#*gestures madly to the artwork* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Text

Unorthodox: a Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome is pleasantly surprised to receive a present from Sesshoumaru for White Day... until she glimpses the contents inside her gift box.

AN: Written for the Sesskag 2021 Big Bang event on tumblr! @chierafied

I was paired with @milomai-art and here’s their lovely artwork: https://milomai-art.tumblr.com/post/648766972634513408/unorthodox-mythicamagic-inuyasha-a-feudal

Rated K+

Words: 3,000

You can read it on Ao3, Dokuga or fanfiction.net.

Unorthodox

Valentine's day had come and gone, with a notable difference this year for Kagome compared with the last lonely three;

Her return to the Sengoku Jidai.

To celebrate reuniting with her beloved friends, she'd gone all out. Everyone received gifts, right down to Myoga and Jaken; no one had been excluded.

For all her efforts, however, she expected nothing in return. Though she'd explained the concept to the Inutachi, Sango and Miroku were much too busy looking after their children to keep track of dates, Shippo was often away at Kitsune school and Inuyasha had been absent as of late. Besides that, since their relationship had ended, the subject of Valentine's had become an awkward one. She'd had to stress the platonic intent behind her gift to him.

Therefore, Kagome had pretty much forgotten all about White Day by the time it rolled around.

Exiting Kaede's hut with a tub of water in her arms, intending to give the old miko's horse a good scrub down, she dug in her heels the second exquisite silks, armour and a fur pelt registered- having blinked into existence before her. Kagome gaped, swaying. Water sloshed, some spilling to their feet.

"Uh hi," looking up at grave, handsome features, she arched a brow. Sesshoumaru stared at her fervently. "Nice to see you, Sesshoumaru," adjusting her grip, Kagome sidestepped him and flashed a warm smile, used to his minimalistic approach to conversation by now. "Do you need something? Inuyasha isn't here. I think he's helping the next village over repair a-"

"I am not here for him."

Kagome noted his succinct tone, sounding more defensive than usual. Setting down the wooden tub carefully, she straightened, tilting her head. "Then what are you here for?"

"White Day."

"White... ah!" Kagome gasped, "that's right! How did you know about that?" she blinked, noticing he looked extra grumpy today. His jaw ticked, golden eyes narrow. Slowly, the miko brightened. "No way. Did you... get me something?" she breathed, strangely touched.

Of all people, Sesshoumaru had remembered? Was she dreaming?

A hand thrust out stiffly towards her, balancing a small box upon his palm.

Accepting it with thanks, heat touched her cheeks. Weird. She really shouldn't be indulging this- or feeling kind of happy. It didn't mean anything to be pleased, right? Was she even allowed to feel warm and fuzzy towards her ex's brother?

Opening the lid, Kagome tried to squash her excitement- peering down. Slowly, she reached in, retrieving a silky soft thing.

It appeared to be made of something long, silver and fine, the material woven into a pretty design. A bracelet of silk, if she could hazard a guess.

"Um, thank you," Kagome raised her gaze. "What's it made of, out of curiosity? It's very soft."

Sesshoumaru appeared pleased, preening a little. "Only the finest material."

"Really?" she stroked it. "I hope you didn't go to any trouble on my account."

He scoffed, midsummer gaze smiling slightly as his tone became haughty and prideful, "it was no trouble to use this one's own hair."

Kagome dropped the bracelet back into the box. "Whut?"

Lithe fingers combed indulgently into his fall of lustrous silver hair, "you need not be alarmed. The strands grew back quickly."

That isn't what's alarming me, Kagome silently screamed. Now that she was paying attention though, the pale bracelet really did resemble the demon lord's long flowing locks.

Her hand recoiled a little from the box. "W-well, um... thank you very much," Kagome said thinly. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Truly."

Sesshoumaru's keen, piercing eyes roved over her strained features, voice deepening. "If you do not wish to accept it-"

"N-no, I do! I'll wear it right now!" Kagome grabbed it madly, fiddling with the thing while repressing a shudder. She tried and failed to secure the clasp, stiffening when large hands closed over her hand.

The demon lord leaned forward- that same hair currently being secured around her wrist falling free from behind a pointed ear. Silver strands draped down like a gossamer curtain, tickling her flushed, sensitive skin.

Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, expression unreadable.

Shifting her wrist, Kagome observed the threads of hair wrapped around it. His bracelet felt odd, the concept totally foreign. However, she could feel how much the gesture meant to him. She didn't fear offending him because of his dark temper- more because she cared about his feelings and wanted to nurture any hint of a bond between them.

"Thank you," Kagome said. "No one else brought me anything today, so I'm...I'm grateful."

Even if it was the weirdest thing she'd ever received. A bracelet made of hair wasn't exactly traditional.

Straightening, Sesshoumaru's lips thinned as his eyes flickered with confusion.

Kagome blinked, wondering what else he'd envisioned her saying.

"Hn," inclining his head regally, he pivoted sharply and began stalking away quickly, giving a swift kill to the conversation.

---

Without a frame of reference for how long he desired her to wear it, Kagome tugged her sleeve down to hide the bracelet from curious eyes during the next few days. She tried to ignore the sensation of hair continually brushing her skin.

"I wonder if it means something important," Kagome examined it while sprawled out upon a grassy hill, taking a break from her miko duties Kaede had started dishing out ever since her return.

Sesshoumaru had seemed extremely serious while giving it to her. Then again, the gift could've meant nothing. Maybe his hair was just THAT valuable in the Daiyoukai's opinion. She snorted, twisting her wrist and watching silver threads catch on sunlight, making it shine white. "His ego is big enough. I'd believe it. Heh, maybe he'd also give me one of his eyelashes, or a fingernail or..."

Why was Sesshoumaru heading towards her?

Sitting up and fussing absentmindedly with her hair- removing a few stray leaves- Kagome felt heat flood her face.

Okay, no- she shook herself, putting a firm lid over the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Too strange. Enough of that.

The Daiyoukai stopped a few feet away, expression detached. Kagome knew by now to ignore it in favour of looking into his eyes. They were intent and unblinking today, hinting at his seriousness.

"Hi," she said, patting a spot next to her. "It's rare for you to visit the village again during the same week. What's up?"

Sesshoumaru cocked his head to the side at her odd term. Kagome bit her lip, finding it endearing. Her attention strayed, noticing yet another box sitting innocently upon his hand.

She paled. Oh no.

Gracefully sweeping himself down onto one knee- he thrust the new box out towards her, giving Kagome a dizzying sense of Déjà vu.

I was joking about the fingernails. Please be something normal. Please.

Accepting it gingerly, blue eyes flicked up towards him. "White day is over, you know."

"This one is aware."

"So...why the new gift?"

Sesshoumaru pretended to be interested in the gentle bubbling stream not too far away. "Because it pleases me to give it to you."

He was so difficult to figure out. Not wanting to squash his newfound sense of generosity, Kagome carefully removed the lid.

The contents did not look promising.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, she reached in and removed the long necklace. A single solitary tooth hung from the chord.

"Ah," Kagome squinted. "Open your mouth a sec."

Sesshoumaru's lips parted wordlessly, mouth opening wider to reveal a gap where one of his sharp canines used to be.

"This...is yours?" she asked weakly.

Sesshoumaru closed his mouth and nodded primly. "It will serve you well, should you have need of it."

In what way would I ever have need of a tooth? a wrinkle marred her brow as she considered it, coming to a small realisation. "To make a sword from?"

"Hn."

Well, that explained a small piece of the puzzle. In a very 'Sesshoumaru' way- it almost seemed a little sweet, practical even.

However, this did not help assuage her naturally squeamish reaction while looking at the freshly plucked tooth.

"Thanks," she said lamely. "I-I'm sure it'll be very useful if I visit Totosai in the future."

Her answer didn't seem to be what he was looking for. Sesshoumaru's gaze flitted from her to the dangling fang. "Females... prefer jewels, make-up or clothing, I suppose."

Kagome scratched her cheek, "depends on the lady- but you really don't have to worry, Sesshoumaru," laying a hand over pale knuckles resting upon his knee, she gave a squeeze. "I'm touched you're being so thoughtful. There's no need to give me anything else though, I have more than enough."

His nostrils flared, jaw setting stubbornly. He drew himself up to stand, "you are too modest."

Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, Kagome could only watch as he pivoted with all the grace of a dainty dancer, stalking away with billowing sleeves.

---

For two weeks, Sesshoumaru continued visiting the village at random intervals. His flair for turning up at the most unexpected times made it difficult for Kagome to anticipate his visits. Sometimes he'd arrive bright and early, others- nearing nightfall. Occasionally he'd visit Rin, but their interactions seemed distracted. Rin would whisper fiercely to him while gesturing in Kagome's direction, but he'd ultimately leave without speaking a word to the miko.

It was odd, confusing. She'd used to think of Sesshoumaru as a fairly straightforward demon. As of late, he'd been downright unpredictable and... flakey. She kind of missed their previous easy interactions when she'd pick herbs and prattle on while he occasionally offered a word or two. His silence had felt comfortable rather than awkward.

I don't know how to get that back, Kagome thought sadly.

A chilly wind passed by, breeze rushing around her exposed neck. Adjusting her miko garb, she sneezed, shivering a little. Autumn would soon be on its way.

The heat of an intense stare sent a new chill down her spine. Kagome turned, sensing it- only to find Sesshoumaru gazing at her intently.

Was it her imagination, or did he seem absurdly pleased? As though struck by a revelation.

As was typical behaviour for him, the demon lord began walking away without a word.

---

Trudging back from training in the woods, Kagome shouldered her bow while walking around a thick tree- only to quickly stop, almost bumping straight into polished armour.

Sesshoumaru stood before her, holding another box. This time it was larger, more of a rectangular shape.

"M-more?" Kagome squeaked. Her heart thundered. It felt like so long since they'd last spoken.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head gravely, "hn."

Biting her lip and somewhat dreading what cast-off part of him could be inside this time, Kagome grasped the lid and removed it- only to slam it abruptly back down.

"What… what is that?" she asked thinly.

Sesshoumaru's lashes fell shut and slid open in an unruffled blink.

"My fur."

I thought as much.

Kagome removed the lid with trepidation once more, lifting out the lush, soft coat. Even while her hands sank into the cloud-like material, blue eyes remained wide with distress.

Sesshoumaru seemed to guess her line of thinking. "It is discarded fur that I have shed, not cleaved off. Do not worry."

"O-okay," she said thinly. It's still weird though. Too weird. Imagine if I'd made a coat of shed skin.

It was so odd that Kagome felt a line needed to be drawn, placing it back into the box and numbly accepting it from him. "Sesshoumaru… I have to put my foot down now. I appreciate your gifts but I can't accept any more."

He stiffened, the burning embers in his eyes freezing into glassy orbs.

Kagome rushed to explain, "it's very sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought. I'm just not, uh…sure they're suited for a human. Besides, you seem to be worrying about what to get me instead of talking to me. I'd rather we just spoke like old times instead of this awkwardness."

"I see," he said stiffly.

She took a step forward, eyes widening when he took one back and turned. "This one did not intend to give you things deemed inappropriate and unwelcome. Farewell."

"Wait-!"

Too late, Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hand.

Kagome grit her teeth, sighing and balancing the box on one hand. Damn it.

Slowly, Kagome lowered the box onto a tree stump and gingerly lifted the coat. It felt lush and divine, her hands disappearing within the sheer volume of fur. Sliding her arms into the sleeves and putting it on, Kagome wrapped it around herself, feeling like she were enclosed in a giant fluffy cloud. His static youki brushed her skin intimately, fanning out from the strands.

It was big. It was a little ridiculous. It was wonderful.

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands. Sure, the idea of him collecting his shed fur to sew into a coat was strange by human standards, but actually wearing the coat, she now understood his simplistic intent.

He'd just wanted her to be warm.

"You're such a weirdo," she grumbled, blushing and dipping her nose into the fur. It smelled like him; wild forests, with the hint of refined smoke from a pipe.

Maybe she was weird too.

---

He was absent for an entire month.

Sesshoumaru figured it would help ease the sting of rejection. The second he caught Kagome's fragrance, however, it was like an old wound had been ripped open again.

His lips thinned, firmly keeping all emotion locked tight behind a placid mask as he visited Rin.

Chatting with the girl allowed him to soothe his stung ego for a while, distracted by Rin's news about the village and her training. Occasionally she would mention the miko and his chest would tighten again. How pathetic of him.

Once his cup lay empty and Rin mentioned the need to leave in order to assist the older miko, Sesshoumaru took his leave.

Stepping foot outside Kaede's hut, however, he froze.

Kagome stiffened before him, swathed in furs- his furs- he dimly noted.

More than that, lithe fingers curled around the fang resting at her collarbone. The silver bracelet of his hair caught the light before disappearing beneath the length of her sleeve.

Kagome's cheeks heated, and she thrust out a box, letting it rest on her palm.

"I asked around," she muttered. "Inuyasha was clueless, and Shippo kept laughing whenever I tried to ask him what was going on. Luckily Myoga happened to stop by," blue eyes pinned him in place. "You could've told me what all the gifts meant instead of leaving me in the dark."

Sesshoumaru did not accept the box just yet. "I thought my intentions were achingly clear."

Embarrassingly so, for a proud demon.

"Not for humans!" she huffed, lowering her hands a little. "I was confused the whole time! How was I supposed to know that you were giving me a betrothal bracelet, or that the fang was for any half-demon children I might have when they need a sword? I kind of figured out the coat, but I didn't know it represented your intentions to provide for me."

Sesshoumaru stared. Oh. Perhaps he should've listened to Rin about courting the miko after all.

Cheeks scarlet, Kagome sighed, lifting the lid of her box off and removing something from inside.

"May I?"

Sesshoumaru nodded dazedly, golden eyes widening. His entire being thrummed, heart picking up speed.

Shifting closer, Kagome pushed some dark locks behind her ear, the length slightly shorter than usual. Sliding a black bracket around his striped wrist, Kagome swallowed. Her hair had been woven into a band much like his, though nowhere near as intricate.

The demon stared at it, fixated. Baser instincts purred.

Molten gold eyes slowly raised to pin her with a disarmingly reverent look. He spoke no words of poetry, no love or longing, but it was there, he hoped. Abundantly clear. Kagome seemed to recognise it for what it was now.

She smiled a little, hugging her arms and scuffing her foot. "Don't get the wrong idea; I'm not saying I'll jump into marriage with you, but it turns out I'm kind of interested in dating you. Really... interested," Kagome forced out, obviously embarrassed but soldiering on. "If it's okay, we could...do that," she finished lamely.

Sesshoumaru took a step forward, invading her personal space. She blushed exactly the way he'd hoped she would, babbling. "So the uh- think of the bracelet as a dating bracelet! Maybe down the line it could...it could become an engagement thing," she murmured, voice dimming in the wake of his proximity.

"Hn," honeyed eyes smiled, careful claws unfurling to find her chin. "That would be pleasing," he uttered in a faint rumble, tipping his head down. "I accept."

Satisfaction rolled through him fiercely as she tilted her head just so- lips meeting and brushing feather-light against his. Emboldened, Kagome's hands found the collar of his hankimono just as he took her by the waist as though entering a dance, tightening.

Sesshoumaru let his eyes flutter shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. He could smell her so bright and clear—the sweetness of tangerines, faint, exotic soaps—and her mouth so warm. Kagome kissed him, firmer, hand finding his hair- fingers curling. His breath began to roughen the longer their kisses went on. His heart chanted the truth of it all- 'yours.'

If the foolish woman wanted him, he'd already given himself to her. The ticklish brush of her hair claiming his wrist made him smirk against her mouth, glimpsing his own band of white around hers and revelling in a plume of possessive pride.

Perhaps it was unorthodox by her standards, but they were not exactly normal themselves. And so, Sesshoumaru drowned himself in the curious, raw newness of the strange miko, surrendering to all the oddities that would likely follow during their strange courtship.

End

#sesskag #sesshomaru x kagome #sesskag big bang 2021 #inuyasha #sesskag fanfiction

147 notes · View notes

candied-peach · 5 years ago

Text

ao3: “how bad can i be?” rating: T warnings: food, remus typical stuff, age regression, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, creativitwins genre: fluff description: Roman ends up with babysitting duty.

A knock on the door drags Roman from his work and he frowns, looking up from the impassioned scribbled ideas for Thomas's next video.

"Yes?" He calls, willing the irritation out of his voice. He did forget to say he'd be working all day at breakfast, after all.

"Roman, are you busy?" Deceit's strained voice comes through the door. Roman's eyes widen in surprise. Deceit never seeks him out. Never seeks anyone out, really. They've accepted him, but it's still tentative, especially from Patton's side. He tends to stay in his room or hang out with Remus.

Speaking of Remus...

When he opens the door, Deceit stands there, flustered, one gloved hand raised to knock again. Remus clings to Deceit's side, a stuffed octopus slung under one arm and kraken-printed pacifier stuck firmly in his mouth.

Oh.

"Thomas needs me," Deceit explains breathlessly. "One of his friends is having a hard time with their parents, and Thomas, as you know, has a hard time with-" He gestures to himself. "But Remus is regressing, and he can't be left alone. Can you watch him for me? It shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Of course," Roman answers, belated. How hard could watching his brother be? He might even be able to get his work done. "Would you like that, Remus?" He asks, addressing his brother. Remus shyly nods, before looking up at Deceit with distress.

"Leaving?" Remus asks, popping out his pacifier. Deceit brushes some of the hair out of Remus's eyes.

"I have to help Thomas, little kraken," he says. "Just for a little while, and then I'll be back. Okay?" Remus looks like he's pondering for a moment, before he nods.

"Okay," he says. "Come back fast."

"I will," Deceit promises. "As fast as I can." He turns back toward Roman. "He isn't allowed to watch the movies he normally likes when he's regressed, but he asks for them anyway. He's an unholy terror if he's bored. He likes coloring and it usually turns out a little gory, but praise it anyway. He can have snacks, but only edible ones. No deodorant sticks." Deceit's nose wrinkles. He looks past Roman into his room, furnished with pristine red, white, and gold, then frowns. "Maybe you should watch him in his room. Or mine."

"It'll be fine!" Roman dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've watched Virgil before when he regressed. How bad could he be?"

A funny look passes over Deceit's face, but it's gone before Roman can properly examine it.

"Sure," he says. He passes Remus's hand over to Roman's. "Remember, I'll be back soon," he says. "Behave for your brother, Remus. Okay?"

"Okay," Remus says, around his pacifier. Spit slides down his chin and Roman has to hide a wince of disgust. "I'll be good."

As soon as Roman shuts the door behind them, an enormous grin comes across Remus's face, the kind that bodes no good for any of the parties involved.

Roman's heart sinks down to his toes. What have I gotten myself into? He thinks.

"Revolution!" Remus shouts, and charges toward Roman's bed, stuffed octopus flapping madly in one hand.

"Whoa there!" Roman exclaims, reaching a hand and snagging Remus's sleeve, jolting him to a stop. "Where do you think you're going?" Remus cocks his head to one side, looking at Roman like he's an idiot.

"The bed," he says, as if he's talking to a baby. His pacifier dangles by its clip.

"Why?" Roman asks. Remus grins and Roman discovers that he has a gap in his teeth when he's regressed.

"Jump," Remus says, cackling. Before Roman can process what he's just said, he tugs free of Roman's grip and scrambles on the bed, bouncing on his knees.

"Get off the bed!" Roman demands, all too cognizant of Remus's dirty boots now making their way over each and every inch of his perfectly pristine prince-sized bed. Remus sticks out his tongue.

"No," he says. No longer content with bouncing on his knees, Remus clambers to his feet and begins to jump, nearly hitting his head on Roman's oversized canopy. Roman wracks his brain, desperate. Think, Roman, think, he chastises himself. Aha! He conjures up an enormous Disney coloring book, one with princesses and villains, and waves it enticingly in the air.

