#and i pass away due to the admires women too much illness

[jellyfishfem]

when I see a woman with unshaved armpits or legs, little pink heart emojis light up above my head

[moxfirefly]

Ssssooooo I'm gonna keep the "only one bed" trope train and ask for it with maybe Heisenberg? I know you're obsessed with him dont even deny it uwu

*vibrates excitedly* oh BOY!!!!! Thank you Dia, you always gimme the prompts my little heart wants. Shout out to @akumaalert I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to include Karl’s powers being on the fritz due to, sensations, and that wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for your brilliance!

I’m going off the friggin rails here so,

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

There was a voice in the back of your head that sounded too much like your mother.

It kept yelling at you that this was unsavory, that this wasn’t modest of you and your teachings. Who were you to lie with a man? A man you weren’t bound to, a Lord on top of it. All those sinful talks in the big black book circled your mind like vultures.

But he had offered, no?

It was pouring out after all, a big bad storm complete with thunder and gusts of wind that would’ve blown you away probably.

The nature of this friendship? Complicated, very very complicated. You had racked your brain over it as you had buttoned up one of his shirts and climbed into his bed just as another clap of thunder sounded. It made you scurry, somewhat not as elegantly as you may have liked but nevertheless it didn’t stop him from laughing at you.

For such a large factory it only housed one bedroom which just so happened to be his own. He had every intention of sleeping somewhere else, some way, but you had insisted that it wasn’t fair. The storm wasn’t his fault or your own, the living accommodations weren’t either.

So here you were.

In bed with Karl Heisenberg.

Falling a sleep had proven quite difficult, the insistent slide of pencil on paper, the storm and its monstrous sounds. There was a distant revving of something you couldn’t quite name.

You turned to face Heisenberg with every intention of passing the time.

Or at least to help yourself to ogling him.

Your mother voice rang again.

Unsavory, so unsavory.

But he was there, shirtless, sturdy, muscle in his arms and missing those damned shades for once. Whatever he was scribbling had his undivided attention, as you snuck a glance you saw drawings instead of words.

He could draw?

Rather good too.

“What is that?” You tried to lift your gaze but a large hand fell on the page to obscure your snooping. “Nothing, just ideas” He flipped the page, the white of it begging for ink.

“My apologies… I didn’t know you could draw though” He could still see curiosity adorned in your gaze, a noticeable silence falling as your stared up at him. You wanted something, that’s all he could tell.

“…What do you want me to draw?” He huffed out, even if you excitedly sat up in bed and rested against the headboard with a big smile. “Hmm, surprise me or maybe draw me?” You chuckled but went quiet when you watched him scoot down to the end of the bed onto his side. He flipped open the note book again and squinted at you.

“How opposed are you to taking your clothes off?” He smirked and in turn you rolled your eyes.

“Depends, let’s see how well you draw me first” You shot back with every intent of dishing out what he was. Heisenberg chuckled before picking up the pen to start on the newest blank page. “You better keep your mouth shut about this, don’t want villagers lining up to get my works of art” His movements seemed almost mechanical, eyes occasionally lifting to meet you as he did. “There’s enough pictures of your mother in everyone’s homes, hm?” You watched his eyes roll again but he remained silent, he stole another glance at you, eyes roaming your chest now.

Something about that made your skin warm, a nice blush found itself onto your cheeks.

“You draw everyone woman you get into bed?” You asked rather quietly, the small pin prick of jealousy manifesting in your fingertips.

“No, much to your surprise I don’t have all the women of this village in here for sleepovers” His gaze fell to your now exposed legs and the urge to cover them increased but he was quick to tap the end of his pen on your approaching hands. “Stop moving,” He returned to the notebook with a concentrated chew on the inside of his cheeks. The strands of silvery hair fell in front of his eyes and you wished that maybe you too possessed the ability to draw and capture him.

He was handsome.

Those pesky sinful thoughts found you again and with that came the urge to do something about it.

“You better fucking like it, this is reserved for projects after all” He let the pen rest on the bed and flipped the note book towards you.

Your eyes went wide.

It was a sketch, not polished but there in the scribbly lines of black was your face and your body. The messy details perfectly representing you. Your drawn eyes stood out to you, the slight fall of his shirt on your shoulder stood out to you, the way he took more time to detail your legs stood out to you.

