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thefuchsianeko · 2 years ago

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As a "fun" design exercise I decided to mess with the Hazbin characters' designs... Not really "redesigns," but more so "refined-designs"-- Keeping their overall look or "essence" while trying to simplify them and clean up their colour palettes, as well as making sure they all look distinct from one another.

I tried to stick close to the original's style but I couldn't help using thick lines, lol. Along with the simplified shapes, it gives them an early 2000s cartoon vibe I think.

For the colours I tried giving them more unique palettes, as well as making sure that they had enough contrast (the colour value of this show tends to be... not great). Also the lineup at the bottom isn't my final selection, it's just a selection to get a better idea of how they all might look together side-by-side.

Eh, tell me what you think. I could keep editing these but like, I'm tired of looking at them lol. More info on each design (plus a speedpaint) under the cut. It gets wordy, sorry.

Charlie: Not much to say besides she needs more contrast in her colours. I changed her shirt to the same colour as her corneas (yellow) so it doesn't blend in with her skin. I wish her eyes were still black (not only does it bring better attention to her face, but it works better with the idea that she's a doll-- yknow, painted on eyes? Does that make sense lol). In retrospect, maybe it would've been good to try some browns with her colours? Idk. I kept her red since she's the princess of Hell, and Hell's main colour seems to be red. Oh also, I gave her some lines on her face and hands just to make her look more like a puppet/doll. The rest of her body would have the same kind of joints/segments.

Vaggie: Ok I know her hair technically looks more moth-like in her og redesign but... it just seems like too much? Yknow? It's kind of outrageous. Idk how well my solution works but I tried simplifying it. I simplified her bow as well and made her stockings more like leggings. Her X-eye now hides behind her hair. Her gloves are shorter. Also I took away that thing around her waist that.... seems to be a different colour than everything else??? Idk what's up with that. Sorry I took away her feet. I tried out some blue and purple with her, I think it looks nice. Only thought about keeping the red bow because I thought maybe it'll match her with Charlie. Also sorry I took away her boobs 💀💀💀

Angel Dust: So unsure about how I drew him... Specifically, his 2nd set of arms looks so floppy and tacked on, and his legs... Idk I'm not great at digitigrade legs but I'm pretty sure that's officially what kind of legs he has. His head is weird. I think I got the idea of giving him big feet from Meppity's redesign video (her redesigns are some of my faves). I took away his bowtie because... too many of these guys have bowties, and he already has a choker too. Also I had the funny idea of all the Hotel employees wearing bowties/bows of some sort, and Angel is a patron but not an employee... Anyway. Kept his gold tooth to link him to Val (who also has a gold tooth), and kept the dots under his eyes since I THINK they're supposed to be representative of his spider eyes? They can be taken away if need be, though. His gloves don't go all the way up and kind of look like dish-washing gloves again but, the way his gloves go all the way up and his sleeves go into them... it just looks so weird to me. Idk, maybe I should've just given him shorter sleeves, or even no sleeves at all 🤔 And honestly I still have no idea what's going on with his pants. Are they short-shorts? Underwear? Didn't change them anyway. For the colours, I made sure all his gloves were the same colour (still don't know WHY they decided to make his 2nd set not only a different colour, but the SAME colour as his skin/fur????). Turned down the saturation on his hot-pink, and gave his right eye the light pink instead of that almost-black colour (still kept his eyes different colours because I remember seeing a really old sketch page of Angel that insinuated that there was a reason for his eye being black). Made some of the darker parts straight-black just because I've been using that in all the other character's palettes, but this can be changed to his almost-black colour. Also tried a more purple palette to get away from all the pink, kinda really like it.

Alastor: I originally tried his coat with coattails, but wasn't sure about it and made it the original shape. Took away his monocle because fuck that it's unnecessary and clutters his face. Made his antlers bigger. Swapped out his shirt collar to be like the one Charlie's og redesign has, because the way it goes all the way up like that gets on my nerves? Idk maybe I just don't know anything about fashion design but it doesn't scream 30's-suit to me. You could probably take away the collar, though. I wanted to try a lot of darker colours for his palette since he's like... kinda the bad guy. Dark colours would work well for him. I'm worried about his arms getting lost in the black of his coat, but that's why his cuffs and hands are a different colour. Really wanted to give him more than just red so I spread out the yellow of his teeth; I like how it looks for his shirt, it also works well with his eyes to draw you towards his face. I also tried to (again) lessen the saturation of his reds and pushed them more towards orange to better match the yellow. Kept all the brighter colours to his upper body to keep your eyes there, too.

Husk: I think Husk was one of my least favorite designs when the pilot came out because he's a real mess of detail. His wings are the worst. His redesign isn't much better (like dawg why's he got these random-ass hearts everywhere). Simplified his wings to just have some circles and rounded shapes. Kept some heart shapes (like his nose, bowtie, and paws) but added a couple diamond shapes, too (mainly his suspender buttons and the shape of his white chest-fur). Really wanted to have more blatant club and spade shapes too (to add to the poker theme), but didn't want it to get crowed and decided the rest of the rounded and heart shapes worked well enough. Made his eyebrows shorter and more square-shaped. Didn't have many ideas for colours but knew that I wanted to try some oranges and yellows. Made his eyebrows a darker colour, and changed his eyes to yellow corneas with black pupils. Stands out more that way, I think.

Niffty: Did you know her name is spelled with two Fs? I didn't. I don't like it... Anywayyyy. Swirled her hair a little more, and took the yellow streak out. Added some fluff under her dress just to match her apron. Kept the dots on her shirt (though there are only two now instead of three) because I'm assuming it'll make sense later (like idk maybe she was shot to death and that's what they represent), but I wonder if you can take those away for a cleaner design? Gave her more rounded shapes. I said before that all the Hotel employees would have bows/bowties of some sort for these designs: Niffty's would be her handkerchief (yknow, it's tied into a bow in the back? That works right...? Eh.) I took away her cheekmarks 1) to clear up her face and 2) to make Charlie's cheek marks seem more unique and doll-like. For Niffty's colours, I (again) turned down the saturation on her pink. I wanted to try using some green and purple on her, since her inspirations include B-movie aliens and the song One-Eyed, One-Horned, Flying Purple People Eater. Tried using different colours for her skin, since a lot of characters in Hazbin have white skin, and for Niffty specifically I think the white skin along with her white apron dries-out her look (if that makes sense?) Though I do agree her having yellow skin is NOT good if she really does end up being Japanese. I think pink skin works well for her, though. Oh! And again, it helps make Charlie's design more unique with her white skin, making her seem more porcelain. I made Niffty's eyes yellow like her teeth, and then used the same colour for her apron to unify the palette.

Cherri: Ok Cherri's design was my ABSOLUTE least favorite from the pilot, too many senseless details I HATE her ripped pants. So hard to look at. Idk if you noticed in the time lapse but I had to re-sketch Cherri because 1) her pose was too similar to Niffty's (I was making their poses similar to their official art) and 2) her hair was giving me trouble... I kinda hate how her hair hovers to the side like that? Tried re-shaping her hair and now it looks like she uses a TON of hairspray or something, lol. Took away her tattoo but kept her freckles. Took away the skirt thing(?) she's got on her pants. Took the symbol off her shirt, but added an X to her pants (can be taken away, though). Simplified the rips on her pants to just be ripped knees. put a heel on her left shoe so she doesn't look unbalanced/uncomfortable. Made her gloves shorter. For colours, I again took away her white skin for the same reason I took away Niffty's white skin (less "dried out" palette and makes Charlie look more unique/porcelain). Afaik Cherri's not Asian so yellow skin could work for her, though I also tried green skin. Since one of her themes is cherries I wanted to use reds, pinks, greens, and blacks. I tried some green for her clothes (and again her skin), and also turned some of her pinks more red. Made her hair darker for more contrast, and tried using some red for her hair instead of pink (I like the pink hair, but again... red like cherries). In general her colour palette was the hardest to figure out but I think I found some interesting things.

Sir Pentious: Sir Pent was my 2nd least-favorite pilot design by only a little 🤏. It's all his eyes. He's very hard to look at. I took away all the eyes on his tail, and turned down the saturation on the rest of the eyes EXCEPT the ones on his face (maybe I should have just made those reds much different colours, but it still looks a lot better with just the saturation down). Took away his stupid-ass goggles and made the face on his hat a lot simpler (combined the mouth with the hat band; it can still emote btw). Replaced his bowtie with... *quick google search* A jabot? It's supposed to be a jabot I think. I think that's what it's called. More 1700s than 1800s, but eh. Maybe I should've given him *quick google search* a cravat maybe??? Eh, eh, not a fashion expert but anyway. I thickened his mid-section so it eases into his tail better because, the way it is in the official design it always made him look like a slug to me? I looks too... squishy. Banana-slug-lookin' ass Also took away his red-tipped claws and made them straight black. For his colours, I think the grey and yellow works for him already, though I do wanna see how he'd look with more green or blue. Most of what I did colour-wise was the eyes, but also his suit; still grey, but trying both darker colours and pushing it more towards blue and purple. I wonder if I made his skin a little too dark? Is it kinda hard to see his features? Idk. Idk how I feel about these colours. Bleh.

#illustration #character design #hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #redesign #csp #clip studio paint #fanart #fan art #veez art

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aroseyetbloomedwrites · 1 year ago

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To be Surreptitious... Or not [An Iago/Francel de Haillenarte Fanfiction]

Working Chapter Title: Not so Clandestine

Rating: T (for future chapters)

Category: M/M

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Relationship: Iago (Original male character)/Francel de Haillenarte

Summary: A singular meeting, turned intimate and entirely endearing, evolves into a human like ritual for him. His taste is unforgettable, his aether to sup upon an addiction. A game turned serious. There is an evolution of something inside of him yet unnamed... Dare he speak it?

Notes: This will, as they come to me and I have time, be a series of stories in the life of my RP partner and I for our characters Francel and theirs, Iago. Permission to share was granted! A simplistic and relaxing story telling.

I can also be found on Ao3, at my new name, same as here, Aroseyetbloomedwrites!

See the First Chapter below:

This was a holy place, and as such his power did not afford him the protection with which to enter into the premises as much as he should like, the sloping gray walls a mocking tower over him as he awaits without. The doors are left open to the church, and the light shining on the other side of the building casts streams of blues and oranges through the stained glass windows, the beams of light do not quite reach the lone figure sitting within. Even without his hat, and the distance between them, the man; Iago, knew who he was watching. The lightly ruffled flax hair, the green scarf wrapped around an elegantly long neck, his most recent taste… his most recent addiction.

In the later evening hours, as light began to minutely wane, and cast more warmly in its descent, he had heard that Francel would sometimes come to this place alone. It's activity would be greater in the mornings, and yet here he would be instead when there are no groups and no leading priest, passing his devotions quietly, he did not feel the need to be seen or recognized in a pious display, and that was perhaps a more endearing quality of the young man; that he did not perform.

Iago does not feel the cold so keenly, though that his travels rarely bring him to Ishgard proper, he remains unaffected by the cold, but for the sake of passerby, and Francel's own unique discernment, has donned a thigh length, fur lined coat, elegant in the lines of its wistful designs. Similar to the frock worn by the nobility here, black as night and velvet raised swirling patterns along its exposed outers. Not so extravagant so as not to blend in, and it was not uncommon to see heeled boots, though that his were more severe and gave him several more additional ilms over Francel when they stood together. Francel was more modest, his thigh boots more practical and barely raised, but then, he does a lot more walking than Iago, who cannot feel the bite of heels anyways; he who travels mostly with void paths and clever teleportation magicks.

Iago, who stands unshivering against a lamp post, keenly watches into the building as Francel slowly comes to a stand. And then he will push away so that he might come as close as he dares to such a hallowed place without feeling its glowing burn. Tucked into his arm is a bouquet of roses with their thorns nipped, tied together with a purple ribbon and lightly frosted from the cold drift of snow which lazily circles downwards over them. It had collected in the deep dark purple of Iago's hair, but goes unnoticed and unmelting in the sleek strands. Francel sees him from the doorway, and at first his weariness is plain to see as Iago stands in the middle of the pathways, watchful. But then, that a wide smile overtakes Francel's rounded face as he spies who awaits him outside, quickly donning his hat and hurrying across the snow swept pavement to stand before him. He is unassuming and looks only into Iago's brilliant light gold eyes, and in an act of close familiarity gently reaches out with a gloved hand to brush those flakes of snow which had nestled atop Iago's hair off the crown of his head.

"My, but you did not have to wait outside!"

Iago gives a handsome little smile, and a gentle shake of his head.

"Would it not be rude of me, as an unbeliever?"

Francel gives pause, but his smile is still kindly and he casts a look over his shoulder and back towards the Halonic church he had just recently sought reprieve in.

"Mayhaps had we followed our old teachings, but in our hearts we shall learn to make room for all now, regardless of their beliefs."

When those deep blue eyes are cast back towards him, he finds he has no response and instead shrugs one shoulder dismissively and decides to present the roses to Francel instead. He holds them up and watches as the young lord becomes quite red across his nose and ears, and delights in the highlight of freckles across his cheeks that he can see. Had this body he possessed been living, Iago did not doubt his own dusk grey skin would warm in response, and darken under Francel's endearing fluster. For he was very infectious, and the dawning of a grin, and the growing warmth in those eyes certainly made him feel more… alive.

Francel receives of his gift graciously, with that sweeping smile and a shimmer in his eyes. Their hands brush in the exchange and the young lord flusters further, his smile wobbles and the corners of his eyes grow lines in the wake of the grin he tries to hold back. Then, that he should hide his face in the bulk of the flowers, his chin and mouth press into the array of petals softly frosted, and the normally peach pale skin of his freckled cheeks are alight with a matching rouge to the roses, now dusted with flakes which melt upon his warmed skin. Iago reaches out with his ungloved hands and lowers first Francel’s defensive arms, looking into his face as he touches him, his hand then brushing droplets of water from the bridge of his smaller nose, and the apples of his cheeks with the sweep of a thumb. Francel leans in to the touch, but gives a shiver and flutters those long lashes as he peers up at Iago.

"My, but you are cold to the tips of your fingers. Would you like to warm by a fire?"

Iago pulls away briefly, for he had forgotten to warm himself before daring to reach out and touch, and was blessed by Francel's inherent innocence and consistent worry.

"Only if you shall accompany me."

Francel seems to fluster again, bringing the roses back to his face and peering over them at Iago, whose lacquered lips turn up at their corners at Francel's sweetened countenance. But he is so precious, the way he shies and the way he demures, that Iago wishes to have more than one singular taste. But to dip his fingers into the cherry of this pie over and over again. He turns and gestures to the side, down the walk way, and Francel timidly puts his arm through Iago's to be guided back. Cradling his roses close to his chest while he feels the press of the man at his side. Sneaking glances from the corner of his eye at the others handsome profile, only to be caught and have to hide a timid smile with the turn of his head. Iago doesn't mind that Francel is so taken with him, he finds that had it been another it would perhaps have been annoying to play this game, but that Francel was so earnest and sweet and honest, it was impossible to grow annoyed.

And so arm in arm, they'd find warmth together and in each other.

#francel de haillenarte #oc/npc #voidsent #my writing #a series in courting #I can only spot so many errors before they become invisible to me gomen #this is the first fic I wrote a long time ago for my friend i cant wait to post the next!

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ceilingfan5 · 2 years ago

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[id: affirmative replies by three people: "we absolutely always do" "ALWAYS!", "yes !!!! to the ocs bit, not the insane bit sldfjksd"]

okay so your pal is goin thru it an had a weird dream the other day and was like. you could make a characters out of this. so:

things were going along just regular when out of nowhere the apocalypse was started by aliens who want to take all the life and energy out of the planet and leave it a shriveled husk, as you do

magic agrees this is bad and not good, selects a hero. a special little guy (gender neutral). once truly some nobody and now fate's specialest little favorite

[two picrews of an eyes-closed smiling character with messy pink hair, tan skin, and a plant motif. end id]

(they/them, does not talk and has no interest in doing so)

and they use their newfound INCREDIBLY POWERFUL MAGIC to beat back the energy eaters

[two picrews of a pointy-eared, grey-skinned character with long white hair, bright eye-makeup and a black/gold motif. and sharp teeth, that's important. end id] he would have starry freckles if picrew was better to me specifically.

this is The Prince of the End. his name is Finality and he isn't a man but he is a Prince so he figures that's close enough. his parent sent him to carve up this world like a big stupid ham and he was kind of taken aback when this required like, effort, and was hard and also difficult ??? there's some Hero fighting his forces??? please why is this so hard!! he just wants to drink glowstick juice and explore please do not make him make, battle decisions or whatever. oh man. his parent is going to be so angry.

the thing is though? the thing is...that Hero may be driving him nuts but also he can't stop thinkin about them............ 💕??

[two picrews of a pointy-eared, grey-skinned character with long white hair in a bun and sharp teeth, wearing a high-necked black outfit and looking irritated. in one he is wearing armor. end id] he has a big scar on his neck (from when he almost died) which i both put on in the picrew and immediately covered but you and i know it's there. we know.

this is Charge, the Knight of the End and Finality's Long Suffering Right Hand Man. obviously. listen. obviously he is loyal to a fault and has been pining desperately after Fi's stupid ass for ages. he would follow that fool over a cliff, even if he complained the whole time. He used to be an assassin. he thinks about going back to it sometimes, but would never leave Fi if he was still alive. and that stupid Hero? he's definitely going to kill them. and then they'll be able to hollow out this world and get back to normal, with no distractions.

forget the fact that he hasn't bested Hero in a fight once, and the last time Hero fully had him, could have taken him out, finished the job, and gave him a cheeky kiss and left instead. he hasn't been staying awake at night thinking about it. shut up. do you know how sharp his blades are? don't mention it again.

anyway it's the perfect blend of enemies to lovers and also Loyal Knight and Royal and also, and also, and another thing-

sorry ive been going insane do you want to hear about my new ocs

#sparks in the night #my ocs #workin on getting art of them but my brain has been on fire oatmeal so you know how it is #been vibrating at speeds

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sserpente · 4 years ago

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A/N: So this is a much requested Part II of this Christmas Imagine which I suppose you can also read on its own. Also has requests from @keepcalmandtravelonkate and @fandom-rpblog as well as the exclusive Zoom meeting idea. Haha, enjoy everyone! ♥

Words: 1822 Warnings: fluff

Christmas Eve came sooner than you had thought and it was about as cheerful as you had imagined it. Thor greeted you with mug of steaming hot chocolate first thing in the morning, wearing the ugly Christmas sweater you had bought him last year and Tony was already in the spacious living room with Pepper to finish up the preparations for his annual Christmas party.

You spent the entire day baking biscuits and didn’t see Loki all day but for some peculiar reason you hoped that he too would attend the biggest Christmas party in New York City. Tony had invited everyone—no, that was not entirely true, the party was, in fact, for everyone—especially those who had no one else to spend Christmas Eve with or wanted to do so with none other than the famous Avengers.

With a sigh, you finished applying your red lipstick and admired yourself in the mirror. The green dress shimmering like a thousand tiny crystals had cost you way more than what you would normally spend on clothes but the occasion was worth it. You had only realised after that green was Loki’s colour too. Another sigh escaped your lips.

The God of Mischief and you had not really spoken since the roof-incident. Part of you wondered whether he was about as confused as you about what had happened between you, especially after Thor had interpreted your entanglement in a romantic manner, the other insisted you didn’t think too much of it. Loki was just… Loki. Mysterious, mischievous and handsome. Wait… handsome?

By the time you arrived at the party, more than two dozen guests had already arrived. Dressed in Christmas pullovers, suits or festive dresses much like you, they held small glasses full of mulled wine, eggnog or champagne, munching on biscuits and other Christmas treats and chatting with each other and the superheroes who had already joined the party guests, impressing them with their stories and their skills.

Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Loki standing only a few feet away from you. Heavens, he should not be allowed to wear suits. Instead of the light version of his Asgardian signature outfit you usually saw him in, the God of Mischief was dressed in an all-black suit complimenting his raven hair and tall figure. It was perfect to blend in and not attract too much attention, for many citizens still avoided him like the plague after everything that had happened only a few years back. Your eyes met, sending waves of electricity though you, and he nodded.

You furrowed your brows when somebody spoke your name. “Is that you?” Much to your dismay, you recognised the voice immediately. It belonged to Derek, your ex-boyfriend. Derek who collected action figures of the Avengers and who owned a Captain America costume worth five-hundred dollars. Derek, who had cheated on you with other women and, upon your break-up, had blamed you for the sexual imbalance in your relationship. Needless to say, you had not exactly ended it on good terms. The last thing you wanted to do was chat to him of all people on Christmas Eve. Much rather, you’d finally spend some time with Loki again. He was fun to be around once he had warmed up to someone…

“I tried to text you like… a hundred times.”

“I saw. I blocked your number after fifty.” You retorted.

“Don’t be like that. I was going to make up, you know.”

“You literally told me it’s my fault that you went ahead and fucked other women behind my back, Derek!”

“Because you didn’t give me what I need in the bedroom, baby. We should have talked about that more. It wouldn’t happen again. Let’s talk about this. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay… Care to dance with me then?”

“Absolutely not.” You hissed.

“Come on. You are not here with someone, are you?”

You blinked. Fuck. Think, think, think. “Yes, actually.” You lied quickly. Your eyes fell on Loki who met your gaze again in a strange and almost affectionate way—something had definitely changed between you since he had helped you decorate the Avengers facility and you remembered, with butterflies in your belly, how he had caught you in his arms when you had fallen off the roof like a bird with broken wings. The idea came to you before you could properly think it through. Derek would never dare to defy someone like Loki. He was your perfect alibi to get rid of him.

“I’m here with my boyfriend. You probably know Loki?” Before you could change your mind, you stepped forward, closed the remaining distance between you and put your arm under Loki’s. He did not fail to react. Turning away from Thor, he frowned and stared at your linked arms, then opened his mouth to question you. Much to your relief, however, the gesture did not seem to anger him.

You shot him a pleading glance. Play along, you thought. Please, take the hint.

“Are you serious right now?” Derek spat, a both disgusted and shocked expression on his face.

Much to your surprise—or maybe not—Loki wrapped his arms around your middle then, pressing you against his strong body. Your heart skipped a beat. This felt like him cradling you in his arms like a bride, only more… intense, for this time—this time, it was actually intentional.

Loki gave Derek a glare, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “Are you alright, my sweet mortal?” My sweet mortal? “I believe you have promised me a dance.”

Derek swallowed, blinking at you a few times—and then, without a word, he shook his head and disappeared in the burbling and dancing crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Good thing for you he’d always been a coward.

But while relief was flooding your veins, at the very same time, adrenaline set every single cell of your body on fire. Loki was still holding you. His lips against your skin had felt like the gentle kiss of a butterfly… You looked up, if anything not to make the situation even more awkward than it already was, given that by now, both Thor and Natasha had become rather taken aback witnesses as well.

“Thank you. I really owe you.” You muttered.

“I take it this was a former suitor of yours?”

You gave him a weak smile. “That’s a very elegant way to put it but yes, he is my ex-boyfriend. I left him when I found out he cheated on me—repeatedly. I panicked when he approached me and I knew he’d be scared of you.”

“Why thank you.” Loki replied with dismay before, much to your surprise, a smirk grew on his lips.

“No! I just meant…”

“I know what you meant. So?”

“S-so what?”

“He is still watching you. You would do well to keep up the act.” Loki said, keeping you from spinning around to check. But he was probably right either way. You had just announced in front of a bunch of strangers as well as your ex-boyfriend and two Avengers that Loki and you were dating. You were honestly surprised the Trickster did not at all seem too bothered by this very circumstance, not to mention what it meant for you. Ever since the roof-incident, you certainly didn’t mind clinging onto him like that.

“Dance with me.” He commanded softly, one of his large hands coming to rest on your waist while the other interlinked with yours. “He will lose interest if you feign easiness.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into him to not raise any suspicion and taking a deep breath when the side of your face connected with his chest. Loki rested his chin on the top of your head, weighing you gently from side to side as if the music was made of waves carrying you over an ocean. It was a classic playing right now—What are you doing New Year’s Eve by Ella Fitzgerald—sweet, calm… romantic. This evening was going in a very dangerous direction now but you couldn’t help but feel safe and protected in the God of Mischief’s arms. Who would have thought that putting up Christmas decoration together would create such a strong bond between two people… a mortal and a god on top of that?

“I got you a Christmas present, you know.” You murmured after a while.

His voice vibrated in his chest, you could feel it against your cheek. “Did you now?”

“Hmm…” He stole away your ability to speak. That was so unfair! “I was going to give it to you tomorrow morning but… would you like me to give it to you now, in private?” It would be the perfect excuse to get away from here for a bit too, even if, in better lighting, Loki would probably notice your blushed cheeks.

