heels and ankles developed calluses. She reached the mountain, and there, she was faced with his dead body, his white shirt covered in blood and his lifeless eyes staring at nowhere. Holding her Tatang Kiko with her bloodied hands, my grandmother lost one of the most important people in her life within an instant. Screaming for help, not once did she let go of her grandfather, crying in his arms. She went home without any fruits and vegetables that day.

In the early 1950s’, my grandmother met my grandfather, who was then a Liberal Arts major, and my grandmother a fourth-year high school student. She met my grandfather while he was on vacation in her hometown at his brother’s house. My grandfather courted my grandmother for about a year. Within those days, they enjoyed their afternoons together, picking camachiles, mangoes, and whatever is in season, and had those for their merienda. Sometimes my grandfather would let my grandmother sit at the back of his bicycle as they explored the town, going to places such as the palakol river, this place called “Riverside”, and many more. At the end of the day, my grandfather would escort my grandmother home, oftentimes receiving stern looks from my great grandfather, something that my grandmother laughs a lot about now.

My grandfather lived in a large house together with his three other siblings: the eldest brother a priest, his second brother a pre-med student, and his youngest sister an elementary student, who will later on become a nun. My grandmother always talks about the big foyer in my grandfather’s childhood home, and how beautiful it was; it had huge black and white marble tiles, large windows, tall white walls, and beautiful antique furniture. There, my grandfather would often play the violin, accompanied by his second to the eldest brother who plays the piano. My grandfather’s family was influential during that time, because his brother was a priest, which was deemed as a high status and position back then.

My grandmother wasn’t able to go to college because her parents couldn’t afford then, and so she went to beauty school, which proved more affordable. After she and my grandfather finished their studies, they got married and had four children. They lived a simple life, moving from town to town, until they finally settled down in a small city by the bay. There, they bought a big empty lot in a small barangay for 10,000 pesos and built their home there. Throughout the years, they both worked hard--my grandmother as a government employee, and my grandfather as a Base employee--in order to sustain their four children. Soon enough, all of their four children graduated college and started their own lives.

When I was born, I lived in my grandparents’ house until I was five. Back when I was two, my grandfather died because of gastric cancer, and left my grandmother devastated and depressed. During those years, I spent most of my days with my grandmother, because my mother had to work. She wasn’t loving, nor was she sweet and soft spoken, she was short-tempered, and would often shout at me and my cousins whenever we’re playing at her garden, saying that if we ruin any of her flowers, she’ll spank us and send us home. I used to not like her because of how different she was from my mother who was gentle and nurturing. As a kid, I often dreaded it when I had to visit her, because all she did was scold me and my mother. But as I got older, I started to understand her more, over and beyond her harsh external.

She is very religious, as most of our grandparents are, and goes to church every morning, much less nowadays due to her weakening health. Sometimes she gets a bit vocal, especially to our housekeeper and other people serving us. She has the habit of insulting them—her intentions are good, but she has a harsh way of showing it. She cooks a lot of kapampangan dishes too, that’s why I never leave the house with an empty stomach. One time, I asked her why she makes such a big fuss about what meals are going to be prepared for the day, and her answer was simple and short: “I don’t want my family eating bad food, because it’s bad for the soul.” Despite us two not getting along most of the time, there are times where she makes me realize things too.

One evening in May, as I was reading a novel in our living room; my grandmother approached me and asked “Marunong ka ba mag basa ng Tagalog?” (Do you know how to read Tagalog?) And I told her that I can. I asked her why, she walked towards me and said “basahin mo yan,” (read that,) as she placed a small booklet on our coffee table. When she left the room, I took a look at what she placed on the table; it says: Novena ng Santa Rita (Novena of Saint Rita). She is a devotee, and even offered her house once as a place for the almost five foot tall Santa Rita relic. It made me laugh at first, but then I realized that I’ve read lots of books, but I have never really taken the time to read anything about my religion, regardless if I believe it or not.

