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superhero--imagines · 4 years ago

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Part 1 here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 here!

A/N: I already know some of y’all are going to be mad, it’s 2020 and twilight needs some diversity, don’t @ me.

* You’re not really sure how you got here

* “This ones done”

* Edward holds out the blood bag to you, carefully pulling out the needles from you beloved Deer, Hayden.

* “Ah, thank you.” You place it carefully along with the others, before lavishing Hayden with affection

* “You were so good today! You’re going to get extra carrots, yes you are!”

* You’re aware of Edwards gaze on you as he disinfects the injection point.

* “You know it’s illegal to have Deer as pets in Alaska don’t you?” The corner of his mouth is quirked in the smallest smirk you have ever seen, and you roll your eyes

* “Tanya got a permit, the official stance is they’re her deer, I just take care of them for some extra pocket money”

* Not that anyone would venture into the “siren house” to ask questions

* You knew people were probably wary of coming up to the estate, even the mail man looked dead scared when he left Irina’s Lululemon packages in the mailbox

* But you didn’t think the locals legit called the manse “The Siren House”

* Edward told you they used to call it “The Witch House” but then, upon seeing the Denali sisters, changed it to Siren

* Edward doesn’t say anything, just moves to take the filled blood bags up to the house

* Ever the gentleman

* You really thought Edward would show up once, figure out he couldn’t read your mind, and retreat into his own moody silence.

* You figured you would mostly be dealing with Carlisle, who would teach you how to draw blood from your heard of deers, and then you would be on your own.

* But instead it was Edward who volunteered to do it for you, Carlisle was busy with his day job after all.

* He shows up once a week, usually after school, and carefully extracts the blood

* Then he puts them inside the fridge and leaves

* You really don’t get what’s going on, if he hates you so much why even bother coming over in the first place

* You’re about to fall into your usual rhythm of handing him the blood bags, which he then puts in the fridge when he breaks your routine

* “Why-“ your head pops up from the small pile of blood bags and to him. He’s looking away, but then his gaze meets yours. “Why go through all this trouble for a few deer.”

* You grin and hand him a blood bag

* “Another vampire might say the same thing to you, why go through all the trouble for a few humans?”

* He flinches, and you laugh. He’s so unaware of himself it’s actually funny

* “For the record, I do it because they remind me of my (Dog/Cat/Pet).” He quirks an eyebrow at that.

* “Your pet?”

* You nod. You’re number one concern on arrival here had been whether your dog was okay, but sifting through your memories of this life, you realized your dog had passed away in the middle of high school.

* “When I look into their face, all I can think about is my dog” you shrug, it’s the same with bears and other animals too.

* “Also, it’s kinda disgusting to drink that blood straight out of the animal.”

* Draining the blood must have deducted something from the taste, you can’t imagine what that skunky revolting flavor would have been like if you were drinking straight from the animal.

* Edward laughs. It’s the first time he’s laughed around you, pearly white canines in full view, the skin at the corner of his eyes folds

* It’s cute, very boyish. You get what Bella was talking about now

* “You get used to it after a while” he shrugs

* You shake your head, no one should ever have to drink that crap

* “Here, try some of my blood” you say it like you’re offering him some cookies you made. You pick up one of the bags, still warm, and he quirks an eyebrow

* This isn’t the first time you’ve offered, usually he declines and rushes to leave

* One time it looked like he might say yes, but then he noticed Tanya and excused himself.

* He accepts the bag, holding it up with one hand

* “Do you pour it in a mug?”

* And so you and Edward sip your blood-Capri-suns in the kitchen that’s only now started to be used

* You sit in the counter cross legged, while he leans against the adjacent counter. Both of you silently sipping your meals.

* “This is really good” he finally says, his blood bag almost empty.

* “Who’d you have? I’ve been trying to add different veggies to their meal to see if it brings out a different flavour profile.”

* He had Henrietta, who you had been giving more citrus too. Partially for flavour, and partially because she’s your favourite

* “It kind of tastes like...fruit punch” Edward recalls after a prolonged minute.

* He seems so nostalgic, you wonder how long it’s been since he’s had human food

* “I think genetics have something to do with the flavour too, the breed from this region all seem to have a fruity aftertaste”

* “I’m partial to deer since they don’t have a strong game taste aftertaste.”

* “Yes! That part is the worst, it’s like eating a skunk” You scowl and he laughs again.

* You know he doesn’t belong to you, he’s Bella’s, in a few years she’ll be all he thinks or cares about.

* But maybe the two of you can be friends until then.

* All at once the moments broken, Edward stands a bit straighter, the smile on his face gone.

* You turn to look behind you to see Carmen.

* Her head is tilted to the side, a smile tugging on her lips

* “You both look like you’re having fun.”

* After that the conversation is pleasant, but it definitely stutters until Edward eventually leaves.

* “I think he likes you” You’re reading a book by the fire, the gentle heat is nice and it sets the mood.

* “What?”

* Carmen’s grinning

* “The Cullen boy is interested in you.”

* You just shake your head. You doubt it, Edwards only got a one track mind for one person. And it’s not you

* “It would be nice if we could be friends though, I don’t really know many other people my physical age.”

* Carmen stops mid-stitch on her embroidery hoop

* “Is that something you want? Because the Cullen’s have other’s your a-“

* “I don’t need you to set up play dates for me Carmen”

* “Understood”

* Edward comes by regularly, to help you with your animals. You’re both always under the (discrete) supervision of one of your guardians (excluding Tanya of course.)

* And with each visit you learn a little more about him

* You find out that right now he’s masquerading as a senior in high school, he’s considering going to college for veterinary sciences

* “Why veterinary sciences?” You wonder if he’s about to poach your best deer and start his own blood business when he shrugs

* “It’s one of the few degrees I don’t have”

* You’re drinking blood-Capri-suns out on the porch, he’s still in his school clothes, including a very puffy jacket

* “What were you going to do?” Your raise an eyebrow and he elaborates “before you turned, what were you plans for the future.”

* “I was on my graduation trip, I was going to college in the fall”

* You got accepted into your safety school with a generous scholarship.

* Edward doesn’t press any further. But you can tell that he wants too.

* Many nights go by, you experiment with you animals diets, have supervised hang-outs with Edward, you meet Carlisle every so often who basically gives you therapy and helps you control your emotions

* Life is good

* But your growing complacency with the situation is starting to bother you

* You haven’t forgotten about Alec and Jane who are still fighting so hard to survive, or the countless others who would prefer this way of life if they only knew

* You know the minute you start being content is the minute the world wins

* So every night -or really every so often, you’ve lost all perception of time, the nights in Alaska are totally fucked and these heathens don’t even have a damn clock. Your only really sign of time is the mail man dropping off amazon packages- you sit and dream

* You think about giving back to the community, about saving your friends, and about dethroning fucking Aro

* You’re only at the beginning now, there’s still so much work to do, but it’s a start

* You hear a noise and your eyes open

* If you had a beating heart it would stutter when it saw Edward standing beside your bed, your hand moves on it’s own through reflex, clutching your heart

* Under the circumstances you would expect someone else to laugh, but Edward just looks confused

* “Are you...sleeping?”

* “I like to pretend, it’s a nice way to end the day” he raises an eyebrow at that

* “It’s 4 in the afternoon”

* “Well damn Edward, we don’t have any clocks in this house, how am I supposed to know what time it is.”

* He does laugh at that

* “Is it...nice?”

* “Yeah, it’s pretty relaxing, kills some time too.” Noticing the curious look on his face, you ask:

* “Do you want to try?” You pat the space on the bed beside you.

* You’re fully expecting for Edward with his old fashioned virtues to deny your suggestion. So you’re surprised that after several long seconds of silence, and a rather pained look, he adheres to your request and lies next to you on your bed.

* It’s a king size bed, so he’s at least three Great Danes away from you, but the closeness still surprises you.

* “What do I do now?” He says, eyes closed.

* “Daydream, or fantasise I guess, about things that happened in your day, or things you wish happened, places you want to go and memories you wish you could relive”

* “What do you usually dream about?” He asks, eyes open now

* “I think about Jane,” the answer is automatic, and you regret it as soon as the words come out. But Edward’s expression doesn’t change so you continue. “I think about my deers and my family too.” Most of the time you’re just thinking about what animal you want to excitement with next tbh

* “And sometimes I think about you.”

* And how glad you are to have a friend

* Edward doesn’t say anything for a long time, and for a second you hope he hasn’t misunderstood your words, you know he’ll never feel that way about you. All of those romantic feelings are saved for Bella

* “Would you like to come to my house sometime?” The questions throws you off, and your expression illicit’s a laugh from him. “Emmett and Esme are dying to meet the newborn from the Denali coven”

* That’s probably true for Esme, you’re pretty sure Emmett just wants to have some physical match with the “Volturi-reject”

* “That sounds fun, sure.”

* Maybe they have a clock in their house you can steal

* Edward shows up the next day in his shiny white Volvo to pick you up.

* On either side of you on the front porch are Carmen and Kate with their most fierce expressions (and behind them is Eleazer who just looks like he’s along for the ride)

* “Where are you going?” Kate asks

* “Our home on the other side of the mountain, you’ve been there before” Edwards got a small smile curling in his lips, and an eyebrow raised.

* “What will you do?” Carmen asks

* “My family’s having a board game night, I think we’re playing monopoly”

* “What time will you bring them home?” Kate intervenes, man they’re not even pretending to be polite

* “Well it’s not a school night-“ Seeing his joke isn’t going to land, he rethinks his words midway

* “Whenever they tell me to.”

* You’re half expecting to get a curfew, even though this household seems to operate without the concept of time, when Eleazer interjects

* “Well be safe, and have a good time.” He slides a backpack up your shoulders. “I packed you some blood bags in case you get hungry, Henrietta’s since I know that’s your favourite.”

* He’s the only one waving as you get into Edward’s car

* The view as you drive is breath taking, the snow covered mountains, abs crisp green trees

* Edward laughs beside you, at your awestruck expression no doubt

* “You don’t get out much do you?”

* You have your nose practically pressed to the glass

* “Not at all.”

* The Cullen’s home is reminiscent of the one from the movies. All light, with glass everywhere. It’s like a aurora, all wavy with no true shape

* “Welcome to our home (Y/N)” Carlisle greats you first, and behind him is... Esme

* She’s not at all like the books or the movie

* She’s definitely not white, you can’t tell exactly what race, but she’s definitely a POC.

* Her caramel cheekbones seem even more prominent when she offers you a smile.

* “It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’m Esme.”

* For some reason her being a POC, makes you feel more comfortable around her.

* Maybe you will ask her to draw up those plans for a proper barn.

* Edward stifles a laugh behind you, and you raise an eyebrow.

* “Emmett is dying to meet you upstairs.”

* You follow Edward up the stairs, finally meeting the family that spawned four books and a movie franchise.

* None of them look like they’re actor counterparts

* For one Emmett is black. And also really handsome, he’s got this Chadwick Boseman look alike thing going on and you’re down for it (RIP)

* Rosalie looks basically the way she was described in the books, all blonde hair and angel faced, but she’s the only one

* Alice is definitely Asian, she kinda looks like Lana Condor

* Jasper.... is ambiguously brown, but it still makes you let out a sigh of relief when you remember he was a Major in the CONFEDERATE army.

* More to the story than someone who was blatantly racist and supported slavery.

* They’re all beautiful, and they terrify you. You’re not exactly sure why, but something primal in you tells you to run away as fast as you can.

* But Edward lightly brushed the small of your back, pushing you forward. Right into the lions den.

* “Hello, I’m Rosalie”

* Looks like they picked her to be their spokesperson, all glittering smiles and flawless cheekbones. She extends her hand, and you lightly grasp it.

* “It’s nice to meet you.”

* It’s surreal to think how you know almost everything about this girl, while you two are virtually strangers

* Jasper introduces himself next, all smiles and quiet gentlemanly behavior.

* You’re not really sure what to expect with Alice, from what you know this girl has seen every future you could possibly have.

* Who knows what she saw

* But when she stands she hugs you

* “It’s good to see you!”

* “Alice, you haven’t introduced yourself”

* “Oh, right. I’m Alice”

* Emmett claps you on the back like you’re an old friend.

* “So, I heard you used to hang out with the sadist twins in the Volturi”

* You can practically feel the tension in the air, even Edward winces

* “They’re not so bad” really, what did anyone expect when they were in that environment

* Emmett grins

* “That’s bad ass”

* The rest of the night passes in a blur. The cullen’s game of monopoly includes some monstrous version where they put 8 different themed boards together and play in teams (You’re obviously on Edward and Alice’s team)

* They also have some sort of structure where they put four hotels together and called it a mega-hotel

* The whole thing blows up when Emmett accused Alice and Edward of using their powers to cheat

* “What do you want me to do, I can’t turn it off when I want Emmett, trust me I would especially when you and-“

* “Oh shut up Emmett, like we haven’t noticed Rosalie has an awful lot of $500 bills” Jasper interjects

* “It’s because you always pay me rent in small change!” She screams

* “Now-“ Carlisle tried to interject but Alice stands up

* “That’s a lie! I saw you steal from the bank several times when Esme wasn’t looking” Alice screams

* It goes on like this until Carlisle Declares the game over, and shoos everyone away.

* “Sorry, I would say it’s usually not like this, but I would be lying” Edward grins and you shrug

* “It was pretty fun and... entertaining in its own way” Edward beams at you, and once again, you definitely feel the dazzling effect Bella described in the movies

* “Should I... take you home now?” You can tell he doesn’t want to take you back yet, and if you’re being honest you don’t want to go back either

* The Cullen’s house has so much light, and you can see the stars so clearly here

* And if you’re being honest things seem to be way more entertaining here

* Edward takes you to a nook which houses a grand piano

* You’re fingers instinctively roam over the keys.

* “Do you play?”

* “Just a bit”

* You’re not the one who knew how to play, not really. But now this body is yours. You’ve thought about asking Carmen for a Piano, you’re sure they would love something that adds to the gothic feel of the mansion, but always cast it aside.

* You’re busy enough with your research.

* “Play me something” Edward grins.

* Alec had said the same thing to you when you were first taken by the Volturi, at the time your mind had raced wondering which piece would impress him the most. Which would aide in your survival.

* But looking at Edward now, you know that it’s not the same situation.

* He really does want you to play whatever your heart desires

* So you play “Love like you”, accompanied by your quiet voice reciting the lyrics

* At some point Edward sits beside you, playing in a deeper key, adding another layer of depth to your performance

* Wordlessly, afterwards he plays a piece of his own, Claire de Lune. Which you know is a remarkably hard piece.

* Still halfway you chime in, your super human fingers keeping up with him with ease

* And so it goes on like this, you play a modern song, waiting for him to catch up and he does the same with a classic

* Like a never ending game of cat and mouse

* It stops abruptly when Edward is in the middle of “moonlight sonata” when Alice clears her throat from behind you.

* “I hate to disturb,” there’s a teasing grin arched on her face. “But if you don’t drop them off, Carmen and Tanya are going to come over personally to retrieve them-“

* You see Edward wince, no doubt reviving Alice’s vision through his ability

* “And I don’t think anyone wants that.”

* You nod, moving to grab your backpack when you overhear Alice say-

* “You never let me play like that with you”

* Edward let’s out some sort of noise akin to a scoff

* “Where did you learn those songs?” He asks when you’re on the road

* Well you can’t tell him they’re from artists who aren’t known yet

* “Personal compositions” you murmur, and Edward grins his dazzling grin

* You talk about nothing but music until you pull into the familiar circle driveway of the manse

* Right when you’re about to thank him for a fun time, he gently stops you with a fleeting touch to your shoulder.

* “I’m graduating next month,” he hands you an envelope which you assume has his graduation card. “I was wondering if you would like to come to the ceremony.”

* You hold the card with both hands stunned, he’s already graduating high school?

* That means only 4 more years until he moves to Forks, and another two until he meets Bella

* And you realize that while time is frozen for both of you until the end of the universe, you’re the only one who isn’t moving forward

* “Yeah, I’d love that!”

* You try your best to smile, but your sure it comes off looking strange

* You don’t talk to anyone, heading straight for your bedroom

* What’s next for you?

#twilight #twilight reader insert #twilight headcanon #twilight imagine #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen #Rosalie hale #Jasper hale #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #twilight saga #twilight imagines #superhero—imagines

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stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

Note

If you’re still accepting prompts, I’m curious how much chaos qin su!wwx was able to subtly cause at jinlintai without being caught? bc i don’t think he could go that many months without doing Something to Someone lol

(brief author’s note: this au is entirely prompt-based, so please reblog if you can for future updates!)

Three months into his stay at the Jinlintai, Wei Wuxian discovers that he dislikes Su She even more than he dislikes his husband.

It’s not even that he falls all over himself doing Jin Guangyao’s bidding, because he doesn’t, he reflects, observing the two in conference at one of the Jin sect’s private banquets. Su She’s really loyal to him, and that’s even worse.

Before her death, Qin Su was almost certain that Su She had taken part in Jin Rusong’s murder, simply because Jin Guangyao could never have done the killing alone. She maintained that Jin Guangyao would not have been able to go to the guest kitchens, poison the plate intended for him, and visit He Su’s private quarters with time to spare; and Wei Wuxian agrees with her, if only because plotting the murder of a young sect heir in public would require a like-minded accomplice.

“Poor A-Song,” Wei Wuxian sighs, laying down his embroidery as his two handmaidens hurry to his elbow to comfort him with tea and snacks. “Yongpei, what will I do?”

“Nothing will bring our A-Song back,” the elder maidservant says, with tears already welling in her eyes at the mention of her mistress’s son. “But Mistress, just because it hasn’t worked in these last years, you mustn’t give up persuading the master to give you another baby! Mistress hasn’t said anything about it this last year, and A-Tai and I feared you’d lost hope--but Mistress, you are so pretty, and you love your husband so dearly, so how long can he resist favoring you even if he can’t bear the thought of losing a second child? Mistress gave Sect Leader a wonderful baby boy, it wasn’t any fault of yours that our xiao-gongzi passed away--and surely the same horrible tragedy can’t happen twice! You can’t give in, no matter what the master says about it.”

“A-Pei,” Wei Wuxian says gently, “this mistress is grateful for your faith, but in the end, I am A-Yao’s wife, and in matters such as these, I must respect his wishes. What kind of shameless woman would I be if I forced my husband to my bed, when I know he wants nothing less than to have another child with me?”

“A woman should have a child!” Shao Tai cries. “Mistress, it’s not the same at all! When Sect Leader first stopped favoring you, you never said a word, and it was all right before we lost A-Song--Mistress only wanted to be a good mother to her baby, and obey Sect Leader faithfully in all things! But now, even though it’s been more than ten years since xiao-gongzi died, he still...”

“Do you really think it’s unkind of him?” Wei Wuxian murmurs, glancing down at his half-embroidered handkerchiefs and pretending to blink back a few tears of his own. “He says he’s afraid for my health, but...”

“Yes, he is being unkind! Mistress shouldn’t be afraid to ask for what she wants!”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip for a moment. “Do A-Pei and A-Tai really think I should go ahead with this?”

The two women both nod forcefully, setting the tea and cakes down on the desk so that they can kneel by his feet. “You have served Sect Leader without a word of complaint all this time, so why shouldn’t he grant you this one wish?” Yongpei says. “Mistress, if you leave it to us, we will see to all the preparations!”

A-Tai gives a timid cough. “But jiejie, if Mistress acts too suddenly, won’t he be suspicious?”

“Well, what else is she supposed to do?”

“No more of that,” Wei Wuxian scolds, barely keeping his lips from twitching as he finally thinks of another way to approach his plans to escape the Jinlintai by seducing Jin Guangyao. “Yongpei, A-Tai, you know this mistress of yours is a skilled cook?”

For once, Wei Wuxian isn’t actually pretending; he is a good cook, having learned the art at Jiang Yanli’s knee, even if he ruins all his dishes at the last moment by pouring chili oil into them. “Yes,” A-Tai replies, clearly confused. “Do you want to cook for your husband, my lady?”

“Not for my husband,” he smiles, brightening up like a summer sun cresting the horizon at daybreak as he looks at his fine-featured reflection in the mirror. “I’ve cooked for us often, so doing it again won’t mean anything much. But he has a dinner with Su-zongzhu and Zhang-zongzhu scheduled for the end of next week, so I’ll tell him I mean to cook all the dishes myself.”

“But, Mistress...!”

“Nonsense. I’ve made up my mind, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Wei Wuxian says briskly, putting away his embroidery needles. “And you two ought to get to bed, you know. It’s nearly eleven o’clock!”

It goes without saying that Wei Wuxian has no interest whatsoever in cooking for any of Jin Guangyao’s associates.

However, he does have access to a small store of hot Yunmeng spices laid aside for Jin Guangyao’s personal use, and he knows well enough that Jin Guangyao likes them--and that Su She, whose clan is native to Lan Zhan’s Suzhou, will not be able to tolerate so much as a speck of it.

(The plan goes off without a hitch, and Su She’s mouth and stomach fare so badly after eating a dish Wei Wuxian swore was meant for his husband that he has to take three rest days in the guest house to recover.)

“No way!” Jin Zixuan crows delightedly, as Wei Wuxian finishes narrating Su She’s unfortunate encounter with the mighty trifecta of Sichuan peppercorns, horseradish, and the spiciest chillies that Lanling gold could buy. “I wish I’d been there to see it. Who knew you could be so sneaky, Wei Wuxian?”

“It had a greater purpose,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I didn’t just do it for fun. I had to keep making overtures to Jin Guangyao so that he wouldn’t have any choice but to send me away when I finally tried to seduce him.”

On the other side of the campfire, Lan Zhan goes still. “Seduce?”

“Yes, of course. How else did you think that Jin-furen, wife to a zongzhu and xiandu all at once, could ever manage to get away from the Jinlintai without her husband noticing? He tried for months to placate me when I cooked him dinner and dressed in the colors he liked and proposed building a temple in Meng-furen and A-Song’s names, and then I finally had my handmaidens prepare me to receive him in my chambers and gave him the fright of his life. Smart, don’t you think?”

Lan Zhan’s face pales. “You ought not to have taken such measures,” he says hoarsely. “What if something had happened to you?”

“I’m his wife,” Wei Wuxian replies, bemused. “What could possibly have happened to me? Everyone thinks Qin Su must be barren, so no one would even try bumping me off to make sure Jin Guangyao could never have another heir. And he does care about her, you know.”

In answer, Lan Zhan only lets out a small scoff and turns his back to the fire, facing out into the night while Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan exchange puzzled glances over his head. “Rest, both of you,” he says quietly. “We will have to ride on towards Yunmeng in the morning, just in case that courtesan Mo-gongzi mentioned in his letter might be there.”

And then, as the three of them have done for the last month’s worth of nights they spent traveling together, Lan Zhan drifts off to sleep first, and Jin Zixuan and Wei Wuxian follow into a mist of uneasy dreams.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #jin zixuan #qin su!wwx #my fic

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my-simp-land · 3 years ago

Text

Every Stitch With Love

been on a writing spree. tbh feelin lots of burnout from my other hobbies. welp here we are. this one feels more emotional. bucky and you come to an understanding. bucky x reader. 1690 words. noice

Being an Avenger meant that either all your time was taken up, or you had all the time in the world. There was never a casual day where you went to work in the day and hung out with friends in the evening. It was never go out for brunch then come back and do some paperwork. You were either swamped with field reports or had an empty desk.

However, you were never free enough to pick up a real hobby, like book club on Thursdays or pottery class on Saturdays. You were always a wrist flick away from being sent on a mission for days, weeks, or months. That meant getting creative with your free time. Most of the Avengers indulged in some work related hobby: Natasha did ballet, Steve went on runs, Tony working with his suits.

Working out has never been my favorite, so I had to get extra creative. Reading is usually reliable. It only sucks when you come back from a two month long mission to the last book of a seven book series with little to no knowledge of what’s happening. That’s always fun. Baking was fun, until you strike some bad luck and everything you make sucks.

I picked up a new hobby a few months ago though: embroidery. The texture of the fabric, the cool needle, the transformation. It was the perfect muscle memory hobby. You just follow the pattern. It gives your brain just enough of that itch to keep it happy, but it’s easy enough that you can just disconnect and autopilot the entire time.

At first, my room and the commons became littered with embroidery hoops with simple designs. It quickly transformed to patching peoples clothing. Suits were always professionally patched or replaced, but you’ve got that special shirt or pair of pants that you just can’t get rid of. From there, I quickly grew bored and started giving people extra designs with their patched clothing. Natasha usually got edgy things: knives, flowers, spiders. Wanda always got flowers with the flowy lines and designs. Cap and Sam got lots of stars with the occasional firework. Tony got the funny, immature designs. Soon, people were coming to me with designs. Natasha wanted a sweatshirt with an embroidered sleeve like a tattoo sleeve. Peter wanted a Spider-Man hoodie. Tony wanted matching pocket tees for him and Bruce. That inspired me to make matching pocket tees for Steve, Sam, and Bucky.

