Chapter One: In Accordance with Duty (Something Unexpected, rewritten)
I've talked about redoing this story for actual years. I'm finally doing it!
Masterpost
Wordcount: ~2.5k
---
It isnât clear what wakes him from his slumber: the pale morning light filtering in through the thin curtain, the strong calloused hands that hoist him roughly out of the bed, or the shrill scream coming from his bedmate. The question of who to blame doesnât truly matter. Heâs wide awake now- unfortunately. It is entirely too early for any of this to be happening. It is his personal opinion that all excitement should be reserved for the afternoon hours. This kind of kerfuffle happening at the break of dawn is simply criminal.
The girl⊠Cathrine? Cassandra? It was something that began with the letter âCâ, heâs sure of that much. Or, well, maybe it was a âKâ name. Regardless, the girl that definitely has a name, yanks the sheets to cover herself. Their clothes are scattered across the room, evidence of the desperation they had to get them off the night before. He doesnât have the luxury of a sheet. Heâs pulled from the bed and left standing in front of two guards.
Royal guards. He realizes, seeing their blue and gold tabards with the eagleâs crest on the front. That just might prove to be a bigger problem than his current lack of skivvies. He searches his mind for any sort of trouble he might have caused that would garner the attention of the crown.
âGet dressed,â barks one of the guards, and he is happy to oblige, glad that he at least wonât be dragged through the streets in the nude. He staggers to his dresser, pulling on the crooked drawer. The stubborn thing takes a bit of coercion before it allows him access to its contents. Â
âAm I under arrest?â He asks, stepping into a pair of pants and fastening his belt.
âThe prince requested your presence. Youâre late,â the other one huffs, a frustrated impatience settled in his tone.
âOh, right,â he muses. He knew he had been forgetting something. He remembers now, of course.
The letter is right before him, haphazardly tossed to the top of his worn dresser, below the shattered mirror. He had barely had time to read it before he was called to join in on the festivities of the evening.
âYou are summoned to appear before His Royal Highness, Oliver Reihan Alendreas, Crown Prince of Xelith. You will present yourself at sunrise. There will be no excuses. â Oâ
Right. It's just like Oliver to flaunt his full name, full title. It is a not so subtle reminder of what he has, and what Deckard does not. Now, he's sending guards to drag him there.
Nothing can ever be simple with him.
âThe meeting could have begun at a more reasonable hour,â he comments, lacing his boots.
âYou deign to say the crown prince is unreasonable,â the guard questions pointedly.
âNay, just that the hour be unreasonable, my good man.â
---
âMy lord,â He enters the room with a sweeping theatrical bow to the royalty before him. Overkill, of course.
The prince is silent for a moment. His polished boots click against the equally polished marble flooring as he approaches.
âDeckard,â he greets him tersely. His nose crinkles in disdain as his eyes rake over the bard.
âI am honored to be summoned into your private chambers.â Deckard straightens with a grin. âIt is, of course obvious that I would be chosen to have audience with the heir, being one of the most masterful wordsmiths of this generation and all. What, that I were but aââ
âMust you subject me to the drivel that you call poetry.â
âI was under the impression that I was summoned for the drivel.â
Oliver exhales sharply through his nose. âI need you to write for me.â
âCertainly your handwriting isnât that bad! You should have a little more faith in yourself.â
âDeckard,â he warns, his tone heavy with fatigue. âI just need a few love letters.â
âOh? Your majesty,â Deckard gasps, as though heâs been made privy to a royal scandal. âI was unaware you were courting.â
âDonât be trite,â he snaps, âThis is a matter of duty, not frivolous courtship.â
âAh, thatâs exactly what all the romantics love to hear,â he stifles a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. âI should have brought my quill to write down all of your witty one-liners.â
âYou are to remain here until your task is complete. Youâll be given quarters in the west wing.â He speaks quickly, as though his goal is to dismiss Deckard as quickly as possible.
