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preciouslandmermaid · 8 months ago

Text

of songbirds, swords, and spice (4)

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tw/cw: violence, blood, spider-creatures, see master post for complete tags

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

(masterpost)

<- (previous chapter)

Zoro stretched his legs out and folded his hands behind his head. Finally, some peace and quiet. Or however much quiet he could get on the Going Merry anyway. He shut his eyes, preparing to get a few hours of sleep before they arrived in Raven’s Crag.

“Mrrow!” Four paws landed on his thigh.

“What the hell?”

The black cat?! Zoro picked the cat up by the scruff and it narrowed its large, yellow eyes at him. A stowaway.

“Aren’t these things bad luck?” He said to no one before moving the fluffy creature off his lap. The cat, who was undeterred and stupidly stubborn, jumped onto his lap again the second he closed his eyes. “Knock it off.”

Zoro scooped it up this time and carried it to the other end of the room, setting it down on a crate, before he returned to his napping spot. The cat swished its tail, watching him, but didn’t move from its new perch.

“Stay over there,” he said. The ocean waves crashed and lapped against the hull of the Going Merry in swelling, gentle surges. He found the sound of the ocean soothing. He could sleep anywhere, it’s true, but there was something about sleeping near water. The crash and surge, the pull and push, the saltwater tinge to the air, and rush of the wind snapping the sails. It created a natural lullaby.

He sighed, tilting his head back, and listening to the waves rather than the cacophony of voices above. Usually, he didn’t have trouble falling asleep, but your voice was new and unfamiliar. He wasn’t sure why the old lady requested that you come along. You were a performer—not a fighter. Just because you managed one battle without vomiting at the sight of a dismembered arm didn’t make you a warrior. Zoro’s eyebrow twitched. What’s her deal anyway? He rolled his shoulders, struggling to get comfortable.

A soft paw batted the side of his head near his earlobe. What the--! The cat’s paw remained aloft – ready to smack his earring again.

Zoro narrowed his eyes. “You again?”

The cat lowered its paw and yawned, showcasing its large canine teeth and angling its ears back. Zoro wasn’t intimidated if that’s what the creature was trying to do. He had a sword. That was more impressive than two big teeth and some claws.

“What do they call you?” He lifted the charm on the cat’s collar. “Mimi?”

The cat gave no indication that it recognized its name.

“You really are bad luck,” he grumbled, “I never have trouble sleeping.” He got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. “Stay,” he told the cat before ascending the steps to the main deck.

The sunlight refracted across the rolling blue waves and Zoro lifted his arm to block the harsh light.

“Can you sing a sea shanty?” Luffy asked you.

“Can you write a song about me?” Usopp asked, looking hopeful. Zoro rolled his eyes...These kids.

Sanji said, “What about a love ballad?”

You crossed your arms and pressed your lips into a line. This silence didn’t deter them. The trio of Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp requested different songs simultaneously.

“Would you guys cut it out!” Nami yelled over them, “She already said she doesn’t want to!”

Zoro rested his wrist on Wado Ichimonji and decided he might as well ask the question that’s been eating at him since the night you met.

“Why do the waiters at your grandmother’s bar wear earplugs?” he asked.

Everyone fell silent. Their attention left Zoro and moved toward you, expecting and awaiting your answer. You narrowed your eyes slightly at him. The sails overhead ballooned with a fresh gust of wind and the ropes swung in the breeze casting shadows like long, wiggling snakes on the main deck.

You said, “You noticed that, huh?”

“It was hard to miss.” Zoro deadpanned.

Your smile tugged at your mouth. “And yet I recall having your complete attention.”

Zoro stepped forward. “That’s what I’m still trying to figure out,” he said, “so what’s your deal?”

You shrugged, graceful and casual, like you two were discussing sword forms and not the mystery of your grandmother’s bar.

“The bar gets rowdy,” you replied.

“That’s what I said,” Luffy said, his tone was bright.

The bar gets rowdy? Yeah, right. Zoro stared down at you. The sunlight burned radiance across the planes and slopes of your face. She’s lying. You had to be. Your explanation was lukewarm and it didn’t account for the strange, solitary sensations that consumed him during your performance. Your performance and the earplugs had to be related somehow. He just couldn’t figure out how.

Usopp glanced between you and Zoro.

“Come on, guys,” Usopp said, “let’s stay focused. We’re finding a mysterious lost treasure for someone.”

“I’ll make lunch,” Sanji suggested, before saying your name and adding, “I’d love your help in the kitchen.”

“No thanks. I’m gonna stretch my legs,” you announced and offered Usopp and Sanji a smile. “I’ve gotta get used to being out on the sea again.”

Zoro watched you walk to the other end of the ship. She’s not getting off that easily. He waited about three seconds before following after you.

“Hey,” he began, narrowing his eyes at your back. You sighed, leaning against the railing, but didn’t turn around to face him. “If you double cross our crew…”

You looked over your shoulder. “You’re gonna slice me in half?”

Zoro scoffed. “I was thinking in quarters.”

You turned to face him, though your elbows remained on the railing, your pose was relaxed and wholly nonthreatening. Zoro’s pulse throbbed in his neck.

“You have nothing to worry about, Roronoa Zoro.” The salty air played with the collar of your shirt and Zoro looked away, clenching his jaw. “This crew saved the golden cupid...and if we manage to find Pandora’s puzzle box...then there will always be a warm meal and a cold drink for you at Estella’s.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Maybe he was being paranoid after their run-in with the Black Cat pirates or their altercation with Arlo’s gang after Nami’s abrupt betrayal. He didn’t want to get double-crossed, although he couldn’t see the benefit of you – or the old hag – trying to betray them.

“Fine,” he said flatly.

Maybe now I can get some shut-eye…The thought reminded him of the cat, Mimi, stalking around in his room.

“By the way,” he said, “that cat is onboard.”

You laughed. “Oh, of course she is.” You shook your head, “I’ll let Sanji know. Maybe he can make her some tuna.”

“Feeding your cat isn’t part of this deal,” he grumbled, annoyed. First, the cat took over his nap spot and ruined his afternoon and now she’d eat some of their supplies? What sort of bullshit was this?

“One,” you said holding up a finger, “she’s Estella’s cat. Two.” You held up a second finger. “It’s not really up to you, is it? I think I’ll take it up with the chef and see what he says.”

Zoro didn’t have a good argument against you, so he settled on rolling his eyes and returning to his bunk to get some well-deserved rest before the Merry reached Raven’s Crag.

The dingy swayed as it pushed through the shallow waves and your stomach followed the roiling, uncertain motions of the waters below. Something didn’t feel right. You would normally chalk it up to your baseline paranoia around strangers—but...your unease went deeper. Maybe all the stories about Raven’s Crag were getting to you. Everyone on the island said Raven’s Crag was dangerous, some even went so far as to call it cursed. ‘That’s why no one lives there’, they’d say before ordering another drink from the bar. What if something happened to Estella back home? Was paranoia or intuition that twisted your stomach into sailor’s knots? You shook your head and tried to clear your mind. One thing at a time...

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Sanji said, sitting beside you and looking pointedly at your bouncing knee. “We’ll find it.”

“If it exists,” you said.

“Madame Estella seemed certain it was here,” he said.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Yes, I know.”

Estella left a rather important detail from her story when she told the Straw Hats about Pandora’s treasure. Over the past five years, it had been you who helped her to find and collect the other boxes. The jade box had been the first and the easiest. You used your devil fruit powers, beguiling the previous owner, and tricking him into giving it to Estella. The onyx box, however, was kept on a marine base within the evidence room under lock and key. You and Estella spent nine months on that island, working your way into the upper echelon of society until General Samuel Bellamy invited several wealthy citizens for brunch. You and Estella had barely made it out after accidentally triggering the alarm when removing Pandora’s box. The last box in her collection, the one made of lapis lazuli, had been underwater in a shipwreck.

Truly, it was a miracle that Estella knew about any of their locations, but that one was especially surprising. You were useless since the ocean sapped all of your strength, but Estella had smiled at you before diving into the waters. Your hands curled into fists on your lap. The current had been strong that day...a storm was on the horizon and the ocean was restless, hungry.

Sanji muttered your name. His gaze burned into your cheek.

“We made it,” Nami announced, shaking you from your reverie.

The tepid saltwater and sand rushed into your shoes and clung to your shins as you leaped from the dingy and helped push the boat onto the shore as best as you could. The palm trees rustled loudly overhead. Your foot snagged against the dry, powdery white sand.

“What’s—” Zoro began one hand on his sword hilt.

“Wait,” you said, snapping your attention from the boat’s edge in your hands and toward the beautiful blue sky. “That’s not—”

Your words were cut off as a hundred screeching calls filled the air and their enormous black wings flapped, upset the palm leaves, and stirred the dry brush at the beachhead. Roughly a dozen, giant ravens descended upon the crew, their beaks open wide to reveal rows of tiny teeth, and their eyes glossy and bright and murderous.

You reached for your kusarigama—a sickle attached to a metal chain with an iron weight at the end — attached to your hip. You hadn’t used the weapon since settling on Nightingale, but you practiced the motions and your continued diligence paid off as you slid into a stance and spun the end of the chain.

A raven opened its’ beak and lunged for Nami, and you launched the weighted end toward the raven. The chain spun around the raven’s beak, closing it, and you tugged—the metal biting into the flesh of your fingers—forcing the beast to bow its head. Nami’s staff cracked the side of the bird’s head and you tugged the chain free, pulling up the slack, after the creature dropped. You could hardly keep track of everyone’s movements through the chaos of undulating black wings and sharp, curved black beaks and curled talons.

Zoro’s sword flashed beneath the sunlight, blood, and dark feathers followed.

Your body ached, familiar with the movements ingrained into the grooves of your muscles, but unfamiliar with fighting things that fought back (your usual enemies were coconut trees and bamboo). You jumped backward through the powdery sand, avoiding a strike of dangerous talons, and you crashed into the hard and warm muscled plane of Zoro’s back.

“Watch where you’re going,” he growled before pivoting on his heel and using his sword to deflect the beak strike coming toward you.

“I was.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“How” – your fingers tightened around the kusarigama’s grip– “do you manage to fight with that sword shoved so far up your—”

Luffy yelled, “Gum Gum Punch!” His fist launched through the air and landed squarely into the raven’s rib cage sending the bird sprawling into the sand.

“I had it!” You and Zoro shouted simultaneously at Luffy.

“Sorry,” Luffy said, smiling before he turned his attention to a different raven. “Hey, Sanji!” The captain called out to him, “Do you think we could eat these?”

“You’re seriously thinking about food at a time like this?” Nami asked.

You shook your head and were unable to ignore the smile tugging at your lips. This crew is so fucking weird, you thought with a foreign flutter of affection. You brought another raven to eye-level by trapping its beak with your chain and Sanji roundhouse kicked it, knocking your chain free, where it seemed to float in the air for a second before you yanked it back toward you.

The final two ravens squawked, and took flight in a blur of sand and wings, leaving their fallen on the beach scattered among the crew. You wrapped the chain, secured your kusarigama at your hip, and flexed your sore, unpracticed fingers. You scanned the beach and pointed at an outcropping of gray rocks.

“That’s the crag,” you said. You looked at their sweaty faces and bit your lip. “Estella could be wrong,” you warned, “the box might not be there.” She had never been wrong before, but they didn’t need to know that.

“We won’t know until we get there,” said Luffy, walking toward the crag. You wiped the sweat from your face and sighed. There is no swaying Luffy from his destined path, is there? You almost admired his bullheaded tenacity. Almost.

Your hands pulsed, your blood throbbing, your knuckles scraped raw, and nails blunted from climbing up onto the crag. You pulled yourself up the final ledge, each breath laborious, and laid yourself flat against the hot stone. Your salivating mouth tasted metallic and unpleasant. Sanji squatted next to you, and his shadow spilled across your face and blocked the sun.

“Here,” he said, offering you a small flask.

“Water or booze?” you asked.

His lips quirked. “Water.”

“Shame.”

You took a small sip of the water before holding it out to him.

Sanji lifted his hand. “Keep it.”

You raised an eyebrow and bit your tongue to stop yourself from questioning or quipping at him. You were starting to understand that Sanji enjoyed providing for others. He cooked because he believed no one should go hungry, but he also had a true and burning passion for it. He gave you water because you needed it. There was no ulterior motive. No secret to unravel. He was just providing for you as he would provide for anyone on the crew. Not that I’m part of this crew, but the sentiment still counts.

“Thanks,” you finally said, standing.

Luffy stood before the great, black maw of a cave’s entrance with his hands on his hips.

“This is the place, right?” he asked, looking over his shoulder toward you.

“I think so,” you said. In your experience, Pandora’s treasure box locations increased in difficulty over time: a marine base, a shipwreck, and now deep within a cavernous network. You looked at this crew of oddballs, at the scuffs, bruises, and blood they spilled fighting the ravens and climbing the cliffside. I can do it alone. The warm breeze kissed your skin and the bright blue ocean crested with tiny, white waves along the shore below. I’m the one who Estella trusts. They got me here, but they don’t need to see this through.