“Is that stunned silence? It’s shit isn’t it?” He glared at the page, eyeing up all its faults but you were quick to move and shake your head. “It’s not shit! I’m just- Karl this is beautiful, you’re talented” You observed the image again, a small crinkle at the corners of your mouth.

“I’d ask to keep it but-“ He took the notebook back, not relenting even as you pouted. “Nope, I like this, all I usually have on here is ugly inventions” And corpses, he obviously left that out. He continued to admire the drawing before he grinned, letting hazel eyes fall on you from above the notebook. “Well?” He simply asked and you knew.

“Might come back here for the nude study if you’re going to make me look this nice” You shamelessly flirted back. Heisenberg laughed, a true sound with not ill intentions. “Well I’m sure arrangements can be made” He closed the note book but his eyes soon found your own, close enough that he could smell the oils that had touched your skin this evening. With a bite to your lower lip and a steadying beat of your heart you leaned in close to him. Heisenberg’s lips pursed momentarily, the anticipation of your lips coming down on his own making something electric pulse inside of him.

But you stopped, an inch away from his lips.

His brows furrowed at being denied and that fact that you found that so endearing made you muffle a laugh between your tight lip smile.

Of course, he had to make you shudder, rub his knuckles across your cheek and dig his fingers into he back of your head. “What, pup?” His voice was barely a whisper, the sounds vibrating against your bottom lip and chin. The gentle nudge to close the distance left you breathless.

His lips were surprisingly soft, the scar noticeable against your lips but the bumpy tissue only served to make you melt against him. It was short, several gentle touches that made you shiver as you felt his nails scratch into your scalp.

Pressing your forehead to his own you sighed, want was there and he could feel it, taste it against your lips, feel it in the shiver on your flesh. A small zap hit your skin and the small yelp that escaped you only served to make him chuckle. “Did you just- was that electricity?” Your skin felt prickly suddenly, he only grinned more like a mad dog. Heisenberg wrapped an arm around your waist and yanked you beneath him, the series of shrieks you let out only making him laugh more. “You can be such a beast” They way your hands landed on his bare chest to smack him was short lived.

Some retaliation was to be had. So you scratched your nails down his body before landing on his waist. The tremble of his arms as he held himself above you made you smile. With a gentle nudge of your knee you trapped him in between your legs, pulling him down onto you by his waist. He huffed, hair falling and obscuring his heated gaze. It was instinct, to wrap your arms around him and feel his so warm and soft and strong against you. The scratchiness of his beard was felt at your neck, along with that his teeth meeting warm skin.

He sucked a bruise onto your neck with a roll of his hips.

“Do you want me?” He grumbled against your pulse, tongue soothing the bruise.

You nodded, digging your nails into his waist before dragging them up his back.

“No, no, pup” He nosed your ear, teeth finding your lobe with a gentle tug. “I need to hear it, use your words” It was almost a purr, enough to goosebump your skin and lift your hips.

“Want you, want you so much, please…” You exposed your neck more for him, felt his lips find your throat. “Good pup” His hands found the neck of the shirt and with one fluid motion you heard and felt all the buttons pop off. He pulled it apart to reveal your chest, he hummed at the sight before him. “Now I should draw this some day” His grin made your cheeks flush again, even more so when he pressed his face against your chest, a rub of his cheek scratching your soft skin.

Lips pressed, tongue drawing patterns as you muffled a whine and grabbed his hair and gave it a gentle tug. “Ka-oh god!” A particular hard bite at your ribs made you grip silver locks with more intention. He groaned at the rough handling of his hair, the strain on his neck as you tugged hard enough that he could see your pupils blown wide for him.

When Heisenberg leaned back, allowed space between both your heated skins, you ached.

Visibly ached.

You followed those talented scarred hands to the front of his trousers, watched as he unbuttoned them slowly. But you couldn’t stay away too long, fingers itched to feel him, to touch every part of him and find out what made him tick. You unrolled what was left of your his shirt and tossed it somewhere off the bed. When he saw your hands go between your legs he palmed himself at the sight of it.

“You want your hand, mhm? Or would you much rather prefer my cock?” He emphasized with a tight squeeze of his hardened length and wordless you replied by removing your hand and reaching for him once more. Ever the asshole, he gripped your hand away and raised his brows, he wanted those verbal answers.

Bastard.

“Your cock, please” Intertwining your fingers with his own you gently brought him back down to you for a long and sensual kiss. Against those lips you whispered, “Inside, want you inside now” just as another clap of thunder hit.