Everything in the past had always been fun and easy. Everything changed when I decided to make Bucky something. I nearly threw myself in the lake trying to come up with the design. Actually putting my designs on a shirt was entirely different. I spent countless days and nights trying to make it absolutely perfect. It basically meant I was holed up in my room for who knows how long to also keep it hidden from him.

Knock knock. “It’s me, Nat. Just checking in.”

“Come in.” Natasha slipped in and quickly closed the door. She scanned my room. Nearly every surface was covered with pieces of cardigan or string. “It looks like a confetti cannon went off in here but with your yarn stuff.”

“Thanks Tasha. I’ve only spent, oh I don’t know, thirteen days in here trying to get my design right.” I huffed and threw down the shirt; my head dropping to my hands. “I don’t get it. Why can’t I do this, Tasha. I’ve been embroidering for months, and suddenly, I woke up and can no longer do it.”

“Honey, you’re overworking yourself. You just need to take a break. Let yourself rest then try again in a week.”

“I can’t do that! I want this to be done by the time he gets back from his mission. It’s his first mission since he was freed. I know it can be hard. I just...I just want him to come back to something that shows him I’m here.”

Natasha couldn’t help but frown. Ever since Bucky had joined the team, you two had had a rough relationship. The two of you were very private and closed off. It almost felt like putting two brick walls in front of each other to converse. Soon, the two of you were able to find a solid middle ground, but it was still really hard some days. You both denied it, but the love between you two was undeniable. There was still a bit of growing before the relationship had enough foundation though.

“I’m sorry. I can always go and sabotage the mission. Make them have to stay longer to give you more time.”

“Good heavens, no! I wouldn’t want him to have to be out of his comfort zone for a moment longer than necessary. I’ll just- just give him the best product I have when he gets back. It’s only a few days now. I’ve got enough time to start a new one but that’s it.”

“That’s the spirit. You usually work well under pressure; I’ve seen you cook dinner. I know it will be perfect.”

“Thanks Tasha. Guess I need to make a trip into town.”

Today was the day. Bucky. Steve, and Sam should be arriving within the hour. Return day from a mission was always rough. It always seemed like the day could never end. I’ve spent all morning doing everything I can to prevent that. A warm chicken pot pie, comfy socks, fresh drinks, and a clean area always helped. It may have been influenced by some mania, but that’s for another time.

“Miss, the group will be here in approximately 15 minutes. They have a debriefing then they should be free for the remaining portion of the day.”

“Perfect. My pot pie will be out in just enough time. Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

15 minutes to finish preparations, take pot pie out of the oven, change into clean cosy clothes, dish out food, then spend the final minutes preparing myself.

“Welcome home guys!”

They were shocked to say the least. Usually everyone avoided each other on mission days. It was always awkward despite them all going through the relatively same thing.

“I made chicken pot pie and got some comfy clothes ready, so y’all can just pick up your stuff and head to your rooms for some decompression.” Steve and Sam quickly, but gratefully, grabbed their designated plate and clothes and headed to their rooms. Bucky lingered though.

“I- uh, thank you, doll. It was very kind of you to do all this.”

“It’s no trouble, Bucky. I- uh actually have something else for you. I’ve been working on it for a while.” I quickly grab the box on top of the fridge. “I wanted to make you something cozy. I know- um that we’ve had a rough time becoming friends, but I wanted something to say that I’m always there for you even if we aren’t together...ya know? Uh, here you go.”

Bucky stares down at the box for a long time. Like an awkward amount of time. Enough for Natasha to come into the kitchen, realize what was trying to happen, and quickly flee.

Finally, his hand reaches for the ribbon, gently pulling it from the delicate bow. He sets the ribbon on the counter behind him. He carefully removed the top to reveal the insid-oh god. That’s...that’s the wrong sweater. Oh no. No no no no no. This can’t be happening.

“Wait, You can’t look at that. That’s- that’s not right. I must’ve made a mist-”

“Doll?”

“Yes, Bucky?”

“You made this for me?”

“Yes. I’ve made countless variations. That one is just the first one. I promise if you let me go grab the right one you’ll love it ev-”

“Doll?”

“Yes, Bucky?”

“You made this for me. You created this. With the intention of giving to me.” I can see the tears begin to sparkle on the edges of his eyes. The blue becomes stormy. “You made this with thoughts of me. You said you made countless versions. You thought of me the entire time I was gone.” He unfolded the cardigan and holds it out in front of himself. “Just like I thought of you. Every second my mind was running back to you. I thought going on that mission would make me feel better; make me feel like I’m finally contributing towards bettering the world from myself. But I was wrong. I was better with you.” He slips the cardigan over his shoulders. It fits him just as I imagined. “I’m better with you. I’ll admit, therapy and my mission helped, but it’s you. Just knowing that you are in my corner, thinking of me and cheering me on...i just. You know?”

At this point, tears are streaming down both of our faces. We’ve had our moments of vulnerability but nothing like this. We both take that step forward into each other’s arms. We’re both engulfed with love. We squeeze each other, trying to get closer to one another. His scent engulfs me: his musky cologne and the sweat from his mission. His tears dampen my neck, but I imagine his neck is damp with mine. I can feel his heart beating through his chest; fluttering like a bird.

We hold each other for a long time: pot pie and a shower lost to time. At some point, we become one. His beginnings become my endings. In that time, there were no more words. It was completely silent, but we had a conversation. Every gentle caress, every heavy breath, every move became more. Bucky and I have never had a conversation as deep and understanding as that one, and we never will again. To connect with someone like that is a once in a lifetime thing. Not just anyone can rub your back and pull you close like Bucky can.

Eventually, we had to get up. Dinner was soon, and people would begin to use this area again.

“Bucky. We need to get up.”

“Just- just a few more minutes, doll. I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

#bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #mcu fandom #marvel #fanfic #fluff #sad #i'm sad

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years ago

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[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [1/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Spring: Briolet | flowers, picnics, blueberries, running river

Read on AO3

Notes: Sometimes I get the urge to write four oneshots over the course of two days. This is the first of those oneshots. It’s briolet in spring, but be careful: there is so much hand holding and some smooches. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates]

---

Brody pricks her finger again. It's easy to avoid that, but she doesn't have a thimble, and her hands refuse to stop trembling.

No blood, and really, it didn’t even hurt. It more startled her, a bit of panic sparking in her gut at the idea of staining the martial and ruining her project. She stops her work to rest her hands and the fabric in her lap, closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. It does little to calm her nerves or her impatience.

“Don’t rush,” she mumbles to herself, readjusting her position on the bed. She crosses her legs and notices a long strand of thick, pale blue thread stuck to her pants. Great, she needed that color an hour ago to finish one of the flowers.

Doesn’t matter now, the floral design is complete and all she has left is to sew the pieces together. If she can finish soon, there’ll be more than enough time to clean up, gather the basket she made up the night before, and head down to the greenhouse. Violet should still be there.

Brody smiles, setting down her needle and holding the handmade eyepatch in her hands. She rubs a thumb over one of the little white flowers. She embroidered them just this morning, a final touch to the overall design. That feeling strikes her gut again, exciting her nerves.

The idea came to her one night after Violet found her in the common room. It was late at night, and the two shared a blanket on the couch and drank tea. Violet's ruined eye was covered with bandages despite being healed over. No one was able to find her an actual eye patch. The best they found was a plastic one used for a children’s pirate costume, so she kept it bandaged.

Violet never complains about it. She considers the bandages her patch, even though they're not the most comfortable to wear every day.

Brody decided at that moment that she would make her one. She tore through her closet the next morning, sorting through old shirts until she found one she never wore. Taupe in color, a thicker material, something she could easily work with.

Though she had no idea how eyepatches were made, figuring those things out came easy to Brody. She made several patterns, testing each one out on scraps until one worked. From there, it was all about creating a design should could see Violet wearing. It wasn't difficult- sewing and embroidery work came easy to her.

A family thing that stuck, she assumes.

Her grams used to do embroidery and cross-stitching work. She made a living off sewing intricate designs, all more beautiful than any painting. If Brody closes her eyes, she can still see the doorway into her gram’s cabin. The framed design of a flowery cottage with a stone path, rural trees and a cloudless sky hung up on the wall. Her gram’s final masterpiece. She worked on it for months, pouring every ounce of love she had into each stitch. It was something Brody admired every time she walked through that doorway.

She learned to hunt and skin animals from her dad and uncles, and sewing from her grams. Best of both worlds, she supposes. Two skills that became handier than she would’ve ever thought at the time.

Though her flowers weren’t as flawless as her gram’s once were, she still put her heart into each stitch just as she did. She hopes that when Violet sees it, she’ll feel the unspoken words Brody threaded through the fabric.

Purple, white, and blue flowers of all sizes, each with a yellow french knot in the center, standing bright against the muted taupe. She sewed a thicker piece beneath it, used a tiny bit of stuffing from an old, ripped pillow to give it some comfortable cushion. A piece of a silky shirt lines the inside so Violet’s skin won’t get agitated while wearing it.

After weeks of work, all she has left to sew is the straps she made. She had no way to measure the fit for Violet’s head since she wanted this to be a surprise, so she figured she could make them extra long enough to tie comfortably while wearing. If she needed to adjust anything, she could do that later.

Brody picks her needle back up.

It doesn’t take long to finish, even with her forcing herself to take her time.

With triumph, Brody sticks her needle back into its rightful container and hops off her bed, singing, “Ta-daah~ !”

Her mind is all over the place. Wrap up the patch-- does she have a box or even a bag?-- and hide it at the bottom of the woven basket she found in the basement, stuff the blanket in as much as she can so the two cups don’t clank together, and start boiling water for tea-- where the hell did she put the jar of blueberries?

She flicks a match to light the heater she borrowed from Clementine, letting the water come to a slow boil as she searches around for the mason jar. It’s right under her nose, of course, sitting in plain sight on her shelf.

With the greenhouse running smoothly and the trading they’ve done with the traveling caravan that comes around, they're able to plant seeds for several different fruits and vegetables. This week, they finally got their first bunch of blueberries in. She managed to pick a bunch and seal them away in a jar yesterday without Violet noticing. She thought they’d make for a refreshing picnic snack to pair with tea.

Brody’s been planning this picnic for a while now, all while she was working and spring came to chase the cold away. Her favorite time of year where it’s finally warm, but cool enough to not overheat everything. Grass grows greener, flowers bloom all over the place, the river flows, and the sun shines bright in the sky most days. Other days, like yesterday, it rains. She was worried it would rain today as well, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky today.

She lets the tea steep in a large mug and squeezes what she can from an old container of mostly crystallized honey. When it’s cooled down enough, she pours it slow and steady into an empty water bottle. Sure, they can’t have iced tea given they have no way to actually make ice once winter ends, but lukewarm tea would be just as good.

Basket in hand, Brody looks out her window one last time before leaving the dorms. With every step she takes, she grows closer to the greenhouse and her heart thumps gaily against her ribs.

Outside, everyone is out and about, enjoying the warm weather. AJ and Tenn color together at the table while Mitch works on sharpening his favorite knife. Willy sulks on the couch beside him with Ruby attending to his bleeding knee. She's going on about him needing to be more careful.

Clementine and Louis sit on the steps leading into the admin building. She sits a step lower, leaning back into his chest as the two talk. Brody waves at them as she passes, and Louis gives her a knowing grin when he eyes the basket.

It’s not a long walk to the greenhouse from there. She stops when she notices the wildflowers growing by the fence of the rabbit coop. Bees buzz around the white flowers, landing in their yellow centers. She hates to disturb them, but these flowers were part of her inspiration when designing Violet’s eyepatch. They're too perfect not to pick. She shoos away a fat bumblebee with pollen sticking to its little black legs, and gathers eight of the flowers, leaving plenty for the rest.

A simple bouquet, if she could even call it that, but it works.

Once inside, the fresh scent of wet soil and leafy greens hits her. Not as refreshing as the sweet air outside, but still, it fills her lungs with warmth. Or perhaps that sensation is from seeing Violet standing beside Omar, watering what Brody believes are the potatoes.

Most of her hair pulls back into a hair tie, apart from the bangs that fall over her forehead and bandages. She hasn’t had a haircut in a while, letting it grow long enough past her shoulders. A surprise, actually. Violet hasn’t had long hair since they were kids.

Not that Brody was complaining- she likes it very much.

Violet breaks her attention from the potatoes to meet her gaze. She grins, and yes, that warmth is definitely from her. Omar continues on about some sort of new stew he wants to try making, only stopping when he notices he’s lost Violet’s attention.

“Everything doin’ okay in here?” Brody asks.

Violet gives a shrug. She sticks her hand out to run along the wooden planter to steady herself. She meets Brody halfway, replying with, “Eh, nothing too exciting. Willy biffed it while watering the rabbits this morning, but other than that...”

“He about crushed one of the babies,” Omar adds with a shake of his head. “More upset about that than he was about his skinned knee.”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Brody laughs. “That why he looked so miserable when I passed him?”

“Probably. He tried to catch it to apologize, but it was too quick even for him, and Ruby didn’t want him getting a bunch of muck all over him with an open wound, so…”

Apologizing to a baby bunny that they’re eventually going to eat? Sounds like Willy, Brody thinks. But never mind that, she has more important things than rabbits.

She reaches out to grab Violet’s free hand, her lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile as she asks, “Are you almost finished ?”

“Yeah,” Violet says, raising a questioning brow. “Why?”

“We’re going on a picnic!”

Violet pauses, only now noticing the basket in Brody’s grasp.

“We are?”

“We are!”

“That’s news to me.”

Brody lets go of her hand to present her with the flowers. Violet stares at them for a moment as her skin flushes, starting at her neck and blooming along her cheeks. If Omar weren’t standing over there, Brody would lean over and kiss that lovely blush.

“And where exactly would we have a picnic?”

“By the river. Already got a spot in mind.”

Violet holds the flowers close to her chest and clears her throat. She glances back at Omar, and says, “Uh, I don’t-”

“Go ahead,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I can take care of the rest. Go have your picnic, be careful. And Brody,” he points to her, putting on a stern voice, “have her home by eight, and don’t have too much fun.”

Brody laughs.

“Yes, sir!”

Violet shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement.

“Well, okay, I guess we’re going on a picnic. There better be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in there... that's what people eat on picnics, right?”

“Yeah, but no. Close, though.”

Locking their hands together once more, Brody leads Violet out of the greenhouse and through the gates. Soon, they’re outside the walls of Ericson. Heading down the path, she makes sure to keep watch out for any obstacles to warn Violet about.

Brody knows that Violet’s other eye works perfectly well, but given that her depth perception isn’t what it used to be, she can’t help but be extra careful. She used that excuse to hold Violet’s hand before they were together, both still recovering from their respective injuries. Better safe than sorry, use the buddy system, and that system requires hand-holding. Brody didn’t make the rules.

“Never been on a picnic before,” Violet breaks the silence.

“No? Not even before?”

“No.”

“We used to go out on picnics to eat and play games all the time. Me, my grandma, my daddy and uncles, cousins- if it was warm out, we were out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Most times it was,” Brody says, giving Violet’s hand a squeeze. “ Just because those days are gone doesn’t mean we can’t do that kinda stuff now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there are more walkers around than there were back then.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be a big issue today,” Brody smiles. “I asked James to check the area and he collected the walkers he found. The river should be clear.”

Even without looking at her, she can sense her surprise. Violet’s quiet for a moment, turning her head to peer around them before saying, “You planned this.”

It’s not a question, but more of a realization.

“I thought this was a spur of the moment thing,” Violet admits. “I, uh…”

When she doesn’t continue, Brody says, “ Not many opportunities to take you out on a date,” the word makes Violet blush and repress a smile, “and when one does arise, you bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna take it .”

Violet says nothing more, but her grip on Brody’s hand tightens.

They make it to the river without spotting a single walker. She kept her knife handy in case, but James was thorough, it seems. Brody makes a note to thank him again for helping her out.

The running water is soothing and the grass colors with golden dandelions. It’s nice to be down here without the intention of working up a sweat while fishing, she thinks. They find a flat piece of grass, kicking rocks, sticks, and pinecones out of the way to lay the blanket down. Together they sit side by side with the basket between them.

Rubbing her hands together, Brody digs in to pull everything out. Except for the eyepatch. It remains, wrapped in a pillowcase she found. Hopefully Louis won’t notice she snuck it from his horde of pillows.

“Alright, we got tea and blueberries,” Brody says, handing one mug to Violet and opening the mason jar of berries. Their sweet scent escapes into the air, making her mouth water.

“How’d you manage to sneak these past Omar?” Violet asks, popping a blueberry into her mouth. Her face twists at the taste, and for a moment Brody worries they might be sour, but Violet shakes her head. “They’re good, just not used to that.”

By now the tea is completely cooled, and while not cold, still delightful to sip on.

“Open wide,” Violet says, holding up a blueberry. It misses Brody’s mouth, bouncing off her chin. Violet laughs. “Pfft, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, try again.”

Another miss.

“Aww, nope!”

“Well, let's see you try!”

Brody throws up a berry, and Violet misses it completely.

“Damn depth perception,” she grins, grabbing the berry and tossing it up herself. It hits her cheek, lost to the grass. “Damn it!”

Violet’s laugh, while rare, is as bewitching as it is infectious. It’s been so long since Brody heard her laugh like this, and to know that they’re here together, comfortable together…

Emotion builds in her throat, and she has to eat berries to suppress it. She aims the blueberry just right, and Violet catches it this time. As she chews, they both let out victorious giggles.

Once the laughter dies down, Violet brings her knees to her chest as she watches the river.

“Think we’re missing out on a fish haul?” she asks.

“Nah,” Brody pulls the basket closer to look inside, biting her lip as she runs her fingers over the covered patch. “And if we are, I’m sure the traps’ll make up for it.”

Should she do it now? They did just get here, did she want to surprise her early, or…?

Brody grabs a flower instead, bringing it up to her nose to inhale the soft scent. An idea occurs to her as she admires the girl before. Scooping up the flowers, Brody breaks off most of the stems. The flower slips in through Violet’s hair, right where the hair tie is.

Violet jerks her head around to look back, but Brody says, “Don’t move.”

“What are you-?”

She doesn’t need to answer the question, she merely secures a few more flowers within the light strands of hair before leaning back to admire her work. She even tucks one behind her own ear so they match.

Violet remains quiet, but lays her hand on Brody's. A silent, content thank you.

Brody doesn’t know how long they sat there watching the river, sipping tea, and listening to the birds chirp from the trees . A small butterfly flutters by them, and for a moment, Brody forgets the world around them. Forgets the walkers, forgets Ericson, too swept up in the way the warm air blew against her skin, in how Violet’s hand felt in hers, and the strange sense of wonder, a desire to kick off her shoes and run through the river.

It took Violet kissing the back of her hand to break her out of it.

Violet grew sheepish, glancing away as if she needed to come up with an explanation for the kiss, and that was it.

“Vi,” she started, pulling her around to face her. “I have- I made ya somethin’.”

The nervous pounding in her chest thumps in her ears as she reached back into the basket, pulling out the pillowcase.

“Aw, from Lou’s stash,” Violet grins, amused. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, not the pillowcase,” Brody fidgets with it until she finds what she’s looking for. Her thumb brushes over the flowers beneath the thin material. With a deep breath, she goes for it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about you. Us... just everything, and- Remember that night we stayed up in the common room talkin’? I thought… well, I wanted to do this for you.”

Brody hands her the pillowcase. Not once does she take her eyes off Violet’s face, noting the curiosity and confusion playing in her features as she accepts the gift.

The eyepatch is finally brought out into the sunlight, laying in Violet’s palm.

Neither of them speaks. Violet’s lips part, eye widening.

Brody lets the air out of her lungs slow, and then the words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

“We couldn’t find you anything to wear other than that stupid costume patch, and I know you said you didn’t mind the bandages but then I got to thinkin’ ‘bout how bandages might not always be the comfiest-”

“Brody…” Violet’s voice is quiet, trembling as it breaks.

“-and I want you to be comfortable in somethin’ that you like, so I made this for you- the whole thing, hand sewed it myself. I- but y’know, if it’s maybe too much- I wasn’t sure if it might bring too much attention and you wouldn’t like that-”

She’s cut off when Violet practically throws herself at her, burying her face in the crook of Brody’s neck and holding her tight. Brody doesn’t hesitate. She embraces her back, pressing a hand to cradle her head.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Violet's voice quivers.

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

Violet pulls back, and without warning, her hands cup Brody’s face. She presses their lips together in a way that’s anything but gentle. It’s firm, purposeful, and loving. All tension from her body melts away, and Brody truly believes she could kiss her all day and that tingle? The one that coursed through her veins, the butterflies that fluttered in her belly? It would never go away. It wouldn't even lessen.

They break apart, and Violet’s staring down at the eyepatch in her hands.

“Holy shit. It’s… I don’t-” she tries again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Brody assures her, brushing the bangs that fell over her face.

“No one’s ever made me anything like this before. I mean, not a patch, just … you know.”

“Want to try it on?”

Violet nods, and Brody’s undoing the bandages with ease. Her eye's healed from the damage the raiders inflicted, leaving only angry scars. The patch is a perfect size, covering everything.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nice. Soft.”

“Does this feel tight enough? Like it won’t fall off, but not too tight?”

“Yeah, it feels good.”

“Couldn’t figure out a good way to clasp it together, so it ties. If ya want me to change it or anything, I can make adjustments... There!”

Violet turns back around, avoiding her gaze. Brody studies her face, the way the colors of the embroidered flowers make the green in her other eye vibrant, how the taupe of the fabric flatters her.

“Beautiful.”

Violet scoffs, ducking her head to hide the flustered smile that betrays her lips. This gives Brody the perfect excuse to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so mushy,” Violet says, embarrassed but trying to force a playful tone. “Y’know that?”

Well, to be fair, Brody could be mushier, so she replies with an over-the-top, sweet, “Only with you.”

Violet groans and they laugh once more.

They know their little picnic will wrap up soon, so together they sit close and enjoy the comfort of nature for a few minutes longer.

“Thank you, Brody… really.”

Brody responds with another kiss.

Yeah, she thinks. She could kiss Violet all day.

#[against all odds your hand in is mine]#twdg briolet #twdg violet #twdg brody #briolet #violet twdg #brody twdg #spring: briolet #thank you for reading #it's always super appreciated :D #twdg fanfics #twdg fanfiction

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jungwooisms · 4 years ago

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hwarang | jungwoo (teaser)

act ii teaser

pairing: kim jungwoo x female!reader genre: historical au, fluff, angst, supernatural members: nakamoto yuta, qian kun, zhong chenle warnings: crass humor and language, war, almost slightly suggestive content(?), blood, blood consumption (vampires??), historical inaccuracies for the sake of plot progression word count: ~6k a/n: this is shoddy but! spoilers for act ii, the real deal to be posted this weekend!

February 17th, 665 — Seonggwa Inn, Ungjin, Kingdom of Silla You’re working on a small bit of embroidery when the door to your room flies open, Nakamoto Yuta stands there, his hand on the handle as he looks to you. The Hwarang’s voice resounds calmly as the speaks, “There you are.”

“Oh, hi Yuta.” You say, gently setting down the cloth and needle as to not prick yourself, “What brings you to my quarters?”

“I have a letter and a package from Doctor Namekawa,” he reaches inside of his robe for a moment procure the two objects, “both are addressed to you.”

Extended are a folded piece of paper and a neatly wrapped parcel, small enough to fit into the palm of your hand. “Thank you…” You muse, unsure of what is inside of each.

“I’ll be going now,” he says quickly before leaving just as soon as he’d entered.

Without waiting, you open the letter, quickly scanning the contents, savoring each word. Namekawa writes of a medicine he’d concocted to subdue a Fury’s bloodlust, hoping that it may be of use to you at some point. The contents of the package seem to be small, wrapped bags of compressed powder, presumably the medicine. The doctor warns that the medicine only provides temporary relief, no successful attempt had been made to sate bloodlust entirely. For your father who had had the entirety of his tenure in Toehwa-hyeon to create the pimul… Namekawa’s breakthrough surprises you.

Although, now that you think of your home, an idea springs to mind.

“Toehwa-hyeon…” you soon come to a realization. Perhaps documentation relating to the pimul could be stashed away somewhere in your old residence. Just as the though soars through your mind, another voice calls out, this time drifting in through your window.