“We’ve made it this far together, but you can turn back now,” you said, “I don’t want anyone dying for this.”

Luffy frowned. “Only you?”

Your heart dropped. His stark, honest words had momentarily stunned you.

“What?” you breathed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Zoro muttered, “we just fought a bunch of demon birds. There’s no way we’re turning back now.”

“I think she’s got a point,” Usopp said, “one of us should really be waiting on the ship. I volunteer.”

“It’s dangerous,” Luffy continued as if the others hadn’t spoken, “so you’d rather go in there alone and die alone?”

“It’s a wild goose chase, Luffy.” You crossed your arms.

“It’s her dream!” he said, “don’t you have a dream you want to accomplish?”

“My dream is impossible.” You bristled. Your dream wasn’t a treasure hunt, nor was it to become the best of something or the queen of the pirates. Your dream was a fantasy you repeated to keep your nightmares quiet. Your dream would never see fruition. It just couldn’t.

“There’s no such thing,” Luffy said while approaching you. His hand lifted, palm dropping toward your shoulder, and you moved out of the way at the last second. Luffy stumbled at the sudden lack of counter-balance and you grimaced.

You said, “I don’t like being touched.”

Sanji tilted his head to the side.

“Oh, sorry.” Luffy’s tone was earnest. “Whatever your dream is, I think you should go after it.”

You squinted at him rather than answer his statement.

You said, “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” Luffy nodded.

“Me and Nami will guard the entrance in case any more of those birds come back,” Usopp held his slingshot aloft. “We’ll shout if anything happens.”

“Shout loud,” Zoro said as he passed Usopp and entered the cave.

The cave’s cool air was a blessing against your sweaty, sticky skin. You led the crew, even though you didn’t have a map or idea of where the box might be. Estella said ‘Trusting one’s self is the greatest gift’ and you didn’t know if that applied to treasure-hunting, but you decided there was no time like the present to try.

“These caves are odd,” Sanji said, gesturing to the glowing greenish crystals that were embedded into the dark rocks above. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s something with the moon,” you said, watching your shadows play against the stone and crystal walls. “The full moon helps charge them...or so Estella says. She has a book about the caves on Nightingale Island.”

Zoro dug his fingers around one of the lower crystals, yanked it free and it continued to glow in his large hand. He swept his arm across the cavern floor, shining more light on the bits of rubble and dirt, but no treasure box lay waiting for you. His hair brightened beneath the crystals and gave it an almost illusory neon effect.

The cavern curved left, but remained a single, narrow pathway, without any divergences. As odd as that was, since caverns like these usually spilled like a network of threads, you were grateful. You didn’t want to add ‘getting lost in the crystal caves’ to your list of travesties.

“Where’d you learn to fight?” Luffy asked.

“Here and there,” you replied, “Estella needs me to protect her.”

“Did she teach you how to use that chain thing?” He mimed spinning it over his head, as you had done at one point during the battle like the chain was a lasso rope.

You laughed lightly.

“No,” you said, “we spent about nine months on this one island, seeking Pandora’s onyx box, and during that time I trained with a woman named Camilla.”

Luffy’s eyes lit up, emboldened by the viridescent glow of the crystals, and he said, “Cool!” His voice echoed strangely and you stopped suddenly.

“We’re close to something,” you said.

“How do you know?” asked Sanji.

“Our voices sound different here,” Zoro said, sounding bored.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Sanji said, rolling his eyes.

You peered through the muddled darkness tinted by a glowing light. Your heart skipped. Could Estella be right? Was the final box of Pandora’s treasure here? You quickened your pace and followed the path with one hand on your weapon. The crystals sparkled above and mirrored your reflections on their glossy, green surface.

The pathway opened into a cistern with tall glistening edges of slick cave walls, dripping and glowing crystal stalagmites, and shocks of white, thick spider webs running through gaps. Does something live here? You scanned the space.

“Holy shit,” you gasped. At the center of the room was a natural conglomeration of crystals and a bone-white puzzle box nestled at the center, glimmering like a beacon beneath the luminescent light.

You ran forward, kicking aside a bleached-white bone where it went clack-clack-clack into some rocks, and jostled loose golden berry lying around on the ground.

Something grumbled beneath you. No. That wasn’t right. The solid ground gave way, crumbling like a sandcastle devoured by the incoming tide, and your arms windmilled—your scream caught in your throat. The rocks beneath your feet fell to a nest of large, white ropes, and your body tensed—awaiting the inevitable crash and broken bones.

Luffy grabbed your wrist. He pitched into you, the ground unstable, and this time—your scream released—and gravity twisted your body so your spine was to the painful ground below.

“Luffy!” Zoro shouted.

Luffy stretched like saltwater taffy, he clung to your wrists, and both of you dangled above death trap of sharp rocks and rubble. Above, at the very ledge, Zoro’s muscles bulged as he held onto Luffy’s ankles. How is he holding both of us?!

“Climb up,” Luffy said, “climb over me like I’m a rope.” He smiled like this was an ordinary occurrence and you both weren’t a few hundred feet away from certain death.

“I’ll drop,” you said, “I’m closer to the ground. I’ll survive it.”

You glanced at your feet swinging through the empty, dark air. You actually couldn’t tell how close the ground was. The strange, white ropes glowed eerily beneath the muted crystal light, and pockets of it were disturbed and quivering from the fallen rocks. Is that--? Your brow furrowed.

“I can pull you both up,” Zoro announced, his face pinched tight with effort. “Just – just hold on.”

“I already am.” Luffy tightened his grip around your wrists and a wave of nausea coursed through you. Your skin prickled with a clammy, uncomfortable sensation. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, you reminded yourself, using every ounce of self-control not to vomit.

Zoro pulled, grunting as he did, and Luffy’s legs disappeared over the ledge.

Although you couldn’t see Zoro, you heard him shout; “I don’t need your help, stupid cook!”

“I’m not trusting an idiot swordsman with her life,” Sanji yelled, “or with Luffy’s.”

You clenched your eyes shut, squeezing Luffy’s thin wrists, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your fingertips as your heartbeat rushed in your ears and your mouth filled with saliva.

Luffy said your name and your eyes re-opened, “I’m not going to drop you,” he said softly.

He said these words like a stalwart, unwavering promise. He said them in the same way he said ‘I’m going to be king of the pirates’ and despite your past, your ingrained paranoia, and your reasons to distrust him—you believed him, and something sharp prickled behind your eyes.

Luffy’s midsection was yanked over the ledge and Zoro finished pulling the both of you onto the overhanging ledge. As you brushed the cave dirt from your legs, Sanji hunched his shoulders and met your gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine.” You looked toward the chasm that separated Pandora’s box from you. You hadn’t brought rope or grappling hooks and you were ill-prepared to vault or climb onto the other side. “How are we going to get over there?”

Zoro pointed and said, “Hug the wall and maneuver around the chasm.”

Your mouth opened to tell him about the risk, but a sudden scuttling noise drew everyone’s attention to the ceiling.

“My web caught a tasty treat,” it said before lowering itself, a web attached to the crystals hung from its spinnerets. The creature was a human from the waist up, her breasts pale and nippleless, and her straight, long, black hair framed her pale face and six, red slit eyes.

Sanji blanched.

“This is your cavern?” You said. You knew grabbing the box wouldn’t be easy, but a giant spider-woman was extreme.

“My cavern,” she said, tilting her head, “and my food.” She clicked the mandibles on the sides of her jaw.

“Luffy, can you reach the box?” You unclasped your kusarigama and extended the chain between your hands.

Luffy cracked his knuckles. “I want to fight this thing.”

“I’ll get the box,” Sanji said, “I don’t fight women.”

He inched closer to the walls which had narrow ledges to precariously climb across. Your heart fell into your shoes. Sanji...You recalled the smiling, overjoyed faces of the children from the orphanage after Sanji made them breakfast, his fond and thoughtful expression when he talked about Zeff, his kindness in the kitchen, and his concerned gaze when Zoro pulled you and Luffy from the ledge. You couldn’t let him risk his life for Estella’s dream. You couldn’t. He’s going to fall if he tries to get it.

Zoro scoffed. “She’s not a woman.”

“I am Arachne,” the creature said.

“Sanji, wait—” you said.

The Arachne swung from her webbing towards the group. A warm, large muscled body collided with yours, sending you sideways into rubble and rock. Your skin smarted and burned where it hit the stones and jagged crystals. You blinked, stunned, as your mind lagged to piece together the details.

Zoro rolled off of you, blade drawn, and jumped to his feet. He saved me? You understood his earlier rescue because Luffy had been involved. He wouldn’t let his captain die—he was protective of him, cared about him even. But saving you didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense. Pirates weren’t loyal to people who weren’t their crew. You shook your head. Roronoa Zoro had saved your life twice. You adjusted your grip on the hilt of your kusarigama.

Time to repay the favor, you thought before charging the Arachne. You slid on your knees, ignoring the pain as the tiny rocks dug into your skin, and ducked beneath the creature’s large, hairy legs. Your chain whipped out, wrapping one leg at the joint before you rolled out from beneath her and jerked the chain over your shoulder for leverage.

The Arachne screeched in indignation, wobbling, although she remained steady on her other legs.

“Hold it steady,” Zoro shouted as his sword flashed in a quick, upward arc as he ran beneath the tied-up leg.

You stumbled forward as the leg was dismembered from its body and flung off in another direction.

The Arachne hissed, scrambling up the wall, and toward the ceiling. You spun your kusarigama, feeling safer with the weight in your hands, and the glowing steel beneath the crystalline fragments.

“Hey!” Luffy yelled, “where are you going?”

You spared a glance to Sanji. He was about halfway, his arms spread akimbo, his back to the wall and his feet crossing carefully over the ridge.

Luffy’s hands shot toward the Arachne and grabbed its rear legs, pulling her back, and the Arachne fired several sticky ropes of webbing at Luffy. He jumped, dodging the first splatter of webbing with impressive speed, and used his momentum to launch himself toward the Arachne.

Luffy landed on her back. They were halfway up the wall, closer to the ceiling than the floor, and your palms dampened as your adrenaline transmuted to fear. What if he falls? You weren’t sure if his Gum-Gum powers made him invincible to gravity and you didn’t want to find out.

You shouted, “Luffy, be careful!”

It’s part human, you worried your lip between your teeth, by that logic, my devil fruit powers should work on it. However, Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro weren’t safe. They didn’t have earplugs or headphones. You couldn’t risk using your voice on the Arachne and hurting them and you didn’t want to distract Sanji from his treacherous and focused climb to Pandora’s box.

Luffy wrestled with the creature, his legs were wrapped around the Arachne’s torso, and his fists moved too fast for your eyes to follow.

Zoro snapped your name and followed with, “Give me a boost.” His eyes were above, focused on Luffy, his green hair hidden by a black bandanna.

“You can’t reach him,” you said, interlacing your fingers, lowering yourself into a crouch, and bracing your back against the cavern’s wall.

Zoro said nothing and smirked. He ran toward you, planting his foot in your cupped hands, before launching himself up towards Arachne and Luffy. His boot scuffed against the wall and he grabbed the hanging webbing that swung from the Arachne. The creature slid downward but remained on the vertical wall. Her balance was affected by Luffy’s attacks and the weight of Zoro on her ‘tail’.

His muscles strained as he climbed the web, shedding pieces of webbing that fell like strange, spindly fluffs of white.

Sanji called your name and you looked. He held the box above his head, victorious and smiling, and your heart swelled. All this trouble for such a small thing, you thought.

“That’s mine!” The Arachne hissed, her face gushed blood, and half of her eyes were swollen shut from Luffy’s onslaught.

She reared back, bucking Luffy from her, and scuttled downward carrying Zoro with her. Luffy landed as a heap of limbs next to you, but his head popped back up, a little dazed but otherwise okay.

The Arachne’s intention was clear. She meant to attack Sanji—to punish him for stealing. Well, you weren’t going to let that happen. You planted your feet, your eyes narrowed and focused on the angles, the speed of her long, spider-legs, and the shape of her long, pale neck.

Kusarigama flew from your hand, its’ sickle-side cut through the air, and the cold chain unraveled through your fingers. The sickle zipped past her head and you tugged the chain, quick and forced, and the blade reversed direction and its’ curved edge sliced clean through her neck. A second passed. The Arachne’s head seemed to float through the air as it was rendered from her body with an arching spray of crimson that appeared black in the verdant pale light of the cave.

Her head hit the ground with a soft and rolling ‘thump’.

“That went well,” you said, breaking the silence, and a hysteric smile threatened to take hold of your lips. None of the children are going to believe this.

“Do you think anyone will believe that we fought a giant spider-lady?” asked Luffy.

Sanji said, “It’s no less believable than defeating Arlong’s crew.”