There were more clothes gone, scattered across the room unwanted and unneeded. Heisenberg had every intention of feeling you come apart around him when he entered you slowly. Each hiccuped whine shooting your arms more tightly around him, pressing him down closer to you. The heat he was already exuding was making you break out in a sweat, you felt his hands slide beneath you with a groan the further his slid into you.

He was buried to the hilt, tight heat so perfect he growl against the bruised flesh of your neck. “Fucking good little pup, taking me so good” His filthy words fell against your ear, short but pronounced thrusts making you dig your nails onto his back. “Yesss, don’t be afraid, don’t break so easily baby” Heisenberg leaned his head as far as he could to catch your gaze in all its lust blown glory. He kissed you again, more ferocity, more purpose, all tongues and teeth and demanding bites. The heels of your feet rested at his back side encouraging him deep into you with every thrust he delivered.

Being at the end of the bed doing this felt weirdly interesting, each thrust he gave you made the bed creak, lean away from the wall just a bit, it’s increasing squeak joining the chorus of the storm.

When you dragged your nails down his back, right towards his rear and gripped and moaned loud enough to have him shake, you saw something lift from the corner of your eye. You eyes squinted at the spoon suddenly mid air, you weren’t unaware of his gifts but why was he-

You train of thought was lost to you when he angled his thrusts just the right way to hit your sweetest of spots, every possible question was being tried and language had fallen at the bottom of your list of abilities. You arched into him, neck on display for his teeth to once again find, that tight hold on his rear remained and he seemed to really enjoy it by the sounds and sensations of his heated grunts. “Puppyyy, such a good pup, could stay buried in this hole all week” Oh you would let him, you wanted him in fact, why go back to the village, you’d rather put your days on this bed.

No matter how many dangerous items kept floating about, no matter how his skin felt almost electric as he thrusted into you more feverishly, this is what you wanted.

You wanted him.

“Then do it, oh god just do it please!” He hooked his arms beneath your knees and locked you beneath him either every intention of making your moans louder than the rain. Heisenberg unceremoniously pounded you, every hit making your toes curl and your voice choke up. “Gonna fuck a mess into you, you want it? Mhm?” Dangerous dangerous dangerous!

But you did.

Whimpered a series of broken yes yes yes, at his ear. The bruising hold proved necessarily, you felt your legs shake and stiffen all at once, heard several things sort of just go pop! It dawned on you that it had been the lights but that couldn’t have been the storm-

Your orgasm snuck up on you, quite literally hit you smack in the gut with Heisenberg at his tail end as well, it must’ve been seconds apart from one another. He moaned right against your ear, hips drilling into you with every intention of making you lose your god damn mind. Several objects clattered around you, startling you and in the process making you hold onto him.

His amused chuckle came out in breathless pants, the now darkened room only having a lone candle as the source of light. He gave your hip a gentle tap, “It’s okay, just shit that happens” He sounded somewhat sheepish as you both still panted. You reached up and cupped his sweaty cheek, fingers mapping a crias crossed scar. Here in the dimly lit room he still managed to be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You wanted him again.

Wanted all the madness that came with him.

You pulled him down again to show him just that as you kissed him.

[innerchorus]

I wonder a lot about Shapur's parents and Hilmes's mother. What kind of person was the previous queen? I headcanon Hilmes might sport a special kind of grudge towards Tahamenay for “seducing” his father, because he loved his mother a lot and well... he loved his father too and is/was unable to see his father doing any wrong aka betraying his mother so kid!Hilmes subconsciously transferred the blame onto Tahamenay and it stuck. (A parallel with Zandeh, if I say so! Both having huge amounts of faith in their fathers and thus being unable to see fault in them) (I can't say I blame Hilmes, even knowing what I know of novel spoilers Osroes was still a far superior father to Hilmes than Andragoras was to Arslan, imho) And I wonder when Shapur took the lordship of his lands, presumably when his father died? I wonder if Shapur admired his father at first, only for it to be shattered when the whole debacle with Isfan went down? I wonder a lot about Isfan's mother too. Gah, so many questions!!

Yes, so many questions! I wonder about these kinds of things a lot, too. I wish we were give more details about these family dynamics. Tanaka must have decided that they didn't have enough relevance / direct influence on the plot for it to be worth expanding on. It sucks that (as far as I'm aware) we don't even have a name for Hilmes's mother? She seems to exist within the story only as "Osroes's wife." I want to know how she felt about [insert spoiler here].