A few weeks after that evening, my grandmother was sent to the hospital because of a major blood infection. She was straddling life and death, and the doctors weren’t sure if she’d survive. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry and that I’m ready to listen to and bond with her. And as I recall that short-lived connection that we had in the living room, I felt regret; I should have asked her what that novena was about, why she’s so attached to our religion, what she feels whenever she prays—all these questions that I never bothered to ask because of my closed mind.

She survived that hurdle and is enjoying her life at 83 now. Though she isn’t as sharp as she used to be, she is still the strong woman that she was when she punched that boy in her class. This is the story of how I got to know my grandmother, not only as the person that I see in the kitchen, but as the strong figure that keeps our family together, and a role model that I will forever look up to.

Nowadays, I talk to her about stories from when she was young—the stories that I have written here—and spend as much time with her as I can. Sometimes, I would join her in the kitchen and help her with her work. And I stayed, no matter how harsh her criticisms may be. And on rare occasions, I join her in her praying rituals too, without sulking.

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authorellenmint · 5 years

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Jaal x Ryder

After Jaal introduced Ryder to his family, she wants to offer him the same courtesy. Too bad her brother's a giant pillock.

Warm, angaran hands wrapped around Ryder's stomach as she tried to peer deeper into the metal drum. A plorp erupted from the briny depths, but the man behind her didn't seem to much care. Lips trailed gently against her skin starting first at the nape of her neck. The kisses were little more than warm whispers but as he dipped lower, tugging down to create a gap between her uniform's shirt, his teeth grazed against her shoulder.

"Jaal," Ryder clung tighter to the pot, trying to focus and not burn herself or the food. It was damn near impossible as the alien with seemingly no shame kept pushing every button he knew.

"Yes, dearest?" his voice purred behind her ear and there went that leg shaking again.

She could ask him to stop, to let her finish this in time, but it was rare for the Tempest's galley to be empty and rarer for the two to have so much free time alone together. "Could you hand me the basil?"

"Which is this base-ill?" he rolled around the human word on his tongue, which was enough to conjure up memories of what else he could roll with his tongue. Focus here, you've got to get this done or you'll have a lot of awkward questions to answer to.

"The big green leaves," she pointed to one of the first herbs out of cryo. The fact it grew like a weed on Earth helped it to fill in gardens on Eos and Elaaden. She'd swiped a few early ones they'd set up on hydroponics on the Nexus -- there were some perks to being Pathfinder after all.

Jaal placed the basil into her fingers and she worried the leaves a bit before dropping them into the pot. The smell struck her instantly, true basil just like the kind her mother grew in their tiny pots on the Citadel. It was artificial light that gave them life instead of the sun, and a dip in water rations instead of rain, but having that piece of Earth while in space was a welcome touch of home.

"You are smiling, darling one," Jaal said. He was no doubt smiling too.

"I was thinking of home," she twirled the spoon through the red-orange liquid watching her beloved basil sink to the depths. "I mean," Ryder paused and turned to her lover she found in another galaxy, "the Milky Way. This is home."

Jaal's lips twisted up and he pressed a kiss to her palm. "Are you saying that on my account?"

"No," she sighed. His purple mouth drifted higher up her wrist in kisses that were gaining pressure. If he used his teeth again, she was a goner. "Just reminding myself that we have a home. Meridian."

"It is an amazing feat," he broke from torturing her to stare into her eyes. The man couldn't stop singing her praises about discovering this place, as if he wasn't there by her side spitting in the archon's eye right along with her.

"One I couldn't have done alone," Ryder tipped her head back against his shoulder, her eyes closed as she kept stirring the tomato sauce.

His chest, so alien but comforting, wrapped around her back as Jaal whispered. "True, but is that not also the truth of life? Nothing we ever do is alone, we touch the stars and they, in turn, touch and guide us."

A laugh reverberated up her throat, "I never thought I'd be the type to fall for a philosopher."

"Really? What variety of partner did you see yourself with? How did Peebee put it? The lone wolf, whatever that is."