“Lead the way, my sweet mortal.” There it was again. Smiling up at him sheepishly, you moved a step back and took his hand, practically fleeing from the scene.

Loki remained in the doorway when you reached your room. Whether it was out of decency or respect, you couldn’t quite tell. You crossed your room with quick steps, reaching for Loki’s gift under your bed. You had wrapped it in green paper and decorated it with a golden bow. A bit of a cliché perhaps but it looked just perfect.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.” You said when you returned to him and handed it to him. He only took it hesitatingly.

“Why did you get me a gift?”

You shrugged. “I just wanted to be nice. I doubt the others will have gotten you something so I thought… just so you can unwrap something too?” You almost choked on your nervous laughter. “You know I almost decided not to give it to you after all after you almost drove me mad when I was hanging up the Christmas lights.”

Loki chuckled. “I suppose you made that consideration before I saved your life.”

“More or less...” You replied, winking at him. Hey… this isn’t so hard after all!

Your heart was pounding in your chest by the time he unwrapped it, revealing the notebook and the green and gold fountain pen you had gotten him. It even came with green ink.

“It’s not much, really, just…” You said quickly. “I keep seeing you scribbling and reading a lot and I thought…”

“Thank you.” He interrupted. Honesty swung in his smooth voice, making your heart beat faster in an instant. At this speed, you were going to need an ambulance soon.

You smiled. “I ought to thank you. Derek is a dick. You saved me twice now, I’m in your debt.”

Loki chuckled once more, looking you deeply in the eye. “Yes. I believe you are.” It was, without a doubt, a promise.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente

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emerald-studies · 4 years ago

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Racist Clothing Brands + Black Brands to Buy From Instead:

Racist Brands

Chanel

Chanel has been repeatedly accused of racially profiling Black customers and last year they hired a white woman as head of their "diversity and inclusion" department.

Gucci

Gucci has a complicated history with the Black community, stemming from them all but trying to destroy Dapper Dan's business only to hire him two decades later. Most recently they came under fire for releasing a sweater that had suspiciously Blackface elements and stealing designs from Black designers.

Prada

Prada has a similar history and they recently had to apologize after releasing a collection of monkey key chains.

Dior

Dior's most recent fragrance campaign came under fire for racist undertones but a Black Hollywood stylist also gave BET.com an account of an incident that she had with a brand. The stylist requests to remain anonymous says, "they compromised our creative relationship by not following through on requests and instead loaning looks that were promised to me to white actors instead."

Celine

Celine's branding is notoriously extremely thin and extremely white. A quick scroll of their social media will reveal exactly their opinion on Black lives.

Barney’s

Before going bankrupt, Barney's had to pay out a settlement in a racial discrimination case of $525k to two plantiffs.

Moda Operandi

A former employee of the company released this thread on Moda Operandi, citing several micro aggressions she suffered there.

Burberry

Burberry issued an apology after releasing a sweater featuring a noose motif.

Tommy Hilfiger

In 1996, Tommy Hilfiger famously made comments against the Black community and has since clarified what he meant, but the hurt in the community lingers.

Moschino

Managers discriminated against black customers who did not appear to be rich or famous.

“If a potential black client was not a celebrity and did not have an outward appearance of money via diamonds or name brands, defendant [Ranna] Selbak called them a ‘Serena’ to other sales associates and wanted the ‘Serena’ to be closely watched,” according to the complaint.

Versace

A former male Versace employee sued Versace for allegedly firing him after his manager realized he was Black.

Zara

Zara was accused of using racial code words for black and Latinx customers. The Center for Popular Democracy surveyed 251 Zara employees in New York City about the retailer’s practices. Poll respondents said that when the term “special order” was used at the store, employees were to find the location of the shoppers in question and follow them around. Black customers were most often described as “special orders,” according to the survey results.

Reformation

They were criticised for their internal practices by a black former employee, Elle Santiago. Santiago said she was denied work promotions in favor of white colleagues, as well as being ignored by the company founder, Yael Aflalo, because of her race.

“Being overlooked and undervalued as a woman of color who worked and managed their flagship store for three years was the hardest,” Santiago wrote in an Instagram post picked up by industry watchdog Diet Prada. “I cried many times knowing [that] the color of my skin would get me nowhere in the company.”

Urban Outfitters

“As one of very few PoC [people of color] I quickly noticed the toxic environment I’d joined,” says the former employee, who wishes to remain anonymous. “Within my first month my manager made a flippant racist comment in regards to an Uber I’d called; the driver’s name was Muhammad. Her comment was, ‘You would get a Muhammad’ – in what I can only take as a comment made because of my heritage.

“There’s no PoC in the executive team and very little representation of PoC in head office, on the website, marketing campaigns and within the retail management teams.”

The company has a history of producing offensive items of clothing, including a seemingly blood-spattered T-shirt seen as a reference to the 1970 Kent State shootings; a T-shirt in a color named “Obama/Black”; another featuring a six-pointed badge, which seemed to allude to the Star of David badge that Jewish people were forced to wear during the Holocaust; and a racially insensitive Navajo line which used the Navajo nation name illegally.

Dolce & Gabbana

Ads, featured a Chinese woman struggling to eat spaghetti and pizza with chopsticks.

Comme des Garçons

White models wore wigs of traditional Black people’s hairstyles during its men’s autumn/winter 2020 show.

BLACK BRANDS

ASATA MAISE

This designer transforms vintage fabrics into unique pieces that are made to be photographed. I mean, this whole slideshow of looks is A-R-T. Of course, being a one-person business can be overwhelming, so if you have the means, you can donate to Asata's GoFundMe which will provide her with equipment to keep up with demand.

Website: asatamaise.com

MIE

If dreamy, flowy dresses are up your alley, you definitely want to give this brand a follow. All the pretty pieces, including this stunning red puff-sleeve number, are made by local seamstresses and artisans in Lagos, Nigeria where it's based.

Website: mie.ng

JBD Apparel

Kim Kardashian recently gave this brand a shoutout, and it's easy to see why she's a fan of these body-hugging knit sets. All the pieces are handmade to order.

Website: jbdapparel.com

PHLEMUNS

Another celeb fave is this gender-neutral brand designed by James Flemons and based out in Los Angeles. Solange Knowles, Lizzo, Billie Eilish, Clairo, Lil Nas X, Miley Cyrus, and Bella Hadid have all worn its designs.

Website: phlemuns.com

RIOT SWIM

Looking for a truly standout swimwear piece to add to your summer wardrobe? Check out this label designed by Monti Landers featuring minimalistic silhouettes and shades that blend in seamlessly with darker skin tones.

Website: riotswim.com

COME BACK AS A FLOWER

Specializing in hand-dyed garments, the pieces are ethically made using 100 percent recycled cotton. It also does drops of cool vintage tees, and stars like ASAP Rocky and Big Sean have worn its clothes.

Website: cbaaf.org

HUMANS BEFORE HANDLES

This jewelry label has some of the cutest accessories for summer (eyeing these seashell ones, wow), and most impressive is the fact that everything is under $50.

Website: humansbeforehandles.com

LAQUAN SMITH

Here’s a real celeb fave (Rihanna, Beyoncé, and sooo many more have worn his pieces). Go to LaQuan Smith for any of your glam/sexy outfit needs, please!

Website: laquansmith.com

BROTHER VELLIES

Founder Aurora James creates truly one-of-a-kind shoes (please look at this pair of mesh boots topped with feathers) and small leather goods that are handmade by artisans around the world.

Website: brothervellies.com

CUSHNIE

Designer Carly Cushnie’s sleek styles have been worn by the likes of Jennifer Lopez, Ashley Graham, and Lupita Nyong’o, btw.

Website: cushnie.com

JADE SWIM

Need a swimsuit? You’re going to want one of these pretty, minimal designs by former fashion editor and stylist Brittany Kozerski.

Website: jadeswim.com

CHRISTOPHER JOHN ROGERS

The 26-year-old designer from Louisiana was one of the hottest tickets at New York Fashion Week in February 2020, and high-profile ladies like Michelle Obama and Cardi B. have worn his unique, colorful pieces. Find his clothing exclusively at Net-a-Porter online.

Website: christopherjohnrogers.com

MATEO NEW YORK

Matthew Harris of Mateo New York is a self-taught jewelry designer hailing from Montego Bay, Jamaica, and living in NYC. Shop here for beautifully minimal 14k-gold fine jewelry.

Website: mateonewyork.com

TELFAR

Looking for something truly magical and out there? Consider designer Telfar Clemens, whose hybrid pieces (hello, “sweatpant jeans” and “scarf-collar shirt”) really stand out.

Website: telfar.net

FENTY

DUH.

Website: fenty.com

PYER MOSS

Founded by designer Kerby Jean-Raymond in 2013, Pyer Moss uses its platform for social change, storytelling, and activism as well as art and design. For shopping, come for the bright, matching suits, glam, and pleated gowns and stay for comfy sweats and jeans.

Website: pyermoss.com

+ More Brands Here +

#blm #gucci #urban outfitters #black lives matter #black brands #black owned #tommy hilfiger #dolce and gabbana #zara #chanel #versace #juneteenth

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captainrogers-ass · 4 years ago

Text

Leather & Spice - Zemo x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You could never say no to a mission when it was Sam Wilson calling, yet cooperating with a convicted mass murderer hadn’t exactly been what you were expecting. Wounding, maiming, killing; those were all in your job description. Acting as Helmut Zemo’s lover was not.

Word Count: 4900

Pairings: Zemo x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic), Bucky x Reader (platonic)

A/N: Ok so I know I’ve been super inactive and I know this isn’t strictly Chris Evans related but I’m currently obsessed with TFATWS; more specifically a certain mass murderer. I’ve substituted Serbian for Sokovian, although Zemo talks to Bucky in Russian. As always, any and all feedback is much appreciated. I hope you enjoy!!! Let me know if you want a part 2!!!

The call had been tense, brief, and widely lacking in any important information, and yet you had still gone anyway.

No matter how many times the Avengers had screwed you over you couldn’t help yourself when Sam Wilson called. Your resistance was futile. He was too charming to say no to, and you were pretty sure he was perfectly well aware of that.

The private jet had been a nice surprise in all honesty. Sam had seemingly always had a knack for finding the seediest alleyway or dingiest motel room to meet up in whenever he called for your help, so you couldn’t help but smile at the change in scenery. Your boots clicked loudly on the tarmac below as you approached the plane, your hand pausing as it connected with the railing of the stair car, a small smile escaping onto your lips as you tried to contain your unusual excitement.

A butler with greying hair and aged skin greeted you at the entrance to the plane. He was dressed in a neat, black suit and smiled at you kindly upon your arrival, his arms already extended as he motioned towards your luggage.

“Oh, thank you,” you said with a smile as you handed over your bag.

The cabin was lovely; spacious, lavish and filled with two grown men who were currently too enthralled in their escalating argument to take any notice of your arrival.

Bucky and Sam were sitting next to each other; Bucky slumped over within his seat with his arms folded across his chest, Sam perched at the edge of his own seat, his hands raised passionately before him as he berated Bucky in a tone that was clearly trying to stay relatively calm but was miserably failing. You cleared your throat as a small smile escaped onto your lips; these two hadn’t changed one bit.

Sam’s eyes met yours first.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, immediately rising from his seat and striding the few steps towards you, engulfing you in a hug. “I wasn’t sure, you’d come. I haven’t seen you in so long!”

You laughed as you managed to extract yourself from Sam’s embrace.

“You know I can never say no to you, Sam,” you chuckled.

“It’s because I’m too handsome, right?”

“Sure.”

You turned your attention to Bucky who was now standing just slightly back from Sam, their argument apparently forgotten as Bucky smiled kindly towards you.

“Hey there stranger,” you said as you gave Bucky a brief hug.

“And here I was thinking I was the most antisocial person I knew,” he retorted.

“I haven’t been avoiding you two, I promise. I’ve just been busy.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “With whatever it is you do.”

You laughed but didn’t answer his implied question.

“This jet is a nice touch. How in the hell did you afford this?” you questioned.

The atmosphere changed immediately, the smile on your features faltering slightly as you felt the tension rise around you. Bucky turned his eyes to the floor, his figure hunching over slightly so that he looked far smaller than he usually appeared. Sam averted his gaze as well, instead turning to look at something past your shoulder.

“It’s mine actually. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Having worked in secret services your entire life you found yourself quite shocked at having failed to notice the third man on board. There was no doubt that this man hadn’t been in the main cabin upon your arrival, but having failed to recognise his presence until he spoke was an unusual oversight on your part; especially since he was standing quite close to you.

As you turned around you registered three things before your eyes landed upon him. Firstly, his accent was unusual, captivating and alluring, not one that you could outright recognise on an initial introduction alone. Secondly, his cologne was extraordinarily enticing; a dark, spicy smell that washed over you and filled your senses all at once so that you couldn’t help but inhale deeply to try and get another whiff of it. And thirdly, his presence was remarkable. Even before you looked upon him you could tell that this was a man of wealth; his tone, his posture, his cologne, his everything, oozed sophistication.

And then your eyes met his.

“I’m Helm-”

Before he could finish you grabbed the hand he had been in the process of outstretching for a handshake, twisted it behind his back before shoving him up against the wall of the plane with quite possibly a tad more force than was strictly necessary. A grunt escaped his lips as you did so, but whether it was from pain or surprise you couldn’t tell.

“Y/N!” Bucky and Sam yelled in unison.

“Would someone care to explain to me why there is a convicted criminal on board this plane.” Your voice came out far calmer than you were expecting.

“Well it is my pla-”

“Shut up,” you, Bucky and Sam all said in unison.

You pushed his contorted arm higher and a flicker of pain crossed his features for just a second, yet he remained silent. His face was pressed against the wall, your body weight holding him in place, and yet his eyes were trained on you, a piercing blend of hazel and gold that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t resisting at all—which was surprising considering he could probably overpower you with his military history—and he no longer made any obvious outward indication that he was in pain even though the placement of his arm would suggest otherwise.

“We need him, Y/N,” Sam finally spoke up.

You struggled to pull your gaze from his, lingering for what felt like years.

“And his life-long prison sentence just happened to be up, I suppose?” you replied.

You couldn’t quite tell, but the subtle vibrations coming from Zemo made you think that he was laughing.

“Well, Bucky was the one who actually broke him ou-” Sam began.

“Oh yeah blame it on me,” Bucky exclaimed.

“Were you not the one who broke him out?”

“You know we needed him I was just the-”

“Ok, ok, boys,” you interrupted. “I really don’t care whose fault it is. What’s done is done. But will someone please explain why the hell we need a mass murderer’s help?”

“Well, there’s this new terrorist organisation called the Flagsmashers,” Sam began.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zemo interrupted. You pushed him up against the wall harder but he continued on unfazed. “But I feel like this story is going to take a while so is there any possibility that I can have the function of my arm back, please?”

There was that accent again, so unusual and yet so smooth that it took you a few seconds to actually register what the man was saying. You glared at him for several seconds but eventually loosened your grip.

Immediately turning around, Zemo brought his hand up to rub at the arm that had been angled uncomfortably behind his back, his gaze never leaving yours. Your eyes travelled down his figure, taking in the luxurious coat draped around his shoulders, the well-tailored purple turtleneck underneath that shaped his frame well, and the expensive-looking black gloves that clung to his fingers. When your eyes returned to his a smile was peeking through onto his lips.

“As I was saying before, I’m Helmut Zemo.” You noticed that he didn’t extend his hand a second time for a handshake. “But I take it you already knew that…Y/N, is it?”

You didn’t answer, simply continuing to stare at him through slitted eyelids.

“I would say it is a pleasure to meet you,” he began again, making his way over to a small bar cart as he poured himself a drink. “But it was actually a surprisingly painful introduction.”

Extending a gloved hand towards you Zemo offered you a glass of the brown liquid. With some hesitation you accepted, your eyes never leaving his as your hand brushed over his gloved one.

Tearing your gaze from his you made your way to the seat in front of where Sam and Bucky had been previously sitting. Taking a sip from your drink you motioned for the two men to reclaim their seats.

“So, tell me about these Flagsmashers.”

“If we have to do something about this, I’m the only one that looks like a pimp,” Sam commented, looking down to admire the colourfully decorated suit he was wearing.

The four of you were currently walking across an empty bridge, the lights of the bustling city burning bright in the distance.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing; a sophisticated, charming, African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger,” Zemo replied, passing his phone to Sam, a photo lighting up the screen.

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me though.”

You walked closer to Sam, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the picture. You laughed slightly to yourself.

“You sure you don’t have some alter ego you’re not telling us about?” you questioned.

“Ha, ha,” Sam responded dryly.

“So then who am I supposed to be?” you asked Zemo. “Some stunningly beautiful millionaire who also happens to look exactly like me, I presume?”

The sarcasm was obvious in your tone and yet you were still surprised at the small laugh that left Zemo’s lips. It was deep, dark, and didn’t last very long, but it was charming. You turned away from him and looped your arm through Sam’s instead, pretending to need assistance with walking from the six-inch heels Zemo had you wear.

The dress he had presented to you on the plane was surprisingly stunning. It was black and fell just above your ankles, a large slit running up the left side of the fabric and a cowling neckline that accentuated your figure perfectly. The back was low, the straps criss-crossing across your shoulders doing little to provide any solace from the evenings cold wind.

“In a sense I suppose that is correct,” Zemo responded. “You will be playing the role of my date.”

Your head whipped around to stare at him.

“Excuse me?”

Bucky and Sam tried in vain to hide their snickers. You punched Sam lightly in the arm.

“The Smiling Tiger, the Winter Soldier and I all have reputations that we can rely on here in Madripoor. Nobody knows who you are Y/N and that makes you the most valuable person here. By limiting you to just my date people will begin to underestimate you which makes you a valuable asset if things begin to go South.”

His words made sense and yet you refused to admit it.

“He’s not wrong, Y/N,” Sam whispered to you.

“I think if Bucky can pretend to be the Winter Soldier,” Zemo continued. “Then you will be perfectly capable of pretending to be my date.”

“No, I think Y/N still got the short straw here,” Bucky said, causing you and Sam to begin to snicker as a scowl appeared on Zemo’s face.

A black car began to approach you on the bridge, pulling up beside you. Just before you could open the door a gloved hand enclosed around the handle.

“Allow me, draga.”

He opened the door and motioned for you to enter. You met his gaze, raising an eyebrow up at him.

“I’m not your date just yet.”

“A lady should always be treated with respect whether she is one’s date or not.”

You hadn’t been expecting a response, yet he had provided one so quickly and with such sincerity in his voice that you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at him. Your gaze lingered upon his for several seconds before he provided you with a curt nod.

You entered the car without another word, Zemo following in behind you so that you were now sandwiched between him and Sam with Bucky sitting quite comfortably in the front seat.

The drive into town was mostly quiet. You enjoyed looking out the window at the bright city, mesmerised by all the neon signs and blinding lights. The streets were riddled with guns; hidden in holsters on people’s hips, tucked into the backs of pants, or simply waved around nonchalantly. You checked the holster attached to your thigh for good measure.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror you could have sworn that you had met Zemo’s gaze for a split second, but with a blink of your eyes his head was now directed out the window, his gaze fixated on the passing buildings. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but returned your gaze to the window once more without a word.

The streets were crawling with criminals when you reached the bar. Guns were being waved around as if they were a fashion accessory and blatant felonies were being conducted out in the open with no attempt to conceal anything.

Zemo exited the car first, and as you scooted across the seat to make your own exit you found that familiar gloved hand was already extended towards you. Looking up, your eyes met his, taking his hand without a word. You were now in character and you were going to play the role as best you could.

You didn’t let go of Zemo’s hand as he helped you from the car. Instead, after waiting for him to close the door behind you, you looped your arm through his as you had done to Sam only minutes previously, this time leaning into him much more closely than you had done with your friend.

If Zemo was surprised at your gentle touch he did not show it. Instead he flexed his arm to bring you slightly closer before leading you, Bucky and Sam into the bar. As soon as you had exited the car it seemed as if the whole street had their eyes on you. Your heart fluttered nervously in your chest, but your features remained neutral even as your eyes roamed freely around your surroundings.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you whispered to Zemo. “But I think you should’ve given me something a bit more revealing to wear. This dress is beautiful, but I look so out of place.”

Zemo turned to you with a smile on his face.

“Any woman on my arm will always be dressed in the finest of silks. It would be far more suspicious if I made you wear a more revealing dress, trust me.”

His voice was low as he spoke to you, his gaze fixated on you as he smiled cheekily.

Your heart fluttered nervously once more.

The bar was loud, hot and filled with half-drunk people rubbing their private parts against each other. The popular neon lights trickled in to the establishment, casting contrasting shadows of yellow and red across the space.

A bartender greeted you as you approached the bar, his face stoic and void of emotion.

“Hello gentlemen,” he nodded towards Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

Zemo answered for him.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.”

The bartender turned to Sam.

“The usual?”

Sam nodded.

When the bartender returned with a snake and began to gut it right in front of you you couldn’t help the small smile that crept up onto your face when you realised what was happening.

“Ah,” Zemo began, “Smiling Tiger, your favourite.”

His tone was slightly mocking and it nearly caused you to burst out laughing right there, but you managed to retain your composure. Sam turned with a resentful look on his face to see you and Zemo trying to hide the smiles that were creeping on to your faces.

“I love these,” Sam said as he raised the glass to you.

You leaned your head on to Zemo’s shoulder in an attempt to hide your snickers. Sam clinked his glass against Zemo’s, and after some hesitation, downed the shot in one.

The smile was wiped from your face as you felt a presence approach you from behind, struggling against the instinct to reach for your weapon. Zemo felt you still beside him and immediately turned to meet the approaching man, placing you slightly behind him.

“I got word from on high,” the man said. “You ain’t welcome here.”

Zemo’s voice sounded nonchalant as he responded.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists he can either come and talk to me,” Zemo looked behind him to where Bucky was standing.

“New haircut?” the man said to Bucky with a scoff.

Zemo’s voice was deep and demanding, grasping the man’s attention once more, “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man left but now your senses were on high alert as Zemo turned back to talk to Bucky. Your eyes scoured the room, noticing several men beginning to approach you. Slowly your hand began to travel down to your gun.

“Not yet, dušica.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky just as one of the approaching men placed his hand upon Zemo’s shoulder. “Zimniy soldat. Ataka.”

Without hesitating Bucky grabbed the arm of the man who had touched Zemo, bending it painfully backwards. You watched on with bated breath, worried for your friend as he reverted back to what he once was, not because he wasn’t able to handle the fight—he wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he took on three guys at once—but because of what this little act might have on all the progress he had made.

Your gaze flickered to Zemo for a split second to find that he was smiling.

“It didn’t take long for him to fall back into form,” he whispered to you.

Ever since this trip had begun you had slowly started to become desensitised to the fact that you were in the presence of a mass murderer, often forgetting at times that the man before you had caused so much pain and suffering. But now it hit you all at once, causing you to become quite repulsed by the presence beside you.

Wanting to remove yourself from his side but knowing that you couldn’t you instead leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“If you smile again from Bucky’s pain, I’ll punch your teeth in so that when I burn you to death they won’t be able to use your dental records to identify your body.”

To say that Zemo was surprised at your comment was an understatement as he whipped his head around to look at you, his mask of composure forgotten for a split second as his eyes met yours. He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you that he had not been expecting such a response. His gaze fell to the floor and you thought, just for a second, that maybe he was about to apologise, but when his eyes came back to look at you his mouth remained closed.

He noticed the change in your attitude immediately. Whilst you did not disentangle your arm from his, you now distanced yourself as far as you could from his side, your touch no longer the comfortable presence he had begun to enjoy, now cold and impersonal.

The sounds of guns being cocked brought your attention back to the room.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us,” Zemo quickly whispered to Bucky. “Otlichnaya rabota, soldat,” he said louder.

Everyone in the bar paused as Bucky let go of the man he had been in the process of choking.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interrupted.

A small sigh of relief escaped from your lips.

The back room was poorly lit and smelt of alcohol and cigarettes, the wall to your left illuminated by small televisions that displayed the security camera footage from all over the bar.

Selby—a middle aged, menacing looking woman with short, platinum blonde hair—was sitting upon one of the luxurious couches, dressed in an ill-fitting suit with a loosely tied tie hanging around her neck.

“You should know, Baron,” she began, tapping her hand against the head of the couch. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand,” Zemo responded. “An offer.”

Zemo took a seat on the couch opposite to Selby’s, his hand in yours as he motioned for you to sit next to him. You paused for just a second before perching yourself so that you were instead sitting in his lap. As much as you didn’t want to be in this position, when you went undercover you did it well. Zemo’s face showed no hint of surprise, but his hands fumbled for a split second, unsure of where to place them before he rested one on your waist and one on your thigh, quite high up so that he was basically at your knee. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed and you found yourself quite surprised at his willingness to respect your boundaries.