“Is anyone home?” A voice resounds around the courtyard. It’s instantly familiar, you find yourself stuffing the letter and bags of medicine into your robes before racing outside to greet the visitor.

“Jungwoo,” your heart jumps once you see him standing outside in the blustery air.

“It’s been a while,” he smiles at the the sight of you. From his robes, he procures a letter, “I’ll be honest, I hadn’t expected you to write so soon… I planned to send a response but thought it’d be better to reply in person.”

“How are you feeling?” You ask, glancing to the sun peeking in from behind a wall of gray clouds. “Tired?”

“A bit,” he says with a nod, “But not enough to make it hard for me to pretend otherwise.”

“I see…” you nod, “I’m happy to see you again.” Jungwoo is incredibly resilient at times, at some points to the edge of stubbornness, so there’s a chance that he may be feigning feeling well for your sake but…

He smiles as he always had, glowing with an outright cheerfulness.

“Would you like to come in? I can brew you some tea.”

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.”

“I’m so sorry for the sudden intrusion,” he apologizes as the two of you settle into the main hall after you’ve quickly brewed tea in the compound’s kitchen. “You’re too gracious, as always.”

“Before I forget,” he says, reaching for his cup of steaming tea, taking a sip before continuing, “Kangjoon hasn’t made his way here, has he?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to warm your hands by wrapping them around your teacup, “The last I saw him was in Yeonhwa.”

“That’s a relief,” Jungwoo sighs out as he sets his cup down, “We still can’t afford to keep our guards down though.”

“The compounds seem more… Quiet now than they had in Seorabeol, where are the others?” He asks, looking at the empty room.

“Many of the men are out working, especially the Commander. He’s either in his room or somewhere with the King’s council.”

After a moment of quiet, you turn to him, “…Jungwoo?”

“Oh?” He looks a bit jostled, “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, I was just curious as to what you’re thinking… You seem a bit lost in thought.”

“There’s much to think about, as you can imagine,” he says quietly, “You must forgive me. Spending time with you is too much of a luxury to lose it by thinking and letting my mind wander.”

“I— I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quickly. He has so many things that could be troubling him; the upcoming war, his new status as a Fury, even his arm.

You imagine it to be the latter, considering the duel with Kangjoon seems to be fresh in his mind still.

Thinking of something to change the topic, you recall the letter you’d received just before his arrival. “Jungwoo, Doctor Namekawa sent me medicine today.”

“Medicine?” He questions with a tilt of his head, “Are you ill?”

“Nothing like that,” hand hovering over your robes, “It has the power to suppress a Fury’s bloodlust. Although, according to the letter, it isn’t perfect. It has its limits. Even if it’s not a perfect cure… it did make me think. If we were to look through my father’s old things in Toehwa-hyeon, we may be able to find some sort of research helpful to Namekawa.”

“You’re…” Jungwoo begins but you’re mind is already racing. The likelihood of creating a cure means that when Jungwoo, or another Fury, is stricken with bloodlust, it can be dealt with immediately.

At first, Jungwoo remains quiet, looking into the dregs of his teacup. “I think I should be able to make time to return with you.” He looks to you with a small, hopeful smile, “Surely both Taeyong and Jaemin would be happy if we were able to improve their conditions as well?”

“I need to get approval from Colonel Lee first,” you say, already moving to rise to your feet. “It’ll only be just a minute.”

Taeyong is hidden away in the recesses of the compound when you find him, at first, he seems wary of the prospect of you and Jungwoo returning back to the eastern coast to rummage through your father’s works, but warms at the idea of a treatment for bloodlust. Having the watchful eye of the Naegeumwi looking over you puts him in a lighter mood as well.

It isn’t until the next day that you can venture out towards Toehwa-hyeon, yet when the time comes, you and Jungwoo set out at dawn, eager to find anything that’s been left.

February 24th, 665 — Heo Clinic, Toehwa-hyeon, Kingdom of Silla It has been years since you last stepped into your hometown, and looking at the state of your father’s clinic could tell you as much. Weeds had made home in the space between rocks and cracks, a general disorder radiates from the home itself.

“I’m unsure of what I expected but I hadn’t thought the house would fall into disrepair this fast…” you muse as you make your way towards the entrance, dry weeds crunching underfoot. “How long has it been since you were here last, Jungwoo?” A question to the warrior, but the air remains quiet, “Jungwoo?”

Turning, you see him staring off into space, he seems to catch your movement and looks to you with a smile, “Oh, sorry. It feels like a lifetime since my last visit here… The nostalgia is a bit overwhelming.”

“I see…” You understand that there’s a lot to take in, even the yard is an eyesore, yet something tells you what he’s concerned with is far more serious. Hand moving to the door, you gently open it, finding yourself face first with a cloud of dust eager to make its escape into the open air. “I’m sorry for the mess,” you huff as you motion Jungwoo inside.

He nods solemnly before entering, seeing him in this unsettled state tears at you, you’re desperate to know what’s causing it.

Dust, you find, coats every surface in your home. It clings to your clothes, your hair, and your cheeks as you sift through stacks of documents and notes. Neither of you are certain of what you’re searching for, nor had the insight to tell what could be of use.

“This may as well be in a foreign language,” you frown, setting down another stack of papers, “I barely know what any of it means.” Looking up, you settle your gaze on Jungwoo, a frown pulling at your lips, “I’m sorry for bringing you here, you took time away from your duties to help and there isn’t anything to show for it…”

“Don’t apologize for things outside of your control,” he tries to reassure you, yet the melancholy in his eyes feels thicker than the dust flitting around the room. It’s as if you’re speaking to a shadow.

You know it isn’t your place to ask, but you can’t help yourself, “Jungwoo… did something happen?”

Jungwoo’s expression twinges, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not as responsive as you typically are,” noting with a flicker from head to toe before looking him in the eyes once more, “Do you want to talk about it? If you open up I may be able to help.”

Jungwoo holds his breath, and then it all seems to come out in a sigh of frustration, “I’m sorry. After not having seen you for a while, the last thing I would have wanted is for you to see me like this.” A shake of his head before he continues, “The chief Naegeumwi and I haven’t seen eye to eye as of late. Ever since our move to Ungjin, Kun has been racing around the council, participating in meetings with the noblemen most involved in the upcoming war. The tensions are high as to how much aid from Tang we should receive, and no matter how many appointments Kun makes, the council spring cancellations on him without any remorse, or force him to run in circles like a headless chicken…”

“Really?” You can’t help but say the thought aloud. In prior conflicts, the King, along with his officials, had written off a majority of the Hwarang’s attempts to legitimize themselves fully. Hearing Jungwoo speak about the practice still taking place, even though the Kingdom is on the brink of another battle, explains as to why he seems so crushed.

“As their colleague, I feel wholeheartedly embarrassed.” Jungwoo breaks his eye contact with you to look at the ceiling, “One would think the pressures of another entity and an impeding threat would spur them into action and cohesion but… They’ve politicized even their inner circles to the point where nothing gets done.”

“Jungwoo…” For as long as you’d known him, he’d been clever, forthcoming and an overall gentleman. For him to work in the company of those who share neither his ambition or empathy must be nothing less of strenuous. It’s a moral dilemma that calls into question what, exactly, had he been fighting for this entire time.

“Don’t be harsh on yourself,” you say, trying to find the right words to bring him a semblance of comfort. “The Commander will find a way to work something out, I’m sure of it. This isn’t the first time the Hwarang have been treated like this, and it certainly won’t be the last.” Your words seem to reach him, his expression softening.

“That’s a good point,” Jungwoo smiles briefly. “Kun isn’t the type to let the naysayers deter him from getting things done.” Seeing him give you a genuine smile makes your heart race, a sense of relief washing over you.

“I’m glad,” you return the smile.

“About what?” He seems confused by the way his brow furrows slightly.

“I was worried about you,” you relinquish, “You hadn’t seemed like yourself on our way here. But that smile, it’s more like the Jungwoo I know. I’d feel anxious about everything you have to think about too, it really explains a lot.”

Jungwoo shies away from you all of a sudden, turning his head to the side with pursed lips. “To tell you the truth, something else has kept my mind ensnared. Something for which you may not be prepared…”

“Huh?” Brow furrowing as you look to him brooding, “What do you mean…?”

He sighs and looks down to the documents before him, flipping through the pages nonchalantly which only helps aid your curiosity. Fingers tracing circles atop the dusty table before he looks to you, your lips part to question him but before you can— Jungwoo reaches out for you.

Jungwoo all but tackles you, pinning you to the floor before you can step back, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process that stings your eyes. His left hand pulses as he takes your hand in his, your eyes widening.

“J- Jungwoo? What are you doing?” Sweat trails down your spine, and under him you can barely draw a breath. And even when you’d asked him, he ignores you completely.

The two of you remain face to face, his gaze unwavering as your eyes lock together. There’s an eagerness that runs rampant in his stare, though it seems more ravenous than passionate.

An involuntary shiver as your body reacts to his proximity, his eyes eventually close and he begins to inch his face towards you. It takes a second, but you realize what his intentions must be, so you too close your eyes and wait for his lips to find yours.

A sudden gasp and you feel his weight lifted from you, he scrambles backwards, his face becoming pale and rigid from shock. His left arm snaps back to his side as he recalls what he’d just done.

“What did I just do?” Jungwoo berates himself, head hanging as his harsh gaze once again turns soft. “I’m so sorry— What have I done…”

“It— It’s okay,” you say as you push yourself up from the floor, trying your best not to cough from the dust. Jungwoo seems so flustered that you almost feel guilty, you hesitate on how to respond. It feels as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest, Jungwoo was raised as a nobleman, one of the last people you’d expect to try and force himself onto you.

He seems to be as equally confused, by virtue of his grave demeanor, you think it best not to pry.

“I think,” he says as he raises himself to his feet, you following soon after, “That we should return to Ungjin. Sooner or later the Hwarang will worry about your absence.”

A nod and a last look around the home, eyeing spots of sentimental value when Jungwoo lets out a cry of pain and hunches over. His hand slams onto the table before he falls to his knees, grimacing in extreme discomfort.

“Jungwoo?” You ask, noticing that his hair is becoming white, his eyes tinging with a deep red you’d seen in both Jaemin and Taeyong’s stares at times.

“It’s okay,” he says through grit teeth, “If I stay still, eventually thi- this will pass.”

“Do you,” your eyes widen, wondering if this is what you’d heard of from the Fury captains, “Do you need blood?”

Jungwoo’s shoulders jerk at the question, the muscles in his neck strain as he turns towards you. It’s enough to confirm your suspicions. It seems as if he’s displaying a great degree of control, you have a feeling that this isn’t his first experience with bloodlust.

In a moment of clarity, you recall the medicine that Namekawa had sent you, reaching in your robes to grab it. He had written that it could temporarily sate bloodlust, but you know nothing of its full effectiveness or potency. What you do know is that blood is an immediate deterrent, and with your healing abilities, you’re nonplussed about afflicting a minor wound on yourself.

Perhaps Jungwoo may be resistant to the idea, but you see no other way.

“Jungwoo… Drink my blood,” you say and his eyes widen incredulously.

“A-Are you serious?” Jungwoo grimaces, “The thought of doing that to you… It’s sickening!”

“The longer you wait the more agony you’ll be in,” you insist quickly, “Don’t worry about me, you know that I heal quickly so please…”

“You’re mistaken,” he’s fervent, shaking his head adamantly, “This pain is nothing. I simply… I have no desire to drink your blood. If I give into these cravings, I may as well give myself up to madness.”

For all of his charm, Jungwoo sure is stubborn. But as the blood drains from his face and he seems to be on the verge of collapse, you reach for your blade. The steel slices lightly and quickly over the palm of your hand, Jungwoo calls out your name in worry.

As the air hits the wound, it begins to sting, you hold your hand out to him, “Before the cut heals…”

His face scrunches as if he’d been the one to be injured. Yet, he eventually relents.

“Promise me that you won’t look at me until I’m… done.” His teeth clench at his request, you can only assume he means for you not to think ill of him. You nod quickly, glancing to your wound to make sure that it hasn’t closed.

After a moment of hesitation, he gently pulls your hand towards him and you look to the various shelves in the room. His breath tickles your palm just before his lips attach to your skin. The sensation is odd, you can’t help but make a noise of surprise when he begins to drink from you.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, mouth leaving your palm.

“I’m alright,” you shake your head, still complying with his wish for you not to look at him, “This is nothing, believe me.”

As his mouth finds your wound again, you feel a dull pressure stinging you, but you don’t want to guilt him.

“I can tell by the way that your muscles tense that it hurts,” Jungwoo whispers, sounding ashamed. Another shake of your head before he takes in a long sip and his shallow breathing begins to stabilize.

“Your breathing seems much more calm now,” you note as he stands on shaky legs, his hair returning to its natural hue, “That’s good.”

“There’s nothing ‘good’ about it,” Jungwoo frowns, using his sleeve to wipe away any reach of blood from his lips, “Why must I drink your blood in order to—” He stops himself, shaking his head, “No, you only offered to me out of concern. Forgive my outburst, it was never my intention to blame you.”

Maybe you do deserve the blame, you begin to worry if forcing him to drink your blood overstepped an unspoken boundary between the two of you. An awkward silence drifts through the air as you straighten your robes as you begin to leave.

March 9th, 665 — Seonggwa Inn, Kingdom of Silla During the time that you’d been away in Toehwa-hyeon, orders from the King to march on Hanseong had come. Upon your arrival back to the compound, you find many of the men scrambling to prepare for the upcoming trek.

“Are you almost ready to go?” Kun asks as he passes by your room, you almost hadn’t recognized him with his new uniform. As Silla had solidified its allegiance with Tang, they’d adopted their military style of armor and battle gear to further show their connection. It isn’t an awful design, you’re just used to seeing their blues.

“In a moment,” you nod, not feeling rested as you’d only returned to Ungjin several days prior.

The Commander had said last night that he’d like you to stay in Gochang while the Hwarang march north. Hanseong, a city that technically is in Silla’s domain, had been captured by Goguryeo some weeks ago and the fighting would be hellish. Even after insisting that you could help, Kun never relented in his wishes for you to stay behind. That’s how you find yourself following him through the streets of Gochang towards your new residence some days after the men had begun their march north.

Even if you’re dressed as a man, staying alone in the city is dangerous, especially with the threat of Demons lingering in the kingdom. So, it had been decided, with his permission, that you’ll await their return in Kim Jungwoo’s domicile for the time being.

“This is your first time visiting Jungwoo’s place, isn’t it?” Kun asks as you walk the streets, you notice there isn’t as much foot traffic here as in the larger cities like Seorabeol and Ungjin.

“When we were kids it was always Jungwoo visiting me,” you nod slowly, “I doubt my father would’ve let me leave the village anyway…”

“I see,” he huffs out a laugh, the corner of his lips curling, “Just don’t be too surprised by what you see, okay?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see,” he says vaguely as the two of you turn down one of the side roads.

Had Jungwoo not been standing outside of the entrance of the large residence, you never would’ve thought it to be his family home. You find your mouth lying agape as you try and count the number of buildings peeking out from atop the gate surrounding the estate before you return your attention the the Naegeumwi.

“Welcome,” Jungwoo says politely as he looks from you to Kun, “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Please, follow me inside.” The sunlight bares down onto all three of you as Jungwoo opens the gate to his lavish home, when he notices you looking wide eyed at the interior, he speaks again, “Is something wrong?”

“Oh! Uhm…”

“Don’t mind her,” Kun snorts and teases you, “I’m sure she’s trying to decide which room she’ll make into her own little infirmary.”

In a way, you’re almost entranced by the estate; a lush courtyard sprawls in front of the main building, it nearly rivals the size of the block you grew up on. Suddenly, you realize that Jungwoo’s status as heir to Kim Alcheon’s school means more than just a fancy title. Alcheon had been the Sangdaedeung, a man of great power, only topped by the position of King or Queen.

“I hope that this doesn’t change how you perceive me,” Jungwoo says almost shyly as the three of you step into the main hall, “My family, and its privileges, are only happenstance of birth.” You nod your head and he smiles, “Let’s relax for a bit... Chenle should be around here somewhere.”

As soon as his name is uttered, the warrior races out from one of the surrounding rooms, his eyes immediately lock onto Kun’s, “Hello, it’s been a while, Commander!” There’s a smile on his lips but nervousness tinges on the edge of his words.

“Spare the formalities,” Kun sighs and shakes his head, “At ease.”

“No formalities then,” Chenle nods his head eagerly.

“Is your father around?” Kun asks, looking to Jungwoo, “Or his he off serving the King?”

“He’s back in Seorabeol with King Munmu,” Jungwoo reveals, “As of now it’s only a handful of caretakers and I remaining here.”

“Huh, sounds like you can relax a little bit,” Kun says as he looks to you, “This’ll be the perfect place for you to lay low while we’re gone.”

“Thank you for letting me stay with you,” you say, turning to Jungwoo.

“It’s my pleasure,” his smile genial as he continues, “I’m happy to have you.” However, his smile soon falters as he addresses Kun, “How do you expect to fare on your mission? Fortuitously, I hope?”

“It could really go either way,” Kun huffs, crossing his arms, “It depends on how serious Gaesomun is about keeping Hanseong. But if I learned anything about fighting Baekje, we don’t know a damn thing about our enemies until we’re standing face to face with them on the battlefield.”

“Well put…” Jungwoo sighs, “The fact remains that the Hwarang shouldn’t bear this responsibility alone, though.Normally men from the army, or even us Naegeumwi, are meant to organize and lead the armies into battle, yet here we are…”

“Your main focus is to keep the King safe,” Kun reminds him, “Leave the dirty work to us, your time’ll come soon enough.”

A flicker of a smile crosses Jungwoo’s lips, “Something tells me you’re right.”

“In the meantime, watch out for her,” Kun throws you a grin, “She’s a troublemaker.” He nods towards Jungwoo, sneering coyly before quickly rushing out of the home without another word. Almost as soon as Kun leaves, Jungwoo looks to sink into a foul mood, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown.

“Cheer up,” Chenle says at his friend’s demeanor, “None of us are really happy about how the king’s handling things. Even the legendary Qian Kun can attest to that, there’s going to be plenty of opportunities for us to help out in the war ahead.”

“Yes…” Jungwoo doesn’t reciprocate Jungwoo’s optimism, it isn’t just the Crown that has his worries tied. Ever since he’d drank the pimul he’d promised Sooyoung to not get involved with human affairs. That means if the Naegeumwi were to get more involved with the war effort, Jungwoo can’t enter the fray.

“Since I have to remain in your care for some time, Jungwoo,” you say to distract him from the thoughts you know are sending him spiraling, “if there’s anything you would like me to do around the house, please let me know.”

Chenle sighs airily, “I wish someone offered to my my personal chef.”

“You don’t—” Jungwoo seems flustered by his friend’s statement.

“If there’s anything you’d prefer to have, please let me know.”

“That’s nonsense,” Jungwoo insists quickly, “You’re my guest, it’d be rude to have you prepare my dinner.”

“You’re way too harsh on yourself,” Chenle interrupts, “This is the perfect opportunity to revel in the newlywed life without anyone to disturb you.”

“Newlywed?!” You huff, your eyes widening in embarrassment.

“What are you implying, Chenle?” Jungwoo’s voice rises as Chenle only laughs at him. “Her? As my wife?! I’m not fit to serve as a husband at this time!”

“And I’d never be remotely anywhere near his level for marriage!” You add, feeling flames licking at the sides of your cheeks and up your neck.

Chenle sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “You’re both still on the ‘Woe is me, I’ll never be good enough for the other’ part of your relationship…” His eyes crack open as he looks at the two of you, “From my point of view, both of you are on the same page. And I have to admit it, I’m sort of jealous. Anyway— it’s rude of me to intrude on a lovers’ moment so I’ll be on my way.”

“C- Chenle!” You seek desperately to clear the air before the warrior has a chance to escape but the man is already halfway out the door with a Cheshire grin.

And so, Jungwoo and you are alone, the conversation still bouncing around your brains, echoing Chenle’s sentiments.

“About what he said…” Jungwoo says after a pregnant pause, “Just ignore it, okay?”

“What he said?”

“You know, about living as a couple or whatever he was spewing,” Jungwoo trips on his words, his eyes seeming to look anywhere but at you. “He has a terrible sense of humor, I’ve been meaning to tell him to fix it for some time.” His incessant politeness only exacerbates the tension tangible between the two of you, the heat of embarrassment still clawing at you.

“I understand…” You’ve reached the point where you wish your head could be buried underground and out of his presence for the time being.

“Anyway— Why don’t I escort you to your quarters?” He sighs and begins to walk through the main hall, “If you’ll just follow me.”

After finding your way to your room, Jungwoo leaves you as you unpack quietly, slowly getting accustom to your new quarters. Once unpacked, you return to the main hall to eat dinner with Jungwoo in silence before going your separate ways once more to your respective rooms. You find it hard to sleep, your mind too busy noticing the extravagant décor of the room, much more decadent than any of your accommodations at the Hwarang’s compounds had been.

As you roll over, swaddled in your plush blankets, you can’t help but wonder if Jungwoo is having issues sleeping as well. He spends his waking hours in the sunlight, something you know that drains Furies’ strength. Yet judging on how he’d been on the journey to your hometown, one would be hard pressed to notice any significant changes in his stamina. A testament to his will, more than anything, you’ve come to find that Kim Jungwoo is full of surprises.

However, just like the members of the Fury Corps, the encroaching bloodlust has been eating at him too. It’s only a matter of time until that worsens. You want to do something before that insanity consumes him entirely, but you’re not sure how to help. If there’s a solution, you need to find it quickly.

March 10th, 665 — Kim Jungwoo’s Residence, Gochang, Kingdom of Silla Before you know it, dawn seeps in through the lone window of your room, although it feels as if you’d only just closed your eyes to sleep.

Too awake now to fall back into slumber, you quickly dress yourself and search around the home for the kitchen. When Jungwoo finally finds you, you’ve set out a select few dishes in the main hall, his eyes widen as he realizes what you’ve done.

“Oh, thank you,” he smiles softly and sits across from you. “This is a first, isn’t it strange for you?” Jungwoo asks as you set down a cup of tea before him, “The fact that you’re in my home, I mean.”

“A bit,” you agree, quietly sipping at your tea. Chenle’s words still resonate cruelly around your head, no matter how hard you try to forget.

Once the two of you finish eating, Jungwoo thanks you once more, “Thank you again for doing this, I’m not sure I could have made a better meal if I tried.”

“That means a lot,” you smile in response, beginning to gather the now empty dishes. “Jungwoo?” His name falling from you as you shift the dishes in your hands, “I know it may be difficult to admit but doesn’t walking around in the daylight… hurt you? Don’t you feel any weaker?”

“Ah,” he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily, “It stings from time to time.”

“Then allow me to manage all of the minutiae of the home,” you say, setting down the stack of plates, “I’ll welcome any guests and receive any mail for you. It’s imperative that you feel well so I want you to rest as much as you can.”

“Do you really feel comfortable handling all of that on your own?” He asks, a concerned tinge to his voice.

“Of course, it’s the least I can do in return for you allowing me to stay here.”

“Your generosity is humbling,” his eyes shine as he smiles at you, “I cannot thank you enough.”

September 1st, 665 — Kim Jungwoo’s Residence, Kingdom of Silla Days and months passed quickly, Kun’s letters from Hanseong had relayed difficulty in laying siege to the city, but he seemed confident enough that they would overtake the city soon and he’d be returning to get you and reunite you with the rest of the Hwarang.

Life in Jungwoo’s home had been quiet, with little indication that the Crown is going to send the Naegeumwi of his Sodang unit out. Many of the warrior’s days had been spent resting or training. On this night, you’d cooked a large meal as Chenle had stopped by earlier in the evening and you’d invited him to stay for dinner.

“This is so good!” Chenle cries out, taking a bite of the stew you’d prepared, his eyes, brimming with faux tears, move to look at you, “You’re an excellent chef!”

“You flatter me,” you laugh, waving your hand at him.

“No, really, it was great!” Chenle insists, and then looks to Jungwoo, “I really don’t know how you do it. If I were in your shoes, eating exquisite food like this every day, I’m not sure that I’d let even my mother cook for me again.”

“Again with this?” Jungwoo sighs, “Steering things into an unwanted direction at her expense.”

“Say,” Chenle says, moving closer to his friend, his arm wrapping around his shoulders, “Tonight’s beautiful, the stars are out, the breeze is nice— Why don’t we all go for a drink?”

Before Jungwoo’s able to give a response, one of the servant’s voices rings out, “May I have a moment of your time, Lord Kim?” All of you go silent as the man pokes his head into the room, only then to walk in carrying a folded piece of parchment, “A letter arrived from Qian Kun.”