Deckard dramatically slaps a hand to his chest.
âYou mean to imprison me? To strip me of my freedom- my beloved hovel, with its delightful mildew, and crookedly hung door?â
âItâs quarters, Deckard,â The prince says dryly. âYouâre being supervised, not sentenced.â
âThe west wing, you say? Are you giving me my old room?â Deckard asks, the infuriating mirth stripped from his tone, this is a genuine question. The prince straightens.
âWell, it only makes sense. Unless you would prefer a linen closet.â
âThe west wing will suffice,â he says, too quickly. âBut oh,â his theatrical tone is back, as if it never left, âhow I will miss the familiar comforts of a leaking roof, and my upstairs neighbors who would serenade the nights away with their drunken arguments. But it is my duty, to the crown.â
âI expect a letter by tomorrow,â Oliver responds, as unamused as ever.
"Do I get to know anything about your soon-to-be beloved?"
"So that you might gossip with the maid staff?" He quirks a brow.
"It's just that it would be quite the challenge to woo a subject that is entirely unknown," Deckard frowns.
âI thought you were âone of the most masterful word smiths of this generationâ?â The prince smirks, having cornered the bard in his own game.
âOh, clever. You might be my brother yet,â Deckard concedes, a sly, lopsided grin pulling across his features as he realizes the prince is just toying with him.
In an instant, the princeâs palm cracks across Deckardâs cheek. He staggers from the blow, hand flying to his face. His grin sufficiently wiped clean.
âYou will not speak to me with such familiarity,â his voice is boiling. Lethal. âWhatever putrid blood you have flowing through your veins does not grant you the right to address me as such. You are a dog who knows tricks. And you will do your trick, or I will find another mutt who can.â
After a beat, Deckard straightens slowly. His cheek is already blooming red.
âOf course, your majesty.â His voice comes quietly. Not sheepish, but something else. Something raw, restrained.
The prince straightens. âShe is a fae noble. A political pawn. Write what she wants to hear.â
âUnderstood,â is all he says, staring at the floor.
âIâll have someone escort you to your room.â
And with that heâs dismissed. He follows a guard down to the west wing. Itâs been ages since heâs walked through these halls. Not much has changed. The scent of fresh flowers, and floor wax still permeates the air, like it always has. The floors are still polished until you can see your reflection in them. There are still intermittent displays of art, statues, paintings. The curtains are a different color now, lighter for the spring, he would suspect. He walks in silence, down the grandiose, twisting corridors, until he comes to a halt in front of a very familiar door.
His room.
He nods to his escort before stepping inside.
It feels like heâs stepped through a portal to another time. A better time? He isnât convinced, but it was a time when he still had hope that things could be better. That they would be better.
The door clicks shut behind him, he leans against it for a moment, unable to bring himself further into the room. Not just yet. How odd it is to feel like an outsider in a place that once you called home.
But, he was never truly home here, was he? This stone fortress, this stuffy room, with its patchwork memories woven into the threadbare tapestry of his life. Hardly something he would deem worthy of the title: home. Heâs found places more like home in crowded taverns, on stages, with his real family, the people he chose as his family. He's never been on the best of terms with his brother- well, his half-brother.
They don't share too much in common. Their temperaments vary drastically, their interests aren't similar in the slightest. He supposes they have a similar face structure- strong jaw, sharp eyes, broad nose. But the similarities end there.
Deckard is taller, by about a head. His muscle is present, but lean. He could be described as "gangly", on a bad day, and if someone was being rather rude. Oliver on the other hand is not a large man, but he is more broad, solid looking, filled out. He's a man that's trained with a sword, for purposes of protection and bloodshed; not just for playacting, which is all the experience Deckard has on the matter.
Oliver's features are more fair- lighter hair, hazel eyes. He favors his mother, all things considered. Deckard's hair and eyes are both dark as night, favoring his father, much to the chagrin of everyone. It is unmistakable, undeniable who sired him.