Your eyebrows raised. “You beat Arlong?” You thought Usopp had been lying when he shared that story.

Zoro sheathed his sword. “It was easy.”

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” Luffy said before smiling, though you assumed the question was rhetorical and didn’t answer him. You nudged the Arachne’s head with your foot and it rolled off the ledge and into the darkness below. It was eerie how easily you slipped into this crew’s dynamic. You didn’t fit in with them—you didn’t, but you could. And that was the scary part. However, you wouldn’t entertain ideas or dreams of leaving Nightingale Island. Your place was next to Estella and your future and fate were tied to hers.

You owed her after everything she did for you, after everything you’ve gone through together. No matter how easy it was to fight alongside the Straw Hats—you had your place in this world and it wasn’t with these pirates.

(author's note:

I'm sorry this took a while to post. I hope the length makes up for it <3 also happy belated birthday to Sanji !! xoxo )

#one piece fanfiction #reader insert #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #zoro x sanji #sanzoro #zoro x sanji x reader #zoro x sanji x you #sanji x zoro x reader #ot3 #opla fanfic #one piece live action fanfic #wip

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changingplumbob · 2 months ago

Text

CW: Low level sim spice & Language - Guide to Content Warnings

Coleman: Was he making fun of my name or was that an old person joke

Jackson: Fucked if I know. Hey Glenn, Glenn, did you get a prize for second place

Coleman: Don't worry if you didn't because we know just what to get you

Glenn: And what would that be...

Jackson: We'll... throw you a pity party!

The twins burst out laughing but Glenn finds it easier to shrug off than he thought he would. Hey if their taunting was going to help him move on, bring it!

Glenn: Wow, did it take you all day to think of that? Or did you need to workshop it the entire time I was busy

Jackson: *laughing* A pity party! Watcher I'm hilarious

Coleman: I'll play you a moving ballad on my violin so everyone can cry as much as you

Jackson: And I can write a special poem on the death of your relationship, it'll be all poignant and stuff

Glenn: Because you know all about relationship death right

Coleman: Oh, want some ice for that burn bro

Jackson: At least I get laid. You went for how long and didn't get any tail? Embarrassing

Glenn: Not really. Some of us are looking for more than just physical connection

Coleman: Unlike those guys that got it on in Grayson's bed

Jackson: *chuckling* Dude that was so funny

Glenn: Actually that was beyond a violation of privacy and trust

Coleman: What do you think? Glenn's mad because he wasn't invited to join them for a threesome

Jackson: Like he'd even know what to do with a dick other than faint. First or second loser probably still has his cherry

Coleman: If you're nice to us Glenn maybe we'll let you practice on us. But one at a time because we're queer not incesty

Glenn: Thanks but infant is not my type. Neither are people who make up words like incesty. A real vocabulary is attractive, you should think about investing in one sometime

Jackson: You're just mad we're young and fresh faced

Coleman: And depressed you're going to be single forever

Glenn: I survived far worse than your taunting when I was growing up you know

The twins smirked and stood up. For a moment Glenn thought through what shielding spells he knew but it turned out that they were just refilling the food bowls for their dogs who were coming in. Thrash was white with a blue harness, and Throttle was black with a red collar.

Jackson: Thrash! Throttle! Food!

Coleman: Oh hey Glenn, why didn't you pet Olive? The challenge for that day was literally interact with Olive. Did the producers not tell you

Jackson: Are you like anti dog or something

Coleman: Even idiots know if you want in with the owners you spoil the pets

Jackson: But not so much that you're stealing their affections. One time I tried befriending this girls cat and she said she'd rather I sleep with her sister so I did

Glenn: Look, I'm not actually here to talk to you two

Coleman: Oh no, we've been slighted. I'm gonna die from that blow

Jackson: How will my social life ever recover if Glenn the first or second loser won't talk to me

Glenn: Phoebus said Henri would be here

Coleman: He'll get back from the bakery in a bit unless he's shagging another customer

Jackson: He can't stand to be without us for long

Coleman: We're his favourite people

Glenn rather doubted it but it seemed in poor taste to criticize legal orphans for claiming to be beloved so he let them carry on.

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #simblr #my sims #ts4 #active simblr #GWG #GlennSutherland #JacksonDavis #ColemanDavis

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sahonithereadwolf · 1 year ago

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I went down another research hole the other night. Y'all might know about "Big Rock Candy Mountain" from O Brother, Where Art Thou...

youtube

But it, like most of the songs from that movie comes from a tradition of American folk songs. Big Rock Candy Mountains very specifically this tradition of hobo ballads. And, like setting aside the overtones of American colonialism that purvey all these sort of "there is a dreamland to the west for you to claim" songs, there is a cultural tradition of these. "Life is a struggle but there is a place where it's not if you can find it" is a very human sentiment.

There are plenty of medieval works on Cockaigne, which has a similar kinda tone to it. A land where the harsh realities of a blue collar or peasant class struggle can not exist.

But did you know about the secret gay lyrics of Big Rock Candy Mountain?

After Harry McClintoc recorded his version of this ballad, which he claimed he wrote in 1895 based off the stories he heard as a kid working on the railroad, a bunch of people took him to court because they claimed he stole and took parts of his song from a bunch of other hobo songs in the same traditions. Sweet Potato Mountain, Hobo's Heaven, An Appleknocker's Lament... As part of the court dispute, McClintock was told by the judge to perform the song. As art of the court record we have a last stanza which is not used in the cleaned up version used for records and "reputable venues". This was recorded as:

"The punk rolled up his big blue eyes And said to the jocker, "Sandy, I've hiked and hiked and wandered too, But I ain't seen any candy. I've hiked and hiked till my feet are sore And I'll be damned if I hike any more To be * * * * * * * * In the Big Rock Candy Mountains." Now NO ONE KNOWS what that last lyric is. However we can make some very educated inferences. This is about gay sex.

And it's not like "Big Rock Candy Mountains" is immune to commentary despite the more sanitized versions you'd see later from the likes of Burl Ives.

I'm thinking very specifically: "In The Big Rock Candy Mountains All the cops have wooden legs And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth" and

"In The Big Rock Candy Mountains The jails are made of tin And you can walk right out again As soon as you are in There ain't no short-handle shovels No axes, saws or picks I'm a-goin' to stay where you sleep all day Where they hung the jerk that invented work In The Big Rock Candy Mountains" Going back to the lyrics "The punk rolled up his big blue eyes"

Punk in this context and original use, especially in it's use in hobo culture refers to a younger man or boy being kept for sex and other menial task.

Which, you know, should put a whole new context to see how it's been used against other forms of youth culture. Hippies, greasers, punks,ect. And at least for me makes it's misuse feel even more slapdash and pathetic.

If you doubt this, it is quickly followed up by the term "Jocker" "And said to the jocker, 'Sandy," a slang term of the era referring to an aggressive and usually straight passing dom top, especially in the context of prison.

To be a little flippant, this is a twink grumbling to a daddy.

As I mentioned before, no one actually knows what that missing lyric is. Or at the very least it's never been made public.

But give it's proximity to "sore" and "more" a lot of guess tend to jump to the word "Whore".

Sam Eskin actually interviewed McClintock for Folkway Records and which, when asked about the lyrics said “the ambition of every hobo was to snare some kid to do his begging for him, among other things,”

This is something you see in a lot of early gay panic lit all the way up through the 80's. Especially as the moral authoritarianism of the Hayes code kicked in. But it also found itself in the early pulp lit where queerness could still exist (if behind a little mask and a performative, if dramatic, finger shake)

Queerness and homelessness were intertwined. Still are, both from my own personal experiences and if you look at the statistics. And it's not much of a leap to understand why. ---

But we do have some offered lyrics from other authors: "To be buggered sore like a hobo’s whore,” Is a popular one, which has it's origins from a 2002 folk music site called mudcat and waaaaay too British to read naturally if you ask me.

“And be cornholed till my ass is raw.” is another one you see passed around a lot. Which feels too forum humor.

George Milburn in 1930 offers "To be a homeguard with a lemonade card.” which is naive and sweet to say the least.

The fact is we still don't know this lyric, gay punchline (or at least gay panic) as it might be. All we know is that Big Rock Candy Mountain "Was never meant to be a parlor song" in McClintock's own words.

Well that and the insight it offers into social perceptions of queerness at the time and how it's shaped and shifted in the future.

What do you think this secret gay Big Rock Candy Mountain lyric is?

#big rock candy mountain #folklore posting #homelessness #queer history

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acaaai-t · 1 year ago

Text

resurface, my love

01. whispers of the wind

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: violence, blood, kidnapping, usage of guns, mentions of illegal drug trades, lots of cursing, bits of fluff and angst

Scaramouche was pissed.

It was evident with the grip he had on the newspaper.

His subordinates stood in the corner of the room, heads downcast. No words were spoken, for none wishes to be the one suffering under the wrath of the Balladeer.

On the small HD television hanging above his desk, a news broadcast began to play. Scaramouche brought his eyes up to watch it, his interest piqued.

"Our ever reliable detective has once again solve another puzzling crime! This breakthrough of the undergoing illegal drug trade has finally been stopped. So how did you do it, young detective?"

The camera panned to your face. He narrowed his eyes.

"Well, someone gave an anonymous tip about the whereabouts of the drug trade. All I did was crack the code and—" he switched the television off.

The silence was deafening.

Scaramouche slammed the newspaper to the side, the sound resonating around the too-empty room.

"How the fuck did you guys mess up this badly?" he growled. "I gave specific instructions and none of you were able to follow it?" His voice had an dangerous edge to it.

The room was still.

"You," he snarled, pointing at the male agent trembling in the corner. "Tell me everything that happened."

…

"You look worn out, are you alright?" your boss, Kujou Sara, asked.

You waved your hand. "I'm fine, it's just being surrounded by cameras all day drained me."

Sara laughed and patted your back. "I wouldn't be surprise. This case has been ongoing for years, you're the only one who've managed to close it."

"Well it was mostly thanks to that anonymous tip. If it wasn't for that, I feel this would never end," you said, a tired smile appearing.

"You are our best decoder here, couldn't replace you even if I tried," Sara said. "I'll take my leave now. You should quickly finish up too, everyone left already. Don’t tire yourself out too much.”

You nodded. "Night Sara."

The door clicked shut.

What was that message suppose to mean? Was it meant to be a threat? Should I tell Sara?— what if it was just a harmless prank?

You mindlessly typed away on your computer, yet you just could not bring yourself to focus on your work. It was unrelenting with the way it kept repeating over and over again in your mind.

The typing stopped. You couldn't bear it any longer. This continuous heavyweight of stress will only keep growing, festering until the host, you, finally suffocate under the pressure. It begs— screams to be free.

Pushing your chair back, you walked over to your window and nudged it opened it. A puff of the chilly autumn air gently tugged at the collar of your shirt.

The light glimmer of the moonlight was a dull comparison to the galaxy of clinquant star, the glittering white specks stretching across the vast skies of Teyvat.

"Stars..” you breathed out.

The two of you use to stargaze. It was a monthly routine, whenever the skies cleared the clouds for the river of stars to sparkle— was when the two of you lay next to each other on the grass, facing the deep blue empyrean.

He would point out the various constellations to you, rambling on about what it was and what it meant.

"I never thought you would be the one into astrology," you said. "Thought it was just a me thing."

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. "I'm a man of many things, what did you expect?"

You laughed.

No, he would never admit it.

He'd rather die than tell you that he'd learn about the stars of the sky just so he could tell you everything about it. He'd rather die than tell you that it was all because he wanted to see you smile, to hear your laughter. To see the surprise that lights up your eyes.

You wiped away an unsuspecting tear rolling down your cheeks. Everything was a constant reminder that the boy you once love is gone.

You hated it.

You could only drown yourself in work, taking on more cases than you should in an effort to forget his voice, his face— everything. But no matter how hard, how much you try, it just doesn't work.

For you could still feel the ghost of his touch brushing against your cheek, you could still hear his voice, calling out to you.

The soft humming of your computer brought you back.

Right, there was still work needed to be to finish. You sighed and pushed yourself away from the window.

"I'll just finish this page up, then l'll clock out," you muttered.

You sat back down on your chair and spun around in a useless attempt to calm your mind. A golden glint in the corner of your room caught your eye. You stopped spinning.

What's that?

It was a tiny pin in a shape of a badge. You squinted closer, there was an insignia stamp on it. It closely resembled something, yet you couldn't placed your mind on exactly what it is. You took out your phone and snapped a picture of it. Sending the picture to Heizou, you had made sure to ask him if he knew what that insignia represented.

Plink!

Startled, you looked up to where the source of noise came from, but there was nothing. It just you alone in your office.

Plink!

There it was again. You frowned, tucking your phone into your back pocket.

Suddenly the lights dimmed. Someone had cut the power to the entire building.

There wasn't enough time for you to react, for you froze—words caught up in your throat. You could see it, the tiny crack appearing on the windowpane. Whatever it was, it was slowly breaking down the barrier protecting you from the outside.