At least Arakawa drew her for us:

I wish Tanaka had made more space for women in the story. Even the royal family tree included with Book 2 only includes the males.

Hilmes's mother died long before Tahamenay was brought back to Ecbatana, and given that context it's not quite so glaringly odd that Hilmes never seems to think of her (he's unlikely to remember her that well, and he's too busy being bitter about events that happened after her death). She was never actually queen, either; Gotarzes was still Shah at that point. A little snippet of info from Book 1, Chapter 2 (iii) : 'During his time as crown prince, Osroes had taken a wife at eighteen and by the following year had sired a son. After that, his wife passed away from illness, and he had never officially named a queen, preferring to maintain a bachelor’s lifestyle.'

Hilmes most definitely hates Tahamenay, though, referring to her as a 'witch who had seduced both his father and his uncle'.

Anyway, there was definitely love between Osroes and his wife. I hope we get to see a little bit more of their relationship illustrated by flashback later on.

There's definitely a bit of a theme with regards to characters either acknowledging their father's flaws or failing to accept them. I wrote some meta on this topic a while ago about Zandeh and Alfarid. As for Shapur, I’m sure he never looked at his parents the same way after he had to go and rescue Isfan. I assume the most common way to inherit land/titles is for them to pass to a designated heir when the holder dies, so it probably happened that way for Shapur. Or else his father could have stepped down due to illness or infirmity, I suppose. I like that when Shapur got called to Ecbatana to serve there as a military commander, Isfan was given the responsibility for his lands.

I would have loved to hear more about Isfan’s mother, too. I wonder whether Shapur had much contact with her, knowing that Isfan was his younger brother?

I wonder about Zandeh’s mother / Kharlan’s wife, too. Did she know what Kharlan knew before Atropatene? Does she ever get to see Zandeh again after he rides off to serve Hilmes? And what about Sam, did he have a wife and children?

Also I just have to mention how much I hate the fact that Tanaka, glossing over events in Pars during the timeskip between Parts 1 and 2, mentions all sorts of interesting stories that emerged, including one about ‘strange events entangled with the daughter of Hodir, Lord of Kashan Fortress’ and then never elaborates. I get the impression these stories may have varying levels of truth to them, but I want to know what happened and it’s not specified!

(There is also a mention of a travelling merchant who came all the way from Serica to pay a visit to Daryun... do you think he brought a message from Shinrian?)

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Red Flags

Warnings: Serial killers, breaking and entering, torture, manipulation and broken bones AN: Huge thank you to @9layerdevilfoodcake and the lovely Carissa for bouncing some ideas and beta reading this while I was struggling!

AO3

Michael had enough. He was tired and hungry, getting nothing more than delirious in this forest. He stood on shaky legs, not caring about the blood of the goat he just killed. He didn’t know where he was going, just letting his feet carry him to wherever they pleased. He no longer cared about the destination. His surroundings faded into nothingness, until a familiar white-picket fence came into view. He finally focused on his surroundings, immediately starting to sob when he recognised where he was. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house. His body must have craved the familiarity and the warm embrace that only she could provide. But like every other mother figure in his life, she was dead, and he blamed himself. With bleary eyes he pushed open the squeaky gate. The smell of roses made the memories rapidly flash through his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The house had been untouched for years. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. He thought of his grandmother watching the house fall into this state of decay. Watching.

He felt the eyes of the house next door on him. He refused to look out the window. He didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity. He wiped his eyes and stood a little straighter. This was his house now. He could do whatever he wanted here. No one to answer to, no more deadlines and most of all, no more older blonde woman dictating his life. ////

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stubble and lack of sleep seemed to age him. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, it was wild and uneven. The more he looked at himself the more his face began to morph into the women in his life. He hated it. He didn’t want to look like the woman that threw him out at his lowest. Or the woman who, even in her death, could not accept him as hers. He carried the ghosts of next door with him, and he’d do anything to alleviate himself of that burden. He could only change his appearance for so long. Hair dye would eventually fade; contacts would need to be removed and he wasn’t willing to put himself under the knife.

The smell of blood on his clothes pulled him out of his thoughts. The mirror reflected the decrepit house he was in, turning his nose in disgust. With the last of his strength, he mustered a tiny bit of magic, using a spell to clean the house. He walked through the house as it returned to it’s former glory, remembering his own attempts at interior design when he was younger, looking up the beams and archways where he would nail his ‘gifts’ to his grandmother. Times were simpler then. He shook his head of the nostalgia, hoping the plumbing was still working; he needed a nice hot shower.