“Bring it here,” Jungwoo says, extending his hand out to grasp the paper. Chenle and you remain quiet as the servant leaves and Jungwoo begins scanning the contents of Kun’s letter. As he reads, his expression grows more dim, you and Chenle exchange worried glances.

“What does it say?” Chenle questions when it seems as if Jungwoo’s finished reading.

Without a word, Jungwoo hands him the letter. The room stays quiet, save for the sound of rustling paper as Chenle reads. Before his friend finishes, Jungwoo shoots up from his chair and storms off angrily from the room.

“Jungwoo wait!” You call out and chase after him. Whatever was in the contents of that letter had clearly upset him, you cant help but feel anxious from the anxiety. “What did the letter say?” Calling out into the darkness of night as you follow his steps outside, out of the gate of his home and to the dimly lit streets of Gochang.

Suddenly, he stops walking, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you gravely, your breath catches in your throat.

“The Hwarang forces stood no chance in fighting against Goguryeo in Hanseong. They were crushed.” Bitterness saturates his words as you feel your stomach drop.

“Crushed…?”

“It’s a disaster. They’re staying in Kaya now to recuperate from their effort, most of their men are too weak to make the journey back to Ungjin or Seorabeol.” He breathes heavily through his nose as he turns to face you, “Kun asked that I continue to allow you to remain under my care for the time being… or at least until further notice.” Jungwoo then turns once more, returning to his brisk pace as you follow after him.

Eventually you find that he’s led you to a large, empty hall, reading the name atop the doorway you realize that it’s Moon Taeil’s family’s school. It’s where he’d befriended many of the Hwarang and it must hold some nostalgic value to him. Judging by the dust that had accumulated in the corners and on the ceiling, as well as the lack of lamps lighting it, it must’ve been out of use for some time.

The halls lay eerily silent as he walks inside, not a soul to be found anywhere. Seeing this, Jungwoo stomps around once again, gritting his teeth as he balls his hands into fists. The tips of his nails dig so intently into his palm you fear that he’ll break the skin.

“Loyal warriors to the Crown my ass… We’re just dogs!” His voice cries out, reverberating around the empty hall. You flinch as the shrill hiss of steel leaving its scabbard echoes out. Jungwoo begins to swing his sword wildly in front of him, as if he were attacking an imaginary foes breathed into life by the tumult of his anger. It’s almost as if he’s possessed.

A part of you wonders why he’s taking the news so personally, why he’s lashing out at himself. Jungwoo seems bent on letting his aggression consume him, ready to burn himself hollow from the inside out.

Then, he stops, taking a minute to catch his panting breaths as his shoulders move up and down in exaggerated movements.

“Jungwoo…” you call out calmly, trying your best to retain your composure, “Why are you so upset?”

“The Hwarang… and Kun… They weren’t sent to Hanseong because anyone actually expected them to make a dent in the Goguryeo army there,” he answers through heavy breaths. “Silla sent their own men to die so that Tang could rush the enemy from the northern border, the Hwarang were only meant to draw their forces away from Pyongyang. The Tang never got to see the city though, their forces were repelled at Cholsan.”

Although news to you, it seems as if Jungwoo had known for some time that this would be the actual plan of both entities. Upon hearing the news, you’re positive that he had been aware of what that meant for the Hwarang in the detestable agreement.

“And after all these years of the Hwarang protecting the Crown—!” Jungwoo shouts out, “They’re tossed to the wolves! Is this what’s to become of us? For this war are we meant to dispose of our friends in the name of a King who doesn’t care if these men live or die? Just for territory? For superiority?!” It’s clear that Jungwoo is extremely distraught, you were unaware he could ever become this angry.

He heaves out another breath before sheathing his sword and closing his eyes, murmuring, “No… I’m also responsible for this happening. Like the other Naegeumwi… I was complicit and did nothing.”

You wonder if he hadn’t resigned himself to the fate that Sooyoung had offered… would he have been able to make a difference? If he hadn’t agreed to the conditions, maybe he could’ve fought alongside all of his friends. Surely his desire to do so lingers within him…

“Things aren’t as they were… How could they be, really?” You say to him, he cracks his eyes open and frowns. “I know you’re being pulled in many directions, I can see it in your eyes. It’s tearing you apart from the inside.” Voice wavering for a moment as his gaze truly does reflect the anguish he’s suffering, “I know how much you respect the Commander and the rest of the Hwarang. No one believes you abandoned them, nor do you deserve to feel guilty about not being there.”

Perhaps your attempt to comfort may sound hollow, given that your perception of all that plagues him is thin. Even so, you can barely stand to watch him sink into the depths of his own disappointment.

It takes a moment for him to take in what you’d said, but soon his brow softens and a smile curls onto his lips, “…Thank you. You have a knack for cheering me up.” The smile is brief, leaving seconds later as he purses his lips in thought. If you were able to reach inside of him and pull him from this forlornness, you would. It may be selfish, but what can you do?

#this is halfassed edited but :)#not tagging this is for those that find it <3 #also im lazy and this isn’t even the big boy fic

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 5 years ago

Text

Something to Uplift Us

Ao3, MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic DLAMPR (Roman-centric, kinda Remus-centric), platonic Creativitwins!!!

Do I like this??? Meh. Is it something that I wrote? Yes. I will heal myself from SVS-R with Fluff.

Warnings: Remus Typical Nonsense, swearing, mentions of being in Quarantine, all sympathetic sides, non-sexual Pole Dancing

Word Count: 2,667

Roman was the essence of romance and it showed. For his entire existence, he'd been well acquainted with the hypothetical. If he were his own person, if he had a prince of his own, if he had the chance at a romantic relationship, he knew what he would do. Roman knew relationships, he always had, and it had tortured him to know that he'd never have one.

Which was why it frustrated him to no end that he hadn’t been the one to ask out his fellow sides. He’d honestly never thought that it would be an option. When he first developed his feelings for the others- Virgil, Patton, Logan, Janus, in that order- he had felt nothing more than excitement. He was giddy, he was light-headed, just to know that he could feel that way. He would spend hours daydreaming, just musing over the way they made his heart stop, but he never hoped for anything to come of it. He wasn’t sad, or mournful, or pining per se- just so caught up in the joy of feelings that he forgot that he could do something with them.

So he thought about it a lot, suffice to say. And all he had now was time to think; it was nearly month three of quarantine. Roman had wrung his brain out like a sponge for anything new to think about- The Imagination was practically turning gray! He tried to tend to it, truly he did, but it was getting harder every day. Creativity's fellow sides had all busied themselves taking up new hobbies- Virgil was teaching Patton to draw, Janus had learnt embroidery, Logan took up knitting, Remus made trash sculptures… They all seemed to be having their own little renaissance (complete with plague), and what was Roman doing? Wasting valuable free time!

In a fit of desperation, the artistic trait dived under his large canopy bed, rummaging around until his hand caught on the lip of a cardboard box. With no small amount of effort, he pulled the enormous container out from under his bed so that it could be properly examined. There, piled high in the box, were dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks- all of which filled to the brim with writing, drawings, and poetry. Having no clue what he was specifically looking for, Roman upended the box and watched the contents crash to the floor. Something in here would surely spark his mind! Perhaps some old work would catch his eye and inspire some redraws!

The side hadn't needed to search for long. Right at the top of the pile- bright pink, its cover dotted with puffy heart stickers- sat a large, spiral-bound sketchbook. You could almost see the light bulb pop up over Roman’s head as he squealed and snatched up the sketchbook. Flopping down onto his bed, he flipped it open in one hand and placed the other against his chest.

“Ooh, some of my best,” he cooed to no one in particular, gaze turned to the dozens of love poems surrounded by little doodles of hearts that filled the pages. This was the journal he’d confided in before the sides had all officially begun their relationship, filled with flowery prose about anything from Janus’ scales to Patton’s smile; from Logan’s laugh to Virgil’s freckles (a rare sight, usually hidden by make-up). Roman was so lost in nostalgia that when the ideas hit him, he nearly fell out of bed in excitement at his own thoughts.

Of course! He could take all of these old writings and compose them together, into one eloquent amalgam that would illustrate perfectly all those things that he’d been unable to articulate in the beginning! And it seemed only fitting that such a soliloquy be delivered in The Imagination- in the most gorgeous scenario he could fabricate! Somewhere open to a starry sky, for his left-brained loves- but it had to have ornate architecture, of course, and it had to be cozy. Oh, it was all coming together now.

Roman leapt out of bed, posing with his hand above his head and sinking deeper into The Mindscape extravagantly. He didn’t waste time looking around at the depressing half-formed scenery, sweeping his arms up and erasing the entirety of his half of The Imagination. Time to get to work.

Remus was stretched across the Commons couch, his head in Janus’ lap and feet in Logan’s. The TV hummed with whatever show they’d thrown on as background noise, and a few feet away at the counter, Patton and Virgil were hovering over some sort of scrapbook. Nobody had the energy for conversation; nobody had the energy for anything.

It was magnificently boring. The Duke already filled up an entire sketchbook, written half a dozen shamelessly smutty self-insert fanfictions, constructed and subsequently destroyed eldritch beings in his room, and bothered his boyfriends. So, all that was left to do was doze.

It didn’t help Remus’ tired state that Janus was running his fingers through his hair. The monotonous waking world was finally slipping away. Maybe there was something buried in his dreams that could hold his attention.

But just before sleep took hold, a white-hot energy ran through the trait’s body, jolting him so suddenly that he tumbled off of the couch and onto the floor. His arms and legs were all pins-and-needles as he looked up at his very concerned partners.

“There’s fuckery afoot!” Remus announced, wide-eyed. He pulled himself up and grinned, “You guys stay here!”

Without so much as a good-bye, Remus threw himself into the ground, saving himself the time of sinking out properly. After a moment’s silence, Janus resumed working on his embroidery.

“Should we go see what that was about?” Patton asked tentatively.

“Meh,” the three other sides responded in unison. After a moment, Janus added, “It is Remus, after all.”

Roman’s structure was coming together beautifully! Wide marble columns rose up and held aloft the glimmering silver ceiling, the middle of which was a sky-light open to thousands of stars and a brilliant full moon. Surrounding the opening was a spiral of stone roof- through the gaps of which even more astronomically accurate stars shone!

The inside of the building consisted of an immense mahogany stage, currently cloaked by thick velvet curtains and overlooking plenty of seats. Rather than traditional theater rows, Roman had arranged the seating like lovely cafe tables, all of which were given generous space from each other (Except for two at the very front, of course). Lanterns hung from the walls, casting the space in warm lighting. Creativity currently stood at the very back, thinking that it could use just a little more of something. With a smirk, the side snapped his fingers and the wall of the room was pushed backwards several yards. With a few more flicks of the wrist and dividing columns, a little lobby was formed.

He’d given the theater room maroon carpeting and rich gray walls, but the new back section needed brighter lighting and a more cream-canary color scheme. Now he could just finish the decor!

Or he would have, if not for the fact that at that moment someone crashed into his ribs with all the grace of a flaming motorbike.

“BRO!!!”

“ACK-!” was all Roman managed, as all the wind was knocked out of him. He glared up at his brother, who was sitting on his chest.

“I knew you were up to something! You wiped half of the whole fucking Imagination! What is this!?”

Roman wheezed, pushed Remus off of his chest, and finally pulled himself off the ground to catch his breath. His brother was spinning around the room already, eyes sparkling as he took in the building.

“I had to blank it, I needed my full focus,” Roman explained, back to work and filling the back wall with tall bookshelves, “and it’s a surprise, so don’t tell the others.”

“Oh, I won’t. Provided you let me in on whatever this is,” Remus had an ear-to-ear grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s consideration, Roman hummed.

“I’m doing something nice for our boyfriends. I think we all could use a little pick-me-up, so do not ruin this!”

“I wanna do something nice for them! Lemme help!”

“You don’t even know what it’s for! Plus, it’s personal!”

“I already asked what it was for, Stupid.”

Roman huffed.

“I wrote them something. Hence the stage.”

“So, what, you’re gonna bring them all into your fancy library-opera for your poetry orgy and I sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet?”

“Ideally.”

“Not a chance, Whore!” Remus swung himself up onto the concession stand that Roman had just created, tearing into a box of candy (food made in The Imagination always tasted weirder than food or ingredients they conjured elsewhere in the Mindscape, but he didn’t particularly mind).

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Roman challenged, hands on his hips.

“I. Want. To. Help.”

Roman raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Grumbling, his twin started gesturing around the room as he spoke.

“The stars are too bright, they take the focus away from the stage instead of accenting it. The color of the curtains are too similar to the carpet. You’ve got Corinthian shit in there and bookstore lobby vibes in here, which is garbage and inconsistent.”

Roman blinked, his eyes following along with Remus’ criticism.

“Hm. You have a point.”

“I’m Creativity too, you know. I have some taste.” The Duke said, gnawing on the cardboard box that had contained Imagination Candy moments before.

“You’re wearing crocs and jorts, simultaneously.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively, hopping off the counter and rushing across the room.

“Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea how I can accompany your performance, too.”

“Oh, goody.”

Hours had past and little had changed in the Mindscape living room- Virgil and Patton had finished up their scrapbooking and were curled up together in an armchair, so Logan was sitting at the counter space previously occupied by the two and clacking away on his laptop, and Janus hadn’t moved. The muddled energy of the room had remained pervasive.

That was, until the door to the imagination slammed open, the doorknob cracking against the wall. Four heads shot up to see Remus and Roman, standing side-by-side (quite looking the part of identical twins, matching smiles and all).

“Oh god,” Janus groaned instinctively, carefully setting his embroidery on a side table, “What did you two do?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust that look,” Virgil said.

The twins scoffed in mock-offense, continuing their odd coordination.

“We try to do something nice,” exclaimed Remus.

“And not so much as a ‘thank you,’” added Roman solemnly. Eyes were rolled, but Patton perked up considerably (just as planned).

“Ooo, what are you talking about?”

“It’s a surprise!” Said The Duke, bouncing up and down. Creativity Prime gave a sweeping motion to indicate the still-open door to the Imagination, which had been steadily seeping into the common room with a bright new energy that it had been lacking for days.

“Follow us,” he instructed, disappearing through the door once more with Remus at his back. Patton bounced after them immediately, grinning.

The three left-brained sides exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed suit.

The twins were backstage in an instant, trusting their partners to figure out where their seats were on their own. Roman began pacing around as soon as they finished warming up.

“Are you sure you can do this? I’m still not sure if your performance is well-suited to acoustic guitar-”

He was cut off by Remus groaning exaggeratedly.

“I can work with anything, bitch.”

“Right, right,” There was a beat. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready. What’s going on with you?”

Rather than responding, Roman did another lap around the stage.

“C’mon! Stop pacing before I take a bonesaw to your legs!”

“Okay! Alright! I’m ready!”

Before Remus could come up with any more gruesome threats, Roman snapped his fingers and the curtains began to rise. He took his place half-sitting on a stool up front, a guitar in his arms. Behind him, Remus stood between two sturdy metal poles that rose from the stage and into the ceiling. You can already see where this is going.

When the stage was fully revealed, the lights above the audience dimmed. Figuring that the show would be rather awkward if said audience consisted of four people, the Creativities had The Imagination render dozens of prop-people. They moved and acted like a crowd of humans, but each individual was too vague to focus on for long. Thus it was made very clear where their fellow sides were, sitting right up front with a wide array of expressions from amazed to amused to bewildered.

Roman took a moment to steel himself and then began playing. Originally, he’d planned on spoken-word for his loves, but traditionally there is music involved in pole-dancing, so he’d made a few adjustments in order for Remus to be able to contribute.

Roman started singing, melting as the gazes of the real audience members turned awestruck (and also very flushed, likely from whatever surprisingly impressive poses his brother was pulling behind him). He liked to think that he poured his heart out into every performance, but for this one it felt quite literal.

Roman’s voice picked up gradually, and he could vaguely hear metal clanging behind him. It went on like that for a good few minutes- because if there was one thing the Twins weren’t, it was brief- before the show finally concluded. Roman stalled for a moment as both the imaginary and real components of the audience applauded uproariously. Remus swung down from the pole and hopped over to him.

“We bow now, Dumbass,” he hissed, noticeably out of breath.

“Oh- right.”

They took hands and took a couple bows as the clapping died down, standing back up with wide grins and red faces.

As soon as the auditorium was relatively silent, Patton rushed the stage. He outstretched his arms and hopped up and down excitedly.

“Lemme up!”

Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him on stage while Remus was still attempting to catch his breath. Morality leaned down to give The Prince a brief kiss, and then bounced over to the much more exhausted half of the act to give him the same treatment. He was grinning so wide that it looked painful, his face a bright pink. The Duke wore a matching expression, but the smile was much more unnatural in that preferred way of his.

“So you liked it?”

Rather than verbally responding, Patton grabbed the hands of both Creativities and made a cheerful ribbiting sound.

“It was wonderful,” Logan supplied, climbing the stairs on the side of the stage to meet them, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He was much less outwardly enthusiastic as the other spectacled side, but no less appreciative.

“Yeah, did you guys put all this together today?” Virgil asked, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulders.

“What else did we have to do?” Remus answered with a shrug.

“Good point.”

Janus cleared his throat lightly, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes were noticeably rimmed with redness, a small smile on his face as he outstretched all of his arms.

“Here, all of you, now.”

Patton cooed.

“Group hug!”

Fitting six people into one hug may seem awkward, but it always seemed to work out for the sides. At least, Roman thought so. Virgil would fake exasperation at the affection, but they could all tell he loved it. Logan would try to maintain his dignity and fail miserably. Patton was a ball of warmth and energy that seeped into the rest of them. Janus was by far the best at giving hugs, though it could be considered cheating to have extra limbs.

At that moment it hit Roman that, perhaps he hadn’t started this relationship, but he was still a part of it. And that was all he could ever want.

These Performances inspired Remus’. They are oddly calming to watch, and super impressive!

@shrimp-crockpot

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years ago

Text

“New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine”

Summary: New year is coming hand in hand with the cold of the season and the responsibilities even a celebration brings for a king and queen. Amidst the chaos and strict decorum it's Erendor and Samara's concern to find the time to welcome each other in their shared future.

I had to write one last fic to send off the year and since this one was the only one that cooperated, you get New Year on Eraklyon. I like the way this turned out as I feel like it is a peaceful (while sufficiently dramatic) ending to a very frantic year and also incorporated some of my wishes for a better next year. Here's to hoping!

Samara's body begrudgingly stumbled after him in his misstep slipping into an unnatural disruption of her graceful and calculated movements. Losing balance not his own would have dragged him down and left him splayed out on the floor if not for her dignified posture becoming the spine holding him above the stream of panicked shame spilling out of him under the pokes of the crown everyone's gazes drove in him like a sheaf of spears. A weakness was only fully fledged if you let it take root. Much like a weed, it was something to pluck out on sight.

"Erendor," Samara's voice emptied the ballroom in his mind to leave them twirling to the sound of her words, "tomorrow morning is already buried under unfavorable circumstances to stack too many glasses on top of it as well." She was ready to eradicate the perceived environment spawning the weeds in her garden even if her grip didn't change in gentleness. It was her teeth that always broke his ego like she were a tiny dragon his gear couldn't protect him from when she was already on the inside. She was the only one who'd witnessed him fighting the battles there was no armor for.

"I've only drunk enough to hold my warmth against the chill that wrapped my bones like vines today." Indulgence had long relented to duty but it had been tradition that had stranded him out in the cold for the better half of the day. Even his attire hadn't saved him from the bite of the weather outside the impenetrable walls of the palace that would fail to protect him too now that the damage was done and the endless heat of her proximity.

"Dancing ought to have taken over that function," Samara leaned closer – for his benefit or for the words' unclear but her hot breath hit his neck in a wave so pleasant it flooded his body with shivers inappropriate for the current venue. "Nobody says we have to put an end to the activity outside the ballroom." It was her own benefit she was after but that had no negative bearing on him without space between them.

"I would love to take this to the bedroom," a murmur had the strength to reach her even over the lively music that could have resonated through the whole kingdom if not for the vicious howl of the winds roaming the land outside like it was their own, "but the celebrations will carry well into the night regardless of the impending countdown." It was the last dance before the minutes left for his voice to segue the end of the year into the booming display of fireworks luring into colorful visions of the upcoming days. "Even a new year only brings the same old issues." They could dance to fill the hours stolen from their night but breakfast wouldn't move down the line because of the demand on their time or the sleep tugging at his body so harshly in contrast to her mellow touch.

"We'll have a whole new year to catch up on what we miss tonight and tomorrow," Samara looked at him as if to hold his gaze off the touch of a smirk to her lips that was almost shy in its presence. Almost probing enough to shoot down his spine a shiver from the cold metal covering her fingers like armor.

"Could I hope it would take you less time to relinquish your dominion over the covers?" She always cocooned herself in the heavy blankets like she wanted to hibernate outside the body heat next to her that wouldn't be there the following night. Coupled with her knack for transforming him into a careful heart within a paralyzed body when she'd wake up from a shift in his breathing, it left him sleeping with a whimsical force like the nature stone and glass strove to keep outside. "Say, once dancing isn't an option for preserving body temperature anymore?" The only difference was that Samara was much more terrifying in the dead silence she could turn her presence into unlike the wailing of the winds banging against the shut-off palace. Yet, she was the one he welcomed willingly by his side to shield him from the void of cold she filled effortlessly.

The smile widened on her lips to welcome her voice into the cool air of publicness around them and him inside the sound soaking his mind to the core. "Just keep your hands on me at all times and you should be fine." She adjusted her hand in his to ground him in the lightness of her softened grip now that she didn't need the gold on her head or fingers to hold her in his arms.

"I wouldn't argue with that but I have to make a toast in the near future. One I hope you will honor with me?" he didn't drop her gaze even for a moment as he dipped her in an end to their dance. The last few minutes of the old year were slipping between their fingers, the last few touches, the last few words they'd get to exchange before responsibility possessed their lives. It could be nothing but bad luck to shatter that by misdirecting his attention to the slap in the face she could deliver with his hands full of her instead of his own protection.

"I will," Samara's answer glided over the puff rushing out of her to reach him as he brought her back up into the proximity of their faces. "You already indulged me."

His gaze slid to the necklace outlining her delicate throat in the lack of her usual high collar and the silky gown that hugged the curve of her breasts tightly only to leave a generous amount of cleavage for the jewelry to contrast with, and, of course, the crown radiating light upon her head to make her the center of attention despite the companion piece he was wearing. It was the gift she'd given him that played in his mind, however.

Gravity pulled on the jewelry box in his pocket with every step as if to weigh him down and slow him on top of the time he'd already lost on changing out of his parade uniform and into his royal attire and stopping by the safe to get her gift. The echo of his hurried step drilled into his mind with the undeniable anxiety he couldn't pin on one easy to dismiss thing. His only chance was to hide behind the shine of the brilliance in his pocket until he could anchor himself in Samara's presence in the queen's chamber and avoid getting carried away by the memories rocking his being.

The history of the monarchy and his own family had been stained with a kidnapping that had cost the kingdom much more than his carefulness with Samara ever could. His mother had been abducted from the palace during his own birthday to leave an imprint on every future celebration. He had never forgiven his father for the helplessness he'd associated their family with in the eyes of the public and his own heart. It had been so easy to take the queen–a living woman and mother of children–let alone the crown meant to lay on his head and poking their affection away.

Every step was like the prickle of the needles he hadn't witnessed starting an embroidery that afternoon that he'd have to recapture in the next mosaic from the Path of Eraklyon. He'd doubled the guard like any other time they were all swallowed in the distractions of an official event but tradition still hadn't been in his favor. Samara had been left with her ladies-in-waiting while he'd been out on the obligatory gemstone hunt.

His dragon only hadn't thrown him off its back due to the long years of training it had undergone while it had been Samara's face in front of his eyes instead of the dragon's reactions to lead him to the largest diamond he could find without infringing on Isis' territorial claim to bring back to her.

She'd endured the ceremony of "capturing" the wild dragons that would be tamed into joining the palace's resources–they had been captured already a couple weeks ago and put through basic training to ensure safety during the official event–even though it prickled her the same way worry did him. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping the railing of the royal balcony so hard it had been visible from the arena below but to anyone without inside information it would have looked like concern for him and the soldiers attending to the dragons. His confidence in his skills and the performative nature of the ceremony left the truth shining from underneath the mask of rouge concealing the burn in her blood.