Slowly backing off, you reached for the gun tucked under your desk. The crack grew bigger. A silhouette of a person came into view. Your hands curled around the handle of the gun and tore it away from the hostler. A quick click had your gun locked and loaded.

You held your breath and slid under your desk.

The spiderweb crack only grew bigger before it effectively shattered— a loud 'ouch' following suit. Whoever was behind it must've gotten impatient and opted to punch through the glass instead.

Your eyes mirrored the reflection of the crumbling glass under the moonlight.

“Stupid lieutenants... always making me do the dirty work..." you heard the unknown muttering. A male— judging by the pitch of his voice.

There was the sound of glass breaking as the shadow of a man clambered in though the window, effectively blocking your only source of light.

He's in.

You dare not move.

"Anyone here? Hello?" his voice was gruff. "Hey little girl, I know you're in here. I saw you."

He stopped right at your desk and shoved the chair away.

You heard it crash into the bookshelf. A pair of dirty winter boots was all you could see.

Go away, you don't see me.

Much to your dismay, he didn't leave. You felt the blood rush up to your head when you saw him slowly bending down.

Fuck.

You came face to face with a man in dressed black and teal, a tall navy blue hat along with his black mask obscured his face. The only visible feature you could see was his golden orbs.

"Found you," there was a malicious glint in his eyes.

You didn't know what overcame you. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or it was purely on instinct— but whichever it may be had you aiming the gun at his face. You didn't think twice, squeezing your eyes shut and pulling the trigger. The resonating bang made you wince.

His figure went still, then slowly, he toppled backwards and crashed onto the floor— a pool of ugly red blood slowly seeping out.

I killed him.

"Hey Cor are you okay? I heard a gun go off," a new voice trailed over. The moonlight was once blocked again, a flashlight glaring over at corpse. "Cor— holy shit! Guys over here, hurry up! Cor?! Are you alive?!"

You wasted no time in scrambling away from the expired individual. The door nearly flew off its hinges as you bursted through. Fuck if the damages you've done would cost you a portion of your monthly salary, all it mattered to you was getting out. If you were fast enough, you could make it to the nearest police station to report the break-in— and attempted kidnapping.

The attackers were hot in pursuit. You heard the ever so familiar sound of a gun being loaded. A bullet whizzed by you, hitting the wooden structure of the building. You heard the wall cracked just the slightest bit.

The Tenryo House has never been so big before. Room after rooms, there just never seem to be an end to it. Your lungs burned. Everything seemed like a maze.

Suddenly a group of two blocked the only way you could escape. You looked back, the other band was also rapidly approaching. “Shit…” you mumbled. There were people blocking the only exit. You could only conclude that the perimeter of the building was also surrounded.

"Hey little girl," you could hear the heinous intent in his voice. "Now why don't you surrender? It'll be so much easier.

"As if,” you sneered, gun raised.

One of the bigger guys stepped forward. You tensed up, the rhythm of your heart beating in your head. He charged at you, his knife aimed for your eye.

Years of training kicked in. The gun was immediately lowered. You dodged to one side, barely avoiding death.

Scaramouche’s voice echoed in your head.

"You need to learn how to fight," Scaramouche had demanded.

"What? Why?" at that time you had complained. "I don't need to know how to fight. Can't you protect me?"

You frantically looked around, searching for anything that could be of help. Your gun was near useless, for you could clearly see the thick bulletproof vest strapped on tightly.

A knife, a wrench, anything you could use to defend yourself, to kill. You yelped as the knife whooshed by, just missing your head by a hairs breadth.

By this time the other group had already caught up, their weapons were locked on you. None dared fired yet, for why ruin a show spectacularly put on for them?

"I- I won't always be around to protect you," was his reply.

The front desk spilt in half, pens spilling everywhere.

Your opponent had long abandoned his knife— tossed away somewhere. Instead, he chose to use his fists. It was like playing tag but deadlier with a block of pure muscle.

You could only run. The only advantage you have over him was your nimbleness. You were a graceful swan drifting in the smooth waters, and he was the stark contrast— a giant stumbling through a cave too small.

There was no way you could escape from the Commission without him decking you.

You were beaten near unconscious. Bruises bloomed all over your body, specks of blood and dust dirtied your dress.

His fists were curled up into tiny balls. Dirt and grime covered his clothes in ugly splotches of brown. He wiped a bloody streak away from his face. His gaze was piercing as he stared down the two boys.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he sounded insane.

When his fists made contact with your stomach, you could do nothing, your wind knocked out of you. The second hit came, then the third, fourth.

You stumbled backwards each time the blow came upon you. Blocking each hit was getting increasingly difficult.

The light flickered back to life. For just the briefest moment, everyone paused. Then the lightbulb promptly exploded, leaving the room once again pitch-black.

That seconds under the bright light was your newfound source of energy, for you had saw everything you needed to know. Pushing away the pain throbbing in your lower abdomen, you made a break for the blade lying on the floor.

He was upon you almost instantly.

You felt an immense pressure on top of you. Your breath was knocked out. Yet despite this, you still grabbed onto the dagger and wrenched it towards yourself.

Mere seconds was all you need, an opening of some sort. Perhaps the gods above heard your wishes, for he suddenly froze over.

Seizing this moment, you jammed the knife into the only opening you found— his eye. Blood slowly dripped down his face, the knife firmly lodged in. With minor difficulty, you pulled the knife out.

It was then that his cries of pain came. You were released from his hold, tumbling to the side. His comrades ran to his side, a roll of bandages already in their hands.

You took this chance to run. In a way you felt bad, but it was a life or death situation. It was either you or him, and there can only be one winner.

One of them barked out an order. You couldn’t exactly hear what they said, but their actions told enough. Seemingly fed up with your antics, they began pelleting you with what’s left of their bullets.

One grazed your cheek and another clipped your arm. You felt your arm burn. The pain wasn’t noticeable at first, but then it started to fucking hurt. You used your hand to cover the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It was useless. Blood kept gushing out, staining your new shirt in a deep crimson.

The exit was right in front of your eyes. You shouldered through the two agents standing by the door, accidentally tripping one over in the process. Small droplets of blood trailed behind you.

The fresh air of Inazuma hits your face. It felt refreshingly cold— calming the burning pain in your arms for just the tiniest moment. You weren’t given enough time to relish it before the few remaining guys also came through, guns aimed.

You yelped and quickly ran behind a random building, only to encounter a poor straggler who seemed just as surprise to see you as you are to see him. No chances were taken though. With one fell swoop, you had knocked him unconscious.

You can’t rest, not yet. The pattering of their boots were heavy against the pavement as each spilt into smaller parties to search for you. Time was ticking.

Very slowly, you removed your hand from your wound. The bleeding had slowed, but blood was still dribbling out. You’d searched the unconscious person for any sort of first aid. As luck would have it, you found a small kit. In it was a small roll of gauze, a couple of alcohol prep pads, and bandages of all kinds.

You ripped opened the alcohol pads and took in a deep breath. It took every ounce of energy to suppress a scream building up. Your arms trembled.

“Now you see why you have to fight?” he was angry, yet not angry enough to leave you unattended.

“Yeah.. sorry,” you mumbled. You yelped when Scaramouche dabbed at your wounds. “Ah— Scara! A warning please.”

“Sorry.”

“You are not sorry, I can see you laughing— ouch!”

The roll of gauze may be short, but it was enough to temporarily patch your wound. You sealed it off with a Sailor Moon bandage. The bullet dug into your flesh, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on the pain right now.

Not in this dire situation. Footsteps were slowly approaching, each step slow. You frantically took out your phone.

“And what,” your blood ran cold. “Do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, phone slipping away. The cool muzzle of a small pistol was pressed up against your temple.

“Put the phone down.”

You did as told.

“Both hands up.”

You raised one arm.

“I said both.”

“I can’t,” you rebutted. “Your people shot my arm and now I can’t move it without screaming in pain.”

You heard her scoff. “Fucking idiots. Couldn’t even follow a simple order. And you. You are really weak, do you know? Can’t even handle a little bit of pain?”

Your free hand slowly edged towards the pistol lying by the unconscious fellow. “Well miss, have you ever been shot before?” you replied through gritted teeth.

She grinned. “Plenty.”

“Does it hurt?”

“You’re stalling for time,” she said. A flying mirror next to her glittered. It suddenly flashed red. “Get up.”

“So it doesn’t hurt? Then I suppose another one shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

You smiled and pointed the gun at her. Two shots was all it took for her body to go limp. The mirror fell to the side, cracked.

“The Maiden— she collapsed!”

“She’s been shot! Get the medic here!”

“Is she dead?!”

She wasn’t dead, you hadn’t shoot to kill. You had only fatally wounded her, rendering her temporarily useless.

The unconscious fellow stirred. They weren’t fully awake yet, but just for good measures, you dropped a semi-empty crate on their head. They knocked out once again.

You grabbed the Maiden’s broken mirror and ran. Perhaps Heizou can analyze it for you.

More enemies emerged from the shadows of the alleyways. Bullet shells tinkled against the pavement. Standing out in the open was far too risky.

An huge explosion rocked the ground. You stumbled and looked up, the image of fire and smoke mixed together reflecting in your eyes. Horror dawned on you when your realized they had just bombed the police station.

Another explosion was heard, this time seemingly closer to you. With no other choices left, you began running towards your abode. That was the only place you could find temporary sanctuary in.

A wail of a baby filled up the silence of the streets, followed by hushed chatter from citizens who had opened their window to look at the commotions. You heard the patters of footsteps closing in behind you.

“Just run, don’t stop,” you whispered to yourself.

“The next time they approach you, just run to me. Or punch them,” he said. “Either way works.”

“I don’t want to hurt them…”

“Simple, I’ll beat them up for you.”

Ducking through closed shops and weaving around in narrow alleyways, it wasn’t long before you reached home, completely out of breath. You grew up running around the streets of East Side Inazuma, so every twists and turns you’re familiar with. They were definitely strangers to this land, no doubt were you given a head start.

Pushing your keys in through the lock hole, you pushed opened the door just as quickly as you shut it. After making sure that every window, every door, was locked, you climbed upstairs to your bedroom.

Grabbing your first aid, you tore open your hastily made bandages. It was the same grueling process all over again—the stinging and burning of it. You checked the severity of your wound in the mirror.

Oh shit…

You could clearly see the silver glow of the bullet firmly wedged into the tissue of your skin. There was no way to get it out unless you seek professional help or you self-operate.

You could only carefully patch up your wound and hoped for the best. Tossing your jacket to the side, you changed into a more comfy wear, something suitable for both running and fighting. You were just tying your shoelaces when the door to your bedroom flew off its hinges.

It nearly crashed upon you. Standing by the doorframe was a small group consisting of maybe 7 people. More people than you liked in your house. The one standing in front— the ringleader, spoke up. Her purple lantern cackled with electrical energy.

“Now, either we can do this peacefully or we can do this the hard way,” she said, holding up two fingers. “You choose.”

“How about we do this outside and not in my room?”

She laughed. “And risk letting you get away again? Sorry love, you don’t make the choice here. If I were you, I’d surrender peacefully.” She smiled, revealing a neat row of sharp teeth.

“I’d rather not,” you said. “All of you started chasing and shooting me without even giving a reason as to why. There is no way in hell would I follow you.”

She sighed and shook her head, green hair swaying. “Then I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“No it can’t be.”

“You’ve made a bad choice,” she smiled again and disappeared in a flash of purple thunder. Small purple bats radiating a purple aura screeched.

And then they charged.

There was only so many that can fit in the room and they had all stupidly gotten themselves stuck in the doorframe, trying to fit through.

One managed to squeeze through, heading for you. In her hand held syringe containing some sort of green liquid sloshing around. You were prepared for this. When she came close enough, you grabbed her arm— the one with the syringe, and easily slammed her to the floor.

You smiled, proud of yourself. You didn’t spend years leaning how to fight for it to go to waste.

Another one came at you, and you ducked him. He crashed over to your desk, scattering everything onto the floor. You took this chance to ram into him, promptly using his body to smash your window.

You picked up the syringe from the hands of the unconscious person and began swinging it around. The tip eventually found its way to someones neck and they collapsed, body convulsing.

The temperature of your room suddenly dropped. The crowd of people parted, allowing a large man dressed in icy blue to step in. Your collection of keychains jingled with each step he took. He held out a large machine of some sort and pointed the nozzle at you.

What the fuck.

The machine whirred loudly, and you slowly backed towards the broken window. Eerie white mist pooled out from it. You felt goosebumps running down your arms.

It doesn’t take an idiot to know that you’ll probably die if you don’t get away in time.

You threw your chair at him to stall for time. Then you carefully crawled out the window as best as you can without cutting yourself open. Jagged shards scraped against your pants.

The jump down from the second floor to ground level wasn’t too high, you noted. Maybe you can make it down there without breaking a leg or two.