//// None of the clothes in the closet fit him anymore, he didn’t realise how much he had grown. For now, a towel was the best he could do until his other clothes were out the dryer. He spent his time scouring the house for legal documents, anything that entitled him to some money and the deeds of the house. He needed to get this all under his name, just in case his grandmother used that stupid medium to undermine him. He tugged open the last drawer. Bingo. Everything he needed conveniently placed in one place. Money, a will and the deeds of the house. He would need to go to whatever legal office to get it sorted. The dryer still had time to go. With a big sigh, he sat on the couch. The one that faced the ‘other’ house. He gave a smile to those still watching him. He must have looked demented by the reactions he got from them. The exhaustion and hunger were catching up to him, succumbing to sleep on the couch.

////

It was morning when he woke up. He let his towel fall with a big stretch. Thus was his house; he could do anything. Even walking around naked. He kept the blinds and curtains that faced that house open. Let them watch. He pulled his warm clothes on. The detergent brought back memories, he’d buy a new scent when the time came. He grabbed some cash and whatever documents he needed for the day, venturing out into the big bad world.

////

Humanity deserved to perish simply for the time it took at the bank. The manger was an old lady, greying blonde hair and a pair of ill-fitting glasses. Michael thought she was extremely rude and didn’t hide his distaste when he spoke to her. She asked far too many questions for such a simple procedure. “Young man, aren’t you far too young to be accessing these funds?” she asked, looking over her glasses. “I can’t control when my entire family dies now can I,” he spat back, sick of her already. She continued to look him up and down as she typed away. Printing something off, she slipped a booklet of paperwork to him. “Everything has been approved, your card should arrive in the next few days. Can I do anything else for you?” “I’d like to take out some cash.” “How much?” “$500.” She paused, “what are you planning on doing with that?” Michael was getting beyond irritated, his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temples. “There’s no need to be so rude young man,” she huffed. Michael gave her a sarcastic smile before snatching the money and walking out of the bank. The world would be better off without her. He’d deal with her soon. ////

Michael returned home with numerous bags of clothing and food. He would learn how to cook for himself, takeout was not sustainable. The pantry was stocked with basic essentials, but most of it was stocked with candy and other snacks. No one could stop him from indulging in his gluttony now.

His wardrobe was full of blacks and reds, the perfect colours for him. He was most looking forward to the black jumpsuit. It stood out to him in the store, a style he had never tried before. His fingers drifted over the seams when he tried it on, turning and admiring the various angles in the mirror. He looked up to the clock through the mirror, it was almost 5pm, if he didn’t leave now, he would miss her leaving. ////

Michael waited for the old bank manager to leave. Biding his time in the shadows. He watched her as she said her goodbyes in her shrill voice, then as she walked to her car. Michael stalked behind her, waiting for her to get in. As she got comfortable, she dropped something by her foot pedals. When she reached down to grab it, Michael took the opportunity to get in the car and lock the doors. He smiled at her when she screamed. The parking lot was empty, no one would hear her. “Shhh,” Michael put a finger to his lips, the other hand held up a gun. It was one of Constance’s that she had hidden in the house. The woman suddenly stopped, her shaking hands on the wheel. “You’re going to drive, and I’m going to give you directions,” he said, his tone left no space to argue. She nodded, tears in her eyes, hoping he would let her go eventually.

////

They pulled up outside the murder house. Michael got out first, taking the keys from the ignition. The woman stayed in the car, still shaking. She wasn’t given much time to think, Michael dragged her out of the car and up the steps, his hand over her mouth. Her legs flailed around, heels falling off and feet dragging on the ground. Sill, Michael paid her no mind, not even as she thumped down the stairs when he threw her into the basement.

He felt eyes on him again as he went into the kitchen, looking for something sharp. When he got to the basement door, it was blocked by none other than Dr. Harmon himself. “You don’t have to do this kind, you know you’re better than this,” he tried to convince Michael. “You didn’t have to cheat on your wife, now here we all are, miserable in the same fucking house,” Michael spat back. “He didn’t give Harmon a chance to respond, teleporting into the basement where the woman cowered in the corner.

