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meigh-day · 4 years

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Obligation (Tendou x Reader) - Part 3

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Title: Obligation

Pairing: Mafia AU Tendou x F!Reader

Characters: Includes characters from both Shiratorizawa and Seijoh/Some OC background characters

Includes: Swearing, Mentions of Guns/Knives and Violence

Status: Complete

Word Count: 1.6k

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The remainder of your night had been quiet after Yua, the sweet elderly woman who'd escorted you around, had dropped you back off at your room with a promise to visit again soon.

Once you had been left to your own devices you found yourself a little unsure of what to do. They had more or less given you free reign to do what you wanted around the house and if you wanted to leave, they were happy to arrange a driver and someone to accompany you, a.k.a. a bodyguard. It was a little too late to just wander the house aimlessly so you'd opted to sprawl out on your bed and swap between the various apps on your phone. At some point your eyes had closed while your phone had teetered out of your hand and onto the bed as sleep suddenly took you. You hadn't even managed to change out of the clothes you'd arrived it. The last 24 hours had been very demanding and your mind and body had decided they'd had enough.

Sleep had taken hold of you so soundly that you didn't stir in the slightest as soft footsteps crossed your room, stopping at the edge of your bed. Deep red eyes gazed down at your sleeping form, watching your chest rise and fall, admiring how cute you looked as you lay curled up in the middle of the bed like a cat. He leaned over the bed, just far enough to reach a hand out, his fingers ever so gently pushing your displaced hair away from your face.

"Sweet dreams, pretty girl."

The following morning you found yourself standing in the middle of a hallway, confused. The mansion was certainly huge, and you'd just been given a very lovely tour just the night before. Yet here you were, glancing around the long corridor, hoping to find something that struck you as familiar. Honestly, you felt embarrassed as you shuffled along, first time out on your own and you'd already gotten lost. When you had woken up your found yourself sprawled out across the middle of your bed, still fully dressed, covered in a soft black blanket. You didn't remember it being in your room at all so you were a little unsure how it had appeared. Though as you had laid there pondering over it's appearance, you inhaled deeply and let out a happy sigh, whatever the had used to wash this smelled heavenly.

A quick shower and a change of clothes had you feeling more awake but your alertness hadn't kept you from getting all turned around. Yua had shown you around the home, and was sure to mention little tidbits of information that she had gleaned over her years of working in the house. It was interesting, truly, but you had still found yourself distracted, thoughts wandering to a certain red-head. The memory of his teasing the night before still made you feel giddy and embarrassed. A few pretty words and a smile and you were ready to agree to whatever he asked. He'd been teasing you, a favorite past time of his and you were eternally grateful to whoever's laugh had helped clear your mind, otherwise, you were almost certain you would have said yes. Then Tendou would have had a real good laugh at your expense.

Truth be told, if you had said yes, Satori wasn't so sure he would have had the strength to turn you down. Of course he had been teasing you, no one else in the house was nearly as fun to toy with, but if you had even nodded at his hollow proposal, there would have been no power on this earth to stop him from scooping you up and escaping back to the confines of his room.

With a grumble of annoyance at yourself you turn a corner in time to see a door swing open as Tendou emerged. He was dressed in all black once more, it was honestly the only color he really ever wore, and he wore it well. You quietly watched him as he emerged, his hand running through his straight red hair, his foot pushing back against the door too close it as he lifted his eyes to you.

"Good morning." A smile spreads onto your lips as you greet him.

"Morning." His greeting seemed almost hesitant as he glances around the hallway briefly before he settles back on you. "What are you doing here?" He questions you, curious why you were wandering around in such a weird place. Unbeknownst to you, you had gotten lost in the part of the house with all the offices and meet rooms. Not really a place he thought he'd find you strolling thrugh..

"Am, am I not allowed here?" You ask, eyes wide as you wonder if you had wandered into some forbidden part of the house that Yua had likely warned you about, too distracted by Tendou's pretty face to listen.

"Shit, I'm really sorry. I guess I got a little turned around. If you could just, uh, point me in the direction of coffee I'll be on my way." You didn't even wait for him to answer as you sputter out an apology, hoping wherever it was you were wasn't so off limits that you were going to have to be made an example of. Hadn't even been here 24 hours and you were already causing trouble, Kimura would be so disappointed if he found out. Tendou shook his head, laughing as he watched your hands flit about nervously.

"You can come here if you want. Just a bunch of offices and stuff."

"Offices? Oh, is that one yours?" He glanced back at the door you were pointing at behind him and nodded.

"Mhm. Say, I was on my way to the kitchen anyway. If you don't mind tagging along, I'll show you the way."

"That would be great."

A few short minutes later you and Tendou had arrived.

"Oh wow, I was on the wrong side of the house completely..." You chuckled as you shook your head in shame. The kitchen was clean and spacious, stocked with pretty much anything you could need. Currently all you wanted was coffee, and with that goal in mind, you start to poke around the kitchen on your quest to find a mug. Tendou crossed his arm as he leaned back into the counter, his eyes on you.

"So, how was the tour?"

"It was good." You answer, pulling open the nearest cupboard only to find the shelves lined with cans of vegetables, not mugs.

"Just good?" He presses as he watches you open another door only to find boxes of tea, not mugs.

"Uh, yea."

"Did something happen?" Something was off. Normally your answers were much more colorful, so to hear these non-committal, bland, answers had him wondering.

"No, nothing happened. Yua showed me around and told me a lot about the house." You glanced over your shoulder at him as you opened yet another cupboard. Soup, not mugs. He seemed to be fairly interested in your answer, almost as if he knew what had been on your mind and could tell you were trying avoid telling him the truth.

"Hm." After watching you open a few more door, fruitless in your pursuit of a mug, he dives into action. Tendou turns in place and opens the door that had been directly behind his lanky form, retrieving two mugs along with a container of sugar. You turn, hearing the soft clicking of glasses, and see him settling them down onto the counter. So, he'd been standing in front of them this whole time. You purse your lips in slight annoyance as you watched him gather up a few other supplies. Soon all manner of coffee related items were piled on the counter before you, including several varieties of creamer. You take action now and start to pour coffee into the two mugs.

"Are you sure nothing happened?" He questioned again, this time from much closer. Tendou stood directly behind you, leaning back against the counter while you worked at the island. You could feel him there, his eyes regarding you almost passively.

"Mhm."

"Then you do you look so disappointed?" He could come up with a thousand reasons why you might be feeling that way you were and he was at the center of them all. Ironically he wasn't wrong, though not in the way he was thinking. In his mind, it was plain that you were disappointed and, what else could there be to be disappointed about in this house except him? This heavenly creature before him was destined to spend the rest of her days united with him and he couldn't blame her for feeling distressed at the situation.

You slow your actions, the spoon lazily cutting through the coffee as you spare him a glance. He was being so damned persistent and, while part of you was a little annoyed, a much bigger part thought it was very sweet. Whether or not he intended it to come off this way, he was making it rather evident that he cared about you. So with a soft sigh you turn, pressing back into the counter and peering up at him.

"Yua is really sweet and all but..." You pause, shifting your eyes down to the side. "I kinda thought you were going to show me around..."

Of all the things he thought you might say, that wasn't even in his radar. If you hadn't been looking away like the shy dweeb that you were, you could have seen a genuine look of surprise on his face.

"Oh." He takes a long drink on his coffee, meeting your gaze when you chance to look back up. Could there be a chance, even a small one, that you could be happy with him? It didn't have to be love, that was an impossible idea for someone like him to long for, but maybe he could be someone special to you. Someone you trusted and confided in. Someone you could laugh with and rely on. That would be enough.

"Well, I have a little spare time right now."

#tendou x reader #tendou satori #tendou #tendou mafia #haikyuu #haikyuu mafia

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

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All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Six | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Audiences

Word count: 2,901

Chapter 6/24

Warnings: Can second-hand embarrassment be a warning???

AN: This chapter was one of the first scenes I thought up when this idea was born. It was so much fun to write.

As a heads up, I won’t be posting a new chapter next week. I am going to be insanely busy - as in, leaving the house at 6AM and running around like crazy until 11PM kind of week. Between my grandpa slowly deteriorating and my niece being born within the next 10 days, I’ve got too much going on to give posting the care and attention I want to. Chapter 7 will be posted on June 6. Thanks for sticking with me 💕

Chapter Five

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

The below adorable image was found in this super interesting article!

“Well hey there you smitten kitten,” the sweet, curly-haired Dorothy purrs.

You scrunch your nose at the name, moving to take a seat at a table in the breakroom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

“Now tell us Suzy is full of it and you haven’t seen this boy five times since Saturday,” Connie scoffs before sipping her glass-bottled Coca Cola.

Your unamused gaze turns to Suzy who says, “Sorry!” in a very not-sorry voice. “You’ve been coy all week about it, we are equally invested in this relationship. They deserve to know.”

“Excuse me, you’ve been on how many dates in the last week with this boy?” Charity squawks, taking her lunch out of the fridge.

“It’s actually been less than a week.”

“Suzy, how is that helpful?” you say through an exasperated sigh.

“Five out of the last six nights is what you said, right? Sounds pretty serious.”

“To quote her roommate: ‘He must be something special since this is the most she’s been out of the apartment since move-in day’.” You were going to kill Suzy.

You grind out, “I’m not introducing you to any of my other friends if you’re going to use them against me.”

“If I remember correctly, you claimed you didn’t have any other-” The ringing of a telephone interrupts her. “Damn it, that’s mine.” She scoots out of the kitchen and you can hear her pick up the receiver. You zone out of the other womens’ discussion for a moment to hear Suzy say, “Who is this? Oh, hiiiii. How did you- Uh-huh.”

Tall, dark, and gorgeous Frances brings you back to the topic at hand. “Newbie, you need to give us the scuttlebutt.”

“Uh, I mean. . . I’ve been having a really nice time with him.”

“Get out of here with that dodginess. Come on, give us poor single girls something to hang onto.”

“Honestly, we’ve just been getting to know each other. We’ve had good conversations over dinner, walked around the park, perused some art galleries. It’s. . . been lovely. He’s a sweetheart.”

A chorus of “awwww!”s fills the room.

“You know we’re going to ask you a million questions, may as well give us as many details as you can now.”

Resigned to your fate you lean back in your chair, mentally searching for harmless information. “Umm. . . he’s from Brooklyn. He served with the army, was in Europe for the last few years. Has sisters, both parents still alive. Was a good student and an athlete. From how much he talks about his friends, he’s extremely loyal. But that’s really all I’ve got.”

“Sounds like a real dreamboat.”

“Did he give ya a smooch yet?” Connie asks around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Connie.” You know your flat tone won’t do a thing to discourage her.

“That’s a no.” She continues in a sing-song voice, “Which means it’s co-ming!”