Taming was a word her dictionary was extremely unreceptive of and the sweet scent of the flowers blooming all over the reins the dragons attempted to melt off could have had bile rising in her throat if it could have reached as high up as the smoke did while the animals thrashed in dramatic attempts to breathe fire through the vegetation suffocating them with every new flare of heat. It was an ancient tradition and one she found quite distasteful as she watched the blossoms that were already doomed to withering away–they'd been plucked and fashioned into elaborate harnesses of winter turned spring by the smallest of sparks–being forced into their most beautiful. The hunt for jewels would have been more her speed but her schedule had been occupied with embroidery of the event he'd picked to mark the year they'd just left in Eraklyon's history. He'd had to leave her to it, alone in the palace with nothing but his planned defense against unexpected events to keep her safe while he was in pursuit of fulfilling a tradition as valuable as the gemstones he found would be without her waiting to receive them.

The wood of her door was hard and cold under his knuckles. It was like knocking on a block of ice, except it wasn't transparent and it left his pulse hammering in his ears to shatter the heavy, tense silence ready to bury him right there outside her bedchamber.

"Enter," Samara's voice was like warm water that unstuck him from the floor and had the frost crunching under his fingers as he pushed the handle and cracked the door open.

The sight streaming through the passage in her chamber he'd opened stopped him dead in his tracks in the doorway as if to plate him like a painting in a golden frame despite the fact that he'd returned to the palace with a ruby bigger than his fist. The bed was strewn with her jewelry, displayed for her to choose from. He'd expected a different chaos in the face of her maids catering to her high standards for her personal appearance and the glimmer of reflected sunset rays coming from her orchard of precious gemstones almost blinded him.

"Harvest time is over." He didn't bother elaborating what she was perfectly capable of deciphering when a diamond wouldn't be able to cut through her mind. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other and closing the door behind his back to settle in the self-created illusion that he was welcome in this shimmering kingdom obeying her will rather than nature's.

"I'm choosing the plant for next year," Samara confirmed his standing, not employing her energy into a warning glare that he was on thin ice. He was on solid ground and could breathe freely without fear of white crystals bursting his veins to pieces from the inside.

She reached into the sea of sharp splendor in front of her to pluck out a ring and slip it on her finger. The one with the two sapphires–a shade darker and more lasting than the evergreens poking the horizon outside to make space for them–he'd given her on their first anniversary was already on her hand. It was an exception for her not to wear it but it was always good to see it where it belonged. Even if the solid gold drew his attention to the prick in her delicate flesh above the ring's imperviousness.

The wound was so small that it would have disappeared in the expanse of skin around like a missing feather on a peacock but instead, it stood out like a gunshot in the intense red of blood on white marble. She must have pricked herself on a needle while creating the basis of an embroidery, depicting a success history would remember as his even if she had more claim over it than he did. It was her duty to draft on fabric the image he would later have immortalized in stone regardless of how skilled she was at it.

Her mother hadn't bothered to teach her what every girl in the kingdom could do in too common a craft to be considered a talent worthy of a beauty queen. Yet, the queen of Eraklyon was bound to it in tradition and she'd had to learn in the few months before her coronation. He'd watched her unravel as she'd failed to master it as if to use her own threads and make it easier for herself by manipulating her own matter to sew into the fabric. She'd bleed out if all the times she'd prickled herself and had yet to do it again were put together.

"I would've thought that is something you would have taken care of already?" Combining patterns was a second nature unlike creating them and jewelry was a passion she carried around with herself at all times. It was unthinkable that something as simple as a few drops of blood drawn from her could make it slip through her fingers.

"Normally, I would have but this is a little tradition of mine I keep to on the last day of the year," Samara pried his jaws open with strength that had slipped his notice to keep him from eating his own mind and put hers between them instead. It could be another diversion born out of the blood she'd smelled as well.

"What kind of tradition?" He hadn't had the chance to learn the previous years when the privacy of his bedchamber had provided her frame and her honesty but not the environment in which she thrived, hidden in the shade from his gaze.

"I lay out all my jewelry and pick to wear the most valuable pieces the year has provided." He'd seen her put a lot of work in admiring her ever growing collection so that wasn't hard to believe. It didn't much help to comprehend it, though.

"How can you tell which are the most valuable ones?" He'd grown up with both crowns in sight if not straining his sensibilities with their weight and he still couldn't tell their worth upon just looking. The dragons wouldn't be able to pick out the more precious stone between two just by sight. Maybe there truly was something more than just natural beauty to her.

"That was easy back in the day," Samara slipped away from him, diving after the sun that had set the sky on fire. If her life had been a day, he would have never seen a sunset caught in her irises, much less a sunrise. He would have met her in the dark hours preceding midnight to witness her beauty only in unnatural light or under the weak glow of the stars on a dusty sky at most. That was if the clouds hadn't swallowed her whole like she was made of fractured light unable to pierce its way out of their intangible mass. "I just had to remember how unbearable an experience had followed receiving each one of them."

"I don't follow." Not just because he'd drifted off into the void she'd outlined as her past. She'd practically tied her words to the strings of his mind as if she'd been born to do that. Maybe he could rewrite tradition to replace embroidery with tapestry to spare her from ever prickling herself again on anything that wasn't his crown. And that he could always take off himself to remove the last thorn in her way.

"The harder a role you need to play, the more intricate the mask you need to wear. And the more intricate the mask is, the more it demands – both in its making and its usage," Samara's voice was deceptively light as she glided on the surface of whatever depths she avoided broaching in her mind to keep them both dry in the freezing cold of the settling night. "The brightest jewelry I always got at the threat of the mask cracking right when it needed to be as impenetrable as possible." What had her mother put her up against on all of those stages she'd pushed her?

"Why would you need more reminders of that?" It had already gripped his mind, too, from where it had taken root in hers as she'd talked without being there with him. She'd spoken from the distance where she kept her gaze as well to not paint pictures of the past over the present regardless of them still haunting every image her eyes captured.

"I didn't. It was a statement of worth to others not to forget just because the reminders I already had were embedded where no one could see." Considering all the wealth they'd redistributed once she'd stripped her family of it, she'd failed. Her mother hadn't made it worth her troubles with everything she'd still had hoarded. But she didn't need the cold bucket of water on her nerves any more than he did. "It was also an invitation for the next year to bring something better," her hand balled into a fist as she grasped at the chance to run her thumb over the two sapphire beads adorning her finger before her palms slid over the skirt of her gown littered with dark blue gems that could have been cut from the lit sky above the palace as if they couldn't shred her fragile skin. Just scrub off the remains of her maiden name from her being. "But that is no more. Now I have no idea which ones are the most valuable. There are no masks attached to the gems, just pure sentiment." Her voice picked up to keep up with the speed of her gaze running over the precious display on her bed. "It disrupts my process almost to the point of resentment."

He'd need something to steady himself as well if she kept the words crashing into him like waves of rich honey. Only, he wasn't certain he'd make it all the steps to where she'd just clutched at the bedpost before bending over for a closer inspection. He'd fall over and at the foot of the bed if she pulled him a little closer with another almost in a covert confession.

"What do you think?" Her eyes on him snapped his attention back to the material world he'd bought for her but all he could see was the invitation in her insistent gaze to be a part of her future. "Which ones should I wear?" It wasn't something he could normally help with but this time he had an answer. As long as she'd take it.

"Can I ask you to break tradition?" He pulled out the red velvet box under the anticipation in her stance to have her leaving the bed where all her old jewelry rested to come within reach now that he was giving away the weight that had kept him in place.

A whole garden of diamonds was in his hands to hang on her neck and live for as long as she wanted it to, as long as she welcomed it on her skin. The jewels were whiter than the clouds of breath forming in the harsh temperatures outside and small like the grains the kingdom fed on and she didn't eat but still shined like mirrors bathed in the light of her smile.

Samara turned around, urging him silently to clasp it around her neck in a hold even the crown didn't have on her as it could slip off at any moment. Her hand was running over it before he'd even fastened it in place, the motion sending him off balance as it shook him with relief amidst the quietness of her admiration. He had to rest his palms on her shoulders to find his way through the rhythm the day was spinning to.

Samara covered his hand with hers to pull it off and allow herself to face him instead of the mirror. "I wouldn't mind breaking an old tradition for the new year but since you fit right in, there's no need for such drastic measures. It could use some reshaping, though."

He was still stuck on processing the meaning of her words when she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Just a quick peck that ran through his body like fire as fast as she was out of his reach and settling in front of her vanity. It was just the softness of her naked lips against his and the still palpable warmth of her fingers where she'd held his hand that lingered behind like a gem for him to stash in the depths of his mind where no weight–physical or not–would be able to leave it in angry shards blazing with fire.

"Didn't you switch to a new lipstick just a couple of weeks ago?" he asked once she was already applying the burgundy over her lips, his brain taking longer to react while collecting the memories she was weaving the last day of the year into.

Samara paused to return the effort he'd put in paying her the due attention even though it had only been natural to note the different shade of the marks her kisses left behind. "Yes, I did. But I always open a new make-up kit on New Year's Eve." And she'd already applied all the rest of her beauty products before he'd arrived. Almost as if she'd been waiting for his visit or at least hoping for it. Either that, or she'd just wanted to keep the lipstick as fresh as possible before heading to the ballroom for the long night ahead. Yet, there was no trace of the silence she used to distance herself in contrast to the quiet life of a kiss between them.

"Another tradition?" That was clear but he needed an excuse for her lips to breathe more color into their conversation.

"Don't you have some?" she shot back at him but her intonation wasn't sharp enough to point to exasperation, even if she was too quick for his scattered attention that was in more pieces than there were on her bed.

Did he?

"I pick gifts for my wife."

Another pause as Samara's lips parted to a frozen moment–she must have caught herself from licking off the lipstick–before she spoke. "That is not a New Year's Eve tradition if you do it throughout the rest of the year as well."

"Then I suppose I'm boring." He was lucky to have come up with an answer at all while transfixed with the shimmer of her eyes not warped even in reflection. It'd be a crime not to give her jewels to put next to it for them to pale in comparison with the real beauty she'd grown in the dark.

"Consistent, I would say." Her gaze slid over the room in the mirror and he followed it, unable to turn to the real one if it meant letting her out of his sight. It was still clear as day where her mind treaded even in the shadows creeping around the room with each second they remained too preoccupied with each other to get the lights.

All the leftover illumination from the day and the shine of the space bodies just coming into view was captured by the jewelry he'd given her to turn each piece into a lighthouse of its own in the waves of silk on her bed. He'd gifted her quite a high number in the couple of years they'd been married but they still weren't enough to replace electricity or even the glow of fire.

It was him that was doing the impossible – counting jewelry instead of coins when the monarchy was as stable as Samara's taste for precious gemstones and noble metals. Nothing was shaking under his feet or threatening to crumble on his head in the quietness of her bedchamber. Not even the weight of the earrings dangling from his palm could throw him off balance as he brought the long stemmed calla lilies to her attention and she let him add their tender white and gold to her look.

The music ended just as Erendor found his footing in the dance with exhaustion. He didn't let go of Samara's waist for another couple of seconds until he could steady himself outside the rhythm of her body swaying with his. There were just minutes still from the year they were leaving behind their backs and he had to let go of her on the precipice and risk separation in the name of an obligatory speech and toast. It was so trivial it would have brought out tears if he allowed it but she was queen because he was king and his only choice was to obey the law that had brought them together.

He held her hand until the armrest of his throne was within reach to numb the emptiness of letting go. His reluctant fingers almost retreated from the coolness of the glass with champagne when he would much prefer her company over that of the alcohol sloshing around in its confinement without grace. Especially when the smooth coldness of the glass reminded him of his chase of hard gems outside in the freezing weather and made him feel like the first idiot but the diamonds shining on her neck and the metal warmed up by her skin that had been pressed in his fingers not long ago burned the thought away. They brought the speech to his lips when it had been her touch weaving it in his mind all year in a way that he'd never been able to before. In a way she'd never been able to before with the heavy jewelry dragging her heart and hands into the depths to drown her grace in the spillage of her own blood.

There was nothing but her own decision holding her tongue now to free her from the image of the dragons harnessed for someone else's purposes. And he could tell the story of their monarchy now that they'd pried it free from everyone else's control. It was theirs so there was nothing stopping him from leaning towards her during the cheer of the guests and the thumping of his own heart in unheard applause for her kept promise to meet the new year together with him.

"What a shame to see such waste of lipstick on your glass." She'd barely sipped enough to leave the shape of her lips on the glass and his mind rendering him incapable of noticing anything else.

"I have plenty of lipstick left to spare, remember?" Her tradition made a lot more sense now. "And there is not a force in this kingdom greater than us that could take away our first kiss of the year." He could count on her promise regardless of how long it would take them to keep it.

"Happy New Year," he took her hand again to feel a warmth even the dragons didn't have to offer.

"Happy New Year." She smiled again to blind him to anything the world could serve them next – even the sun crashing on their heads.

The fireworks exploded outside the windows to change the pattern of the light streaming through but even in the lack of consistency, his brain recognized one heat signature like it was the center of the universe.

#winx club #winx erendor #winx samara #erendor x samara #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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queenbirbs · 4 years ago

Text

on vengeful seas | Edward Mortemer x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x Elena McTavish

Summary: Another way the night on the Admiral’s ship could have gone.

Word count: 7.1k+

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence, violence against women, mentions of blood, mild (?) torture, sexual harassment, suggestive themes

Note: PB writes the admiral as “the Admiral” when referencing him, which is why I’ve chosen to keep up with that style here.

Elena wonders how she’s going to explain all of this to Edward.

She’s sure this wasn’t what he meant by ‘being careful,’ if the glower on the Admiral’s face is anything to go off. It’s hard to keep a straight face, though, what with the wine still dripping from his stupid fucking hat. If he’s such a stickler for etiquette as Oliver claims, why didn’t he take it off when dining with a lady? How disappointed Emily Post would be with him.

“A display like that, Miss McTavish, warrants a night in the brig.” Picking up a handkerchief, he wipes at his face. A smirk appears when he lowers the cloth. “But we can’t have you and your captain consorting more than you already have. Don’t think we missed that poignant scene between the two of you earlier.”

Her breath feels trapped in her chest. Had he heard their plans? “Take her to the deck.”

Two officers lead her up and out onto the ship. This early in the evening, a few soldiers are still about, adjusting the rigging and sharing a drink. Edward is no longer there, having been returned to the brig while she was mapping out the compass’s location. She can only hope that the Admiral kept his word about having the surgeon look after him.

“Oi!” one of the officer’s shouts from near the helm. “That’s my wife’s dress!”

Elena bristles at the shout and searches the deck for Oliver -- who hovers near the group of soldiers, a grimace on his face.

Liar, she mouths at him, and watches the grimace fold into a sheepish frown.

“Why’s this pirate scum wearin’ it?”

“Miss McTavish,” the Admiral croons from behind her, “please return Office Robinson’s present for his lovely wife.”

“I’ll need my clothes, then,” she tells him.

“Of course! Lieutenant, fetch her things.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Oliver disappears below deck, leaving Elena without even a semi-friendly face. The merriment turns to interest as the men all watch the Admiral circle her like a vulture. He drags his gaze up her form, slow and calculated. Klaxon bells sound in her head.

“The dress does look lovely on you. I can see how Edward fell for you. It’s a shame, really, your beauty being wasted on a lowlife such as him.”

He reaches out and runs a hand through her hair, grinning when she slaps him away.

“You have no right to touch me.”

“You’re a pirate, girl -- you have no rights!” he declares with a boisterous laugh.

The soldiers and officers join in, shouting lewd comments at her. Footsteps on the stairs signal Oliver’s return, her clothes draped over his arm. He glances around in confusion at the leering grins as he approaches.

“You can change in the first--”

“She’ll change here,” the Admiral declares. “Robinson can’t afford her ruining the dress any further, can he?”

Elena blanches at the order. So does Oliver, whose eyes grow wide under the choppy strands of his blonde hair.

“But, sir--”

“Fuck you,” she spits at the Admiral. “I’m not live entertainment for you and your--”

“Do I need to bring poor Edward up from the brig and flog him for your disobedience?”

“You promised to leave him--”

“Ah, but not until I had retrieved the compass. Until then, his health and well-being rely on you.”

Her gaze darts from his smarmy grin to the circle of approaching officers to Oliver’s pained expression. The realization, when it comes, is cold. The only person who would stand up for her is locked down below. There is no way out.

Steadying her trembling jaw, she lifts her chin and sucks in a breath.

“Fine.”

Stepping forward, she feigns to take the clothes from Oliver’s arm and instead pulls his sword from its holster. With a flick of the wrist, she runs the blade up along the dress’s bodice. The silk parts like butter; the golden embroidery tears and the seams rend apart. Tossing the sword at Oliver’s feet, she steps out of the puddle of fabric and kicks it towards the Admiral. “Here’s your dress back, you fucking perverts.”

The men bellow and cheer, whistling at the sight of her near state of undress. She’s thankful she had the foresight to keep her bra and pants on under the dress, if in need of a quick getaway. Swimming in that tent would’ve been a death sentence.

Elena snatches her shirt and waistcoat from Oliver, but the sharp edge of a blade at her neck makes her freeze in place.

“You are going to learn rather quickly, Miss McTavish, that your actions have consequences.” The Admiral’s other hand clenches tight around her shoulder. “Tie her to the mast!”

“Wait -- Admiral, please--” Oliver tries to protest as two officers yank her arms behind her back and drag her towards the main mast.

“This is my ship, Lieutenant, and I will run it how I see fit!” the Admiral barks. “See that you return to your own.”

Elena locks desperate eyes with Oliver, silently begging him to intervene. Whatever small sliver of trust she held with him, though, dissipates when she watches him turn his back and walk away. Despite her struggling attempts, the two officers keep their hold on her as they slam her back against the mast. Forcing her to her knees, they secure her arms back around the pole and tie her wrists together with a length of rope. She wrestles forward, testing her bonds, but they hold tight.

“You should appreciate that I’m not flogging you. Instead, I think a night out on deck will suffice.”

Picking up her clothes, the Admiral stops a few feet in front of her and drops them onto the deck. She has an idea, now, of who put the bucket outside of Edward’s cell. “Do try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Rot in hell,” she seethes, but he’s already moving away towards Officer Robinson, who’s come down to watch the spectacle.

“Do you smell a storm approaching, Robinson?”

“Aye, sir, I do.”

“A shame for those caught out in the elements, then.”

Though she expects them to stick around and rough her up a bit more, they thankfully walk away and disappear below deck. The soldiers return to their posts, only interacting with her when they pass by with taunts and rude gestures. Despite the three-hundred some-odd years between now and her time, it’s all comments she’s heard since the age of ten. Nothing new under the sun, and all that.

She keeps quiet, though, even as rage boils inside of her. Years of experience tell her that it’s her best shot to get them to leave her alone. The rain does a lot of the work for her.

It starts a half-hour later, driving away some of the soldiers back down to their bunks. Elena shifts to sit on her ass with her head bent, trying to shield herself with the sails and rigging.

Usually a brief respite from the humid climate, the rain is cold on the bare skin of her shoulders and torso. With the strong winds this far out at sea, the rain is sharp, pricking her like needles. Her body shivers in protest. She tries to use her long hair as a makeshift shawl, but the blonde strands are soon soaked through, acting as nothing more than a damp weight on her chilled skin.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watches the soldiers. Watches them point and laugh at her for the first hour, until they assume her asleep. Watches them move about the ship, carrying down what supplies they can with the slippery deck.

They chatter about wiping the sea clean of a few more pirates, of glory to His Majesty, of breaking out the good rum when they watch Captain Mortemer get what’s coming to him. They argue over a barrel of gunpowder, eventually deciding not to bother moving it downstairs, and tuck it away near the starboard side.

The storm continues up until dawn. The sky turns from that deepest blue to a hazy gray, muddled here and there with streaks of pink as the rain finally moves on to the north. Elena knows because she stays awake the entire night, fighting the pull of unconsciousness, unable to sleep with the enemy so close. Her body had stopped shivering hours ago, too tired to try and warm itself up. If she hadn’t kept track of the men all night, she would’ve thought they’d chopped off her hands at some point -- she can no longer feel them, and isn’t even sure that her fingers are moving when she tries flexing them.

Sometime after the sun has breached the horizon, there is the sound of boots on the deck nearby.

“Up and at ‘em, hedge whore.”

A sharp kick to her ribs ruins her attempt to play possum. Her moan of pain is lost under her coughing fit, which jostles her sore body. She curls forward, trying to avoid another kick. Officer Robinson smirks down at her from where he looms above her, a mug in his hand. “Admiral says to give you your breakfast.”

Panic seizes her. Before she can move to protect herself, he tips the mug over.

Hot coffee splashes down onto her. A scream tears free as fire scorches down her back, raking its claws along her skin. She can feel her vocal chords burning and her mouth moving, but she can’t hear herself; there is only the rush of blood in her ears, blocking out all other sounds. Officer Robinson’s mouth parts to laugh at her. Nearby soldiers join in.

Minutes pass, though they feel like hours, and the searing pain becomes a throbbing ache. The coffee feels like a brand, burnt into her skin. Despite cursing it all night, she pleads for the rain to come back. The cold, morning winds are her only source of relief.

“Where is she? What have you bastards done with her!?” Edward’s voice booms across the deck.

Elena’s head snaps up. A group of officers surround him, making it difficult for her to get his attention from her bound position. She doesn’t have to try very hard, though -- because the men begin to move out of the way, letting him get a good look at her. His scowl disappears in an instant; his jaw drops, abject horror paling his face.

“Elena!” he shouts, struggling to free himself. “You vile, savage -- if you’ve hurt her, I swear--”

“You’ll do what? Let us put another hole in yer side?” one of the soldiers taunts. The rest of them erupt into laughter.

“She gave us a good show, your lass!” a man shouts from the helm.

“We didn’t do nuthin’, boy,” the officer holding him scoffs. “Go on, see for yerself.”

They shove him forward. Edward crosses the deck in two strides; dropping to his knees in front of her, he cups her cheek and brushes the mangled curtain of her hair over her shoulder. His gaze sweeps over her, but it’s nothing like before, down in the brig. The heat in his eyes is stoked only by fury.

“Your back,” he hisses. “What did they do to--”

“It’s not important right now. Edward, listen to me--”

“They harmed you. There is nothing more important.”

“Officers,” comes Oliver’s voice from behind them, “what is the meaning of this?”

The comradery ceases. The crew stands at attention, trying to hide their choked laughter behind coughs.

“Cut her loose,” Edward demands.

Footsteps sound across the planks, coming closer and closer, before a hand grabs both of hers and tugs. Elena jerks away in surprise and the rope digs deeper into her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver murmurs from behind her. “To cut this, I have to…” he trails off, the words lost under the sound of sawing.

The rope gives way and falls to the deck. Vicious, stabbing pain shoots up her arms and along her back as her abused muscles move and stretch for the first time in hours. Tears spill from her eyes, but before she can figure out how to hide them, Edward’s thumb brushes them away.

“Here.” He picks up her blouse and helps her slip into it, mindful of the burns on her back and the lacerations around her wrists.

“I think I’ll… pass on the corset,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat.

Oliver crosses to the group of soldiers to berate them on her condition. Elena waits until he’s out of earshot to speak again. “Edward, listen to me. There is no prisoner transfer. The Admiral plans on sinking the Revenge. They’re sailing right into a trap. You have to warn the crew.”

Edward’s hands, which had been running gently up and down her arms to warm her back up, freeze.

“Damnation,” he spits, shaking his head. “Aye, I will. But you, you’re in no shape to fight your way--”

“I didn’t say we.” Her downcast eyes flicker up, briefly, to catch his before returning to her injured wrists. “I said you.”

“I will not leave you behind.”

“We have no other choice. I’ll distract them--”

His hand cups her jaw and tilts her head up to meet his determined gaze. “Banish the thought, Miss McTavish. I won’t hear--”

She reaches up and yanks his hand from her face, squeezing his fingers to silence him.

“Stop interrupting and listen to me. There’s gunpowder over there, near the starboard beam. They made a big fuss about keeping it out of the rain. It’s the small barrell, with--”

“Aye, I know what a powder keg looks like.”

“And I’ve watched too many BBC documentaries to know that they put it too close to the ship’s center. If it goes off, the explosion just might reach the lower levels.”

It’s a sign of how much time he’s spent with her that he doesn’t even question the odd reference she makes.

“I imagine you have some idea of how I’m to set it off in the first place.”

“I’ll get Oliver close enough for you to grab his pistol.”

Edward grimaces, but clenches his jaw and nods. There’s the captain she needs right now. Stretching up to feign another look at her back, he scans the deck and spots their escape.

“I want you in the jolly boat when that keg goes up, hear me?” He tucks her hair back so she can see the boat hanging from the port’s davits, ready for launch.

“Only if you’re in it with me.”

“Officers,” the Admiral bellows from behind them, “why is our prisoner not restrained?”