Ryder felt a blush sting her cheeks, but she shook it off. "No, not that. Just, I don't know. Talking shop about the Protheans and what I'd discovered was fun with my fellow scientists but... We aren't a family that sits around waiting for life to happen and it's not easy for people to keep up with."

"Ah, you require someone that's both bold but also considerate." He tipped his chin and those blue marbles for eyes stared through the distance. "I can see why you had to traverse to an entirely new galaxy to find that."

A fresh laugh erupted up her throat and she turned to Jaal with a smile. "You are an amazing find," she whispered, leaning closer. He cupped against her waist steadying her as Ryder lined up for a kiss. Before she touched his lips, she added, "The best I've ever had." When their bare skin made contact, a light charge lifted every hair on her body. It was like goosebumps and butterflies all crashing together at once. And it happened for every light touch. The longer, lingering ones could catch her breath in her throat.

"I adore you, Ryder," Jaal said in his booming voice, "and am grateful that your family is so daring in their endeavors."

Family. Shit! Ryder spun back to find the tomato sauce behaving, but the pot of water was reaching boiling. The oven was little more than a glorified heat lamp inside a box, but the stove could at least get liquids to 100˚C. Reaching over, she snagged up the strands of pasta they were kind enough to extrude for her out at Food Processing. It was a bit too thick to be considered spaghetti but nowhere near enough like anything else.

Cracking the dried batch in half, Ryder plummeted the strands into the boiling water and watched. "I wonder what flour that's made out of," she mused to herself.

"Flower? We are consuming flowers for this meal?"

"No, it's...we take a grain and grind it to a dust. Then use that to form the noodle thanks to water and, probably some other stuff. You're quickly learning us Ryders aren't exactly galactic renowned chefs."

Jaal leaned over, trying to get a whiff of the sauce she should have started an hour earlier. "The Angaran consider food to be a source of life, a gift given between those who create it to those who consume it. We are all trained from a young age in the arts of cooking, same as fighting, or sewing, or showing affection."

She twisted over, fully abandoning her pots to stare at this man. Poet, marksman, resistance fighter, philosopher, engineer, scientist, sewer, and potentially a chef as well? It was as if someone wrote down every winning trait in a mate and then jammed them all inside of this far flung alien. The fact he was incredibly affectionate and had no problems announcing it to any and all kept pushing Ryder into thinking she was still inside Cryo dreaming him up.

"Are you telling me, on top of everything else you can do; the weapons you rebuilt, that star map you made, the vibrating thing you can do with your tongue."

At that Jaal snickered. He never blushed, so Ryder often had to make it up for him -- her cheeks lighting up twice as bright even if she was the one to bring it up. Waving her spatula around, she continued, "And you're also a great cook?"

His hands swept against her jaw, the fused fingers thrumming tighter to the bone as those oceanic eyes darted across her face. Tipping forward, Jaal whispered, "No, I am in fact a terrible cook. I was taught by the mothers, but it simply didn't stick."

Ryder smiled, leaning forward to kiss him as she sighed, "There goes my 'this is all a dream' theory." Turning back to the stove, she eyeballed the spaghetti still drowned in the bubbling pot.

"You considered this a dream?" he returned to wrapping a hand around her stomach, his warm breath drifting closer to her neck.

"Not really," she laughed, "far too many bruises and lacerations for it to all to not be real. Though if you tell me you're some long lost prince I may have to revise that." Ryder dipped the spoon into her tomato sauce and then brought it to her lips. It tasted off. Nothing could compare to her grandmother's cooked fresh off the coast of Sicily every summer. But as she swallowed and tried another taste, the more muddled tomato, basil, and hint of kaerkyn broth flavors warmed her over.

"Here," she cupped her hand under the spoon and directed it to Jaal's lips. Slowly he took a gentle touch of the sauce, his eyes rolling tight as he tasted her attempts at cooking.