“Please, I’m sorry if I did something, there’s other ways to solve this,” she cried. “I need to get home to my grandkids,” she tried to appeal to his softer side. He continued to stalk towards her, ignoring her and inspecting the sharp knife. “You’re far too old to still be this rude. I think that it’s a habit that can’t be solved anymore,” Michael replied, sounding disappointed. The woman couldn’t back away any further, stuck to the wall. Michael got down to her level, wiping away her tears. “You have grandkids?” She rapidly nodded, hoping he changed his mind. “I had a grandma too. Looked just like you,” he took a blonde hair and sniffed it, it didn’t smell like her. “At least she had basic manners. And, she wouldn’t be caught dead in this hideous number,” he pointed out. He had to give Constance credit where it was due. “Do you want to know what happened to my grandma?” he whispered in her ear. She was too shaky to respond. “I killed her too,” he whispered again, this time his voice cracked a little; remembering the day he found her dead in this very house. Even if she was a ghost, she could have at least spared him a hug. His eyes began to well up. The woman took this as an opportunity to reach out, placing her hand on her face. He snapped back to her, taking her hand in his. “But no one can ever replace her,” his voice still shaking. He felt like a little boy again. He could feel the pity from the woman. She wasn’t scared of him anymore and he didn’t like that. He was no longer a child. He had a greater purpose. Without hesitation, Michael sliced her throat, letting himself be covered in her blood. He looked at his reflection in the knife. Maybe this was the look for him, covered in blood. He licked his fingers, tasting the liquid. “I’ll save the heart for later,” he thought to himself, before ripping it out and making use of one of the fridges. This was one way to pass the time and maybe, it would finally get his father’s attention. //// A car was found on a random highway. In it was the mangled corpse of the owner, and a simple letter signed by ‘the Alpha’. This marked the beginning of a new wave of violence in southern California. A serial killer was on the prowl. The victim profile was quite strange. Typically, killers would choose young women. However, this killer liked older blonde women, usually grandmothers or mothers. It scared you regardless, worried that one day the preference might change. You worried for your co-workers too, many of them fitting the description. The thought that you might have even interacted with the culprit made your skin crawl. ////

Things would inevitably go wrong if one were fuelled by bloodlust alone. Michael had broken into the wrong house. The woman that pissed him off at the supermarket lived a few doors down. Regardless, he was curious as to who lived here. The home was so different to what he was used to. The interior design choices were not the standard ‘live, laugh, love’ and farmhouse kitchen with seashell bathrooms. This house was nice, it had a younger feel to it, the heels by the door further proof of his theory. He quietly made his way up the stairs, looking into every room and taking it all in. He finally found the occupied room. The dark-haired woman was fast asleep in her bed. Comfortably sank into her pillows. He adjusted the blinds a little so he could see better. The way the moonlight reflected off her face took his breath away. His fingers twitched, he wanted to take her home this instant. He could take care of her, he knew he could. He liked a challenge however, he wanted her to come to him. He didn’t know how long he stood and stared at her, only leaving once she stared to stir. He’d be back. ////

Michael’s heart was jumping out of his chest when he arrived back to the murder house. The residents were surprised he didn’t come home with another victim or even a drop of blood on him. His face was flush and he was in deep thought. Luckily for the residents, souls were not congesting the house, as Michael would make sure to burn the new souls as soon as he could. He whispered nonsense to himself as he made his way up to the attic. His trance was interrupted by his foot hitting a box. Had it always been there? He slowly took the lid off, finding an old camcorder and lots of tape. Was he living in the movie ‘sinister’? He was the scariest thing in this house, no ghoul could ever top him.

The box gave him something to do for the rest of the night. Returning with some snacks and in his pyjamas. The entertainment didn’t last long. It was just shitty home movies from former residents. It got worse when they’d come forward and explain them. He turned his face in disgust at the last one; a homemade sex tape. He gagged before turning it off. The sun was rising, telling him to go to bed. As he put the camcorder way, he had a genius idea.

////

You felt weird when you woke up. It was as if someone had been watching you. Your blinds were slightly open, and your bedroom door ajar. Had someone been in? As you walked through the house, something just seemed a little off. Things were ever so slightly out of place. There even seemed to be less fruit juice this morning than you were sure you had last night. Maybe it was the paranoia of the current situation getting to you. You sighed and shook your head before going to get ready for the day.

////

You hated working in the family and wills sector of the legal profession. You were hoping to make the move to fashion law soon, just waiting for the right opportunity. You really weren’t made for the requests of dead people and their bickering relatives.