“He hasn’t been affectionate at all?” Alice, the tiny shy one pipes up.

“He kissed my hand after our first date and I’ve gotten a few pecks on the cheek when he drops me back home. Usually when we walk and cross streets he holds my hand, or at least offers his arm.”

“A gentleman. That must be nice,” Millie, the baby of the bunch at 19, snorts.

“Do you not want to kiss him?” Connie, ever the one to get straight down to business.

You look down, can feel your heart beating fast. “I-I, uh. I. . . of course I want to kiss him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s not a problem. You’ve all seen him, you know he’s handsome. The moment just hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t want to force it and get nervous or weird.”

“You’re making me blush, Sixth Floor,” a smooth, deep voice brings the lunch-time chatter to a halt.

You turn so fast in your chair you think you may have given yourself whiplash.

The subject of your conversation is in the threshold of the breakroom, one shoulder propped against the door jam, hands full of a stunning bouquet of your favorite flowers. Suzy peers over his shoulder, ruby-red lips curled in a satisfied smirk.

You leap to your feet, smoothing down your skirt and patting your hair. “Buc-Hi!,” you say, your tone slightly shrill with embarrassment. “W-what are you doing here?!” Your face drops, thinking back to Flannery’s two warnings about male visitors in the office. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper-shout - as if the office manager would pop out from behind the sofa and catch you.

“Relax, Newbie. Flannery’s out at that executives lunch, remember?” Suzy steps even with Bucky, sharing a mischievous glance. “He wanted to surprise you so he enlisted the sneakiest dame to smuggle him in.”

“And I’ll forever be in your debt, ma’am,” Bucky banters, a cheeky grin in place.

Suzy eyes him up and down, then turns to look at you. “I like this one.” The room of women collapses into giggles at her brazenness.

“Watch yourself, Suze,” you playfully warn as you approach Bucky.

“For you, ma’am,” he offers the bouquet.

Breathing in the blooms you whisper, “You remembered.”

“‘Course I did,” he whispers back. “I called Suzy from the drug store across the street to see if the coast was clear. I wouldn’t just barge in with Mrs. Flannery on duty, I promise.”

“Well, are you going to introduce us to this delightful fella or not?” Dorothy titters.

You turn back to the room, flowers in one hand while the other sneaks into the crook of Bucky’s elbow. “Apparently you’ve met Suzy. But here we’ve got Charity, Frances, Alice, Millie, Dorothy, and Connie.” Each girl greets him in their own way, some smiling, some waving. Connie just stares at him.

“Ladies, this is Bucky.”

Connie lets out a small gasp. “Wait. Bucky Barnes?”

“Uh. . . yeah?” You’re slightly unnerved. Do they know each other?

“The Bucky Barnes?! Of the Howling Commandos?!” She’s on her feet, eyes wide.

You can feel Bucky stiffen beneath your hand before he shuffles his feet.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies lowly, directing his gaze to a fixed point on the floor.

Connie practically shrieks while several other girls’ eyebrows are raised, obviously affected by her words.

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh-“

“Connie, what are you going on about?” A wave of protectiveness washes over you, hand tightening on his arm.

“You have been going on dates with Bucky freakin’ Barnes and you haven’t known?!”

“Known what?”

“The Howling Commandos! Captain America!” She gestures wildly at your indifference. “Have you been living under a rock the last few years?”

“No, I’ve been living in a factory the last few years. We didn’t exactly sit around discussing the paper,” you can’t help the bite to your words, not enjoying her tone or Bucky’s unease.

He clears his throat. “My last few years of service, I was in a special operations unit.”

“With Captain America!” Connie exclaims, practically jumping up and down. “He’s, like, his childhood best friend!”

The girls go into a frenzy, talking over each other to ask questions or give compliments. Unsurprisingly, Connie’s voice silences everyone else’s.

“So. Is he single? Because he’s so cute, I really think we’d get along - I’m very patriotic and I-“

“I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s, uh- spoken for.”

“It’s the girl from the compass, isn’t it? I thought that’d be over by now. What if-“

Bucky interrupts her prattling. “Trust me - Connie, right? - that’s a bear you don’t wanna poke. It’s solid.”

“Oh.”

You had never seen Constance Adler deflate, but you’re pretty sure that’s what was happening now. She almost looks like a kicked puppy and normally you’d feel bad for her - if she hadn’t dropped a metaphorical bombshell on you.

“Bucky,” Suzy steps in, laying a hand on your shoulder, “We appreciate all you’ve done the last few years. Newbie, why don’t you show him your desk and find a vase for those flowers, yeah?”

You nod and tug Bucky out of the break room. Several steps down the hall you hear Suzy speaking in a hushed, stern tone she usually reserved for belligerent businessmen. Minutes ago, you wanted to strangle her for prodding you. But she was respectful of boundaries and definitely felt that one had been crossed. Now all you wanted was to wrap her in a hug of gratitude.

Your brain finally catches up to the new information you’ve just been given. Suddenly, Bucky made a lot more sense to you. Special operations meant specially horrible circumstances. Knowing now that he’d seen combat as well brought his struggles into sharp relief for you. And he had to handle everything in more of a public light than the average soldier.

“I’m sorry about that, Bucky. Connie can be . . . a lot.”

He shakes his head, rolls his shoulders. “Aw, it’s nothing. I’ve met worse.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and your heart stings for him. “I was going to tell you soon, I swear. That’s not how I wanted you to find out.”

“You don’t owe me a thing. We can talk about it later.” You reach your desk and empty a glass that held your pens and pencils, swapping them out for the flowers. “These really are gorgeous. You didn’t have to do this.”

He nods, shoving his hand into his pockets. “I know. But I wanted to. Hoped they’d brighten your desk.”

“Thank you, Bucky. This was. . . incredibly sweet of you,” you murmur, even though you’re the only two in the bullpen.

Finally, his smile seems genuine. “You’re welcome.” He takes a moment to survey the office, coming to perch against your desk. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s strange being on this side of the glass.”

“It’s strange having you on this side of the glass. Not that I mind,” you add quickly, terrified of saying the wrong thing. A beat passes, Bucky staring at the floor, you staring at the flowers.

With the barest hint of amusement Bucky finally speaks up. “So, you think I’m handsome, huh?”

Bringing your hands to cover your eyes you let out a groan, prompting a manly chuckle. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

“Nah, I’m flattered really. It’s not every day a fella like me hears that from the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Okay, calm down, sweet talker,” you playfully nudge an elbow into his shoulder. “Ya know. . . you could’ve at least told me your best friend was Captain America,” you tease.

He tosses his head back in mock disgust, jarring a strand of hair loose. “To be fair, I did mention him on our first date. Several times, in fact.”

“Because I was definitely supposed to make the connection between your scrawny friend who was gravely ill his entire life and America’s Hope.”

“I’m disappointed, frankly. Seems like a pretty easy jump to me, ma’am.”

“How could I ever make it up to you, sir?”

“There is something I had in mind. . .” He leans in close. “Dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’m gonna have to check my calendar, Barnes,” you sigh, nose inches away from his. Those blue eyes search your own before they flit to your lips for a split second.

The moment is ruined when Suzy barrels into the room.

“Red alert, red alert! Flannery’s coming!”

“WHAT!” You shout, jumping away from Bucky. “She’s not supposed to be back for another 20 minutes!”

“Well evidently she didn’t enjoy herself because I saw her out the window of the breakroom. If Flannery finds out he’s here, she’s gonna bust your chops.”

The sound of grinding gears from the elevator shaft drives the point home. You look between Suzy and Bucky, frozen in your spot, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea-” Bucky starts.

“No time, hide! GIRLS OUT HERE!” Suzy immediately takes control. A stampede arrives from the breakroom in response to Suzy’s urgent tone. “Flannery is on her way up. We need to get him out of this office without her seeing him. Run interference, hide him behind you, I don’t care - under no circumstances can he be caught, capiche?”

A chorus of ‘capiche’ answers her.

“You,” she points in your direction, “stay at your desk so she doesn’t suspect you.”

Ding.

The elevator doors sweep open before anyone can elaborate on the plan. Out the corner of your eye you see Bucky vault over your desk to remain unseen. Instantaneously a few typists congregate around you, the rest act as subtle “checkpoints” in a trail toward the stairs.

Suzy approaches Flannery, who stands ominously at the front of the office, suspicion wrinkling her forehead. “Flanny, you’re back!”

“Susan-”

“Aw, you know I hate my full name. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Suzy?” Your friend stands directly in front of her, blocking the view to your desk.

You lean down, catching Bucky’s eye. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, doll,” he winks up at you, then turns to crouch-crawl to the next desk.

“I assume as many times as I have to tell you never to call me ‘Flanny’,” you hear the office manager practically growl.

“Of course, yes ma’am. Lunch go good?” Alice and Dorothy converge to talk over a file to cover Bucky’s journey to the next desk.

“Lunch went well, yes.”

Dorothy waves Frances over, evidently needing her opinion on the wording of a letter. Sheltered behind their skirts they walk Bucky to Millie’s desk which happens to sit adjacent to an enormous filing cabinet. Your window washer ducks behind it, allowing the typists to shift around - doing their best to avoid moving like a herd.

“So why the rush back?” Suzy follows Flannery to the front desk, watching Bucky’s progress surreptitiously.

“I can only handle so much male arrogance in one sitting.”

“Oh, I hear that. Say, I think that mold may be back in the breakroom, I swear I saw a spot of something.” Suzy raises her voice, “Wanna come with me to check it out?”

Flannery sighs deeply, tucking her handbag into a desk drawer. “I suppose.”

This was it. Suzy continues jabbering at Flannery, walking side by side with her. She jerks her head toward the stairwell door and Frances whispers to Bucky, “Go, go, go!”

He’s on his feet but still bent at the waist, booking it to the door.

“Wait,” Flannery turns on her heel back toward the front. Everyone sucks a breath in, thinking Bucky’s been sighted. At the syllable he had dropped to his knees and slid across the floor - landing with his back flat against the front side of Flannery’s desk. Eyes wide, you watch Flannery stride to the desk, reaching beneath it to pull out a glass bottle. “The janitors gave me a chemical mixture they used on it last time.” She was mere inches from Bucky - if she had the super-sonar hearing everyone accused her of she would definitely have heard his heart beating out of his chest.

With the bottle in hand she takes a few steps back into the bullpen before taking stock of everyone’s tension. “What’s going on?” she asks. On his tiptoes Bucky creeps to the stairwell door. Just a few more steps and we’re home-free, you try to calm yourself. Flannery makes to turn back to the front; at that point everyone was certain your job was done-for. At the last moment Connie lets out a deafening screech.