"It is..." Jaal blinked a bit, then took another lick of the spoon, "I rather enjoy it. Full of body, with a tartness that stings on the edges."

"That'd be the acid in the tomatoes. I would have cut it down with sugar but it seems Peebee's run off with the entire bag we had. I'd ask why but I fear what the answer would be," Ryder laughed. She spotted her pasta rising to the surface like an ancient monster pursuing a submarine.

Yanking the pot off the stove, she said, "Food's important to humans too. Not all of it, we don't treat say the nutrient bars in our ration packs like anything special...most don't, at least. But this was a dish my grandmother would make."

"Your family," Jaal whispered, his head tilting to the side.

While the pasta drained, Ryder's mind tripped back to that little house in the rolling countryside. They'd chase chickens for days, running through the olive groves the locals owned and, in general, just happy to be off the cramped space station. Even with the Citadel being the creme de la creme of space living, nothing could compete with the freedom of running on dirt and staring across an endless horizon.

"My grandmother would make this for us whenever we visited. Though she used fish sauce, which I'm afraid we aren't going to be making here anytime soon."

"Fish sauce?" Jaal coughed, his eyes wandering over to a trio of bottles as if he feared to catch something floating in it.

"Ah, well, it's when you take fish and then soak them in salt water for...a very long time. Makes everything taste better. She picked up the habit from her mother, who came from a different island. There was nothing my grandma wouldn't add fish sauce too. Scott once asked for chicken nuggets, like the kind they'd put on transit shuttles to shut kids up.

"Instead of thawing some frozen chicken byproduct that was probably five years old at the back of a deep freeze, Gran soaked those chicken tenders in buttermilk, spices, and her go to fish sauce over night before frying them up," Ryder mused to herself. They'd been all of six and of course threw a fit about not getting the frozen ones they expected. She'd give anything to taste her grandma's chicken tenders once again.

Realizing her companion fell silent, Ryder plopped the spaghetti onto a big plate and turned to him, "And I've completely lost you."

He smiled, "The words did not fully translate, but..." Jaal pushed back the hair dusting her cheeks, hiding it behind her ear, "your face lit with happiness as you spoke of your mother's mother. And that is heartwarming to see."

Forgetting she was holding a plate full of spaghetti, Ryder slipped closer to her lover. The plate stuck between them but she leaned across the gap, aching to kiss him. Just as they were about to touch lips, a spark dancing off of Jaal to wake hers alive, the door to the galley sprung open. Ryder's eyes swung up to find her little brother standing awkwardly in the hallway.

"Scott!" she smiled, staggering up and attempting to bury away the blush. He had a bottle in his hands, that he kept patting senselessly while staring at how close his sister drew to an alien. He'd only known of the angaran for a few weeks since waking up, and hadn't really met any since they touched down on Meridian. This was going to be interesting.

"Hey Sis, got your note and..." he lifted his nose in the air and sniffed, "are you making Grandma's sauce?"

"Yup, I thought that..." Ryder shook her head and wiped her hands down her pants. Maybe she should have swiped an apron out of stores the way Vetra suggested. "Let me start over. Scott, this is Jaal."

Scott laughed, but reached over to shake the angaran's hand, "You don't need to get all formal there. We met during the party."

"Yes," Jaal finished shaking hands the human way, then he guided Scott's fist to show him how angaran greeted each other. Like a true Ryder, Scott was more than happy to go along, curious to get it right. "And then later during Peebee and Drack's afterparty."

"You can remember that? I mean any of that?" Scott blinked wildly, fading back to the safety of being just inside the galley.

"A little, if I don't think too hard," Jaal laughed.

Ryder tugged a few plates out of the cupboard and began to divvy out her concoction. "I just thought that it might be good to have a quieter meet and greet, a chance to talk without worrying about Peebee setting her bot to strobe."

"Or your engineer cranking every speaker on the Hyperion so loud it blew out half the relays," Scott added in. "But alright, I get you." He turned to the alien and folded his arms, "So Jaal, what's your story?"