You greeted one of the partners. Ms Grace everyone called her. She was your mento and a mother figure to you out here in the big bad legal world. Hopefully, she’d give you a good reference when you left. “New client for you today, just… entire dead family,” she whispered the last bit, making a cutting gesture with her hand. “That sounds horrible.” She nodded, before letting you set up for the day. ////

It was afternoon before said client showed up. Your office phone rang informing you of his arrival. A tall, blond man sat in the waiting room; his eyes widened in recognition when he saw you. You decided to ignore it. “Hello, are you Mr. Langdon?” “I am.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, in Y/N and I’ll be taking your case,” you held your hand out for him to shake. It was comfortably warm. “Please, call me Michael.” You nodded and smiled, before leading him to your office. “Any refreshments before we get started?” He shook his head. From the outside, his case looked simple However, the deaths in his family left a convoluted mess, but you were sure Mr Langdon would get what he wanted. He was the only legal and living heir after all. You chatted away as you printed off and filled out the relevant forms. The conversation came easy. It had been a while since someone had caused butterflies in your stomach.   You weren’t unprofessional however, keeping it professional with clients. When all was done for the session, you saw him out and waved him off. The interaction with him had left you a little flush. The receptionist giving you a knowing look.

////

This was totally unplanned. Michael wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. He thought that maybe his father had a hand in this, a reward for his hard work. He made his way back home, keeping the packet you gave him close, it still faintly smelled of you. He sat on the couch facing the other house. Images of you occupying his mind. It all got too much, lazily stroking himself to the thought of you that afternoon. ////

He left the house again, camcorder in hand. He pressed record as soon as he got inside your house. Filming every little detail leading up to your room. Even filming himself waving in the hallway mirror, as if he were recording and innocent home video.

He slowly opened your door. You accidently left the lamp on that night, giving him the perfect lighting. He zoomed in on your face before getting closer. Your duvet was blocking the view, reaching forward to carefully move it a little. Running his thumb over your lips and getting it on camera. He groaned at the softness. His fingers skimmed over your face, neck and collarbones. He watched as your nose crinkled a little at the touch. Cute. His evening plans were abruptly cut short when your phone began to ring. At this hour? Who was it? You began to stir at the invasive sound. Michael didn’t have time to run, transmuting out the house as fast as he could.

////

In his free time, Michael indulged in all that his family would disapprove of. And nothing could vex Constance Langdon more than her shitty grandson doing all types of drugs. He liked the feeling weed gave him. It helped him relax after the adrenaline rush of a kill. Sometimes, the murder house had a horrible stench of weed and rotting flesh, prompting the residents to keep the windows open. He even tried other things, like Acid and MD. He didn’t like the restlessness they gave him. He especially hated when his face would morph in the mirror, turning him into the people he hated the most. He wondered what it would be like to get high with you. He wanted to melt into you just like he did the floor when the THC finally got him. If he couldn’t get to you that night, he would replay the tapes on the big screen and jack off, wishing you were there. The residents of the house watched in disgust and horror. They may have done terrible things but surely, they weren’t this bad.

////

Mr Langdon’s case had successfully ended, he had gotten what he wanted. You bumped into him a week later, on your lunch break. “Oh? Y/N? so nice to see you,” he stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. “Like wise,” you smiled up at him. “Would you like anything? I insist. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to reject his kindness but didn’t want to hold up the line, giving him your order. You both sat at a quiet table, waiting for your drinks and pastry. “I don’t usually see my clients on lunch breaks.” “Former client,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. You watched him add five packets of sugar and wondered why he didn’t just get a sweeter drink. Your conversation continued, with your shoes constantly touching under the table. It felt very childish, but maybe you were missing the playfulness in life. Your phone alarm went off, indicating you had to get back to work. As your phone was unlocked, Michael took it and tapped his number in, leaving you at the table with a wink.

////

These interactions led to casual dates. The murders began to slow down, making you feel a little safer. With this in mind, you accepted Michael’s invitation when he invited you over. You were nervous as you waited for him to open the door. The evening breeze did little to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Michael opened the door and you sighed in relief. “You look… beautiful,” he stuttered. “Not too bad yourself,” you smiled back.