All eyes are on her, including Flannery. Then she screams, “RAT!” Every typist in the room follows suit, insisting they saw it too, hopping up on their chairs or desks.

Bucky reaches the stairwell and with one more wink in your direction, he disappears.

You breathe a deep sigh of relief from your seat atop your desk. You turn to Connie and mouth “Thank you”. She nods in return and says silently, “Sorry”.

“Ladies, ladies! Calm down! It’s just an animal!” Your office manager is absolutely fed up with this day, with these women, with this job. Quiet descends on the bullpen. “What has gotten you all ridiculously hysterical today?” The stairwell door clicks shut, causing Flannery to spin in its direction. She scans the face of every person, looking for someone to break. Much to your satisfaction, everyone is stoic.

It’s in this moment that you find yourself genuinely glad to be in this office with these women. Every one stepped up to save your job, your livelihood. And everyone was excited about this new relationship once they saw how happy you’d been. If your adrenaline hadn’t been pumping wildly you might have had to hold back tears.

But then Flannery is walking up to your desk. She gestures to the flowers Bucky had brought you. “And where did these come from?”

Suzy swoops in. “Her mother called in to have them delivered, isn’t that precious of her?”

“Is today a special occasion?”

“No ma’am, just because,” you shrug, stroking a few petals.

Flannery hums in a tone that says she isn’t entirely convinced. “Alright Susan. Show me where you saw the mold.”

“Right this way, Flanny.”

The pair disappears into the breakroom and every typist slumps and groans.

“That’s all the excitement I need for the next week,” Alice pants, hand to her chest.

Charity throws a smirk in your direction. “Newbie, that boy is trouble in the best kind of way.”

“You’re not wrong, Charity.” You turn to the flower arrangement again. “You’re not wrong.”

Chapter Seven

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #beka writes #Chapter Six

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amythecinnabunny · 5 years

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Apartment 42 -- A BuckyNat AU

Master and rival assassins unknowingly live together for almost a year, making sure their real jobs remain a secret from each other and everyone around them.

Chapter 2

Natalia and James stood outside the apartment door, key in hand, staring at each other.

"It's one forty-five," Natalia eventually said.

"Couldn't sleep," James lied, "went out for a walk and a drink."

Natalia peered at him, squinting. "You don't look like you had a drink." She sniffed the air. "Don't smell like it either."

James smiled and leaned down to her height. "Soda, Natalia, I went out to get soda. You know, the convenience store a few blocks away from here?"

"Uh . . . I, uh. . ."

"Got you one while I was there," James said, handing her a can. He thanked his instincts he'd thought about the fact that he would not make it back before her and thought to solidify an alibi.

"I'm sorry," Natalia sighed as James opened the door. "I didn't mean to accuse you, I just . . . work is stressful and it really doesn't help that I've got to be at someone else's beck and call for who knows how long."

"It's all right," James said, ushering Natalia in.

They sat at the table and finished their cold dinner, talking about mundane and trifle things, before splitting in the hallway to their own rooms. Neither could sleep, thinking about the job they would begin preparing for once the sun rose.

///////////////

"Pancakes?" James offered when Natalia stumbled into the kitchen, yawning.

"Oh, yes please," she said, eyes brightening as she struggled to pull her hands from the gown pockets. She shuffled over to the stove and pulled one off the plate next to James.

"From now on, you handle grocery runs and I'll handle the cooking, okay? I don't think I can take another shitty dish."

Natalia rolled her eyes. "Fine, but only because you're right. And I'm only not fighting you 'cause you deserve some rights after I almost killed you last week."

"I need that plate," James called as Natalia left with the pancakes.

"Take a new one," she yelled as she disappeared back into her room. When she returned with four pancakes, James was sitting at the table with a laptop open and an empty plate beside him. "I left some for you," she said, swapping their plates, "big project?"

"Hm?"

"I saw layouts," Natalia said as she washed off the plate. She studied the ceramic disc as she spoke. "Building layouts. You an architect or what?"

"No, I uh . . . I wanna build a dream house one day. I wanna be able to build it as big as I like, as expensive as I like, with whatever furniture I like. When I'm not busy with something or the other, I like to just . . . design. Dream, if you will."

"Oh. So, what do you do, then?"

Before she came back to the table, James closed down the building plans for the Stark manor. "Uh, I'm a freelancer."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I, uh, work for this extermination company." James nodded. He had not prepared for this, despite knowing the question would crop up sooner or later. "They call, I go. You know how it is."

Natalia scoffed as she returned to pick up her bag and car keys. "Oh, yeah. I know. Listen, this new job I've got, it's ridiculous hours. I have no idea what time I'll be back, but I do promise to stock up the bar fridge."

James nodded. "No problem. If you're late, I'll put your dinner away for you."

"Thank you!" Natalia called as she hobbled to the front door, trying to walk and get her shoes on at the same time. "Don't ruin the apartment while I'm gone," she warned before closing the door.

Once she was gone, James pulled up the building plans again and continued planning his infiltration.

///////////////

Natalia spent approximately ten minutes getting her false credentials verified before she was finally allowed to input her biometrics to the system and then meet Howard Stark. As she stared at her ID, her thoughts strayed to her meeting with Madame B earlier that morning.

"What's my cover again?"

"You've been in our service for four years and you have never once failed a client. You're the best and that is why we have assigned you to Mr Stark. Did you get all that?"

"I did, Madame, but I meant my name, my look. . ."

"You will go as you are, Romanova. There is no point in hiding. This job may take years. Would you be able to hold a facade daily for that long?"

"Years?!"

"Until we get from Stark whatever it is Hydra wants, he is under your protection and is your responsibility. No matter how long it takes."

"I . . . yes, Madame."

"You will wear your graduate uniform if required. You work for a company called Royale Rouge Security, or R2S, and it has been known to provide security to several monarchies and some celebrities. Make it as grandeur as you like, but do not forget to check in and update us so our agents can ensure a solid ruse. Understood?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Then get to work, Agent."

Natalia dropped her ID into her bag and threw the landyard security had given her over her head. She straightened her jacket and walked on, searching for Howard. She eventually found an indoor boxing ring, two people sparring with one another, both so heavily padded, Natalia could not make either out. Seated on one of the two chairs and watching was an elderly woman Natalia recognised from the data the Red Room kept on her.

"Ms Carter?"

Peggy Carter, in all her salt-and-pepper glory, stood up and smiled. "Yes?"

"I'm Natalia Romanova, from Royale Rouge Security. I've been assigned to Mr Stark."

"Right. Have a seat, dear, I'll have him fetched," she said as she walked up to the ring. "Anthony!"

The young boy stopped beating his butler up and pulled off his mask and helmet. "What now, Aunt Peg?"

"I need you to stop sparring with Mr Jarvis for a moment. Your father's new employee has arrived."

Edwin Jarvis was delighted to be freed and happily peeled off his protection, springing out of the ring. He barely offered Natalia a greeting before leaving, almost forgetting his shoes.

Anthony stared at Natalia. "What’s your name, lady?"

"Anthony!" Peggy scolded, her expression aghast.

"Romanova," Natalia said, offering Peggy a small smile and a subtle wave away, "Natalia Romanova."

"Russian?"

"Used to be."

"Huh. Front and centre. Come into the church."

"No," Peggy said, "you’re seriously not going to ask--"

"If it pleases the court," Anthony cut in. He noticed Natalia slipping out of her heels. "Which it does."

"It’s no problem," Natalia told Peggy.

"I’m sorry. He’s rather immature sometimes."

Natalia watched Anthony carefully as she hopped over into the ring. She knew the facts. He was seventeen. MIT. Best friend was a James Rhodes, also MIT. She knew he loved Peggy Carter first and Maria Stark second. She didn't know if he loved Howard Stark. The Red Room's records didn't go far into personalities and emotional backgrounds.

"You ever boxed before?"

"Of course. I have extensive training, but I'm quite fond of your particular style. Mr Jarvis would certainly not approve."

Anthony grinned up at her. "Really? Dirty boxing?"

"Mhm?"

He scoffed. "I don't believe you."

"How you spell your name, Ms Romanova?" Peggy called from her chair.

Natalia knew Peggy was searching her up. She also knew the Red Room agents assigned to this case would handle it. "Romanova, R-O-M-A-N-O-V-A."

"Thank you."

Natalia kept her gaze on Peggy as the woman scrolled through her job listings as a Royale Rouge agent. She knew Peggy would try to hack as many systems as she could, but she knew Peggy had a limit. The woman was brilliant, but she was a war strategist, not a tech genius. Natalia had full faith that her agents would be able to keep Peggy out.

Anthony was not impressed and decided to show off. "Rule number one, never take your eye off your opponent."

He moved to attack Natalia and without even looking away from Peggy, Natalia caught Anthony's arm and threw him over before pinning him down by his own arm.

"Oh my God, Anthony!" Peggy cried, standing up quickly.

Natalia released Anthony, whose eyes were sparkling. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"Do what?"

"What you just did," Anthony said, wildly gesturing to Natalia.

"That was instinct, Anthony. It's a skill. It takes years to master it."

"How long did it take you?"

"Two, three years. Maybe."

"Can you teach me, then? As long as you're here, working for my father, can you teach me what you know?"

Natalia studied the excited teenager, the bright look in his eyes, the raw delight on his face. Who knew how long she'd even be there for? "I suppose it can't hurt to teach you some self defence."

"Yes!"

Peggy watched as Anthony jumped out of the ring and sprinted away. Natalia slid under and out of the ring. "You're not really going to teach him self defence, are you?"

"Why not?"

"I . . . er, fair enough. Cone with me, Mr Jarvis has sent Mr Stark to a boardroom to meet with you."

Natalia quickly slipped her heels back in and straightened her suit. "Presentable?" she asked Peggy, running her fingers through her hair.

"Mm, hold still." Peggy pulled a few pins from her hair and pulled back the sides of Natalia's straightened locks, twisting them into a small, neat bun that she pinned in place. "Right. Let's go."

Natalia tried very hard to quell the warmth she was receiving from Anthony, Peggy and even briefly, Edwin Jarvis.

///////////////

"Look, Mr Stark, I understand that you believe you need the entire military watching over you, but it's obvious the United States government cannot provide that. I'm very good at my job, Mr Stark, and I can assure you that your security is of higher importance than my own."

Howard Stark leaned back in his chair and studied Natalia. "They couldn't send someone . . . scarier?"

Natalia smiled. "Trust me, Mr Stark, nothing is scarier than a woman who can kill someone with a crayon."

Howard frowned. "How do I know I can trust your credibility?"

"Well, I've prepared a report, but you can ask Ms Carter to list off my records for the last two years if you'd prefer."

Peggy sat up alert when Natalia casually gestured in her direction. Howard turned to the woman sitting across his new bodyguard. "Peg?"