You shimmied over to the edge and took a deep breath. The people behind you crawled towards you. It reminded you of that time when centipedes began crawling out in massive groups from a ventilator and scaring the ever living shit out of you. You shivered at that memory, cold sweat clinging onto you.

You jumped.

Something crunched, you heard it. You check yourself for any injuries, but there was none.

Then what?…

You turned back around and nearly screamed. It was the body of the unfortunate enemy that had slipped and fell, their back bent at an awkward angle. A badge of some sort clattered against the pavement, rolling to a stop by your shoe. You picked it up and scampered away.

The badge— or pin, was exquisitely designed. Yet the more you examine it, the more you felt like you’ve seen this before.

Isn’t this…

An arm wrapped around your waist, the other suppressing your terrified screams. You angrily thrashed around, eyes wide in horror. The badge fell.

You raised one arm back and elbowed them as hard as you can. Adrenaline rush through your body once again as the grip around you loosened.

He stumbled back. One hand clutched at his nose. You could see blood gushing out from it.

With his free hand, he whipped out a butterfly knife. He looked like an maniac, smiling with blood dripping down his chin.

The group of enemies caught up. He held a hand out, and they all came to a stop.

“I’ll handle this,” his voice was gruff. You eyed him. Judging by his attire, he must be one of the higher ranking ones. The badges and small medals says it all.

The moon was at its fullest tonight, stars gleaming in the clear skies. It would��ve been the perfect night to go stargazing. The sight was almost beautiful if you weren’t literally fighting for your life.

You kept a steady rhythm in your mind, keeping yourself focus on the glint of the weapon.

A slash to the right. You dodged to the left. He barreled towards you. You dropped to the ground and swung your legs out. He fell, but was up not even seconds later. It’s the same all over again, block, parry, hit, get hit.

Dimly lit lanterns swung from the chilly breeze. It’s soft golden glow basked the streets in a warm blanket. His attacks were speeding up. Your body was worn out from the entire night of fighting and running. You don’t know how long you can keep going until you finally collapse from the exhaustion.

He was a blur of colors. You just couldn’t keep up. Not anymore.

The wound in your left arm was raging up in pain once again. You lower your guard for the just slightest moment, trying to catch your breath.

There wasn’t time for you to move, let alone react. You completely blanked out.

By the time you’ve snapped back, he was right in front of you— his blade piercing through your lower abdomen.

You couldn’t breath.

Everything began to blur together into blocks of colors. You could feel the warm blood slowly tricking down your stomach. Blood began pouring out when he removed the weapon. You stumbled.

“Give me the sedative.”

His voice sounded so faraway. “Fuckyou…” your words were slurred together. “No...”

“Tell the lord we’ve got her.”

Your eyes were half-lidded, movements sluggish. The engine of a van could be heard pulling up next to you. A blurry face appeared in your vision.

“Sleep well… never… have… back.”

His voice was fading away. You fought the the drowsiness overtaking you, but alas, the sedative was just too strong. The shattered mirror in your pocket fell with a quiet clink.

The last thing you could remember was excited mumbling of the onlookers, the feeling of your body being poked and prodded at, and the giant title plastered on the van that read, “NORTHLAND BANK.”

It was then you finally realized who was after you. The familiar print on the badges… you could only pray that Heizou— or someone, would be able to see what’s wrong.

It’s the Fatui, you bitterly thought to yourself. Of course it was the Fatui.

It was all you could remember before sleep consumed your consciousness, pulling you into the depths of nothingness.

…

“A blade; light as a feather, delicate as a bird,” he softly hummed to himself. “That blade; weighted and broken... wouldn’t you agree, my dear friend?”

The small creature curled up in his shoulder nuzzled its head against his chin. His fingers danced along the hilt of his katana.

“The moon is gorgeous tonight,” he murmured. “Let’s go report our findings to him, shall we?”

previous || series m.list || next

synopsis— [✩]

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

notes— [✩]

— as you can clearly tell by this chapter, I am not good at writing fight scenes 🙏 (ANYONE WANT TO TAKE A GUESS AS TO WHO IT WAS AT THE END)

taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy @alatusorrow @franaby @mellowberrie @sketcheeee @etherisy @crmnic @arizzu @vrisso @id3ru @mochicurls21 @kairuthewriter @suqarlaced @saetorii @anura100000 @divinechicha @starlightaura @karablueyt @supercoolusernameomg @uhh-traashyy @kazuuhhaaaa

[italicized usernames means I cannot tag you]

#[💫] acaaai-t #resurface my love #genshin #genshin impact #genshin series #genshin x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche genshin impact #genshin scaramouche #genshin angst #genshin fluff

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sadalmostlesbian · 1 month ago

Text

Hey y'all! I have fulfilled my promise and FINALLY updated my Sejarcus modern AU fic. Chapter three is up now, and I also made some minor edits to the first two chapters. I would love if y'all read it if it sounds like something you might enjoy.

Nothing but respect for my favorite blue-collar/pink-collar not-quite-a-couple not-quite-not-a-couple.

(Also, make sure to read the warnings in the tags and author's notes)

#sejarcus #sejanus plinth #marcus tbosas #this modern AU is consuming my life #fandom so small I created the fandom and am the sole member of it

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belaephemeral · 2 years ago

Text

of flesh and bone, thunder and lightning

Pairings: Wanderer x Reader (gender-neutral)

This oneshot will refer to Wanderer as “Scaramouche”. Feel free to replace this with the name you chose for him as you read!

Summary: Every gesture, touch and action that you share with him is something that you will always treasure. From the way his eyes securely lock onto yours, like two puzzle pieces falling into place, to the fingers that interlock with yours, like threads of an interwoven tapestry of adoration that perfectly weave together; it simply just isn’t enough. But what you always desire for are the kisses that are oh so characteristically him. You yearn for the invigorating way it nourishes and rejuvenates the ardour that blooms in your heart whenever he conveys his endearment through a loving and intimate embrace.

Word count: 3000

Author’s Note: Happy belated White Day everyone! (I meant to post this earlier but I had a presentation and a mock exam. Sorry for the wait!)

(PS: I named Wanderer “sayang” [“love/darling” in Bahasa Malaysia] because I couldn’t think of a name that would fully reflect his personality and what he means to me. I will always refer to him as “Scaramouche” so, I gave him a cute pet name! Though I was extremely compelled to call him baby girl. Haha, let me know what you named him!)

From the moment of his conception into that hollow, artificial shell to his current incarnation as the enigmatic, wandering wayfarer, the former renowned Balladeer isn’t well versed in the language of intimacy. In fact, he is rather perplexed with your inherent fluency in it.

One evening, he found you peering over his shoulder as the clouds soared overhead and the ink of nightfall spilled onto the expanse of sky that hung over your forms. “What do you want from me?” he inquires brusquely, inexperienced with the notion of being inextricably tethered to someone. A connection forged by the countless moments you have shared together, the numerous battlefields you have both emerged victorious and triumphant from as you stood over the bodies of your enemies, and the several occasions he’s learnt that he could tolerate your presence and the serene silences that envelop you both after a tiresome day. “Do enlighten me as to what you are thinking - though I can’t guarantee I’ll retain interest in this conversation if you simply wanted to engage in small talk.” As expected. There’s that honest and straightforward reaction that you’re well acquainted with and a familiar demonstration of his infamously sharp tongue and blunt remarks.

Absent-mindedly, you gingerly draw the pressed hems of his white collar closer to the centre of his chest, your hands slowly reaching towards the various embellishments that adorn his body and minutely adjusting them to their rightful place. Scaramouche notices the way your brows knit together, as though you were slightly vexed by the mild breeze prior that put them into a state of disarray and disturbed them from the rich cobalt and baby blue fabric that they were fastened to.

Inquisitively, his orbs observe your movements, waiting for your next words. He waits with the patience you would never have been able to rouse within him when you initially met. Gradually, your eyes meet his, and you struggle to conceal the beam that threatens to spill onto your face. The expectant look that glazes his features and the way your hands smooth out the folds of his signature attire reminds you of your various encounters with the felines you’ve run into throughout your journey. Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair just as you did with the inky-black shorthair you met a few hours ago, you tilt your head up to peer into his dark pools of purple and whisper, just loud enough for him to catch your words amongst the whistle of the wind and the howl of the approaching night: “The sun is setting; shall we retire for the night?”

Scaramouche isn’t used to physical displays of affection: your touch makes him flinch momentarily, but his muscles relax as your presence permeates into him and your delectable scent renders him defenceless. Simultaneously, his thoughts are occupied at the irony of how you intend to maintain his aesthetic integrity despite the grime and dust that speckles his pristine ivory outfit and the minuscule crimson cuts peppered onto his smooth and unblemished pale skin.

Continuing your tentative ministrations, you gaze into his dark indigo orbs, which are flecked with specks of aquamarine and royal blue - you gaze into them as though you’re searching both for an answer and searching for a glimpse into what could possibly run through that inquisitive and yet tranquil mind of his.

Abruptly, his head snaps away from yours, the ornaments adorning his body twinkling as he does so. He exhales, releasing a sound that, to an ordinary passerby, verges a fine line between mutual amiability and absolute contempt. In reality, he uses the derisive scoff that escapes him to try and conceal the flush that creeps along the apples of his cheeks and flourishes to the tips of his ears. Slowly, he closes one eye and snidely peeks at your form with a timbre full of mirth and he softly purrs: “Hmm? What, you can’t fall asleep with me around? And here I was - assuming you had something important to tell me. Well, despite expecting more, I guess it can’t be helped.” A glint of playfulness flashes onto his crystalline orbs. Candour laces every sentence that leaves his mouth but his words betray the way he unconsciously beckons you ever closer to him to witness the stars string themselves into constellations before your very eyes.

“Well, if it is ever anything about you, it most certainly is important to me.” The former Fatui Harbinger isn’t as sly as he thinks he is - your perceptive gaze catches traces of the pink that dusts his bewitching visage and the slightest dilation of his obsidian pupils. After he finally unravelled the persona he had skillfully hid underneath his artificial facade, you revel in the way your closeness flusters him and you relish in the way you are the only person he’d traverse these lands with to find his true identity and meaning in his newfound life.

“It’s astonishing how you can utter that without an ounce of shame. I guess it’s by your nature - fortunately your fighting capabilities and, well, decent appearance compensate for your rather brazen personality.”

With an astounded gasp, you lightly swat his shoulder, earning the faintest snigger from the male. Eyes glinting with mischief and a subtle smile curled with mirth, he observes you once again chuckling exasperatedly at his antics. “Well, excuse me for caring about you - aren’t you freezing in that outfit? At this rate, you might catch a cold.” As the moon rises, the temperature slowly depletes. The chill of the wind bites into your skin but Scaramouche seems unfazed by it - he, in fact, basks in the gusts that periodically billow by. His brows are no longer furrowed and his jaw unclenches, content with the way the breeze tousles his deep purple tresses and causes stray strands of hair flutter against his face.

Gently, you slink your arms around his shoulders, your fingers drawing nonsensical shapes on the nape of his neck. “I need to have my sparring partner in tip-top shape. Nursing you back to health is not something I want to add to my itinerary - you should be well-aware that my schedule is completely full.” You add haughtily, his teasing remarks spurring you to counter his verbal advance with a challenge of your own. “And I’ll have you know that in the time it will take for you to recover, my combat proficiency will certainly surpass yours in no time. If that’s the case, then I assume that you want to lose to me again?”

“Why you-” his head dives forward as he launches an attack on your jugular. “Rest assured, I do not have a delicate constitution, unlike those other ordinary mortals.” As he buries his nose into your collarbone and his digits trace your ribs and waist, you convulse with laughter as his touch dances against sensitive parts of your upper torso. Your hands attempt to resist his ministrations, but his physical strength overpowers you, not that you were putting much of a fight in the first place, and you’re stupefied by the teeth that unexpectedly graze your clavicle and leave the affected area tingling with electricity. Audaciously nipping your neck as you titter, he softly murmurs against your skin: “I’ll let you stew in your victory for today, koibito, but I’ll have you know that I do not intend on losing - must I remind you of who remains the reigning champion in all of our duels?”

Averting your head away from his firm grip, you blow a raspberry, sneering smugly at him: “Sure, call it whatever you want Scaramouche - construe the indisputable fact that my talents and ability outclass yours, which obviously excels way beyond your current capabilities, into whatever palatable narrative that will satiate you. Just accept your defeat already.”

His eyes catch yours and one of the corners of his mouth lifts upwards, just enough for you to notice the glint of his boyish fangs. “Oh, koibito, you’ll renounce those words once I conquer you on the battlefield tomorrow. I’ll remind you of the sweet taste of my overwhelming prowess.”

His intoxicating presence infiltrates your senses like a potent toxin: he renders you defenceless to his reticent whims. From prior fleeting meetings and brief acquaintanceship that solidifies into something more, it is in moments like these, you can feel the pulsing and robust bond that has bound you two together - a bond you nor he could sever without incapacitating the other that has been irrevocably tied to this everlasting string that connects your beings.