Selby raised an eyebrow at you.

“A lot has changed since you were last here,” she said, her gaze now fixated on you. It made you feel uncomfortable, but you didn’t show it as you leaned back into Zemo’s touch. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

Zemo’s gloved hand began rubbing circles on your knee, your skin exposed from the slit in the dress. You were pretty sure he wasn’t aware he was doing it, but you weren’t altogether against the touch.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” he responded. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“What’s the offer.”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum, and I give you him.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky who remained stoic and impassive in the corner of the room. “Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” She paused as she considered the offer. “You were right to seek me out. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank…or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo questioned.

“Oh, the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron.” Selby’s gaze shifted to Bucky before it returned to land on you. “Who is this beautiful creature you’ve got with you?”

You felt Zemo stiffen beneath you.

“Ah,” he began, his voice somehow having grown deeper. “This one isn’t part of the deal. She’s mine.”

There was an intensity to the way he said mine. It was subtle, but it was there, and Selby noticed it as she quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“Are you sure about that, Baron?” she responded with a laugh. “These young creatures get so restless. Are you sure she’s not bored with you already?”

Zemo’s hand was now gripping your thigh a lot lower than where it had previously been and a lot harder; not so roughly that it hurt, but hard enough for you to realise that he was unsure of how to proceed. You turned your gaze to Selby who licked her lips as your eyes met hers, before turning your attention back to Zemo. He looked up towards you, a confused look flashing across his eyes as he tried to figure out what you were about to do. Having made your decision—and before you had enough time to really question what you were about to do—you leaned down towards the Baron and collided your lips with his.

Zemo hesitated at first, his lips unresponsive against yours for a split second before he returned the gesture. His hands came up to tangle themselves in your hair, your own hands gripping the base of his scalp. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and turned slightly so that Selby had a clear view.

You made sure the kiss was dirty and ferocious, and it left both of you breathless as you pulled away from him.

You turned to Selby with a smirk on your face, wiping some saliva from the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb as you maintained eye-contact with her.

“Not quite yet,” you said.

A viscous smile spread across her face but before Selby could respond Sam’s phone began to ring, and everything went downhill pretty quickly from there.

When the sniper shot came through the window you didn’t have time to be surprised, immediately leaping to your feet, gun already in hand. Before Selby’s henchmen had even had time to react you had already shot a bullet into two of their chests, Bucky taking out the third man in the room.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead,” Zemo said, quickly making his way back down to the bar with you, Sam and Bucky close behind, your gun back in its concealed holster.

Descending the stairs quickly, Bucky leaned back with a smirk on his face.

"Told you you got the short straw."

Punching him in the arm to try to get him to shut up you quickly realised your mistake as you brought your hand to your chest, pain flaring in your knuckles at having collided with the vibranium. A short laugh escaped from Bucky's lips.

"Focus," Zemo called from the front of the group.

You made your way back on to the street quickly, following Zemo as he hastily walked in a direction that you hoped would get you off the main strip. Looking around you as you walked you kept noticing people getting notifications on their phones and a bad feeling began to grow in your stomach.

A round of bullets were shot towards you, the proximity of the bang causing your ears to ring painfully. All four of you ducked immediately as you scrambled away quickly. Bucky and Sam ran forwards and Zemo, grabbing your hand swiftly, veered off into a small alley way, his hand never leaving yours as he ran. The sound of several footsteps followed close behind you, but before you could reach for your gun Zemo crowded you into a small alcove.

“What are you doing? They’ll see us here,” you angrily whispered. Your hand began to reach for your gun once more but Zemo stopped you.

“There’s too many of them,” he said quickly, peeking out from behind the alcove to spy on the approaching men.

“We’re sitting ducks here. I can probably get a few shots out if-”

All at once Zemo whipped back around and placed his index finger upon your lips to stop you from speaking.

“I’m truly sorry for this.”

For the second time that night Helmut Zemo’s lips were now upon yours, kissing you far more softly than you had kissed him before. His body was crowding yours against the wall of the alley way, his broad form easily shielding you. The footsteps got closer and closer, all the while you kept kissing the Baron. This time there was no tongue, just gentle lips upon yours as he kissed you tenderly and slowly.

That cologne you had first smelt that morning engulfed your senses now so that it was all you could smell. Your hands came up to grip at the fur collar of his coat, pulling him closer by the furred lapel, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the softness of it.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the approaching footsteps; how close they came to you before they past right by, the group of men not giving you a second glance as one shouted orders to the rest in a language you couldn't be bothered to recognise.

At some point Zemo's tongue ended up in your mouth, or maybe it was your tongue in his. Either way you couldn't recall who had initiated it, and couldn't quite find the effort to care. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek whilst the other became entangled within your hair, pulling at your roots slightly so that you moaned at the feeling.

You moaned.

Pushing the baron away from you you immediately put as much distance as you could between the two of you. His lips were red and swollen and you were quite sure yours looked the same, both panting slightly as the cold air illuminated your breaths.

You could feel your cheeks begin to redden immediately, and swiftly turned away from him to hide your embarrassment.

You could still hear the men who had been following you, their footsteps far quieter now as they continued down the alley.

“I think they’re gone,” you finally said, having allowed the awkward silence to grow palpable between you.

“Yes…yes I think you’re right,” he responded, not meeting your gaze.

The sound of footsteps coming down the alley filled your ears once more, and this time you didn’t hesitate as you pulled your gun from its holster.

“Woah, easy there tiger, it’s just us,” Sam said, his hands held upwards in a sign of surrender.

You let out a sigh as you saw them and immediately felt Zemo’s gaze fall upon you.

#zemo x reader #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #daniel brühl #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #MCU

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highqueenofelfhame · 4 years ago

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fafs - twenty

A/n: Sorry for the delay! This chapter was just too important to rush. If you wanna set the mood, listen to simmer by hayley williams. Also a super special shout out to katie for basically becoming my beta and making my writing better!!

Aelin had a ritual for a normal job.

In the days leading up to a job, she would perfect her cover, altering her appearance enough that she wasn’t so easily recognizable. Brown contacts would disguise the blue and gold of her eyes. Sometimes she would dye her golden hair red or brown, forgoing the heat of a wig, and spend weeks following the hit annoyed she had done it.

Sometimes she even used special effects products to craft scars on her face, or to give her nose an entirely different shape than what it was. She perfected walking with a convincing limp, mastered several accents that were so wildly different from her own, and could blend in seamlessly with any crowd from the seedy underbelly of the city all the way to the intricate court of esteemed royalty. Celaena Sardothien was a chameleon, a whisper on the wind that could vanish just as soon as she appeared.

Before a hit, Aelin would spend hours playing music loudly enough for it to reverberate through the walls of her apartment. The music was the same each time - a symphony of songs that rose in tempo and volume so that by the time she was dressed, she was bouncing on her toes and ready for what may come.

She would have sharpened her weapons in time with the melody. She would have pulled on her suit in a methodical way, zipping up the back as a song came to a climax. A slow grin would have spread across her lips as her playlist progressed, her adrenaline pumping, unable to stop from jumping in place.

But this was not a normal job. Aelin hadn’t taken care when pulling on her suit, her body littered with small cuts and scrapes from the hidden weapons all over. She hadn’t even cared to alter her appearance for this foray into the underworld. Aelin hadn’t even bothered with a mask. She wanted them all to know who it was that ended their miserable lives. She wanted them to feel the wrath of the queen of assassins descending upon them. Most of all, she wanted them to see the raging inferno burning in the golden iris of her eyes while they took their last, shuddering breaths.

There would be no music for her this time.The only song she could hear in her head was the relentless pounding of the volatile rage that rushed through her veins . The rage that had always lay in wait, a predator ready to strike at any given moment, and now, was poised to make its first attack. It was a song about finding a line between wrath and mercy— a line that she always toed, but could not find herself anywhere near, not today. Not where Rowan was concerned.

So instead of her usual ritual, she had settled into what was undoubtedly the numbest and most chilling killing calm she had ever felt. Nothing could pierce the veil she had around her as she prepared to make her move. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart. All she could see was red.

Squatting on a rooftop, Aelin’s eyes narrowed on a window across the alley. Nox knelt beside her, flipping a knife between his fingers while they both mapped out what lay before them. With no one knowing that he was in close contact with Aelin, Nox was able to slither through the underground network of assassins and black market dealings to figure out who had Rowan and where he was being kept.

All roads lead to Arobynn Hammel— something that didn’t surprise Aelin in the slightest. He had killed Sam first and made a point to slaughter everyone she had ever loved. Now he was trying to take Rowan from her, too. He should have known better. If anyone knew about her deadly precision and taste for revenge, it was Arobynn. He knew she would come for him. He knew it would rain blood when she did.

Bright blue eyes scanned the building she watched, looking for any sign of anyone being near any of the windows. Nox pocketed his knife and rested his forearms against his knees. Like Aelin, he was poised on his toes with alert eyes roving over the streets below. Fortunately they were hidden well enough in the shadows as the sun sank below the horizon behind them.

“What’s your plan? Are you going to call your contacts?” Aelin turned his question over in her mind, knowing full well that she should call Fenrys and give them a full report of the situation. She knew they would come in and Rowan would be safe. Aelin would be free of any damning action that could potentially send her back to prison.

But if she did call, the scum that had taken Rowan from her were likely to live another day. Some of them would slither back into the underworld, some of them would end up in prison. The imprisoned ones might end up out on the streets again due to technicalities, or successful escapes, though that was a slim possibility. She needed to get inside that building before the FBI checked her anklet and found out she wasn’t at the apartment where she was supposed to be.

“No,” she finally said, tapping her thumb against her knee. No, she wouldn’t call. No, she wouldn’t leave this up to fate. Everyone in that building was going to pay for their crimes. Today, she was the judge, jury, and executioner. Aelin Galathynius was a vengeful god, one with fire flowing through her veins. She would not stop until everyone had paid for what they’d done.

The wind blew a loose strand of hair across her face as she stood, the bite of the breeze keeping her focused on the task at hand. She brought her foot up to rest on the ledge of the roof, eyes narrowing in on the four-paned window across the way. There was a shadow several paces deep, likely someone paroling the room— waiting on her. She couldn’t see through the rest of the windows well enough, but there was no movement detected. Aelin pursed her lips, gaze dropping down the side of the gray wall before she looked over at Nox.

“You should leave. You don’t need to be here when they come,” she told him absently, licking her lips as she stepped up onto the ledge.

“Celaena—” The look she gave him cut him off; whatever he saw in her face, her eyes had him nodding once. A cruel, twisted smile curled at her lips as the wind whipped at her face ferociously. Aelin stepped fully onto the ledge, giving the alley below a final once over before she tipped her head back and inhaled deeply.

And then she jumped.

~*~

It had been a long while since Aelin had performed a free-fall through a window. She had almost forgotten what rolling over shattered glass could do, bits stabbing through her arms and sides. The momentum had her slamming into a metal post that she had mistaken as a person. It knocked the wind completely out of her, and she had to take a few extra seconds to gasp down several lungfuls of air before she could roll to her feet.

But it was one hell of an entrance— one that would send a signal to everyone below that death was raining down upon them. The knowledge sent a shock of adrenaline through her body just as footsteps had begun to scuffle down the hall.

Two voices were speaking in hushed tones. By the time the heavy, metal door was pulled open with a discordant squeak that made her cringe, Aelin had effectively disappeared into the shadows. The whispers died off as their boots crunched over broken glass. One of the men swore, his voice entirely unfamiliar to Aelin. Peering through the shelving unit she hid behind, neither of them looked like anyone she’d ever come in contact with.

Good. It would make killing them easier.

From the little cave she had backed herself into, she watched them exchange uneasy glances. Their heads turned, trying to figure out where she’d disappeared to in the sixty-seconds it had taken them to respond to a silent alarm she’d likely sounded. The two men didn’t speak while they looked around the room, unable to see her where she’d crouched down. All she could see now was their feet shuffling across the floor, making their way back toward the exit.

This, she was sure, was supposed to be a trap. Something that was supposed to make her feel at ease that they didn’t believe she was here, that they’d found nothing but a broken window. They would pretend to leave, either one or both, and then they’d be waiting for her when she thought she had the freedom to slip from the room. Clearly, these two morons did not quite know the ocean of rage that she was drowning in. They were unaware of exactly who stalked her prey like a lioness hunting for dinner.

Aelin thought about waiting, thought about letting them think they were going to leave this room alive. But she remembered that Rowan was in here somewhere, likely incapacitated in some way, and she decided she didn’t care. What was the point in giving them false hope when they’d taken every bit of hope she’d ever had? No. They didn’t deserve the hope of living another day. They deserved to die like the rest: eyes wide and gaping, piss staining their thighs, and blood pooling beneath them.

She struck so quickly, that one fell before the other could pull a weapon and turn it on her. It was so easy, too easy. It was almost disappointing, the way they hit the ground with heavy thuds. Blood bubbled from their necks while they choked, eyes wide and fingers clawing at their skin.

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about the monsters that lurk in the dark?” She asked, kneeling beside them with her arms draped over her knees. She spoke to them the way a mother might comfort her children after they’d woken from a nightmare. Except this was the last nightmare they would ever have, and it was a vivid reality. Aelin’s lips curved into a wicked grin, the palm of her gloved hand patting the cheek of the man that laid nearest to her. The other merely got a nudge of her boot before she left the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

Aelin paused outside of the door, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of her cloak. To remain as silent as possible, she tossed it back into the room behind her. One man had stopped breathing, the other was still gasping and gurgling blood in the back of his throat. She didn’t care. She hoped he was still alive when his comrades found him, hoped he would try to gasp her name between breaths.

The only other thing Aelin wanted out of this mission, besides Rowan safe and in her arms, it was that they all knew who it was they’d chosen to fuck with. It was that they all paced with the anticipation of angering the most vindictive god they could imagine.

Her walk down the hallway was silent. Arobynn had once told her that he only heard her coming when she wanted him to. Even now, there had been several moments in Rowan’s apartment where she’d snuck up on him accidentally, making him startle when she seemed to appear out of thin air. Her favorite pastime at the bureau was giving Lorcan a good shock to his system. It was better than her morning coffee.

It almost made her smile, but the doom and gloom of the day pulled her lips back down. She wasn’t so sure she would be able to walk out of this situation without her hands cuffed behind her back. It would be worth it, she knew. Getting carted off to prison again with Rowan safe and sound was better than the alternative. Any reality where he was safe and alive was better than one where he was cold and dead— even if it meant she spent the rest of her life behind bars. It was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make, one she was ready to take.

The building was old, and everything inside was damp and rusted. It was located where the Avery emptied into the Great Ocean, not too far from the import docks. When they’d been on the roof of the neighboring building, Aelin and Nox had been able to see large import ships unloading their freight with massive cranes. It was a relatively empty part of town, save for the people that worked on the ships. The block this building was on was particularly empty with no foot traffic on the sidewalks. There had been no prying eyes to think anything of the assassin and the thief perched on the rooftop.

The lower she crept into the building, toward the basement where she knew Arobynn liked to keep his prisoners, the air got thicker. Mustier. Harder to breathe. The heavy scent of mildew settled in her lungs, making her lip curl in disgust. It was getting darker, too, the light dim enough that had she not heard someone sneaking her way, she wouldn’t have seen them. Thankfully, there was a quiet squelching of boots at the far end of the hall that gave her enough of a heads up to keep her assailant from getting the drop on her.

So few opponents had ever been a true challenge. At her best, Ansel had been one of the few to really challenge her. Today, though, nobody would be able to go up against her and win. It was that simple. There was too much at stake. Losing a fight with Rowan Whitethorn’s life on the line was non-negotiable.

“I’m feeling generous,” she called out, leaning against the wall between two doors. Her tongue ran over her teeth as the footsteps faltered. The gait was heavy and unfamiliar, but she assumed it would be a male judging by the very faint outline of the body she could see. “If you tell me where Rowan Whitethorn is, I’ll consider letting you live.”

“Are you the witch Arobynn keeps ranting about?” Indeed, the voice had a low, scratchy timbre. Still unfamiliar, but he did confirm that Arobynn was at the head of this. What an idiot.

“Is that what he’s calling me now? A witch?”

“Maybe he said bitch,” the man replied, a chuckle rusty as the pipes in this building falling from his lips. “Either way, he said you didn’t like to get your hands dirty.”

“Must be someone else then.” Since when did she not like to get her hands dirty? It almost made her frown, the complete mischaracterization of her. “Where is he.”

“Arobynn?”

“Or the agent. I’ll find them both either way,” she drawled, flicking her wrist in a smooth motion that had a dagger sliding down into her palm. Aelin flipped the blade in her hand, catching it by the tip and readying herself to send it flying toward her target. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She could see the man about halfway down the hall, roughly six feet tall with a similar build to what Chaol had been. None of his features were decipherable, but it didn’t matter. In a few seconds time he would have a stunning new accessory through his chest.

“You’ll be dead before you do,” the man taunted, and a delighted, bright laugh exploded from her lips.

“Then you definitely don’t know who I am.” Her words took on a sickly sweet tone as she released the first dagger, sending it hurtling down the hall until it struck home. He was close enough by then that the sound of dagger piercing flesh was the sweet music she would have used during her pre-job ritual. Her latest victim staggered back as she threw a second dagger with her left hand, letting it nail him in his neck. A howl of pain, the climax in her impromptu concert, shook the building as he tripped over his own feet and hit the ground, the crack of his skull a final note to a very short symphony.

~*~

Between four floors, Aelin killed eleven men. None of them were skilled enough with their weapons to be anything more than half rate mercenaries. If she had to guess, Arobynn wanted it to look like he had more bodies than he really did. All of his good assassins were dead, likely at his own hand in the rage of her capture.

Everyone she’d come in contact today suffered. None of them were getting off easy. Her suit was damp in several places, her skin sticky with their blood. Few of them gave her any real information. The last guy she killed had shakily exclaimed that Rowan was in the basement as he soiled himself, the stench of urine proof of his fear. And then she had sliced through his body so many times he’d passed out from the shock and pain before death had claimed him.

It almost scared her how little she felt while she dug her blades into his bones. There was nothing but the crystal clarity that she would walk backwards into hell and take the crown from Hellas himself before she let anyone take Rowan away from her. Her throne would be built of bones, rivers of blood would flow at her feet.

It should have at least startled her, the cold depravity. None of her jobs had ever held such cruel calculation, none of them had ever been more than a paycheck. But she supposed that as soon as Sam had been shot right in front of her, she’d fallen down a slippery slope into a dark and twisted wonderland that she would have never escaped, if it hadn’t been for Rowan. And maybe she wouldn’t come back from this, but at least Rowan would be safe.

The sentiment of his safety ricocheted in her skull as she yanked the last door between her and her love open. It didn’t matter that it squealed so loud it made her ears ache, that she may as well have set off a warning bell to alert Arobynn of her arrival.

The rusted iron door gave way to an unlit alcove with a set of metal stairs that looked precarious enough she was skeptical about them holding her weight. It had been dark everywhere else in shit hole she was carefully navigating, but down here it was even worse. The only light she could see seemed to be coming from somewhere far enough away that it barely illuminated the stairs. If the dark wasn’t perhaps her closest companion, if she was unaware of how to use all her senses to slip through the shadows, Aelin likely would have taken an untimely tumble all the way down to the floor.

Much to her surprise the room seemed mostly empty. There were several wooden crates stacked in the far corner where a green-ish light cast an eerie glow throughout the space. Somewhere, something was dripping from the walls or ceiling. Aelin headed for the crates after pausing to pull new daggers from her boots, her grip tightening around the handle at the prospect of not finding Rowan— or finding him beyond her help.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a voice said, echoing in the damp chamber. Her blood heated immediately, flame sparking in her veins at the sound of Arobynn Hammel’s voice. She squeezed the hilt of her dagger as she rounded the corner, eyes immediately going to the red-haired bastard.

“I’d say you weren’t fully prepared because you didn’t have nearly enough men to keep you safe, Arobynn,” she drawled, giving her knife a loose twirl between her fingers. It was interesting, the way he looked at her like he was seeing a ghost. While he gaped, Aelin shifted her gaze to the left, over to a corner where she finally found him.

Rowan. He was slumped forward in his chair, head hanging at such an odd angle she knew he was unconscious. Blood was dried beneath his nose and at his temple but that was all the visible blood she could see. His usually shiny shoes were scuffed and his jacket was pulling tight over his arms and shoulders. Blue nautical rope had him tightly bound to the arms and legs of the chair, and even from where she stood she could tell his watch was cutting into his skin uncomfortably.

But his chest was still rising and falling while he breathed and, for the most part, he seemed unharmed. Still, she didn’t let the relief flood her body. She didn’t dare give herself an inch over to the other side of that line she toed. There would be no mercy from her today.

“Celaena? Are you ready to come home at last, or have you come to exact your revenge on Agent Whitethorn for locking you up?”

“I’m here to take back what is mine and ensure that you never slither out of your little hole to see the daylight ever again. You know why I’m here.”

“I thought you were in prison,” he rebutted, pushing out of his seat and daring to pace toward her. Aelin cocked her head, appraising the man that had raised her, trained her, made her into a weapon through pain and sorrow. She felt nothing but rage.

“That is bullshit, and you know it.”

“You are not the person I was expecting to see when I took Rowan Whitethorn this afternoon, I can assure you. Why are you here, Celaena? How did you get out?”

It was tricky, dealing with someone so slippery. Workingwith Arobynn always felt greasy, felt like trying to wrangle an eel out of the ocean. If you weren’t careful he would slip through your fingers and disappear into the cracks of the world. To the untrained ear, he sounded genuine. But Arobynn lied, and lied well. He clawed his way to the top of the black market empire, twisting words and half-truths, cunning and vicious. He would always take, and take, and take. While there were many faces he had worn around her, the face of truth was one that he seldom donned. Never did he give an inch. It was where Aelin herself had learned to be so ruthless.

“Why am I here? We can start with Sam, talk about Lysandra, Ansel, Wesley,” her blue eyes flashed up to his face where his stormy gray eyes stayed fixed on her. “We can end with Dorian, and Nehemia, and Chaol, and Aedion. And then I will kill you for trying to take Rowan from me, too.”

There were names she hadn’t listed that still mattered but not quite as much. Her voice had broken over Aedion and Rowan’s names, those thoughts still too fresh in her mind to hold at bay. She hated that she was showing so much emotion to him, yet it was fear that flickered in his gaze at the rage that seeped into every syllable.

“I will take responsibility for Sam. I will take responsibility for taking Agent Whitethorn.” Arobynn paused, his eyes tracing over her features like he was stripping her bare, seeing her heart on her sleeve. Something like amusement twisted his lips into a tight smirk as he looked over his shoulder where Rowan was still unconscious. “The others, I had nothing to do with. Actually, if I didn’t know you so well I would have assumed you broke out and had gone on a little spree of your own.”

“I didn’t touch them,” she hissed.

“I know. Everything about those killings was messy. You haven’t been messy since you were fifteen. Tell me, Celaena, what is it that you’re here to take revenge for?”

“I already told you—“

“Sam was killed because he was going to cross me. I wasn’t going to harm a hair on your head. As for Agent Whitethorn…” Arobynn laughed, dry and twisted as he raked his fingers through his hair. “How did you manage to form such an attachment to the man? Were you not stalking him through the city for months leading up to your arrest?”

“My arrest that you played a significant part in? It was a setup. You know it. I know it. You wanted me dead so that I wouldn’t be a problem after you put that hit out on Sam.”

“I beat them senseless for what they did to you that day,” Arobynn said, his voice like that of a lover as his fingers moved to caress her cheek. Aelin brought a dagger up to the inside of his wrist, positioned the other at the hollow of his throat before he could touch her skin. His hand dropped and slipped back into his pocket.

“I don’t believe you.” And she didn’t. It was a half-truth from him at best. Maybe he had punished them to some degree for trying to end her life that way if he didn’t tell them to do it directly, but she doubted it was any large effort. Or maybe that was why they’d wound up dead. Still, it didn’t matter. He’d taken enough from her.

“Why would I lie to you? What do I have to gain from it? I’ve openly admitted to killing Sam and taking your agent. If I was going to lie, wouldn’t I have started with Sam? I was not expecting you to walk down those stairs, Celaena.” Arobynn’s keys jingled in his pocket when he removed his hand to point toward the stairs. Aelin shook her head, licked her lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood. That didn’t make any sense.

“Stop talking.” It was too much. The sound of his voice, the almond scent that tickled her nose from his close proximity. Arobynn had ruined her life in a thousand ways, had spent the majority of her life manipulating her, and this was no different. Anything he said now were lies so potent she could almost taste them.