"Uh. . ."

"Anything to say?"

"Uh, well, Ms Romanova is credited with over seventeen prevented assassinations in the last two years, of which eight have been monarchs, two have been presidents, four were minor celebrities, two major celebrities, and one paranoid civilian. Her training includes mixed martial arts, several forms of pure martial arts, stealth and surveillance, marksmanship, as well as undocumented and unofficial street fighting. She is undoubtedly Royale Rouge Security's best agent and more than qualified for this job."

Natalia slid the report to the stunned Howard and watched as he checked Peggy's statements against it.

"How did you know?" Peggy asked, curious.

"You asked me to spell my name, Ms Carter. Deduction."

Peggy shrugged and leaned back, satisfied. She leaned forward again. "How did you know I only went back two years?"

"Given the length of my record and the time between spelling my name and leaving the room, you can't have scrolled very far. If you did, you would not have caught everything. It was an educated guess."

Peggy nodded and leaned back again. "Well, I do believe Howard is safest in your hands, Ms Romanova."

Natalia know this was the perfect opportunity to ask why Howard needed her protection, why they believed someone was after Howard. She knew she should ask. But she could not. If she did, Madame B would change her task, order her to get the item with no regard for anyone else.

Natalia did not frown, but she wanted to. Why should she want to prolong not knowing? Why should she want to be in the company of these people any longer than necessary?

Why was she latching on to Howard's admiring gaze, Jarvis's polite smiles, Peggy's approving nods, Anthony's amazed stares?

Why?

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Masterpost

#apartment 42 #fanfiction #marvel #au #90s #buckynat #tony stark #peggy carter #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff

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wannawrite · 7 years

Text

What’s In Your Lair?

who?: Wanna One’s Hwang Minhyun

genre: 🌺🌸

type: scenario

Word count: 4168

TW: violence, blood

blog navigator.

vamp! AU, college! AU

it’s move-in day when you encounter your new neighbour who is welcoming and warm

but his apartment is out of bounds, completely

you’re determined to find out why, especially when he spends 95% of his time lounging in your apartment

it’s official

vamp! AU is going to be a thing

probably will do one for all the Wanna One boys ??? but do request for specific people/groups annndddd thank you

@hamjji-kihyunnie

for requesting and starting off this entire series

- admin L

The last of your boxes had just landed in your new living room, causing a pile a dust to fly. You let out a series of dry coughs, growling in annoyance. At least with the pile of boxes properly organised, you could have a good glimpse at your new home. You gaped at the interior.

When you requested for your property agent of an aunt to find you a quality space for a reasonable price and discuss it with your parents, you didn’t exactly expect a high-class condominium flat within walking distance of your private music college. The price of the apartment probably cost the entire family’s savings! To your knowledge, both your parents worked extremely hard and had a fortune stashed in the bank. They also had a bad habit of spending an arm and leg on their only child, or rather, you. You grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth but always remained humble about it.

The marble of the kitchen island pretty much sparkled in the spotlights that hung above it. You weren’t even sure how much time you would spend in the new home you were sure of how much time you would actually reside here. You wanted to stay here until to married or something, there was no way you were moving out.

Another cloud of dust floated by and elicited a fit of coughs from you. A groan left your mouth when you realised the amount of cleaning you needed to do. Sighing, you unpacked your cleaning supplies and stacked them neatly in your storage room. Might as well start now…… You tried to declutter the living room, slowly unpacking all the boxes and folding those that were empty, making a mental reminder to toss them out in the recycling bin later in the afternoon. First priority obviously went to your essentials such as clothing, toiletries and snacks. Those were shut in cupboards before anything else emerged from the boxes. Do I really need this much space? It’s only going to be me living here, I don’t even have a roommate. You pondered, but after seeing the pile of things you had, you decided against inviting anyone else into your presence. Phew! It’s a good thing I have a week to unpack before orientation week. There’s…so much, too much almost.

The doorbell rang just as you had finished putting away the last of your kitchen essentials. You thought your ears were playing tricks on you as there were only three other units on this floor and it was clear that no one else was moving in. Just in case it wasn’t a prank and that an actual neighbour was at your door, you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to neaten it and hastily smoothened your shirt. Your eyes scanned your appearance in the full-length mirror that replaced the wall next to your front door. You look…decent. It’s okay, just open the door. When you peeped at the electronic screen that screened activity happening outside your house via a surveillance camera, you saw a woman and two men standing at your door. They didn’t look scary. You decided to open the door. “Hello!” The woman chirped, beaming. “I’m Eunbin. Welcome to the neighbourhood!” As she spoke, you noticed the distinct sharpness of her canine teeth and how there seemed to be a chilling underlying silver glow that lined her warm brown eyes. Vampire. It wasn’t like you were irked by them, you knew of a few friends who were supernatural and that never affected your friendship with them. So why should her peculiarity change your opinion of her? Eunbin seemed like a nice person, but you weren’t sure about the broody boys that stood next to her. Eunbin gestured to the rather pale, almost translucent skinned boy to her right. He was oddly good looking as well. You had figured it was a common supernatural trait. When he smiled, you didn’t see any fangs unlike Eunbin, and confirmed that he was indeed a ghost. Well, something like that. He also hovered a few centimetres off the ground. His voice was unusually melodious, it was like he was made to sing. “Hi, I’m your neighbour. My name is Kim Jaehwan.” The ghost smacked his other friend on the back, encouraging him to introduce himself. Just by looking at his features, there was only one word to describe the man that stood next to Jaewhan. Deceiving. His eyes held a universe deep within, completed with an underlying glow of purple. His face was sculpted, well-refined bone structure. You were somewhat envious, there was no denying he was insanely handsome too. He looked tired, agitated and somewhat unimpressed by your arrival but you knew you could read his eyes to identify true feelings. He seemed closed off and cold but something inside of you nudged you to prove that theory wrong. All it took was for you to shoot him your best, Vogue-worthy smile for him to melt into a blushing mess. Eunbin seemed to have a knowing smirk on her face. “Sorry about my cousin,” she apologised but didn’t seem very apologetic at all. “His name is Hwang Minhyun, he just turned 1- 23 a few weeks back.” Eunbin seemed satisfied with introducing him on behalf. Minhyun rolled his eyes and scoffed. He too had gleaming fangs and you weren’t sure whether to be intrigued or feel afraid. “I-I… Jaehwan and I s-share the apartment to your left,” Minhyun informed, stammering slightly but otherwise remained in his cold facade. “Eunbin stays a floor below us.” You nodded, thanking him for the information. In your head, you were scribbling down notes on who lived where in case of…incidents. “Do you need any help with unpacking? I think I can help,” Eunbin offered as she shuffled a few steps forward. You were too kind to accept her help yet too touched to reject her help. Jaewhan practically floated through your front door anyway. When things go bump in the night, you thought as the ghost boy bumped into yet another box passing through walls. I know who to call to come collect their mans.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you?” Eunbin asked as she fell into step with you, trudging across campus together. You smiled at her, enjoying being in her presence. “I’m good. You? I didn’t know you had classes this early.” Eunbin groaned and muttered complaints about her professor. She was a Sophomore in college like Jaehwan while Minhyun was a Junior. It seemed like she was already struggling and you offered to help with any work. “You,” she pointed you, snickering. “Could use some help.” Eunbin plucked about twenty-two textbooks from your arms and ignored your protests, flexing her arms proudly. “Vampiric strength, remember?” It had been about two weeks since you met the group of gifted friends and you felt yourself slowly warming up to them. Eunbin finally confessed - more like confirmed - that she was indeed a vampire, just like her cousin and Jaewhan… you had seen enough of him floating into your kitchen to steal snacks at 2 am. Naturally, Minhyun was always on speed-dial to collect him back. Each time he came pounding on your door in his thin cotton shirt and sweatpants, bedhead and all. A sharp contrast to his usual wear of slacks and a white button up, sometimes he swapped it for skinny jeans but he never actually left the comfort of a collared, buttoned shirt. You swore he had all the colours of the same shirt. Just thinking about him made you blush and you felt super guilty whenever he had to run to your apartment in the middle of the night. You would see Jaehwan out yourself but Jaehwan refused to allow you to walk him back. You couldn’t understand it. He insisted it was dangerous ( yes like two steps away is dangerous ) but honestly, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Jaehwan liked Minhyun to drag him out of trouble. Minhyun had the trouble of constantly apologising to you as he tugged the cheeky ghost out of your house. His irises were always borderline red, just tints of them since he was controlling himself around you. It was no lie that Minhyun was most definitely annoyed by Jaehwan’s playfully intrusive ways but just looking at how…domestic and innocent you seemed made him want to stray further away from you as much as he was tempted by the pull. He argued back and forth with Jaewhan about this issue. “It’s inevitable, hyung. I’m just trying to help,” the ghost pointed out, he intended to only make the best happen. “You’re delaying it. Stop that. It’s annoying.” Minhyun snorted and rolled his eyes. “And you think you aren’t?” He went into his room and slammed the door shut. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face, sighing. Jaehwan had a point and he hated to admit that.

Two solid knocks hammered on your front door, you frowned but heaved yourself off the sofa to answer the door anyway. You were pleasantly surprised to see Minhyun waiting on the other side. Immediately, your heart rate sped up. Whenever Minhyun was around, you felt…oddly complete, like it was meant to be. Sure, he was charming but you swore it was so much more than that. He had a likeable personality and always seemed to be a ray of sunshine with you, unlike his dead outer appearance.

I suppose he is dead though…..literally. “Hi, Y/N. Sorry, but can we borrow some shampoo? Jaehwan’s complaining about mine smelling too fruity,” he explained, cheeks tinting pink. You blinked, not even sure if ghosts could shower but obliged regardless and went to fetch a spare bottle of your shampoo. You came back and found Minhyun in your kitchen, concentrating on examining your rack of spices. His actions caused a whirlwind of emotions to stir within you and you weren’t sure why. Perhaps you saw it as something unique to him or maybe it was a thing couples did? Yes, inspecting the spices in the kitchen, what a romantic thing to do. You snickered at your own thoughts. He is the perfect man….Boyfriend material. What the hell? “You use this brand too! I can imagine my life without spices. Did you know that-” “You could’ve just called me if you wanted to hang out,” you cut him off, nearly giggling. “But you should probably get this to Jaehwan first.” Minhyun blushed, a playful boyish grin appeared on his face as if his plans had been foiled in the best way possible. He used his vampire speed to whiz the shampoo to Jaehwan, who yelled in shock, ruining his shower sing-off. He scolded Minhyun but the vampire was back in your living room in the blink of an eye. You lounged on your sofa as Minhyun shyly scooted closer. “So,” you started. “What do you want to do?” “It’s up to you. It is your residence after all,” Minhyun replied, shrugging. He sprawled out on your sofa and grinned lazily at you, sporting his fangs. He toyed with the remote control of the television. Your heart was going to burst out of your chest at the rate it was beating. You shook your head to clear it and to calm down. Minhyun is your friend too! Though secretive and mysterious, he is your friend! It’s okay for friends to hang out. “I have Netflix,” you suggested, flipping the channels on the television. “Let’s compare you to The Vampire Diaries, or Buffy The Vampire Slayer.” Minhyun frowned, playfully smacking your arm. “Yah, we don’t actually resemble those shitty interpretations,” he grumbled sulkily. At which you laughed at but selected to watch anyway. He didn’t protest. Y/N, if it’s you, I’d sacrifice anything.