Swiftly slicing into the universe that has formed between you and him, a drop of rain splatters onto the plane of grass that lays beneath your feet. A few droplets multiply into a light drizzle, which then gradually lead to a downpour that descends relentlessly onto your figures.

Yelping as a cold stream of water cascades down your back, you instinctively pull Scaramouche closer to your form. Reaching your hand above your head, you promptly draw one end of his hat downwards in a futile attempt to shield both you and him from the torrential rain. Over the thundering pitter-patter descending above you, you make out an exasperated yell erupt from the form within your grasp: “Seriously, you’re using my hat as an umbrella?! The audacity!”

“Stop moving your mouth and start moving those legs! Let’s hurry to the house before we’re both soaked through!”

Briskly, your hand wraps around his lithe waist whilst the other clasps his nimble wrist. You pull him firmly towards the quaint cottage that Granny Ruoxin kindly let the two of you reside in after taking care of throng of Treasure Hoarders and stray agents of the Fatui who sought to disturb the peaceful village.

As the rain pelts down onto the vibrant expanse of orange and yellow fields, Scaramouche stumbles and teeters as he loses his footing. The dirt dampens with the downpour and the muddy surface threatens to pull him down as his ukon-geta sinks into the moist soil underneath his figure. Noticing his struggle, you whisk him into your arms. Hoisting his frame closer to your chest, you support his waist in one hand, tucking his form closer to your bosom as his legs are securely lifted up with your other hand.

Scaramouche’s features contort into one of shock but he is unable to fully explore his sudden astonishment as your ministrations cause him to desperately cling onto your shoulders to avoid falling down. Incredulously, he shouts: “A little warning would have been nice!” Closing his lids, to calm his thundering heartbeat and to allay the sudden spur of bewilderment, he hollers: “Is this really necessary? You shouldn’t fret over me in such a situation - put me down and take care of yourself first.”

Fidgeting in your hold, he ruffles like an agitated and displeased feline, clawing his way out of your secure embrace. For once, it isn’t because your actions have aroused that inherent feeling of vexation or irritation that wells in his being. For once, (even if these are things he’s thought about countless times, but he internally, indignantly and stubbornly refuses to accept this) he’s concerned about the hefty burden carrying him places on your form, already weary with the elemental reactions inflicted onto you and the countless swords and weapons you had to defend yourself and him against. For once, he’s afraid you’ll become ill with every transparent drop of water that descends onto your exquisite profile. For once, he’s at a conflict between relishing in how your arms sturdily and firmly grip his form with the same overwhelming strength and power he’s witnessed in innumerable battles, and reprimanding your foolish selflessness that blinds you from the danger of trekking through the vast plains of terrace fields and hills that await you on your journey to the quaint village.

“Pipe down, Scaramouche, do you honestly think that I would let you walk in this storm with sandals like that?” Glancing at the clogs that limply hang from his feet, he grimaces at the soil that cakes the dark wooden soles and he’s starkly reminded of the pain that shot up the length of his calf when he stumbled moments ago.

“Hmm? Cat got your tongue? If so, hold on tightly, ohimesama, let me take care of you now.” It’s astounding that even here, you’d snarkily tease him so. It’s astonishing that even now, you don’t seize your romantic advancements - not as you briskly send a cheeky wink and gallantly march towards the cozy cottage that awaits the two of you. Heavy rainfall splatters relentlessly onto your visage, which seems even more breathtaking as the water highlights your charming features. (Not that he’d actually vocalise these thoughts - maybe it’s because of his pride or because he’s afraid of inflating your ego any more than it already is. Perhaps it’s because he trips over the words he wishes to tell you, your beauty petrifying him so much so that he feels vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before and flustered that he lacks the same amount of experience you hold in amorous endeavours.)

After being well-acquainted with your headstrong, albeit also quite frustratingly stubborn and obstinate, nature, he surrenders to your whims. The only thing he can do is to securely loop his arms around your neck and, begrudgingly, use his hat to provide some way of deflecting the incessant downpour. He flushes at the way you reflexively move your head closer to his, your damp strands tickling his jaw. Instinctively, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, tucking yourself into him to cover what little could fit underneath his headwear.

It certainly will be a long journey back to Qingce Village, he muses, gazing beyond the tempestuous storm and the clouds brewing with strobes of lightning. The tenacious glint never leaves your captivating optics even as you inhale and exhale shakily whilst climbing the rolling hills and undulating pathways to your desired destination. Even as your chest heaves under his weight and tracks of rainwater stream down the curve of your cheek, the edge of your chin and the hollow of your neck, your hold is unfailingly firm under his lithe thighs and the broad column of his back and shoulders.

He’ll have to reward you for your efforts later - such chivalrous acts deserve commendation - something that even he is aware of. He acutely recalls how much you you yearn for his recognition - albeit not explicitly, he knows how voicing your merits inextricably affects you. Who is he to deny you your well-earned praise? Who is he to not demonstrate his utmost gratitude of your efforts? He’ll certainly show you his appreciation - he just hopes you’ll be able to bear the gravity of his newfound passion - a sudden onslaught of fervent ardour that consumes him wholly. It would be an expression you would have never expected from him but like your proficiency in wielding the elements, you’ll diligently endure him. After all, that’s what is expected of the partner of the former renowned Balladeer. And he knows you definitely won’t disappoint.

_____

Scaramouche isn’t one for showing his admiration outright - especially not in broad daylight and exposed to the judgemental scrutiny of outsiders who have no right to learn of his ardent affinity for you. He absolutely abhors the idea of anyone seeing how your actions make him putty in your hands. He detests the thought of anyone seeing how a heart manifests in his artificial rib cage, rattling against wire and alive and beating within that hollow shell of his puppet body.

Under the private gaze of the moon and your eyes only, away from the daunting, captious view of the outside world, he unravels himself to you. His touch is inexperienced, but as his reincarnation’s name suggests, he craves discovery and desires exploration.

Like electricity, his lips leave supple trails of kisses along your jugular - his actions igniting sparks in their wake and making your skin tingle with a numbing and thrilling static that persists even as he draws himself away from you. Despite the stringent, blunt and yet considerate facade he performs in-front of others, you can taste the lingering remnants of his territorial, cunning and dominant persona through the way he smirks against the expanse of your clavicle, and writes his name with the purple and light red flowers that begin to blossom on your torso. You’re submerged in the palpitating sensation he sends throughout your body, conducting a current of his fervent ardour to every area of your pliant and yielding form. It spreads through the vast network of veins and blood vessels that come to life with every caress of his hands. It jumpstarts an uproar of passion that had once lay dormant deep within the core of your being for so long, awakened by the energy he fuels into you with every movement of his deft digits and the ravenous purple orbs that bore into yours.

Eagerly and rapaciously, he consumes the sounds that escape your mouth, punctuated by the roaring strikes of thunder that briefly illuminate your entwined figures resting on your shared double bed and guided by the sustained metronome of the rain that continues to fall outside and casts shadows along the mahogany floors of the cottage. Selfishly, he drinks you in like you’re the only entity that will satiate this vehement desire - like you’re the only person to satisfy this intense hunger that ravishes his entire being. He delights in the way you squirm underneath his form, desperate to chase him, to hold him accountable for the pulsating ache he triggered into every single inch of skin, flesh and bone within your body, to ensure he’s responsible for the searing libido that courses through every fibre of your being.

Even within the haze of frantic, erratic movements and desperate, yearning caresses, he realises that in this moment, you never fail to make him feel like he belongs. Your presence provokes him to feel like he was always destined to be engulfed wholly by your tender embrace. Like he was preordained to be irrevocably tethered to your celestial presence, like he was fated to be loved by you. To return your fervent reassurances that ensure he is more than an just the discarded puppet he was born as, and the comfort you provide by will-fully devoting yourself to guiding him to the future that he deserves, he’ll drown you in his affections.

Ever chasing the next thrill, the next competition, he’ll see how long you can withstand before he completely overwhelms you.

After all, he’s grateful for everything you’ve done for him. This is just one of many ways for him to show his appreciation.

#genshin impact #Genshin #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #wanderer #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer x you #scaramouche fluff #gi scaramouche #gi wanderer #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact x reader #a bit spicy at the end whoops

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fandomlovingfreak · 7 months ago

Text

Sejanus Plinth x Coriolanus Snow

Wattpad I AO3

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 921

Disclaimer: I do not own The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Bridgerton or any of the characters. This work is not created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

General AU Notes at the End of the Chapter

Summary:

"Besides, your attendance is far more important than mine." Coriolanus purses his lips at that comment. Ah, yes, the true reason he must attend these blasted soirees.

Marriage.

How great delight from those sweet lips I taste

Whether I hear them speak, or feel them kiss

"How Great Delight" by William Wordsworth

------------------------------------------------------------

Enjoy

Tigris adjusts and then readjusts his white cravat, careful that the knot looks as perfect as if a valet had done it up. As much as he appreciates his cousin's help dressing, thinking of the implications grates on his nerves. They were Snows; he was a Viscount, for Christ's sake! They should have maids, valets, and a cook—people to do these things for them!

Instead of boundless wealth, his birthright as the ninth Viscount Snow, Coriolanus Snow inherited gambling debts and a title that meant little without the funds to keep up the family estate, the London home, and the lavish lifestyle his Grandmother still clung to.

Tigris straightens the collar of his tailcoat, smiling up at him, "You look handsome." It was the finest of his few well-fitting tailcoats. A stunning blue color that brought out the intensity of his eyes. Tigris had fashioned it satisfactorily, giving away nothing of their... financial struggles, as she had kept much of the lavish embellishments and expertly sewn stitching.

Another fact that grated on Coriolanus's nerves: his cousin, Lady Tigris Snow, had been forced to learn to fashion clothing for the family instead of paying visits to the modiste herself. Tigris had assured him plenty that she adored sewing, to create dresses for herself and the Grandma'am, waistcoats, tailcoats, and more for him... but really! A Lady- a Snow, more importantly- shouldn't be doing such... common work, in Coriolanus's mind.

"Only because of your-- talents," it made his stomach turn to compliment the styling she'd done to one of his father's old coats, even if she was saving them once again from embarrassment.

Tigris's laugh is soft and breathy, "Oh, baby cousin. It's you who makes the coat beautiful, not the other way around."

Coriolanus flushes slightly. He knew he was considered-- attractive to many of the Ton and commonfolk, but it still made him blush pink whenever someone used the word beautiful to describe his looks.

Tigris smiles at him, "Sorry, sorry. Handsome. Your handsomeness."

She knows him so well.

Coriolanus clears his throat and changing the subject, "Are you coming tonight?"

Tigris shakes her head, not meeting his eye. "I—I'm afraid I don't feel my best tonight."

"Headache?" Coriolanus asks, noting the lie for what it was. He knew his cousin was avoiding the events this London season because of a certain gentleman—one who most indubitably felt exactly the same about his beautiful cousin as she did him. Tigris, though, was under the impression that this gentleman would turn her away if he found out about Snow's fortune or lack thereof, and had been avoiding a public meeting to keep her feelings at bay. Too many times Coriolanus had caught his cousin shedding silent tears when she thought herself alone in the kitchen. He couldn't bear to see her tears.

"Besides," he's sure it must be a Snow trait to change the subject once one was uneasy, "Your attendance is far more important than mine."

Coriolanus purses his lips at that comment. Ah, yes, the true reason he must attend these blasted soirees.

Marriage.

The Viscount turns away from his cousin, pacing across the room in a manner that gives away his anxiety about the subject. This choice wasn't just for a content life; it was hardly about that. It was for money, a fortune. An alliance that would restore his family name and keep the Grandma'am and his cousin comfortable. Maybe somewhere in the middle, he could secure a particular marriage proposal for his dear cousin.

"Don't worry, Coryo," his cousin's voice is full of affection and understanding, "You are so handsome and splendid. Certainly, many of the ladies and gentlemen are already pining after you. You practically have the pick of the Ton."

"But, it's not about picking-" Coriolanus says in a frustrated tone, "It's about restoring our home, our wealth--"

Tigris stops him before he can begin his typical rant, "And those things are important to you, I am well aware, but you shouldn't marry only for wealth, Coryo. Focus on finding a life partner that can make you... happy as well." Tigris smiles at him as if it's that easy.

Coriolanus holds his tongue, wondering how on Earth his cousin had become so romantic in their shared environment. They ate what little they could afford, struggled to keep their fires lit, and wore clothing she fashioned from old garments left by their deceased respective parents—worn out, out-of-fashion, struggling, and poor! In Coriolanus's opinion, there was nothing to be romantic about in life—certainly not a prospective marriage.

He eventually nods, refusing to be the one to tamper out that flame of romanticism in her, even if it was foolish, in his humble opinion.

"Oh, Coryo," Tigris chuckles, "I know you don't believe in such things, but you never know. Perhaps you'll meet someone who catches your fancy tonight, and you'll understand..." She drifts off, certainly thinking of her gentleman friend.