The men scramble forward and seize Edward, ignoring his growled threats as he fights to get loose. Coming to stand beside Elena, the Admiral casts an eye over her ragged frame. A slow smirk slithers across his face; she suppresses the shiver that wants to crawl up her spine, knowing without a doubt that his plans with her aren’t finished. He clamps a hand around her arm and hauls her to her feet, ignoring her yelp of pain as the stiff muscles are forced to work.

“What’s the status of our merry band of misfits?”

“They’re due east, sir!” the man from the crow’s nest calls down. “‘Bout fifteen minutes out.”

With the morning sun blazing white-hot behind it, the Revenge is a black dot on the horizon.

“Good!” The Admiral turns his wicked grin to Edward. “That gives me just enough time to let you in on my little secret. You see, I’ve no intention of handing you back. You’re going to watch as I turn your ship into nothing more than splinters. After that, I’ll have the distinct pleasure of cutting off your head and sticking it on the bowsprit, as a warning to your kind.”

“Get on with it, then,” Edward snaps. “Tell your officers to stand down and let us duel, man-to-man.”

“Oh, we’ll get there, have no fear. But I think you’ll be begging me to end your sorry excuse of a life. Because before I do that, I’ll see to it that Miss McTavish here gets to experience the true pirate treatment.” He runs a hand over her hair as if petting an animal, and chuckles when she squirms away from his touch. “She’ll be bound and gagged, her legs wrapped with chain shot. Then she’ll be tossed overboard to join the rest of your crew at the bottom of the sea.”

“Your fight is with me, Cochrane, not with her.” Edward’s glare burns hot against the rising sun. “Leave her be.”

“And what say you, Miss McTavish?” the Admiral hums, a sick delight brightening his face as hers flushes red with rage.

“I’d like to see you try,” she snarls.

Oliver, having had enough of waiting in the wings, finally steps forward. “Admiral, sir, the Revenge -- she’s got a child aboard.”

“A pirate’s a pirate, no matter the age!” shouts one of the officers.

“If we don’t exterminate them now, we’ll just have to do it once they grow up, Lieutenant.”

“You fucking bastard--” Elena keens at the agonizing sensation of the Admiral’s fingers digging into her back.

“I forgot to ask.” He dips his head to drag his lips against her ear. “Did you enjoy breakfast, Miss McTavish?”

“Go fuck yourself.” She curls forward and then throws her head back. Victory sweeps through her at the tell-tale crunch of cartilage, urging her on.

“Insolent--”

She turns and spits in his face, now bloodied from his broken nose. He sweeps a hand out and captures her by the throat. Slamming her back against the mast, he growls out a curse and tightens his grip. Elena claws at his face, managing to draw in enough air to scream.

“Oliver!” she cries out, putting as much emotion as she can behind it.

There’s a flash of blue and blonde and then suddenly, the Admiral is ripped away and thrown to the deck.

“Elena, are you--”

She slams a fist across Oliver’s jaw. He stumbles and she snags his pistol from his belt, tossing it to Edward. Spinning on her heel, she sprints towards the jolly boat as Edward takes aim and fires.

The powder keg explodes, blasting a hole through the deck. Wooden shards fly across the ship and embed into the officers. A chain of explosions echoes up from below. The ship groans, listing to the starboard as water rushes into the hull.

“Abandon ship!” Oliver roars.

Soldiers slide and tumble across the tilting deck, trying to reach the jolly boats stacked for launch. One man snags Elena’s blouse and yanks her back, his sword raised to strike her down. Using the momentum, she slams her shoulder into his chest and knocks him back into a crate. “Elena!”

She jerks her head up to see a runaway train of supplies rushing towards her. Before she can jump out of the way, a strong arm wraps around her waist and hoists her up onto the railing.

“Cheater,” she mutters.

Edward lets go of the rope and shakes his head at her. She doesn’t miss the pained wince he makes as he holds his injured shoulder.

“I told you to be in the boat,” he chides.

“I would have a smartass remark if I weren’t so terrified of going down with the ship.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He helps her over the railing net and into the jolly boat before swinging himself over. The ship quakes as water floods the lower levels; the hull gives way to the sea with a loud crack. Soldiers race to the bow to leap off, avoiding the downward surge of water near the ship’s center. Elena grapples with the davit to launch the boat down while Edward fends off the desperate men looking for a safer way off.

“Anytime now, Miss McTavish!” he shouts, hauling a particularly determined man over the netting just to toss him down into the water.

“I’m trying! I just can’t get the damn thing to--”

The Admiral surges over the netting and swings his sword through one of the davit’s ropes. The boat drops, suspended on one end by a single rope. Elena grabs hold of a thwart and hangs there, searching below for Edward.

His left hand clenches tight along the bow. The breath of relief catches in her chest when he looks up to meet her gaze, desperation warring with the agony of his injured shoulder. Elena pries one hand loose and offers it to him. Her fingertips barely brush the tops of his knuckles.

“Give me your other hand!” she cries.

“Elena--” he bares his teeth, “I cannot--”

His fingers slip from their hold and he falls. The sea closes over him like a watery shroud.

Elena screams his name, frantically scanning the surface for him, when a fist wraps around her hair. The Admiral drags her back onto the ship, trapping her from escape with a boot on her chest.

“Alack, Miss McTavish, you should’ve let go when you had the chance!” the Admiral shouts above the din of his men’s cries. Blood covers his chin and neck from his ruined nose, coating his teeth where he grins. The ship lurches again and water roars as it gushes up onto the deck. “My sword will not be so kind to--”

Elena cocks her arm back and slams a fist into his crotch. Blood sprays over her in a mist as he coughs, choking on his own spittle. His hands go to cup his manhood; she grabs his sword as it falls.

“That’s for Edward.”

Rolling out from under his weakened hold, she springs up and steadies herself by wrapping one hand around the netting. The other adjusts her hold on the sword’s grip.

She lunges.

The blade drives into his shoulder, spearing through flesh and sinew. The Admiral howls, collapsing onto the deck. With a jerk of her arm, she twists the blade for good measure. “And that’s for all the innocent people you had murdered. Hell is too good a place for you, but enjoy it all the same.”

With a sharp tug, the sword slides free from him. Uselessly grabbing at the wound, he manages to clench his jaw and open his mouth to speak. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a last word, Elena brings her knee up and knocks him backward across the deck. The blood and brine slicken the planks, making it impossible for him to stop his descent as the rushing water drags him under.

Tucking the bloodied sword away, Elena scrambles over the railing and dives off the ship. The water is cold, though not as cold as the last time she leapt into it of her own volition. Kicking her legs, she swims up towards the sunlight and breaks the surface.

“Edward!” she screams, trying to be heard above the men in the water.

Swimming away from the sinking vessel, she heads towards the sun. If she can make it past the flurry of men all headed west, towards Oliver’s ship, she might be able to find him. Surely he didn’t pick a fight with anyone in the water, right? She rolled her eyes as she dipped underneath a wave to avoid another cluster of officers. Of course he would.

But she had faith he would win, at the very least.

“Edward!” she tries again when she breaks the surface.

The Admiral’s ship groans as it finally relents to the sea; the masts snap apart like twigs as they hit the water.

“Miss -- Miss McTavish!” Edward’s voice echoes from somewhere beyond her sight.

Elena paddles in a circle and keeps her head above the waves, scanning for that flash of red shirt amongst the sea of blue. Then: a lone arm, waving a sword back and forth as if it were a flag. She surges forward, riding the current as it pulls her farther out to sea and closer to her captain.

He appears just over the next wave, clinging to a chunk of wood and heaving a sigh of relief.

“You have no idea how pleased I am to see you safe, Miss McTavish.”

“Really?” she sputters. “We just blew up a navy ship and nearly drowned and you’re keeping up your pretenses?”

“You’ve been living amongst pirates for some weeks now, haven’t you learned? There’s always time for etiquette.”

Matching grins spread across their faces. They both burst into laughter at the horrible joke, adrenaline singing in their veins. Edward motions her to come closer and helps her up onto the wood. When he starts to slide off, she grabs his coat sleeve.

“Oh, no you don’t. I’ve seen this movie. Get up here with me, there’s plenty of room.”

“I do not think--”

“Get your ass back up here, Captain.”

Edward heaves out a sigh, but relents to her demands and hauls himself back onto their makeshift flotation device. “There we go,” she says. “See, now I don’t have to watch you freeze to death, or throw a ten-thousand dollar necklace into the ocean.”

“I’m going to blame our current predicament on the nonsense yer spouting.”

Elena shifts to get more comfortable and shrugs. “That’s fine.”

They both watch the Admiral’s ship disappear beneath the waves, the floating debris the only proof it was ever there at all. In the distance, men are being brought aboard Oliver’s ship. “Should we worry about them?”

“Nay, I think not.” Edward’s mouth dips down to one side. “At least, not right now. They won’t want to risk us pulling the same stunt on their ship, I imagine.”

“Good. But what about Henry?”

“We’ll get him back, don’t badge. The Admiral may not have been the reasoning sort, but the lieutenant seems to be. Especially when it comes to you.”

Within twenty minutes, the ship weighs anchor and releases the sails. Soon enough, the Revenge -- having been circling about on the horizon -- starts towards them.

“I owe you an apology.”

Elena tears her gaze from the Revenge to him. He won’t look at her, though. Instead, he feigns interest in watching Oliver’s ship disappear to the north.

“What for?” she asks.

“For promising you safety from the Admiral and letting him put his hands on you anyway.”

“You didn’t ‘let’ anything happen. I could’ve played along and not stirred the pot, but I didn’t.”

“That is no reason for him to--”

“I know it’s not.”

She reaches across to put her hand on top of his. Elena’s breath empties out of her with a sigh when he turns his palm up and laces his fingers through hers and squeezes tight. “Well, you can be rest assured that he won’t be putting his hands on me, or you, or anybody else ever again.”

A noise of surprise sounds from his throat.

“He’s dead?”

“I punched him in the dick and stole his sword and stabbed him. So, yeah, I guess. And if I didn’t, then the blood loss or water in his lungs would’ve finished the job.”

“And you are…”

“Freaking out a little about it, yeah,” she admits, angry at the way her hands have started to shake. “I put on a brave face and sent him off with a real Indiana Jones-worthy one-liner and… and I know you don’t know what that is but--”

“Elena--”

Shaking her head at him, she continues: “--but, and I mean, I know how horrible of a person he was, and all the people he had killed, and the countless others like you he took advantage of, but I still…”

“...killed a man,” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

“I won’t lie to you. It is never easy. But if some part of you did not feel this way, then that would be far more worrisome.”

Tears fall from her eyes, but he’s too far to wipe them away this time. He settles for turning her hand over and pressing kisses to her palm, mindful of the rope burn around her wrists.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I know it’s rather odd to thank you for… something like that. But I am grateful to you, as well, for saving me. I owe you my life.”

“Yeah,” she says, lifting her head up to grin at him, “you kinda do.”

Edward chuckles and enjoys seeing her nose wrinkle with her own laughter. “You can pay me back by giving me a proper kiss.”

“Here?” he asks.

“Well, yeah. Unless there’s another floating hunk of wood you think would be a better--”

Pulling himself up, he crosses the distance between them and pays his debt. Her lips are dry and rough, evidence of their captivity, and tasting of saltwater and some delicious flavor that could only be her. When she parts for air, he takes his own and then returns for another kiss. She whines, sweet and high, when he parts her lips for a better taste. Her fingers curl around the wet strands of his dark hair and tug, urging him on and on.

“You two need anotha minute or are you ready to come aboard?” Charlie’s voice echoes down to them.

They ease apart and share a heated glance before slipping off their raft. The crew leans down over the railing, hollering their relief at finding them alive and in one piece. Jonas releases the rope ladder and Edward grabs the first rung, motioning for Elena to go first. Ginny hangs off Ax’s arm, jumping up and down as she waves to them

“We saw the ship explode!” she calls down.

“Aye, that was Miss McTavish’s idea.”

“Brilliant!” Ginny declares with a beaming smile.

“Isn’t she, though?”

“Oi, where’s Henry? He didn’t…” Maggie trails off, frowning out towards the open water where the Admiral’s ship went down.

Jonas and Charlie help Elena over and onto the deck, both of them catching her stifled cry when her back brushes against the railing.

“No, no, he’s on the lieutenant’s ship,” Edward explains as he throws a leg over onto his ship. “We’ll fetch him back, have no fear.”

“He’ll be spittin’ mad that he missed all the action,” Jonas declares.

“He’ll be dancin’ the hempen jig once we rescue him and I punish him for such a stunt.”

“We were watchin’ you through the spyglass!” Ginny exclaims, still bouncing from foot to foot with joy. Ada rushes over with blankets and when Jonas moves to help distribute the supplies among the two, Ginny darts in and throws her arms around Elena’s waist. “I’m so glad you guys are okay!”

Biting down on her cheek to distract herself from the pain, Elena’s lungs stutter against the familiar burning sensation along her back. With the rush of adrenaline long gone, Ginny’s thin arms feel like hot, metal bands.

“Step back, Ginny,” Edward orders, then, in a softer tone, adds, “Please. Miss McTavish has some… injuries.”

She leaps back, her brown eyes filling with tears. Elena’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach at the guilty expression on her face.

“I’m sorry -- I didn’t -- I’m sorry, Elena, I--”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she assures, crouching down to meet Ginny at her level. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t know. Besides, a hug from you is the world’s best medicine.”

Ginny wipes away the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Yer just sayin’ that.”

“Only because it’s true,” she counters. “Now, can I give you a hug back?”

She nods; Elena gathers her into her arms and squeezes her tight, ignoring the prickle of her injured skin. There’s movement behind her: Charlie, gently plucking the collar of her shirt back to have a look.

“Oh, love,” Charlie breathes out, “what’d they--”

“I have some salve from when we went to the apothecary,” Elena not-so-subtly interrupts. “Could you get it for me, please? And Edward, he needs--”

“The ship’s surgeon looked after me,” he says.

“Yeah, like half a day ago,” she scoffs.

Charlie and Ada disappear down below before returning with her salve and the meager medical supplies. What Elena wouldn’t give for clean gauze and basic antibiotic ointment. And tampons, which she’d lamented to Charlie on more than one occasion.

“C’mon,” Elena tucks her arm through his, “I’ll play Hawkeye.”

Gathering her against his side, he heads for the privacy of his cabin to tend to their wounds.

“Are these references of yours ever going to pertain to the current day?” he wonders aloud.

“Don’t hold your breath, Major Houlihan.”

Inside the cabin, he guides her to his bed and sits her down.

“Ah, ah -- gentlemen first this time.”

“As I stated before, I was tended to--”

“Stop arguing and start stripping,” she orders, wishing that crossing her arms didn’t pull at the taut skin of her back.

With a disgruntled sigh, Edward tosses off his coat and unbuttons his shirt. Despite their dip in the ocean, the bandages somehow look cleaner than before. She focuses on that, and wonders if the surgeon did more than a quick look-see. She does not focus on the fact that she’s alone with shirtless Edward in his cabin (and boy, how her late-night fantasies didn’t hold a candle to the sight of him now).

“There’s that wrinkle again,” he murmurs, reaching between them to run a fingertip across her forehead. “Are ye thinking of home?”

“No.”

She’s surprised by her own honesty, but finds that it’s true -- she isn’t thinking of home. In fact, she realizes with a gnawing sensation in her chest, she hasn’t thought about home all day. Every minute of her night out on the deck was spent planning revenge and worrying about Edward and worrying about the crew and listening for soldiers getting too close -- and then there was no time to think at all. “No, I was… thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“Aye,” she mimics, “you.” Before she can manage to embarrass herself by showing all of her cards, Elena clears her throat. “I was thinking about what horrors I was going to find when I peeked under that bandage.”

Snorting at the dramatics, he tugs the dressing aside and makes his own noise of surprise. The stitching is neat, and the skin around it -- while ugly and bruised -- doesn’t show any sign of infection.

“Looks like I won’t be needin’ that hook then after all.”

“You’re an ass.”

The grin he shoots her does something funny to her train of thought; she forgets what the next sentence out of her mouth should be. Fortunately, he steers her back on track by checking under the bandage on his side and makes a show of turning so she can see the perfect line of stitches.

“I’m surprised the Admiral kept up his end of the bargain.”

“Ah, it was… actually the lieutenant. He came down and insisted the surgeon see me.”

She’s not sure how to process that. For all his faults, Oliver did seem to be earnest in his attempts to help.

The image of him walking away as the Admiral and his men restrained her, though, feels burnt into her retinas. “As such,” Edward continues, “the bandages will hold for a good while. I would like to -- err… I think it more beneficial to check on the status of your injuries… if I may, o’course.”

Before he can stumble his way through asking for her to take her shirt off, she reaches down and tugs it over her head. Moving to stand behind her, Edward gets a full view of her injury. She winces at the pained noise he makes.

“Any bleeding or open wounds?” she asks.

“Nay, but -- Elena, this… it looks as if someone poured hot coals down yer back.”

“That’s… a good guess.” At his deafening silence, she relents. “It was coffee. He told me it was my breakfast.”

“Who?” the single word sounds like it’s being squeezed from his throat.

“Officer Robinson.”

“I will gut him like a pig and string him off the bowsprit for harming you.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” she murmurs.

“Who says that?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

Taking the salve from her, he urges her to lie down on her stomach. Sinking onto the thin mattress, she rests her head on his pillow. The linen smells of sun and salt and sweat; she nestles closer, inhaling in the comforting scent she’s come to associate with him.

The bed dips with his weight as he sits beside her, his thigh pressed alongside her hip. He collects the damp wave of her hair and lays it across the pillow. His fingers make gentle sweeps across her skin with the honey-and-herb smelling lotion. After his fifth apology for nudging the band of her bra, Elena reaches behind her, unhooks it, and tosses it to the floor.

“Was this… retribution for my stealing the compass?” he asks, his touch stuttering across her lower back.

“No.” She closes her eyes against the memory of all those men leering at her, waiting for her to give them a show. In the nightmare she’ll have tonight, she imagines they’ll appear as wolves, starving and hungry, ready to tear her limb-from-limb. “I didn’t tell him where the compass was. I mean -- I did, but I gave him a fake location. That group of islands we fought that cargo ship. I figured it would give us enough time to work out another plan, before he keelhauled us or cut off our heads.”

“I would tell ye that I would’ve never let such a thing happen, but I wasn’t able to stop him from… this.”

Craning her neck to look at him, her throat tightens at the devastated expression he wears.

“Hey,” she says, dragging his attention away from her marred skin. “We’re not playing the blame game. This isn’t your fault, and -- although I could have played nice and things might have turned out different -- it isn’t mine, either.”

A ragged breath escapes him; the line of his shoulders softens under her assurance. She watches him set aside the pot and lean over her. The kiss he presses to the nape of her neck is so soft, she would’ve missed it -- if not for the second one he places just to the right of the first. A hum rolls along the back of her throat; he reads her obvious encouragement and trails his mouth along the top of her shoulder.

“Kiss me.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing, Miss McTavish.”

Just the side of his face is visible, but it’s enough for her to see the hint of a smile. Refusing to deal with his teasing, she pushes herself up to her knees and turns to face him. His dark eyes rove over her, burning bright with the afternoon sun pouring in through the window. She reaches for him and he comes easily into her embrace. With her breasts flush against his naked chest, his heart races against her skin.

Cradling her face between his hands, he pours every ounce of himself into the kiss. If their moment down in the brig was the dam breaking, then this is the aftermath: a strong, steady current of his mouth moving against hers. He takes only what she gives and no more, letting her explore as she likes.

Retreating in the name of oxygen, Edward tips his forehead against hers.

“I felt powerless when you did not return. I was sure… I thought of every horrible thing I knew him to be capable of, and they plagued me the entire night. I shouldn’t’ve put you in such a position, Elena. I promised to protect you and I failed.” His voice works around the emotions clogging his throat. “And I will be damned sure I will never do so again.”

Sitting back to catch his eye, she runs a hand through his hair and shushes him. It does little to ease him. “I would have rather bled to death in that cell than to see you tied to the mast, in your undergarments no less, in pain like this--”

“Edward.” She leans forward and presses her lips to the bandage wrapped over his heart. “What have I told you since day one?” she asks him, lightening her tone to pull him out of the hole he’s dug himself.

He’s a smart man; he catches on.

“A great deal about something called Amazon, which I believe is a land to the west and not--”

“Edward.”

“As well as the wonders of indoor plumbing, which you curse at every available opportunity--”

“I’m going to kick your ass out of your own bed.”

“--and for me to stop underestimating you.”

“Exactly,” she nods, smiling when he rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

Gathering her close once more, he tangles a hand in her hair where she settles against his chest. He runs his blunt nails along her scalp, enjoying the little sighs she makes.

“How could I forget when you’re reminding me every blessed moment?”

Unable to resist, Edward drops a kiss onto the crown of her head. The cabin grows quiet, filled only with their shallow breaths and the distant murmurs of the crew. Feeling the day’s weight upon his eyelids, he shakes himself out of the comfortable stupor to find Elena nearly half-asleep. He coaxes her to lay down and helps her out of her damp trousers. Tugging the sheet up to her hips, he turns to check on his crew and see about tracking down the lieutenant’s ship when a hand reaches out for him.

“Edward.”

“Aye?”

“What if I… screwed up?”

The term is unfamiliar, but he’s grown used to her unusual lexicon.

“In what way?”

She shifts on the pillow to face him, though her gaze remains somewhere on the floor.

“By killing the Admiral. I’m -- this trip, it was supposed to be temporary. I was going to try to avoid talking about the internet or reality television or vaccines and find a way back home and now I’ve gone and...” she trails off, biting at her lip.

Kneeling beside the bed, Edward brushes a lock of hair from her face and tips his head in thought.

“Have you considered that this was meant to be? That you coming here to this time... it was already written in your fate.”

Elena clenches her eyes shut and groans.

“Ugh. That makes my head hurt. I’m a time traveler and thinking about that makes my head hurt.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head and returns to his feet.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you with food.”

“Mmm… you know exactly what to say to please a woman.”

“It is one of my hidden talents.”

“What are the others?”

“In due time, Miss McTavish.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

References and other what-have-yous:

“Chivalry is dead” being a coined phrase is most attributed to Lord Byron, who in 1823 blamed it’s passing on Don Quixote. What a goodreads review that would’ve been. But in 1793, Edmund Burke, after Marie Antoinette’s beheading, remarked that the age of chivalry was dead. So, he gets whatever the equivalent of brownie points were back then.

Hawkeye and Major Houlihan are from the TV show MASH, where they’re the chief surgeon and head nurse. An extremely topical, 1970s sitcom reference.

Badge was slang for ‘worry’ in the 18th cent, per an Essex Dialect Dictionary published in 1920.

#edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores #edward x f!mc #playchoices #Kaila writes things #f: on vengeful seas

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1044

survey by a7xbabii

Do you use e-mail often? I use it for eight hours, five days a week for work, so yes.

Do you hear any animals right now? I’m in a Starbucks inside a mall situated in the middle of a busy highway. It would be very unlikely to hear any animals right now.

Are you in a well-lit room? Sure, I’d say this establishment has good lighting. There’s no light directly above me unlike the other seats, but it’s okay in this case as I don’t want other people seeing me take surveys.

Is your trashcan full? The main one we use at home just got full, so the last time I checked this morning my mom was airing it out.

What was the last crunchy thing you consumed? My chicken barbecue sandwich from last night.

Did you view anything disturbing today? Hmm, I guess so? I wanted to entirely redo one part of my embroidery piece since I wasn’t happy with how I did it, so I had to remove the threads and stuff. When they were all gone the template was filled with holes and it looked like one of those trypophobia photos. I’m not personally disturbed by that phenomenon, but I know a lot of people are.

Are there any holiday decorations in your house? Yeah, we’ve had our Christmas tree up since the beginning of November. We also usually put a wreath up our door but idk why my mom didn’t this year.

When was the last time you had a terrible headache? Last night, because I had not eaten all day.

Have you recently put lotion on your hands? No. I don’t like the feeling of lotion, so I don’t apply it on me a lot, if at all.

Are you hungry? Not so much, actually. I don’t feel too hungry today; I didn’t even finish my breakfast and that’s the only meal I’ve had so far today, and it’s already 4 PM.

Is it rainy where you're at right now? No, it’s quite fair. The sun’s not too strong anymore because of the time, but it’s still very much bright out.

Do you carry a purse? If so, describe what it looks like. I take a wallet with me. It’s pink, made of fake leather, has three main slots inside, and it also has some tiny bite marks on the outer edges from when Cooper was a lot younger.

Is your cell phone on vibrate? For certain notifications only, like texts and Viber.

Is your dishwasher full? We don’t use a dishwasher.