It didn’t come as a surprise when you found Minhyun or Jaehwan at your door - sometimes the duo, other times alone - anymore. They made up lame excuses to hang out at your apartment, like ‘Oh, Eunbin burned dinner so it smells awful.’. Eunbin was an excellent chef, she was majoring in culinary arts. Another one, ‘Our house is currently under attack by lizards.’. You stared blankly at them. “Well, isn’t that great that you’re both supernaturals. A ghost and a vampire. How perfect. Bye!” The door slammed on them but you opened it a few minutes later. The vamp cousins visited so often, you had your own stash of plasma fruit juice boxes. You found those extremely adorable. However, you also realised that you had never actually visited Minhyun’s and Jaehwan’s flat despite how nearby it was. Then again, none of you actually mentioned it and you would hate to chase away your new friends. Especially since you were growing quite fond of Minhyun, the unexplainable pull strengthening each day and you found yourself daydreaming about him in class. You never lost focus in your classes. It was strange. Anyway, you were determined to enter the supernatural’s lair. A plan was hatched. Since they had been such amazing neighbours and friends, you decided to award them with coffee. Well, plasma fruit for Eunbin and Minhyun. It was no trouble delivering it to Eunbin since you had slept over at her place a few times after late night study sessions. You were grateful she didn’t decide to take a bite out of you. The Hwang and Kim lair was a totally different thing. You stood in front of their door for a good ten minutes, looking for the doorbell before settling for knocking on their door. A series of complicated locks were dislodged before the dark wooden door creaked open to reveal Jaewhan. He was surprised to see you but tried to conceal it. When you peeped over his shoulder, the whole house was rather dark and dreary which did make sense since Minhyun was sensitive to light. The interior seemed sombre and very deviant, you couldn’t quite place a finger on it. It was nothing like the bubbly character of the two inhabitants. “Hi! I brought you guys coffee since it is pretty cold today. I could set it down on the kitchen counter-” you were interrupted by Jaehwan. “Oh! Thanks, Y/N! We owe you one.” He narrowed the gap between you and the door. “I’ll take it from here. It must be heavy.” “It’s fine! I can bring the tray in,” you pressed insistently, adamant on entering despite all the warning bells that went off in your head. Jaehwan shook his head and swiftly scooped it away from you. “Thanks, sweetie! We owe you!” He chorused before shutting the door and bolting it firmly. You were confused but that only sparked more curiosity.

Jaehwan let out a sigh of relief when the door closed with you on the other side, as terrible as that sounded. You couldn’t know what happened on the opposite side. “Is she gone yet?” A husky voice growled out. It belonged to Minhyun. The Minhyun of the Hwang and Kim ™ Apartment, not the one who ventured out into the world brightly, but the creature that haunted people’s nightmares. “Yes,” Jaehwan responded and put a hand on his hip. “Hyung, you can’t keep hiding the truth! You know it’s getting worse!” It was becoming increasingly difficult for Minhyun to hide his abilities. His eyes now gleamed a lucid red, claws and fangs fully unleashed. He couldn’t contain it and it was because of you. All in all, he was a Minhyun that Y/N was unfamiliar with. “You know I can’t! I can’t do this to her. She’ll never love me, an abomination! Y/N tolerates me because we’re friends but she won’t accept me for who I am. Besides, I’ll only endanger her. She can never know the truth,” he hissed, breaking open yet another blood bag to devour. “Hyung, watch it. You’re drinking too much blood to quench your increasing thirst. It could kill you. Not even plasma fruit can calm it now. Random blood bags aren’t going to cut it either! You need Y/N, hyung. Don’t do this!” Jaehwan shouted, desperation evident in his voice. “Hyung, don’t hurt the both of you like this.” His voice was on the verge of cracking. Minhyun could only glare back at the younger boy. He couldn’t let this into a fight. They were brothers, nothing good would emerge from it. He tossed his now empty blood bag into the trash and groaned, still hungry. He knew Jaehwan was right. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, giving in. Two slender fingers tapped his dark inked ‘W1’ tattoo just under his collarbone. “To be one.” He didn’t want to argue. Jaehwan exhaled and copied his actions on his own tattoo on his bicep. “To be one.” They spent the remaining moments in silence.

Friday rolled around and you were happily preparing to go to the new mall with Eunbin when she suddenly called to cancel. She sounded apologetic and explained that a family emergency had arisen. Eunbin seemed to be running, out of breath when she called. “It’s fine,” you had said, collapsing onto your bed. “I’m really tired anyway.” You reassured her a couple more times before hanging up. As you lay on your bed, your feelings for Minhyun began to sink in. You liked him more than a friend, maybe loved him and the urge to see him was even stronger than before. There was an ache in your chest that seemed more stabbing than before. You missed his kind words, you missed his strange sense of humour, you missed how he never failed to compliment you or how his smile could light up the entire room. You missed how he was confident even when his differences were apparent. Where is Minhyun? Where is he? Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen Jaehwan either. You had thought of him too but not as much as Minhyun occupied your dreams. Speak of the devil, you heard the telltale noise of clanging in the kitchen that the ghost had passed through your walls. This time, it was a different clanging. It was frantic and urgent. You burst out of your room. “Y/N!” Jaehwan called. He looked terrible. His translucent form was paler than usual, purple bags had begun to form under his eyes and he looked emaciated. “You have to come with me! It’s Minhyun!” That caught your attention and you chased after the Casper out the door, not bothering to properly slip on shoes. The pain in your chest seemed to intensify. You needed to see Minhyun. “Where is he?” You demanded, clutching your heart in fear. Jaehwan paused outside his front door, as if afraid to let you in. He appeared to be having an internal battle with himself which only made you all the more worried. He let out a string of curses and inhaled sharply. “Just promise me, you won’t run away.” You nodded. “You could never get rid of me even if you wanted to.” “I hope you keep the same mindset,” the casper flung open the door to his apartment which for once, had the windows open and curtains unveiled. “after this.” You ignored how spine-chilling it was and focused on following Jaehwan. Roars seemed to be emitting from one room and you knew that it was Minhyun. “What happened?” “It-it’s complicated. You may not like what you see. Minhyun’s sick, no, dying more like. Y/N, please don’t, don’t reject him.” Jaehwan’s words didn’t register before he shoved the key into the keyhole and twisted the door open. You took a shaky breath before entering. It was a painful sight indeed. Minhyun was chained to a bed, his normally neat button-down ripped in various places, his hair tossed messily. His skin was inhumanely ghastly, it appeared as if he hadn’t fed in months. The animalistic snarls he let out was enough to send just about everyone running for the hills but strangely, you weren’t afraid, just shocked at his state. You shuffled closer, face almost to his though he faced the other way. “Minhyun?” You gasped and stumbled backwards, nearly tipping over a bunch of bottles containing mysterious liquids. The trash bin fell over, countless empty blood bags spilling out. The red-eyed vampire glared menacingly at Jaehwan, he looked betrayed. “You promised not to bring her here!” He yelled. Anyone other than his best friends would have crumbled to the ground at the amount of power in his voice. Jaehwan shrugged, “You knew I had to.” Now, the vampire concentrated on you. His tongue flicked over his lips. “Y/N, you shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to witness this. You aren’t supposed to know what kind of monster I can really be. Oh goodness,” he chuckled dryly. “The number of herbal potions I drank just to be normal for a few hours so I could spend more time with you. Now, they don’t work and we need to be forced apart.” He spotted the way your hand was constantly on your chest and groaned. “I wish you didn’t know. You think you love me, Y/N, but really, it’s the soulmate pull that’s attracting you to me. You don’t love me for who I am.” Tears were threatening to flow down your cheeks but you pulled yourself together. Minhyun lifted a clawed hand to cup your face. “It’s funny. I genuinely thought I stood a chance with you. You, you’re perfect, no burdens, no genetically modified problems. You can’t love me, Y/N. No one can,” he declared, hints of sadness in his voice but he was just numb as if he had successfully psyched himself into believing so. “What do you mean? It isn’t true,” you cried. “You aren’t thinking straight because you haven’t eaten.” Your eyes scanned the room for a pack of blood or plasma juice desperately. “It seems you don’t understand. I appreciate your optimism but my body is breaking down from the amount of blood I have downed. I now have an unquenchable thirst. It’s impossible. I’m about to die.” Then, he cracked a small yet genuine smile. “It’s nice to see my eternal love one last time before I die.” Your hand enclosed his own limp one, ignoring how his elongated claws dug into your skin. “Don’t say that! It isn’t true!” “But it is-” “Yah! Hwang Minhyun, I’ve fallen in love with you!” Time stood still once you blurted out your confession. The pain began to fade and colour slowly returned to Minhyun’s face yet he still didn’t believe it and that was what hurt the most. The tears you tried to hard to hold back now streamed down your face. “What part of that do you not understand?” You sobbed. “Why can’t you accept the truth!” You threw your arms around his neck and let your tears dampen his shoulder. “Why can’t you understand!” Why can’t he tell that I love him for who he is and not what he looks like? Are men so oblivious? ( yES thEy arE ) It was silent and cold if you may add. Minhyun tore his handcuffs apart and slowly returned your embraced, his own tears leaking as well. Jaehwan stepped out of the room to fetch tissues. “Y/N…..” “Shush!” He let out a chuckle but sighed in disappointment. “You love me, yes but how? I-I-I’m literally a guinea pig. I was used for experiments in the lab when I was child and I can’t regain full control over myself sometimes. You can’t love me. I’m hideous,” he whispered. “Hwang Minhyun, I don’t care how you look. I don’t care that you aren’t as ‘complete’ as others. I care about you. Your laugh, your words, your quirky ways and weird antics. I loved you before I knew anything and I still do,” you admitted, face burning up when you realised your compromising position and the fact that you were literally pouring out your entire heart to him. “I-I……..” Minhyun was at a lost for words, he never imagined that this would happen. That his soulmate would accept him. “Hush. You need to feed,” you said, offering your wrist out, which Minhyun hesitantly clasped. “A-are y-you sure?” “Yes!” He sunk his fangs in, hungrily drinking but he made sure not to drain you. He let out a low moan purely out of satisfaction which made a different part of you ache. The slight and harmless prick was unexpected, so was the sudden excitement. It made you slightly giddy. Minhyun locked his gaze with yours, his eyes now a glowing purple. “Are you sure you love me?” You didn’t reply in words but swooped down and captured his lips in yours, effectively shutting him up. Though inexperienced, you channelled all your passion and admiration into that kiss. He knew what his answer was.