He can feel her sadness as much as he can see it in her eyes.

"Perhaps," he humors her, "So, I ought to look my best," he says with a close-lipped smile.

Tigris smiles back, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "And you will." His cousin returns to fussing with his shirt collar once again, "I'll make sure you look extraordinary in case-- a dashing gentleman or stunning lady catches your eye."

Coriolanus smiles at her, genuine this time, "You always do."

"I always do," Tigris nods, a matching smile on her lips.

Hi there! Here are some other things you should know about this AU:

1. There's no homophobia in this Regency Era AU. Marrying someone of the same gender isn't uncommon or discouraged. It's normal for these people. 2. Coriolanus is bisexual. I think it's important to point out because it's often hinted at. But, again, it's not uncommon or odd for a man to marry a man or a woman to marry a woman in this AU. BUT, it's also important to note that Coriolanus would marry ANYONE if it meant he'd gain a fortune. 3. Coriolanus is British, Sejanus is American. This is Regency England. There is no Panem in this AU. 4. The one big thing I kept from Canon is that the Snow's are poor but act wealthy (in this AU it's because they hold a title in society).

I'll add anything else if I need to about this AU if questions arise!

Thanks for reading!

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paintdlady · 1 year ago

Text

A Long Engagement (pt. 1)

Wyll Ravengard x Tav / Arranged marriage AU

Word count: 5,225

Tav stared at the robe laid out across their neatly made bed, its navy color easily drew one’s eye to the embroidered constellation of silver stars stitched along the collar and across the sleeve cuffs. At the center of each star was a small white gemstone, twinkling in the soft candlelight. By sight alone, they could tell that it was truly a lovely garment, so subtly intricate and so unlike anything their parents would select.

It made Tav’s stomach twist in a sharp knot because nowadays such an intimate gift could only mean two things:

One: another suitor had come calling.

Two: Tav’s parents liked this one.

Most gifts were left in the reception hall to be personally hand delivered to an impassive Tav, and it always took everything in them to not look completely disgusted or bored.

But today’s gift was terrifying because it was grand and only grew lovelier the longer they admired it.

Swallowing thickly around the tight collar of anxiety, Tav finally dared to take a step closer and ran a careful finger along the constellations. Quickly, they were drawn towards a certain diagonal line of stars, the third of which was flanked by two smaller stars and created the shape of a dagger. Jassa’s Dagger.

Precious few knew this, but that was their favorite constellation. Was it also one of the few they could identify with ease? Yes. But that didn’t lessen their excitement. Whenever they found themself beneath the night’s dark blanket, Tav always looked for the dagger first.

From behind them, Tav could hear their bedroom door quickly open and close. Their hand flew to their bathrobe, clutching the collar close to hide away their once exposed chest.

“What are you doing just standing about, dear? Supper is nearly finished, and you should’ve been out of the bath ages ago! Please don’t tell me you were composing ballads in the tub again, you really ought to take more breaks from songwriting, it’s becoming an obsession-”

“Who sent this?” Tav asked, glancing behind to find their mother and her handmaiden, Estella approaching. “It’s a bold gift…”

“As bold as tonight’s guests. You should wear it, I believe it’ll most please them to see you sporting the beautiful robe.” Mother’s delight emanated from her, from the twinkle in her eyes to the hop in her step.

“Mother-“

“Don’t you agree, Estella?” Mother suddenly asked, cutting Tav off.

“Yes, ma’am,” the handmaiden nodded, she was just as eager as her lady if the look in her eye was to be trusted. Estella had always adored dressing Tav up, and delighted in any given reason to do so. Today was no exception. “If I may add, it would pair nicely with the young saer’s satin slippers and the silver chain belt Master Agustin gifted them just a tenday ago.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. My husband does so love spoiling Tav with the finest accessories.”

“Let me rephrase, mother,” Tav huffed. “What is the name of tonight’s most generous guest?”

But no answer came, not immediately. Mother’s smile remained as level as usual, reaching out to their child just to smooth the wrinkle from their brow.

“Must you always be so scrupulous, my pride and joy? Nobody would think less of you for just enjoying the gifts lavished upon you from time to time. Nothing pleases the eye so much as a pretty flower in full bloom, I daresay it’s even good for the heart,” she told them.

“Must you be so vexing?” they grumbled, begrudgingly accepting the powder blue tunic and a pair of black trousers from Estella.

“You will thank me for this someday,” Mother cooly replied as she turned to where Tav kept their jewelry box, more interested in finding the right gems for her child to wear tonight than fight the same old argument over again.

Tav ducked behind the folding screen to change into their clothes. Future spouse or not, Tav didn’t think it appropriate to greet their guests in nothing but their undergarments.

“You know the Beartails just handed their child away to the first bidder. Some…” Mother paused and her face scrunched as she waved her hand, likely thinking of a polite way to say ‘ass-hat’. “Some precocious cartographer, I believe. He teaches at an academy to actually make ends meet. You should be so glad your father cares for your comfort that he’d never settle for such a low earner.”

Personally, a cartographer seemed a fine career to Tav. Had they had the freedom to do so, they would’ve loved exploring the lands and drawing maps with nothing but their own skills and the silver lady, Selune, as their guide.

“A cartographer is not a stable career,” their mother said with such sharpness that it was almost as if she could read Tav’s very own thoughts.

“I didn’t even say anything!” They snapped back with a roll of their eyes, rounding the privacy screen.

“Would you like to fix your tone for me, Tavana?” Her cold and even voice made Tav stiffen. Their gaze dropped to the ground at their feet, not daring to look at her as she continued. “I think you’ll be far happier if you had a better attitude and were more kind to your parents who just want the best for you. Imagine being grateful for having people who care about you, wouldn’t that be nice?”

A heavy, oppressive silence filled the bedchamber as mother waited for Tav to answer her. But first they had to swallow the lump in their throat, neatly tucking away the ugliness that quelled within them. The unthinkable thoughts could not surface now.

“I’m sorry, mother.” Tav finally said. They didn’t want to be ungrateful. And mother was right, they didn’t have to hold off on promising Tav’s hand to anyone. It was an act of their love that they sent away any of the suitors who were too old or capricious, allowing Tav to even say no so long as they met their would-be spouse at least once and tried.

There were families who did not mind who their children wed so long as their coin purse was heavy or their reputation gilded enough. To marry for love was a rarity, it was a privilege that nobility sacrificed for the greater good of society - their allegiances had to be made with the politics of the world in mind. Tav’s tutor had done well to impart this knowledge upon Tav constantly throughout the years. In turn, it was their duty to weigh all the pros and cons of each suitor and settle with someone who came close to their most important ideals.

“I forgot myself,” they quietly added.

With a huge sigh, mother pulled Tav close enough to put the selected diamond earrings on for them. And then she took a moment to examine her child’s face. “You are my pride and joy, my little gem. I take no pleasure in pushing you so hard, you know this. But your father and I want to know you are well taken care of, and this is a good opportunity.”

“I do, I know,” they quickly assured. “You and father do me a great kindness, I shouldn’t react so hastily.”

“Good. Now be a good child and let Estella help you finish dressing. You must look good for our guests tonight,” mother paused thoughtfully, taking Tav’s chin in her hand, “for the Ravengards.”

She took only a moment to revel in the gobsmacked expression on Tav’s face, smugly grinning at them before she swept out of the room to resume her duties as hostess.

While still processing this information, Estella slipped the robe on Tav, adjusting the collar so it would sit properly and better show off the embroidery.

“Is it true, Estella?” They asked. “Is it really the Ravengards?”

The amused smile on the handmaiden’s face was all the answer they needed.

Of all the houses Tav would have guessed, the Ravengards were not within the first seven they would have thought of. That wasn’t a slight upon them, it was only that they were still new to high society. The family conformed in some ways, and took liberties where they pleased.

On the rare occasions Tav had been in the same room as the patriarch, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard had an air of stern propriety and intimidated them with just a passing glance. From his bones to his armor, the man was a warrior and leader tried true. Tav never would have guessed he, nor his son, would have interest in building alliances this way, nor such fine taste in garments. It just didn’t seem the sort of thing they would have put much thought to.

But perhaps the patriarch’s work with the Flaming Fist and later as a duke had brought him into acquaintance with a dressmaker who did care more than enough for everyone, because this robe was truly a work of wonders.

While cotton was an accessible fabric for everyone regardless of their wealth status, the cotton of this robe was so incredibly soft. It had been woven with such great care that Tav found it just as pretty as silk, but thankfully more breathable - they appreciated the fact their body heat could escape and not leave them on the verge of a sweating mess as Estella sat them before the vanity table and fixed their hair and makeup.

If they wanted, they could probably steal away to the training yard and take a few good wacks at a practice dummy to blow off a little steam after supper while the adults moved to the parlor. Tav wasn’t dedicated to the blade, but they did enjoy the occasional opportunity to release their pent up frustration and hit something every now and then. So the practicality of the garment was probably what Tav liked best about it if they were honest, thankful for something that didn’t limit their movement and require stillness. Many did not think of such things when ordering clothing for them.

“The young lord… this Wyll. I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him in person, it seems we’ve always just missed one another at social events. I hear he’s good with the blade though,” Tav mused, tilting their head up so Estella could line their eyes with kohl.

“Oh, he’s splendid! A real prodigy if I ever did see one - and I have, mind you. In fact, I saw him in a lower city tournament just months ago.”

“The lower city?” Tav asked, quietly amazed. Their own parents were so strict about letting them wander the lower city streets, there was no way they’d allow them to do that sort of thing. “How old is Wyll again, Estella?”

“He turned ten-and-six but a month ago.”

“So he’s a year younger than I,” they mumbled, brushing their fingers along the small gems at the cuff of their robe in thought. Sixteen years of age and the Ravengard heir was running through the streets like some sort of commoner. How reckless. As the marshal of the Flaming Fist, Tav thought Ulder would understand the dangers of the city best. And yet he allowed his son liberties that Tav’s strictly forbade out of concern for their safety. The mere idea of such a thing made Tav’s stomach twist with… with jealousy.

“Worry not, little gem. With Sir Wyll, you’ll hardly feel that year’s difference. He’s a clever child and already quite tall.” The handmaiden assured, misinterpreting the meaning of Tav’s words. Truthfully, they could hardly care about something like height. No, instead Tav wondered if they agreed to marry this Wyll Ravengard, could they play in the lower city too? Would he permit his spouse to follow him through the crowd, or would Tav only be exchanging one cage for another?

For ages, Tav had dreamt of exploring all the shops they passed on their way to Stormshore Tabernacle. Prayer was the only occasion when their parents would allow them out with only Estella by their side, and so Tav found freedom between incense, devotions, and lyre strings plucked in the name of Oghma himself.

“Careful, you’ll loosen them,” Estella warned, pulling Tav’s hands from fiddling at their finery.

“Right. Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts,” they confessed.

“What kind of thoughts?”

Estella’s question made Tav glance at her in the vanity mirror’s reflection while pushing thoughts of open air and cobblestone streets from their mind for now. Instead, they would speak of something light - something inconsequential and happy.

“Well, like if he’s handsome,” they answered with a coy smile.

An amused look crossed Estella’s face, interrupting her concentration just long enough to chuckle a little bit.

“A subjective matter, but yes. I suppose he is, that’s the common consensus. You’ll have to tell me your thoughts after you greet him.”

“Of course. It’d be nice to have someone to talk about my future husband with,” Tav conceded. The two shared a look, a moment of fleeting camaraderie not as employer and employee, but as two people who enjoyed swooning over the sweetest love songs and the most heartbreakingly doomed romance novels.

“Anytime, little gem. Now smile, we’re all ready!” Estella cheered as she gave one last final brush of iridescent powder to Tav’s cheekbones.

Rising to look at themself in the floor length mirror, Tav glanced at the handmaiden and could see she was quite proud of her work - and thinking of something.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself tonight,” they complimented, waiting to see what had the cogs in her mind turning so ferociously.

“I have, but that robe did most of the heavy lifting if we’re honest. When you have the time, could you perhaps ask Sir Ravengard who the tailor is? I think their work suits you well, we would do well to commission them for more pieces.” Estella said, for she had always had a keen eye for the latest fashions.

“I’m certain mother is already on it,” Tav assured, taking the offered silver chain belt and fastened it at their waist.

“She is most enterprising,” Estella smiled. “Now let us be off, saer.”

Giving the completed look one last gander, Tav quietly smoothed down their robes and then turned from one side to the other. They were, admittedly, quite pleased with their reflection. A flower in full bloom as mother had said. Now, it was off to see the hand that would pluck them if permitted.

“Right.” Withering with a wave of anxiety, Tav drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. This was for the best, mother and father would never endanger them.

“We already missed the initial reception, it’d be unseemly if we missed dinner.”

“Late for dinner? Oh my, now that’s a scandal that’ll shake the city itself,” Tav teased, following the handmaiden.