“I know you may think me to be your enemy, but I love you. I care for you. Surely you must know that.”

There was a single part of her emotions that she kept under lock and key. Inside that room in her head, there was some part of her that cared for him, too. When her parents were murdered and he’d taken her in, Arobynn had become the only parental figure she would ever truly know. Memories about her parents were few and far between, most of them hazy.

She didn’t remember what they looked like without looking at a photo. Their voices had been lost to time and her memory. There were plenty of interviews of them on the internet, but she refused to indulge herself. It was too haunting to think of them somehow knowing that she was who she was. That, maybe, if she watched those old videos, they would be able to see the blood covering her hands.

Arobynn, though, knew her. He had made her, forged her himself. Everything she knew, he had taught her. There had been moments throughout her life where she thought that, perhaps, he did care. Moments where she had looked up at him and wondered if this was what it was like to have a father. There were days before her training that he’d brushed her hair in front of the fire and read her stories. Some nights he had tucked her into bed and had servants wake her with breakfast.

Then there were the moments where he’d beaten her until she couldn’t push herself off the floor. Moments where he’d broken her hand, her fingers, so that she could use her left hand as well as her right. Moments where he’d seared her skin with a white-hot poker and told her that it would make her stronger to endure the pain. Those were the moments that played over in her mind now. All the pain and trauma he had inflicted upon her rising to the surface, her blood piping hot beneath her skin.

His lips were moving, mouthing that he loved her, that he wasn’t lying to her, but she couldn’t hear a thing. People that loved you didn’t intentionally hurt you. They didn’t beat you within an inch of your life and leave you to suffer through it. They didn’t kill the people you cared about. They didn’t go to such lengths to ensure that you were alone and isolated for the rest of your miserable existence.

“Celaena,” Arobynn said, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder. But the tether keeping her from flying into the void snapped, his use of that name the last nail in his coffin. There was hardly time for her to process the movements of her body, the muscle memory taking over as she drove the dagger between his fourth and fifth ribs.

Arobynn had the audacity to laugh, the sound of disbelief falling heavily from his lips as his hand curled around her shoulder. Aelin didn’t falter, only shoved harder as he staggered backward and collapsed on the floor. Still, he laughed, tears lining his silver eyes that silently began to stream down his temples.

“You have… always just been… a pawn.” Each word was more breathless than the last as they tumbled from his mouth. Despite the gloves she wore, her hands were warm. Blood was seeping through her suit, pulsing into the cracks where her skin was exposed. “It will not… end with… me.”

Aelin’s brow furrowed, torn between wanting questions answered and the overcoming desire to twist the knife further to make him stop talking. It was all he ever did. Lie after lie building doubts in her mind until she questioned her sanity. It was what he was good at.

The knife won out. Her wrist twisted sharply, blade dragging over bone in a reverberation she felt down to her toes. Arobynn’s eyes widened in shock and she knew the pain was not a subtle feeling. Gray eyes scanned her face, a ghost of a smile that would haunt her nightmares pulling at his lips. Aelin gritted her teeth as he took a final, shuddering breath.

She wasn’t sure what she felt as the light faded from his eyes and they went completely glassy. All she knew was that it wasn’t quite relief.

#fafs #fafs20 #far away from sane #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #celaena sardothien #nox owen #i will tag everyone in just a moment #tog #throne of glass #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #tog fic #throne of glass fic #writing #writeblr #true crime

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pen-paper-and-ink · 4 years ago

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Champagne Problems

Chapter Three

Masterlist

Sam eventually went to back to his own apartment around noon, leaving Aelin with plenty of time to focus on her English assignment. Instead of a final test in English, there was a final paper, and Aelin was struggling with what words to put down.

She knew the book inside and out; the words just were not coming to her today. She could usually just sit at her computer and let the words flow out of her, but that was not happening. She eventually just went back and skimmed through her outline, getting herself to refocus. She finally gave up a half an hour later and resorted to texting Rowan.

“Want to come over and study. I’ll order takeout from Emry’s. It will be just like old times.”

The response came only seconds later. “I’d love too, but some of us have class in an hour.”

She could practically here the snort in his reply. “Could you possibly skip this class and study with me instead?”

“I would but it’s the last class before the final, and I need the review.”

“Boo. You suck.” She emphasized with an emoji that was sticking its tongue out at him.

“See you later, Ace :)”She swore he refused to use emoji’s just to spite her.

When she was finally done pouting, she eventually pulled her phone back out to text Lysandra, who easily agreed to come over. Although Lysandra was not diligent as Rowan when it came to studying and making study schedules, she was better than nothing, especially when Aelin was having trouble concentrating.

She showed up to Aelin’s apartment wearing an oversized fuzzy pink sweater and a pair of black leggings, as well as two chocolate bars. She might now be Aelin’s favorite person.

She definitely was not Aelin’s favorite person the first time they met, though. They were both petty and stubborn and got along about as well as cats getting a bath. That eventually changed the march of their freshmen year, when Aelin chased off a shady guy who was trying to follow a very drunk Lys into the bathroom at a frat house. Lysandra had been her constant companion since then, especially when it came to topics including clothes and boys.

“Hello, Babe,” Lysandra chirped happily as she strode into Aelin’s apartment. She shrugged off her bag and dropped the candy onto her plush sofa. Aelin went to wrap her harms around Lysandra who returned the gesture. “I brought chocolate as a study motivator for the both of us, but you already smell of candy.”

Aelin groans. “Shut up. Sam bought me this perfume, it’s his favorite.”

“Mhm,” Lysandra hums giving Aelin a conspiratorial grin, “I think he like’s that you’re his own personal snack.” Lysandra says wiggling her eyebrows.

Aelin only rolled her eyes at her friend, “whatever.”

“You smell good, babe, just really sweet. Even sweeter than that bath and body works body spray that everyone bathed their selves in in middle school, if that’s even possible. But I think he likes that. How many times has he bitten your neck when you have been wearing it?” Lysandra asked with further eyebrow wiggling.

“You’re way too into our love life. How long has it been since you’ve had date?” This time it was Aelin’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows.

“It’s been a while,” Lysandra moans loudly, but she turns her grin back onto Aelin, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

Aelin sighs loudly and slumps back onto her couch. “It’s not like he does it often.”

Lysandra snickers and she lounges next to Aelin. “So, I see it’s getting pretty serious. I even saw the picture he keeps of you in his wallet.”

“In his wallet?” Aelin snorts. “I didn’t think that people still did that. I thought the real milestone of a serious relationship was making a picture of your significant other your home screen on your phone.”

“Yes, you relationship guru. Are you ready to study now?”

. . .

It turns out that Lysandra was the perfect person to get Aelin to finish her English paper. About two hours after Lysandra arrived, Aelin had finished her paper, submitted it, and was able to eat her chocolate bar as a reward. They then watched a shitty romcom on Netflix until Lysandra had to leave for her evening class.

That now left Aelin plenty of time to get ready to go to the Cadre’s for the night. It also gave Aelin some time to harass Rowan about his class.

“How was class?” Aelin texted.

“Good. Did you finally finish your paper, you demon? Bribing me with Emry’s and everything.” Rowan replied.

“I finished it and submitted it and everything. I even ate a celebratory chocolate bar without you.” She brags.

“I just wanted you to know that I am rolling my eyes at you.” Was his only response.

“Would it kill you to just use the emoji?” Aelin demanded.

“Yes.” Well at least she had her answer.

“See you at the Cadre’s in a few hours or so?” She inquired.

“Yes,” was once again his only response. Boys, Aelin thought rolling her eyes. What was with boys and their one-word answers. With that, Aelin pulled up Spotify on her TV to blast some music as she prepared for her night.

She was having fun running around her apartment sing- screaming the lyrics to Teenage Dirtbag as she prepared dinner and tidied up her apartment. Pop-rock and other angsty songs which she listened to as a teenager, always brought back fond memories. Her friends always made fun of her emo music in high school, so she decided to switch to some more mainstream stereotypical party music when hanging out with her college friends. The mainstream stuff like Doja Cat and Cardi B, stuff that was always playing loudly at clubs and house parties.

Aelin also had a soft spot for love songs and romantic ballads. Frank Sinatra always reminded her of her parents spinning around their living room on a weeknight. She always thought that they were disgustingly in love. Always holding hands and kissing in front of her and her friends. Aelin now regrets giving them crap about it, especially since the time they had together ended up being cut short.

She ends up eating her frozen pasta dinner over the kitchen island as she hummed along to an old fall out boy song. She went to check her phone and saw a message from Sam which simply asked if she was going to be at the Cadre’s in an hour, she sent back a simple yes as a response and finished up her dinner. Once she was done, she decided that it was probably time to get dressed for the night.

Aelin loved getting dressed up. She found it calming. Once she picked out an outfit she would methodically paint her face and do her hair. She scanned her overflowing closet, her gaze gliding over black cocktail dresses, sportswear, blazers, sun dresses, and band T’s. She decided on a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized concert t-shirt since she just wanted to wear something simple, and the Cadre’s was a fairly run-down dive bar, though Aelin didn’t mind being overdressed, she loved her clothes and wasn’t afraid to show off and look fabulous doing so.

Once she was dressed, she went into her bathroom to do her makeup. She blended concealer and foundation into her skin, and painstaking lined her eyes with black liquid liner. She had decided on a classic cat eye with red lips, something you could never go wrong with. She reached down for her tube of lipstick then remembered that Sam got kind of soppy and romantic when he was drunk and reached for a liquid lip instead.

She then quickly curled her hair and accessed her appearance. Her skin was flawless, her eyebrows were groomed to perfection, the eyeliner accentuated her blazing blue-gold eyes wonderfully, and her crimson red lips went well with the look. Her golden hair was voluminous in big beach waves, she overall was pleased with her appearance, especially after spending the entire day in lounge wear studying. It felt good to be put together after a day of lounging around her apartment while trying to write. Overall Aelin thought she looked hot as fuck.

She quickly pulled on her heeled black booties, grabbed her bag and she was out the door.

. . .

The bar was so loud, the baseline of the song that was playing was all that could be heard. Lysandra had left the group about an hour in, to go flirt with some guy she had met previously that night and had eventually went home with him, after checking in with Aelin. Aelin dutifully took down the guys information, with Lys promising to check in with her later in the evening. That left Aelin to hang with the guys.

They had all gathered tonight. Sam, Lorcan, Conall, Fenrys, Rowan, and Aelin. They had all had a few rounds and were now all laughing over stupid shit, even Lorcan, who Aelin didn’t know could even laugh before tonight.

They were all giddy over the thought of finishing the school year. Rowan, Lorcan, and Sam were all graduating in a week, and Aelin and the twins were officially 75% done with their education. There was a lot to celebrate and drink to.

Aelin’s thigh was pressed against Rowan’s in the booth as they started arguing over which actor was the best Spiderman. That was the one habit they had kept from the time when they hated each other, the arguing. Rowan and Aelin were known to argue over everything, though now the disagreements were over trivial things and mostly just involved teasing. Rowan was arguing in favor of Tobey Maguire, which Aelin made gagging noises over when he finally confessed as to who her thought the best actor was.

“I’m sorry to inform you,” Aelin started, elbow on the table starring up at her best friends face, “That we cannot be friends anymore. I simply cannot be friends with anyone who thinks that Tobey Maguire makes a better Spiderman than Tom Holland. That’s blasphemous, and I will not stand for it.”

“You can’t mess with the original, Ace.” Rowan responds looking serious. “He just cannot be beat.”

“Yeah, Ace.” Conall responds, apparently feeling the need to weigh in on their argument. Rowan frowns at him, no doubt from the fact that Conall called her Ace, which usually only Rowan called her that, with the exclusion of Sam who had recently gone about calling her that. Rowan has always felt a little possessive over the name Ace.

“No, No, No,” Fenrys butts in, his words slurring slightly, “I agree with Aelin. Tom Holland is simply the best. Also, have you seen his lip sync battle? Tell me Tobey Maguire could pull that off. I dare you.”

“He can’t,” Aelin laughs, “He simply can’t.”

“I also agree that Tom Holland is the best Spiderman.” Sam says with a sly smile.

Rowan frowns at him. “You’re only agreeing with Aelin because she’s your girlfriend.”

Sam laughs, gets up and slides onto the opposite booth and sits next to Aelin, “No, no one can compete with Holland’s acting chops.” He says as he throws his arm around Aelin’s shoulders.

“There’s only one way to decide then,” Conall says with a smirk. “Lorcan must be the deciding vote.”

Aelin and Fenrys both protest loudly, claiming Lorcan had no taste, and that Lorcan would choose Maguire just to spite them.

Rowan shuts the protests up by turning to Lorcan and asking for his vote.

Lorcan looks sheepishly around before he says, “I actually think Andrew Garfield plays the best Spiderman.”

The group eventually quiets back down, as the night begins to come to an end. Lorcan was the first one to head out, claiming he had a final tomorrow. Fenrys left soon after, receiving a text from a semi-frequent hook-up asking him to come over. Conall then convinced Sam to play darts with him, beating Sam every round. Sam still seemed to be enjoying himself though, laughing every time he missed one of the rings, and once the board entirely. Aelin never understood why bar owners thought it was a good idea to put a dart board in the middle of drunk men with questionable aim, but who was she to question it.

Sam and Conall’s questionable game of darts did, however, leave Aelin and Rowan alone for the first time that night. Aelin had been missing spending time with her best friend. It seemed that every time they tried to get together, outside of their morning runs, they were busy or surrounded by other people.

“So, how are you Buzzard?” Aelin asks with a slow smile.

“How are you, fireheart?” Rowan asks, far too seriously for the night they have been having.

Aelin’s heart begins to pound loudly in her chest. He hardly ever called her that, only when he was feeling particularly affectionate.

“All’s good.” She replied, still smiling. Her heart pounded faster still when his fingers brushed against her cheek.

“An eyelash had fallen.” Was all Rowan said, still gazing at her with an intense stare.

“Oh.” Aelin said, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Rowan only gave her a sad smile as he stood up. He ended up tripping while trying to remove himself from his seat, which made her burst out laughing. Rowan, who was usually graceful to a fault, had tripped. He was more drunk than she had initially thought, he must be excited to be graduating.

“Do you need help?” Aelin asked.

“I am fine.” Rowan growled back.

“Are you sure about that?” Aelin asked, trying to hide her laughter. “You seem a little unsteady on your feet.”

“I’m fine, I’m going to head home for the night.” Rowan said, regaining his balance and his usual stoic expression. He grabbed his jacket from where he had been sitting.

“How about you come home with me,” Aelin offered. “You seem a bit unsteady there, Buzzard.”

“I’m fine,” Rowan said again. “I’ll get a cab. Goodnight.” Rowan threw her one last smile, then exited the bar, never bothering to turn back.

. . .

The dreams usually began with a dizzying array of colors, then quickly moved on to flashes of memory. Her heart begins to pound so loudly she can hear it in her head, in her dreams. Once her senses are overwhelmed with the shadow of memories and the deafening sound of her own heartbeat, is when she would stop breathing. The lack of air is what usually wakes her from her slumber.

Aelin Galathynius quickly padded across the floor of her bedroom to her bathroom, closing the door behind her, where she then vomited into the toilet. She always made sure the door to the bathroom was closed and locked, so Sam could not hear her, or accidently open the bathroom door in the middle of the night to find her lying on the floor next to the toilet.

After Aelin was done emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet, she slumped down onto the floor. The cool tile against her back, where her loose sleep camisole did not cover, always seemed to ground her. The hot flashes, the insanity from the dreams and then the vomiting always began to dissipate once she felt the cool tile against her body.

She laid on the floor for a while, breathing in and out and waiting for her pulse to return to normal. The memories she tried to escape during her day, where always ruthlessly unleashed during the night, pursuing her where she could not escape them. Although she couldn’t escape the dreams and memories, they were significantly better within the last few years, only occurring every once in a while, instead of every night.

Aelin thought back to her freshmen year, where she would drink all night long, or get into fights, just to try to stay awake just a little longer so she wouldn’t have to face what was waiting in her subconscious. Aelin was good at that, pushing things away, not examining anything too closely in case it might trigger a panic attack.

Aelin would eventually have to get up, brush her teeth and make her way back to bed where her loving boyfriend was sleeping, but she allowed herself to rest for a moment more on the floor. Though Sam knew what happened when she was eighteen in veiled terms, and through short bursts of vulnerability, she couldn’t get herself to admit to him that she still had panic attacks, and nightmares from her previous years. In fact, the only person who knew she still suffered through them was Rowan.

Rowan was her constant star and steadfast companion when it came to the pain of suddenly losing someone. He was also well aware of the way she tried to deal with it afterward, for that was how they found each other. They were both so wrapped up in their grief and their own self destruction that they couldn’t see the other person in front of them. When Aelin pulled her head out of her ass, as Aedion called it, and finally called a truce with Rowan, and later became friends with him, is when Aelin realized that they had the same grief festering inside them. They also had the same self-destructive streak, so they vowed to find their way out of the madness and grief together.

For a moment Aelin wished Rowan was with her, gently coaxing her get up and brush her teeth, rubbing his hand on her back soothingly, waiting for her pulse to slow back down. Rowan always knew how to reach her, how to soothe her.

Aelin slowly got up, and eventually made her way back to her sleeping boyfriend who was unaware that anything had happened. She tried to fall asleep next to her boyfriend, but she couldn’t, she was too busy wishing Rowan was beside her with his soothing touch luring her back to sleep.

Taglist

@rowaelinismyotp

#champagne problems #celaena sardothien #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #sam cortland #throne of glass #tog #au #lorcan salvaterre #lysandra ennar #fenrys moonbeam #connall moonbeam

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onceupona-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

Feathers and dawn (part II)

Day 18 of Elriel month/ Teach me how to fly

You can read part I here.

"Spread your wings."

The moment Elain opened her wings, the cold, impetuous wind hit them, and the full impact made her lose balance, almost falling backwards. Instead, she met Azriel's chest, his hands tightened on her waist, and her body went cold and hot all at once.

This time Elain did stop breathing.

WC: 4164/ Warnings: Language

(I had so much fun writing this! As usual, sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Sorry for any typos as well, but I can't look at it anymore lol)

Elain had held that light inside of her with everything she got, and even so it came close to controlling her rather than the other way around.

She still could feel it, not the light that shone so bright to blind someone's eyes, but more like a gracious flame of a candle in her chest. But that was nothing compared to how the muscles on her back burned.

When her eyes cracked open, she was half expectant that all of it had been a delirious dream or one of those visions that still hunted her from time to time. But then she tried to move to a sit position, and a scream escaped from her throat at the very, very real pain punishing her upper body.

Her entire back was sore, and she could feel a complex extension of muscles - from her neck to the end of her spine - that was now linked to two massive weights coming out of her shoulder blades.

Excruciating, blinding pain.

Elain didn't notice the tears falling down her cheeks, couldn't even hear the sounds coming out of her own mouth.

Strong, calloused hands were pushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead a second later, and then Azriel’s beautiful face was there.

He was like a hiding spot in the middle of a storm, anchoring her from her agony, even though his expression was contorted in worry.

Azriel's eyes were wild, lips forming her name, but she couldn't hear a sound. Pain was all she knew, making her senses numbed.

Black dots started to dance in front of her eyes, her head getting light, and hazel ones full of terror was the last thing she saw before the world bleed into darkness again.

_______________

The next time Elain emerged to consciousness, first she smelled the leafy odor of salvia. Then the feeling of gentle, experienced hands massaged the line of her spine while she was lying on her stomach.

Heavy eyelids opened to the Velaris sunset, shades of pink and purple coloring the blue sky were visible through the familiar floor to ceiling windows, making her recognize her room in the river house.

Elain caught a movement from the corner of her eyes, and she inclined her head slightly to see Azriel, kneeling beside her bed, worry still printed in his face, but his eyes filled with relief now.

His hair was in complete disarray, the dark locks pointed in different directions as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly.

“You’re awake,” he breathed.

Those hands, unfamiliar hands, were still rubbing her exposed back, the gentle touch soothing the pain.

“That’s Majda, she’s almost finishing.” Azriel must have sensed her confusion. “How’s the pain?”

Her mouth was dry and it was an effort just to make words come out of it. “Tolerable” she said, voice raw.

He just nodded and then they fell in a comfortable silence. It was always like this with him - no need for empty words.

Azriel just stayed there in his vigil, shadows curling around his ankles, watching her with those familiar hazel eyes. Not the blazing gold of Cassian's, but rather an embrace shared between warm brown and stark gray, with hues of emerald green that would stand out according to his mood.

Eyes as complex as Azriel's himself, candidly observing her whilst Majda worked, her hands putting the exact amount of pressure to soothe her muscles, the salvia tuning the sharp pain into a dull ache. She didn't touch Elain's wings.

Wings.

Even with their weights on her back, even with the feeling of that warm power in her chest, Elain still was prone to believe it all had been a dream if it wasn't for the pain.

When Majda finished the healing massage, she merely told them she'd come back the next few days to do it again.

The bedroom’s door clicked shut, and Elain was already trying to get up, Azriel immediately protesting, "You should stay in bed.”

"I want to see them" was her only reply. She needed to see, to look at them. To know they were real.

"Your muscles aren't strong enough to support the new weight -"

Indeed, when she tried to stand, her balance wavered and she toppled forward.

Azriel caught her before she could fall on her face, hauling her up. Gently, one of his hands passed behind her knees, the other around her waist, and he scooped her up.

Elain let her head fall against his chest, breathing his scent as he walked through the room. A few moments later, far more than was necessary to reach her mirror, he put her down, but remained close.

She didn't see her pale face or even care about the fact that she was wearing nothing, but a nightgown that reached the middle of her thighs. Not when two massive wings rested on the floor behind her, the soft, white feathers touching the carpet.

Elain turned around to see her back, to see the point where the skin ended and the feathering began.

They were beautiful.

But she never had felt more unworthy of something. She couldn’t even hold them up, couldn't even lift them from the ground. It had been so exhausting spent months trapped in that murky realm, visions blending together with reality, that she hadn’t want find out what else the Cauldron had given her, hadn't want to touch that flame burning in her chest, not when her own body felt foreign and now -

Only when she felt tears dripping onto her chest, Elain realized she was crying, exhaustion falling upon her as a blanket, covering her to the bones.

She stood there for enough time that the next time Azriel spoke, she had almost forgotten he was there.

Almost.

Because she always seemed to sense whenever he was around.

"I will teach you everything."

It didn't sound like an offer at all. His words were a promise.

Slowly she turned from the mirror to face him - and nearly sobbed at how lovely and fiercely his eyes were, almost shining with sheer compassion.

Compassion for her, yes. But also for an Illyrian boy who didn't know how to fly, who found himself all alone in a war camp long ago. "I'll be with you and I'll teach you everything."

She didn’t know what to say, what to make of everything. So Elain only took his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing firmly.

But then, a thought struck her. "Truth-Teller," she gasped.

A smile curved his lips. "It's with me," he said. "I went back to the Cave. Turns out, without the Orb, the wards were gone."

Relief washed over her. And guilty.

"I'm sorry. I should - ."

Before she could finish her sentence, Elain was again in his arms. Azriel chuckled, but hadn't missed how heavy her eyelids were getting. "Not your fault. You weren't exactly in position to remember it," he said while gently carrying her back to bed.

But before he could lay down the mattress, he stopped by the side of the bed, and turned to look at her. Every ounce of amusement gone.

"I thought…" his words died and he shook his head.

No trace of that mask he so often used, no sign of his usually neutral expression.

The look on his face was Azriel in his most raw state. And she could see it.

I thought I had lost you.

She wished she wasn't so tired as she buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed, "I know."

He nodded. He understood.

He murmured as he lay her in the bed, "Sleep. I still owe Nesta an explanation."

Elain smiled sleepily, and mumbled, "Good luck."

Just when darkness came to claim her once again, Elain felt the ghost touch of a light kiss in her temple and the smell of mist and cedar. ___________

The next day, Elain was sitting at her usual spot by the window of the living room in the river house, the Orb laying on a desk right in the center of the room. What was unusual, however, was the many pairs of eyes glued to her.

Cassian's jaw was still on the floor by the time Amren, the last one to arrive, entered the room. Even her face went a bit slack when she took in the wings and some emotion sparkled in her silver eyes.

Elain tried not to blush, but all that attention wasn't helping.

Although Feyre had helped her before to retract and summon her wings, which she was grateful for, Elain didn't want to summon them in front of everyone, so she decided to just get straight to the point.

She didn’t know how Azriel explained what had happened to the others, especially to Nesta. But given the look on her face fixed on Rhysand and on the spymaster, a perfect I Will Slay My Enemies look, according to Cassian, Elain wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

But as for now Azriel just held her sister's gaze, his face neutral.