"I have a coloring book for you," he cajoles. Remus pauses, glancing his way, interest brightening his eyes.

"Coloring?" Remus repeats in a hopeful tone. Roman nods, trying not to seem too desperate.

"And a jumbo pack of crayons," he says, pulling a fifty-count box out of thin air. Remus's eyes really light up at that, and Roman has to smile, even if his bedspread is now covered in Remus's boot prints.

"Color!" Remus cheers, hopping carelessly off the bed in a way that scares ten years off Roman's nonexistent life span. He barely stumbles, though, and makes his way toward Roman, his stuffed octopus now perched on one shoulder, plush limbs looped around his neck.

"Here," Roman says, conjuring up a desk and chair. "You color. I work on stuff for Thomas." Remus's face droops a little at his last remark, but he accepts the coloring book and crayons willingly enough, clambering up in his new seat.

"Hey, Ro Ro," Remus interrupts him a few minutes later. Roman looks up from his idea pad, biting back his frustration. This was supposed to be the perfect distraction for Remus. How could it work if Remus kept interrupting? "Which red is good for blood?" He holds up a handful of red crayons.

"Uh, that one," Roman says, picking one at random and hiding his shudder of revulsion. It's not Remus's fault he is the way he is, he reminds himself.

"I like to color," Remus chatters. "I like to draw too. One time I drew everyone, you and Dee Dee and Lo and Virgey and even Pat! On a big paper-" He stretches his arms out comically wide to demonstrate. "And at the bottom I drew lots of skulls. Like a big pile of skulls." He beams.

"That sounds...delightful," Roman manages to say, narrowly avoiding an inadvertent Deceit summons. Wouldn't that be awkward. Unbothered, Remus nods happily, coloring away. The tip of his tongue sticks out between his teeth.

"I'm coloring Ariel," he says. "And a kraken comes and eats her up." He shows Roman his progress. Even regressed to a child, his art skills are nothing to sneeze at, Roman thinks. If only they weren't quite so...gory.

"Well done!" He praises. Remus practically glows, and Roman feels a pang of guilt stab him. Remus really is doing his best after all. It's not his fault that his imagination runs to- well, that, even when a child.

"Would you like a snack?" Roman asks. Remus nods eagerly.

"Deodorant!" He chirps. Roman shakes his head, alarm bells ringing in his head at the sight of the pout forming on Remus's mouth.

"Dee said you couldn't have deodorant," he says, cheerfully passing the blame to Remus's primary caregiver. "Edible snacks, kiddo. Do you have any favorites?"

"Goldfish!" He says, excited. The brewing squall seems to have passed, much to Roman's relief. "I like biting off their heads!" Of course you do, Roman thinks as he conjures up a sippy cup full of strawberry juice and a plastic bowl full of goldfish. Remus accepts both, cramming a handful of goldfish into his mouth as he colors. A few droplets of juice stain his coloring page and Roman expects him to tear up over it, but instead, he incorporates them into his artwork.

"More blood," Remus announces brightly. With an indulgent smile, Roman gets back to his own work. See? He tells the Deceit in his mind. He's not so bad. Sure, there has been a minor hiccup or two. I have to wash my covers, for instance. But really, he's not at all like you portrayed him to-

"Look, Ro Ro, I can fly!" Remus announces from the top of the wardrobe and Roman's heart stops.

"Remus!" He shouts, diving toward the wardrobe just as Remus bends his knees and jumps. With heart-stopping slowness, Roman makes it just in time for his brother to land on his back, driving him to the floor with a painful whoosh of breath.

"You got in the way," Remus accuses, disappointed.

"Get off me," Roman says. Reluctantly, Remus rolls off him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Roman tries to still his frenetically beating heart as he glares at his brother.

"That was very dangerous," he says, breathless. "Don't do that. You could have been seriously hurt." Remus shrugs, unconcerned.

"Not really," he says, popping his pacifier in and out of his mouth. "Dee Dee says I'm like a bouncy ball."

"Be that as it may," Roman says. "Dee is not here right now. I am. Please don't jump off the furniture. Why don't you finish coloring?"

"I did finish," Remus says. "You didn't see 'cause you were too busy with your dumb work." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, scowling.

Another splinter of guilt wedges itself in Roman's heart.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, Remus. You're right. I'm supposed to be watching you and I'm not doing a very good job, am I."

"Better than Pat," Remus says. Roman wonders at the story there, but decides to ignore it for the time being.

"Would you like to watch something?" He tries. "Just me and you, no work involved?" He expects Remus to ask for one of his favorites when he's older, like Repo! or perhaps a true crime documentary. Remus looks up shyly.

"Finding Nemo?" He requests. Roman smiles.

"Sounds good to me," he says. "Come on, let's make a blanket fort and watch it that way."

"And then I have more snack?" Remus asks hopefully. Roman laughs.

"Sure," he says. "Then you can have another snack."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @littlestliu

467 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 5 years ago

Note

Vivienne looking at MC’s childhood photos for the first time and sharing a few of her own childhood memories with her. Fluff. Either HC or fic. 👧🏽❤️👧🏻

MC’s bedroom was simple and plain; the walls were cream white, and the door brown. It wasn’t as personalised as how you’d expect someone’s room to be, not pink and red like Vivienne’s room, or blue and gold like Nikolai’s, it was average, but it was home.

It wasn’t huge, but big enough to put everything MC wanted in there. A king single bed sat at the corner of the room, it’s bedhead surrounded by too many plushies. There was a desk beside it with a swivel chair that was stolen from her dad’s workplace. It looked incredibly out of place compared to the rest of the room, but then again, kids didn’t care whether a room fit an aesthetic, and older MC certainly didn’t bother enough to change anything. The chair was comfy and big, and that was all MC needed. Books and pieces of paper lined the walls in a built in shelf opposite the bed, and if you looked closely you could see some of MC’s primary school artworks peeking out in between books.

On another wall there was a mounted shelf with trophies and picture frames neatly decorating it. There were certificates, pictures of MC and her family, artworks and a few prize ribbons hanging from the shelf, weighted in place by other trophies.

“Welcome to mi castillo!” MC gestured to her room.

She let go of Vivienne’s hand so Vivienne could wander around, and rummaged through a box underneath her desk while Vivienne checked the room out.

The room was messy, but that only proved how much it was lived in. Everywhere you turned, it was as if you could watch MC growing up. From the plushies on the bedhead to the potted cactuses beside the window.

Vivienne looked at MC’s trophies, most of them were of colouring contests, and of course only first place trophies had a spot on the shelf. There were a few participation ribbons to sporting events, probably ones held by MC’s school that she was forced to join. There was a picture of young MC, smiling so bright you couldn’t even see her eyes, and in her hands were a certificate.

Vivienne smiled at the picture.

Who knew this simple a Cuban girl would grow up to be one of the world’s most renowned thieves?

“Vivienne!” MC called out. She was sitting on the floor with a box of full of stuff beside her, and lightly pat the space beside her for Vivienne to sit.

Vivienne sat, and MC scooted into Vivienne’s lap before pulling a photo album out from the box.

The album opened with a crisp sound, the plastic cases stuck together and some of the photos yellow.

“What’s this?” Vivienne asked.

“Me!” MC chirped and pointed to a picture.

MC looked like she was just starting primary school in the picture, her school uniform oversized and her long brunette hair tied in a braid. She smiled with both rows of teeth visible and stood beside her trolley backpack, ready to take on the world.

“I was so chubby!” MC shifted closer to Vivienne, giving her a better view of the picture. “And also, I was pretty sure I had the coolest backpack in school. Look, there were dinosaurs on them!”

MC shoved the album in Vivienne’s face. “Dinosaurs!”

Before Vivienne could react, MC had already flipped to another page. This time it looked like a class picture. MC’s caramel skin stood out compared to the other students, but she looked happy to be there.

MC pointed at a black haired girl who sat in the front row beside the teacher. “Her name’s Felicia. She used to be my best friend but after grade six we kinda drifted apart. I still talk to her sometimes, but ever since I, well, become a wanted thief, my social life hasn’t been thriving.”

MC went on about her friends in school, and what happened to them. She talked about one of her most tense colouring competitions, when her pencil lead went blunt and she didn’t have a sharpener. She talked about her school excursions and how her parents accompanied her on her first one because they were too worried. She talked about her friendship problems when she was young, and how she wanted to apologise to some of her friends for making the decisions she made. She talked about everything, and Vivienne listened. And she listened. And she listened. And she listened.

At this point, MC had already closed the photo album and was sitting sideways in Vivienne’s lap. She flailed her arms around, seemingly more indulged in her own story than Vivienne. Vivienne placed a chaste kiss on her shoulder, which caught MC’s attention.

“Baby?” MC asked, turning to look at Vivienne. And then she gasped. “How long have I been talking?”

“Not long enough, mon chéri.” Vivienne gave MC a quick peck on the cheek to reassure her.

MC turned and leaned in to give Vivienne a kiss. She placed a hand on Vivienne’s neck and stroked Vivienne’s cheek with her thumb, earning a soft sigh from Vivienne. Vivienne shifted MC closer towards her and hugged her by the waist, deepening their kiss.

MC pulled away before giving Vivienne another tiny kiss. “Thanks for listening. Also, this part of the story is crucial to my character development!”

Vivienne laughed.

And MC continued on with her story.

And Vivienne continued listening.

Vivienne couldn’t help but smile, not because she now knew more about MC, but because MC let her know more about her.

MC knew opening up was hard for Vivienne. Her past relationships failed all because Vivienne tried to open up, and MC didn’t want her to feel like she had to hide herself ever again. So, she opened up first. She wanted to let Vivienne know that she felt comfortable with her, and that Vivienne could feel that way with her as well.

MC felt safe in Vivienne’s arms, and there wasn’t a second thought at all while she told Vivienne her stories. There wasn’t anymore second guessing, no more being afraid that Vivienne would run away, or maybe that she would run away. She knew what they had was real, and she knew Vivienne was in it for the long run.

Every now and then, Vivienne would pepper soft kisses over MC’s hands and neck, reminding her that she was still listening, and that she was happy to do so.

Who knew this world renowned thief would grow up to fall so madly in love with this simple Cuban girl?Written by @wonder-falcon

#Anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #lovestruck headcanons #vivienne tang #vivienne x mc #queen of thieves vivienne #qot vivienne #queen of thieves #fluff #miscellaneous monday

110 notes · View notes

onceabluemoonwrites · 4 years ago

Text

By the Power of the Moon

Title: By the Power of the Moon

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: G

Pairing: Sailor Moon & Sawada Tsunayoshi

Tags/Warnings: None

Prompt: Sun day: shocking reveals for @khrrarepairweek

Summary: Sailor Moon is in town! Too bad he has curly sideburns.

Inspired by zurre’s artwork on twitter!

AO3 link

The day is hot, the sun shining down in hot waves, the streets nearly deserted. Everybody’s hiding in the shade at home, sitting beside their fans in their workplaces, or, in the case of Namimori Chuu’s pupils, just leaving the school. The warmth makes them lazy and lethargic. Where there would normally be some natural chattering, there is now only silence.

And outcry breaks it.

‘’Sailor Moon is in town!’’

It’s Ryohei. He’s run to town and back already in the time that the others had put on their outside shoes. Tsuna sighs, and contemplates how he can slip into the crowd and avoid this whole debacle-to-be because he knows his friends. He sees an opening as the crowd starts to talk about the outburst, but Gokudera suddenly has an iron grip on his shoulder. ‘’Juudaime,’’ he hisses, ‘’Sailor Moon! That’s almost as cool as an UMA!’’

‘’Oni-chan!’’ Kyoko rushes forward, clutching her brother’s arm, her eyes sparkling. ‘’Really, Sailor Moon?’’

Hana reluctantly follows her, as Gokudera drags both Tsuna and Yamamoto closer to the happening.

‘’Uhuh!’’ Now the siblings are just enthusiastically nodding at each other.

Tsuna likes Kyoko-chan, he really does… But sometimes he wonders what her parents are like, to have produced two children like this, before he decides he really, really doesn’t want to know.

Hana raises a sceptical eyebrow. ‘’Doesn’t Sailor Moon live in, like, Tokyo? That’s a long way from here, Sasagawa.’’

Gokudera clears his throat. ‘’Technically, we don’t know where Sailor Moon lives, but yes, she generally appears in the Tokyo area. Azabu-Juban has the most sightings.’’

Hana levelled with him a look. ‘’You follow a Sailor Moon sightings site too, now?’’

Gokudera turned red but kept his nose in the air. ‘’So what?!’’

Tsuna, refraining from pinching his nose bridge, gets between them before it can escalate. ‘’Guys, please. What do you even want to do about this?’’

Haru pops up behind the Sasagawa siblings, nearly giving Tsuna a heart attack. ‘’HIEEEEEE!’’ Clutching his chest, he tries to calm down. ‘’Where did YOU come from?’’

‘’Haru came from the gate, desu!’’

Gokudera narrowed his eyes at her. ‘’You, woman. I’m pretty sure you actually use some kind of teleportation, most likely tied to Sasagawa junior’s shadow.’’

Haru scowls. ‘’That’s not Haru’s point, desu! Haru thinks we should search for Sailor Moon! Haru wants to show her Haru’s Sailor Venus cosplay!’’

Hana, always seeing an opportunities to get rid of the people around her, immediately grabs Kyoko, shoves her under one arm and Haru under the other and says: ‘’Great idea! We’re pairing up and looking for her! I’m with Kyoko and Haru! Keep your phone on hand to call the rest of us if you find her!’’ And they’re gone.

Tsuna is honestly kind of jealous of her ability to just… nope out of everything around her.

Ryohei grabs a protesting Gokudera and is also off, leaving Tsuna with Yamamoto. All things considered, Yamamoto is probably the most fun person to do this with, because he’s not likely to take it seriously. At all.

On cue, Yamamoto starts to laugh and says: ‘’Let’s go then, Tsuna! We can’t let them beat us as the find-Sailor-Moon game!’’

Tsuna can’t help but smile a little as they walk into town. His friends might be a crazy bunch, but they’re his crazy bunch.

When Ryohei and Gokudera find Sailor Moon, they don’t text. They don’t call. No, instead Ryohei unearths a bellow from his gut, unearths it from somewhere so deep inside there, that they hear it on the other side of town. Gokudera’s cry is only a few decibels below that, but considerably more high-pitched.

Yamamoto, upon hearing it, immediately starts to run towards it, forever ready to be amused by Gokudera’s mercurial moods. Tsuna can’t help but laugh at the eager glint in his eyes, quickly following.

When they arrive at the scene of the crime, they find Gokudera fanning himself, sitting down and leaning against the fountain, Ryohei doing jumping jacks beside him.

‘’I am,’’ he says, sweat rolling down his face, ‘’EXTREMELY pumped up!’’

‘’We saw,’’ Gokudera pauses, face red, as if to build up suspense, ‘’SAILOR MOON!’’ He swoons a little.

‘’Woah!’’ Ryohei supports his back. ‘’Please don’t faint again, Octopus-head!’’

Gokudera glares up at him. ‘’It’s that I have this autograph from her here that I need to protect with my LIFE, or I would definitely punch you for that!’’

Ryohei gestures at him to come closer. ‘’Please do, Octopus-head! The boxing club can always use more members! Throw the best punch you have at me!’’

Gokudera scowls. ‘’Did you listen to a single word I just said that did not contain the word ‘’punch’’?’’

Ryohei just shadow boxes at him. Tsuna is about fifty per cent sure that he’s just doing it to wind Gokudera up at this point, but he’s not going to point that little factoid out. He’d like to be able to sleep tonight without having to put headphones on because there were explosions all around town as Gokudera kept pursuing Ryohei.

‘’So,’’ he says, because contrary to popular belief, he does have tricks to distract his friends, even if controlling his rambunctious bunch is a pipe dream. ‘’You guys saw Sailor Moon?’’

Gokudera nods. ‘’She was so beautiful. Like you wouldn’t believe, Juudaime! Her shiny blonde hair, her tiara, her keen sense of justice…’’ Then he frowns. ‘’She was a little smaller than I thought she’d be, but I suppose only seeing her on camera would do that…’’

Tsuna��s phone vibrates in his pocket, so while Yamamoto pokes fun at Gokudera, he checks his texts. ‘’Yamamoto, quit winding him up! If you want a chance to see Sailor Moon, Haru just texted me they found her three streets over! Apparently, she’s giving a concert!’’

‘’Hop on the Onii-chan express!’’ Ryohei bellows, before grabbing all three of them, and taking off. Gokudera, under his left arm, is cursing. On top of his shoulders, Yamamoto is laughing, madly and unholy, like the heathen he is. Tsuna, under his right arm, is pretty much crying. Why are they like this?!

As they get closer, they can actually hear Sailor Moon’s voice. It’s very high and slightly squeaky. Vaguely familiar, too, but Tsuna’s seen her on tv enough that that’s probably just because she’s on the news so frequently. Everybody loves a magical girl, after all. Tsuna’s own mom is still pretty disappointed that he wasn’t a girl with magical girl potential. No, Tsuna got the magic mafia powers. God damn it.

Ah, there they are. Sailor Moon is on top of a building, singing her heart out to a J-pop song. The crowd below her is waving their hands along with it. There seems to be a spotlight on her. Tsuna has no idea where she got that, nor how it is even effective on such a bright sunny day. He spots Haru, Kyoko and Hana in the crowd, swaying along, arms entwined. Even Hana has a big smile on her face. The sight of it makes something inside Tsuna’s chest soften, slowly warming up his whole body.

Smiling, he looks up at Sailor Moon. She is indeed smaller than she looks on television, but that’s probably because she’s standing on a building and they are standing in the street below it. Her blonde hair does gleam in her weird, unnatural spotlights, and Tsuna’s eyes glide up over her popular sailor suit to her green tiara with eyes.

Wait- what?! Green tiara with eyes?! It couldn’t be- no, Leon wouldn’t.

Tsuna clenches his fists. Oh no. Whenever one thinks ‘’Leon wouldn’t,’’ they always, always have to take into account that Reborn would. Stomach filled with dread, he forces himself to look at the side of Sailor Moon’s face, and yes, there they are. The curly sideburns.

The entirety of Namimori came out into the sweltering summer heat to see Reborn perform in Sailor Moon cosplay. He facepalms. Maybe he could sink into the floor or something and Reborn wouldn’t notice? Maybe he could pretend not to know him or something.

‘’Wow!’’ Ryohei shouts. ‘’A TV crew! Extremely awesome! We might be on TV along with Sailor Moon!’’

No, Tsuna starts crying. His shame will be immortalized.

‘’Hey, that’s not me!’’ Staring at the TV in her living room back in Tokyo, Tsukino Usagi gapes.

‘Sailor Moon spotted in Namimori, giving a J-Pop concert!’ the headline below the footage reads.

Beside her on the couch, Luna meows. ‘’Duh! You don’t sing nearly that well.’’

Usagi’s offended screech is heard by exactly no one, except her little brother, who is hiding in his room and pretending she does not exist out of sheer embarrassment.

Many, many miles away, Tsuna feels a strange kinship for someone he has never met, and probably never will meet.

It will remain a mystery, to all those below the moon, for many years to come.

#khr #khrrarepairweek2020 #sawada tsunayoshi & tsukino usagi #fanfiction #sun day #day 3 #shocking reveals #crossover #sailor moon #onceabluemoonwrites fic #sawada tsunayoshi #tsukino usagi #reborn

13 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 5 years ago

Text

Bad Boys of Persia Part 4

Part 5 (the finale) will be out soon! The Nessian part is really long, but I wanted to get everything set up for the next part.

Part 1 ~~ Part 2 ~~ Part 3 ~~ MASTERLIST

NSFW warning ;) Enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

Feyre climbed the stairs, trying not to spill the coffee she’d managed to ask a vendor for as she pushed open the door to Rhys’s room.