“It would,” Estella soberly agreed. “I pray they pardon your tardiness.”

“In my defense, I shouldn’t have been blindsided with this visit. Had I known, we would’ve had more time to prepare. Hells, I might’ve even been able to plan an impromptu trip out of the city,” Tav chuckled.

“Hush, this is an important matter at hand. I’ll hear nothing about running away, my poor nerves are dreadfully thin as it is,” Estella chided and then frowned when she received a delighted laugh in return.

All gleeful tittering came to a harsh stop when they rounded a corner and found a young man admiring one of the many paintings displayed in the hallway.

“M-Master Ravengard,” Estella stammered, giving a respectful bow of her head.

“Do forgive me for overhearing, but I hear Amn is lovely this time of year,” Ravengard said, slowly turning from the painting with his hands neatly folded together behind his back. His boyish smile faltered for a second as they made eye contact.

Oh. This was mortifying. Tav could not have dreamt a more embarrassing scenario than this, this was a nightmare. They had one objective tonight, and it was so damn simple they couldn’t have messed it up if they tried. All they had to do was charm their suitor and have them coming back, eager more than ever to make Tav their spouse.

And they had messed it up before they had even properly laid eyes upon him. Tav burned hot in embarrassment, bereft of any glee after being caught acting so uncouth.

“Tavana Silverwing?” Sir Wyll Ravengard guessed, eyeing them with an unreadable expression upon his face.

They looked to Estella, but the handmaiden very, very conveniently turned her head in the complete opposite direction at the very same time. The message was loud and clear: ‘you’re on your own, kid!’

“That is I,” they meekly replied finally, bracing for an offended lashing. They would deserve it after all. He’s gifted them a dazzling robe and they repaid his kindness with mockery. “Please, disregard what you heard, I was merely jesting. I truly appreciate the time and effort you’ve spared me, I just… I had no idea I was to expect company tonight and find myself… querulous.”

It was frustrating to be pinned beneath Sir Wyll’s gaze in such a horrible situation. On one hand, they wish he would get the confrontation over with, call them a spoiled brat and tell them he never wished to see them again. They would deserve it, Tav did not deny that. It was logical in the face of not being taken seriously. On the other hand, as this slow passing nightmare lingered, Tav could not stop themself from realizing how unbearably rich and lovely his eyes were. They were nearly the same shade as the dark tourmaline pin upon his lapel, glittering beautifully.

Finally, the young lord opened his mouth and he gave a hearty laugh, his amusement started Tav. But their befuddlement seemed to only egg him on more, which in turn made their body burn hotter.

“I’ve heard that your tongue is more silver than your wings, but to see it at play is a delight in itself,” the young Sir Ravengard chuckled as he watched Tav in all their bashful glory.

“You will have to forgive me for neither confirming nor denying that, sir. I- I’m not in the habit of talking about my tongue’s skill upon first meeting,” they replied with a humble bow, hoping to make him laugh more to salvage his impression of them.

From the quick raise of his eyebrows, he likely hadn’t expected such words to leave the mouth of the precious little gem of the Silverwing house. And yet he laughed, and Tav found he had a wonderful smile. “Apologies, saer. It seems I’ve gotten ahead of myself.”

“You’re forgiven so long as you can find it within yourself to accept my own apologies, Wyll Ravengard; student of the blade and, if my eyes do not deceive me, a connoisseur of the arts.”

“Then bygones are bygones,” he said. “I don’t know if I’d consider myself a connoisseur though, I merely stop and enjoy the flowers as I pass them.”

“And which flower has caught your eye so vehemently that you are out here in the hall while the party is inside?” Tav asked, looking across the wall that held many of their mother’s favorite pieces - an arrangement of ancestral portraits and historical events or landscapes.

“You.” Wyll’s voice was so soft, so painstakingly tender as he looked at the large family portrait. A confusing emotion nestled in Tav’s chest as they tried to discern his intentions and he continued. “I’ve admired your music for so long, but I don’t think I’ve ever been able to get a good look at the musician who can pluck so sweetly at the lyre that even the songbirds stop to listen. It’s nice to put a face to the melody.”

“You’ve heard me play?” It was the only thing they could think to ask in the midst of pure surprise.

“A few times. I’ve always wanted to come pay compliments to you whenever we were at the same social events, but you were always gone by the time I could peel myself away from the dancefloor.”

“Ah, yes. I’m not much for staying too late at such events,” they admitted. As much as they would love to participate in festivities, mother had them on a strict beauty regimen that included a full night’s rest. And Tav did not care for all the leering, the attention paid to them was so hungry at such events.

“Then allow me to compliment you now,” he said, pulling a flower from himself.

“Were you holding that the whole time?”

“Yes. I thought I’d give it to you when we first met, but then…” he slowly trailed off and Tav could feel their face burn.

“You overheard me talking about escape plans,” they groaned as they pressed their palms to their cheeks.

“I did mean what I said about Amn though,” he grinned.

“Ha. Ha. I’ll have you know I didn’t think you were just around the corner when I made that joke,” they whined.

“I suppose I have no choice but to believe you,” he continued to tease.

Suddenly, a roar of laughter came from further down the hall - the dining room. Tav could just faintly hear their father regaling a story from his old days, back when he sailed the sea and visited distant lands, trading goods and outwitting bad guys.

When Tav was still small, they had delighted in such tales, eagerly begging to hear them just before bedtime.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

“Your father has a real knack for storytelling, I don’t think I have ever been painted a more vivid picture. He makes one feel like they’re there on the journey with him. Is your home always this warm and cheerful?” Wyll asked, intending to compliment but must realize he hit a sore spot from the little furrow of Tav’s brow.

“It used to be…” they mumbled, but then quickly cleared their throat. “It’s no matter though, father is often away on business. Sacrifice begets privilege, and what matters most is that I know he loves me.” Whether their father liked them was a whole separate issue.

“That’s true,” Wyll nodded. “It’s a bit like me and my father. Sometimes he brings me to work with him, but sometimes he’s quite busy and I don’t see him for days on end.”

“Between the Fist and his ducal duties, I’m quite amazed he’s even found time for something like, well, this.”

Wyll chuckled with deep amusement. “That would be Counselor Florrick’s doing.”

“Ah. She is a woman with the most discerning eye.”

Of course Florrick would see the appeal of engaging Wyll and Tav together. The Silverwing family had a fair few merchants in their pocket and the respect of more old-fashioned houses. What sort of political move were they hoping to make? And how did it align with father’s interests? Tav tucked the query aside to mull over later when they had a moment’s peace for themself. For now it was important to play along with what they could infer their parents wanted from them: ensnare Wyll Ravengard’s attention, and seriously consider his hand in marriage.

“When Florrick first suggested this arrangement, I confess I wasn’t so sure what to think. But this… this has been both enlightening and a delight I will not soon forget. Do all courtings all begin like this?”

That amused Tav, making them quickly hide their mouth behind their hand when they couldn’t help but snort.

“Please, most first meetings with admirers bore me to tears. I shouldn’t say this, but the last admirer who came calling before you was so in love with the sound of their own voice, it made me want to swan dive into the ocean and never return,” they told him, making them both laugh.

“Sounds like they missed out on a lovely discussion, and I pity them for it.”

Tav paused then, surprised not by his compliment but his sincerity. It was laid out so plainly across his face and not hidden behind the usual snark or double entendres that Tav typically had to navigate through.

“You flatter me, sir-”

“Wyll. Just Wyll, please.”

“Oh. I-I couldn’t possibly, we’ve only just met,” Tav flustered between the beautiful robe and the idea of using his first name so soon. “It wouldn’t be proper, if someone overheard us-”

“What about in secret then, when it’s just us,” he suggested in a whisper, just low enough for them to hear. His warm breath against their ear made Tav smile despite themself.

“Very well then… Wyll.” His name slipped so slow and sweet from their mouth like honey.

“Thank you, Tavana.”

“Just Tav, please. I’m only Tavana when I’m in trouble and getting a scolding.”

“I’m sure we could find a little trouble if you’d like. Maybe a cliffside to practice our swan dives?”

Tav smiled back at him, “I would’ve taken you up on that offer last month. Tonight I’m quite keen to stop and admire the flowers.”

With a small step closer to him, Tav’s fingers ghosted over Wyll’s as they carefully plucked the flower from his hand. Somehow, they felt more flattered by this single bloom than any large bouquet previous suitors had pushed into their hands. At first glance, it was a humble offering. At second glance, it was as thoughtful as the robe he had gifted them.

“How did you manage to get such a beautiful flower from Lady Marie’s garden?” They asked. The old woman was so protective of her rare and exotic flowers, Tav wouldn’t have believed this gifted bloom came from her. But there was nowhere else in the city that could produce such a rare species as this. They knew this much because she had just been boasting about it at last week’s tea party she hosted to show them off.

“It’s not a very interesting story,” but his eyes beget a hint of mischief. “More importantly, your hands pluck only the finest and most perfect notes, I knew the same should be said of the petals that may find themselves between your fingers.”

“You… are an astoundingly good sweet-talker,” they chuckled as they rolled the stem between their fingers. “I fear my tongue is nothing but tin in comparison to yours.”

“If I recall correctly, it’s too early to be comparing tongues, Tav.”

If Wyll was truly like this all the time, so witty and charming, this was perhaps the best hope Tav had in regards to marriage for the longer they spoke with him, the fewer cons they found to his proposal. They didn’t need love at first sight, but to have his friendship? His good opinion? That could sustain Tav even better than what the bard songs promised.

“Wyll? How- please, pardon my curtness, but how do you feel about courting me?” Tav asked as they hand fiddled with an inlaid gem at their cuff, unable to phrase it more delicately. “Is this something you also want? Or is this just a formality, a favor for your father or Counselor Florrick?”

Wyll wasn’t expecting that, his smile twisted in confusion. “Do you not believe in my sincerity?”

“No, I do. But I also understand being willing to compromise for duty, to make the best of a situation. Courtship is… it’s more than flirty banter, it’s a serious matter to me and I want us to be on the same page.”

He quietly nodded, turning their words over in his head for a moment.

“I’ll speak clearly then. I never envisioned myself taking part in an arranged marriage, I have always envisioned taking a spouse out of love and still wish to do so. But from the first moment I heard your music, my heart was yours. And, well, I couldn’t bear to see you engaged to someone else before I could even confess my admiration.

“In a way, I’m even thankful this arrangement allowed me to come to you with all my intentions laid bare: I wish to get to know you, to better understand my feelings for you. So, I hope you don’t mind the idea of a long engagement… should we proceed together.”

There is a moment of silence as it sunk in that they were truly the precipice of forever. And his honesty deserved honesty in return.

“I would love that, a long engagement would be perfect. I just had to ask because I only want this if you do too. I couldn’t bear to be to you what others have been to me, you wouldn’t deserve that.” And in Tav’s experience, a forced connection could only ever become a target of misery and contempt.

He seemed to understand as his brow unfurrowed. “Tav…”

“I won’t lie to you and say I really believe in love at first sight, Wyll. That is a privilege I could never afford, that’s my sacrifice for my family. But, I can confidently tell you that I feel there is something worth tending to here. But beyond the good we could do together, I only want it if you want it too. Not your father, not my parents. You.”

“I do, I want this,” he assured and reached for them. “Not just for duty, but for myself.”

“And you understand the seriousness of this? People will be watching us, so it will be my duty to protect your honor as you protect mine.”

“Even if we weren’t courting, I could never allow someone to besmirch you,” he told them - a sentiment Tav had just been thinking to themself about Wyll. “I truly want to take my time winning your hand until the day our hearts know there will never be another for us.”

Appeased with his answers, Tav permitted him to take their hand. His palm was rough and calloused and that of someone unafraid of hard work - dedication. They felt proud that they were only nominally flustered when he kissed their bare knuckles.

“Well. I believe we have good news to tell our parents,” Tav said, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze before they let go, fingertips slowly sliding away from his and yet neither really moved.

Tav found themself lost in his eyes, thinking about the fact Wyll’s friendship was the greatest gift they had ever received, even better than the lovely robe. Sure, they only had it for mere minutes, and yet it had steadied Tav in ways no gold or art or jewelry could.

“Shall we head in then, Tav?” Wyll extended his arm out for them to take, ready to escort them in. And who were they to deny him? They linked their arm over his and took a deep breath, letting the reality of the moment sink in.

Come morrow, news of their courtship would make the rounds through society. The race for Tav’s hand would come to a wonderful halt, and they would have more time to focus intently upon that which they wanted. Their music, their daily trek for prayer, and - as it turned out - Wyll Ravengard.

Whatever their parents had planned would come later, a discussion for future Tav to deal with. Tonight they simply wanted to enjoy being treated like an equal and basking in Wyll’s beauty, his joy and laughter.

#wyll ravengard x tav #bg3 fic #i havent written fic in so long #so apologies but also all of my gratitude for reading this 💕

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