"So…" Cassian began, waving a hand towards her wings. "What the hell?"

"I think what he's trying to ask you is," Nesta gave a look at her mate. "Where did those come from?"

Elain took a deep breath. "Well..." She bit her lip, trying to choose her words in order to make sense. "After I found out what I was, I've never accessed the full extension of my powers. I knew the Cauldron had given me something else,something more, but I didn't want to find out what it was."

Rhysand asked, "Why."

"Because I was too scared," She replied honestly. That was all she could say. She didn't want to, didn't know if she could relive those days when she couldn't tell reality and dreams apart.

She glimpsed at Azriel, who was at the corner of the room, sorrow shining on his face while he gave her a reassurance nod.

"So when I grabbed the Orb, it… whatever powers I have just grumbled in answer, as if they were the same… they came to the surface. It tried to stop them, push them back, to let go of the Orb, but I couldn't… it trapped me"

"That's because they are the same," Amren said. As soon as the words left her mouth, Elain understood what lay on her eyes: recognition.

"What wicked sort of plans the Cauldron may have for the three of you," Amren went on, nodding to Elain and her sisters.

"Amren," Rhysand said, the voice of the High Lord. "If you know something, just tell us."

The petite female gave him a hard look, before turning to Elain. "The Cauldron didn't make you any Seer." Amren tilted her head, studied Elain. "He also happened to make you an Oracle." Her eyes were practically two blazing stars, and Elain had to fight a shiver, before asking "An Oracle?"

"That 's right, girl."

"What's the difference?" Nesta demanded.

"A different group of Seers… powerful ones", Rhysand murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I thought they were just a myth."

"They were as real as you and me, Rhysand," Amren said, shaking her head.

It was Feyre's time to demand, "Someone please explain."

"Before the High Lords, there was a time where this world lived in complete, unshakable peace," Amren began. "The Oracles were the great responsibles for this time of harmony, a group of Seers who used to celebrate life and pulled the threads of Fate. They travel through words just like we travel between courts, using their Seer powers to See and manipulate the future to their will… to prevent any cause of conflict before it even became a conflict. Subtle, swift creatures those females"

Elain wasn't sure if anyone in the room was breathing.

Azriel asked quietly, "How did they disappear?"

"No one truly knows." Rhysand answered. "The legends don't go that far."

"Common Seers have the gift of sight, but it's limited in its own way," Amren explained. "Oracles, however, have other sort powers as well and they can see further in the future, no matter how distant."

There was one question in Elain's mind, essencial and terrifying. "What is my power?"

Amren's smile was a thing of pure wickedness. "I guess you'll have to find out."

"But why the wings?" Nesta asked, brows furrowed.

Amren eyes softened a little. "Some claimed some of them heritaged from an unknown race of warriors. But not every one of them had wings. If you were blessed with them, they would call you the Leader. The others would fly on their winged horses by her side, travelling through the world and maintaining their balance."

Elain's head was spinning. "But what about the Orb?"

"I might have an idea, but I'll need to do some research in the Helion's libraries first." Rhysand shot his mate a look, his lips curving. "Care to join?"

Feyre only rolled her eyes.

Cassian let out a long breath. "So you're telling me Elain could see if a war is truly coming and stop it before it even begins."

A sick feeling gathered on her stomach, and she blurted, "No."

Silence.

"No what?" Amren asked thighly.

"No, I won't use my powers to play with Fate." She couldn't help the edge of rage in her words. "Espeacilly not when Fate itself had been playing with me all along."

Silence fell.

"You're right," Feyre offered at last, her voice soft. "It's your choice."

Gratitude washed over Elain.

"I want to learn how to fly, though" she blurted, glancing at Azriel, who was already smiling.

Feyre looked between them. "You'll find Azriel has… harsh methods, but they are quite efficient."

Rhysand, who had been just observing, suggested, "Maybe you, Feyre darling, can teach Elain, too."

"I will train her." Azriel's words were practically a snarl, challenge filling every one of them.

Elain looked at the shadows gathering around him as he stared at Rhysand, who just narrowed his eyes back. Strange.

"I'm sure Azriel is the better option to teach Elain, he was the one who taught me after all." Feyre was looking pointly at her mate. "But I can participate in a few lessons when they get tired of training alone." She said looking at Elain, eyes shining bright with an edge of mischief.

Elain ignored that.

"You'll have to build some muscles, you know that, right?" Cassian asked.

Muscles. It wasn't that Elain was opposed to that, but… she couldn't see herself as a warrior like her sisters. Surely, she wouldn't mind learning one thing or two, but...

"I'll help you."

Elain turned to her older sister, with raised brows. "I don't…"

"You don't have to learn how to use a sword, but I can help with your core muscles," Nesta offered.

Then, Elain couldn't stop the warmth in her chest - not from that source of power, but from pure gratitude. "Thank you."

Amren shocked her head and huffled a breath, edged with amusement, making Elain's brows furrow at that.

"A Made, reborn Fae and a Valkyrie training a new Oracle." Her lips curved in a feral smile. "Three Cauldron-blessed sisters, indeed."

Elain didn't have to use the Orb to know Fate had listened to Amren's words.

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

"Shit."

Azriel's curse hit Elain's ears, before her arm hit the rock as she fell on her face right into the lake.

They had been training for weeks now. At first, it was more about how to summon her wings and keep them up instead of resting on the ground.

Sometimes Feyre would join them, or even Nuala and Cerridwen made an appearance for what Cerridwen called "emotional support".

Which means they watched as Elain jumped just to fall right into that gods-damned lake and tried not to laugh. Cerridwen often failed spectacularly at that.

But after one particularly hard training lesson that ended up with more bruises Elain would care to admit, especially to her pride, Cerridwen had come to her room with a gift: a brand new and very pink apron with a winged fawn carefully embroidered at the front, the chain stitches meticulous done.

It was the most ridiculous apron Elain had ever seen - and she wore every chance she got with a stupid smile on her face.

But most of the time it was only Azriel and her. First they would stick to training, and she was able to focus only on the lessons. Until one day they had sat side by side at the shore, talking about everything and nothing, and, gods, she had missed him.

But then she felt that ravenous pull towards him and had to look away, before she could do something stupid again - and just like that she remembered why they had kept their distance in the first place.

She knew he desired her just as she desired him. She had seen the longing in his face, and had smelled his scent that night, darker than usual. Had read the hunger shining in his eyes as he looked at her.

But she had crossed a line he didn't want to cross.

Good thing now she had other things to worry about. Like ignoring the pain in her left arm, finding her way to the surface to get the hell out of that chilling lake.

But before she could do any of those things, Elain found herself looking at the sky and then the ground was beneath her.

And a very, very shirtless Azriel was by her side. "Are you alright?" he asked, wrapping his tunic around her shoulders, scanning for injuries.

Even with her teeth almost chattering off her mouth from the cold, Elain couldn't help but take one good look at his muscled chest, those intricate tattoos on display and she felt her face heating. Not from embarrassment, but from pure desire that was pounding in her blood, traveling through her body. All she wanted in that moment, and so many before that, was to touch him, taste him. Be with him, by his side.

She imagined what would be like to have that powerful body hovering over hers.

Then she blushed a bit at those thoughts, too.

"I"m fine," she blurted after a considerable time, enough to make Azriel blush as well. And make her consider throwing herself at the lake again.

To distract herself, Elain closed her eyes and accessed that flame in her chest, letting it shine bright inside her, waves of heat running through her veins and bones until she was no longer cold.

When she looked at Azriel, he was already watching her. He cleaned his throat. "You kept yourself on the air longer this time."

Elain raised an eyebrow, "I fell on the only rock in this entire river."

A gleam shone in his eyes.

Elain narrowed hers at him.

"Are you trying not to laugh?"

"No," he said, clapping his lips together.

Every pound of desire in her blood died. "You said it wasn't funny anymore after the first four times!"

At that, Azriel tipped his head back and busted out such a rich laugh, that even Elain couldn't stop the small smile on her own lips. "You are a terrible teacher."

Except that he wasn't. Azriel was patient and thoughtful. He had refused to let her practice anywhere but the lake, and when she said she didn't need to be coddled and could practice on land, he had scanned her face, so many emotions passing across his, and told her he wouldn't see her getting hurt.

So they practice on the lake. Every day.

That was weeks ago and Elain was starting to think she would never take to the skies. She still couldn't sustain herself on the air for more than a few seconds.

"What is it like? To fly, I mean." she asked, eyes fixing on the lake before her.

She felt Azriel's eyes on her. "It 's freedom." Truth echoed in his words.

Elain nodded to herself. "I can hear the wind calling me." Her wing ruffled as if in emphasis."I can feel every muscle in my body begging me to jump out of the windows and it just… it's getting harder to ignore."

Elain tried to stop the burning in her eyes, her voice was broken when she breathed, "Why me, if I can't even get close to being airborne for more than five seconds?"

Azriel kept silent for so long, she didn't know if he heard her, but she was too much of a coward to look at him. Didn't want to look at him, not like this, not again.

But then gentle fingers found her chin and slowly turned her head to meet hazel eyes shining bright as the sun above them.

"Come with me."

Next thing she knew she was taking his extended hand and he shot to the skies, his tunic flying from her shoulders while she was being cradled against his bare chest.

Even though he was made of muscles hard as rock, his skin was warm and soft as the finest velvet.

Azriel landed right on the top of one of the highest mountains surrounding Velaris, the city bursting with life so far below that it seemed one of Nyx's toys.

And Elain almost stopped breathing. "Are you going to push me?"

Azriel chuckled, but didn't answer. "Turn around and close your eyes."

"So you definitely are going to push me," she murmured, but did as she was told.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't Azriel's large hands on her waist or the warmth of his body behind her.

"Spread your wings."

The moment Elain opened her wings, the cold, impetuous wind hit them, and the full impact made her lose balance, almost falling backwards. Instead, she met Azriel's chest and his hands tightened on her.

This time Elain did stop breathing.

Especially when Azriel's breath caressed the

shell of her ear. "Focus on the wind passing through your wings, how each feather answers to it. Try to understand its direction, its temperature."

So she did. And she could feel it. She could feel the most external layer of feathers absorbing the temperature impact of the icy wind. Could feel the most little plumes, so sensitive they could perceive the slight change in any air current direction.

She became aware of everything around her. But mostly of the heat emanating from Azriel's body on her back, of his thumbs now drawing small circles on her sides.

"When I was a boy, I used to think the same thing as you do now," he whispered. "I was locked away and had to suppress so many instincts…" He let out a breath. "These wings are yours and only yours, you command them. It might take some time, but you will fly and control your powers. Be patient. You can do whatever you want, Elain."

It was his words, the meaning. He believed in her, had always believed in her.It was that certainty that had her leaning into his touch.

She folded in her wings and tilted her head, slowly opening her eyes to find his beautiful face inches from hers, close enough for her to see the hues of green in his eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed.

Azriel said nothing. No, he just let every word shine in his gaze as he leaned down and brushed his nose against hers while his thumbs were still caressing her sides leisurely.

She sucked in a breath, eyes falling close as she lost herself at the pure intimacy of that touch. Elain's whole body went molten and she wanted nothing more than to melt against his chest.

But she couldn't cross that line again.

So she pulled back, just enough to look at his face and made herself say, "I think Nesta is waiting for me."

Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. "Right."

On their way to the House of Wind, she thought Azriel would keep silent but he surprised her when he said quietly, "Nuala and Cerridwen never told me you were training with them."

Despite everything, a faint smile curved Elain's lips. "You can't expect to know everyone secrets."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's my job."

And Nuala and Cerridwen's, too.

"I don't want to be a warrior," Elain blurted. "But… maybe I can use my gifts - my sight gifts, I mean - to..."

A whisper of those shadows still filled his gaze, but Azriel gave her a small smile. "Like spying?"

Elain blushed. "Perhaps."

"You'd make a good spy, but you have to be patient."

Elain looked at him. At that male who had intrigued her and made her feel comfortable and safe from the very beginning. At that male who found her when no one else would, who had seen her. Had truly seen her.

No, she wouldn't cross that line now, but...

"I can be patient, Azriel," she breathed. Promised.

This time, hope shone so brightly in his hazel eyes that no room was left for shadows.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #elriel month #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #elrielmonth

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pendragonfics · 4 years ago

Text

Patch

Paring: Leonard McCoy/Reader

Tags: no gender for reader, no name for reader, no pronouns for reader, post Star Trek Beyond, protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, fights, missions, angst and hurt/comfort, resolution, fluff, medical, injury recovery

Summary: Reader and Leonard have an argument over Reader's attendance on an away mission. But when Reader returns injured, will all be resolved?

Word Count: 1,566

Current Date: 2021-01-19

According to the statistics, it was improbable that your return to the USS Enterprise would be on a hover stretcher. There was a truth to it, and it showed in the data. Sometimes, casual dating was a fun exercise in romantic growth with others. However, when casually dating Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, CMO of the ship and resident grump, it wasn’t easy. You were a hands-on learner! A xeno-geographer worked better in the field.

Despite your inclinations, the data showed a different story. Crew admitted to Medbay worked largely in security and on away teams. An overwhelming percentage of those wore a red uniform. The statistics reduced for casualties for sciences blue, and lesser so with gold. The statistics had abated your worries. But despite the numbers, Leonard was not having it. It had been a passing conversation over replicator coffee. Five minutes before departing for the alpha shift, he had downed his black, no sugar and no cream, and gave you a most definite no you had ever heard.

“I won’t condone it,” he said, gathering his holo-pad. “Look - I’m not calling you a bad officer! You’re damn fine at your job.”

“Is that why you’re acting my father instead of partner?” You retorted hotly. Something about his obstinance reacted unfavourably with you, “You’re not my keeper.”

He blinked, and slowly, placed his mug upon the table. “My apologies, Darlin’,” He said, in a low voice. “…that I am not.”

It was then he walked away. The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of preparations, and without a moment to think of Leonard, it quickly became pushed to the back of your mind.

The away mission was simple. The people were a previously uncontacted civilisation on the northern hemisphere of a Federation planet. The southern populace had been contacted some years ago. However, the mission was to observe and document its cultural landmarks and social evolution.

Come the arrival, however, your nerves got the better of you.

You felt like your head was getting the better of you. All the unspoken words you wished you had said to Leonard at the forefront, not your job. While the rest of the team made their way to the outskirts of the citadel, you fell behind.

Had that been your first fight as a couple? What if you never saw each other again? What if that was the last thing you ever said to him?

That was how you did not see the trap in time. Up you went, the rope snagged around your leg, hoisting yourself into the air. The crackle of your comms buzzed, but it fell out, and no communication was received. The other members of the party turned at the commotion, coming to help you.

"I said to look out for that," a security officer muttered, lowering you from the uncomfortable hoist. "Now we sprung the trap, the people are sure to know we are here."

"Are you hurt?" one of the others asked.

Before you could find the words, however, you heard it. The distinctive twang! of a string-based weapon. Despite your vast knowledge of the weaponry used in evolving alien civilisations, that alone did not save you. Because as soon as you heard the release, the projectile was coming for you. And as fast as you were, there was no way to dodge it.

You blinked.

A flash of blinding pain erupted from your shoulder as an arrow-like object embedded itself within your flesh. The words were lost in your throat, but holding them in, a reactionary gurgle of agony escaped.

The security officer shouted something into his comms. The away team scrambled. Someone pulled you from the path, but not before the twang! and release of more projectiles was heard again.

You hadn't been shot before, but now you had. The voices around you seemed to fade out of volume, though they were nearby. Your head swam with confusion and fear. All of those aside, it was the sensation of beaming on board that brought you back to lucidity.

All you could think of was not on the primitive projectile jutting from your shoulder. Not the hazy fog that filled your thoughts, like a slow poison. It was with your boyfriend.

"Get them to Medbay! We need help!" someone called for help.

Despite the lucidity, you felt a prisoner in your body as they helped you onto a stretcher. Carried toward the Medbay, you tried to parse your thoughts into a coherence, but it was no use. The faces of those around you were blurry, some doubling. Their voices faded in and out, and slowly, you felt less and less control of your limbs.

Upon arrival into the Medbay, the white light overwhelmed you. If you weren't already having trouble comprehending the world around you, the commotion in the Medbay brought vertigo-like nausea to you. Despite your understanding of your surroundings being hard to pay attention to, you knew the blurry silhouette at the end of the stretcher. The appearance of the CMO was something that would've been comforting to some. Despite having little control over your body, you try to move from his sight, lamely shifting away to evade his gaze.

“What are you waiting for, divine intervention?" his voice cut in. "I need a bed for the patient, stat.”

You tried to roll the stretcher once more, but your already turning stomach turned some more at the movement. Your shoulder burst into another wave of pain. A gentle touch upon your collar stopped your movement. You didn't need to open your eyes to know whose hand it was. You were well versed with those hands. You knew the good and kind work those hands performed, the love and tenderness behind his touch. But you also knew what those hands had done in the seconds before you parted.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they weren't for the pain. No. The fading rush of adrenaline somewhat helped with that. The tears were for a different pain.

"It'll be okay Darlin', you'll be okay." He says, voice low, hurridly. You felt his hand upon your cheek, cupping it. "You have to be."

Soon after that, all the noises of the Medbay blended into one. A prick of a Hypospray led to a loss of sensation in your arm. Then torso. And slowly after that, a loss of awareness. But as your eyes fluttered to a close, some part of you fighting the anaesthesia, you caught sight of him. He stood at the end of the cot, a chart in hand, speaking with a nurse.

As the world faded from view, you felt his name on your lips.

---

When you next opened your eyes, there was no denying the throbbing pain. Slowly beneath the bedsheets, you tested the muscles in your body, moving them slightly. Your fingers moved on command, toes too. As you shifted your arm, you realised that the projectile you had taken a hit with had been removed. Glancing up, everything in sight was as it should be, no doubled vision. The screen beside you that housed your vitals seemed to wake up with you. It hummed a similar tone to that of your heart; a soft ba-dum, ba-dum.

It wasn't long before a nurse arrived. But as quick as they came, another person appeared. But he was no nurse.

Leonard looked as tired as they came. His bags under the eyes were dark, his skin sallow, his dark hazel eyes somewhat vacant. You had no idea how long you had been under; it could only have been one day, right? But Leonard looked haggard. The previously sexy stubble of five o'clock shadow looked dishevelled, unkempt.

"I didn't mean what I said," you blurt, trying and failing to sit up. Silently, Leonard came to your side, helping you do so. The bed, adjusting into a seating position, whirred to life. "I was just frustrated. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied softly. "But there was truth to your words."

You watch as he takes a seat at the bedside, his hands lingering at the edge, not moving to hold yours. "You're nothing like my father, Len." You reassured him.

"I know." He says. "...but I was being your keeper. You're a free spirit; you deserve to be unfettered. Free to do what you want - free to do what your job needs."

"I'm not a pigeon that flew inside a public building, Leonard," you hum. "I'm a person."

He wipes a hand over his face. "A hell of a person, at that." He says, quietly. "In truth...you reminded me of her. My ex-wife. Elinor. She was always stubborn, that's why we got hitched, and why we fell apart. But with you..." You reach for his hand, interlacing his fingers with your own. "Darlin', you can handle yourself. You're a tough cookie. But with you – this is your life. You work as a xeno-geographer," He sighs, "Who am I to stop you?"

"Leonard..." you squeeze his hand.

"It was wrong of me to try to stop you. And even though you did get hurt, it took all I could to keep it together, treating you."

"Thanks for trusting me," you whisper, squeezing his hand once more. "I promise next time I'll be even more careful."

He smiles. "And even if you get hurt again, I'll patch you up."

#Leonard McCoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x oc #Bones #bones mccoy #bones x reader #bones mccoy x reader #Star Trek 2009 #star trek fanfic #star trek alternate original series #star trek x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

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fragilefangirl · 3 years ago

Text

Nomad (lost and found, what’s new?)

Read on AO3

When Xialing first ran away, she brought nothing but the things she wore on herself and the rolled up Dance-Dance Revolution carpet, slung on her shoulders.

It was a daring escape, considering their hilltop fortress of a home; there were many guards, many traps, many weapons ready to impale anybody going in or out unauthorized. Xialing spent months just mapping the inner-maze of the house, and some more learning the sewer system, since that was a sure path down below, somewhere with civilizations.

Gege definitely had it easier, she thought to herself as her nose wrinkled due to the smell, knees deep in murky and questionable water, at least he got a free ride out of this godforsaken mountain.

She knew she had to be quick, she had to be agile, she had to be unseen; Baba had eyes everywhere, had ears everywhere, had hands everywhere. Xialing didn’t want anything of hers reaching him.

(She wanted to, once upon a time; yearned for it, when she thought that his eyes could still be filled with brightness and his hands were still warm and his ears would still perk up at her voice. She wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be ruffled by the head the way it used to.

But 6 years passed, and it took Xialing that much time to realize that a dying man could only do so much, so little.)

When she finally reached somewhere that was not a forest, asking for a ride to the city from a passing truck, the driver asked what she could give him, eyeing the carpet on her shoulder. “Is that the 2007 DDR mat for PlayStation 2?” He asked. “I liked to play it in my cousin’s house back then—always wanted to get it.”

Xialing tightened her grip to the binding rope, nodding stiffly. “Yes.” She said, curtly. Then when they arrived at the nearest metropolitan, she unlatched her bracelet—pure gold and adorned with rare, beautiful green jade, one of the things Baba gave her on the birthdays after, in lieu of his affection—and gave it to him. “Sell this to a jeweller.” She said, giving the wide-eyed man the accessory. “The money from it should be enough for you to start a trucking company of your own.” She paused, “and even buy your own mat.”

The driver stuttered, but Xialing had already stepped down from the platform, running into the early dawn, blending herself among the crowd, finally, finally free.

***

“Meimei,”

Xialing looked up to see Gege, face obscured by the shadowy silhouette of the living room as he approached her. “What are you doing?” Asked her brother, tone careful.

She paused from unrolling the DDR mat and setting the TV, looking at Gege like he just asked something stupid. “It’s Saturday, Gege.” She said, matter-of-factly, “Family game night, remember?”

Because they all seemed to forget; Xialing had done this for weeks now, recharging the karaoke mic, setting the dance game, picking a movie. She’d waited on the sofa until she fell asleep and Saturday turned to Sunday and she was moved to her room instead of the sofa, but nobody showed up.

Nobody ever seemed to show up, these days—Gege was always training at some corner of the house since the ungodly hours of the morning until the ungodly hours of the night, and Baba…

…well, Xialing didn’t really know where Baba was.

Gege moved forward, and Xialing could see his face now; bruised, with blue and purple blooming here and there. There was a black circle over his eyes, and his lip was split—he looked like he was one of those fighters in the combat games he used to play in their PlayStation so much, the one he didn’t let her borrow.

She gasped, rising from her seat on the floor and reaching out to him, trying to examine him,

(the way mama used to—)

Xialing blinked, throat suddenly feeling suspiciously dry as her eyes grew suspiciously wet.

“Lingling,” Said Gege as he leaned over to her touch, eyes drooping somberly as he looked at her. “I don’t think we’re going to have family game nights tonight.”

Narrowing her eyes, Xialing frowned. “But it’s cus-to-ma-ry.” She said, struggling to say the last word. “Mama said that means we have to play it every weekend, unless we’re doing something even more fun!”

Gege gave her a pained smile, and tucked her under his right side, wincing a little as he did so. His eyes blinked a bit when Xialing mentioned the word ‘mama’, and his gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where there was a newly-built shrine with lightened incense and fresh tangerines. “A-Ling.” He said instead, tone weary and sad and did her older brother aged more than the years that passed through him? “Let’s just sleep, okay?” He looked down on her, offering her a tired smile. “It’s been a long day.”

For him, Xialing couldn’t help but to think, intrusive thoughts rebutting so quickly she was surprised herself. On her end, days blur to weeks on end, making her feel smaller every single time she wakes up unseen, unheard, unspoken.

“…okay.” She said, after mulling about it in a long silence. “Gege sleeps with me?”

This time, Gege’s smile was a little bit more genuine. “Sure, Meimei.” He said, ruffling her head. “You sleep on my right side, okay? My left side… hurts.” He winced just mentioning it, free hand tracing his torso.

Nodding, Xialing snuggled closer as they walked away from the living room, Gege’s longer hands barely able to reach the lightswitch to turn it off. Xialing herself had to use a chair just to get it every time. He paused as they were finally out in the hallway, turning to slowly close the sliding door.

“Gege.”

“Hm?”

“When…” Xialing hesitated. “When do you think we’ll play at family game night again?”

Her older brother paused, hands still holding the door handles. “…maybe not for a while.” He said, finally, back still facing her.

“Oh.” Xialing’s hopeful face fell. “Okay.”