It was still early, a soft breeze blowing through the space, making the curtains billow in the morning light. Rhys was on his back, one tattooed arm slung over his face to block out the sun.

Gods, he’s beautiful, Feyre thought, admiring the lines of his golden chest. His dark hair was splattered on the pillow below him, and she couldn’t help but remember how she’d slid her fingers through it. How she’d pulled on the strands as his mouth dropped to her neck.

His lips were still swollen, slightly parted as he slept, and Feyre smiled as she thought about how they’d pressed into every part of her. Her fingers drifted over her own, still drunk on the feeling of how easy it’d been to open her mouth for him.

He shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his stomach and clutching his pillow below his head. Feyre crept up next to him, sinking onto the mattress. She softly ran her fingertips over his shoulder blades, tracing the lines of his tattoos.

Two twin wings expanded over almost his entire upper back, the ink as black as night.

The inside of them was covered in small whirls of ink, and Feyre grinned as she traced over them. Surrounded by the stark white of the sheets, the morning light made his skin and the ink look even darker.

“Good morning,” he said suddenly, turning on his side to look up at her and giving her a sleepy smile.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, stubble scratching her lips slightly. Feyre blushed as she remembered where else it had scratched.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked, endlessly amused, as he tapped a finger against her temple, then ran a finger over her flushed cheek.

She shook her head, unable to keep the stupid grin off her face.

“Come here,” he whispered, smiling back and pulling her down to him.

Feyre barely had enough time to set her coffee down before his arms were around her and they were getting lost in each other again.

~~~~

“Sorry I’m late,” Rhys began, pulling Feyre behind him as he walked into the kitchen.

Feyre rounded the corner after him, stopping when she saw who he was talking to.

Shocking had indeed been the correct word. The couple sitting on the other side of the counter raised icy white eyebrows at Rhys, amusement playing in their pale blue eyes.

They looked like they’d blend in better in the Arctic, not in the middle of a desert.

Rhys gestured to them casually. “These are the abnormal looking people I was telling you about, Kallias and Viviane.” He ducked as the woman threw a grape at his head and nodded at Feyre. “This is Feyre.”

Viviane was immediately on her feet, coming quickly towards her. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she exclaimed, pulling Feyre into a bone-crushing hug. “Rhys hasn’t brought anyone home in such a long time! Not since Amar-”

“Very nice to meet you, Feyre,” her husband interrupted in a thick accent, shaking her hand politely.

Viviane poked Rhys in the ribs. “You might want to get to class, mister. We don’t tolerate tardiness here at the Night Star School.”

He rolled his eyes, but led Feyre down a short hallway and into a classroom.

Full of chattering children.

Fifteen children were yelling at once, all trying to be heard over the other fourteen.

Rhys ignored their chatter and led Feyre to his desk in the corner, motioning at her to sit if she wanted, then walked back to the front of the room.

A makeshift podium had been erected, and he knocked on the mismatched wood softly. The chatter died out, and he smiled kindly at his students.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Mr. Dabirri,” they said back.

Rhys looked down at a sticky note on the podium. “I believe we have a poem presentation today?”

The children all started laughing and chanting, “Alborz.”

A tall, lanky boy with a huge grin on his face came to the front of the room. Feyre didn’t need anyone to tell her that he was the troublemaker of the class.

Rhys came to stand by her as the boy began reciting Shakespeare’s “The Phoenix And The Turtle.”

“Whenever someone acts up, they have to recite a poem the next day,” he whispered, then chuckled and shook his head. “Alborz goes every day.”

Feyre laughed, clapping with everyone else as he wrapped up and gave a deep bow.

As Rhys continued to lead a lesson on grammar rules, she took in the bare walls and frowned. She knew there was no extra money for posters, but it made her heart hurt to not see any artwork.

Children needed English and science and history and math, but they also needed to nourish the creative side of their mind.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by Rhys saying, “Okay, you all are dismissed. Mrs. Winters is waiting for you across the hall, and you know how she feels about tardiness.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dabirri,” they shouted back, filing out the door and running to their next class.

Rhys walked over to her and propped himself on his desk. “So, how was I? Are you madly impressed?”

She smiled up at him. “Oh, quite madly. I just have one complaint.”

He raised his dark eyebrows.

“You need an art teacher.”

________________________________________________________________

Nesta slid her hands through her hair, smiling at how clean the strands were. If there was one thing she loved almost as much as taking bad guys down, it was winning an argument.

“Cassian, how am I supposed to impress this guy when I look like I haven’t showered or had a good meal in three days?” she’d yelled an hour ago.

They’d bickered for a while until he relented and led her to a small bathroom. Sure, she’d had to be blindfolded for appearances, and sure, he’d had to sit on the counter pretending to “guard her,” but at least she was clean.

Cassian came into her room, pretending to ignore the towel wrapped around her, and handed her a big black box.

“What is it?”

He shrugged. “What he wants the girls to wear tonight.”

Of course he picked the outfits. Nesta gritted her teeth. “I really hate this prick.”

She peeked inside and took in the strappy black dress, matching shoes, and scraps of lace. Holding a part of it up, she growled, “Oh, I really hate him.”

He wisely didn’t respond, just slid into his usual chair.

“Um, what are you doing?” she asked in annoyance.

Cassian had the nerve to look confused.

“You can leave now,” she told him. She had no intention of being stared at while she dressed. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, needed prepare herself.

He sighed. “Nesta, you know I have to stay with you.”

“Then stand outside the door like a good little watchdog,” she snapped.

His eyebrows lifted. “You’d rather deal with Farshid, then?”

“Fuck you,” she said, frustration getting the better of her.

Cass rose out of his chair and grabbed her chin between his fingers. “Hey,” he said, surprisingly softly. His hands came to cup her face. “I know. I know. But think about who you’re helping.”

She finally let out the fear she’d been harboring since she’d heard the plan. “But what if I fail, and they’re stuck there because of me?” Three hundred girls.

His thumb brushed over her cheek as his eyes bore into hers. “You’re doing more than anyone else for them. You’re doing everything you can.”

She surprised them both as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then threw her arms around his waist. He didn’t even hesitate before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close.

They stood like that, her head buried in his chest, his fingers making soothing circles over her back, until she whispered, “I should probably get ready.” Cassian nodded, but didn’t let her go.

He finally pressed a kiss to the top of her head, slipped back into his chair, and closed his eyes.

Nesta stood there, staring at him, wondering how someone could be so beautiful, for a few moments before he muttered, “Nesta, baby, I know I’m insanely handsome, but you should really start getting ready.”

She rolled her eyes, somewhat grateful to have the lightheartedness back, and dropped her towel. He shifted in his chair at the sound, at the thought of her naked in front of him, and Nesta smirked.

Despite what was riding on tonight, despite her claim of professionalism, Nesta couldn’t help but want to have a little fun with the situation.

“Your eyes are closed, right?” she asked, slipping on the lacy bra and underwear from the box.

“Yes, dear. I wouldn’t dare peek. Promise.”

She sat on the edge of the bed as she slipped the heals on, then ran her fingers through her hair again, fluffing the wavy curls.

She dug around in the box, surprised to find mascara and a tube of dark lipstick. After finishing her makeup--something surprisingly difficult to do without a mirror--she pulled the black lace mask out of the box. It matched her outfit and helped to rim her eyes in black, making the blue pop.

She looked over at Cassian, his tall frame covered with a dark suit, and smiled at the clean cut lines of his body. He was dangerously handsome, the kind of good-looking that could make a woman do anything with the right smile.

She remembered how his hips had pressed into hers, how effortless it had been to open her mouth for him, and found herself growing heavy with need. She’d been telling herself it was just the stress that drew her to him, that made dirty thoughts run through her head almost constantly, but maybe there was something else going on. Something more.

Maybe she should find out.

“So, you said I have to make him want me.” He nodded.

“But you said he could be anyone.” Another nod.

“So, assuming I find him, how do you suggest I make him want me?” she asked innocently.

He shrugged. “Flirt with him.”

“How?”

She could tell he was trying not to roll his eyes. “He’s a man, Nesta. Just flirt.”

Smiling at her idea, Nesta moved to stand in between his legs, then boldly sat on his lap and straddled his waist. His eyebrows shot up, but before he could open his eyes, she leaned in and whispered, “Remember, no peeking.”

“What are you doing?” he asked roughly as she ran the tip of her tongue over the shell of his ear.

“Flirting,” she replied simply.

His head dropped back, smacking it into the wall. “Nesta-”

She dragged her hips forward across his, and slid her hands into the hair at his nape. Pulling slightly, she tilted his neck back and pressed a kiss into the column of his neck, tongue flicking out.

She ran her hands down his chest, continuing to move her hips with small, tantalizing movements. “Oh, look,” she breathed as she felt him press into her, “it’s working.”

He laughed, the sound breathless. But as soon as her hands drifted past his waist and slid over where his length was pressing against his pants, he forgot his promise and opened his eyes.

The gold seemed darker with lust as he took in the thick lashes, the red lips, the mask. Then they sweeped lower, over the curve of her hips and the dip of her breasts, completely visible through the lace.

He ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips, resting them on her ass. “What are you doing?” he asked again, though it certainly wasn’t a complaint.

“I’m seducing you, Cassian. I thought it was obvious.”

He gave her a wide smile, then pulled her flush against him and crashed his mouth into hers. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it still made every nerve in Nesta’s body stand on in, begging for more.

She pulled at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel him, popping them one by one until she got it open.

He sucked on her bottom lip, Nesta’s hands roving over the smooth muscles covering his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. He reached for the clasp of her bra, mouth immediately finding one of her breasts as soon as it fell off her shoulders.

She moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders, as he pressed his hips up into hers at the same time his teeth tugged on her nipple.

The sound seemed to dissolve whatever restraint they both had left, and before she knew it, Cassian was pushing her panties to the side, lifting her slightly as she slid onto him.

Her head fell forward as all of him filled her at once, and her forehead rested against his chest as he let her adjust.

His face burrowed in her neck, kissing its way up to her ear, and he tugged on it with his teeth and whispered, “Ride me, Nesta.” Her stomach clinched at the command in his voice, the need covering every word.

She leaned back, bracing her hand on his knee and began to move, head dropping back. He took advantage, leaning forward and kissing her neck, her chest, her jawline. His hips rose to meet hers with every movement, and Nesta felt like she couldn’t get enough.

Mouth still on her neck, he reached between them, slipping a hand in her underwear and roughly circling her clit with his thumb. She moaned, picking up speed, as he did it again.

She tightened around him, and he groaned in her ear.

“Cassian-” his mouth was on her, muffling the sounds she made, as his thumb pressed down, crying out as he sent her over the edge. He followed, fingers digging into her hips and pulling her close as he dropped his head to her neck.

They were both panting as they came down together, but Cassian kept pressing small, light kisses all over her face, making her smile.

“You’re a pretty good flirt,” he finally whispered, and she laughed.

Nesta grabbed her bra and got to her feet, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself. She turned to get her dress, but Cassian grabbed her wrist and spun her back around. She stood before him, in nothing but lingerie and heels, smiling at how messy his hair had gotten.

His eyes were molten as he pressed a kiss to her navel, so soft she thought she might have imagined it. His fingers dropped to tickle her ankles, then drug up her legs, over her hips, up her back.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as his fingers traced over every inch of her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a loud banging against the door.

A man’s voice sounded on the other side. “Stop screwing the whore, dumbass. It’s time to go.”

Neither of them moved. His arms wrapped around her waist, and his eyes were shaded as he whispered, “Who I have to be out there, how I have to act, in front of them... it’s not me. What I’ll have to say to you, how I’ll treat you...”

She gripped his face in her hands, just like he’d done for her less than an hour ago. “I know, Cassian. It’ll be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you won’t be alone.”

He rose to his feet and pressed a soft kiss against her lips, then nodded. Nesta slipped on the dress, not focusing on how short and tight it was, and followed him out the door.

No blindfold this time, she thought. They know I’m not coming back.

She followed him through a series of hallways, trying not to stare at the closed doors she knew other girls were hidden behind. She’d get them out soon. Then they were outside, and she was being pushed into a black sedan, Cassian jumping in the backseat with her.

Another man got in on her other side and motioned for the driver to go. They drove for a few minutes before the man on her left asked Cassian, “Is the boss going to like her?” His Persian was thick and he spoke quickly, but Nesta understood every word.

Cassian shrugged, keeping his eyes locked on the outside world as it blurred by.

“Is she any good?”

Nesta forced herself not to grit her teeth, determined to not give any signs that she spoke the language.

It became ten times harder when Cassian smirked, then reached to run a finger over her bottom lip, and answered, “Oh, she makes the most delicious sounds. And you should see what she can do with her mouth.”

“If he doesn’t choose her, I’ll get her to show me.” Then the stranger gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. He smelled of tobacco and sweat, the aroma making Nesta gag. He roughly traced her mouth, then pressed a finger against her lips, slipping it in her mouth.

Nesta knew she was supposed to be complacent, but she couldn’t help but bite down on his finger. Hard.

“Ow!” he yelled, pulling his hand back. Anger filled his features as he growled, “When this is over, I’m going to tie you up and fuck you like the slut you are.”

Or maybe I’ll snap your neck and set you on fire, she thought, visualizing how she could break his nose without getting blood on her dress.

“That’s just her,” Cassian said smoothly, trying to save them both. “She likes it rough. Don’t you, whore?”

She read the apology in his eyes and hoped hers showed that it was okay, that she was fine, as she gave a small nod.

“Americans,” the stranger muttered in distaste.

They continued on in silence, each mile fraying Nesta’s nerves even further, until they were well out of the city.

“We’re here,” the driver said, pulling to a stop.

Cassian opened the door, and held out a hand. “You’re not alone,” he whispered so only she’d hear, repeating her earlier words back to her. “I’ve got you.”

He tucked her hand into his arm, leading her up the stairs of a grand house. The door swung open, revealing the decor of dirty money and the mass of people making it, and Nesta vowed I’m going to take them down. I don’t care what it takes.

________________________________________________________________

After glancing over her shoulder for what felt like the millionth time, Elain pushed open the door of her hotel, sighing in relief. Hotels meant security cameras, which meant Eris and his goons couldn’t get to her. She’d been jumpy all the way home, realizing that if he got to Mor, he could probably get to her.

She went up to her room, checking to see if Feyre was there and frowning when she wasn’t. Was she still out from yesterday, or had Elain simply missed her? She texted her, deciding that if she didn’t hear from her by tonight, she’d start asking around.

Elain showered and got dressed, opting for a light yellow dress. She planned on going to Morrigan tonight, checking on Mor, and maybe taking her out for dinner. She told herself that was why she was taking extra care on her makeup, definitely not because she might see him.

And his crystal blue eyes. And broad shoulders. And curved, sensuous lips that she couldn’t stop thinking about-

No. Definitely not.

As the sun began to set, Elain headed back outside, careful to notice her surroundings, checking if anyone was following her. A few minutes later she was walking towards the back rooms of Morrigan, knocking on the door.

It swung open, and Elain almost cried at what she saw.

Mor was standing in front of her, color having returned to her face, with the biggest smile she’d ever seen lighting up her features. That had been her one condition. She’d help get Eris away from her, as long as she went to the hospital and let them treat her.

“Elain,” she cried, throwing her arms around her shoulders, “I’m so happy to see you.”

Elain hugged her back, grateful that she had the strength to smile after everything that had happened to her. She’s going to be okay, she thought, looking over her shoulder and meeting his eyes.

He nodded, eyes lighter than they’d been when she first barged into his office, and holding some emotion Elain couldn’t read.

Mor finally let her go, pulling her by the hand to a sofa.

“You know,” Elain said as she sat next to him, “you never did tell me your name.”

He blushed, Mor laughing in surprise. “Azriel Chaaya.”

“But everyone just calls him Az,” Mor added in.

“What does Chaaya mean? Is it a traditional name?”

“It means shadow, and no, it’s not traditional,” he said quietly, as if he were waiting for her to run away.

“An nontraditional name for an nontraditional man,” Mor teased, leaning to ruffle his hair. “Well, I better go. I was supposed to start work five minutes ago.”

Elain laughed and joked, “Better not let your boss see you come in late.”

Mor smiled, coming to kiss Elains cheek. “Thank you again, Elain. What you did means the world to me.”

She gripped her hand and smiled back. “Of course. I wish you a life of happiness,” she replied in Persian.

Mor just smiled again, grabbed her apron and gliding out the door to the front of the restaurant.

“Thank you, Elain,” Azriel said as soon as they were alone, putting a hand on top of hers. “Thank you for helping her. I didn’t know how.”

Now it was Elain’s turn to blush.

“If there’s anything we can ever do for you, let us know,” he continued seriously.

Elain pretended to consider. “Well, there is one thing.” His eyebrows raised. “I’m kind of hungry.”

Azriel smiled, and Elain couldn’t help but smile back. He looked so young, so unburdened, so handsome.

“Luckily, I happen to know a pretty good chef,” she continued. “And I did come to Persia to learn how to make a few dishes...”

“Oh, I see. You want to steal all my secrets,” he teased, grinning.

“Basically.”

He rose to his feet, then held out a hand. “Well, come on. I’ll teach you whatever you want to know. Although it could take a while, since I’ve never met an American who knows how to cook.”

Elain scoffed, slapping his hand away. “Allow me the pleasure of proving you wrong,” she said confidently, following him into the kitchen.

It was late enough that it wasn’t busy, and although he certainly got a few questioning looks, no one dared asked about Azriel’s presence in the kitchen.

He turned a few burners on the stove on, then faced her, a confident smirk already filling his face. “Okay, Elain, let’s see what you’ve got.”

~~~~

Two hours later, Elain’s hands were covered in flour and spices, her book was full of new recipes and ideas, and a huge smile was on her face.

They’d been exchanging ideas for food, eating what they made and easily making conversation, and Elain had never been so content--or full--in her life.

She groaned, putting a hand to her belly happily. “I’d say I’m never eating again, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, pulling himself onto the counter. “What’s your restaurant like in Florida?” She’d told him a little about it.

“It’s called The Archeron Eatery, and it’s the most eclectic place I’ve ever seen,” she laughed. “I don’t focus on one particular cuisine, so I advertise it as a place to go when no one knows what they want.”

Azriel smiled. “Have you always loved to cook?”

“Um, no.” Elain frowned slightly. “When I was younger, my dad lost a lot of money, and we didn’t have much. We basically only survived because my younger sister started working and bought us food. She was only fifteen. So, when I left for college, I wanted to make it up to her somehow, and I started culinary school, so I could make her food and she would never have to sacrifice doing what she loved to feed me.”

She laughed as she said it, then added, “It sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said softly, shaking his head. Dark hair fell into his eyes, and Elain gripped her fingers together to stop herself from sweeping it back.

She realized they were staring at each other, so she cleared her throat and asked, “What about you? Have you always loved to cook?”

Azriel smiled. “I’ve been cooking since I can remember. My mother taught me how before she died, and ever since, I’ve been cooking for me and my two brothers. And Mor. As much as I love to cook, that girl loves to eat.”

Elain forced herself to smile and say, “You guys are cute together.”

He barked a laugh, looking at her like she was crazy. “I am not with Mor, although I used to be in love with her. She never returned the feelings, and I realized she’s my best friend, so I moved on. Well on.”

“Oh,” she replied, trying not to sound to cheerful about it.

Her mood fell again when he said, “I am into someone, though.”

She didn’t really want to know, but she raised her eyebrows and said, “Oh?”

“Mmhm. She’s young and beautiful and a great cook.” He grinned at whatever was written across her face. “She’s kind and compassionate and brave.” Elain had to restrain an eye roll.

“And she looks adorable when she’s jealous.” He whispered, sliding off the counter and walking towards her slowly.