#admin L #wanna one #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 #produce 101 scenarios #hwang minhyun #lee daewhi #kang daniel #ha sungwoon #yoon jisung #bae jinyoung #park woojin #park jihoon #lai guanlin #ong seongwoo #wanna one vampire #kim jaehwan

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bifacialler · 7 years

Text

jesus Ler posted a fic-something somebody call the police

So it’s been 9 months - I looked it up, that’s how long it has been - when @jupiter235 left me a prompt that was... “royal/peasant AU”, I think?

And so I immediately had this idea, which was that stupid cliche fantasy stuff we all love to hate and hate to love, and also in some smaller part of my brain I remember some fine humorous Russian fantasy I grew up with.

Then, I listened to some good old Russian fold rock - followed by the ethnic explosion in my brain, and the concept of THIS was born.

And so “The Forge-Sister and the Silver Heart” was born, which sturdily became technically less about Bog and Marianne Mar’yanna, and more about... women? Mothers, daughters, lovers. Witches, born and becoming. Fate, calling, and destiny. Love, in variations. I’m personally a big fan of Plum in this, like she is half of the reason this piece is becoming what it is.

Be warned: this is a) like a prologue since Bog is not even a part of the story (yet, depends, I kinda want to see how this launches off), and b) it’s different from my usual writing style? Like I’m using actual badly formed sentences, and like descriptions, to set the mood and stuff, and not suffering a sever case of post-poetic verbal constipation. You should be all proud of my attempts. I’m growing as a writer.

Please let me know what you think (I’m not posting it on AO3 just yet, let’s see how it goes).

The First Song: On rising winds

The fire kindled quietly in the small iron stove. The dancing orange glow behind the ornate iron grate send long and dusky shadows to run over the walls, painted with colourful pictures of exotic birds, the carved filigree of the windowsill in flowers and vines, bouquets of dried herbs adorning the curved ceiling in lavish garlands, and the Gypsy, a shawl of green and blue, tall hair in hues and curls, tied with a glimmering scarf, her skirt swapping the floor. She stepped as if in a dance, cast bracelets ringing when she wrapped herself tighter, a glance of mock fury thrown over her shoulder, and the children, brown bear fur coats up to the red frosty buttons of their noses, dropped snow in melting blobs on the clean wooden floor before the closed door and shuffled on their feet.

They were not scared - fine, maybe a bit - and she was not angry. See, it was a game, the one they played quite often. The gypsy would turn, in a dewdrop patter of coins on her clothes, and pull her painted bright lips into a thin line, hands hard and demanding on her hips, everything about her a-clatter.

«What do you want?» she would ask, their barbaric language becoming poetry in her mouth, knowing full well the answer, and the children would mutter between themselves, until the smallest, with red knitted fur-trimmed gloves and golden messy curls falling over her face, would step forward, flap eyelashes over her huge green eyes and a smile with a single missing front tooth.

«A stowy, Pl’uma!»

And the others would nod and call in agreement. «Yes, Pl’uma, tell us a story!»

«Fine!» Pluma the Gypsy would smirk at a way their tongues struggled with her foreign name, raising a finger to her lips, and tapping pensively. «But what do you have for me in return?»

This part changed: sometimes there were coins, small coppers found or received for sweets, or honeyed nuts, or, sometimes, a doll, dry straw and colourful yarn and shiny black button eyes, and in autumn, there were apples, red like a maiden’s blush and sweet like her kisses. New songs, fresh gossip, little secrets from these little people. They brought her flower crowns in spring, and handfuls of berries in summer, but as time would have it, the cold swept the land, smell of winter cutting sharply into lungs with a gust of frost through the mountain pass and the price had to be payed, because nothing was free. They should have known, they should have started to learn, even at their age, that nothing was free.

Her hand stretched forward expectantly.

«Well, off with it.»

The small girl looked back, her friends nudging forward, and signed in an unabridged dismay, tugging on her coat, under the thick scarf with dripping tassels, and pulling out a small ball of white fur and life that crooned softly, disturbed from his sleep.

«We found it in a bawn,» she said and passed it, a tiny creature with wide scared dark eyes, to be placed onto a surface of flat open palms with long dark painted claw-nails. «Mama is not letting me keep it.»

A small nose sniffed, a wet mitten swiped over puffed cheeks. Other petted between a pair of perky white ears. The girl’s sigh was nothing but wistful.

Pluma pondered, while the cat-creature’s pink nose poked against her thumb and a scrawny head, barely a few weeks old, the last batch of autumn, perhaps, looked around with curiosity, inherent to his kind. It would not have survived a winter, not alone, but there were things that had to be said. The beast opened its maw and let out a loud hungry call.

Pluma nodded. «I accept this trade. A cat will do this house good.»

She glanced around her wagon, before going to the cupboard above the stove. Cat placed on her shoulder, she retrieved a wooden bowl and filled it with thick white liquid. «But this is a serious gift, children.» Her look was pointed and sharp, even as she set her new pet on the floor together with the bowl, softly touching its short ruffled fur. «A gift of life is not the one to be given lightly.»

The children, all five of them, all different ages and faces and families, the baker twins, the innkeeper’s son, and, of course, the Elderman’s youngest, huddled like sparrows at her door in a mess of grey and brown and wool. Just children.

The kitten drank loudly, in large hungry gulps. «I think I have a story I can tell you,» Pluma stood up and motioned towards the bench before the stove, before busying herself with the pot starting to boil over. They didn’t wait - coats pulled off and tossed on the floor, legs untangled from heavy boots, they rushed to the seat, climbing on with their feet, few leaning on the table.

«Is it about a pwince?» The young one hopped excitedly, and Nad’ya, the farmer’s girl, large and soft-spoken, tried to make her sit still, like a frustrated mother, redoing her messy braids. «I want one with a pwince in it.»

«Oh, it has a prince alright,» the gypsy hummed, pulling out sugared dry-breads and jug of freshly brewed herbal tea. «But more importantly, this is a story about giving a life.» Nails scratched against wood. “And taking one.”

The cat, satiated, warm and more comfortable, parted from his food, rubbing itself against her boot.

The fire crinkled, shooting sparks, and the wind started to howl outside, slowly rising. Tea steaming from crude clay mugs - sage and thyme and just a bit of fire root against the colds of coming days - she settled on the stool, lighting the stick of essence behind her back, filling the room with memories of faraway lands she remembered as if she had been there the day before.

«Once upon a time, away from the borders of our Svetovir, beyond the sea in a Kingdom of Storms lived a King and a Queen. The King was tall and proud,” she sat up, chin raised high, her voice dropping, and the children sniggered. “With a strong jaw and wide shoulders, and the eyes of brightest sky-blue. He ruled his land from the Eye of Storms, a tall tower-like fortress on the edge of the ever-tempest seas, and his rule was harsh yet just, and he was equally feared and respected. The King loved his people, but even more than that, the King-” and she paused, picking up the cat and setting it on her lap. “The King loved his Queen.”

“Was she pretty?” That was Elza, the less bearable one of the ginger duplets, face in a polka dot pattern of freckles that danced cheekily whenever she grinned and she grinned a lot. “The Queen usually is pretty. Or kind. Except in our country.”

The gypsy’s fluttering hands stopped.

“Well, someone has been listening to conversations that there were not old enough for,” the girl bowed her head, freckled face going aflame, but Pluma just smiled. “Don’t know if she was pretty, and I can’t quite call her kind. But they said that the Queen was like the thunderstorm itself, her hair glowing like a fire catching a branch after a lightning had struck it, and in her was the warmth of a fireplace and a joy of battle. She was the home where the King was the country. And most importantly, the Queen loved her King.”

She took a sip, and listened to the wind. It hummed in low baritone, gently starting to rock her humble abode, much alike last year, and the year before that, but this time, there was something in its song, a worried note that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. If Pluma could tell any better, it sounded slightly… distressed, if a wind could.

“They lived in peace and harmony, as much of harmony and peace the people of the Storm could have, for their nation is one of vigor and glory, joyous bubbling chaos and united community, but the years went on, and sadness creeped into the tall walls of the Storm’s capital. For as much as the King and the Queen loved each other, they couldn’t have a child.”

“They should have buried a coin,” Kaleb grunted, and the rest picked up approvingly.

The cup made it halfway to the gypsy’s lips before going back down. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone knows that if you want a child, you have to bury a coin in the cabbage patch. In return you get a baby,” Nad’ya, tying a bow in wavy blond curls, examining it, undid it into two dangling ribbons, her thick fingers dancing with easy practiced grace.

“Aren’t you well educated, children,” snigger stuffed into her cup. “Your parents told you that?”

“Our parents buried two,” Elza nudged her brother with her elbow, with an evil kind of smirk only children were capable of. “His was rusted.” Pyotr, bird-boned, white-skinned, rubbed his arm with a frown.

“This is fascinating, but on to the story.” Back straight, cat purring on her lap as it pawed the string of beads, Pluma turned her head so that her profile would glow in the light of the stove and throw a shadow on the wall above them. “The King and the Queen prayed for a child, to their God and ones beyond, but no one answered. They called to all the healers and whisperers, but none could give them a solution. And then, one day, a ship arrived in the capital’s harbor, carrying traders and their goods, just like it does in our land, except that on that ship arrived an old man with skin as dark as coal, his hair gray like ash. He came to the King and said:

“I know of your troubles and I give you solution. Take a ship and go south-west, straight to the edge of the earth. There you will find a land unlike yours, verdant and full of life, yet hot like the sun itself. Walk it like a common man would, till you sweat nine sweats and wear off nine pairs of boots, and then you will find the one, who sings the birdsongs and wears the feathers, who can brew love into a potion, who knows the secrets of life and can cheat death itself-”

Mouth agape, crumbs sticking to her face and in her golden hair, Sophia gasped. “A biwd-witch!” The others hushed at her like she just cursed.

“Father said there are no such things as bird-witches,” sitting straight and proper, Nad’ya curled her hands around the cup. “They are made to scare children into doing their chores.” She rolled her eyes at such ‘childish’ idea. “Do your housework or the bird-witch will come at night and steal you away.”