Gege led her off, away from the living room, but he didn’t shut the sliding door completely, and from the gap Xialing could see mama’s shrine, lightened by the moonlight from the window.

She swore mama’s gaze looked so sad.

(The day after, Baba locked the Living Room.

A week later, they moved into the mountains.)

***

“Aiya, these beggars!”

Xialing arrived at Macau after three days of truck hopping and self-smuggling herself into unbelievable vehicles. It helped that she was on the smaller side and had nothing with her—but it also meant that she arrived with no destination and no place to live.

She arrived at a packed apartment complex in Iau Hon, paying the receptionist with some of the money she acquired from selling another bracelet of hers earlier in the Mainland, only to be told that there were no longer rooms for the night and she had to queue on the waiting list just to get a piss-poor excuse of a housing.

“Give my money back, then!” She protested, face red with anger.

The receptionist counted the bills, unblinking. “Sorry, no refund.”

She growled, “wáng bā dàn.”

The receptionist paused, glaring at Xialing. She knew she could take him out on a fight right then and there if he tested her further. “Careful with your words, now, girl—a child your age shouldn’t be cussing to their kind elders.”

“Fucker,” she muttered under her breath in English as she walked away, out of the complex. It was the last of her cash, too, after a series of expenses involving buying food, paying the smuggler who helped her through immigration, and compensating the truck drivers she rode with openly upfront and hidden on the back. She had to find another pawnshop to trade her remaining jewels if she wanted to acquire more money to survive. But it was nearing midnight, and all of the shops were closed.

So on her first night in, she lumped herself out with people on the back alleys, away from the main streets. There were homeless people there, huddled up together in worn carpets and makeshift tent. Macau was cold at night, and Xialing’s clothes were worn, too thin to block out the wind.

That night, she rolled out the DDR mat and slept on it; curled up like a cat because she was growing taller than the mat’s length, staving away the cold. She put herself at the back corner, near the trash can, so she wouldn’t be seen.

(Because she could not be seen—Xialing told herself that she needed to blend in, to disappear into the crowd, because Baba must be sending men out there, snooping, searching; he must be looking for her, the only child he had left, the last child he let slip through his fingers.

Baba must be looking for her.

Right?)

The tacky design of the mat was her only company, and she fell asleep tracing the arrows—left, left, right, up, down, left again—while humming on a long-forgotten song. She fell asleep trying to remember a warmer night and a warmer night. She fell asleep yearning to wake up to warm laughter.

“Mama, Gege,” she muttered, barely conscious, “Baba.”

The cold wind blew her hair, gentle and mournful.

***

“Mama.” Xialing said, fifteen and sitting at the shrine Baba had built in their new home, head leaning onto the altar. “I hate you so much.”

The smell of jasmine incense surrounded the room, and Xialing buried herself further into her own arms, warm in all the way except what mattered. She knew silence would greet her, and yet still she paused, hoping for some of the magic mama used to tell her back then would come back, would make their family whole again.

“I hate Gege too for leaving.” She said, one eye peeking into the picture of her mother, smiling behind the glass, forever immortalized on paper. “And I hate Baba for—“

She paused, unsure on what word should she use to describe that living husk of a man, more than eager to track down the lowly goons of his enemies but barely willing to look her in the eye during dinner. She shook her head, letting the silence complete the sentence.

“But I hate you for dying the most.” She whispered, a quiet confession. “I hate you because now Gege’s gone, and Baba’s never around, and I feel like—“ she choked up, clutching her chest as she gulped. “I feel like one of these days I’m gonna disappear too, with the way nobody here acknowledges my existence.”

The smoke from the incense danced, and Xialing sobbed, not for the first time and not for the last, a desperate attempt to be acknowledged by someone, by anyone—even the dead.

“Why didn’t you just hide in the room with us?” She asked, voice thick. “Why did you have to fucking fight those goons like a goddamn hero? Why didn’t you—I don’t know—wait for Baba to come home?”

Again, silence greeted her, and Xialing sighed out of frustration. “If you were still here, I’d still go to my old school and actually have friends and—and family game night would still exist.” She chuckled, darkly. “Gege wouldn’t leave me, and,” She said, “Baba would still look at me.”

The way he used to, when they were a heap of exhausted laughter after a particularly hard song to dance at. The way he used to, when Xialing whined because he kept repeating old opera songs none of them knew for the karaoke. The way he used to, when Saturday dinner was served and she and Gege fought over the last piece of guotie.

“My tutors said I should dream big,” She lamented to herself, “But how can I do that when I feel far smaller now than when I was four?”

The silence was suffocating her now, but it was better here than anywhere else in the house.

“Tell me what to do, mama.” She said, voice faltering and tired. “Please tell me what to do.”

The smoke from the incense rose up, up, up, carried by the wind into the windows, drifting away into the night, freed from the five walls surrounding the shrine.

***

Jiang Er-Gege—“Just Jon-Jon, please. Or Mister Manager,” he insisted for the umpteenth time, unrelenting in this clearly losing battle, “and am I not older than your actual brother?” But Xialing is nothing if not stubborn—whistled at her new apartment.

“Sweet!” He said, grinning, hair bobbing around as he turned at Xialing’s direction, who was still unwrapping her hand from the bindings, wincing a bit every once in a while due to the aftermath sting from tonight’s fights. “You got yourself a pretty nice crib, A-Ling!”

“Thanks.” She said, giving him a small smile as she discarded the wrappings to the waste bin and took off her shoes, finally coming in. “Not that bad, isn’t it?”

“For a seventeen-year-old street fighter? Psh. Not bad at all.” Er-Gege waved a hand, his hair—currently blue now, which reminded Xialing of the Sonic the Hedgehog poster hanging at her Gege’s old bedroom door, well, before—flowing and flailing with each of his enthusiastic movements. “Did it come fully furnished?”

“Yes.” She said, throwing herself to the sofa, closing her eyes. Dawn was breaking, and most people would rise from their beds, starting their day—but Xialing wasn’t most people, and all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep. She was sure that if she insisted on taking a shower, she’d fall asleep under the streaming water, and that would just be wasteful.

(“And we can’t have that, Baobei,” a deep, gentle voice softly told her, as larger hands guided her on how to soap all the wet plates together first. “Water is scarce in many places in the world in this day and age, and we must show our gratitude by not wasting it so easily.” Xialing felt a light pat on her hair, a slight ruffle, “can you do that?”

She nodded, enthusiastic as she scrubbed the grimes a little harder, trying to detach the remnants of oil and spices from the porcelains so that the water would rinse the objects more thoroughly. “Mmhm!” She hummed, offering a bright toothy grin up, “Lingling will do as Ba—“)

“—Ling?”

She snapped awake, blinking rapidly to regain full consciousness. “Sorry, I was pretty out of it.” She said groggily as she straightened herself up—fix your posture, Baobei, don’t slouch—looking at Er-Gege with slowly focusing eyes. “You were saying?”

Er-Gege raised his eyebrows, but he shrugged and waved a hand at the direction of the TV. “That DDR Carpet looks a little… out, compared to your other furnitures.”

Xialing snorted, throwing Er-Gege a ‘tell-me-what-I-don’t-know’ look. “That’s vintage.” She said, cupping her face with her hands, leaning over to the coffee table.

“To whom?”

Sighing in annoyance, Xialing couldn’t help but to feel a little defensive about the old mat; it might be ragged and old, it might be worn and torn at its sides, nibbled by the sneaky rat at Xialing’s old loft, but, “It’s the thing I slept on, my first night here.” She said, “It’s a reminder.”

Er-Gege’s judgy expression softened, as he fully turned at her with his arms crossed. “A reminder?” he echoed, curiously inquiring. There was no malice in his tone, only an invitation to open up in a way that eerily reminded her of Gege, “of what?”

Xialing looked at the worn arrows and recalled laughter; scanned the tacky colors and remembered warmth; eyed the frayed edges and missed three pairs of eyes, looking at her like she was someone, her own person, not a walking remnant of someone else, not a ghost before she even died—

“Of good times.” She smiled, small and bitter and yearning.

Er-Gege nodded, glancing at her one last time before moving on, letting it go. He made a comment about her kitchen counter, how it was too Americanized and needed a revamp, but Xialing was very sleepy, suddenly.

(Baobei—

Meimei—)

She sighed, laying herself to the armrests of the sofa, and closed her eyes, dreaming of nothing.

When she woke up, it was noon, there was a steaming porridge on her coffee table, and there was Er-Gege, fumbling over her TV. “What—” she stretched, cracked her joints. “What time is it?”

Turning at her in surprise, Er-Gege grinned almost immediately. “Look who finally woke up.” He said, tone light and teasing. “I bought the porridge from that Auntie’s restaurant you like so much—go eat it first.”

Xialing straightened herself, gingerly taking her first spoonful, letting the warmth of the meal melt away the weariness in her bones. “Thanks,” she said, smiling at the bowl, feeling like she was truly her age for the first time in a very long while. “And what are you doing to my TV?”

“Oh, this?” he jabbed a finger to the screen, which was displaying the HDMI menu. “I’m plugging in a PS2.” he said, shrugging before he dove again, lifting a black bulku box that looked just like the one they used to have at home. “I got this baby at a second-hand electronic shop, and they apparently sold old DDR game disks!” He grinned, before returning the device and returned to his work, this time to the mat’s underside, seemingly searching for its wirings.

Xialing blinked, spoon suspended mid-way to her mouth, warm meals suddenly forgotten. “...why?” She asked, something simultaneously familiar and foreign slowly easing their way into her chest, squeezing it with something sharp but not painful.

Er-Gege watched her oddly, like she was asking something stupid. “To play, of course.” he said, as if the answer itself was obvious. “This bad boy seemed like it hadn’t been used to its purpose for years, and I’ve never seen you dance before.” He grinned mischievously.

Her throat constricted into something tight and heavy, and Xialing looked further down. “I—” she mumbled, “I don’t really remember how to.”

She heard a snort and looked up, nearly fearfully, to see Er-Gege looking at her with something akin to mirth. “So what? We can always re-learn!” He said, waving a hand at the carpet, “it literally has arrows to tell you where to go; if you can kick people’s ass ordinately, you can definitely play this.” He grinned.

It was true, but something about the familiarity of all this made Xialing feel like she should run away, like she should protect herself because what if she was happy and then it was taken from her again— “I don’t think we should,” she said, voice still so uncharacteristically small and vulnerable and fuck she missed Gege’s uncoordinated legs stepping into her and mama and she missed Baba cheating to win and she missed mama, she missed mama so much it hurt—

“Hey, Xu Xialing,” Er-Gege’s voice snapped her out of her spiral, softer tone breaking her reverie. “You said it reminds you of good times.” he rose from his squat, hand reaching out to touch her hair—always a perfect bob—and ruffle it lightly. “Far as I know, good times should be experienced, not just reminisced.”

She blinked, and for a split second she saw two other faces, grinning at her in a smile she’d yearned to see for so long.

“Okay.” She said, nodding slowly, “Okay.”

They ended up missing the night’s match, and the manager of the ring-fight yelled at Er-Gege for not bringing his best Champion to the arena, but as they laughed late into the night, teasing each other’s stiff moves and calling out their horrible attempts at cheating against each other, Xialing felt like she was home for the first in a very long time.

***

“Baba?”

She peeped at the door, loose hair falling, curtaining over her face. She was eleven now, spending her birthday with an array of nannies and tutors, gifted jewelleries and served the best dishes on an empty dinner table, singing happy birthday to herself.

Baba’s work room was always dark, only luminized by the reading lamps, and sometimes those damned rings. He didn’t look up from his papers, but Xialing had trained herself in reading the miniscule when she realized that she would never be given something visible again, and she saw how his shoulders stiffened, how his eyes blinked rapidly, how his ears perked, slightly.

He said nothing to acknowledge her existence, but he also didn’t shoo her away, so Xialing took what she could get. “It’s my birthday today.” She said, voice small, always feeling small, too small in this big room, this big house, “and I was wondering if—if we could spend it together? Just—” she shrugged, helplessly, already compromising her own wishes if it meant a nod from Baba, an affirmation, anything, “I don’t know, watch a movie or something…”

Her eyes glanced at their new living room behind her, barely inspiring those inside it to live; it was cold and spartan, so unlike the Living Room back Home, where everything was warm and alive. In her old home, everything was strewn haphazardly, dance mats kicked several meters away from the front of the TV and karaoke mics on the couch. Here, the TV was never on, and all the mics and mats and cassettes were locked into the top shelf, the unspoken instructions clear; do not touch. Do not take. Do not open.

Do not Relive.

Baba moved, straightening himself, and in the silence that passed Xialing blinked, letting her hopes go up—

“I’m quite busy right now, Xialing.” He said, tone detached and performative, not even looking up to her as he spoke. “Maybe later.”

Definitely never.

“Oh.” Xialing deflated, looking down, slowly retreating. “Okay.” she whispered, mostly to herself as she pulled the door close once more. “Goodnight, Baba.”

She was replied with only a hum, and she dared not to look up lest she saw him still focused on that damn paper, refusing to look at her, to see her even when it was her birthday because in his eyes she was not A-Ling anymore, not Baobei, not Meimei, just some personification of his fucking dead wife and—

Xialing fell asleep waiting for him on the couch anyway, despite everything, waiting for that later despite knowing that it was a lie.

She woke up in her room, alone, always alone.

It had been like this for a long while, now, but with Gege not returning home and her being the only child he had left in the compound, she had hoped—

Well. she had hoped.

That was her first mistake.

***

“You know, for a compound this big, I thought your dad would have more stuff.” Said Katy as the three of them cleaned up the main house. With Baba cremated and his ashes placed on the same altar as Mama, they only needed to clean his place.

Which apparently didn’t require that much effort, given how little of him existed there.

Somewhere deep within her, she recognized that it was heartbreaking to live like this, but that part was buried layers below anger and pettiness at how that exact way of life had sacrificed her.

“He’s so… spartan.” Commented Gege as he observed the high shelves, trying to find a more personal belonging to salvage. “There’s barely anything here.”

“You can use big words? Shocking.” Replied Xialing, tone flat and sarcastic as she took what she thought was valuable; the Lucky Cat figurine they brought from their old Home, family photos that were pushed into the far back, some sick-looking swords… “I thought the US’ horrible education system had stripped out all of your intelligence.”

“I liked you better when you were smaller and less sarcastic.” Grumbled Gege as he threw her a look. Xialing snorted.

“And I liked you better when you were smaller and not abandoning me,” jabbed Xialing, to which Gege replied by pinching her on her arm, not much to hurt so she knew it was in good nature. “Besides, you only do not like me because I’m cooler than you.”

“Now on that front, she’s definitely right.” Katy piped up, and Gege groaned, grumbling something about all the women in his life ganging up against him. “Face it, Shaun, you’re a little lame compared to the rest of your family.”

“I was laying low!” He protested to Katy, to which Xialing snorted. “And besides, you’re working in the same field as I am, receiving the same pay. If I’m lame, you’re lame too.”

“Oh, I know.” Katy said, not missing a beat. “But my family is a bunch of immigrant workers, not some thousand-year-old warlord and a magical guardian of the mystiques. I have excuses, Shaun—you don’t.”

“I can see why you keep her.” Xialing said, in-between her chuckles. “Keep it up, Jiejie.” She raised a thumb up to Katy with her free hand, and Katy—did Katy blush?

“Okay, back to cleaning up!” Gege’s bellowing voice cut the both of them, only slightly annoyed. “A-Ling, what did you get?” She showed him her reapings, to which ke gestured her to place it on the open suitcase at the couch.

“All these books were dusty, unopened from their wrappings…” Katy said as she scanned the bookshelves, “and is the TV wiring corroded? Shaun, did your father never watch TV?”

Xialing and Gege exchanged glances, shrugging. The image of Baba doing anything fun after mama had died was so … foreign to them. “I guess he’s too consumed by his work.” Gege said, though she knew he doubted his own words as much as she did, for the Ten Rings had barely done anything for the past ten years.

Katy shook her head in disbelief as she scanned more of the cupboards. “Books, jewels, antique swords—what are even these weapons?—oh! Here’s a fun rack!” Her steps stopped, “now there’s more personality; PS2, karaoke mic, a bunch of game discs, and—” she snorted, “A fucking DDR mat? Hey, Shaun, did your dad really play DDR?”

Xialing paused, head turning to Katy abruptly. “A DDR mat?” She echoed, straightening herself and walking to Katy’s side, interest piqued.

“Yeah!” Katy affirmed, pulling the rolled up mat down from the storage, unbinding it with one pull. “Looks old and worn, too.” She snorted, “What I really would give to see your scary dad dancing to this…”

But Xialing wasn’t listening. She felt like everything around her was buzzing.

“...Lingling?” Someone’s hand was on her shoulder, and she snapped, looking up to see Gege looking down on her, frowning as his grip on her tightened. “Meimei, you okay?”

Xialing wanted to say something, anything, because that wasn’t just some mat; she recognized it—had danced to it countless times when she was young, had brought it with her when she ran away, had slept on it on her first night in Macau, had—

“I threw that away.” She said, not quite recognizing her own voice as she reached to the frayed edges. “In Macau, when I moved to a better apartment—I threw that away.”

I had it with me, was unspoken, he wasn’t supposed to—

And suddenly she was reminded on that night in her Club, Baba standing in front of her and Gege, offering them his smile, and she thought she’d been dreaming then, a childish delusion resurfacing after seeing a familiar face for so long, but—

“I always know,” he had smiled, and there was something there, something not quite cold, not the way he usually was after, something akin to the expression Xialing saw at the mirror in the morning when she had a particularly bad day and all she wanted was Baba’s guotie and mama’s soup— “where my children are.”

***

CODA.

Opening her bedroom door with his elbow, Xu Wenwu made soft, careful movements so as to not wake his youngest from his arms.

She was deep in her sleep when he found her sprawled on the couch at the wee hours of midnight, leaning her head on one side of the armchairs. When he lifted her up, she felt like she weighed far lighter than she should have—he frowned, he’d have to talk with the chef about that—and she only grumbled lightly, before snuggling her face to the crook of his neck, seeking comfort.

Gently, he placed her onto the bed, adjusting the pillows and tucking in the blankets. She was eleven years old but she still looked like she was a baby when she was asleep like this—his baby, his Baobei.

Xialing harrumphed when he slowly released her, one hand unconsciously clutching to his white shirt. Wenwu paused, freezing, fearing that he’d got caught.

(Fearing what?

He didn’t know.)

Wenwu let her fingers clutch the fabric until they relaxed on its own, before slowly extricating her grip away from his clothing. He tucked her hand inside the blanket with the rest of her, and swpt her unruly bangs, looking at her face.

Like this, she looked just like Ying Li.

Something caught in his throat, heavy and shuddering, and Wenwu looked away. A thousand years, he thought bitterly, and his undoing is just some little girl’s face.

He shook his head, swallowing the emotions away, letting it be buried deep once more. He knew he had sinned, knew he wronged his children to a fault, but he just—

Not for the first time that night, he wished his wife was still here, telling him what to do, telling him she loved him, telling him how to love.

But she wasn’t, and their daughter was turning eleven, and he was sitting there at the edge of her bed, wishing more than anything for some magic to come and unbreak this broken family the way Ying Li had to his cold, greedy heart all those years ago in the forest.

Xialing—His A-Ling, his Baobei, his child—stirred in her sleep, and Wenwu could see tear tracks on her cheeks, crusty and fading.

He leaned over, forehead to hers, and whispered, softly, “Happy birthday, Baobei.”

Baba is sorry, he thought, hoping the unsaid would reach her anyways, even if he didn’t dare to say it out loud.

The night was clear, the windows closed, but the wind tousled his hair lightly, gentle and mournful.

#shang chi and the ten rings #shang chi #xu shang chi #xu shangqi #xialing #xu xialing #xu wenwu #wenwu #ying li #this movie made me sob two days after i saw it and i'll be DAMNED if i don't do it justice #Xialing deserves better baby!

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thecandywrites · 3 years ago

Text

The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 1

So, my treat to myself, for Orctober this year. Is going back to Heaven and Fire, how Warchief Drad and Warchieftess Rhosland got to be the head of the clan. Now there is an overview of this story that is in Of Heaven and Fire. But I wanted a chance to really tell this story that would explain a lot about Brock and his upbringing through his parent’s eyes.

So lets go around and introduce people shall we? Top row from left to right. Top left- Tar, next to him, Orcoth, Middle- Esri. Over towards the right- Sarg.

Next row down, Shadi, middle- Our Gurl, our Queen- Rhosland.

Bottom row, left bottom corner, Baka, and then to the right Drad. handsome, handsome Drad.

The Beginning Of Clan Stormbreaker

Part 1

Rhosland was washing the pearls she had collected that day from the oysters and other shellfish she and her sister had gotten while her mother was cooking yet another seafood stew with the meat from the shellfish while Esri took what meager tools she had to carve and shape the shells, shaving off the ugly sides and shaping up the pretty sides of the shells into jewelry for the Warchief’s eldest son Tar and his two wives Baka and Shadi since they were both due to give birth in the next couple of weeks since Tar's other brother's wives and even Tar’s sisters had already given birth in the last few months and all the previous births had produced daughters and Tar's wives were the clan's last hope for a male heir this year.

However Rhosland took the fact that all of the pearls collected not just today but all summer were green or a pale yellowish green as an omen of the opposite since in orcish culture, green was associated with girls, because green signified the goddess Angja, the goddess of fertility and her primary colors were black- signifying black, fertile soil and green- the color of rich foliage and food. Red was associated with males, and specifically Zighorh, the god of war and the battlefield- since orcs were a warring species and red signified the color of blood that the male would spill onto the ground, making it extra rich and fertile which in turn would be a blessing for Angja.

Rhos and her twin sister Esri had even searched far and wide for pearls that would either hopefully be white which was neutral, or any shade of pink or red. But all they had found all summer was green pearls and thus all their gifts to the new mothers in the warchief’s family had been green, which was appropriate, but disappointing and all Rhosland could feel as she washed these was dread because if Shadi and Baka gave birth to daughters again, she knew Tar would get another wife, as his brothers had done, while their wives were still healing from the births and therefore could not give or receive carnal pleasure, had taken more wives and whether those wives were with child, was still too soon to tell but it had stirred quite a bit of contempt between the elder wives and the new.

Shadi and Baka were supposed to be birthing males for their husband Tar, they had done all kinds of rather bizarre rituals and ceremonies so that they believed that they had conceived sons and would succeed where their sisters in law had failed and Tar would finally have at least one, if not two male heirs to continue his lineage after the last five years of having only daughters by Shadi and the last three years of just having daughters by Baka and he was getting desperate to have a son besides his combined eight daughters, all of whom he did not care for at all and was beginning to take offense that his wives had only given him daughters so far while others in the clan were having sons, everyone except himself and his brothers and other sisters.

Tar’s father, the Clan Chief- Zash was equally desperate for at least one of his five sons to have a son themselves because his shaman had foretold that the Skull Screamer Clan would die under a lone Clan Chieftess or even a Warchieftess. So male heirs to continue the clan was of paramount importance.

Once Rhosland would be done washing the pearls, she would need to sort them and arrange them by size and hue of color and would be using a special needle to pierce each one to go on thread or cords for a necklace or earrings before there was a knock on the door before Rhosland’s mother Shari left the cooking fire to answer it to find Tar there.

“Well hello! Welcome Warlord Tar.” Shari greeted him respectfully.

“Thank you Shari, is Rosey here?” He asked hopefully as Rhosland looked at her mother’s back with disgust, she hated that nickname almost as much as she hated the man that gave it to her, who was her current caller and suitor and has been after her for the last thirteen years of her already 18 year old life and she had been repulsed by him since childhood, and into her teens and now into adulthood.

“Yes, she’s here, won’t you come in, we’re making a seafood stew for dinner, won’t you stay and have some with us?” She offered hospitably before she showed him in as Rhosland quickly tried to wipe her disgust off her face and put on a pleasant, respectful smile when he came into their mud brick hut and smiled at Rhosland as Esri was just grateful he wasn’t here for her this time as she stayed in the corner and paused in her working to keep from making any noise or movement and therefore attract any attention, wanting to blend in with the walls.

“I’d love to, the smell is what drew me. Did Rosey make it?” He asked.

“Of course!” Shari answered as Rhos had just rinsed the soapy water off of her hands and got up from the washing basin where the pearls were, grateful the soapy suds on the surface of the water concealed what was in it.

“Rosey has always made the best stews.” Tar praised as Rhos begrudgingly took her own meager wooden bowl filled it for him and handed him her own wooden spoon so he could eat the stew her mother had spent the last several hours making as he sat down and helped himself and quickly scarfed it down and then had seconds and then thirds so that he ate over two thirds of it all by himself and of course most of the meat in it, leaving some broth and chunks of vegetables behind.