“She’s American, which is a slight downside, but I’d be willing to ignore it.” He smiled as Elain gasped. Me? “Because when she laughs, it’s like everything in the world doesn’t matter any more. And when she smiles, I forget my own name. Gods, she’s beautiful.”

Elain couldn’t think straight. He’d gotten close enough that they were sharing air, his hands coming to lightly cup her face. He was so close and he smelled like spice and sunshine, and Elide thought that if this was all she did for the rest of her life--stand in his kitchen and let him hold her--she’d die a happy woman.

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Elain whispered, pressing herself softly into him.

Azriel smiled. “Oh, she is,” he whispered back, bringing his lips down to hers.

________________________________________________________________

Thank you so much for reading! As always, let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!

@mis-lil-red @rapunzel1523 @chemicha @illyrianbeauty @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary @street-smarts-are-important @dreamerforever-5 @the-jin-to-my-tonic @lord-douglas-the-third @court-of-fuck-me-daddy @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @booklover41802 @sezkins79 @bookofmaas @graaaaceeliz @10divergentmockingjays @wesupremeginger @azriels-forgotten-shadow @elide-lochan-salvaterre @facilisdescensuav3rno @highladyofidris @tswaney17

146 notes · View notes

serendair · 6 years ago

Text

Tag Game

Tagged by: @codenamed-bananafishThank you for tagging me :D

Rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to get to know better

Nickname: None really, my family and friends call me by my given name. I tend to react when someone calls me “Seren” though considering that name follows me since forever through any game and online community I’ve been with :D

Zodiac: Scorpio

Height: 5″3″

Last movie I saw: oof...? I - don’t remember lol I don’t go to the movies that often. I did rewatch the Superman trilogy from the 70s with Christopher Reeve the other day because someone I follow reblogged a bunch of gifs ^^;

Favorite artists: Oh boy, where to start? There are so many. Famous artists of the past: Marc Chagall and Claude Monet. Beautiful use of colours and way of expressing themselves. I could sit forever getting lost in their pictures. Famous artists of today: Shaun Tan and Lorenzo Mattotti. Have you SEEN their work??? Amazing! Also: Marc Taro Holmes and Alvaro Castagnet who make wonderful watercolour art. Their grasp on the medium is stunning and I adore the ease in their works! Digital artists and members of the animation industry: Marco Bucci (That texture! Omg), Atsuya Uki (The expanse of his backgrounds, the expressions of his characters, the gestures, everything is so light and free, I could talk all day about it), @mocha708 (I don’t know their name sadly but their background artwork is breathtaking!) There are more but I keep it at this. Fanartists of the fandoms I follow: There are so many and I already feel horrible because I am sure I don’t name all that deserve to be named. Anyways, following no specific order I put them as they come to my head: e-mika (a recent discovery I found throgh a BF fanart and followed them for their beautiful art, just check them out, it’s impressive), fuwishi (found through YOI fanart, I adore their watercolour works a lot, everything is so harmonious and soft), aishakami (found through BF again I love her watercolour works and the way she uses colour, it’s so beautiful and glowing, also her digital art is adorable, I feel honoured to be followed back by her), Rayana aka rainbow09 (doing mostly digital art for the Digimon fandom but there occasionally are other things in between, I love her style so much, perspective, poses, expressions, her portrayal of some of my most favored characters is just so spot on it’s amazing, she’s an inspiration to me and one of the reasons I got back into drawing after a rather long hiatus and I am extremely proud to be able to call her a friend), yamacoya (also found through BF, has a very unique style that highly resonates with me - it’s so reduced yet really strong in expression, awesome). I could go on forever but I’ll stop here. As I said, there are so many and I feel bad for not naming them all but those came to mind first so I guess that’s alright?

Song stuck in my head: Black Sheep by Gin Wigmore (my dad recommended this song to me the other day and I can’t get it out of my head ever since, it’s so catchy and really good)

Other blogs: none - yet? (I keep considering splitting my blog by the fandoms I’m following but I’m overwhelmed just thinking about the maintanance so my poor followers have to deal with my randomness ^^; sorry guys!)

Do I get asks: sometimes :)

Following: 104

Amount of sleep: 8 - 10 hours if possible

Lucky number: 13

What I’m wearing: My go-to clothes aside from work are the jeans t-shirt chucks combo I’ve been rocking since my early teenage years. For work I’m expected to wear formal dresscode but loosen my leash and nothing stops me wearing my band shirts and chucks to a suit xD

Dream job: it used to be concept artist or animator but then life happened lol

Dream trip: Oh there’s more than one! The one I’m dreaming of for well over half of my life now would be Japan :) but there’s so many places I want to see. A backpacking trip through Great Britain. The Mayan Temples. Athens. Rome. And so many more ^^

Favorite food: Again so hard to name only one! I live in Bavaria and I love this regions food so so much. Kammbraten is amazing with Semmelknödel and Rotkraut. Or my mum’s Goulash is incredibly delicious. Or her Rouladen! God I love food xD to name something more internationally known I’d say Clam Chowder. I fell in love with that stuff the first time I went to Boston and I’m craving it madly. Oh and corn on the cob is always great! And Spaghetti! And Cherries - cherries are great. So are grapes. And I discovered Kaki fruits recently - yum!!! Did I mention that I love food? lol let’s skip ahead

Play any instruments: No :( but I want to learn to play the piano eventually

Languages: German, English, I was pretty acceptable in Spanish but that’s years and years ago. I think I can introduce myself still lol doesn’t count I guess

Favorite song: I really try not to write an essay about favourites again. It’s so situational. And this is hard to answer! I’ll pick Queen - Don’t Stop Me Now, this song always picks me up when I’m down or makes me dance through the room when I’m in a good mood, overall a great song!!!

Random fact: I’m really bad at answering questions like these with a normal answer, you either get a long ramble or a counter question to specify what exactly is being asked. I’m a nightmare for everyone trying to hold a conversation with me I’m afraid. This is kind of obvious though so...how about this: I used to raise butterflies when I was a kid. When they hatched my mum’s kitchen was full of fluttering colours :D

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Ummm.....? Does a blank page count? I could tell you about the things I like but to describe myself as aesthetic things...? I don’t think I qualify to do so.

Tagging: Some of you are friends and some are followers of mine who I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know yet but I keep seeing your names in my push notifs and you somehow stick around despite my randomness. I hope it’s ok and I don’t bother you guys. I tend not to tag people to not be an annoyance but it would be nice to get to know (more about) you. Needless to say if you don’t feel like doing this I don’t blame you :D Anyways: @rainbow09 , @tai-grex , @nekog4y , @xsmokexflamesx , @ookamii-woof , @zeokawolfhusky , @lovecardpng , @lutyung , @ashjadelynxx , @darkangelofcourage , and of course everyone else who I didn’t tag but reads this and feels like doing it! If you do feel free to add me and let me know :D

#this has been sitting for a while in my inbox #i'm so sorry it took so long to pick it up #i started answering it and then i realized some questions do need actual thinking lol #then life took over with work and university and wips #yet here we are #again thank you for tagging #this was fun #:D #other #my own #tagged #I'm still clueless how to describe myself as aesthetics #this will have me thinking for a while #I really don't know...?#hmm...

14 notes · View notes

katie-dub · 7 years ago

Text

The Masks We Wear (10/?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

AO3

Thanks as ever to @apromisednightcap my beta, my hero, the Q to my James Bond.

So a bunch of lovely people have made me art - @justanotherwannabeclassic made this gorgeous aesthetic, @ofshipsandswans made this stunning aesthetic, and @wingedlioness made this amazing manip. All artwork can be found on my blog tagged #tmww art - you should check it all out and show these amazing people some love for their talent. I’m so incredibly touched.

Killian and Emma are colleagues, friends and they’re madly in love with each other. If only they could work out that their feelings are totally requited. But then, if they still haven’t figured out that they work together as superheroes in their spare time, there’s probably no hope for them. Probably.

Previously on The Masks We Wear...

Emma AKA The Saviour has learned the truth about Killian AKA Hook AKA The Survivor’s alter ego and rescued him from Gold’s clutches, but when the time came to reveal her own secret identity, her anxiety took over and she kept her silence. Having just barely survived his encounter with The Dark One, Killian doesn’t have time to wallow over unrequited revelations - in just three days time his nemesis plans to take over the world.

Of course she'd fallen so hard for The Survivor, she was already in love with him.

“I’m so glad that Gold didn’t kill you.”

He didn’t deserve The Saviour’s secrets, and he certainly didn’t deserve her love.

“Belle, you need to assemble the Nevengers. We’re running out of time to save the world.”

Killian hated reliving his ordeal even for long enough to share what he'd learned with Belle. He talked fast to get it all out as quickly as possible, finding that it did feel a little good to not have the thoughts of Regina's enslavement, Gold's plan and his sincere wish to see Killian suffer rattling around his brain.

“I should have known my past mistakes would come back to haunt me,” he said wryly when he was done.

Belle smiled at him kindly and reached out a hand to give his a squeeze. “Loving Milah was not a mistake, don't ever apologise for having love in your heart.”

He bit back a reply asking if that's what she told herself about Gold - the sad, sympathetic look she was giving him made it clear that she did.

The silence between them was long and heavy, both lost in their contemplations of how something that should be so beautiful and pure had come to this. It was Belle who came around first. “You know we need to alert the others, we can't wait around for Gold to do his worst.”

“Aye.” Killian nodded his agreement. “What should we do about Regina? This may not be her fault, but we can't get her involved if she's still being forced to be Gold’s Evil Queen puppet.”

“True - and we really need her knowledge and skills to help our cause. What we know about Gold is surely horribly out of date.” Belle chewed her lip thoughtfully. “There's something we can try. I've been working on a prototype of a machine to counteract the Dagger’s effects using blueprint that we have. If we can get her here -”

“We can break the spell! Belle, you're a genius!”

“You only just working that out?” Belle teased, “and I thought you were smart.”

Killian quirked a brow at her snark in the face of impending disaster. It was a tactic that was all too familiar to him, a mask to hide the fear. “We can't all be as clever as you, love,” he shot back. “That's why we're all happy to have you to think up promising plans on our behalf.”

“Kiss ass.” Belle rolled her eyes but looked grateful for the support nonetheless. “We can tell Regina to arrive early and try it on her then. We’ll need to move her into the holding room in case it doesn’t work - can’t have her poofing out of here and telling Gold our plans.” She looked at him appraisingly. “You should stay out of the way too - until we know his hold over her is gone she can’t know that we’ve rescued you.”

“I think Gold is aware of that by now.”

“But he doesn’t know exactly where you are. The less he knows, the better. In fact -” she frowned and cocked her head, studying him “- you may be best off staying here until we’ve dealt with him.”

His hackles were up instantly. He’d never been one to hide from danger, preferring to confront it head on, his personal safety be damned. (It’s not like he had much to fear in that respect, his powers being what they were.) And now, so soon after he had spent days shackled to a table - she clearly wasn’t thinking about what she was saying. He clenched his jaw in a studied effort to keep from screaming at his friend. “You want me to exchange one prison for another? Forgive me if I’d prefer freedom.”

“Even if it means death?” Belle asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Well that’s hardly likely,” was his defiant answer. “Don’t you remember who I am?”

She huffed out a sigh, closing her eyes in a gesture he knew to mean she was searching for some inner strength. “Killian, I know that Gold wishes you dead, and what Gold wants, he usually gets. I’m saying that it would be prudent - in the interests of your safety - and of those you love to be discreet. I don’t plan to tie you up.”

Right. Those he loved. The Saviour. Emma. She might be hurt if Gold thought she was the best way to get to him - especially now that he had been unmasked. He nodded, placated, and looked at Belle with a cheeky grin. “Not even in the good way?”

Belle sighed deeply. “I’ll call in the troops, you should get some rest.”

“Aye, I’ll have a shower, wash off the just been tortured feeling.”

“Killian -” she began, looking alarmed and overwhelmingly sympathetic. “It’s fine, love,” he cut her off, “just a little gallows humour. I’m fine.”

He really wasn’t fine.

He felt grimy inside and out, his skin was coated in a layer of dried blood, drool and other questionable fluids. It felt good to wash, but it was as though the dirt had worked its way deeper, burrowing into his pores, crawling beneath his skin. He could wash forever and he might never be free of the feeling of Gold torturing him, the manic delight in his eyes would forever be imprinted on his brain.

His eyes burned, his head pounded and the world seemed to swim in and out of focus after days of little to no sleep. He remembered how his subconscious had brought Emma and The Saviour to his side in the brief moments when he could sleep. He smiled to himself - they were both with him, comforting him, protecting his soul, saving him from madness. Almost. He had thought he really had seen Emma standing before him, horror struck, before Gold’s torture wrenched screams from his throat and drove the hallucination from his sight. It was what made it so hard for him to believe that The Saviour had really come to his rescue when she appeared; although his faith in her was deep - he certainly had more for her than for himself - his mind had been playing cruel tricks on him.

He sighed, locked away the painful memories, and focused on the feeling of the hot water pounding on his skin.

He lost track of time under the spray. The hot water couldn't truly cure his troubles but it did ease them somewhat. When he finally switched the shower off, he felt refreshed, and able to face his superhero duties again, however much his head still spun with exhaustion.

He dressed in a tshirt and sweats that he kept stashed in a locker at the base for training in, relishing the feeling of the soft, warm fleece against his skin. Feeling somewhat human again he made his way towards the control room in search of Belle. He needed to move quickly to end things with Gold for good if they stood any chance of succeeding - if he stood any chance of making it through the encounter unscathed.

He was just about to step into the room when a voice made him stop; was Regina already in there?

Cautiously he peered around the doorway and saw Regina chatting to The Saviour and Belle. The Saviour caught sight of him and her eyes went wide with horror for a split second before she regained her mask of composure.

Right, they hadn’t solved the Regina Problem yet.

He backed away, treading softly to ensure that he wasn’t heard, and went in the direction of the break room. He should probably try to get some sleep but he was buzzing and he was on edge. He needed to punch something - ideally some bad guy, ideally in person - but as that wasn’t really an option while he was confined to HQ, he’d settle for doing some damage in a video game.

Perhaps Henry would join him, although he was sure the kid should be in bed. (And yeah, technically he wasn’t a child and he was more than capable of his superhero duties, but the lad was only 16, he wasn’t sure it was fair to place the weight of saving the world on his shoulders, however useful they might find his abilities. He just had to wonder at the parents who would allow their teenager to engage in such dangerous missions - or simply failed to notice his absence - he wasn’t entirely sure which was worse. Something about his time in Gold’s lab had brought back painful memories of a childhood as an orphan and being made to grow up too fast and dammit if he didn’t hate that Henry was going through that now himself.)

“Sup, Survivor?” He’d gotten lost in his thoughts, not even noticing that he’d made it to the break room already and sure enough he found Henry there. “Or should I say Killian?”

Killian started, unused to hearing his real name coming from Henry. He blinked at him. “What?”

“The Saviour mentioned that might be your real name? Sorry. Um, is that still a secret? I mean you’re unmasked now anyway so I figured - fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He laughed at Henry in spite of himself. “It’s ok, nice to meet you Henry, I’m Killian.” He stuck his hand out for Henry to shake.

Henry breathed a deep sigh of relief and shook his hand. “So you know The Saviour in real life? Crazy, huh?”

“Did she happen to mention how?” he tried to sound casual, but if the look on Henry's face was anything to go by, it hadn't worked. He wasn't sure if an expression could actually be sarcastic, but if so, Henry's was absolutely sarcastic, not to mention confused.

“You mean you don't know?” he said. Killian tried not to huff, The Saviour was a superhero, she was good at disguises, just like he was. Their real lives depended on it. Henry started to laugh. “Wow - you really don't, do you? How is that fucking possible - I actually thought you were smart?”

“I came here looking for something to punch - figured we could play some Bayonetta, but if you're volunteering…” He smiled at Henry, with the faintest glimmer of a threat in his eyes. Henry held his hands up in defeat, then grabbed Killian's controller and tossed it at him.

“Killian, are you seeing anyone?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He stared at Henry, confused by the change in subject. “What? Uh- um. No. Why do you ask?”

“It's just The Saviour she -” he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. “Well, she seems like she really, like maybe -”

Killian was utterly lost. “Maybe what, mate?”

“I thought maybe you were together. I don't know. I don't know what I'm talking about.”

“What? No. I -” Killian stopped. He was bewildered by this line of questioning and found himself wondering once again who The Saviour was to him. But that brought to mind the moment in the hospital bay when she failed to tell him her real identity. She didn't trust him and it hurt too much to wonder why. Instead he tried to deflect the conversation. “I just find that girlfriends don't really mix well with superhero duties.”

“Really? I've never thought that.”

“And what would you know? You aren't using your superhero status to impress the ladies are you?”

“No, who'd do that?” Henry shook his head at the suggestion, his expression so world weary that Killian had to stifle a laugh. “I do have a girlfriend though.”

“Oh yeah? I like the sound of this already.” He smirked at Henry, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Violet.” He glanced over at Killian then shrugged. “She's cool, maybe we don’t have some kind of fairytale romance like Snow and David have going on, but who does?” He had a slightly dreamy, faraway look in his eye. Killian always liked it when Henry showed his romantic side, even if he usually tried to cover it up with layers of swearing and sarcasm. But the glimpses he did catch in between the teen angst made it clear why Henry had the power to make anyone believe.

“Weren’t we talking about your love life? I’m sure you’re deflecting here.”

“Henry, I -” he stopped. He didn’t know what to say. “The Saviour could have told me who she is, but she hasn’t. She doesn’t want me to know. Clearly I’m not a person she wants to be involved with.”

“That’s a bit of a leap, man. Can you say Extra?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he huffed.

“Not everything is about you. Perhaps she’s not someone you would want to be involved with -” Killian opened his mouth to argue “- or she thinks she’s not.”

“She’s far too good for me. Whoever she is.”

Henry sighed. “You’re both as bad as each other.” He turned back to the game and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I should make you both believe in yourselves.”

Killian didn’t really know what more to say. The thought that The Saviour might think herself somehow as unworthy of him didn’t compute. She was a goddess amongst men. He was too tired to try to analyse this most bizarre of thoughts. Instead he focused on gaming, letting the bright lights and colours fill his mind and overtake his senses.

“Guys?” Killian blinked up at Belle in confusion, unclear how long he’d been lost in the flow of the game. “You ready to talk saving the world? Everyone’s here.”

“Everyone?” he asked, meaningfully. Belle nodded. Regina was back on their side.

When they made it to the control room everyone was milling around the room. His eyes rested on The Saviour who looked unhappy and agitated - he tried to catch her eye and give her a reassuring smile, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. It felt like a knife to his heart. Despite what Henry might believe, he was certain that he was the problem in their - well, in whatever their relationship was.

What an idiot he was - in love with two women - one whom he shouldn’t date for her safety and one who wouldn’t want to date him.

“Hook - I mean Jones.” Regina’s voice dragged his attention away from his wallowing. She looked deeply uncomfortable, arms folded across her chest and perfectly manicured nails drumming against her forearms.

“Yes?”

“I want to apologise to you for - well, for leading you into that trap. I -”

Killian saw a flash of the lab he’d been tortured in. He felt the restraints on his wrists and ankles, the terror in his bones, the agony of every experiment. They made him dizzy. He squeezed his eyes to shut out the memories.

“Please don’t, Regina.” He cut her off. And while partly it was out of kindness, knowing her to be blameless, he also couldn’t bear to think of those awful few days. “I know that you weren’t in control of your actions.”

“Still I hate to think of you -”

“Then don’t. Really.” He plastered on a falsely cheerful grin, desperate to change the subject. “So, what are the chances that two superheroes were working together without ever realising it?”

Regina laughed taking his bait with relief. “I should have guessed it was you the moment we first met, Jones. No one else could be that cocky.”