When they were younger his bond with Oliver was amicable, but over the years they split apart and the air between them soured. It's not like Deckard ever posed a threat to him. Even as a spare, his claim to the throne is wildly unlikely. The situation would need to be dire, and even then, they could probably find someone else.
He wouldn't want the pressure of it anyway. Leave him with his wine to drink, his songs with which he may earn his coin- for more wine- and his rotating cast of strangers warming his bed. He's content with this life. He doesn't need the weight of a crown on his head and the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.
He can understand why his family has so much contempt for him. He himself being a messy blot of ink on a crisp white sheet of parchment. He is the smudgy fingerprints on an otherwise clean window. Through no fault of his own, heâs an embarrassment to the crown. His great crime of being born has made him a disgrace. He is a mistake serving as a reminder of other mistakes.
Welcome home.
The room has been left untouched, aside from the routine cleanings to keep the dust at bay.
His cheek throbs, hot and angry. You just had to run your mouth, Deckard. Prodding at things that you know very well are to be left alone. He sighs, chastising himself. Well. Thatâs all I know to do. He responds in kind.
He glowers at the stillness, the silence already creeping under his skin. He was not made for isolation, he was made for busy streets and crowded rooms. He turns, opening the door. There is no guard posted outside his room; Oliver knows him well enough to not give him a captive audience. But he does know that guards will be roaming the halls at regular intervals. So, taking stock of the situation, He has no one to talk to, but also, nowhere to go. Brilliant. Devious.
He sighs, entering his childhood room once more. He crosses the threshold fully this time. Boldly crossing the room and throwing open the curtains. The morning sun has crested the walls and is spilling a honey-gold light into the courtyard. Lovely view. It almost makes him forgive the day for making him participate so early⊠almost.
He turns away from the window and approaches his desk. Itâs exactly where he left it. Not that anyone would want to move that beast of solid dark wood. His chair sits tucked neatly in front of the desk. It still has that rickety lean to the left about it. It is an odd sight considering how grand and sturdy the desk is. If he thinks about it for too long, he can start waxing about the symmetry of his life and this furniture. Poorly matched but left unchanged⊠Best not to let himself think on it then, he decides.
There is a stack of papers, quills and ink supplied for him. Heâs been well stocked for his assignment. He settles himself at his desk, shifting until he finds the balancing point in the wobbling chair.
Oh, what a noble task to burden his shoulders! The heavy fate of⊠the crown princeâs love life. Important, the stakes are high. Who but himself can capture the heart of⊠of some nameless fae noble.
Well. Itâs not that names matter all that much. Considering how well things went for him with⊠Katarina? Claire? âŠWhat was it?
Then, he sees a letter resting on the top of his stack of parchment.
He reads:
To His Royal Highness, Oliver Reihan Alendreas,
Crown Prince of Xelith,
I am writing to you because I must extend my well wishes- in accordance with the terms arranged for us by our courts.
May this correspondence find you in good health.
Respectfully,
Princess Larkspur Aveanna,
Daughter of the High Fae
He reads the letter again. This isnât just a âfae noblewomanâ as Oliver had suggested. This is a princess. There are already court arrangements. Possibly a treaty between two kingdoms on the brink of war? Securing alliances? Well, now that he thinks about it, that doesnât seem important at all, hardly something worth mentioning. Just writing a love letter. Deckard frowns down at the parchment. Though, now he understands why Oliver allowed him to stay here. He wouldnât trust himself with this knowledge either.
Despite the helpful information, there is not much to go on. It is rather disappointing, as far as letters go. Just the barest amount needed to please the court, and nothing more. Words scrawled in a swirling script and sent off without a second glance. No emotion. Just the icy hand of another stuffy noble.