“Oh it’s amazing. Well this is a good sign, the day after tomorrow, we will be going on a raid and I came by to inform you all that when we come back successfully, my father is stepping down and making me Clan Chief's Warchief, and my wives should be delivering sons to me in the next couple of weeks and I wanted to inform you that when I come back, I will give you all the spoils that I will be taking on the raid and it should be more than enough gold especially to give you Shari- for supplies for a proper house that I and my captains and commanders will make for you so that you can live in a proper house of timbers instead of a house of mud and mud bricks because no mother in law of a Clan Chief Warcheif should ever live in a mud house.” He announced and Rhos felt like she was being put into a coffin and Tar was the one driving the nails of the lid in as panic and dread filled her as she looked pleadingly at her mother to please decline the offer but her mother’s own excited smile told her that her own mother would not rescue her from this fate this time.

“Oh that’s wonderful, of course Clan Chief Warchief Tar, which of my daughters will you be taking?” Shari asked as Esri practically shrunk down as Rhos was too frozen in fear to move, much less blink or breathe.

“Why Rosey of course since she is the eldest twin because she is by far the prettiest in the clan, but if I am to elevate her I must also elevate your whole family and then once your house is built, then I will happily take Esri after that.” He answered happily.

“Oh happy day, may you know nothing but victory on the battlefield then!” Shari offered as she elbowed her eldest daughter as Rhos offered a polite smile but inwardly she was panicking.

“Well I know you’ll be successful, you should take your Rosey home with you so that she can be with child before you go!” Shari suggested as she tried to push Rhosland towards Tar but Rhos was rooted into the ground she was standing on.

“No!” Rhosland blurted in a booming voice as Shari and Tar both looked surprised by her objection.

“Please, no, Clan Chief Warchief Tar, I would hate to aggrieve your wives who are due to give birth soon and I would hate to give them any reason to be jealous of me and chance them going into labor too soon and something bad happening to your future sons. I think it would be best if we waited until you’re back and my mother’s house is built to her comfort and by then your sons will be born and your current wives will still be healing and will not be able to receive their pleasure from you at that time so you’ll need us then.” Rhosland offered desperately grasping at anything she could think of to give him a reason not to take her right then and there.

“Oh that’s a good point, yes, for now,” Tar said before he forced a kiss onto her lips as Rhosland forced herself not to bite his face and endured it before he did the same to Esri before he left and they both quickly wiped his kisses off their lips as spit out onto the ground in disgust.

“What is wrong with you girls?” Shari asked her daughters.

“He has no affection for me outside of feeding him or draping him and his family with pearls.” Rhosland bit out hatefully as she washed her bowl and spoon so that she wouldn’t taste any more of him than she absolutely had to.

“And he is selfish for claiming both of us at the same time and eating most of our dinner.” Esri complained.

“But you two would only be only the third and fourth wives of the Clan Chief Warchief who would be second only to his father, your father in law, the richest and most powerful family in the whole clan, it’s not like you would be the sixth and seventh or 12th and 13th or anything. And he promised to elevate our whole family, that means that all of us would be taken care of and all we have is what’s around us which isn’t much of anything. Why must you fight this so insistently?” Shari urged her daughters as Esri and Rhosland both shared a meaningful look.

“Esri? It’s getting to be fall, we need to go on a hunting and gathering trip, try to get something for the winter, we should leave first thing tomorrow and since Tar is going to Rush Fang which is to the Southeast, let’s go in the opposite direction, Northwest, over in the neutral land between us and Hurricane Breaker, they would take no quarrel with two women gathering and fishing there, especially unarmed ones.” Rhos pleaded with her younger twin sister who nodded yes emphatically.

Then Rhos gave herself a third of what was left of the seafood stew and quickly ate it then left again to go for a walk to cool her head and try to see the positives instead of feeling like she was going to die as she found a little stream near the estuary and sat on one of the rocks on the shore and stuck her feet into the cooling waters and just cried into her hands, surrounded by a cocoon of tall marsh grass as her crystal tears came flooding out of her eyes as she did her best to catch them all and put them into her little and mostly empty coin purse.

Meanwhile Drad was feeling panic grip his own chest as Tar was proudly bragging in the town hall about his latest soon to be conquests of “his Rosey”, and after he would come back, he was going to actually be taking both Rosey and Esri, as he continued to eat the roasted wild boar on the spit as Drad and his brother Sarg both looked guiltily and worriedly at each other before Drad could hear no more of it and got up and left, and went to his house and got his old bow and set of arrows. Since he had just made himself a new bow with new arrows just for this raid and went looking for Rhos, letting his heart lead him to her and found Rhos sobbing in the thick tall grasses that the little streams flowed through and knew just by the sounds, it was Rhos and it broke his heart to hear her be so upset as he wanted nothing more than to go to her and soothe her hurt and take her far away from here.

Because Rhos had made it abundantly clear to everyone that she was not interested in Tar since childhood and Drad had loved her from afar ever since they were toddlers and was just waiting on Tar to lose interest so he could move in on her himself because she was not just the most beautiful woman in the clan in his eyes but the most excellent one as well.

She danced with more grace than any water sprite and sang better than any singer and played wonderful music on any instrument she picked up and she was a natural healer and had healed Tar and himself and their warband on so many previous occasions and even though she was in one of the poorest families in the clan and lived in a mud and mud brick hut, it was always clean as were her clothes and her person. She was also the most humble, unassuming, discrete, modest and meek and mild but didn’t let others trample on her either.

But she had dignity and grace and self respect and he held her in such high esteem and always took her excellent council when he sought it and they had always been good friends and he had always been attracted to her and he knew in his bones that she must have felt the same way at least a little bit, because she looked at him differently than she looked at anyone else. Because she had admitted to him that she had always admired him and especially the loving and caring way he treated his own mother and the other elders in the clan and always treated her with respect and dignity even though she was of a lower station and class than him.

She smiled more at him than anyone else, she laughed with him more than anyone else and she sought out his company just as much as he sought hers and they got along amazingly and had so much natural chemistry but because of Tar, he couldn’t claim her as his own and thankfully no one else could either and vowed he would never marry unless she did. And now that she was officially betrothed to Tar, he felt he was going to swear off women forever because if he could not have Rhosland, no other would do.

He had even flirted with the idea of swearing off the clan and taking her away and start a new clan or join another. They would be alienated from the rest of their families but they would have each other because right now, even at his position of First Commander of Captains to Tar as Tar was Warlord of his own warband, it didn’t matter as much as losing Rhos to Tar and he resented Tar more in this moment than ever had before. And he felt if he didn't at least make an effort now, he was going to regret it forever.

“Rhos?” He called out as he was a little ways away and saw her head bolt up but the tears were streaking down her face as she tried to use her sleeves to wipe them away after she put the crystal tears away.

“Who’s there?” She asked.

“It’s just me, Drad.” He answered before he came over and saw that she was curled in on herself as her hair was down to cover her face, that gorgeous gold neck tattoo on the back of her neck glimmering and shimmering in the sea of green and tan seagrasses as her dark curly hair was a curtain of soft black silk.

“I take it you’ve heard “the news”.” Rhos croaked as even more tears welled in her eyes.

“I have, I’m sorry.” Drad offered as he came and sat down next to her and took his boots off to put his feet in the water with her and smiled sadly at their wavy reflections in the water side by side, wishing he could capture this as being one of the few moments they could be together.

“That’s a weird way to say “congratulations”,” Rhos tried to tease as she tried to wipe her new tears away and force herself not to cry and was failing miserably.

“If those were happy tears, I would be offering congratulations, but since they are clearly not, I will offer my apologies and sympathies.” Drad stated simply.

“Please don’t say anything…” Rhos tried pleading.

“About what to who? I take it he didn’t give you a choice this time.” Drad gathered.

“No he did not, neither did my mother, he offered her more than she could refuse. He offered her all the spoils of the raid you’re all going on so that she could buy enough wood for a timber house and have all of his commanders and captains help build it for her, because ‘no mother in law to a warchief should live in a mud house’.” Rhos paraphrased in a condescending tone as Drad frowned deeply and if only he had known that that was her mother’s price, he would have done that for her a decade ago when he was building his own house for himself.

Orcs aged quickly, they were considered grunt sized at 10 or 11 which for them were their teenage years, adults by 12 or 13, fully mature by 15 and middle aged by 17 or 18 and getting old past 20. But because Rhos was only half orc she grew and matured at a much much slower rate, being a child still at 13, barely a teenager at 14 through 17 and only in the last year had she seemed to physically mature and “finish” growing up, just in the last year, finally getting her last big growth spurt so that she wasn’t less than half the size of everyone else, she was now only about 20% smaller than everyone else, getting that final growth spurt at 17 instead of at 12 for all the other orcs, which is why Tar had not claimed or mated with her yet cause she had been too young and way too small before now, but with her finally getting that last growth spurt and her previously barely budded breasts getting larger growing fuller along with her hips too so that her shape was now perfect and voluptuous even though she was still on the petite side, that must have been what Tar had been waiting on as was Rhosland’s own mother as well it seemed. But for Drad, for her to take so long to mature as a child, teen and young adult, that meant that, provided no one killed her off and cut her life short- she would live much longer as would her children after her because obviously whatever her father was- was also something that lived long too and such a long life would surely lend to stability.

“So what will you do?” Drad asked.

“Esri and I are going on a hunting and gathering trip, I’ve heard Tar talking about going to raid Rush Fangs, so my sister and I will go in the opposite direction, over towards Hurricane Breaker since there’s another estuary that’s neutral land between us that might have some good fish or shellfish in it or even some game, last winter we all froze so if we could get a deer hide, at least we would get leather for decent boots this year, or if not, I can still hold out hope that a bear will come and eat me so I won’t have to marry Tar.” Rhos answered as she looked at their shared reflection and sadly much preferred this reflection to Tar’s ugly face and even more hideous personality.

“Then take this, I hope it serves you as well as it has me.” Drad offered his bow and arrow and even his good hunting knife to her.

“Why are you giving me this?” Rhos asked suspiciously as she looked at them but made no move to take them.

“Because you’ll need it. I just got done making myself a new bow with new arrows, I have no need for it and you do. It’s not that I’m at all happy about your match with Tar, because I’m not. And I’m not condoning it or celebrating it or encouraging it in any way because you have never liked him and always made it abundantly clear that you never wanted him and you’re being forced into it and it’s wrong and I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t give up hope, not yet anyway. There’s still a dangerous raid between now and then. Plus Tar could always fail in the raid or fall to his death in a sink hole or something on the way there and he hasn’t come back successfully yet and he hasn’t mated with you yet so there’s still hope that you won’t have to go through with it. So take the bow and arrows, and use them and show Zash, Tar, Shadi and Baka that you’re not one to mess with or dominate and they are the ones who will have to watch out for you. And if anyone else asks though you can always say it’s a gift. Aren’t new brides supposed to receive gifts from the future Warcheif’s family and stuff? And if you do face off against a bear and can kill it, Tar’s wives might think twice before being domineering or aggressive towards you.” Drad tried to console, wishing he had the balls and the guts to say more but his hands were figuratively tied at this point, had been all his life. Because once a Warlord even claimed a woman in name, all others were forbidden from taking her and Tar had had his eye on Rhosland since they were kids and she had managed to keep Tar at bay until now because of her slow maturity rate.

“Thank you Drad.” Rhosland thanked him as she took his gift and put the bow and it’s quiver of arrows into her lap and put the knife in its sheath on her belt.

“You’re welcome Rhosland.” He answered as he gave her a lopsided grin because even when she was in pain, she was beautiful.

“You’re not going to be calling me ‘Rosey’ too?” Rhos asked, trying to be teasing but all that came out was bitterness and resentment.

“Nope, because that’s not your name. It’s either Rhosland or Rhos. You’ve never liked that particular nickname so I would never use it because you don’t like it. Because even though you’re prettier than any flower I’ve seen around here, you definitely don’t smell like a rose, you smell like creek water or river water or seawater most of the time.” Drad tried to tease her which got her to laugh away the last of her tears.

“Thanks, I appreciate your honesty. Well I wouldn’t say no to any rose scented soap if anyone ever found any.” Rhos hinted as she gave him a fond, adoring, appreciative smile.

“I’ll keep on the lookout then.” Drad offered as he returned her smile.

“Rosey! Rhosland! Where are you?!” They heard Tar’s wives Shadi and Baka hollered for her.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes.” Rhosland growled under her breath before she stood up.

“Over here.” Rhos waived them over as both of them waddled over, their heavily pregnant bellies wavering with their steps on the uneven land.

“Shouldn’t both of you be in bed?” Rhos asked as she closed the distance between them and met them halfway to keep them from seeing Drad alone with her to keep Drad out of trouble.

“No, Tar told us to go ahead and give you welcome gifts, so here.” Shadi spat particularly hatefully as she pulled off her own pearl necklace that Rhos had made her as tribute instead of accepting the last attempt Tar had made to try and marry Rhos and put it over Rhos’ neck but used it to pull Rhos closer.

“If you ever come between Tar and I, I will see to it that you never leave the water and sleep with the fish you’re so fond of swimming with- permanently.” Shadi growled as Drad was still sitting in the grasses and just shook his lowered head in shame. If only Tar could hear that as Baka did the same as Drad wanted to burst out of the grasses and confront them but stayed where he was because he didn’t want to make trouble for Rhos.

“Why do you have Drad’s old bow?” Baka asked Rhos after Rhos had assured and reassured them that she would never dream of coming between them and their husband.

“Because as Tar’s First Commander, he wanted to be the first to offer me a present for joining the warchief’s family. I’m also going on a hunting and gathering trip tomorrow, and he didn’t want me to lose my life to a bear or whatever.” Rhosland explained.

“Well then there’s still hope. Don’t forget if you shoot down deer, to save all the tenderloins for Tar and all the backstraps for us and all the roasts for our sons.” Baka and Shadi smiled smugly as they each tenderly rubbed their heavily pregnant bellies before they turned around and walked each other back before Rhos made an ugly face at their backs and walked back to where Drad was still sitting and waiting.

“That was a really nice warm reception.” Drad sarcastically quipped.

“Oh you heard that, did you? Well no point in saying you did. Tar would believe them over you. Because they are the mothers to his children.” Rhos sighed tiredly as she slumped back into her spot she had previously taken up, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to marry Tar because he has such lovely wives, how could I possibly compare?” Rhosland sarcastically quipped right back which got Drad to bark a laugh.

“Yeah, they’re real sweethearts.” Drad muttered before he made a gagging noise which made Rhosland laugh.

“Well I can tell you what, no son of mine would ever court or marry a daughter of theirs on the off chance they would turn out anything like their mothers.” Drad muttered lowly as he leaned over to her so he could say that softly so the whole world wouldn’t hear him.

“Me either.” Rhosland shook her head no.

“Thanks for the gifts though. I will put them to good use, good luck on your raid Drad, I hope you come back safe, if not for my sake, then at least for your mothers.” Rhosland offered before she left him be and walked back home, much happier and more at peace than she came to the marsh feeling. If only she could marry Drad instead.

Meanwhile Esri had left the house and walked in the opposite direction to do the same thing as Sarg found her already in the stream, staying under for way longer than normal, almost as if she was trying to drown herself as her own crystal tears fell to the bottom of the stream before she noticed he was on the shore and came up for air.

“I don’t see any...shellfish in this stream, so...what are you diving for?” Sarg asked awkwardly.

“For practice, to exercise my lungs to make sure I can keep staying under the water’s surface long enough to catch them.” Esri easily excused as she swam over to the edge and got out and sat on stream’s edge but simply sat there and sulked before Sarg came over and sat beside her.

“Have you heard the news?” Esri asked with a huff.

“About your impending betrothal to Tar? Yeah, the fucker won’t stop bragging about it. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want this.” Sarg answered.

“That pig came and ate almost all of our dinner, told my mother that he was going to be giving her all the spoils from the raid so that she could get a timber house and then tried to take Rhosland tonight and will be taking me when he gets back. Thankfully Rhos bought us some time and we’re going away on a hunting trip tomorrow in the marsh between us and Hurricane Breaker while you guys go to Rush Fang. If my sister and I had been able to sell those god damn pearl necklaces instead of having to give them as tribute we would have been able to buy axes and cut down our own trees to make ourselves a timber house. But instead everything we have that’s good, Tar and his wives and the rest of the Warchief’s family just help themselves to and call it “tribute”. It’s not fair. I don’t want to be Tar’s fourth wife, or any wife to anyone in the Warchief’s family period, which is just another slave in his house and neither does Rhos, but Tar is Warlord and is so entitled and no one dares to go against him.” Esri complained as she scanned the area to make sure no one else was around to hear her as she sniffed and hugged her knees.

Sarg felt like an idiot for not realizing how much worse off they were than he realized and if he would have just traded a carved shell totem for an ax. Her mother wouldn’t be so desperate to give her daughters away for just one raid’s worth of goods for such a simple thing as a house of timbers. He should have done that years ago. He should have spoken up and said something years ago. And because he waited, he was losing her altogether because just being friends was all he could manage until now and just like Drad had been waiting for Rhos, he had been waiting for Esri and now that Tar was taking her, he had never felt more anger or resentment towards Tar. Because Tar and all of his brothers were just being greedy now in their quests for sons.

“You’re right, it isn’t fair. What if…” Sarg began before he stopped himself.

“What if what?” Esri asked curiously.

“What if I don’t go raiding, and instead go with you on this hunting and gathering trip? That’s still a dangerous area, I’ve seen bears over there. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Sarg offered.

“If you were to do that, Tar would demote you or pug you and call you a traitor for not supporting him. Plus your mother depends on what you and Drad bring home especially since your father died. Your mother is a widow just like mine. At least your mother had sons instead of daughters to help take care of her and go on raids and support her in the clan. It’s not worth the backlash.” Esri gently argued.

“I appreciate the thought though.” Esri offered as she reached over and squeezed his hand as he gently held her hand, wishing he could be holding all of her and just about the time he was mentally saying ‘fuck it’ and would be throwing the hierarchy of the clan out the window and take her anyway because he wanted her more than he wanted his place as Drad’s First Captain in Tar’s warband, he wanted to spend these last moments giving Esri the greatest pleasure he could because he knew for a fact that Tar was a shitty lover and Esri deserved to recieve so much more than he could ever give her before they heard Shadi and Baka hollering for Esri.

“Stay here,” Esri whispered to Sarg before she let go of his hand and got up and waived them over and went over to them so they didn’t need to go too far and see that she was alone with Sarg and possibly get him in trouble.

“Ugh! Why are you always wet? You’re betrothed to the Warlord and future Clan Chief Warchief, you can’t go around with your clothes sucked to your body, it’s inappropriate and unseemly or do you just like to walk around like a whore?” They chastized her as Esri bit back her argument because she didn’t want to start anything with them especially if she was going to be sharing a roof with them.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Esri asked.

“Yes we should but Tar insisted that we needed to give you bride gifts, so here, the totems you made for us. I’m sure they’ll be just as prosperous to you as they have been to us.” They said as they grabbed her wrists roughly and put the leather ties that had the carved shell totems on them and tied them to her wrists.

“If you ever get between Tar and I, I will see to it that you carve your own fingers off.” Shadi hissed.

“And I’ll see to it that you go swimming and never come back up for air if you ever come between Tar and I either.” Baka growled before the two of them left and went back home, happy that they had dealt with Esri and Rhosland and made their points in private and if Rhosland and Esri were smart, they would never say a word about it to anyone.

Sadly, once a betrothal gift was given, the potential bride was never allowed to sell or trade it or else it was seen as bad luck.

Sarg though was practically seething in the grasses as he obediently hadn’t moved but had heard the whole interchange. If only Tar had been there to hear it but he also knew that if he tried to say anything Baka and Shadi would most likely kill him themselves and get away with it too because any word said against a Warlordess or Warchieftess was seen as disrespectful.

“Is it too much to hope that they get eaten by wolves?” Sarg offered to Esri when she came back and sat back down in her original spot.

“Is it too much to hope I get eaten by a bear so I don't have to marry Tar? Probably. So don’t invite bad luck or ill fates, they will reap what they have sewn soon enough.” Esri countered even though the thought did bring her delight, except that they were both pregnant and no baby deserved to die or suffer on account of their mother.

“But they are spoiled brats!” Sarg argued.

“I know they are, and I have to be subordinate to them because they are the first and second wives. I can’t afford to offend them or give them any cause to treat me any worse than they already do. Besides, it would be a bad reflection on my own mother who has suffered from their own mothers. Too much is at stake. Just...good night Sarg, I hope your raid goes well and you come back home safely, especially for your mother’s sake.” Esri offered before she got back up and went back home only to find that word had spread to the whole village and every family had come to give their “bride gifts” as suddenly their little mud hut was full of food and goods for the first time in their lives as Esri began going through it and taking what would be useful to Rhos and herself and packed it into the rowboat to use on their trip as their mother was so happy and at ease to finally get something instead of always giving when she had so little to give.

“Where did you…?” Shari asked when she saw Rhosland come home with the bow and the quiver of arrows around her back.

“Drad gave me the bow and arrows and the hunting knife, as my bride gifts, also just in case we run into a bear or something, we have a fighting chance.” Rhosland readily defended.

“Oh good, that will be very helpful.” Esri smiled happily.

“It will be.” Rhosland readily agreed as her mother was telling her girls who had given what to them before she started making bread dough to rise overnight so she could bake it first thing in the morning as Esri was getting things packed up and loaded up into their little row boat with two mismatched oars.

Meanwhile Sarg and Drad had met back up and brain stormed about what they could do and how they could help Rhos and Esri and were now buying two special stone timber axes from the blacksmith since Sarg had already bought a really good fishing net from the best net weaver and extra fishing lines with hooks on them for fishing and special poles for them to be tied to as they did their best to think of things that Esri and Rhos would need and like to use on their hunting and foraging trip to make it as easy and successful as they could since all the other men in the raiding parties and warbands were in the clan hall eating and drinking and not noticing their absence at all, before they seemed to be satisfied that what they had managed to collect would be good enough for Rhosland and Esri before Sarg went home since he still lived with his mother, being the younger son while Drad was on his way to his own home and found a wounded shaman stumbling into the clan village and immediately came over to help him.

“Do you know anyone here?” Drad asked as he helped carry this elderly man down the village’s main road.

“Oh I know you are Drad, son of Grat and Wolvish, and that in less than a week’s time you will mate and pairbond to the most beautiful woman your eyes have ever been on and she will bear you many children, the first of which will be a son.” He answered before Drad brought the shaman to his own home that he had built for himself, it was basically a one room hut of timbers, it wasn’t much but it was all he had and all he needed because he was a bachelor. It had the basics, a stone firepit that had a chimney of stones up around it in the middle surrounded by a bed on one side, a kitchen on the other and on the back wall was where he stored his clothes and armor and weapons.

“How do you know that?” Drad asked as he helped the shaman into his chair at his little table in his kitchen.

“I saw a vision of you and knew I had to make my way here to you, to tell you myself, but my hip has long since been injured for many years and the path to get here was much more tiring than I thought it would be.” He answered.

“So...how can I help you?” Drad asked.

“If you will allow me to rest for a short time, and permit me to stay here while you raid. I shall adopt you as my honorary son since my own sons have left this world without me.” He offered.

“Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay. What is your name?” Drad asked him.

“My name is Orcoth.” The shaman stated.

“Well my name is Drad, First…” Drad began.

“Oh yes, First Commander of Captains under Warlord Tar Skull Screamer, first born son of Clan Chief Zash and Clan Chieftess Zorba.” Orcoth finished for him.

“So what is the beautiful woman’s name?” Drad asked Orcoth curiously.

“You already know her name. Here, the rose scented soap you promised her in your heart. She will be better to you than seven wives and is smarter than seven wisemen because you have already discerned that the other half of her that is not orcish, is in fact a very special being, known for long lives, extraordinary gifts and wisdom beyond age and experience. Her natural instincts are enhanced, as is her intellect. She will be best for you as your only wife, and as long as you treat her as the cherished companion she is and not a slave, you will make her happy and capture her heart and loyalty forever and she will see to it that you not only prosper, but live longer than any other orc you have ever heard of, for you know she is a long lifer, and being paired with her, will lengthen your own life considerably. Her betrothal gifts will be beyond perfection and without equal and they will set the standard until your own daughter in law sets a new standard of perfection when she gives betrothal gifts to your son- in time of course.” Orcoth offered as he pulled a bar of rose scented soap from his satchel and handed it to Drad whose eyes got wide as he took it reverently and sniffed it as his pupils got wide and smiled when the scent was something he had never smelled before but it smelled better than anything else he had ever smelled in his life.