“Oh please, I’m a master of disguise and I’m very humble in my normal life. It’s one of my best qualities.” He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

Regina groaned, apparently coming to a realisation. “That night you persuaded me to join the Nevengers, I said Killian was - that you were - Emma's boyfriend. I don't appreciate being treated like a fool,” she huffed.

“If the horribly overpriced designer heel fits…” he said, trailing off under Regina’s cold glare. He rubbed his brow and pinched his nose while he reconsidered his mockery. “My apologies, lass, but I was not mocking you then: Emma and I are just good friends.”

“Don't be a, what would you say? a bloody fool, you two aren't just anything.”

“You ever considered a career as a couple's therapist?”

“Listen to me or not, I don't care, Jones, just make sure this little “will they, won't they,” love triangle soap opera bullshit you have with Emma and The Saviour doesn't interfere with the mission, OK?”

“You always were so supportive, Regina, you know that?”

“Regina, Killian, are you ready to talk business? This is kind of important.” He couldn’t help but feel relieved at Belle’s interruption. This was the second uncomfortable discussion about his relationship status that he’d had today - he was more than a little tired at his fellow superheroes’ insistence on putting his love life under the microscope. It was hardly the time or place.

As he joined the Nevengers at their table he realised with alarm that The Saviour might have overheard his conversation with Regina. He looked over to her but she was studiously ignoring him. It was hard to be sure if she had heard him as it was no more than she'd been doing since he stepped foot in the room. He frowned hard and tried not to brood on dark thoughts of how unworthy he was of her.

Killian struggled to concentrate throughout the serious planning discussions that took place around him. Regina was able to volunteer as much - if not more - information than he had so he was able to largely sit and let his mind wander. He caught the general gist of things: they needed to act fast so the decision was made to strike tomorrow, they had devised a plan that should spell the end for Gold. He didn’t overly care about the fine details at this point.

One point did make him sit up and take note - Henry was going to have to head into the field. He had been fiddling on his laptop and declared that whatever back door he had used to shutdown the force field that interrupted their powers had been locked tight. Their only chance was for Henry to enter the building and work on the computer system directly.

Killian was instantly on alert. Henry felt like the little brother he’d never had and while he’d always been involved in their superhero activities, he’d never had to enter the fray like this, always able to help them out behind the scenes.

Killian sat up straight. “Is that wise?” “I don’t know, kid.” “That’s far too dangerous!” He, The Saviour and Regina had all spoken at once. Henry rolled his eyes at their overprotective defence of him.

“Look, if we’re going to take Gold out, you need your powers. We only have two cuffs. What else can we do?”

“I can protect Henry,” David spoke up. “I don’t need my powers to defend us both, and when he gets that shield down he’ll have twice as many bodyguards. Regina, if you keep your cuff and Henry takes Killian’s you can poof us into their computer rooms right?”

“See? It’ll be fine.” Henry said.

Killian sighed and looked over at The Saviour and Regina. Neither of them looked any more comfortable than he did, but still it was the only way. He hated it though. He wondered if this was how Liam used to feel watching him enter fighting pits: desperate to protect him, but powerless to do anything.

Oh God. Thinking of Liam and how he’d been sent to his death by Gold did little to assuage his fears at this time. Henry was not Liam. He knew the challenges that he was facing. He would have David with him. He would be ok.

He had to be ok, or Killian would kill Gold and make The Saviour bring him back to life so he could kill him all over again.

When everything was finally decided for the next day, he stood up to leave when Belle stopped him, looking awkward. “I still don’t know about you leaving here today, Killian.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “I'm not sleeping here tonight,” he said bluntly. He wouldn't explain himself, didn't want to share his trauma with the group, but the sterile hospital bay felt just a little too much like Gold’s lab for comfort. He gazed at Belle defiantly, challenging her to disagree with him.

“I'll poof you out.”

It took a moment for The Saviour's words to register. He looked at her curiously. “Come again?”

“I can - I can poof you out.” She quickly looked away from him and turned to Belle. “You're worried about him being seen? If I take TS home -” Killian noted curiously that she didn’t use his real name, despite clearly knowing it “- he won't be. Can do a few spells to keep him safe and I'll bring him back here in the morning.” She looked from him to Belle and shrugged.

“If you wanted to spend the night in my bed, you only have to ask. I'm sure we'll need to use - I mean, I need to have, protection.” She rolled her eyes but kept her eyes locked on Belle, while he poked his tongue in his cheek suggestively.

“Whatever, I'll do the spells and run.”

A dozen more flirty taunts ran through his mind, but she still wasn’t looking at him and he was tired. Too tired for it all.

“Well? Can I be released? I'm sure if Gold really wants me dead it won't matter where I sleep.”

Belle frowned at his poor attempt at humour. “Fine, but seriously, let The Saviour protect you, okay?”

He turned to The Saviour. “Come now, love, my life is in your hands.” He meant it as a casual comment, but it felt far too close to the truth.

She took his hand in hers, a cloud of smoke surrounded them, and when it cleared they were in his apartment.

He expected her to let go of him at once, but she lingered, her fingers gently stroking his hand before she parted from him with a sigh.

“I'll just -” she motioned around vaguely “- set up some protection spells.”

“Thanks. And I'll... I'll be in my room. Checking my phone. Seeing if I was missed.” A curious expression flashed across The Saviour's face. His heart clenched, had he just insulted her by suggesting that she hadn't missed him? But, it wasn't as though they saw each other every day. In fact, how had she known to come looking for him?

He stepped inside and looked around curiously. Someone had been here. Or had he left the room in a mess? It wasn't like him to do that but he'd had a lot on his mind the day he left on his ill-fated mission. His bed was unmade and his closet open. Clothes had been roughly pushed to one side and his secret compartment was open. This was incredibly careless. Had he really left his secrets exposed like this? He shook his head, he was exhausted and not thinking straight. That was all that was happening here. It must be. Surely.

He took his phone from out of his bedside table and switched it on, busying himself with straightening up the room while it started up. It buzzed right off the table with the alerts of missed calls and texts. Only one of each from Emma.

“Thanks for telling me about your last minute vacation. I hope that you’re enjoying yourself.”

He read Emma's message several times, until it clicked that Regina had probably been forced to explain away his absence. He clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd been suffering and she'd believed him to be sunning himself in a beach somewhere? That hurt.

“Um, TS?” He looked up as The Saviour peered around his door. “I'm finished. I should probably go.”

I'd feel safer if you stayed. He longed to tell her. Hell, why not go full on cheesy romance novel while he was at it? Let's tear off the masks we wear, and let our hearts beat as one as we make passionate love.

Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen. She continued to hide herself from him and however much that hurt, he had to accept her decision. What exactly was he thinking might happen? That they'd cosy up on the couch with her in full superhero gear? That she'd happily curl up in bed with him with her face still concealed? It was absurd and yet he wanted her with him.

“Thanks.” He felt awkward and desperate for her to stay. He switched to an old tactic - beating down his feelings with innuendo. “If you'd like to stay the night I'll be sure to show you how grateful I am.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, right,” she said dismissively, giving him a forced smile.

“I might need protecting in bed. Is leaving a risk you're willing to take?”

“Goodnight, Survivor.” She disappeared in a cloud of smoke and he was left alone wishing desperately that he could tell her how much he really wanted her. He may have been unmasked but he was still disguising himself around her.

Considering how tired he was, sleep should have come easily. He knew that he needed to be on top form to live through a confrontation with Gold. But the memories of his days of torture were there every time he closed his eyes. Late into the night he tossed and turned, consumed by anxiety.

The beast took such pleasure from his pain that despite the cavalier attitude that he maintained with the Nevengers, he was nervous about his fate. He didn't want to get lost in such worries, but Gold’s vindictiveness was limitless and he had escaped from him. He shuddered to think what might happen if he fell into Gold’s clutches again.

He tried to force thoughts of his ordeal from his mind. When that didn't work he remembered the moments when he felt like Emma was with him.

Emma.

He'd say she must be worried sick, but, no, she thought he'd disappeared on a trip. He couldn't blame her for that, Regina could be very convincing and she was used to being abandoned.

A terrible thought struck him. If something were to happen to him, he would be just another name on the list of people who abandoned her.

He had to talk to her, she had to know his secrets before their mission, she had to know that he wouldn't leave willingly.

He almost lept to his feet in his eagerness to confess. Perhaps if he told her, she would permit him to hold her tonight and draw comfort from her presence. He might actually get the sleep he so desperately needed. But it was too early to bother her for his own selfish reasons and deep down he knew that if he woke up with her in his arms he wouldn't ever let her go. He'd happily let the world burn if she consented to be his. She deserved better, The Saviour had taught him better.

No, he would call her tomorrow, before their mission. Perhaps the conversation would be better in person, but respect for The Saviour’s protection - and the certainty that he wouldn't be strong enough to leave Emma if he saw her - meant a phone call would have to suffice. If he were to be captured again, at least she would truly know how much he had cared.

With the decision made he was able to fall asleep, dreaming of holding Emma close at last.

He checked his watch, not long until The Saviour came to collect him. He really hadn’t meant to leave this until the last minute, but he’d overslept. He scrubbed his hand through his hair in distress. Maybe telling her now, over the phone, when he had so little time to talk wasn’t the best plan.

But when he considered the possibility that he may end the day back in Gold’s lab - or worse - he knew he had to make the call.

He picked up his phone and hit Emma's number. He gathered his courage as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Swan. Did you miss me?” He winced at his own forced bravado.

“I. Um. I...”

His heart fell at her spluttering. “Oh, I see, didn't even notice I was gone?”

“No! I noticed! I…”

He closed his eyes, what was he teasing her for? It wasn't fair and he didn't have time for it. “You know, that doesn't really matter. I called to explain where I've been.”

“You weren't on vacation?” There was a strange note to her voice that he couldn't explain.

“No. You see, I'm - I'm Hook, or The Survivor, depending on who you ask.” He paused to see if she would react but was met with nothing but silence. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I didn't abandon you, Emma. I was. Well. I was captured. I would never deliberately leave you without a word, I couldn't do that to you. I know you're good at knowing when someone is lying to you, so please believe me.”

His words came out in a rush and he was tense, waiting for her verdict.

“I do. Believe you, that is.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you -”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“I'm off to save the world, it's a dangerous job. I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah, but. Don't you do that a lot?”

“Been keeping up on my alter ego's exploits? You're not a superhero groupie, are you? I remember the time I caught you reading that magazine article about me.”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes. “I just want to know why this time is different.”

Because I'm scared. Because I could save the world but lose you. Because I don't know what Gold will do to me this time. “I just want to be honest with you.”

“Well I -” Killian's Nevengers phone beeped. Right, showtime.

“Sorry to cut you off, but I have to go. We can talk when I'm back.”

“OK…” He was about to hang up when he heard a small “Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't disappear again.”

“As you wish,” he replied with a chuckle. If only it were that easy.

“I mean it, come back to me.”

His eyes softened at the sincere request. He wished that he were with her, he wanted to kiss her so badly. After. He'd kiss her when he returned with no secrets and no lies between them. “Of course, Swan, you don't need to fret, I'm The Survivor.”

“Good,” she said simply and hung up.

He stared at his phone for a minute, stunned by how easy that had been. God, why hadn't he just told her sooner? He turned off his phone and slid it into his bedside table, his first mission of the day completed.

Now all that was left was saving the world.

***

Emma slumped into a couch in HQ, she was exhausted and should really go to bed. But she was too wired to do that, and suspected it would be a long time before she'd be able to stop fidgeting.

At very least, she needed to stay for long enough to know if Killian was alright. There was no chance that she could relax as long as she had the thought that he might still be in pain niggling away at her.

“You did good, Saviour.” She turned to see Henry dropping down beside her and gave him an unsure smile. “Seriously. You saved your man, you can sleep now.”

“He's not my man.” Her reply was automatic, but the words made her heart clench painfully. She hated how true that was.

“Right,” Henry chuckled, “so we're just going to pretend that you don't have to just say the word and you'd be together? It’s a choice. Not one I’d go with, but it’s a choice.”

Emma barely registered his words, drumming her hand against the couch beside her. Sparks flew as she hit the surface harder and harder. She didn't even notice until Henry put his hand over hers. She looked up at him, feeling a wave of guilt as she noticed the grimace that crossed his face. She'd hurt him and she felt like a monster.

“I'm sorry, Henry!” she blurted out.

“It's nothing.” She frowned at him, highly skeptical that that could be true. “What's wrong, Saviour?”

“You really think he's going to be OK? Killian - I mean, TS?”

He shrugged. “Sure, he's invulnerable, isn't he?”

“Yeah.” She chewed on her lip.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Gold can block powers, can’t he? Or take them away altogether? What if he does that to Killian?”

“I have something to say that you maybe aren’t going to want to hear.” Emma looked at him. “Gold had The Survivor - or did you say his name’s Killian?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, he had Killian for three days. Three days. He could have easily done all those things you just mentioned in that time, but he didn’t. I think Gold needs him alive for some reason.”

“But he could still hurt him!”

“He could. And if he does, you’ll save him. That’s what you do, right?”

“I guess.”

“Hey, stop that. What do they call you?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. What do they call you?”

“The Saviour.”

“And why do they call you that?”

“I told them I’d wipe them all out with my powers if they didn’t.” He cocked his head at her and quirked a brow. “They nailed me to a cross.” He sighed. “OK, because I save people.”

“Right, so it turns out that The Survivor, who you have some kind of weird romantic thing with, is this guy Killian, who also seems to be special to you, and you expect me to believe that you wouldn’t march right down into the underworld itself if that’s what it would take to save him? Come on, have a little faith in yourself.”

She was about to answer when Belle’s voice rang out over her phone. “Saviour, can you meet me in the hospital bay?”

“Sure thing.” She smiled at Henry. “Thanks for the pep talk it, er, it helped.”

She poofed herself into the hospital bay and was confronted by the sight of Belle with bloody sheets in her arms.

She closed her eyes in disgust, that was his blood. Killian’s blood. Killian's blood had painted the sheets crimson. God, how much had he been through?

“Deep breath, Saviour. You're glowing.” Emma opened her eyes and was surprised to find Belle stood before her. The sheets had vanished and she had her hands on Emma's shoulders. She watched her intently.

Emma could see herself surrounded by a near-blinding aura reflected in Belle’s eyes. She worked on breathing in and out, noticing as the light dimmed and eventually disappeared entirely.

“Killian's OK.” Emma's scepticism must have been written all over her face. “I can give you the full medical prognosis if you like?”

“Wow, you're a doctor too?”

“Well, I read a book.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I absorb skills from them remember?”

Emma shook her head, smiling. “How are you not running the world?”

“Patriarchy.”

“You and Beyoncé will fix that soon I'm sure. So, what did you want?”

“The Survivor explained The Dark One's plan -”

“How does he know it?”

“He was monologuing.” Belle rolled her eyes. “Classic super villain crap. Anyway we need to act fast and we need Regina fighting for us again -”

“But she's under his control.”

“I've created a device that should be able to counteract the effects of the Dagger, the A.C.E. -”

“Ace?” Emma pulled a face at the stupidity of the name.

“Anti Control Equipment?” Belle shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “The name doesn’t matter. Until we know if it's worked we'll have to play it safe - treat Regina with caution and keep her away from Killian.”

Emma's skin crawled at this mention of Killian her magic writhing in alarm.

“Wait, you think she'd hurt Killian? But.. but.. why would she do that? She couldn't do that, right?”

“Hopefully not, but I don't like to assume - Gold always had it in for Killian and now that he's escaped.. Well, best case scenario she takes him back to Gold.”

“And what's the worst?”

Belle couldn't look her in the eye. “Well, she - she kills him for Gold.”

Emma looked stunned at the thought. “But she can't do that, right? I mean he's - he can't be killed, right?”

“It's not a risk I'm willing to take.” Belle looked grim and Emma's heart beat wildly at the thought. Belle looked down at Emma's hand and she was surprised to note that her skin was glowing. But then, she shouldn't have been surprised, her magic always threatened to revolt when Killian's safety came into question. When she looked back up to Belle’s eyes she was watching Emma cautiously, but shook herself and got straight back to business. “The plan is that we tell her that we need to run tests using a holding cell to work out if I can counteract the forcefield on Gold’s base with a device I've made. We know it’s actually the A.C.E. and that it should actually break Gold’s power over her… Well, that's the idea anyway."

Emma tried to keep her breathing steady to avoid completely losing her cool. She didn't really understand what she had to do with this plan. "What do you need me for Belle?" she asked as evenly as she could muster.

"We tell Regina that I'll run tests on both of you but really you're there to back me up. If anything does go wrong I'm going to need your help."

Emma thought of Killian lying on that table. She knew it wasn't actually Regina's fault; that she had been a weapon that Gold had wielded against them; that she was likely to be as angry as them all - if not more so after being used as a puppet. But still, she had years of suffering at Regina's hands in the office and off clearing up the Evil Queen's messes, it was hard not to let the weight of that get to her. She thought of all the times Regina had told her off in her dismissive and icy way - the one that made it clear that she didn't think Emma was worthy of her time - and she felt the rage bubbling up inside.

“You're happy for me to do whatever it takes to stop her if she goes all Evil Queen on us?”

“Saviour, I'm counting on it.”

“Great so when are w-” Emma broke off as the room filled with purple smoke that surely signalled Regina's impending arrival. Belle’s eyes widened in alarm. If she was here early it could only mean one thing: Gold had sent her.

The sudden fear in Emma joined forces with her anger, leaving her itching for a fight.

The mist around her was thinning and it was clear that Regina had come alone, if she had come for a fight she would have brought her minions. Gold clearly needed her to play double agent - so she needed to think everything was well.

Emma took a quiet, calming breath, soothing her magic even as it hissed with rage at the unwelcome sight.

“Regina! I was just about to call you,” Belle said with a smile. “I have great news: I have invented a device, the A.C.E. -” Regina raised her eyebrows at the name, Emma had to cough to suppress a laugh. Belle ignored both of them. “- that will allow us to keep our powers in any conditions. It'll mean that we can all infiltrate Gold’s HQ instead of just you and The Survivor when we have a second run at that mission.”

“I'm glad to see that you have found something useful to do.”

Emma frowned at Regina. Even when she was supposed to be on their side she still found a way to undermine her fellow superheroes. Who hurt you? she found herself wondering - not for the first time.

“I'd like your help running some tests on the A.C.E..” Belle carried on as if Regina hadn't been an insulting mix of patronising and dismissive. Emma marvelled at her ability to stay calm in the face of such a slight. “Regina, I'd like you to transport the two of us to our holding cell, Emma, you come alone. You shouldn't be able to get in assuming that the forcefield is working correctly.”

“Are you testing me, bookworm?”

“Merely checking that our defences are working so we know for sure whether the A.C.E. has worked or if our forcefield was just down.” Belle’s tone was still polite but her clenched jaw betrayed her irritation with Regina.

“Fine.” Regina took Belle’s hand and they vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.

Emma sighed with relief, she had taken the bait. She closed her eyes and attempted to poof herself to the cell. She had the strange feeling of knocking into something hard, she bounced off it and landed in a heap on the floor. She looked up, Regina arched a brow at her, but contented herself with shaking her head.

Emma's eyes narrowed and a childish image of using her powers to fly pencils at Regina while she ran away shrieking, her trademark composure gone. She smiled at the thought. Many a brutal dressing down at work had been survived only thanks to such visions.

“Have either of you seen Hook?”

The question brought Emma’s attention back to the here and now - and she was startled to see that Regina was already in the holding cell, with the door shut tight behind her.

“Not since last Tuesday,” said Belle.

“Same.” Emma narrowed her eyes at Regina. So, Gold sent her to find Killian. “Why?”

“Wanted to reschedule our reconnaissance mission after we had to cancel on Wednesday - unless you’d prefer it if we gave up on defeating The Dark One altogether?”

