shanastoryteller:

inspired by this post

a while ago i wrote this as a thank you to someone who was very kind, and helped me out when i was in a tough spot. they were nice enough to give me permission to share it with all of you, so –

a fish may love a bird, but where will they live?

~

when runhilda was just a hatchling, a little boy with big
eyes fed her bread and called her pretty even before she was. he always had
bruises on his face and arms, and his clothes hung off him, but he always had soft
words for her, always gave her his bread crusts even though he needed them more
than she did.

when runhilda is older, and goes by runa, she throws off her
coat of feathers and steps from the river onto the land. she towers over the
teenage boy, stretching past six feet with flowing white-blonde hair and her
arms and thighs like tree trunks. “you need this more than i do,” she tells him
generously.

he looks on in confusion as she takes her coat of feathers
and wraps it around his shoulders. he transforms into graceful, powerful swan.
he transforms into a something that can fly away from his miserable life.

“give it back to me one day,” she says, “when you don’t need
it anymore.”

she pats him on the head, and he gently nips her hand before
he opens his wings and takes to the sky.

runa watches him go wistfully. she’ll miss her wings, but
she’s never had legs before and she’s eager to take them for a spin.

~

she tracks down the boy’s mother who’d been so cruel to him,
and no one is ever ready for a giant naked woman to burst into their pub and
start yelling at them, but runa still thinks she screamed too much. she’d
threatened the woman with everything from a sound beating to dire legal action,
and she and her husband leave town with nothing more than the clothes on their
backs.

this has worked out for runa nicely. she thinks running a pub
could be fun. she goes upstairs, and none of the tiny woman’s ridiculous
clothes will fit her, obviously, so she goes through the husband’s closet. she
thinks she looks rather dashing in trousers and suspenders and a crisp white
button up. she puts a newsboy cap over her curly mass of hair for good measure,
and winks at herself in the mirror. this being human thing is off to an
excellent start.

then she goes downstairs and realizes she’s scared off the
staff and patrons. the patrons she’s not too worried about this. this is
dublin, and no one even died. as long as the alcohol keeps flowing, they’ll be
back.

as for the staff ….

she goes to the river and recruits as many curious sisters as
she can. she walks back to her pub with her arms laden with feather coats and a
dozen gorgeous naked women all as tall as she is trailing behind her.

excellent.

~

the seamstress adores them, since most of her sisters prefer
the pretty, full bodied dresses that many of the human women wear, and they all
have to be custom made to fit their large shoulders and thick waists. runa
sticks to her trousers and shirts, and acquires a collection of newsboy hats.

her pub quickly gains a reputation, as it should. it’s
staffed by beautiful women who have no problem with ending a bar fight
personally, and physically throwing the offenders on to the street. there’s a
strict look, but don’t touch policy that all of the patrons take advantage of,
running their eyes over the beautiful barmaids. of course, quite a few human
men and women catch her sisters’ eyes, and more than one dazed and pleased
human has left their pub half dressed in the mornings.

no one catches runa’s attentions, until a slim woman with
dark skin and dark eyes takes a corner table in the pub. she’s in an opulent
grey dress, and her hair is carefully pinned into an elegant style, with a
glittering necklace around her throat. no woman as wealthy as this one should
be in runa’s establishment, or if she is she shouldn’t look miserable about it.

“here,” her sister pushes two mugs full to the brim into her
hands. runa glares at her, but she’s already turned away. she resents the implication
that she’s that transparent.

she still walks over to the woman and sits across from her,
pressing the drink into her hands. she looks startled, but not upset, so runa
leans her elbow halfway across the table and asks, “What’s a pretty girl like
you doing in a place like this?”

she smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. runa’s filled
with a determination to have her smile like she means it.

Keep reading

jumpingjacktrash:

when noblewomen try to refuse an arranged marriage, it’s always because the man is “fat, old, and ugly.”

someday i will write a princess refusing to marry a young and beautiful prince because he’s cruel and stupid. choosing instead to marry a king who is fat, old, and ugly, but also sensible and a good statesman, because she knows her marriage is a political alliance and she can always get her jollies with pretty courtiers if it comes to that. “my petticoats are full of politics,” she will say. “my royal booty is much too important to waste on handsome jerks.”

the business of getting an heir is awkward, because her husband tends to act like an indulgent uncle and that’s not at all sexy. but he’s happy to mentor her in statecraft, knowing his age means he’ll leave her in an awkward position. when he does die, they’ve solidified her standing enough that she can rule in her own right.

her second marriage is for love. as a stately middle-aged queen, she can marry prince charming, and make him prince consort rather than king. his gentle nature makes him a fine diplomat, and he’s not inclined to try taking power.

her daughter, raised by political maestros, never marries at all. she handles power with such a deft hand that she can name a well-educated cousin as heir and take him to apprentice without more than token grumblings from the nobility.

and that, i say, closing the storybook, is how our kingdom came to elect its royalty from a pool of candidates based on aptitude scores. now go to sleep.