“When you come back from the raid, build her a house where you find the wild roses growing, whose scent is in the soap- so that she can make her own from now on.” Orcoth advised as Drad took the bar of soap and wrapped it in the nicest piece of cloth he had, wanting to get at least some silk to wrap it up in for her as he felt so happy and pleased that Rhosland, the most beautiful woman he had ever known was going to be his wife and would be courting him and giving him courting gifts as he knew that this would be the first of hopefully many courting gifts they would exchange in the future.

“How do you know such things, are you a mage or a shaman of some kind? Practice some kind of magic?” Drad asked.

“I am a shaman.” Orcoth confirmed as Drad noticed that Orcoth’s eyes were that of dragons and could plainly see that Orcoth was wearing dragon wool.

“Then since your sons have left you, will you take me as your adopted son since my father has left me also?” Drad requested.

“Of course, that is why I came Son.” Orcoth smiled proudly as she clasped Drad on the shoulder and gave him a proud smile.

“Thank you, I am especially honored to have you as my father then. I will take your council all my days.” Drad promised.

“And you will reap the benefits of it. When you go raiding, there will be a very thick fog, where it will be almost impossible to find your way through, death will be all around you but will not take your life, follow the scent of the smoking venison and smoking fish, it will lead you to safety and will be your salvation.” Orcoth advised.

“Thank you father, I will do as you say.” Drad vowed.

“Good, so what will we be having for dinner Son?” Orcoth asked curiously before Drad immediately got to work feeding Orcoth what he had, giving Orcoth the better and greater portions which Orcoth appreciated before Drad put Orcoth in his own bed and took his camping roll and rolled it out onto his own floor to sleep as Orcoth waited until Drad was asleep before giving him a sweet prophetic dream of Drad’s house that he and Rhos were going to be building together and the family that they would be having in it and the happiness that would be found in his own home. All the peace, joy, love and contentment he would have in it and how handsome his sons would be, especially his eldest son, how smart and amazing and great he would be, but always saying that he was only following in his father��s footsteps and how proud Drad would be of him and how he would look quite a bit like his mother as he set a spell to give Rhosland the same dream while giving Sarg a similar dream about Esri and gave to Esri - Sarg’s dream as well along with giving Drad and Sarg’s mother Grat a dream of her own so that she would know what to do while they were gone on the raid.

#Of Heaven and Fire Prequel.#The Beginning of Stormbreaker #The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 1 #orc love story #orctober 2021

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thewickedmerman · 4 years ago

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Winx Club - Enchantix

It's finally time for the FINAL transformation (Which is gonna STAY the final transformation)! The fan favorite, ENCHANTIX! I am making some changes both for aesthetic reasons and for character reasons. They will all have the Bloomix wings because those are the best wings out of all of the transformations. I will be doing them in order of who earns their Enchantix.

Layla

Starting off with the BEST fairy! I didn't make too many changes, apart from the makeup, the color, the wings, and the skirt. I made the skirt a flowing high-low skirt that resembled a waterfall and a wave. I still included the straps but made both pink and kept the yellow seaweed looking things. But I also added a transparent pink thing to the skirt to make the front a little longer and to add some dimension to it. Layla has had the colors of her Enchantix outfit change from blue to green in the actual show, which I guess was because of how Bloom earned her Enchantix and they didn't want two of them to be in blue (Even though Layla's color always should've been blue and Bloom's really should've been red). However, I stuck with blue but also made is an aqua shade just like all of her past transformation looks. I also add some painted toenails because I wanted to. I changed her makeup because my girlfriend, who is half-black and is very protective of black females (Particularly full-blooded dark-skinned ones), pointed out that her makeup in her official Enchantix didn't look quite right because the lips were too light. So I used a slightly darker shade to fix that, as well as made her eyeshadow purple instead of green because it just looks better. Also, just wanted to point out the two little white things by her eyes because that is part of her original Enchantix form as well. They look like two little dewdrops. She still earns her Enchantix by using the last bit of sunlight to healing the queen of the mermaids instead of restoring her sight that was stolen by Valtor. Also, apparently the queen is supposed to be her aunt, which I'm guessing is more of an honorable love like family thing because of how the royal family of the merpeople are clearly not black and aren't even the same species as Layla. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Stella

Stella's Enchantix went through A LOT of changes. Don't get me wrong, her original Enchantix was gorgeous but I didn't feel like it showed enough of her sun and moon powers. I also wanted to give her a more Greek inspired look and went with her prototype Enchantix hair, which is so gorgeous and suits her and the outfit so much. I still went with her hair being lighter just like with her official Enchantix because I feel it does show her moon powers. I just really love the way she turned out. She still earns her Enchantix by saving her father from a dragon.

Musa

Musa's Enchantix went through A LOT of changes. Her original Enchantix was gorgeous but I felt that it should've ditched the pigtails and had more of an Asian influence to it. I went with her Bloomix hair because it is very Asian influenced, though I just added chopsticks, which was suggested by my girlfriend. I also tried to make her makeup look Asian inspired to just add to the look, which I really love. The blue of the outfit was almost gold but I changed it so that it would match the wings. The outfit is mainly purple, which I have as her signature color, but also made sure there was red because of how it is an important color in Asian culture. I made sure to add a music note on her top because of how she is the fairy of music and it goes with her wings. I really love her look and I'm pretty proud of how she turned out. Musa still earns her Enchantix by refusing to leave Princess Galatea behind and nearly dies protecting her. However, I also have Galatea be Musa's cousin because I'm keeping the 4KIDS canon of Musa being a princess, though one that is the daughter of a prince that denounced his throne. I feel like Musa being royal adds to the story of her parents because of how her mother rejected her classical training and her father rejected his royal title in order to have a career in music. However, they still didn't have much money and that added her mother dying because they couldn't afford the right medical attention. This resulted in her father giving up music forever and deciding to beg his family to let him back into the royal family, in order to keep Musa from struggling like he did and would have the means to have proper medical attention, so he wouldn't lose Musa either. He was let back into the royal family for the sake of Musa. However, her father would not be the one to inherit the throne, which would go to Galatea's father. So this means that Musa isn't just saving the princess of her planet that is a friend, but also saving a family member. I'm just assuming that Galatea is Asian with blonde hair (I mean, Musa has blue hair, so why not?) because her father is shown to look like a Chinese Emperor and the planet of Melody is very Asian influenced. Sorry for rambling.

Flora

I really didn't do any changes to Flora's Enchantix, apart from the Bloomix wings because Flora's Enchantix is perfection. She still earns her Enchantix by saving her little sister, Miele (Yes, I prefer her actual name over her 4KIDS name, Rose).

Tecna

For Tecna's Enchantix I really wanted it to be the most revealing of her fairy outfits (Well, tied with Sirenix) because of how I had her starting to show off more skin for her Believix form and it shows how she's grown and opened herself up to others and let herself be emotional instead of just logical all the time. Just because she isn't skinny it doesn't mean she has to alway be covered up. But I did adjust the length to make it more tasteful (Even though her original Enchantix wasn't distasteful). I also wanted to add some elements from her Bloomix form besides just the wings. I added the technology pattern she had on her leggings because they looked so amazing (But were a pain to do) and gave her that transparent fabric she has in that form. While Tecna's hair has grown in this transformation (Just like with all the girls), I didn't want to make it more than a few inches below the shoulders because her short hair makes her unique. I didn't add sparkles to the armor because I wanted to make clear the difference in material. Since I have her color being green, I did have to mess around with the coloring a bit and I love the way it looks. The way she earns her Enchantix is my favorite of all the girls because she saved not only her home planet, Zenith, but other planets by closing the portal to the Omega Dimension on Andros. That's just a whole new level of sacrifice. She doesn't die and does manage to escape, of course, but the impact of what she did is just a staple in the Winx Club and how much she means to the group and what an awesome character she is.

Bloom

Bloom's Enchantix was one I was VERY excited to do because of the GORGEOUS hair and how I really wanted to make her dress look like fire. This has gone from one of my least favorite Enchantix forms to one of my favorites. Don't get me wrong, her original Enchantix form was gorgeous but really didn't feel like it suited her powers. I did combine this with her Bloomix form because for one, the hair is just GORGEOUS and I really wanted to include the scales from the form. I wanted to have the top also have some flow to it. I especially wanted that with the skirt. I wanted it to appear like actual flames with red, orange, and yellow. I also blended the colors as they transitioned. I added blue-looking flames because of how fire does have a hint of blue to it, which is the hottest color. I decided to make her gloves orange to go with her fire powers and made her jewelry gold to go with her fire powers, as well as purple gems to go with her wings. I gave her a dragon necklace because it looks really badass. I went with a fiery-looking eyeshadow with blue and orange, which was easier to do because of how her hair isn't orange here. As for how she earns her Enchantix, I am NOT having her earn it by that bull crap of it being sheer force of will, which I know that my amazing friend @bellatrixobsessed1 will appreciate VERY much. Also, just so you all know, I'm keeping her birth parents and the entire population of Sparx DEAD! Yes, it's tragic but it's also something that gives Bloom a huge layer of depth. Anyway, what I decided to have happen is that she is on Pyros doing all she was doing in the show and basically trying to cheat to get her Enchantix with the help of Maya. However, Valtor, wanting to destroy Bloom once and for all and knowing that Pyros would be where she was at and that he couldn't enter because of a barrier that kept out dark magic decided to get Bloom to come to him by going to Earth to put her adopted parents in danger. Bloom, deep in meditation learns that her parents are in danger because her sister, Daphne appears to her in a vision to warn her. Bloom in desperation to save her parents begs Maya to help her to Earth. Maya warns her that if she leaves now that she may never be able to earn her Enchantix and that without it, she could die while trying to leave Pryros. Bloom says she doesn't care because Valtor may have taken her birth parents from her but she was NOT going to let him take her adopted parents. Daphne and Maya, reluctantly, use their magic to help Bloom get to Earth through a portal. Traveling through the portal was physically painful for Bloom but she kept on going and refused to give up. She nearly dies but as she arrives to Earth, just as Valtor was about to kill Mike and Vanessa (Bloom's adopted parents), a weakened Bloom with what little strength she had left threw herself in front of them to save their lives. She was close to death but this selfless act saved her life because of how it was what had her earn her Enchantix. Why? Because Faragona said that in order to earn Enchantix, you have to save someone from your home world and make a big sacrifice in the process. Home doesn't mean a place you are born in but rather a place you're loved and have a life. Earth is her home world, so saving her adopted parents allowed her to earn her Enchantix. Bloom, now more powerful than ever was able to fight off Valtor, forcing him to flee. Did you guys like my version of how Bloom earned her Enchantix? Let me know.

My final group picture of the Winx Club in their final forms. This was a lot of fun, a lot of work, and a lot of headaches. I couldn't have done it without the help of my girlfriend, @keeloves, who gave me suggestions and ideas, as well as feedback during the process. Thank you guys so much for liking my stuff, even if you didn't leave comments. I'm really happy to be done with this and I'm grateful for all the love this has been getting. Also, I have the girls flying instead of just standing like I did with their Magic Winx, casual looks, and Believix.

Credit for the bases goes to SelenaEde of DeviantArt

Credit for the wings goes to AstralBlu of DeviantArt

Credit for the backgrounds goes to xKaJot of YouTube & Keerene and SparxGuardian

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saeransboy · 3 years ago

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Autumnal

Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)

Word Count: 2942

Warnings: Chronic overthinking

Notes: this is for mystictober’s day 1 prompt: favorite character/rings!! knocked out two in one. entirely self-indulgent, just to get me in the writing spirit.

you can also read this here on ao3!! enjoy!!

Between the warm tones of his sweater and the color of his hair, Saeran blends in against the red and orange leaves perfectly, his eyes being the only thing making him stand out. They’re fixed on the sinking sun in the distance, watching with a content expression as he fiddles with a piece of the chocolate chip cookie he had yet to finish between his fingers.

An autumn picnic had felt just right. It took a few weeks for Rowan to put it together, deciding on the right foods to bring, the perfect spot, and whether a surprise was acceptable or not, but he finally made the decision. Things had to be just the right balance between perfect and comfortable.

The food -- and the sheer amount of it -- was definitely overboard, but he knew it would be appreciated. Three types of cookies, ice cream, cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread, chocolate pecan pie, brownies, and cupcakes had been carefully packed away, sectioned off into containers, stored either on the back seat or in the freezer box they had brought along.

For once, he had skipped using his motorcycle, instead choosing to borrow one of Saeyoung's cars. It was an SUV, with plenty of room in the backseat and the trunk for food storage. Most of them had been too cramped, or "too precious" -- though he was sure that would've been tossed out the window if he revealed his plans for the evening.

Of course, he didn't. He couldn't. If the answer was no, then it would make things devastatingly more awkward. And, in the hopes that it was a yes? Saeran wouldn't exactly be rushing to tell his brother. The enthusiasm the revelation would bring was something he would almost certainly have to brace himself for long ahead of time. That wasn't a problem for Rowan; he was willing to wait. If the answer was a yes.

The doubt bubbling up in his chest, he lets a sigh escape from his lips, tensing as his boyfriend glances over. Though the redhead doesn't say anything, the question is obvious. Is everything okay?

Shoving another helping of frosting into his mouth to keep himself from stuttering out anything stupid, he nods, taking his time swallowing. It looked ridiculous, he knew, but it gave him time to think of a suitable response. "I'm fine. Just… thinking. You know how difficult that is for me. I get worn out in seconds," he jokes.

Saeran rolls his eyes at the self-deprecating joke, flicking a sprinkle still stuck to his finger at his boyfriend. "You can think just fine. Oh, and your mouth is…" He gestures to his own lips, prompting Rowan to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. It's totally covered in black frosting; in his haste to keep himself quiet, he hadn't been careful to not make a mess.

He can't help but smile at the ridiculousness of it, running his tongue along his lips and wiping the rest away with a napkin. "Surprised you didn't try to get a taste, sweet tooth." Though he doubts his boyfriend would've been that bold, he wasn't one to shy away from the opportunity to tease.

Unsurprisingly, he only gets a huff in response, though he doesn't have to check to know there's a light dusting of pink on the redhead's cheeks. "I was wondering when you'd say something like that. You've been quiet."

Just like that, the soft smile on Rowan's face fades into a slight grimace. If Saeran was mentioning it, that was a problem. Quiet was rarely a bad thing to Saeran; in fact, he usually preferred it. The fact that he was saying it like it was a point of concern meant that there was nowhere to run; Rowan had been figured out, and his only options were to stay quiet and make things awkward, try and fail to weasel out of it, or fess up.

The first two options would almost certainly ruin the cozy mood, not to mention put them both on edge. Confessing and putting his plan into action was definitely a risk, but at least it had a chance of not going horribly, right? They had been together for three years. It was unlikely that all of that could be ruined by this, even in the worst-case scenario.

Wrapping his fingers around his cup of hot chocolate, Rowan takes a sip, grateful that the other man never called him out on his tendency to stall for thought. The drink is far cooled down now, the taste being more uncomfortable rather than satisfying and relaxing, so he catches one of the remaining marshmallows with his teeth to chew on.

It takes a couple of minutes before he's able to speak again, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I was planning something for a while, but now I'm second-guessing myself. Are you fine to talk about something… kinda, barely, a-bit-yes-a-bit-not serious? And maybe a little sappy? You can say no at any time, but I just wanna know whether to say it or finish off these cinnamon rolls and drop it."

Saeran pauses, considering it. Rowan always liked watching him think, whether it was something a bit serious or more mundane, like which ice cream he wanted Rowan to get from the fridge. Something about seeing his boyfriend lost in thought -- as long as it wasn't in a negative sense -- made him feel strangely happy.

Silently, Saeran nods, snapping the brunette out of his lovestruck trance. Taking in a shaky breath, the nervous man turns his gaze back towards the sunset. Why was it that all the words he had planned out decided to escape him now, of all times?

"So, uh," he starts, already feeling a grave irritation at himself for his clumsy entrance into the topic. Blue eyes watch the other man curl his knees up to his chest, getting comfortable in preparation for whatever words Rowan would be able to stutter out. "I've been thinking. Again. But, for longer, and with a lot more difficulty. Shocking, I know."

Rowan doesn't give time for his quip to sink in. "I care about you so much. I don't say it a lot because I don't wanna overload you with fluff, but even just sitting in silence with you makes me so overwhelmingly happy, happier than I've ever felt before. You've changed my life for the better. I won't go over all that again, because I don't want either of us to cry on our cozy little picnic, but you know you have. You're my favorite person, my best friend, and--" Wait. Shit.

"I'm not proposing," he says suddenly, a bit too loudly, putting his hands up. Saeran jumps a bit at the sudden outburst, making Rowan mumble a quiet apology, but he settles back down easily. "This is… not that. Nuh-uh. That wouldn't be a bad thing," he clarifies, "but that's not what's going on here."

Once the redhead nods in acknowledgment, he tries his best to continue, deciding to abandon the sappy build-up. "I was in the store picking up some ice cream and snacks to restock the minifridge, and, well, right by the entrance, there's the jewelry display. Apparently, they were having a sale, so I popped over to see if they had anything nice."

Reaching into his pocket, Rowan pulls out a tiny velvet pouch, tracing his fingers over the soft material. "Most of it was the normal shit: fake diamonds, overly eccentric junk, a bunch of things that look almost exactly alike being treated like the makers didn't just super-glue a different fake jewel in the same spot. But then I saw one that kinda reminded me of your sweater. I mean, the pearl on it is exactly the same color. And then I went, 'oh! His birthstone is a pearl!', and… ended up getting a bit attached."

His eyes flit up to gauge the other man's reaction. As expected, Saeran's face was almost unreadable, though he was definitely listening. Granted, he hadn't given him much to work with. Good job. You started out sighing and moping like it was some grand big deal and now you're telling him about your grocery store trip. Get to the point.

"I actually found out they were doing a 2-for-1 deal, so I decided if my brain wanted to get that one, I should get another. I was looking at different designs, but I found a pretty similar one, with a black jewel. That's pretty fitting for my style, so I picked it up, and it wasn't until I got out of the store that I realized they matched. Like, really well."

Undoing the drawstring, he shakes the two rings into the palm of his hand and turning them where Saeran could see. With the gems facing away, they looked nearly identical; both with narrow bands, and a small gem pressed on the front. The only thing differentiating them from each other was the contrasting gold and silver metals.

"I know that matching stuff can mean a lot of different things in relationships. Some couples do it just for fun, sometimes things like jewelry can have… stronger meanings. Some people see matching like that as a promise to stick together." Wow, he really did sound like he was proposing, huh? Part of him wants to look up, to see if his last comment had changed anything, but his neck felt stuck in place, paralyzed by his own nerves. The rings noticeably tremble in his hand; he hopes it isn't as visible on Saeran's end.

"And, well… I'm not going anywhere if you aren't. I--" Rowan lets out a shaky sigh, brushing his hair out of his face, something he rarely bothered to do. "Honestly, it's not even as serious as I'm making it out to be. I only thought to do this because my stupid brain got attached to both and I realized, 'hey, you'll look really stupid matching with yourself', and I know your birthstone is a pearl, and I like the color black, so… yeah."

He can't bring himself to look up at the other man, but the silence across from him was almost sickeningly overwhelming. Shoulders slumping, he fiddles with the ring he intended for himself, trying to distract himself from the pit in his stomach.

"I kinda fucked up and made things awkward, but… to shorten down my rambling: do you wanna match these cheap-as-hell rings with me, as some kind of symbolism that we care about each other and won't leave each other, or whatever?" Rowan stumbles over the words, trying to scoop together what was left of his brain into a cohesive sentence.

There's a long pause as the words sink in, the world around him feeling totally still until Saeran leans forward, resting his chin on his knees. "You mean a lot to me, too," he mumbles, voice quiet. It's hard to distinguish any specific emotion with his volume, so Rowan listens intently.

"It's... nice, that you thought of me, and..." Anyone else might be worried over the hesitation and reservedness of the words, but his answer comes as a great relief to the brunette. He's not rejecting anything, or pushing him away; he's taken off-guard, which isn't ideal, but there's no trace of upset or discomfort in his tone. It gives Rowan the courage to look up again.

"I'm not going anywhere either." The redhead parts his lips as if to say more, but can't seem to find the words, closing them again and instead wordlessly holding his hand out, palm up. Rowan presses the pearl ring into his palm, watching with a small smile as he admires it. It hadn't gone poorly. Things were fine. Nothing was falling apart.

Saeran's nose wrinkles in distaste all of a sudden, as if he imagined something unfavorable. For a moment, Rowan feels a spark of panic, but he quickly puts the pieces together. "I've got some necklace chains you can hang it off of at my apartment. They should be long enough to tuck under your sweater so your brother doesn't see. I'm probably gonna wear mine like that, anyways. I can't wear it over my riding gloves."

The other man hums in acknowledgment, the look on his face relaxing into something more content that makes Rowan's heart clench. Finally feeling that nervous knot in his stomach fully slip away, he turns his attention back to the picnic, taking another cinnamon roll and enjoying the silence. It was like nothing had changed, and yet, he felt even happier than before. Though his boyfriend didn't say anything further, he could tell the other man felt the same.

The moment lasts for several minutes, picking away at the food still left in comfortable silence. It's only interrupted by a small splash of water against Saeran's cheek, causing him to blink in surprise and glance upwards. During their distracted peace, a storm was beginning to roll in, the previously white-clouded sky now totally covered in heavy gray clouds.

"Shit," he murmurs under his breath, tearing Rowan's attention away from the brownie he was finishing off. He quickly begins tucking away the food still left out, the other man joining him once he feels a droplet hit his skin.

Saeran is the first one to get to his feet, walking halfway to the car before turning back to watch him. There was no need to; it wasn't as if Rowan would slip away on the slowly wetting grass, or that they'd lose sight of each other, but it simply felt right.

Neither of them say a word as they begin shoving food haphazardly into the backseat, Rowan giving an annoyed huff as he takes note of the lack of room, reaching up between the seats to pop the trunk instead of going around to the front doors. As he wiggles his way back out, his boyfriend's voice surprises him.

"Thank you."

"Mm?" Rowan turns to glance at him, the tenderness in his voice making him momentarily forget the basket of sweets in his arms, the blanket strewn over the top turning dappled with rain.

"For all of this, and…" Saeran raises his hand, showing off the ring now slipped around his finger. "It was good enough to have an excuse to get out, but you still put in more effort to make it perfect. You didn't have to, but you did. Thanks."

It wasn't often that Saeran was the one to fluster him, but the grateful comment had his cheeks heating up. "M-mhm. It wasn't a big deal, I just… wanted to do something nice for you, and wanted to make things more comfortable. I know you get claustrophobic in the bunker, and it's always nice being out this time of year. I thought you'd enjoy it; I'm glad you did. It makes me happy, seeing you happy."

Just as quickly as the redhead had gotten to him, he turned the tables back around, the other man busying himself packing food into the cooler to avoid a response. His joy from the evening going well getting to him, Rowan continues to speak.

"I'm relieved everything went well. I was worried about so many things -- maybe the cooler wouldn't be cold enough and things would melt, or something would get dropped or squished, or you'd think I was weird, that I was doing too much but then that I wasn't doing enough… a bunch of irrational shit like that. So, um… it really was perfect?"

"Yeah, it was." The short answer makes him smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment when Saeran isn't looking. The other man was never bothered by his stimming, nor did he judge him, but for once, he was the one more embarrassed by his love for the other man.

“Honestly? I had a dream about giving you some big romantic speech like that and wanted to make it real. Only this time, it wasn't as smooth, and the sky doesn’t explode.” Saeran pauses, mid-tucking away the picnic blanket.

“What?”

"Yeah. it was some biiiig date I set up, and I had fireworks and everything, but somehow the fireworks messed up earth's atmosphere and ended up killing all of humanity. Really sucked. This is a lot nicer. Less heat death of the universe and more coziness, y'know.”

Saeran stares incredulously for a moment, finally sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t get how you work at all.” His tone is affectionate despite his words, and the corner of his lips struggle not to twitch up into a smile.

“If I recall correctly, you just signed up to not get me, like, three minutes ago. Forever.” Rowan lifts his hand to close the trunk, pausing before looking back at his boyfriend with a smile, turning and falling into the cozy mess of blankets stuffed into the trunk, wiggling his fingers at the other man.

At the open invitation to cuddle, Saeran doesn't hesitate, shoving the cooler over a bit before moving to settle in front of him and leaning back against his chest with a frown. “You’re implying that I won’t ever get you.“

“Well, I don't know. I don’t have a me manual, pumpkin. If you want one, you’re gonna have to write that yourself. Good luck.”

The redhead tilts his head back to look up at him, lazily brushing his lips against his jawline for just a moment. “Mm, you’re not that complicated. Give me two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!“ Saeran smiles, turning his head away to watch the rain, quietly treasuring the warmth the other man provided. He could handle this forever.

#mystictober2021 #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #se saeran #cmc #rowan carmody #my writing #saefluff

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