Strange how I can’t tell that’s a lie, Emma thought to herself. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know she’s lying? Whatever the reason for her failure to detect the lie with Regina in her current state, it made her uneasy. She was too easy to manipulate if her power had loopholes - especially ones that she didn’t even know about.

And people get hurt when your powers fail, hissed the little devil inside who was always there to remind her of her shortcomings. Nothing bad would’ve happened to Killian if your powers worked properly.

“... Shall we get started?” Once again Emma had lost the train of conversation. She was too tired for this. She had to focus on the task at hand - getting Regina back to her usual sassy but helpful self.

“I’m ready,” said Regina in answer to Belle. She had her arms folded across her chest and she looked bored.

Belle took out the A.C.E., it looked just like a sleek retractable pen. Emma grinned, impressed by the old school spy vibe the design gave the A.C.E. “Nice one, Q.”

“Thanks.” Belle grinned, clearly pleased with her handiwork.

“What exactly am I meant to - oh.” While Regina talked, Belle had pointed the A.C.E. at her and clicked the button. Emma watched as her expression transformed from disinterested to confused to downright horrified. “Oh God. Hook. What have I done?” She walked up to the thick glass separating them and looked desperately from Belle to Emma. “Please tell me that he’s OK. I didn’t mean to - I really am trying to change.”

“We know. Gold used the Dagger on you, didn’t he?” Belle asked and she nodded in reply. “The Survivor is recovering.” She looked unconvinced. “He's OK, Regina. I promise.”

“Gold is furious. If I found him here I was to bring him straight back. He's got half his minions out looking for him.”

“You'd better get back to him then - we'll be meeting later to discuss strategy. We need to move quickly. I'll let you know when.”

Regina nodded, flicked her wrist and nothing happened. She looked at her hand in confusion and tried again. Emma smirked, taking childish glee from the sight.

“Regina?” Belle said, “you're in a cell that blocks powers. I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk you being on the loose if the A.C.E. didn't work.”

Regina huffed and walked to the door, Belle hit a button and it sprang open, she stepped outside and with a curt nod to each of them, disappeared.

“So, what now?” Emma asked Belle.

“Tea?”

Emma nodded. “As long as we can just act like I didn't discover Gold doing his crazy scientist routine on my best friend, who bizarrely turns out to be the superhero I fight crime with. I will pay good money to talk about literally anything else.”

Belle laughed. “Don't worry, we don't have to have a deep and meaningful conversation, I'll settle for tea and silence if that's all you want.”

“Then let's do this.”

Emma should really have been paying attention to the mission talk, but she was exhausted, still reeling from the night's revelation and following traumatic events. She contributed and she did take in all the important details: Gold had a very important event the following morning and they should take advantage of his absence to infiltrate his HQ. They just needed to find his Dagger - the original - and then they'd be able to control him. And they were going to use that control to make him use his own weapons against himself and remove his own powers.

So, of course, Henry had deemed the mission Operation Kryptonite.

Speaking of Henry, the news that he was going to have to go into the field with them didn't sit right with her - or Killian or Regina apparently. (She would wonder at the Evil Queen's attachment to Henry, if she didn't know him to be charming, funny and - most importantly - friendly to all - despite the potty mouth.)

She knew that she herself had left home at 16 and was in no position to judge; but a bit of shoplifting and sleeping in a stolen car were hardly as dangerous as going up against the most evil super villain she'd ever encountered. She saw Henry as the brother she never had and the thought of him in danger brought out a maternal side to her that she was surprised to discover she had. Somehow she'd assumed being abandoned at just a few hours old meant any motherly impulses she might have otherwise had were forcibly removed by the trauma. It was nice to know that she was wrong about that.

Still, her nerves over Henry's hands-on involvement were nothing to the dread that filled her when the time came to leave.

“I still don’t know about you leaving here today, Killian.”

Emma's heart clenched at the implications of Belle’s words. She had a sudden vision of Killian strapped to that table - a violent image that was so much worse than any horror her anxiety had conjured up in the months since she'd realised that she loved him and that she had to keep her distance to keep him safe - and almost vomited at the thought.

Protect him, her magic hissed at her, for she knew if anything bad were to happen to him she would surely die herself.

Funny how learning her best friend - the man she loved - was invulnerable had done nothing to ease her anxiety over his safety. If anything, knowing how much danger he was in on a nightly basis compounded that fear, knowing that the snark and swagger of The Survivor was hiding Killian's soft heart filled her with a dreadful sense of foreboding that she could not shake.

Yes, he should stay here where he would be safe. Possibly even in the holding cell where no powers could penetrate. Oh. Of course he didn't want to be locked up again, not even for his own safety.

Especially not for his own safety, Emma thought bitterly.

“I'm not sleeping here tonight.”

“I'll poof you out.” The words were out of her mouth before she had chance to think twice. Yes, if she took him home, she could make sure he was safe. If she didn't, he'd only do something dumb like try to sneak out. Unless they literally locked him in that cell - and tempting though that was, she couldn't trap him like that after what he'd just been through.

She tried not to notice when Killian looked at her with surprise and confusion. “Come again?”

“I can - I can poof you out.” She quickly averted her eyes from him, not trusting herself to not break down over her worry about him, and instead looked at Belle. “You're worried about him being seen? If I take TS home he won't be. Can do a few spells to keep him safe and I'll bring him back here in the morning.”

She glanced at Killian before looking back to Belle with a shrug, trying not to give away how much she wanted to do this. How much she needed to.

“If you wanted to spend the night in my bed, you only have to ask. I'm sure we'll need to use - I mean, I need to have, protection.” She had expected the innuendo, but couldn’t help but roll her eyes all the same. She avoided looking at him so he wouldn’t see how much part of her was longing to take him up on his offer.

If she stayed with him, she would have to tell him who she was and she couldn't do that. She'd come so close to losing him and they weren't even together. No, if she succumbed to her desire he would surely be doomed to die. Even allowing him to get as close to her as he was had clearly been risky.

“Whatever, I'll do the spells and run.”

To her surprise he dropped the innuendo completely. “Well? Can I be released? I'm sure if Gold really wants me dead it won't matter where I sleep.”

“Fine, but seriously, let The Saviour protect you, okay?” Belle replied.

He turned to Emma and held out his hand. “Come now, love, my life is in your hands.”

She reached out and took his hand, poofing them into his apartment in a cloud of pure white magic. She felt the reassuring warmth of his hand in hers, absent-mindedly stroking the back of his hand with her fingers.

When she realised what she was doing she dropped his hand and stepped away from him. Feeling a blush rising in her cheeks at what she’d just done, she briskly moved onto business. “I'll just set up some protection spells.”

“Thanks. And I'll... I'll be in my room. Checking my phone. Seeing if I was missed.”

She winced as the thought of the message he had waiting from her came to mind. She was a little ashamed of how angry she had been with him - and to think he’d been suffering while she’d been sending him snide texts.

She busied herself with casting every protective charm, enchantment and magical barrier she knew. The only way she could be any more certain of his safety would be to spend the night, and that just wasn’t an option.

At last, when she’d reached the limits of her knowledge, she took a deep breath and looked in on Killian in his room.

“Um, TS?” He was holding his phone and looking exhausted and sad. Her heart ached for him in that moment. She wanted to comfort him - but she wasn’t sure if she should. “I'm finished. I should probably go.”

“Thanks. If you'd like to stay the night I'll be sure to show you how grateful I am.” The banter was there, but his delivery was off. He looked hopeless and unhappy - what he really needed was sleep, not an uncomfortable night with her.

“Yeah, right.” She meant to sound breezy - teasing him in their usual way - but the air was heavy with their exhaustion and the weight of saving the world was sitting heavy on her soul.

“I might need protecting in bed. Is leaving a risk you're willing to take?”

She was sure that the note of desperation she thought she heard in his voice was just a projection of her own desires. “Goodnight, Survivor,” she said and poofed into her living room, abruptly ending their conversation before he could persuade her to stay. She longed to go back to him, but a voice inside whispered that she was doing what she needed to do to keep the man she loved safe. She crumpled into a heap on the floor and sobbed.

She spent her night fretting until at some point exhaustion claimed her and she dreamt of being wrapped in Killian’s embrace. When she awoke at last she was surprised to see that he wasn’t there and she found herself feeling terribly alone.

She moved sluggishly, eating pop tarts and drinking coffee in quantities that she knew would make Killian wince if he were here. She tried not to think about the fact that she could be spending the morning with him, if only she were a little braver - or a lot more selfish.

There was just a few minutes to go before she had to collect Killian when her phone rang. She groaned and looked down at it and was surprised to see his face grinning up at her on the screen.

Talk about bad timing - why is he calling when we have to go save the world in a minute?

“Hello?” she asked, utterly confused.

“Morning, Swan. Did you miss me?” It was disconcerting how normal he was being. What on earth was going on?

“I. Um. I...” she stammered, not knowing how to react.

“Oh, I see,” his voice sounded small, “didn't even notice I was gone?”

“No!” Emma blurted out in horror, this was the worst conversation ever and they really didn’t have time for this shit. “I noticed! I…”

“You know, that doesn't really matter,” he cut her off. “I called to explain where I've been.”

Her heart stopped. Was he about to unmask himself to her? Oh God, he was. She felt like an even bigger asshole for not telling him the truth about herself already, but they just didn’t have the time. “You weren't on vacation?” she said, hoping she sounded cool.

“No. You see, I'm - I'm Hook, or The Survivor, depending on who you ask.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! she screamed internally. You have to tell him now, you have to. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I didn't abandon you, Emma. I was. Well. I was captured. I would never deliberately leave you without a word, I couldn't do that to you. I know you're good at knowing when someone is lying to you, so please believe me.”

“I do. Believe you, that is.” because I’m The Saviour. Surprise! God that sounded lame, but she had to tell him. You have to protect him, whispered another voice. She was too confused to handle this right now.

“Thank you -”

She felt irrationally angry at him for springing this on her. “Why are you telling me now?”

“I'm off to save the world, it's a dangerous job. I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah, but. Don't you do that a lot?” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice. He was her best friend and she should care about him revealing this to her. She was a terrible person.

“Been keeping up on my alter ego's exploits? You're not a superhero groupie, are you? I remember the time I caught you reading that magazine article about me.”

She rolled her eyes - trust him to bring that up at a time like this. “I just want to know why this time is different,” she pressed.

“I just want to be honest with you.”

Fuck.

She had to be brave and do the same. She could be honest with him, this was Killian, her Survivor, her best friend, her love.

“Well I -” her Nevengers phone beeped, sparks crackled from her fingertips as her frustration swelled.

“Sorry to cut you off, but I have to go. We can talk when I'm back.”

“OK…” She knew she couldn’t tell him the truth now, but she couldn’t send him off like that. “Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't disappear again.”

“As you wish,�� he replied with a laugh. She could hear the strain to stay confident and upbeat in his voice.

“I mean it, come back to me.”

“Of course, Swan, you don't need to fret, I'm The Survivor.”

“Good.” She hung up and sighed deeply, that was the best she could offer him in that moment. Tears pricked at her eyes as she tried to soothe her emotions, which had been frayed to near breaking point by the conversation.

Her phone continued to beep. She jabbed at it to shut it up. She had a sudden moment of clarity. She knew what she had to do.

She poofed into Killian’s apartment.

“Ready to -” she strode up to him, grabbed him and kissed him, cutting him off mid sentence.

It was brief, but the feel of his lips hot and wet against hers was enough to send her heart racing and make her feel light headed. She was delighted to see that he looked every bit as awestruck as she did.

“For luck,” she breathed. “When all this is over, we really need to talk.”

He nodded, gazing at her in wonder. “Of course.”

She smiled, knowing she’d done the right thing. One look like that from him and she felt ready to conquer the world - and all she had to do was defeat The Dark One.

She took his hand. They were going to save the world. Together.

Thanks for reading guys! If you liked it, why not buy me a coffee?

Here’s some people who’ve asked to be tagged - give me a shout if you do/not want to be included!

@artandteaandstuff @bleebug @wishbonekarou @nfbagelperson @timeless-love-story @suqarysweet @sammyjo16 @krystalsficpage @the-woman-in-12b @the-fandom-avenger @lenfaz @natascha-remi-ronin @hookaddict @buckle-some-swash @cat-sophia @lepidochelys-kempii @vannawecht @wickedcarrieann @captainswansettingsail @xfalseadvertisingknucleheadsx @oncedreamerhere @a-fictional-life @kmomof4 @teresalisbon @tiganasummertree

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fanfiction #katie dub writes #the masks we wear #chapter 10

104 notes · View notes

court-0f-dreamers · 7 years ago

Text

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze. Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

*** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

*** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord.

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

*** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here.

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

*** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis.

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

*** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye.

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high.

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded.

“Why?”, he demanded back.

“None of your business.” she retorted.

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore.

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do.

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.”

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice.

“Yes.”

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know.

But he thought about it the whole way home.

*** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian.

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.

#thank you krissy (rhysand-vs-rowan) for compiling all of Azriel's lines - it made me decide to use his first words!#acotar:restrung #acotar: restrung #acotar restrung #chapter 3 #my writing #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #feyre #feysand #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian

183 notes · View notes

mentallyunstableunicornwrites · 7 years ago

Photo

White Thorn-less : Reverence; Love at First Sight Yuuri got to watch Viktor skate in person once when he was younger. It was a gift from his parents and Miniko for his birthday. He sat in the stands on the edge of his seat waiting with bated breath for Viktor to take the ice; clutched in his hands was a single white rose that had no thorns; a token for his idol, his reason for putting his body through the daily abuse. It was all to skate on the same ice someday. As always Viktor skated beautifully and Yuuri forgot how to breathe. Miniko walked with him to the railing as soon as the program ended in hopes of being able to hand him the simple offering directly to him. It didn’t matter how many times he saw Viktor on TV, nothing prepared him for the sight of him in person. He was even less prepared for the skater to notice him among all the fans trying to hand him their tokens. The smile. The brush of fingers across his. That day something changed. Blue : Impossible; Unattainable There was no way that Viktor was there. It was a dream and Yuuri was sure that he was going to wake up soon. But every time he pinched himself he felt it. He felt Viktor’s hands as he pressed Yuuri further into a stretch, the burn told him that it was real… his mind on the other hand argued. Viktor’s fingers slid down his arms as he pressed his leg into Yuuri’s back gently leaning into it pressing him further into the stretch. The touch was electric. Walking home he saw the flower shop had blue roses in the window. He stopped and looked at them for a moment. Something about them reminded him so much of Viktor that he was compelled to buy the man one. The image of a younger Viktor with long hair and a crown of blue roses crossed his mind as he walked home gently fingering the petals. His heart hurt at the thought that Viktor was here and still just as out of his reach as he had been the first time he saw the man skate in person. But why did it cement his feelings for the man even more? Pink: “Thank You”; Grace Yuuri was astounded at the thought of anyone throwing him flowers. He was just a dime-a-dozen ice skater certified by the JSF, nothing special. And yet here he was sitting in the kiss and cry with his idol holding a single pink rose. He looked down at the rose and smiled a warm feeling blossomed inside of him as he and Viktor stepped out of the kiss and cry and retreated to the warm up. Yuuri reached out and handed the rose to Viktor who, in turn, blushed a little. “Pink roses are a thank you.” Yuuri whispered, “Thank you for getting me here.” Viktor silently took the rose and wrapped the smaller man in a hug. No words needed. Words would have just dulled the moment and Viktor seemed to know that. Yuuri couldn’t help but be surprised by the way a man who was so loud and bubbly also possessed the ability to handle a delicate situation with such grace. Yuuri took a shaky breath and returned the hug. Yellow: “I care”; Promise of a New Beginning A fever raged within Viktor and it worried Yuuri who stayed by his side refusing to leave. The fever was so bad that he was slightly delirious and speaking in a mix of Russian and English. While Yuuri couldn’t understand what exactly he was saying he knew the man felt like no one cared. He knew that it hurt… oh how it hurt Viktor so bad that it reduced the man to tears. More often than not Yuuri found himself holding the man’s hand and smoothing his sweat slicked hair out of his face while whispering words of comfort. Yuuri returned from his training carrying a vase of yellow roses. He brought them to Viktor’s room and placed them on the dresser. Viktor smiled at him weakly causing Yuuri to blush; he didn’t think Viktor was awake. “What are those for?” he asked knowing that Yuuri knew more about roses than anyone he ever met. Yuuri explained that Yellow roses represented caring. This time it was Viktor whose breath hitched a little. Yuuri gave him a small smile knowing that they also represented a new beginning and he was going to make sure Viktor got his. Yellow with Red tip: Friendship; Falling in love After his free skate at the Cup of China Yuuri knew that things between him and Viktor were changing. Blue roses no longer represented their relationship and it was more than Yuuri thought he deserved. They walked just a little closer together than normal as they wound their way through the streets, back of their hands brushing up against one another every so often. If it was on purpose neither mentioned it. Yuuri knew that their relationship was changing but he was unsure into what. It fell in a very grey area between friend and love. A middle aged woman seemed to be asking the man to buy some of the flowers she had in her basket. “For your friend,” she said with a smile that told more. They both declined and began to walk away when Yuuri’s attention was quickly diverted to a single rose that was partly hidden under the others. He quickly bought it and smiled as he gave it to his coach. Viktor took it with a heart shaped smile, fingers grazing softly on the inside of Yuuri’s wrist in a move that was obviously deliberate. Neither man breathed for a moment. Viktor opened his mouth to say something but was knocked to the side by a pedestrian. She shook his head and smiled gesturing to the Yuuri to lead the way. Red: “Job Well Done”; Love Yuuri blushed madly as Viktor presented him with a bouquet of red roses once he returned home from Russia. He apologized over and over again about not being able to be there when Yuuri needed him the most. He felt horrid but at the same time he was so proud of his student, his friend, his… “For a job well done,” he smiled his signature heart shaped smile placing a hand against the pulse point of Yuuri’s neck, a thumb grazed across his cheek. The moment was over quickly as Viktor pulled him in for a hug and held him tight. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered in Yuuri’s ear. “You did it, despite everything you did it.” Yuuri could only smile and return the hug. He blushed as Viktor’s voice sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. ‘Oh,’ Yuuri thought weakly, a name finally being placed to the feelings he had. ‘Oh’ he thought again as he blushed while Viktor placed a kiss on the top of his hand and smiled at him gently. ‘Oh I am in trouble.’ He thought only slightly dismayed at the revelation. Singe Dark Red; Unconscious Beauty; I love you Viktor knocked lightly on Yuuri’s door and waited until Yuuri told him it was ok to enter. He met his student with an enthusiastic smile and a loud happy birthday before placing a tray of food on the bed. Yuuri looked at it confused for a moment, not even registering what day it was. His eyes were automatically drawn to the single wine red rose that was sitting alone in a cup of water. “I didn’t really know what to get you.” Viktor said softly, “But this seemed appropriate.” Viktor reached out and brushed back a section of hair that fell into Yuuri’s face causing him to blush ferociously. “Do you know what a rose like this represents?” Yuuri couldn’t answer his mouth suddenly dry. “Unconscious beauty, the kind of beauty that goes unnoticed by the person who receives it.” Yuuri didn’t think it was possible to turn any more red, but his face tried desperately to prove him wrong. “My gift to you is going to be to point out every way that you are beautiful, starting with the way you flush anytime someone compliments you.” Yuuri looked down at the food on the suddenly very interested in mangoes. He wanted to look at Viktor, he wanted to talk to him, but the words died on his tongue. He looked at the rose and a thought crossed his mind. A very ‘un-Yuuri’ thought. He reached out and picked up the rose gently rubbing his thumb over some of the petals. “You know, there are multiple meanings to just about every rose. There are even meanings behind certain number of roses given at a time.” He chanced a look at Viktor who looked interested in what he had to say. “For instance fifteen roses is an apology while 10 means you are telling someone they are perfect. Nine roses means eternal love while six represents infatuation. Of course there are plenty of other combinations of rose numbers and colors. But a single red rose,” Yuuri locked eyes with Viktor who was smiling softly at him. Yuuri could have sworn his cheeks were slightly pink as he accepted the rose that was handed to him. He leaned forward as Yuuri did the same, neither meaning to but both drawn together all the same. “A single red rose means I love you.” Yuuri whispered before brushing his lips against Viktor’s, and in turn received the only birthday gift he really wanted. ____ Thank you again to @littorella for doing the amazing artwork for this story... really, go check her out!