Little rose lips plumped, the smallest girl huffed. “Na-ah! Bwother said he saw a biwd-witch once. She was an old hag with a cwooked nose and wotten teeth and-”

Elbow perched on her crossed knees, Pluma rubbed her temples with a cringe. “Yes, whatever would we do without Rolànd and his sure mastery of all things. Now, do you want to listen to the story or not?”

A choir of little voices rose in agreement. Still flustered, yet appeased by another sugared bread, the girl tugged down her skirt - and not just a skirt, but a little masterpiece with red flowers in red wool blooming along the dirty rim, surrounded by green leaves and even a few colored glass beads, not unheard off in Prval, but not common either - something a few would actually wear in their day to day life. Like the Elderman’s favorite little girl, for example. Or Pluma herself.

“But you were right. The old man talked about a bird-witch from a far away land, and the very next day the King kissed his Lady Queen goodbye and set away to find her, with a fleet of his finest ships, their bellies full of greatest treasures. He travelled for months and month, through storms that sunk ships and still waters that drove men mad. And only when he barely had any hope left, the land appeared before him, with tall sand walls of cities, temple pyramid roofs rising over them, and further, where dry earth turned into a deep forest, above which mountains tore the sky with their white fang-peaks...”

The wagon filled with eerie silence, interrupted with quiet munching, crackling fire and the old boards of the wagon creaking. The cat purred, gnawing her fingers, and further into the depth of her home, colorful curtains fell over her pillow-covered bed in a feeble attempt at seaming comfort. They sat, unmoving, mystified, with that glimmer in their eyes that one day may have grown into something that would have set them on a road away from this town on a road through a mountain pass. There are men and women who did this every year, young people who thought that there was more to life than stories Pluma told them. Oh, the parents should have run her off from this spot years ago -

- and she would have left, but all the places started to be the same a long time ago, they were the same and not home, they were the same and different, not where she wanted to be, not where she belonged.

Pluma swallowed as her mouth ran dry.

“It was glorious, children. Blindingly bright, loud with music and voices, it was a land of scholars and tradesmen, of rulers and reverent beggars. But all of that didn’t matter to the King. He searched the land - dressed in black and leather, as it was the custom of his people, sweating the nine sweats and wearing off nine pairs of fine high boots - up the mountains and down the valleys, along rivers and in the deepest of forests. Slowly, his people left him, taken by disease and vices, and all his treasures disappeared, exchanged for goods and favours, but he found her. A handful of men by his side, he found her…”

Trembling feet tucked under the stool, she breathed, and fingers flying to her aching chest.

“The air was hot and arid, in spice and cinder, oils, cedar and saffron seed, and the sun was a fiery lover, filling the wings with shine as they flirted with the winds. Her clothes were silks, and trinkets were gold, her winds, long and colorful, handing down back, and hundreds of flowers adorned her home as she herself was adorned, loved and cherished. The daughters of the richest men came to her doorstep and asked for beauty and love, for health and long life, and paid with jewels and cloth and exotic foods. He too came to her, tall and proud and hopeful, and asked her to make a life where there was none. He told her of a love and of a country and of a family, and she listened. And when he was done, she said that he was asking for something that she was not able to give.

‘How?’ said the King, his proud wide shoulders falling. ‘I travelled across the seas and sweated nine sweats and wore off nine pairs of boots but you turn me away?!’

The bird-witch in blues and emeralds and sparkling pinks just shook her head. ‘If you asked for health, I would have given you elixirs. If you asked for strength, my answer would have been a brew. But you ask for a new life to be created, and for a life to be given one has to be taken. This is not the magic of my kind.’

“But I was told!.. shouted the King stomping his foot,” - Pluma’s fist hit the table and the cups clattered. “I was promised!”

“Well, not by me! The bird-witch was having none of it. So fool on you!”

“So the old man lied to him?” Pyotr’s delicate hands drummed on the shawl covering the table. “But shouldn’t the King have figured it out? You said he was smart.”

“My dear child,” Pluma’s tone, turning soft with a kindness that came from pain too personal for them to understand. “The King was smart. He was wiser than most, and kinder than some, and he was righteous in his own right. But this world is made of powers beyond us, powers we can’t control. And to some those powers do good, and to other they do bad.” She glided her hands over the cloth, straightening an invisible wrinkle. “Do you know, children, what is the greatest power of them all? I already gave you the-”

“It’s love, isn’t it?” Nadya’s stern gaze was directed to the window, but she clearly addressed herself towards the gypsy. “It’s always love in these sort of stories. Love conquers all.”

Nadya’s, the farmer’s daugher from the home unfull, always had plump red cheeks and a stern voice, too… tired for her age. “It doesn’t, though. Right?”

“Love conquers some. And some,” Pluma bowed her head, and the smell of sandalwood filled her nostril. “Some, it ruins.”

“And what ruined the King is that he loved so very deeply. So what he did next, he did out of a great fear, that his heart and the heart of his Queen would never be complete. And so he left, in the day, but came back in the night, with the ropes and the gags, and he bound her all up, and he gazed upon the bird-witch and said: You are lying to me. You can bottle love and you can return youth, you can give strength to the feeble and make any girl more beautiful than the next. You say a life should be given for a life to be made? Well, how about I give you yours.”

The wagon rocked with a sudden strong gust of the wind. The wooden walls, curving in an arch above her head creaked, and the children squeezed from the sudden movement, mimicked by something awaked under another shawl in the back of the wagon. A couple of confused little tweets - and it went silent again.

The gypsy stood up to check upon it, and then returned, patting the walls on her way. “Don’t worry, this old thing can stand through a dozen more winters harsher than this.”

“Pl’uma, what did the King do?”

Heart heavy, she sighed. “The King stole her away. He stole her away, her feathers ripped off her back so she won’t escape, using her own belongings to pay his way. He traveled with her back to the sea, and whenever he went the birds stopped singing and the flowers dropped their bloom. He bought himself a ship with the jewels the Sultans of White Mountains once threw at her feet for a single smile. And with a sail raised, the King set himself back to the high cliffs of his home.”

“Sail ripped and tattered, and the King himself battered, he returned home, where storms themselves turned against him. He kneeled before his Queen, and weeped. Bird-witch locked away in chains down below, he weeped: I have failed you, my love. She will not give us what we seek-”

“Maybe he should not have taken her away from her home, if he wanted for her be nice.” Piotr noted, carefully examining the bottom of his mug.

“Oh, this is where it gets interesting, children. For while the Queen brought the King to her heart, drowning his sorrow, the bird-witch, a child of skies and magic, heart-sister, who could make women beautiful and men young, who sang heart-songs of that made love bloom, scrathed her claws against the walls of her prison, and tugged the remaining feathers off her back-”

- in her mouth they went, feather and nail and bone, and blood and pain, and the foreign skies frowned and weeped at her song, and ripped at themselves in thunder and lightning as she ripped at her bare skin -

“- and cursed him, the King, and all his kin, and sang the rights that were not hers to sing but she sang them anyway, that deep went her hate and fury, such foreign feelings for someone once bathed only in adoration.

“A life for a life, she wailed, a Princeling for a King. For where one life will begin the other will end. For every strenght - a weakness, for every truth - a lie. And love itself - just loss. Loss and heartache.”

Sophia meeped, tucking herself under Nad’ya arm. “Bird-witches are scawy.”

“Oh, child. Bird-witches are daughters of Earth and Sky, their craft as old as the time itself. But they are also, most importantly, women. And there is nothing more dangerous as a woman scorned.”

“So like our mom,” Elza chewed, and swallowed, whipping her mouth with the back of her hand. “She has this look when Papa comes from the market a bit… you know…” She leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “Drunk.”

“So she did give them a child, just as the King wanted? And he let her go?”

“She did, telling him just that, and well, the King, regretful, brought her back her feathers, but she didn’t leave. The bird-witch stayed right there, in her dungeon, waiting: through summer winds that carried the scent of wild-flowers, and their brothers, the autumn ones, cold and fresh, to the very snow of winter, in the midst of which, in the darkest of night, rose a Great Wind, the likes of which was never seen even in the Kingdom of Storms. It rolled clouds into cyclones, roared with thunder, and flashed with lightning, and in the witching hour, just before the walls of the castle erupted with the voice of a new heir, one of the tongues struck the Grand Tower, setting it on fire. It burned so bright, it turned the sky aflame. That very fire took the life of the proud King of Storms. And left the Queen with a child, that turned quieter by the minute. Because if the King’s heart was his strongest, for the Princeling’s small heart was his weakest.”

“So the Queen, proud as she was, fire-hair falling down her back, went to the witch, and begged her-”

Blood down her gown, sweat still to her brow, babe to her chest - ‘A life for a life, and this one’s life is not yours to take.’

‘This life was not yours to have from the start, Storm-sister. This is not our fate. ’

‘A life for a life and my child has done nothing to you! But you took from me, so give back. Know your prices, Heart-sister.’

“-and the Bird-witch gave up. Of her neck, she took a small silver bell, that ran like dewdrops falling on the edge of a sword, like tears on the strings of a lute, a gift from the lover long gone, and pulled it over the Princes’ head. And just as she did, ringing it, the child started to cry, and the small hairs of raven wing on his head turned stark silvery white.

‘From now on, this is your son’s heart,’ said the Bird-witch to the Queen. ‘And as long as he lives, it must be with him. Keep a good eye on him. For if he loses it, there would be nothing you could do.’

“And then the Bird-witch, her curse fulfilled, wrapped herself into her wings, turned into the Great bird of Heaven, and flew out of the window. The Queen never saw her again.”

Stretching her back, the Gypsy, let out a moan. “And that’s the end of the story, children, and about what one asks for, and the prices one must pay.”

They stared.

“But the Pwince, what about the Pwince?!”

“Well, I have a few ideas, but they are for some other time, and some other story-”

Something slammed against the door, followed by a row of hard knocks.

“Pl’uma! Open up!” The voice belonged to a woman, and ran as loud as the wind, or maybe even louder, a hammer of a hand unstoppable in its insistent knocking. “I really hope all those kids you have there are in one piece and preferably not in a cooked state!”

Their distress forgotten, the mentioned children giggled as Pluma turned their way with a mock gasp. “Oh no, children, the evil blacksmith has come to take you away! Run, children, quickly, before she gets you and makes you work at her forge! Run!”

Rolling out to the door, cat petted on the way out, they dressed, quickly and messily, Elza waving her hands around like ‘the Bird-Witch’, and Sophia tugged on Pluma’s colorful skirt.

“Can I come and play with the kitty tomowow?” she asked, scarf askew, her coat closed on all the wrong buttons, which they immediately rectified together.

“Yes, of course, dear, if the weather’s good.” The gypsy tapped the button of her nose, and the child laughed. “Now quickly, get dressed, your momma will be worried if you don’t get home before the storm hits.”

The door opened and they poured out, loud and fast, and a person calling them pushed herself flush against the side of the gypsy’s home.