When is the last time you saw someone you like/love. Around a week and a half ago.

Do you like to wear gloves? No, I find them too itchy and I don’t need to wear them anyway.

Is there a body of water near where you live? There’s a creek that passes through my village near the clubhouse area, if that counts.

What are your thoughts on Avenged Sevenfold? No opinion. I never listened to them; though I am reminded of this one mutual I used to have on Tumblr/Twitter. She used to be a wrestling fan and was a part of our main circle, but she gradually shifted her main fandom to Avenged Sevenfold. By the time she cemented her new interest she then went on a huge unfollowing spree of wrestling fans on her feed and she apparently PM’d each person she intended to unfollow, including me. I remember her explaining that she was now in a different fandom and was gonna have to stop following me which I found...kinda extra to be honest lmao because nobody does that, but I appreciate the effort to approach each one of us, I guess.

Are you wearing anything pink right now? Nope, but my wallet is pink and so is my keyboard cover.

Do you like to swim in the ocean? I prefer beaches, but sure.

What is the creepiest bug you've ever saw? Cockroaches.

Do you currently have split ends? I don’t think so.

When is the last time you used the bathroom? Around five hours ago when I took a shower before heading out.

Do you chew on your lip? Almost never.

Are you afraid of needles? For the most part yeah, especially syringes. I’m not afraid of them when I do my embroidery, but that’s the only time I feel comfortable with a needle.

What is the last thing you lost? A pen, I think.

When is the last time you saw a bald person? Five hours ago, when I said bye to my dad.

What car were you last in? [continued from two days ago] My own. I was driving home from the mall.

Do you like Batman? I tried to get into Batman and the whole shebang of comic books when I was a teenager, but I just couldn’t.

Have you ever played tennis? Never have, actually. I’ve always wanted to try.

Can you see a star shape in the room you are in? Probably not in my bedroom.

What are you sitting on? A pillow I’ve placed on my work chair so that it’s more comfortable. My parents got me a basic chair initially meant just for my internship, so it’s not the comfiest of chairs haha. But now that I have a job, a more suitable work chair is probably one of things I’ll have to invest on.

What is the last warm thing you touched? My chest felt itchy just a few seconds ago, so I was able to feel my skin scratching it.

Do you use hand sanitizer? That’s kind of a necessity now, so...

Where do you want to go in life? [continued from...I don’t even remember anymore] I don’t know if I even plan to make it past 30 at this point. I can’t answer this right now.

Are you sweating? No, I’ve been in air-conditioned rooms all day and it feels so damn good.

When is the last time you had to scratch an itch? A few minutes ago when my neck itched.

Are you in any kind of club or group that is trying to save animals? No, but I very much support the cause.

Who is the last blonde you saw? At work today I saw someone who had her hair dyed blonde.

Where were you two hours after you got up, and what were you doing there? I needed to go to the office today because my team and I needed to pack some stuff to seed to certain media. It was the first time I got to visit the place and it was sooooooo homey and pretty :) I wish we can be allowed to work in the office soon; it would be best for my mental health at this point.

Do you wish for world peace? Um, of course.

Have you ever played fetch with a dog? We were able to teach Cooper how to pick up items that we throw but he’s still slowly learning that he actually has to give it back to us, haha.

What is the nearest object that is wood? The table I am typing on is made of wood.

Do you use Netflix? Yes, we have a family subscription.

Does your house have a fireplace? No, we don’t. And I can confidently tell you all other houses in this entire country, and probably the whole of Southeast Asia, don’t.

Do you wake yourself up in the morning, or does someone else? I wake myself up. On important days, I’ll put an alarm on.

What kind of hoodie did you last wear? It was a white hoodie with a UP seal on the left side.

Do you play games on your computer? No, my laptop isn’t equipped for games. I tried downloading Sims 4 when they made it free for a few weeks back in 2018, but my laptop’s fan started whirring like crazy and the battery got drained super fast. The entire period of me booting it up and then deleting it took like, a literal 15 minutes.

What is the last video game that you played? Mario Kart 8 on the Switch. I want to get myself Switch games as gifts, but I’m just so stingy towards myself hahaha.

Have you ever pet a stingray? I’m 50% would like to at least once and 50% I know of what it did to Steve Irwin, and I’m not messing with them.

If you were on vacation, would you ever go to Ireland? It’s not a big item on my bucket list, honestly. I’d love to go to Ireland, but it would probably be a part of a bigger itinerary, like if I decided to take a trip to that part of Europe.

Are you logged into Myspace right now? I haven’t been on there for more than a decade.

Did you have anything bad happen to you today? Yeah, but they’re stuff that happened at work that are a little hard to explain.

Have you ever been to New York? Nope. I’d love to take a trip there.

Do you use the term "lol" if you don't have anything to say? Not really. I use it in the end of my messages more so that I don’t sound mean.

Should you be sleeping right now instead of taking this survey? Hell no. It’s a Friday night so the last thing I want to be doing is sleeping.

Can you truly say you hate anyone? I don’t think so. I greatly dislike my brother, but I guess I don’t hate him. I find it too strong a word.

Have you ever disected a baby pig in a class at school? Not a piglet, no. We dissected an earthworm, a fish, and eventually a frog.

What brand of dish liquid do you use? A local brand you wouldn’t recognize.

When is the last time you ate a Hershey Kiss? It’s probably been more than a year. It’s not my favorite candy.

Do you ever feel unappreciated? Yes.

Do you currently have any blemishes on your face? No. My pimple finally went away, hallelujah.

Who is the last baby you held? My cousin who is now 13 years old. I’m too anxious to hold babies; I always feel like I’d drop them so I find myself declining even when I have the chance to hold one.

Are you a lover? I guess.

Do you use smileys often in text convos? Yes. Not a lot of people like them but it’s better to sound friendly and approachable than stoic.

Do you have the Google toolbar on your computer? Like...Chrome? I have the program, yeah. It’s my default browser as well.

Do you like Sunkist? I’ve never had it.

Would you ever consider being a cannibal? I mean...I guess only if I was in a life-and-death situation, like if a plane I was in crashed on an island and I was starting to get hungry. I certainly don’t fantasize about cannibalism on any regular day.

Did you forget something important in the past week? I made a few mistakes at work due to me forgetting things, yeah.

Do you like learning new things? Sure.

What color is your toothpaste? White.

Are the floors in your house creaky? Nopes. I don’t think our doors are creaky-level just yet as well.

Do you fear death? I hate the uncertainty of what happens while it’s taking place, and what happens after. But I’ve been wishing for it for a while as well. There’s a difference.

Is your mouth dry? Not right now, no.

Do yoou have any scars from an animal? Yeah I’ve got a few marks and scratches from Cooper. I never run out of them, really.

Did you have fun with this survey? It was okay.

Was it random enough? Sure.

#survey #surveys

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karkkidoeswriting · 5 years ago

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Historical Ancient Norse Clothing vs. Pop Culture

I have a bone to pick with movie and TV costuming of vikings. It seems like pop culture has it own surprisingly consistent (but very wrong) idea of history. As someone who is really into historical clothing and also into Ancient Norse, it brings me physical agony. I’m going to explain with examples. I’ll use three recent shows, Vikings, Norsemen and Last Kingdom. Now keep in mind that I have only watched bit of Norsemen and I actually really liked it, so this has nothing to do with the overall quality of the shows, only the costuming. I picked these shows because they all seem to present themselves very “realistic”, which is why I leave movies like How To Train Your Dragon be, because clearly they are not attempting realism or historical accuracy.

Also, I’m not a historian, and even if I were, there is no way to know what people at that time were actually wearing. There is archaeological evidence and a little historical evidence too, but for some things even historians just have to give their best guess. I’ve done casual and no way academic research for my own projects. If you want to read more yourself, my best resource is Viking Answer Lady. The articles go very into detail and have a lot of historical and archaeological sources.

Okay let’s go. This is going to be long.

Gripe One: “We want to make our show seem gritty and realistic, so clearly we should make our vikings dirty and wear only back and muted colors so they look edgy”

Yes, those pesky vikings, who had bad personal hygiene, wore ripped clothing and hated colors with passion. They were, after all, Menly Men (in 21th century standards). Okay, jokes aside, maybe from my sarcastic tone you can tell that indeed Norse people had very high standards for personal hygiene. According to contemporary records, they washed their faces every morning and bathed regularly in their warmed bath houses. Every man and woman had a comb with them all the time and men also combed their beards and mustaches. Sewing was also a standard skill (especially for women but probably also for men) and people generally in most periods and places before industrialization, including Ancient Scandinavia, were very skilled at it. The wool they used was very high quality and tightly woven into sleek fabric. They also used linen and if they were rich they might have worn silk.

The picture is from The Last Kingdom. The person in the middle is a son of an earl (a local chieftain, so pretty important nobility). Nobles could afford high quality wool, dyes, embroidery and good armor (not yet, but we’ll talk about it soon), and of course nobility wore those things to distinguish themselves from other classes. Norse people wore actually quite a lot of colors, and very bright colors too, especially the richer ones. Probably only slaves didn’t have their fabrics dyed.

And another note about Norse people’s concept of masculinity. Their concept of manly man for example was a very talkative, social and funny guy, who was a good leader, laughed easily and had many friends, brooding dudes were not the ideal. Being fashionable and presentable was also very important for men. They trimmed their beards and mustaches to be neat. Some carvings have men with very dapper mustaches and goatees. Noble men had long hair. Though they would braid them somehow for battle.

The other two shows have same problems. This is from The Vikings and the guy in the middle is a son of a king* and he wears literal rags.

*Apparently Ragnar in the show is farmer rather than royal lineage like in sagas, but farmers dressed well too, though not as well as kings.

More dirty clothes without colors in Norsemen.

Gripe Two: Okay let’s talk about armor

Armor is certainly not only problem in historical shows about vikings, but in most historical shows and movies, period. Let’s start with what people really wore into battle back then. It would of course depend on their wealth and social standing so let’s start with the absolute minimum.

First they wore underclothing, usually linen tunics. Over that wool tunics. Linen is very easy to wash so it gathers all the sweat and the wool is preserved in better condition. Over that they would wear padded armor. It was armor made from cloth and padded thick with usually horse hair. It was actually very good armor and shielded well from cuts, though not so well from stabs.

Helmet and a hood under it was a must. Battle without helmet would have been a death sentence and helmet without hood did very little to actually shield head. The hood would also shield neck which was just as important. Also leather gloves. It would be hard to hold your weapon and defend yourself, if you’d get hit on fingers.

This would have probably been a basic armor for a peasant. Warrior class and nobility would have better armor though. Padded armor was used combined with other armor. Plate armor was not really a thing back then, but chain mail was probably the most used one. It was expensive to make so peasants couldn’t afford it, but it great against stabs and slashes, and on top of that was flexible and didn’t restrict movement. You couldn’t use it without enough padding under, just try to think about the iron rings sinking into your flesh... A chain mail hood also might have been used over the softer hood.

Other options for chain mail were lamellar, an armor stitched from small plates of metal, and leather armor. Lamellar gave great protection, but since it was a bit restrictive, it was probably only used as breast plate, so if a warrior was rich enough to get that, they would also get a chain mail under it. Leather armor was not very good alone, but combined with other types of armor it gave some extra protection. A really thick leather with fur (for example reindeer fur) would have been used like padded armor. Leather was probably made in the form of a tunic. Basically it would been only used alone if it was really thick or had fur too. Lastly they would have used a cloak or a coat depending on weather.

Now, after seeing the couple of shots from the shows, you may start to see a problem.

I tend to forgive movies and shows the lack of helmets, since it makes it harder to know who is who and what is happening in a battle scene, which after all, is much more important for a story than historical accuracy. However, they have literally no excuse for the lady warrior to have ONLY a leather top (????) on. Norsemen is comedy, rather than historical drama, but the aesthetic is realistic, so I’m not going to let them of the hook. (And may I point out the dude behind the lady warrior? Is... is that supposed to be a chain mail? I’m confused.)

My dude, your hands will get chopped off... Please don’t wear a leather top or a t-shirt into a battle. Unarmored arms would really get lost. If you got a deep cut into your arm in that period, you had a really high change of loosing that arm.

This is from Vikings and I wanted to include it as a slightly positive example. He is wearing leather armor (which looks weird but let’s ignore that) over chain mail, so it’s actually very good protection!

Gripe Three: Women’s clothing is all over the place

I have yet to see a remotely accurate Ancient Norse women’ clothing on screen.

Most of these from Norsemen look like 12th or 13th century dresses, the way how they are very fitting on hands and upper body. Most bizarre is the girl on gray clothing on the background. What is it? Why it looks like weirdly ripped and like it’s sewn by someone who’s never before touched a needle?

Then Vikings. Let’s ignore the guy in the picture (he is a king but wears no colors and some weird looking leather armor, moving on). Both of these ladies are queens and they should have bright colors (also hair up, only unmarried young women and children wore hair down). The lady on the right has a little better outfit. The cloak looks actually really good, though not sure about the texture. The dress however is pretty bad. The lady on the left is just wrong. The neckline would have never been this low. Why is it brown? And what is that belt thing? Norse people used a lot of layers, and it was also kind of a status symbol to have a lot of layers of bright clothes. Let’s hope she has a very well hidden under-layer for her hygiene. And lastly the jewelry looks more from 16th century or something for both of them. Viking ladies used a lot of jewelry, and queens would have had very showy jewelry. Let’s look at a lot more historically accurate clothing.

This would have been something a noble lady could wear. They wore of course under-layer, then a dress long tunic over that, over that, a usually slightly shorter dress with shoulder straps and then a narrow apron which was attached into the shoulder straps with showy fasteners and between them was usually hanging some jewelry. The outfit might have had a long twined belt around the whole thing too. And as in the picture, a lot of embroidery for the rich people.

I know they think edgy black clothing is inherently cooler, but...

Really I think the accurate clothing is really cool and badass. Like let me show you some pictures of reenactors to prove it.

Bonus Non-Gripe

Also lastly I just want to say, this outfit from Vikings slaps. It’s gorgeous, it makes little sense, but I love it. Let’s pretend he has padded armor under the tunic, okay.

#history #historical clothing #costume history #viking #armor #viking armor #historical accuracy #historical fiction #costuming #tv costuming #historical drama #ancient norse #ancient norse clothing

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technicalxblades · 3 years ago

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the sea

chapter 1

(note:this is an oc story my oc are umiko sora Hikari Mizuki)

wake up and see it was still dark I sigh and get out of bed I walk out of my bedroom and out of the house I walk to the beach I sigh and the water hits my feet I smile "Tulou tulou"I hear in the distances in English that is excuse me "HELLO"I shout I "tulou"I hear I look around "HELLO"I shout my neckless began to glow I look at it "what the hell"I mutter

I look back at the water and see a clearing I start walking down the clearing I see the animals swim around it was amazing I get a cave walking in the torches light on i see a ship "whoa"I say I climb onto it I see a book and a mask I sit down and pick the book up I open it and start reading it was a dairy I get to a chapter named 'day 560'

day 560

sally had a baby she told me she named it fundy it was a very pretty name I finally got to meets sally's husband wilbur he was a nice guy and he had a big family mine and puffy son dream got along with wilbur they where both teens after all he also got to know Wilbur's father philza son techno me and him shared many likes like we both love greek mythology and reading (also seeing orphans cry) me and puffy stayed the night and ate dinner at there place but we left the next day puffy and dream both felt sick I told her I should say but she told me to go on explore the sea I felt hesitant to leave my own wife and child but I did once I got on the boat and sailed off it was hectic the boat was rocking left and right some things fell into the sea but I remember hitting a rock and waking up in this cave my boat was with me but beaten up if I don't make it to who ever is reading this tell puffy I love her and tell dream I said that as well.Also if you are reading this continue my trip ⁎

I flip trough the pages it was all blank i close the book and grab the mask 'grandmother'i thought I put the mask on the side on my head and I go down to the bottom of the ship i walk around and I see a chest I open it and there where three pirates hats they had 'sally' 'puffy' and 'lara' on each on I pull the out and there was a bag I take it out and open it there was a sail and rope I open the sail and it was ripped I put the sail back in the bag I put the book mask and hats in there as well I close it and put it on I keep walking when I get to a door I open it and see it was bedroom i walk around there was a compass I pick it up and look at it the glass was cracked but it was overall in good condition I attach it to the bag strap I open the closet and see a red tail coat with a gold embroidery there was a white shirt and some black pants and boots they where sadly ripped but it can be fixable so I put them in my bag as well I close the closet and walk out of the room I go back up 'what now'i thought I bite my lip and 'captains room'I hear it was the same voice so I just nod and I walk in the captains room I look around "what do I do here voice"I ask I sit in the chair there was a map on the table I look at it there was name like 'foxeye' and 'dream smp' or 'Atlantis' I see in dream smp there was a thumbtack and a note 'sally and puffy home' I take the thumbtack off 'take it'The voice say I nod and put in the side of the bag 'go home' the voice say I nod and walk off the ship I get off it and walk to the front of the cave the water splits and makes a path walking down I get back to the house I take my shoes off and open the door "where have you been?"x ask I look at him "I went for a walk"I say he nods I go to my work space locking the door I put the map on my wall and I take the sail out I grab my cloths and needles and I start fixing it

dreams pov:

I sigh as I look at the beach I put my hand out 'I hope your well my children'i thought I feel a hand on my should I look and see puffy "I sure the okay I mean there with x what trouble could the get in"puffy say I sigh we sit down "I'm worried about them"I say she looks at me "what are you worried for"she ask I look at the water "I'm worried about umiko and sora what if they don't forgive me or even remember me"I say puffy looks at me "dream they could never forget you and they will forgive you the'll understand that you had to go I'm pretty sure they told mizuki and hikari the story you told them"she say I nod "I remember when I first told you the story about you'er mom"puffy say I smile "hey mom what was mama like"I ask puffy make a 'ummm'Sound "well your mother was very cheerful and she loved exploring and trying something new she often would get lost in tough or she should go off and do crazy things liked once thought of getting a getting a pet pig for the ship and me and sally told her not to but she did anyways"puffy say I nod "what happened to her?"I ask puffy look at the sea "not sure sally left and me and you both got sick we harden't heard from her but I hope she okay"puffy say I nod

#dream smp au #original character #dsmp #mcyt imagine #dreamsmp x you

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donnajons · 5 years ago

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Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 2

So, this is over due, but it’s here and it’s alive! I couldn't post all the tags, it was a fully mess. Please tell me what you think about. it

It was too late to change her last name.

Her landlady registered her under that name, so the bills came under that name. Her boss, Miss Prince, wrote her checks under Marinette A. Wayne, and she got a fake ID under that name and her photo.

But why the last name Wayne was such a bad thing?

Well, turns out that the last name was well known in Gotham thanks to an eccentric playboy billionaire, whose company hold the 87 percent of the jobs in the Gothic city. At least twenty people asked her if she was related to Bruce Wayne last week. Even Miss Prince asked her if she was one of Bruce’s children. Apparently, the man had adopted a dozen children with black hair and blue eyes like her.

Well, she couldn’t change her last name, but she had the option of change her appearance. That was one of the reasons why she changed her hair color to a pastel pink. She kept her bangs just to divided in two and hold them with pins, so she could show her forehead. The pink was a good choice. It made her look like a totally different person. The only thing that didn’t match were her black eyebrows, but she didn’t want to dye them too.

After paying and say goodbye to Selena, Marinette still had more than a hundred dollars in her pocket, and it was still early, so after a whole internal debate and some encouragement from Tikki, Marinette went to a Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of embroidery thread and some needles. She felt guilty when she gave the money to the cashier and walked home with her knew embroidery set. A strong part of her wanted to go back to the store and return the threads, but Tikki was stronger than that part of her.

“Remember, Marinette. You deserve to have pretty things and hobbies. You can buy embroidery thread and not feel guilty about it. Think of all the pretty pattern that you can sew in your clothes! Tell me one.”

Marinette smilled. What would she do without Tikki?

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Marinette was nervous, and this time it wasn’t because of Char Noir, the miraculous, or money.

The Pink haired girl was about to ask her boss if she could use the sewing machine in the back to fix some of her clothes in her free time. It wasn’t that her clothes were ragged. The thing about her clothes was that they were too plain. She bought them in the discount section of Walmart in the men’s and women's section. Some of them were way too big for her, and others were just… not her style. After she came back from the store and checked the miraculous box, Marinette started to decorate her clothes… well the ones that fit her. That’s why she wanted to ask Miss Prince if she could use the sewing machine, so she could fix her clothes.

It was lunch time, and Marinette was as ready as she could be.

“M-miss Prince.” Her voice lacked confidence even though her boss was kind to her.

A tall woman with black long hair turned around to see her.

“Oh, Marinette. You change your hairstyle! Pink suits you well!”

The girl shyly moved a piece of hair from her face. “T-thank you, Miss Prince. Miss Prince I-I was wondering if you are okay with it, but of course if you don’t that’s fine. I would totally understand, and I don’t want to bother you…”

For someone that wasn’t a native English speaker, Marinette knew how to bladbling like a pro.

Miss Prince put a hand on her shoulder and said “Hey, breathe. You can’t ask me what you want if you don’t breathe, breath, Marinette, breath.”

And she did.

“Good. By the way, your English is getting better. You’re speaking more fluently.” Her boss smiled, “Now, tell me what you need.”

Marinette took a deep breath, “I-I was wondering if you could let me use the sewing machine on the back. I want to fix some clothes that I bought, b-but of course it would be in my lunch break and only if you let me.”

Quickly, Miss Prince smiled to her. “Of course, you can use the sewing machine but not at lunch time. You are a young woman still developing, so take your last hour to fix your clothes.”

Marinette opened her eyes in surprise. “B-but, Miss Prince, we have some clients at 3:00. You told me that you want me to take measurements and star the pattern for their suits. I could fix my clothes tomorrow if you let me.”

Her boss choked her head, “And you will, but you will only take measurements. I have seen your work. You are quick and precise when you take measurements. It would take at most ten minutes per customer. The pattern will take you less time. Now, don’t argue with me and eat something.”

As Marinette walked to the back store, she couldn’t help but be grateful for having a great boss like Miss Prince. She was always comprehensive and kind to her like the time she forgot her money lunch. Miss Prince bought her favorite sandwich and didn’t took it from her paycheck. Oh yes, Miss Diana Prince is an excellent boss by caring about her employees, well employee.

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Bruce Wayne was a patience man… most of the time.

There were just a few things that could make him lose his cool. One of them was getting gala clothes for his oldest sons. Tim and Damian, his youngest, were easy to dress because they had a style. While Tim liked a more classic suit, Damian preferred a little bit more extravagant style and yet elegant. This was what made easy to dress them: they had a good taste in fashion. His oldests, for the other side, had not taste whatsoever. Dick was too extravagant for his own good (If it wasn’t for his father and Alfred intervention, he would be planning on buying a pink suit with falcon feathers. His next son wasn’t better. Jason’s concept of a suit is a clean letter jacket, jeans, and a bow tie.

There was only one person who could help this fashion disasters, and that person… wasn’t, Bruce.

Diana Prince, AKA Wonder Woman, has a boutique with pretty high standards, and by God’s sake, the warrior was the only one that could tame his sons and at the same convince them to use a fucking tuxedo.

“On other news, there has been another victim from the mysterious serial killer, The Jewel Panther, this time on the city of Nice, France. The victim was a nineteen-year-old Japanese girl and was found on a local jewelry store in the same way the other victims of the Jewel Panther. We recommend all young ladies from the age of thirteen to twenty-two that have Asian heritage, fair skin, prominent freckles, black hair, and blue eyes to take precautions in France and neighboring countries…”

Bruce turned off the radio.

It was bad enough that the league didn’t want to take that case, but to hear it repeatedly was just tiring. The league didn’t consider this Jewel Panther to be a menace worthy of them. He was “too normal” for they, but what could be normal about a fucking serial killer that some how ripped off all the organs from the thoracic are of the victims without making an insertion of any kind just too leave their skin flawless.

That wasn’t fucking normal.

Bruce finally arrived at Diana’s boutique where his oldest sons were waiting for him.

“Finally, you are here. Two more minutes and I was going to leave.” Jason, his second oldest, reclaimed the three men got inside of the boutique. “For somebody that preach about responsibility, you’re late.”

“Knowing that you two aren’t a bit punctual, I told you two to be here by two thirty. You will probably arrive at two fifty. We have an appointment at three.”

“You know I would be offended if it wasn’t true.” Dick said as he sat down on one of the chairs. “So does Diana have the suits?”

“No, she is going to take your measurements to make them from scratch.”

“Do we have a saying on the style” Jason asked without hope because he knew that answer would be:

“No.” Unexpectedly, this answer came from Diana Prince, who got inside the room with a small, very small girl.