Well. If that is the case, then she and Oliver deserve each other. They can both sit together miserably and plot the machinations of their courts. What a match that will be. The future is bright. He huffs bitterly. Â
His poetic heart wants to believe there is more. Perhaps⊠Instead of an emotionless noble, here we set our stage with a princess, stripped of her power, left with no voice. And she is cold not because of her callous heart, but because she is afraid.
He can understand that, and more importantly, he can work with that. Now, he has found a direction. He cracks open a bottle of ink and begins to write.
Princess Larkspur Aveanna,
Daughter of the High Fae,
I hope this season has treated you with greater kindness than the circumstances in which we find ourselves.
Much like yourself, I write to fulfil the obligations laid at my feet by others. I was told: âThis is duty. Not courtship.â It is a tidy phrase, isnât it? It is neat, clinical. It is altogether lifeless. I for one, cannot help but lament on how painfully unromantic that is.
You must forgive me, dear Princess, but I have always had somewhat of a poetâs heart. It tends to make a mess of such cold, courtly tasks, such as this one. This idea that I must, by rite, go through the motions- sending you shallow sentiments, and heartless niceties- I find frankly abhorrent. If I may be so bold to say, I suspect you might share the same opinion.
Your letter was beautifully restrained. Courteous. A well-polished model of diplomacy. I would not be surprised if it passed through a dozen hands before reaching mine. I fear my reply may be less elegant; it is certainly less succinct. My letter, however- and I pray you will forgive me for saying so- is more honest.
And so, I offer you simply, the truth of the matter: I do not know you, but I would like to.
I will not ask for more than you wish to give. If you are content following the structures set before us- fulfilling the measure of our duty, and nothing more- I will bide. However, if by some chance, you find that curiosity should stir your hand... I would be honored to have earned a reply. Not one sent out of duty, but one written from your own choice.
Yours in honesty,
He pauses, with a scoff. "In honesty."
Stars, help this poor princess.
He signs the letter with a name that is not his own, beneath a title he could never hope to hold.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
It happened again. A red mist descended over the Wasteland, even though the Shard event was in the Valley. Very strange⊠but also very beautiful and unique.
Okay so I know Julietaâs not having triplets in your âsomething unexpectedâ fic. Buuuut! Just for funsies, what wouldâve been the reaction if she was?
Like Brunoâs says âcongrats Juli, theyâre adorableâ
Thereâs a pause and then suddenly the whole table shouts some variation of âthey! As in more than one!!?
The chaos would be epic!
Actually, gonna be honest, the thought of her having triplets did cross my mind when I was writing that chapter, though mostly to just tease Julieta and make her frozen on the spot lmao, but let's do an alteration of that chapter!
vvvvvvvvvvvvvv
âI hear a new heartbeat,â Dolores muttered weakly.
And after no longer than a second, Pepa stood up so suddenly her chair fell to the floor. âYouâre pregnant?!â she roared, glaring daggers at Mariano as if she was ready to kill him with a bolt of lightning that barely missed his chair.
Julieta only blinked. So Antonio would get a baby â who cared if it was a cousin or a nephew â sooner than she anticipatedâ
âbut Dolores suddenly shook her head, gaping at her mother in shock. âIâm not?! We neverââ
âThen who?â Alma demanded sharply, her gaze stopping at Isabela and Luisa who looked equally surprised by the revelation. âGirls?â
Luisa started coughing and Isabela just stared back at her, her eyes wide, her head shaking the tiniest bit.
âMirabelâŠ?â Alma started hesitantly.
Julieta felt her heart racing. Surely, it couldn't be her baby girl, rightâÂ
Mirabel choked on her sip of juice and Camilo patted her on her back so hard it sounded like all her organs did a flip inside. âWhat?!â
Alma wanted to repeat the question, it was clear, but at the same time Dolores slammed her both hands on the table, yelling âItâs tĂa!â and Brunoâs eyes went shining green at the same second.