#viktor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #yuri on ice #vicuuri #victuuri #victuri #Yuri on ice fanfiction #fanfiction #yoi #roses #rose meanings #kisses

21 notes · View notes

misssophiachase · 7 years ago

Note

Caroline's ex sells her stuff and klaus ends up buying a painting that was a heirloom. Caroline tracks him down.

In Loving Memory

Thanks luv! What an amazeballs prompt, I hope I did it justice : )

Sante Fe, New Mexico - 106 degrees

To say Caroline Forbes was a little frustrated was an understatement. Canyon Road seemed to stretch for dusty, red miles and one art galley seemed to turn into another. Pity none of the ones she’d already passed were her destination and the fact the weather was a dry 100 plus degrees and steadily climbing was doing nothing to help the situation.

Granted, yes, she was a highly strung individual but after searching for months and making the long trip from mild Boston to claim what was rightfully hers, Caroline figured she’d been unusually patient. Now was the point she was beginning to lose it.

“Looks like you could use some water,” an unexpected voice said under the verandah. She stared blankly at the stranger, a little girl with messy, blonde pigtails and big, brown eyes. “You know agua?” She persisted, pretending to drink from her hand.

“I’m..” she paused, her eyes landing on the street number and realising this was her destination. Finally. “Actually, yes, that would be nice.” The girl gestured for her to come forward, excitedly waving her hand and racing inside.

She ascended the four steps and followed her inside, the cool breeze from the air conditioner welcome in her current frazzled state. The floors were polished hardwood and the walls littered with paintings, not that she was expecting any less. She was taken aback by just how stunning they were. Each landscape and portrait seemed to come to life in front of her eyes.

Caroline shook her head, telling herself that she was here for a purpose. Unfortunately she hadn’t managed to find what she was looking for on the walls.

“Here.” The little girl interrupted, shoving the glass into her hands. She sent her a small smile and took a sip, relishing in the relief she felt as it cascaded down her dry throat.

“Thank you…”

“Lexi,” she finished. “That’s my name.”

“Well, hello there Lexi,” she offered her free hand and shook her tiny one gently.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Caroline,” she explained. “I’m actually looking for someone. I was wondering if you could help me?”

“Who?”

“Niklaus Mikaleson, do you happen to know him?” The little girl giggled mischievously, her cheeks colouring slightly.

“That’s my dad but most people call him Klaus. Well, except for my Aunt Rebekah when she’s mad and my Uncle Kol when he’s teasing and my Uncle Elijah pretty much all the time.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a big family there,” she chuckled as the little girl nodded, her pigtails bobbing up and down. She’d arrived in such a hostile mood but for some reason this little girl bearing agua had made her decidedly less grouchy. “So, where is your dad?”

“He’s out the back, painting again.”

“You mean he did all of these?” She squeaked, taking in the combined beauty of the surrounding artwork.

“Pretty much, dad says it makes him feel good.” Caroline wished at that point she had something to make her feel good. Lexi took her hand unexpectedly and lead her through the hall and into a Spanish style courtyard. If the scenery over the valley from this vantage point didn’t take her breath away the man standing by the easel did.

He was staring intently at the canvas, paintbrush in hand. If the crimson lips, stubble and dimples weren’t enough of a distraction, his white shirt was only half buttoned, a toned chest peeking out from within.

“Dad!” Lexi yelled, breaking not only her trance but his obviously. His blue eyes flickered over her body curiously. Caroline suddenly feeling a little underdressed in her short, floral dress.

“Let me guess, she lured you in with that whole water excuse?” He asked, pointing to the empty glass in her hand.

“I was thirsty,” she offered a little defensively, wondering where her bold, negotiating skills had disappeared. Maybe if he’d just do up a few more buttons she could retrieve them.

“This is my daughter’s ploy to try and bring in extra business,” he explained, giving Lexi a knowing look. “I’ve told her it’s incredibly misleading.”

“What does misleading mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” he chided. “You’ve been around Aunt Rebekah for too long.”

“The one who calls you Niklaus when she’s mad?” Caroline asked, noting the slight blush that crossed his face. Like father, like daughter.

“Did I mention that my daughter loves to talk?” Lexi gave an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t know, she seems to be the best asset you’ve got,” Caroline grinned, sending Lexi a knowing smile.

“Ouch,” he groaned, thumping his bare chest and pretending to be wounded. “Any chance you could get me a glass of water, sweetheart?” She regarded him dubiously before running back inside.

“I think someone is intimidated by his own daughter,” Caroline raised her eyebrows.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he sighed, placing his brush on the nearby table and moving towards her. “Is there something I can help you with, love?”

“I’m looking for a painting.”

“Well, you came to the right place,” he smirked, wiping his paint stained hands on his jeans. “Anything in particular that took your fancy?”

“Actually something has,” she began trying to ignore his increasingly close proximity. “But it doesn’t seem to be here.” He looked at her quizzically.

“Well, then I’m not sure I can help you then,” he shot back, his tone telling her that she’d offended him.

“These artworks are beautiful,” she said, attempting to placate him. Given she wanted something, offending the owner of her much loved painting wasn’t the best way to go about it.

“Okay, what do you really want then?” He asked slyly, almost like he could read her mind.

“The Bill Forbes original,” she managed to utter, her father’s name still causing numbness. “It should be mine.”

“I’m sorry?” He asked, taking a seat at the nearby table. “Last time I checked, I paid handsomely for that painting.”

“I know,” she conceded, joining him on the other side. “But I’m willing to buy it for whatever price.”

“If I could give you any tips, I’d suggest you don’t offer anything, you know it’s called bartering.” She didn’t respond immediately, in fact she was madly trying to keep her composure. This ass had no idea what this painting meant to her but she wanted it back. Caroline wasn’t quite sure she could live without it in her life, it meant too much.

“How about we cut the bullshit,” she muttered in frustration. “I’ve travelled all the way from Boston. Just tell me how much you want?”

“I’m sorry you’ve come so far, Miss, but that painting isn’t and never will be for sale.”

“But I need it,” she implored, her blue eyes boring into his. As if the struggle to find the painting hadn’t been enough but now she had to endure another setback. It was almost too much to comprehend.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you seem extremely attached to it and I’m wondering why?”

“I am,” she rasped almost helplessly. “If you insist on goading me then I’ll tell you. Bill Forbes was my father.”

“You mean?” He asked, clearly shocked and leaning forward in his chair. “The little girl in the painting is…”

“Me.” Caroline was on the verge of crying but for some reason she didn’t want him to see that so kept her eyes downcast.

“But why…”

“Don’t I have the painting?” She asked, predicting his question. “Someone sold it without my knowledge.”

“But how?”

“My ex boyfriend Stefan thought it would be a novel thing to do seeing as I called it quits. Funny joke, hey?” She could feel a hot, salty tear followed by another running down her cheeks. So much for keeping her composure. “And I’ve been trying to get it back ever since.”

“Now I understand,” he murmured, his hand reaching out for hers. Caroline would never forget the feeling of his rough and calloused fingers on her skin. “And not just because your ex-boyfriend is a serious ass.“

“That’s putting it nicely,” she muttered.

“But just so you know, I’m going to need some identification for handover. As much as I love my daughter’s intuition, she’s only six.”

Caroline wiped the tears from her eyes and finally met his gaze, even through the waterworks, she knew he was being sincere. “How much do you want?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “But how about a date?”

“Seriously?”

“I’m deathly serious,” he smirked, squeezing her hand. “I haven’t been on one in over six years so if you could show me the ropes, I’d appreciate it. If not for me then my nosy siblings and daughter.”

“I suppose that could be arranged,” Caroline grinned, realising that if his hand stayed on hers forever she wouldn’t mind. “But I’m curious.”

“About?”

“Why did you want that painting so badly?”

“That father-daughter moment reminded me so much of me and Lexi,” he admitted, his hand still firmly placed upon hers. “I didn’t want to forget the way she looked at me so adoringly and that picture was exactly what I needed to know even if she grows up we’ll still share that moment.”

“The terrible teens?” Caroline joked. “Okay, so how about we organise a sharing arrangement?” She proposed, her fingers exploring his skin freely now.

“Between Massachusetts and New Mexico?” He baulked.

“I’m sure we can make it work somehow.” Their hands were now firmly entwined and for some reason it didn’t feel like that bond could ever be broken.

Turns out it wasn’t that difficult to manage especially with the little girl that brought them together unbeknownst to them. Lexi loved to claim credit and funnily enough no one was going to argue. The painting that brought them together was hung in pride of place and, believe it or not, they lived happily ever after.

#in loving memory #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #paigemarie007 #thank luv #genuis prompt #hope i did it justice

31 notes · View notes

mikawa-province · 8 years ago

Text

Just Deserts

Title: Just Deserts Fandom: Samurai Love Ballad: Party/Tenka Touitsu Koi no Ran: Love Ballad Pairing: Tokugawa Ieyasu x MC Rating: PG-13 Word Count (MS Word): 1170

杓��果報　（しゃくしかほう） [shakushikahou] (adj-na,n) coming by ample servings of delicious food; being blessed with good fortune

Requested by my friend Sayou. Inspired by this artwork.

He didn’t care anymore if he looked like he was inhaling the damn daifuku.

After a particularly stressful war council that morning in which Sakai Tadatsugu had to intervene and call for a break. With the old man sensing that the Lord of Mikawa was slowly losing his composure, Sakai had suggested that he go back to his room to calm himself. Just before he exited the hall, he had immediately demanded his female retainer to make a plate of daifuku.

Unsurprisingly, she delivered quickly and had brought twelve pieces of daifuku, along with a small ceramic pot of tea and a teacup for him in record time. At that point, he had no idea if she had managed to turn the snacks into strawberry daifuku, or if it was just plain daifuku.

Privately, he did not care what he ate, as long as it was made by her.

The moment he bit the first mochi and tasted the familiar and contrasting blend of red bean paste on fruit, he knew she had went through extra lengths to make it for him. With summer slowly making the weather more unbearable, it was getting more and more difficult to get strawberries for his favorite dessert. While he never indicated that he was satisfied with any type of red bean dessert, she would always make sure that the daifuku she served had strawberries in it.

He was halfway into devouring the daifuku when he heard her chuckle beside him.

He was about to ask her what she found so funny when Ieyasu found his eyes widening upon feeling her hands on either side of his face.

“Ieyasu-sama, slow down.” She smiled at him. “The war council doesn’t convene until the afternoon. You still have time to eat, you know; look at you, you’ve got mochi powder on the sides of your lips.” using both her thumb, she began to wipe off what he assumed to be where the powder had dusted his face.

For the life of him, he did not know what possessed him to suddenly grab her right wrist to steady his hold on her and lick her powder-coated thumb. As if on cue, her face turned a bright red at his gesture, yet she uttered no word of protest. He did the same to her left thumb, though this time around, he had no need to hold on to her wrist as she herself ran her thumb over his lips.

Just when he thought he was done with surprises for today, he found himself getting a kiss from her as she leaned forward from where she sat and gave him a light peck on the lips.

“… You had some powder on your lips as well, Ieyasu-sama.” She said it so quietly that he had a hard time hearing her words properly.

Or was it because his own heart was beating madly against his chest?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that he had to respond properly.

“All those kisses I gave you, and all you could manage was a peck?” grabbing both of her wrists, he pulled her closer to him, with her ending up on his lap. “And I thought I was doing everything I could to teach you.”

Before she could even manage a shaky gasp from his rather bold maneuvering, he stole the breath from her lips. Unlike the previous kisses he always subjected her to, this particular kiss was one of his ways to ‘punish’ her. He demanded for her mouth to open for him with his tongue, and upon seeking her, he proceeded to slowly but surely tease her by sucking on her tongue gently. It did not escape his notice that she was moaning against him and that she was holding unto his kimono for dear life whenever he pulled back a bit to taste her lips; in response, he ran a hand on the curve of her back and slowly lowered it to her hips. The contact had made her gasp out loud, but she made no move to brush his hand away.

It took a while for them to part, and when they did, they were both trying to catch their breaths, their foreheads pressed against the other.

“T-the daifuku—”

He resisted the urge not to laugh as not to break the mood.

Of all the things she was worried about, it had to be food.

“If you’re that worried about it getting spoiled, then why don’t you feed it to me? Either that, or we continue this until it’s time for the war council to resume?”

Her answer had been immediate. “D-daifuku…! P-please let me feed you daifuku…!”

“Shame. I would’ve wanted to continue the kissing…” he smirked upon seeing her face turn a beet red after hearing his rather bold statement.

While he both loved the two things he mentioned, there was no doubt in his mind that he loves kissing way more than strawberry daifuku.

With the right person, kissing was enjoyable.

More so if it was deep kisses that involved her.

As the war council reconvened later that afternoon, everyone present had quietly noticed that the head of the clan looked more relaxed and calm than ever before.

Everyone except the most senior retainer of the clan, who had actually been bold enough to loudly remark on his good mood.

“It’s so nice to see you in a better mood, Ieyasu-sama.”

The younger man gave a shrug. “All I needed was some strawberry daifuku. Isn’t that right?” the question was aimed at the very person who was in-charge of all his meals, desserts included. Immediately, all eyes were on her, who automatically turned red.

Everyone assumed that the reaction was from embarrassment, as she was not used to the attention given to her.

Little did they know that the supposedly sweet smile on their lord’s face hid a rather naughty intention involving his female retainer, along with his favorite dessert.

“If possible, I would want to have strawberry daifuku all the time.” All but one had missed the subtle innuendo as their lord stated his intention for more sweets to be made whenever possible. Most people in the room agreed that it was better for him to have his share of sweets in order to get their lord in the best of moods.

As for her, she wanted the tatami to swallow her whole, as she was feeling rather embarrassed whenever her mind replayed the events that happened earlier. Discreetly, she fixed the collar of her kimono, knowing that if she was careless in her movement, someone might get a glimpse of what she was keeping hidden from plain sight.

The smirk on his face… as much as she wanted to rip it off his face, she knew she couldn’t.

But maybe, just this once, when he was caught off-guard she would be able to wipe that smug smile off his face.

Just you wait.

One of these days, she would get even.

Author’s notes:

I really like Atamoto’s rendition of Tanuki & Kitsune. My friend and I imagine Tanuki as Ieyasu while Kitsune is MC; you might think MC may not have it in her to be sly and sneaky, but she managed to manipulate Ieyasu into agreeing to go to a hanami with her by simply mentioning that if Ieyasu doesn’t go with her, she’ll invite Toramatsu instead. That did the trick. (｀･д･ﾉﾉﾞ☆ﾊﾟﾁﾊﾟﾁ

I was supposed to title this fic as ‘Afternoon Delight’ but that’s just too blatant. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

My personal limit in eating strawberry daifuku is two pieces; any more than two, and I get really ill. Ieyasu eating so much without stopping to sip tea is a miracle in and of itself.

Ieyasu’s favorite dessert is strawberry daifuku, but Sakai mentioned that red bean desserts are his favorite, so that can range to, well, a lot of Japanese sweets, if I have to be honest.

On a completely unrelated note to the content of the fanfic, the title may seem like a typo, but I’ve checked and checked, and according to Grammarist.com: “The phrase is the last refuge of an obsolete meaning of desert—namely, something that is deserved or merited. But because most modern English speakers are unfamiliar with that old sense of desert, the phrase is often understandably written just desserts.”

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this short fic!

#slbp fanfic #slbp fanfiction #slbp ieyasu #tokugawa ieyasu x mc #koiran

82 notes · View notes

justwritingscibbles · 8 years ago

Text

Release the Puppos!

Ok, first of all, fuck this illness! Secondly, I felt bad for not posting the past few days because this Tumblr is sorta part of a schedule I put up for myself and I want to keep too it!!!

Anyway, while I was wasting away in bed I thought up a few fics I wanted to write. Please forgive me if my writing is a little wonky; I have literally gulped half a bottle of cough medicine. So I’m a little sleepy and drowsy. Probably not a good idea but I couldn’t find a measuring cup or anything.

This one is just a little Markiplier fic where you’re a subscriber of Mark’s channel and you go to the meet-up with some hairy companions. Enjoy!

(Y/D/N)- Young dogs name. (O/D/N)- Older dog’s name. (Y/T/N)- Your Twitter nickname/ or social media nickname

You have always wanted to go to a meet-up. Not only to see Mark but also to meet some of the other subs. You were always commenting on Mark’s tweets and sometimes even posting some fan-art. People started following you and you started chatting. You wouldn’t say you were popular or well-known in Mark’s community, but you had a fair number of people following you on most social medias because of him. Every so often he’d retweet one of your artworks and you contributed to his charity live-streams too. Once, he had called out your name excitedly and yelled, ”That’s the person that draws awesome me pictures!”

Mark had tweeted another location for a meet-up. A park not far from your home. But as always, you were stuck and unable to go. Usually it was work, school, even family had become an obstacle. But today, it was two large dogs who were currently snoozing on the lounge-room floor. You sighed and wrote your reply on Mark’s twitter;

“I’m dog-sitting and can’t leave them alone! Can I bring the puppos?”

You knew you wouldn’t get a reply from the Youtuber himself, but you added a photo of the dogs anyway. The largest dog, (Y/D/N), a big brown shaggy hound with golden eyes, lifted his head just as you took the photo. The result was adorable. His floppy ears were propped up and his head tilted slightly. The slightly smaller dog, (O/D/N), an elderly Labrador, continued to snooze, completely ignoring your calls to lift his head. You posted the tweet and continued to scroll through your phone. It wasn’t long before your notifications started beeping. You checked your Twitter, finding people were reposting your tweet and replying to the photo.

“Awww! So cute! You have to bring them!”

“This is unacceptable! You can’t miss out on another meet-up!”

“I want those dogs!”

You smiled at each Tweet and tried replying. More and more re-tweets and replies came and you got fed up with notifications, so you turned them off. You ignored Twitter for some time, already jealous with the fans who were going. You’ll probably see what was happening in a video on Mark’s channel in the next few days. You checked your Twitter one last time; amazed at the number of retweets you had received in the short space of time.

“Keep retweeting so Mark can see this!”

“I’ll show him when I get there!”

“Everyone show Mark and make him see the puppies!”

You laughed at each one and went through the list liking them. Then, your phone vibrated with a DM from Twitter and you almost let out a squeal when you read the message.

“YOU BETTER BRING THOSE PUPPOS OR I’M GOING TO KIDNAP THEM!” Tweeted from Markiplier.