"This may take some time," Jaal's eyes darted over to Ryder who was piling more of the sauce onto the plates.

"Which is why I made food," she shoved the first one into the guest's hands, then the second into Jaal's. "So we can all sit, relax, and talk about things."

"A wise idea, dearest," Jaal sighed, wrapping a hand around her waist while balancing the plate in the other. She caught Scott's eyes bulging a moment at the public affection and Ryder winced. The crew was getting used to Jaal's open everything and so was she. Others however...

Shaking it off quickly, Scott threw on a smile, "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving to eat anything that's not hospital jello."

"Gel-o?" Jaal tilted his head.

"We have much to discuss," Scott laughed, the three settling in to trade backstories while shoveling food into their faces.

It went well at first, Jaal forced to once again explain angaran culture to some alien fresh off the boat. Ryder wondered if he ever grew tired of it, but the way his wondrous eyes sparkled and his hands became animated she suspected it was partially why he volunteered to join her ship that first time. Scott was on his more or less best behavior, asking a few questions and making certain they were all on the up and up.

Taking a pull of the wine he must have scammed off Addison, Scott sighed, "It is so nice to be out of bed, any bed."

"How long until you have leave to get out into the field?" Ryder asked.

"What? Don't tell me you miss me already?"

She reached across the table to lightly slug her brother in the arm. Scott winced at the soft jab, furiously rubbing it. Glancing down, Ryder admitted, "You know I do. Losing Dad was..."

"Yeah," he blinked a moment. "But, look at all you got up to without him."

"Wasn't that how we usually worked? Hard to be trapped in someone's shadow when you never see the one casting it."

They stared at each other a moment across the table, neither having the time to process what losing their distant father meant. Neither wanting to. It was heartbreaking, but also numb, not the same as their mother. Which...God, she didn't know what to think about that mess. Hope. Life. Ryder's head hung down in exhaustion and she felt Jaal's hand skim against her shoulder. Glancing over, she smiled at the man who'd been watching the sibling reunion carefully.

"So," Scott shifted up from his seat, "how did you two meet?"

"Her ship crash landed on my planet and my people agreed to assist these aliens rather than destroy them," Jaal summed up.

"Though you could have always killed me in my sleep," Ryder jabbed back, remembering well his half hearted threat upon their first meeting. She paused and smiled, "It's probably a lot easier now, too." Jaal skimmed his forehead against hers, the magenta ridges upon the top cresting past her skin. It was strangely soothing.

"Yeah, I meant the other part. You two being a...together thing." Scott shifted higher and then scoffed, "Out of the two of us, I thought it was going to be me who seduced an Andromeda alien."

Ryder snorted, "With what skill?"

"I've been told I'm rather debonair, thank you very much."

"Asari dancers looking for a bigger tip don't count," she cut back with and her brother glared.

Scott looked about to list his better attributes, which she could chop down without trying, but his eyes swung to Jaal instead. "Me? What about your past, oh charming as chalk sister of mine. Wait until I tell your boyfriend? Is that what you're going with?"

"I...uh," she caught his marble eyes and faltered. It wasn't wrong, but it didn't feel right either. Maybe the angara had a better term. English kinda crapped out once you got past the age of 30 when it came to love.

Jaal scooped up her hands and smiled, "Dearest is what I call her."

"Okay, well, Sister's Dearest, you want to know about the time she stuffed an entire wad of cotton up her nose?"

"Scott!" Ryder launched forward, trying to catch her good for nothing brother but he dodged fast from her grasp.

"We had no idea she did it until there's my sister with her head snapping forward in a sneeze..."

Ryder scrambled further over the table, almost snagging onto his collar to get him to stop, but Scott weaved again, his eyes never breaking off of Jaal's. "A spray of snot and cotton coats the teacher's desk. This prissy old Turian lady just taps her mandibles and says...and says..."