Julieta was fairly certain her heart stopped. The wine glass dropped from AgustĂnâs hand and broke into three pieces on the table, spilling the remaining wine onto the surface.
But otherwise, there was silence.Â
The only sound anyone emitted was heavy breathing coming from Bruno as he grasped the edges of the table and leaned over it to blink quickly a few times just a few seconds later, getting rid of the shiny glimmer that had just lit up his eyes.
Then he looked around, a little confused, smacking himself on the head lightly, and a small smile appeared on his lips. âCongratulations Juli, they're adorable.â
Silence.
Camilo was the first to recover. âThey? As in more than one?â
Bruno opened his mouth to answer but Dolores beat him to it. âThere are three new heartbeats.â
Pepa thundered. âThreeââ
âTriplets?!â
âSanta Mariaââ
âBruno, Brunito, hermanito, what did you see?!â Pepa asked loudly.
All people at the table looked at him. He chuckled nervously. âAh-uh, three babies?â
âThree babies!â
âWell, no babies, more like toddlers but yeahââ
âGirls, boys?! Two and one, like us?!â
Bruno smiled, his eyes wide. âThree cute girls.â
âThree new sobrinas!â
âThree hermanitas...â
âThree nietas...â
âIt looks like Julietaâs doing your part of the job, hermanito,â Pepa laughed out loud. âThree! Three girls! Three oopsie girls!â
âMami, whatâs going on?â Antonio asked after giving the table a wide, confused look.
Pepa turned to him and grabbed his chubby cheeks between her hands. âYour tĂa Julietaâs going to have three babies! Youâll have three little primas!â
âThree?! At the same time?!â
âYes!â
âBut I asked for one!â he exclaimed, looking in shock at Julieta. âThree?! Youâre the best, tĂa Julieta!â
Julieta blinked and her gaze flickered to Antonio. âMhm,â she mumbled and laughed suddenly. She covered her mouth with her hand and ignoring concerned glances sent her way, she reached for a glass of water. Her hand shook terribly and half of the liquid spilt on the table. âDios mĂo...â
AgustĂn grabbed her other hand suddenly, his palm sweaty and his fingers trembling as he squeezed her left hand. She squeezed back, trying to root herself in place and took a sip of water.Â
The silence lasted for a five more seconds.Â
Then Isabela turned to them, both eyebrows raised. âThatâs it? Thatâs your reaction to the whole situation?â
âHey, they look shocked...â
âShocked! They have children, they know how to make them, they shouldnât be shocked!â
âPa?â Luisa asked in a pitchy voice, her eye twitching. âYou okay? You seem... Pale.â
âMhm,â AgustĂn squeaked, his hand around Julietaâs toghtening even more, his other hand drumming on the table. âAbsolutely. Perfectly okay. Iâm fine.â
âMiraâs a more subtle liar,â Camilo shot them a pitiful look for what he was smacked on the back of the head by Mirabel. âOuch! What was that for?!â
âFor being stupid,â she hissed to him, before turning to look at her parents. âYouâre awfully quiet mamĂĄ, are you feeling alright?â
Without any word, Julieta shook her head slowly.Â
âYour heartbeats are very, very quick,â Dolores piped in quietly. âToo quick, Iâd say,â she added, looking between her aunt and uncle. âI think you should go and rest...â
âA wonderful idea,â AgustĂn shot out of his chair and the piece of furniture fell to the ground. Julieta didnât ever flinch but let herself be pulled to her feet. âWe need a moment,â he said and took her hand, both of them walking out of the kitchen on wobbly legs.Â
âIâd say no funny business but the damage is already done!â Isabela called after them.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Harry's very well known, being the captain of the football team and all, but no one knows he has a passion for dance.
One day, Louis forgets his bag in the dance studio and catches the footie player in the middle of his private practice, and Harry makes him swear he never saw a thing.