You spent almost no time leaping from your couch, grinning like a lunatic as you ran about the house finding your shoes and actually getting out of your PJs for once. Upon grabbing the dog-leashes (Y/D/N) bounded over to you, barking excitedly. You looped the clip around his collar and did the same to (O/D/N). You were practically dragged out of the house by (Y/D/N) with (O/D/N) trotting behind you. The park was a few blocks away and the closer you got, the more nervous you were becoming. What if someone there was allergic to dogs? Or someone was scared of dogs? Maybe this was a bad idea, I mean (Y/D/N) could accidentally knock someone over or (O/D/N) could get agitated with someone and growl at them. But it was already too late. By the time you had the thought to turn around and retreat home, you were on the outskirts of the park and the mass of people had spotted you. “Oh my God, it’s the puppies!” You heard someone cry. Your nerves escalated as the crowd turned to you and started shouting excitedly. But you couldn’t help but smile as you started towards them. (Y/D/N) started tugging against his leash, his tail wagging madly. “Release the puppos!” You heard a familiar voice bellow. You shrugged and trapped (Y/D/N) between your legs as you unclipped him from his collar. “Brace yourselves!” You called as (Y/D/N) galloped towards the hoards of screaming people. He crashed into the many legs, almost drowning under reaching fingers and gentle pets. A few people approached you, politely greeting you and asking if they could pat (O/D/N). You nodded and they crouched beside the older dog, who lazily wagged their tail and panted happily. “So, your (Y/T/N)!” Mark said with a wide smile. “Hi! I couldn’t bear losing my dogs to a kidnapper, so I had to bring them.” The man laughed and crouched down beside (O/D/N) to give them a gentle scratch behind the ear. “A lot of people here didn’t want you missing out.” He continued to speak to you from the ground. “I’ve always wanted to meet you as well. Your art is amazing.” You blushed and chuckled, “Well, my muse is pretty inspirational.” Mark flashed you a brilliant smile and stood, gesturing to the crowd. “Well, come meet everyone. We were about to start the video.”

You followed Mark into the middle of the park, where (Y/D/N) was running around, almost overwhelmed with excitement. A few people were chasing after him, seeming to play tag with the dog. Then (Y/D/N) found, what you guessed was Mark’s bag, and removed a football from it. “Hey!” Mark yelled, starting towards the pup. “That’s mine!” (Y/D/N) started running. His ears flapped like wings as he bounded away from the man. Everyone started laughing as Mark gave chase. He tried leaping onto the dog, even tried herding him towards the crowd, but (Y/D/N) seemed to dodge every hand as they made a grab for the ball. You laughed along with everyone else. Enjoying the comical show that was unfolding in front of you. Finally, you thought it had gone on for long enough and you whistled loudly. The hound skidded to a stop, his golden eyes fixed on you with a quizzical stare. “Give it here,” You ordered, keeping your voice friendly. (Y/D/N) trotted over to you, his ears slanted backwards and his eyes mischievous. He slowed as he neared you, lifting his head up slightly to place the ball in your hand. “Don’t you dare,” You warned, but before your fingers could find purchase, (Y/D/N) had jumped back and started running. But he ran straight into Mark’s legs and the man caught hold of the dog’s collar and plucked the toy from his jaws. Cheers flooded the park as Mark lifted the ball up like a trophy. Grinning wildly. “Markimoo- 1, doggo- 0″ Mark smirked and booped (Y/D/N) on his wet nose. He looked rather disappointed, but wagged his tail none-the-less.

As Mark set up the cameras and arranged the crowd as he needed, you had found a nice spot under a tree to watch. Others had joined you, too nervous or anxious to join in the activities. But the small group around you were happy stroking your dogs fur and laughing at what Mark was making the others do. You weren’t sure what was happening. It had started off as a game of tag, then evolved into stick-in-the-mud, then the ball came in as the crowd formed a circle. Mark was in the centre kicking the ball as high into the air as he could for someone to catch. Those who caught it, had to make up a ridiculous dance routine and make animal noises to go with it. At one point, Mark had kicked the ball but it struck the toes of his shoes and the object flew in a unexpected arc. It had almost hit you as it came tumbling through the canopy of the tree. You saved yourself by slapping it away, but managed to accidentally hit (O/D/N). “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” You cooed, cradling the dog’s head as if you had seriously injured it. Mark over-exaggerated the situation by running over and dramatically throwing himself in front of the dog, begging their forgiveness and apologizing profusely. (O/D/N) looked very confused, and responded by gently tapping Mark’s bowed head, as if to say “You are forgiven, loud-one” Mark laughed and returned to the circle.

The whole situation was cringey and amazing all at the same time. Finally, when the time of the meet-up was nearing its end, Mark ushered your group up and into the middle of the park. “Right, now it’s your turn!” He told you and you quickly panicked as he kicked the ball into the air. You instinctively watched it soar skywards and you angled yourself so when it plummeted back to earth, you caught it in your hands, cradling it on your chest. People cheered and Mark grinned broadly, “You have to make up a dance sequence now!” Groaning, you dropped the ball and started krumping. It was sloppy, and your cheeks glowed red from embarrassment, but people were laughing and cheering you on. When was the last time you even danced? A loooong time, a voice at the back of your head replied. “You have to make an animal noise!” Someone in the back reminded you. You rolled your eyes and turned to (Y/D/N), “Howl!” Weeks of training paid off as (Y/D/N) lifted back his head and started to howl. A long deep sound that you started dancing too. A few others followed your lead, and soon you had a large group of people boogie around (Y/D/N). Like some weird ritual, everyone started making strange howling noises and you couldn��t help but laugh. It was all so ridiculous! Finally, Mark hushed everyone and told them that it was time to back up. You said your goodbyes and clipped your dogs back on their leashes. Before you started walking home, someone gently touched your shoulder and you turned to face Mark. “It was really nice to meet you, (Y/T/N)” He said with a small smile. “I hope you come to the next meet-up.” “Of course!” You beamed, “And my name is (Y/N) by the way.” “It was a pleasure meeting you, (Y/N). We’ll have to meet up another time.” He winked at you and shouldered his bag, heading towards his car. You couldn’t help but smile and you quickly turned away so no one could see you blushing.

I’m gonna go to bed now! Hope you enjoyed!

#Markiplier #puppos!#one-shots #a little fluff

229 notes · View notes

omgxiaoch · 8 years ago

Text

Monsta X and Breadcrumbs

Request: “Can you do mx reaction when you have bread crumbs in side of your mouth?” -anon

Hey guys! I hope you guys enjoy this :) I know it’s very very late ;u; Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this and I’ll be opening my request/message box soon! :) Credits to the owners of these gifs.

masterlist

Shownu

Walking through the cold streets of the city, you locked arms with your boyfriend, Shownu. The streets were filled with stalls and different boutiques of different brands. You’ve been walking for thirty minutes and all of the walking made your tummy grumble, making Shownu chuckle and pull you towards this steaming, hot bread stall. Ordering two of the two of you, you couldn’t wait to devour the delicious looking bread right in front of you. As soon as you’ve taken a big, big bite, you’ve noticed Shownu smiling widely at you.

“What’s wrong? Is something on my face?”

Before you could even touch your face, Shownu’s thumb was already at the corner of your lips, wiping off the crumbs while shaking his head. “You really amaze me, [y/n].” He’d mutter this before planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.

Wonho

Wonho snuggled close to you as the two of you watched Moana. The only snacks that the two of you have was a jar of cookie and some pastries. You lazily rested your head at the backrest of the couch while munching on to the cookie. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a getaway at Bali or something?” you blurted out of the blue, making Wonho look up, only to stop when he saw the crumbs on your lips. Smirking to himself, he cleared his throat and you were about to continue when Wonho suddenly brought lifted himself up and licked your lips. Your eyes widened by his actions, making him smile at you cheekily.

“What the-- Didn’t I tell you to behave, babe?”

“Not my fault, you’re the one who’s asking for it. But, tell me, did you like it when I licked you?”

Kihyun

You were already running late for your vocal lessons with your boyfriend but this didn’t stop you from munching on a sandwich. As soon as you arrived right in front of the studio, you gulped down the last bite before making your way in. Kihyun, who was sitting on the black swivel chair, turns around only to see a messy you. At first he’d act strict, asking you why you’re late and would be fascinated when you told him that there was traffice. When he asked you if you ate something, you would lie once more but this time, he’d be laughing his ass out.

“Yeah, right. Why don’t you look at yourself, hmm?”

He’d walk up to you and show you how you actually looked, making you blush madly. He would shake his head while pulling his handkerchief out before cupping your chin. “Aigoo, you’re really messy babe.” And he’d start wiping off the mess off your face like a mother wiping their kid’s ice-cream covered cheeks.

Minhyuk

You were in the middle of helping Minhyuk with his new artwork for Monsta X’s exhibit when you decided to have some snacks. Taking continuous bites from your ham and cheese croissant, you didn’t notice the crumbs stuck on the sides of your lips. After finishing your part, you grabbed the canvas and walked towards Minhyuk and asked, “What do you think about this babe?” Whenever you asked Minhyuk about something, he would always look at your face before at the thing you’re holding. His happy smile would immediately turn into a thin line. He’d place a hand on both of your shoulders, bring his thumb to your lips to brush the crumbs off.

“Are you trying to tempt me to make out with you, babe? ‘Coz if you are, I would take a break for a while and made some lip action with you. *wink* And, oh, you did a good job with the strokes.”

Hyungwon

The day went by quickly and you were already walking your way to Hyungwon’s apartment. He’d invited you over for some time to catch up with each other and cuddle. Pushing the door open, Hyungwon was already sprawled on the floor with tons of bread. He was already having snack before he takes a nap. As soon as his eyes landed on you, he offered you a pan to which you gladly accepted and ate alongside with him. Eating the piece of break in silence, you suddenly felt Hyungwon’s finger tucked under your chin, making you turn your head towards him. He’d immediately swipe his thumb on your lips while chewing.

“You gotvsve sumcjas crumbs nom nom nom.

You wouldn’t understand at first but understands it after a few seconds, making you smile. Hyungwon would smile back and continue on munching on his bread before pulling your towards him room for your nap together.

Jooheon

You were out on a picnic with Jooheon. There were sandwiches, kimbap and many more. The two of you chitchatted with each other while feeding each other some sandwiches. In the midst of talking, you noticed some crumbs on the side of Jooheon’s lips. Grabbing a piece of napkin, you wiped his lips, making him look at you. He’d smile at you and thank you before he also noticed some crumbs on your lips. Jooheon would literally giggle to himself, making you look at him suspiciously.

“You’re so cute, babe. Hehehe, let me wipe those crumbs off your lips.”

Before you could even protest, he was already wiping off your lips. Catching you off-guard, he’d quickly plant a kiss on your lips before giggling to himself.

I.M

You were hanging out with Changkyun at the cafe after a long day of studying for your exams. Nibbling on the croissant that you’ve ordered, you continued to blabber on about what you’re planning to do during the semester break. In the midst of talking, Changkyun notices the crumbs resting on the corner of your lips. At first, he’d be hesitant. He’ll stare at your lips for a good two minutes or so and would literally listen to his own thoughts while nodding to every single thing that you say.

Is she doing that on purpose so that we can get some lip action or something?

He’d be so suspicious to the point that he’d observe your actions before finally giving in, calling you out before wiping the crumbs off the corner of your lips with his thumb. “Are you doing this on purpose so that we can have a heated session later?” He’d be teasing you the whole time, winking at you and making a rawr gesture with his hands.

123 notes · View notes

corixus · 6 years ago

Text

Transformation in art

The theme

An exhibition entitled “Transformation”was held at the Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo from Oct 29th, 2010 through Jan 30th, 201l.

In September 2012, the National Gallery presented the exhibition ‘Metamorphosis: Titian, 2012’.

In October 2012, All Visual Arts mounted their Autumn show, ‘Metamorphosis: the Transformation of Being’ at The Crypt. One Marylebone Road London.

Metamorphosis is an elusive and multi-layered term. In biology, it relates to a complete material change of form through successive transformative stages in the lifespan of an organism, such as caterpillar to butterfly. In art metamorphosis describes the process by which an object or scene is turned into a work of art. Certain elements are emphasised exaggerated or distorted to communicate the artist’s inner feelings about what he/she feels about what they see.

Metamorphosis also has magical connotations that relate to the inner psychological transformations of being and identity. This is the essence of Ovid’s epic poem in which the interconnectivity of humanity and the natural world is described through mythological and psychological shape-shifting. Ovid was writing in Latin about 8 CE. His ‘Metamorphosis’ is a collection of mythological and legendary stories, many taken from Greek sources, in which transformation (metamorphosis) plays a role. The stories, which are unrelated, are told in chronological order from the creation of the world (the first metamorphosis, of chaos into order) to the death and deification of Julius Caesar (the culminating metamorphosis). It collects together a large number of self-contained stories, including the tales of Daphne and Apollo, Diana and Actaeon, Daedalus and Icarus, Orpheus and Euridice, Achilles, Midas and many more. Through the ages the myth of Daphne and Apollo has had a special appeal to artists. Apollo had made one too many jokes at Eros' expense. To punish him, Eros shot Apollo with one of his golden arrows, which made Apollo fall madly in love with the nymph Daphne. Unfortunately for Apollo, Eros had shot Daphne with a lead arrow, which made her reject the god.

Apollo pursued Daphne and she tried to run away to escape him. Daphne called out to her father, the river god, for help. He changed her into a tree just as Apollo was about to catch her (Fig 1).

Fig 1

The metamorphic exhibitions

The Tokyo museum quoted its exhibition as;

“To live is to change. We change daily as our cells regenerate and we learn new things, as times change and we encounter new environments, and as we give play to our imagination.

Under the theme “transformation,” this exhibition explores the boundary between humans and non-humans. In all ages and countries, countless images and artworks have been created on the theme of transformation. Japan, in particular, is brimming with rich images on this theme, from the legends of old to the manga and anime characters of today. So, why “transformation” now? With to the spread of the Internet, the development of the global economy, advances in technology, and so on, the traditional forms “humans” take have started to become blurred, and a diversity greater than anything seen before has begun to emerge. At this exhibition, a variety of images of things that traverse the human and non-human – including animals, machines, imaginary creatures and bodies with different genetic compositions – will be unveiled through paintings, sculptures, video, archives and symposiums. Together, the “transforming” forms presented express as a single omen our hopes, dreams and fears” (Fig 2).

Fig 2

http://azito-art.com/topics/transformation-at-museum-of-contemporary-art-tokyo/

TheTransformation of Being, mounted by All Visual Arts, combined Old & Modern Masters, spanning from Albrecht Dürer to Francis Picabia, juxtaposed with the paintings, drawings and sculptures of an extraordinary collection of international contemporary artists. A selection of the works can be seen at:

http://www.allvisualarts.org/exhibitions/MetamorphosisTheTransformationofBeing/Images.aspx

The theme of the exhibition may be summarised pictorially in the following work (Fig 3). A mystery of metamorphosis is assembled in this picture. Is it the end point of a transformation, a stage in a process by which the woman emerges into the foreground or is it a snapshot of her being converted into the amorphous dark biomorphic substance looming behind her?

Fig 3

The exhibition in the National Gallery was created in collaboration with the Royal Opera House. It refers to three paintings by Titian depicting stories from Ovid’s poem. Diana and Callisto shows Diana casting out the pregnant nymph Callisto from her company. Diana and Actaeon depicts the young Actaeon out hunting and stumbling into a sacred grotto where Diana and her nymphs are bathing; and in The Death of Actaeon, we see the goddess exacting vengeance on the intruder by turning him into a stag to be torn to pieces by his own hounds.These works were the catalyst for an ambitious project involving the production of three new ballets inspired by the paintings. The costumes and sets were designed by contemporary artists – Mark Wallinger, Conrad Shawcross and Chris Ofili – who showed their designs alongside other work produced in response to Titian’s masterpieces.

Ofili chose to go to the source for inspiration. In Ovid’s epic poem, he discovered a magical realm full of passion and desire, which he conjures with psychedelic rivers of vivid colour and peopled with mythic beings such as nymphs and goddesses, stags and soothsayers. The compositional echoes are not of Titian so much as Gauguin, Picasso and Matisse, and of Japanese prints and Aubrey Beardsley’s erotica. Ofili uses these borrowings to make a unique magical brew which reveal their secrets to the viewer slowly because you sense the artist is exploring new ideas and developing new ways of working.

One of Ofili’s paintings, Ovid-Desire (Fig 4), depicts a process of multiple transformation involving a couple dancing; he wears a spangled suit, she is half naked in a dress layered with flesh pink flounces dusted with a sheen of silver. The floor, is a shifting stage patterned with emphatic diamonds, leading up to a turquoise wall and a window looking onto an Edenic landscape where naked women (Diana and her nymphs, perhaps) cavort beneath a crescent moon.

Fig 4

https://www.theartsdesk.com/visual-arts/metamorphosis-titian-2012-national-gallery

This painting highlights the aim of transformation in works of art which is to blend several pictures reaĺ or in the mind into one.

Surrealist abstraction

The procedure whereby two or more pictures are combined into one has been called surrealist abstraction. This process of fusion is illustrated in Figs 4-6. It involves ‘photoshopping’ two pictures (Figs 5 & 6), transforming them, with the help of Topaz Labs filters, into a third (Fig 7).

Fig 5

Fig 6

Fig 7

The third picture is semiabstract and has a life and meaning of its own within the viewer’s innerness. It embeds Adam and Eve’s expulsion from The Garden of Eden into our present society where the purpose of a supermarket economy is to maximize consumption. It references the Christian Bible, Genesis 2:15, which explains God’s purpose for how humankind should use Earth’s resources in ways that preserve them. The biblical reasons for stewardship are reinforced and continued from there in many ways throughout the scriptures. They imply good stewardship that avoids the devastation and loss of soil fertility that occurs in much agriculture today. However, there is no doubt that persuasive and influential misinterpretation of Christian doctrine has led to environmental destruction and lack of respect for nature.

In this transformation the representations of two material features of ‘outerness’ are metamorphosed into one representation of ‘innerness’.

Innerness and outerness

According to Ralph Rowbottam, outerness is what can be objectively observed, inspected, weighed, measured, cut into. Thus, the stone carving of The Expulsion and the display of a variety of edible plant products, express outerness. As regards ourselves , outerness includes our skin, bones, hearts, brains and so forth. Innerness is our subjectivity, whatever we feel, think, imagine: our experience, our consciousness, our inner landscape. Every human being has these two sides. So presumably do animals. Rowbottam says that perhaps even plants or stones have some sort of innerness, though infinitesimal in development compared to our own.

The transformation has produced a semi abstract image that is far richer in content and open to many avenues of interpretation.

Abstraction through transformation departs from the evaluation of a picture through its outer objectivity. This departure from accurate representation can be only slight, or it can be partial, or it can be complete. Abstraction exists along a continuum but always evokes an inner subjective response. In this context, transformation does not attempt to represent an accurate depiction of a visual reality but instead relies on shapes, colours, forms and gestural marks to achieve its effect.

Music is an abstract creation. Beethoven described his innerness when creating a new work. “....In my head, I begin to elaborate the work in its breadth, its narrowness, its height, and its depth, and as I am aware of what I want to do, the underlying idea never deserts me. It rides, it grows up. I hear and see the image in front of me from every angle, as if it had been cast…”

How does a listener or a viewer come to an understanding of an abstract work of art? As was said by a person viewing a Rembrandt, “although the image clearly makes sense as a whole, what sense it makes cannot be easily decided”. Maybe the mental process involved in trying to make sense of an abstract painting follows a kind of reverse of Beethoven’s creative pathway by first discerning significant shapes and forms in the mind which are then retrofitted to create an underlying personal idea that enhances a person’s innerness..

Both the gallery and the artwork function as interfaces to the larger systems of meanings, values, and social relations that make pictorial systems possible and interpretable. Members of communities and cultures that visit an art exhibit without prior knowledge of the style or period can be left without information that will lead to connecting the dots of interpretation. In this context the story attached to Fig 6 is only readable because the viewer is given access to the two images that were fused to make it. With no information about the elements of outerness that were fused to produce Fig 8 the viewer has to fully accept the fact that they are working outside the realm of answers and explanations. What is actually seen is in the mind of the beholder. Evaluation comes down to answering the question : would you like to see it in your house everyday?

As always, Picasso has the last word.

“Everyone wants to understand abstract art. Why not try to understand the song of a bird? …people who try to explain pictures are usually barking up the wrong tree.”

Fig 8

Go to Zygeena’s Pinterest Board to see a growing gallery of digital transformations.

https://pin.it/wze23swivsibns

Go to a Google Doc version of this blog

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1u8se74Rx2-PU7dlp9h6t0i_77XAwChGKHp0vfDDxHkg/edit?usp=sharing

0 notes