“Come on, quickly,” a woman, short and sturdy - no, a girl, her age betrayed by the still soft oval of her face, yet already touched by the prices one must pay - clapped her hands, as the children hurried scurried pass her - except for the Soph, of course, who stopped by her side and did a little curtsy.

“Thank you, Tet’a Maw’yanna.” She paused, her lips pursed, and then smacked her own forehead. “Daddy weally likes the swowd you made him.”

“Well, I hope he does. He paid good money for it.” The blacksmith raised her hand out of the large gorge of a pocket, huge in comparison to her narrow and long palm and fingers, in stars of red and white burn scars, and slowly, with hesitation, descended it upon the child’s head, patting it, first uncertainly, but then with almost wistful warmth as golden curls tangled under her touch. “Run along to your mother, little bird.”

The girl started after her friends south, where the outskirt road pulled into the main one, better, and a small hike to the gates of the Prval - the Golden tooth of the Svetovir mountain range, the one and only way to the North Kingdoms for miles to go, and it could have been a major trade hub. Could have, if not for the Storm.

The wind played with the stray hairs, sticking out of the blacksmith’s messy obruch - not a young girl’s hairstyle, even by a long shot, but at least she did that. At least she didn’t cut her hair at all.

Head still turned in the children’s wake, the craftswoman hummed. “She will grow up… so pretty.”

“Ain’t everyone in that family just that?”

“Pluma, don’t.”

“I heard the strangest thing, Mar’yanna.”

“Don’t,” the blacksmith snapped her head and cringed with a heavy stare. Six years, and it only got better - her winded lip twisting with a sharp angle exposing gritted teeth, and the smash of raw emotion cutting through her yellow eyes that still made the gypsy catch her breath. What gifts this girl had, some gave up everything for less. If only that what was given was taken - then even Pluma herself would have thought twice to poke at her. But the blacksmith was as stubborn as she was talented, and the gypsy, well, she had a habit of been bored a lot.

“Apparently children think they were found in the cabbage, Mar’yanna. Did your father find you in the cabbage as well?”

“No, I was found amidst horseradish - what do you think?”

“That would explain your bitter attitude, dear.” Lock of hair tucked under her gold-thread headscarf, Pluma wrapped herself tighter into her shawl against the crashing wind that shook her home. “Do you think this is the one?”

The girl shrugged, the mass of bear fur rising and falling, eyes trailed towards the far-off edge of the sky, where clouds gathered into a large wall of grey. Her thin lips pursed in disapproval. “Looks like it. It’s late this year, though.”

The Gypsy stepped down the small wooden stairs, boots immediately sinking into the snow, skirts billowing by her feet. She stood still, breathing, icy air filling her lungs, and listened to the voice of the skies, its concerned song, as if it was a song for her, yet so foreign that she couldn’t quite get the words.

It sounded like a warning.

“Maybe it was waiting for someone?”

Mar’yanna groaned. “Well, I don’t know about someone, but it was probably waiting for your koftan to be done?”

Weather forgotten, Gypsy almost jumped in excitement.

“She finished it? Show me, show me!”

Burlap sack almost ripped out of worm hands, she dug in, pulling out a thick heavy coat, tailored, with dark fur trim, and a wide embroidered pattern all the way around the edges, and blooming flowers on silky material. Pressing her face into a large fur collar, Pluma smelled lavender and sage, the tale of mountains and forests, so common to this particular place. All things considered, Prval had its charms.

“Your father should count himself a lucky man, having daughters like you two.” Shawl shrugged off right there on the snow, she pulled the coat on, and gave a sigh of relief from the immediate prickling of hard fur through all the layers of her clothes, and the steadily growing inkling of warmth. Latches closed with deft fingers, hands patted down the narrow fitted waist, and Pluma the Gypsy nodded, turning back and forth. “By the sky, he’d better.”

Mar’yanna leaned against the painted wood, her thumbs hooked over the rope of her belt.

“You should worry less about my father, and more about how you will pay. This is a lot of a material, expensive material, those clips alone took me time-”

One half-turn, collar raised, and Pluma poised at her with something of a long forgotten wicked charm. “I know my prices, dear. When did Pluma ever do you wrong?”

The blacksmith just rolled her eyes.

“Just what did you promise my sister?”

With a wink and a wave of a hand, Pluma disappeared into her wagon, shuffling through her cupboards, pulling out bottles and jars of colorful glass, tugging a few bands of herbs off the ceiling, and a final step, opening a large trunk, which served as one of the benches, and taking out a small pouch of dark velvet.

The craftswoman stepped in, knocking snow off her boots. “If you really think that a few salves would be enough-”

“For your hands,” the gypsy moved one of the jars her way, and smirked at how the girl’s lips curled. “Bothering you again, I see.”

“What else?”

Another bottle. “For your sister’s sunlight of hair. The braid is turning heads already but-”

“Oh, please don’t.” Landing herself on the bench, the girl turned the bottle in her hands. “If I hear another wailing off-tune love song under my window, I’m going to start pouring molten iron over them. And that would be a waste of damn good iron.” The bottom of the bottle placed back on the shawl. “Maybe you can give her something that will stop her from falling for every boy she meets.”

Pluma just laughed, setting herbs on the table. “Impossible. That girl’s heart is a spring song, and we need a bit of spring, now that the storm is here.”

Mar’yanna rubbed the crease of her forehead. “It gets worse every year.”

“Or: you can get married, so she could have her turn. The older sister, then the younger, as it is a custom.”

If looks could create flame, Pluma’s house would have been on fire already.

“No.”

“Just a suggestion, sister.” Older fingers caressed the webbing of burns on the younger ones. “Don’t worry, price will be paid. The crows will have his lying tongue in due time.”

Hand pulled away, the girl bared her teeth. “Can we wrap this up? The storm is coming. I have to get the house ready.”

Yet, still, her eyes blinked once too often. Poor child.

“Here,” the gypsy placed the pouch last. “I think you’ll find this more than enough.”

The girl tugged the binding with suspicion, one, another, and pushed the finger inside, sharp eyes looking down the length of delicate pointy nose - and then clavicles sharpened surprise, lashes flying.

“Is this-?”

“Yes,” Pluma nodded, setting herself on the edge of the table.

The pouch opened even wider, and the girl hooked her finger, raising her arm, and a thread of beads, round and even, every single one - a perfect star ripped from the sky. They gleamed in her hands, and something so innocently joyous flashed over the girl’s face, before being replaced with indignation.

“Pluma, this is a fortune!”

“So is that coat.”

“This is an arm-length of pearl, Pluma! We can’t take this, it’s worth five of my swords!”

“Or one really good one if you put your mind to it. Or a wedding dress of Prval lace, which would take your sister three months to make? As I said, your father was blessed with trully gifted daughters.” She looked down one of the mugs left on the floor. “But those will be worthless in comparison if you ever decide to wear what you keep hidden even from your sister-”

The table erupted, mugs turning. The blacksmith rose, and it was as if the lighted of stove fire itself dimmed before her.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH.”

“You are burying you gifts, featherling.”

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” She leaned forward, and shadows ran over her face, where eyes burned with molten gold. “If you speak of this to anyone, I will cut your tongue out with your own herb knife.”

Oh, what does she know. What does she know, bird unhatched. Angry little thing.

“Don’t threaten me, sister.” Pluma curled. Her claws, barely growing, pulled back. “Yours is not the only secret I keep. And that knife actually needs a sharpening.”

The Blacksmith breathed, letting out discontented huffs, then, finally groaning, she picked up her sack, starting to toss her payment into it. “Fine. Bring it when the winds let down.”

“Or you could come by again. I do enjoy our talks.”

“Unlike you, some of us have work, a lot of work to do.”

“So do I! You think those salves make themselves? Honestly, by now they pretty much do, but even I am not that good.”

“Pride is a sin, Pl’uma.”

“Now, don’t go offending me with just one, dear. I’m sure I can find myself a couple more. Lust, for example.”

Mar’yanna chuckled. “Oh yes, Tan’ya still tells everyone about that miracle cure you gave her husband for his… problem.”

“Problem? Please. Having five daughters - now that’s a problem.” The wind wailed with new force, and the wagon shook again. Pluma raised her head to the ceiling and the swinging herbs. “I hate to throw you out, but it is high time for you to go. Can’t risk this town losing its one good shear sharpener.”

The blacksmith nodded, stomping to the door, and the gypsy followed. The outside greeted them with thick chunks of snow falling, slamming against the patched ground, and clamping in piles.

“Looks like you were right,” Mar’yanna jumped to the ground and tucked herself tighter. Her face barely rose from the thickness of her coat’s collar, but it still frowned up in concern. “You’ll be fine, right?”

“It’s just a storm, little bird,” Pluma caught a piece of falling snow on the palm of her ringed hand, and squeezed it tight, melting water between her fingers. “I’ve lived through worse.”

Non-believer, the girl eyed the melting water dripping. “Take care then.”

She set off down the trail, away from the cliff the gypsy chose at her home, slowing down for one last mirthful goodbye thrown over her shoulder. “I’d hate to lose one good herb-gatherer this town has.”

Pluma the Gypsy watched her as she disappeared behind the turn, a mass of dirty brown fur with a sack over her shoulder, and sighed to herself and the sky.

“You are late,” she said, reproachingly.

The wind howled in response and threw snow in her face.

“Oh, cut it.” She turned to hide in her home. With her last step, Pluma turned, shaking her finger at the heavy dark cloud. “And don’t you dare blow me off this mountain.”

The sky didn’t reply, but she still would swear its color grew softer.

And then, just as she was about to close the door behind her back, the wind suddenly stilled, and all grew silent, so that the air itself froze around her. The fire stopped crackling, and the branches seized their urgent waving, and in that silence, like an arrow shot, like a fall of melting drops in the birth of spring on the clear steal of a sword -

- ran a bell.

And Pluma, for the first time in years, froze, breathing shakily, her unbearably wide painted eyes pulled towards the white curtain of the horizon.

Oh, she spoke in a tongue that was only hers in this land of mountains and snow, her jaw clenching, claws stabbing hard into the wood of her doorframe. Really?

The wind, the snow, the rustling forest and the panicked creaking of her home came back, yet she stood, trying it hear it again.

It didn’t return. It didn’t have to.

Feathers at the back of her neck bristling, Pluma pulled herself into the darkness of her home. When the only thing left was the shining bright of her eyes, the door of the wagon slammed shut.

Come then, the feather-thief’s son. I’m waiting.

#strange magic #forge-sister and a silver heart #i wrote this shit #suzie be proud i'm learning description from the best and failing miserably #the story about metric ton of snow and solving all your problems with manual labour and drinking #unless you are Plum #then you are just salty af

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