He was having trouble speaking because Ryder managed to hook her arm around his neck in order to try and catch him in a headlock. Scott bent lower, his face turning bright red from the strain. How often on the Citadel did she have to do the same damn thing to him? It was a wonder her little shit of a brother ever survived long enough to get out to Androma. Wiggling like a fat cat trying to sneak in through a too tight pet door, Scott's ear snagged on Ryder's arm and he popped up.

"She says, 'Young Lady, our nose is not a storage device.'"

"I swear to god, I am going to kill you," Ryder threatened, leaping towards her brother. He deftly dodged her grip but missed a biotic yank that twisted him in his seat. Collapsing his palms together, Scott wrapped his elbow around Ryder's neck and then pulled her deeper into his armpit.

Crap! She could send him flying up to the ceiling, or shatter the bones in his body with her shockwave, but... Giving in, Ryder stopped squirming in order to wrap her arms around her little brother in a half hug. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered.

It took Scott a moment to release his death grip, afraid she was trying to pull some sneaky move, but Ryder meant it. They'd never been a close-knit family, even the twins fading away as she took to traversing Prothean dig sites while he was assigned to the relays. Traveling to a new galaxy, watching Dad die in front of her, Ryder clung to what little she had left. Her eyes glanced over at Jaal. How much more could she add to her family? She felt a flush rising in her cheeks at the thought. The openly emotional angarans were really rubbing off on her.

Shoving away her brother, Ryder rose up and tried to adjust her hair back into something other than angry squirrel. Scott nudged into her side with his elbow and he smiled, "I'm glad you survived all of this too, Sis. It'd be a lot emptier here without you."

A soft laugh rolled through Jaal's throat, his lips fluttering while the eyes shut tight. Ryder slid closer, returning to her seat, but she couldn't stop wafting a question at him. "I understand now," he smiled, beaming at her while snuggling closer, "you wished to not only show me your family, but invite me into it."

Ryder blinked. Was that what she was doing?

Dangerous guffaws echoed from Scott and he slapped the table. "So that's why you picked Grandma's secret pasta sauce recipe. Shit, Sis, if I knew you moved that fast I'd have told Mom to stop worrying about getting grandkids off of me."

"What?" she turned on her brother, thoroughly lost.

"Dad never told you? He made that for Mom the night he proposed."

"That wasn't..." she whipped her head over to Jaal who looked unaware but growing more curious by the second, "I didn't mean to... I hate you, Scott." Ryder jabbed her hand as if she would slice out her brother's ungrateful heart.

"Yeah, yeah," he wiped her finger away and then leaned back in his chair as if the matter was settled.

Ryder plummeted back into hers, trying to not stare guiltily at the engagement meal she had no idea she created. Beside her, her dearest was leaning closer, no doubt about to ask for clarification. Maybe it'd be best if it came from Lexi, or Cora. Liam would just muddy the waters, or be excited by the idea because then he could throw an angaran bachelor party. Ah shit.

Doing her best to not stare death at the plate of leftover food, she lightened when Jaal whispered, "Ryder, thank you for this."

"For forcing you to suffer the excruciating company of my weasel of a brother?" she tried to sound stern, but it slipped into a smile. It warmed her heart to have Scott back and to have the two of them getting to know each other and perhaps bonding.

"I adore any opportunity to know more of you, and those who've touched your life," Jaal said full of sincerity.

"So," Scott sat forward, "what we have here is a galaxy, an entirely new one with five outposts ready for colonizing."

"Yup," Ryder smiled, her hand entwining with Jaal's, the alien that helped them get to this point. "So much to discover it makes my head spin."

"I guess I've just got one question for you, Sis," Scott inched up, a mischievous grin filling his face. "Is Eos a wedding in spring kind of place, or are you holding out hope for Kadara by summer?"

"You little..." Ryder whacked her brother in the face with a handful of cold spaghetti. Even as it dripped, leaving orange stains in its wake, Scott couldn't stop laughing and neither could she.

#jaal x ryder #mass effect andromeda #fic #short fic #sharing

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