Words: 7167, Chapters: 5/5, Language: English
Fandoms: One Direction (Band)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik
Additional Tags: Dancer Louis Tomlinson, Football | Soccer Player Harry Styles, Dancer Harry Styles, Smut, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Top/Bottom Versatile Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Rimming, Oral Sex, ziall
via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/2VQQnah
This update is kind of short, sorry! I recently got sick so I havenât been all that productive lately, but I will be once it passes. Also, Iâm not sure if I want to continue this or not so let me know what you guys think!
Merman! Minho (Lee Know) x reader
word count: 829
The ocean had always been a safe place for you: the rolling waves and the vastness of it normally would have scared someone else, but for you, it was unbridled beauty. So it was no surprise that you had recently bought a home with its own private beach and a view of the Pacific. Youâd moved in about a month ago and had only recently finished unpacking and decorating the place. The house was by no means large and had two levels with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. One of the bedrooms and bathroom was for you, with one of the bedrooms acting as an office, and the other bedroom and bathroom for guests. You worked from home since you were the CEO of a company and the job didnât require you to go to the often all that often. The other big plus about this lot was that the neighbors werenât that close, so it was relatively quiet most of the time.Â
It was a warm and breezy summer night as you sat on the beach staring at the waves when you saw something glimmer in the distance. Staring at the spot where you had seen the shine, you waited for another sign of it when you saw a large fin pop out of the water. When you were younger you had been fascinated by marine animals and not to brag, but you liked to think you had pretty good knowledge about the different animals, and you had never seen a fin-like that. You waited some more and suddenly a head with sandy-brown hair popped out of the water. You stood up in fear that someone needed help, but the manâs eyes stared at you with a leveled gaze and started coming closer to the shore. A little stunned, you didnât speak and didnât move until the man was only a couple feet away from you but still submerged in the water. Realizing he had moved so close, you found your voice and asked, âDo you need any help?â.
The man shook his head in confirmation that yes he did need help but before you could ask him to elaborate he said, âBefore you can help me though, I need to tell you something, and you canât scream or tell anyoneâ. You nodded, assuring him you wouldnât make a peep, when he pulled himself a little further out of the water and laid in the sand in front of you. Your eyes traveled down his body and you first noticed the large gash on his stomach, then you noticed that his waist started to turn a greenish-blue color before finally seeing the scales and then the tail. You nodded and pointed towards his tail, in a small voice you asked, âSooo youâre a merman?â.
The merman nodded back and added, âFor lack of a better word, yes. But the tail will go away once you pull me all the way out of the waterâ. You nodded and pulled him up a little further, telling him to wait while you go and get a towel that he can wrap around his mid-section. You quickly grabbed a towel and walked back towards him, noticing that he was still laying on the ground, but had legs now. As you got closer you looked away and tossed the towel his way. He chuckled and said, âThereâs no need to be so shy. But Iâll wear the towelâ. There was some shuffling before he spoke again and said, âYou can look now and Iâll also need some help walkingâ, before sheepishly adding, âI must admit this is the first time Iâve ever walked, so...â.Â
You pulled him up and you put one of his arms around your shoulders so he had something to lean on. You flushed now that his bare, but also bloody chest was so close to your body. Remembering that he needed to get that patched up, you walked a little quickly up to your patio, past the door, past the living room and kitchen, before arriving at the spare bathroom and placing him in the tub. As you grabbed the first aid kit and a wet towel, the merman stared at you before saying, âYou know, you donât talk that much. Iâm Minho and you are?â.Â
You replied with âSorry that Iâm not exactly used to merman showing up and asking me for helpâ. He chuckled at that and muttered something about how you had a hidden feisty side and you added that your name was y/n. Minho shut up as you started to finish patching up his wound.Â
Once you finished he said, âThanks y/n it looks goodâ.
âYeah, but make sure to not move around that much for a couple of days. The wound is big, so it could open up pretty easilyâ.
With a smirk on his face, Minho said, âSo does that mean I get to stay here with you for a while?â.