“As long as I am alive, you two will dress properly… at least just for the gala. For what you two are wearing, I cannot do miracles.” Diana said as she looked like them like if she was judging their appearances (Little note, she was.)

She got an offended hey from the brothers at what she only smiled.

“This is Marinette. She will take your measurements in the changing room. Marinette can you take them there?”

The small girl gave a shy nod “I-if you could follow me.” She said with a thick accent that neither of the brothers could identify came from. Dick and Jason followed the tiny girl.

Once his sons were gone, Bruce asked Diana “Since when do you hire help?”

“Since the business grow up” Diana knew that tone. It was the I-know-that-you-doing tone.

“Not likely, you like to do your clothes by all yourself. The only people that you have ever hired is a few Amazonians, and she has a French accent. Her physique is not anywhere near an Amazonian.” He gave her the look again. “So, what’s her story?”

Diana signed. He wasn’t the best detective just to don’t live it up.

“It’s good that you bring up the topic because I was going to tell you anyway.” She stood up closer to him “Three weeks ago, she came up looking up for work. You should have seen her. She looked so lost and even thinner than she is today. She told me she needed a Summer job, but by Artemins’ sake, she looked like she was starving for weeks. It was obvious that the money was for food and a place to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Her story had holes like how her parents haven’t move from France yet because they were busy or how she couldn’t give me her ID because she lost it in the airplane, but what gave it away was her last name.”

Bruce lift an eyebrow, “Her last name?”

“Her full name, or the name that she gave me, is Marinette A. Wayne.”

Marinette A. Wayne. What are the chances?

Bruce was about to ask when Diana interrupted him.

“I asked her if she is related to you. I mean at the time she had all the Wayne’s characteristics: black hair, and blue eyes. She seemed like one of your children, but she told me that she wasn’t related to you. She didn’t even know who you were until I told her that Bruce Wayne was a rich influence man that basically rules Gotham, which makes it even more weird.”

“There is a lot of people with the last name of Wayne, what would be weird?”

“Because, not offence, but anyone knows that the last name Wayne bring problems in Gotham. Nobody in their right set of minds would move to Gotham having that last name.”

She had a point. The Wayne family had a lot of money and prestige, but they also had an immense number of enemies. Having that last name was dangerous, and more for a teenager without supervision.

“What are your theories about her?” Bruce asked her.

“She is an immigrant, maybe illegal if she didn’t want me to see her ID. Probably from France, her accent gives her away even though she tries to sound Chinese. She is running away from somebody because her parents are not in the picture. She is always alert and ready to hide. I have seen how she shakes and jumps every time something makes a loud noise. She cries in the bathroom sometimes. She is trying to survive, but she can’t do it alone for more effort she tries to put in.”

Marinette had another characteristic of the Wayne family: Psychological trauma.

“You said you were going to tell me eventually, why?”

Diana stopped for a second.

“I’m leaving for France after the gala for two weeks. If the League doesn’t want to do something about the Panther, I will. Those girls didn’t deserve that end, and their sisters don’t deserve to live under all that fear,” For the look on his face, Diana could tell that he was with her on this. “and that’s why I need you to ask you a huge favor.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m not here.”

“You want me to babysitter her?” Bruce asked her.

“Not babysitter her, I just make sure that she is fine without letting her know. I will leave Gotham with more peace knowing that you and your sons will keep tabs on her.”

“And what would be the excuse to come to your boutique for three weeks? Another suit?” The trillionaire asked her. He was on board to keep an eye on this girl because somehow this girl reminded him of her other daughters… I said somehow.

“The boutique will be closed, so I’ll give her three weeks in advance and the materials, so she can work from her apartment. I also will talk to her about a mandatory Summer fashion course in Gotham University that will began a week before I go. I understood that your son, Damian, is taking Summer classes there to get ahead. So that would be a good excuse to keep an eye on her. Don’t you think?”

Bruce smirked. Diana was a sneaky woman.

“You planned this pretty well, didn’t you?”

“I like to be prepared. You better than no one should know it. So, can I count on you?”

Diana offered her hand to him, and Bruce willingly accepted.

“You can go without worrying about her.”

Diana gave him a small smile. “Just please, don’t adopt her before I come back. You have enough children.”

Bruce was used to this constant running joke about his obsession, as Jason liked to call it, but never tease Bruce Wayne about adopting more children because it would end in him preparing the adoption papers.

“You are very funny.” Diana could swear that she saw a little smile on his face. “Lets go, before my kids start bothering your ward.”

The two of them started walking to the changing room. “I wouldn't be worried about her. Under that shy face, I can see a ferocious warrior. I kinda want to teach her how to fight when I come back.”

“Carefull, you may end up having a daughter” This time she could swear over Athermis that she saw a smile on his face.

Diana just smiled. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

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Diana was right about her; Marinette was good at taking measurements.

It took her eight minutes to get Dick’s and another eleven to finish with Jason. It could have been eight, but the man was too ticklish and too tall. She had to stand up on two boxes just too get the measurements of the two men.

“Soo, do you like working with Diana?” Dick said trying to break the ice. Noone have something since they arrived to the changing room, well except a few reprimanding words from the little girl with pink hair.

Marinette finished taking the last measurement from Dick’s waist. She tried not to look at them in their eyes. The less attention she got, the better.

“I-it’s good. Miss P-prince is a kind boss.” She said as she wrote down the measurement on Diana’s notebook

“How long have you been working with her?”This time it was Jason who asked.

Was this an interrogatory?

“N-not long. Three weeks I think.”

“That’s good. Does she gives you a discount in the store?” The man with a few white hairs asked again.

“I-I don’t think so. We have never talk about discounts, but she lets me use the sewing machines to fix some oversized clothes and finish the embroidery. She also buys me lunch most of the time and doesn’t take it out of my paycheck. So I guess that’s better than a discount.” She kept her look on the notebook even though she finished writing down on it.

Dick and Jason shared a look. The way that she said the part about the lunch was, sad and full of gratefulness. Both men look at the girl more carefully. She was thin, at the point that they could see the bones or her hands. Maybe they should avoid that topic.

“You said you put embroidery on your clothes. Are those like the ones that you have on your blouse?” Dick asked pointing at her.

She looked down her clothes. She was wearing an orange blouse with pretty blue patrons on the collar.

Marinette gave a shy nod.

“Did you used a sewing machine?”

She shocked her head.

“No? Well, I’m impressed. This is a pretty good job. Do you think you can put something like that on my suit for the gala?”

Marinette’s blood cold down and her heart almost stopped. The idea of disobeyed Miss Diana terrorized her.

“I-I don’t think that Miss Diana would let me. She already has your suits figured out.” She passed to them the photos of the suit. They looked really formal, elegant, and expensive… and boring for Marinette’s taste.

“In your opinion, what would you change about the suit. In the hypothetical case that Diana ask you to make some adjustments for the suit.” Dick asked her.

“I don’t know if I should. I-I may get in a problem.”

“You won’t. That’s the beauty of the first amendment. Tell us your thoughts, Stephanie. It’s not like Rovin Rotten it’s gonna appear.”

Marinette didn’t understood the reference, but somehow it gave her the it gave it the valor to tell what was on her mind.

“I-if was unto me, I wouldn’t change the design of the suits, but rather the materials. Like for example for you uhm…” Marinette pointed at the tallest.

“Jason”

“Yes, Jason, Sorry. I would change the material to a more shining, like the leather jacket that you are wearing, but it’s not actually leather. It’s lighter. And you…”

“Richard, but call me Dick.”

“Right… W-well Dick, I’m t-thinking that you would look good with some metallic blue embroidery pattern on the lapel, and...and the pockets…. But I-I guess the original design is more proper for that kind of gala.“ She could feel how her face redded at the look of the two men.

“You know…” Dick said as he gave her a polite smile… “your ideas are pretty good. Maybe if we tell Diana about it, she could put ‘em on the suit.”

No, what if she gets mad? What if Miss Prince gets so mad at her that she decides to fire her?! How could she keep the miraculous box safe if she didn’t have money to sustain herself?!

“N-no. I-I don’t want to disrespect her. S-she worked so hard in those designs.”

“Never be afraid to speak your mind if you think that you can improve something” Marinette’s blood cooled again. She quickly stood up and bowed. It was forced habit that she did every time she apologized.

“Hey, Diana. We were just takin’ with your talented girl. She has great ideas.” Jason said.

Diana crossed her arms and gave her a sneaky smile. “Is that so?”

Marinette wanted apologize, but before she could even open her mouth, Dick spoke.

“Yeah, she is talented. Like the ideas she has for our suits. I bet that you heard them?”

The woman nodded.

“I did, and I think they are really good ideas. You have a lot of future in the fashion field so much that I want to talk to you about a great opportunity to improve your career. We can talk about it after our guss are gone, which remind me did you finish taking their measurements?”

Marinette couldn't believe this. It was too good to be true. Maybe it was true, and miss Prince wanted to talk to her about something good, but there was also the chance that she wanted to be alone with her, so she could fire her in private and not in front of her clients.

“Marinette.” She turned at the Diana and the other. Their faces seemed concerned. “You okay?”

She spaced out. She should stop doing that.

“Y-yes, I just got lost in translation. I finished taking their measurements.”

“If we are no longer needed, my sons and I will leave.” Bruce stepped up avoiding to look at the girl to not make her uncomfortable.

“Of course, we will have your suits for the first fit in by Friday.” She and Bruce shaked hands.

Marinette saw his two sons stand up and cme closer to her. Maybe, this was the last time that she would see them again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Pinkie Pie.” He put his hand up waiting for a high five. “Pss, this is the part you high five me back.”

The girl shakingly high fived him.

“Hey, I want a high five too.” Dick put up his hand, and Marinette awkwardly high fived him.

“Dick, Jason we got to go. Alfred is making dinner.”His sons left the room while saying goodbye to Diana. Then Bruce turned to Marinette to shake her hand. “Miss Marinette it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will meet again.”

“L-likewise, Mister…”

“Bruce Wayne, but call me Bruce, Miss Wayne.”

Marinette opened her eyes while open. Bruce Wayne as the Bruce Wayne, and he knew her last name.

“P-please, c-call me Marinette.”

The man just smiled and left the room letting Diana and Marinette alone.

So the worst things that could happen today may happened at the end. She may lose her job and get sued by the Bruce Wayne for taking his last name, and lets not forget that she is using a fake ID. Scratch that, she is an immigrant. Marinettes has seen enough news to now that that country is in thin line with immigrants She was in soo many problems.

“Marinette,” The older woman took her purse. “What do you think if we go out for dinner?”

Well… Marinette didn’t expect that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marinette couldn't say no to miss Prince. She was just too nervous to reduce the offer.

The restaurant was fancy and expensive. Only the beverage was worth more than three months of rent. The people there were dressed in fancy outfits from Versace to Oscar de la Renta; it made Marinette feel underdressed with her orange T-shirt and cheap jeans.

“So, Marinette, you told me you are interested in the fashion field.” Miss prince said as the took a sip from her glass of wine.

“Y-yes miss Prince. I do ever s-since I was a little girl.”

“And what do you plant to accomplish them?”

Marinette froze. What were her plans?

Months ago, she had a prosperous future. She commissioned big pop and rock stars like Jagged and Clara. She won many design competitions from Gabriel Agreste. She was building a name, but now, all her work and effort was worthless. She had to start all over again, but the difference now is that she didn't have the same motivation. Before Gotham, she did it because she has her parents supporting her. Today, she did it to hold to the little sense of normality in her life of chaos.

“I-I don’t know ma’am. Maybe I could start by designing clothes and maybe sell them on Etsy. I h-hadn’t have the time to think through it. Moving here was too time consuming.” The girl said as tried not to shiver. If Miss Prince was going to fire her, Marinette hoped that she did it quickly, so she didn’t have to live with this fear any longer.

Miss Diana put her glass down. “Marinette I’m am gonna be sincere to you. You have talent and dedication. Those two qualities can get you somewhere good, but that can bring you to the glory, to your golden dream is passion. And by Arthemis’ sake, you have more passion than a hundred people together. I have seen how you enjoy creating new clothes and fixing them like if it was a way to get away from everything. That’s why I want you, if you allow me, to support you to become a fashion designer.

Okay… okay.... That took Marinette by surprise. She expected miss Prince to fire her for over speak, not to offer her support.

“I-I.. Y-you want to help me?”

Diana smiled. “Of course, in fact, I have a proposition to you.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marinette locked the door of her apartment, put her key pack at her purse, and started happy dancing.

Diana (she insisted to be called by her first name) told her that after the Wayne’s gala she was going to close the boutique for three weeks. While this made Marinette sad because she would have to live from her saving can, what Diana told her next made her really happy. Diana offered her to work with her not for her.

Here was the deal, for the next three week after the gala, Marinette would be working on her usual tasks but at her apartment while she attended a course about fashion design in Gotham University, fully paid by Diana. At the beginning, Marinette refused telling Diana that she felt that she would be abusing her kindness, but the older woman said that she saw this as an investment. Paying for her education was an investment so Diana and she would sell her clothes on her store under the girl’s name. They both would win. Marinette gets an education, and Diana a new brand for her boutique.

For Marinette this was like a dream come true. In fact, this was the best thing that has happened to her since… well since she defeated Hawkmoth. She will be studying in one of the most prestigious schools of fashion in the world, and if everything goes well, she will sell her clothes at Diana’s boutique, which is one of the most prestigious boutiques in the US.

“I still cannot believe it, Tikki!” Marinette said to the goddess, “this feels like a dream come true!”

The Kwami giggled, “I’m so proud of you Marinette! You deserve this!”

After putting her pajamas, Marinette let her body fell on her hard bed. She smiled like in a way that she hasn’t in the last month. “Tikki, please tell me that this is not a dream.”

The Kwami turned off the light and put a blanket over her body. “You aren’t dreaming, but you should do it soon. Diana wants to hear your ideas for the suits tomorrow morning.”

Marinette closed her eyes while she smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt that she could just fall asleep and worry about nothing.

“Hey, Tikki?”

“Yes, Marinette?” The kwami said as she lay beside her hodder’s shoulder.

“Thank you for everything.”

The kwami gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for everything. You deserve the best.”

Eventhught her apartment was cold, sink in the kitchen dropped all night, and her neighbors screamed like if they wanted to kill each other, Marinette felt more at peace for the first time in ages…

Sadly this wouldn’t last long.

@cyborgcandy

@mikantsume @cyborgcandy @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5@livpc @serina-leigh @tazanna-blythe @blue-peach14 @justarandomtumblerblog@fantasticfourintraining@indecisive-mess-named-me @xxmadamjinxx @ captainmac6 @luckysouleaglenerd@sidefrienda@mindfulmagics @komaedasnatched @adrienne7698@akira-daiyamondo-suta @raingirl0135@kittyotakunoir666 @a-cat-with-a-knife l@thebananathatwrites@howtoshuckatlife @dolph1nch1ca1@spicytacos @re-side-this @emocinamonroll@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna a @salladanne @mjisntme @lunar-wolf-warrior @tazanna-blythe @yin-390 @constancetruggle @celestiacq @laurakinneylance @roseinbloom02

@literallytryingmybestbutok @ellerahs @felicityroth @liawinchester67 @octoberscorn @eliza-bich @chrismarium @captainmac6

#damien x marinette #daminette #ml x dc #maribat #lpmg

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annteasocial · 5 years ago

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Hihi! I really loved your arashi nee-chan x reader! It was so cute! May I request a Mika one where the reader is pretty skilled at embroidery but she’s embarrassed (I’ve noticed people often think it’s like,,, for grannies ;-;)so she hides it? And he finds out somehow??Maybe she’s Valkyrie’s producer or something? Thank you in advance if you do decide to write it, and don’t forget to rest enough and drink lots of water!

Omg I should have gotten this done a lot sooner but I was so busy and Word crashed on me :’). This is quite long, about 1.6k words X’D. AND I AM JUST GOING TO SAY THIS NOW BUT THIS WAS SO WHOLESOME TO WRITE LIKE I WAS PHAT UWU-ING THIS ENTIRE TIME. I love Mika ugh he’s adorable :’))))))

Mika X Fem!Embroiderer Reader:

You sat in the handicrafts club, sorting out the staging setup for Valkyrie’s next DreFes performance, which was approximately two weeks away from now. “Hmm…hopefully the costumes are finished soon so there’s one less thing for me to worry about. Oh, and some of the lighting still needs to be rigged in preparation…I should let the operators know about that,” you mumbled to yourself, scribbling down your schedule in a cute notebook Mika gave you for your birthday last year.

The notebook was a light baby blue in colour, decorate d with black and silver lace. There were bits of paper sticking out from the pages and all sorts of little stickers covering the front cover. “Alright…just need to work out when the stylist is available so I can contact her…aaaand done!” You closed the notebook with satisfaction and leaned back in your chair.

It was about 3:15 in the afternoon, so you had about 15 minutes left of your spare period. “No one’s around…so maybe I’ll work on my embroidery,” you hummed, pulling out a medium sized embroidery hoop from your bag that had the beginnings of a beautiful cherry blossom pattern on it. You also grabbed a needle and some coloured threads from your kit, fearing that if you took anything from the handicrafts club, Shu would find out and have your head.

Sighing, you began to work on completing the branches of the cherry blossom tree, threading the brown string into the desired pattern.

~~~

“(Y/N)-chan~! Are ya in here?”

Startled, you shoved your embroidery hoop into your lap and quickly scooted your chair forward to hide it from view. “Oh, Mika. You gave me a bit of a fright there,” you said, watching as the 2nd year’s expression turned into a slightly panicked one. “Bwah! Sorry ‘bout that, I guess I didn’ realise ya’d actually be in ‘ere.” Mika scratched his head awkwardly but continued to talk. “Were you workin’ on s’mthin’ jus’ now? Hope I didn’ interrupt you or anythin’…”

You swallowed nervously, “uhh, I was just sorting out my schedule of things to do before Valkyrie’s DreamFes performance,” you replied. “Wow, s’mtimes I think Oshi-san and I don’ deserve ya. Yer really hardworkin’ yanno?” You blushed slightly at his compliment and fiddled with the fabric hidden in your lap.

“Ah! I should get goin’ now, I have practice with Oshi-san. Sorry if I disturbed ya before. See ya tomorrow, (Y/N)-chan!” Mika waved to you and you returned the gesture. Once he was out of the room, you sighed in relief, pushing your chair back out again. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed the embroidery you were doing.

A buzz sounded from your blazer pocket, and you pulled out your phone to see your mum calling you. “(Y/N), honey? Are you almost home?” Her voice chirped from the other end of the receiver. “I’m still at school, I was just talking with one of my friends.”

“Do you think you could go to the shops and pick me up some eggs and milk? Your dad and little brother have raided the fridge again.”

“Sure, how many of each?”

“Two dozen eggs and 2 cartons of milk will be plenty. Thanks sweetie!”

The call ended and you began to pack your things away before heading over to the shoe lockers. The shopping district was only a 10-minute walk away from the school, so you were able to make good time.

It was late afternoon but the district still had students and locals bustling around the area, bringing a lively buzz to the atmosphere. You went and grabbed the things that your mum had requested you to buy and decided you’d browse the rest of the stores before heading back home.

A small, quaint shop caught your eye and you walked over to the window to see a gorgeous array of embroidery designs, coloured threads, and fabrics displayed behind the glass. ‘I don’t recall this being here the last time I visited the shopping district…maybe it’s a new shop,” you pondered to yourself.

“Eh? Is that (Y/N)-san over there by that shop?”

“Mm…I’m tired…carry me Maa-kun~”

As you were standing around, lost in your thoughts, Mao and Ritsu happened to spot you on your little window shopping spree, and the two of them walked, well more like the maroon haired boy half dragged his lethargic companion, over.

At the sound of footsteps, you turned your head up out of your daze. “Oh, Mao-kun, Ritsu-kun, um, what brings you here?” You asked, instinctively moving away from the shop window, worried they might ask you what you were looking at. Mao gave you a tired grin, “I was taking Sleeping Beauty here back home but he kept pestering me that he wanted a soda, and the closest drinks vending machine was in the shopping district, so here we are.”

You nodded as Mao heaved Ritsu’s arm around his shoulder, effectively trying to keep the ravenette standing up. “What about…you (Y/N)-chan? What were you…doing here…?” Ritsu slumped more of his body weight onto his poor childhood friend who really couldn’t do much except put up with it.

“I was just picking up some stuff for my mum. We ran out of eggs and milk and she probably wanted to make an omelette tonight,” you replied. “That’s nice of you to do that, I usually help my parents out as well when they need to.” Mao smiled as he held his friend up, the latter looking like he was on the verge of falling asleep whilst standing.

Mao seemed to notice that Ritsu was practically asleep and straightened him again. “Well, I better get going now before Ritchan passes out, later (Y/N)-san!” The Trickstar member proceeded to somehow get the sleepy member of Knights flopped onto his back and carried him off.

"Whew...dodged another bullet...” You were thankful that they didn’t ask you about what you were looking at, otherwise you’d probably freeze up and die on the spot.

Ever since middle school, you had an interest in embroidery, but your classmates often picked on you and called you all sorts of mean nicknames like “granny” or “old lady”. It could have been worse, but you hated that embroidery was stereotyped as a hobby for the elderly.

You sighed for the umpteenth time that day and began your trek back home.

~~~

The next day you sat in the Handicrafts club room again during lunch time, desiring some peace and quiet whilst you worked on your needlework in secret. You were almost done with the final touches, with only a couple of the petals on the last cherry blossom requiring stitching. You were so engrossed in finishing that you didn’t hear someone enter the room behind you since you had your back turned towards the door.

Mika had been searching for you during lunchtime to ask you about his costume which had just been completed today, and you so happened to be sitting in the clubroom like yesterday after school. You hadn’t noticed his presence which gave him the opportunity to walk up behind you to see what you were doing. When he was close enough to peer over your shoulder, his eyes widened at the beautiful, delicately crafted handkerchief, decorated with cherry blossoms and pink petals.

“Wow (Y/N)-chan~! I didn’ realise ya had that kinda talent for embroidery! Looks really nice!”

You immediately flinched and screamed in shock due to being so absorbed in your little workspace. “Waaaaah!! Mika!? What are you doing here!?” You screeched making the black haired boy jump from your outburst. “E-eh!? Ah–‘m sorry! Didn’ think I’d scare ya like that…” He looked down guiltily and you felt bad for shouting at him.

“Wait, no no I’m sorry I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that,” you mumbled, playing with the ends of your hair before realising that you still had your embroidery in your hands for all the world to see. You gasped and quickly tried to hide it but Mika caught your wrist.

“Why’re ya tryin’ to hide yer work? ‘s really pretty to look at yanno?” He grinned at you but you averted your gaze away. “I…uhh…s-so you saw it d-didn’t you…” you stammered, still trying to get the hoop out of vision.

“Was I not s’posed to?”

“N-no…it’s just…”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled it all out again. “Back when I was in middle school, people often teased me about being into embroidery. They would call me things like “granny” or “old lady” and make fun of me for my hobby…” you admitted. Mika listened intently but said nothing. “I guess from all those bad experiences, I’ve always kept this a secret because I was scared of being judged again…”

You felt tears start to prickle in the corner of your eyes. No one in Yumenosaki knew about your passion and you intended to keep it that way.

“(Y/N)-chan.”

“…”

“(Y/N)-chan, look at me would ya?”

You felt Mika’s hands cup both your cheeks and tilt your face upwards to meet his heterochromatic gaze. He used his thumbs to gently brush away at the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes.

“I don’ think yer hobby’s bad at all. ‘n fact, I really respect ya after seein’ yer needlework. ‘m still practicin’ jus’ stitchin’ holes up in clothes but yer out ‘ere makin’ really pretty cloths ‘n stuff.” He gave you a heart-warming smile and let go of your cheeks to grab your hands.

You were shocked to silence. You hadn’t expected anyone to be this understanding.

“Mika…I… ”

You felt an tug on the corner of your lips, only to realise you were smiling. You squeezed his hands in return, feeling a faint blush start to spread across your face.

“Thanks Mika…really, that means a lot to me,” you giggled and the latter scratched his cheek bashfully.

“Ehehe~ ‘s nothin’~”

You smiled again and quickly leaned forward to place a peck on his cheek before standing up to leave. “We should head back soon, class is starting in about 3 minutes,” you grinned, escaping the room and leaving the poor boy in a stunned, flustered mess.

Mika slowly brought it hand up to his cheek, feeling where your lips had been.

“H-huh?! W-wait, (Y/N)-chan!!”

#ensemble stars #enstars #x reader #scenario #fluff #mika kagehira #kagehira mika #mod ann

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