He moved aside to let you in, leading you to where he had set up. “I didn’t know you could cook.” “I’m a man of many talents.” He looked out the window, making sure the other house was watching. They looked nervous, hoping you would leave in one piece. They watched you laugh and talk. This could not have been the same boy that had terrorised so many. He was confident, suave, and personable. Worlds away from the awkward, nervous cry baby of a serial killer that they had become used to. He cleaned up well, even tidying up his wild hair. They wondered how long it would last. How long would it take for you to see the real him? They hoped you got out before it got to that state. The time flew by, and you both seemed to get closer by the second. You didn’t notice until your noses were touching, conversation halting. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost hesitant. You took the initiative and captured his lips. All of his hesitation melted away, his hand reaching around you and pulling you closer. The kiss got more heated, indicating that it would lead to something else. However, luck was not on your side. You phone ringing and interrupting you. Michael wanted to smash that phone; this was the second time it had stopped him. You apologised before picking up. Michael watched your expression change and brows knit in annoyance. You put the phone down, apologising. “I’m so sorry Michael, but I’m going to have to go, I’ve been called into work tomorrow and this is an important client, I hope you can understand.” “Of course, I’m sure you’re busy and I won’t keep you. Do you want me to drop you off?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, he didn’t have a car. “Oh thank you so much for understanding, and the offer. I drove here myself so there’s no need to worry about that,” you smiled at him. Michael helped you with your belongings, leading you out the door. You turned to thank him again, before he leaned down to give you another kiss, causing you to blush. He walked you to your car, taking in the interior. He waved you off with a smile. He knew you’d be back soon. ////

Michael shut the door behind him. He thought the night was a success. He opened the cupboard and pulled out your jacket. He hid it away, so you’d forget about it. The designer logo stood out to him. He buried his face in the fur, taking in all of it. Your scent, your warmth, everything. He had been so close to you. He wanted to watch the tapes with this in hand, for that he would have to venture next door. He wasn’t prepared to finally come face to face with his grandmother, looking down on him, cigarette in hand. “Michael fucking Langdon,” her southern drawl was harsh. He hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. He gulped as he watched her slowly walk down the stairs. “Why haven’t you grown out of that terrible habit of yours. You just have to destroy pretty things.” She stopped at the step just above him, still looking down. She gently stroked his face like she used to when he was a child, and he leaned into the touch. The peace was disturbed by a loud slap echoing through the house. Michael’s face turned to the side. He held his cheek, slowly turning to the woman with bleary eyes. “You have some nerve coming back to this house with that attitude of yours, clearly the ‘Church’ didn’t teach you any manners” Michael was trying to find his voice, to finally face the woman that he blamed for half of his problems. “And now look at you, that poor girl doesn’t even know the half of it.” She snatched the coat away from him. “Look at this Michael, this is Prada. And did you see the car she drove? What makes you think you deserve her? Look at yourself,” she gestured towards him. “Hair unkempt, Jobless, all you eat is candy and human flesh. What are you going to when she finds out the truth?” Michael hadn’t actually thought about that. He had neglected himself and his appearance for a while now. Did it really matter that much?

////

“Look, Y/N, all I’m saying is that you can do better. Look at you, you’re beautiful and well dressed and have such a good job. And him, well… he’s a little scruffy and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have a car,” Ms Grace did not approve of your relationship with Michael. She thought you could do better. “I see where you’re coming from but he’s charming. Although I do agree he could clean up a little better. I’ve seen him all dressed up and he looks so good. I just don’t understand why he chooses to look like… that most of the time,” the last bit was more meant for yourself. Your conversation was interrupted by Kevin, a colleague from another office. “He should take a page out of Kevin’s book,” Ms Grace pointed out. Kevin raised a brow at the conversation he had just become a part of. He too was on a lawyer salary, a well-dressed man that anyone would swoon for. “Who’s ‘he’?” “Y/Ns …. Boyfriend?” Ms Grace replied. “Nothing to concern yourself too much with Kevin, you know what Ms Grace is like,” you interjected. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. He must be something to reach those high standards of yours,” he pointed out. “Oh he’s something alright,” Ms Grace muttered. You huffed at the conversation. You didn’t think you were a superficial person, but your colleagues thought otherwise. //// Michael had heard enough. Sometimes he would scry into your workplace, just to check on you, to see if you thought of him as much as he did. The conversation reinforced Constance’s criticisms from the other day. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious in a while. He was not one to idle, immediately finding a hair stylist with an availability. He wanted a transformation that would floor you. With that in mind, he headed to ‘Gallants’. //// The hairstylist was truly annoying, yet he seemed to have magic in his hands. The final reveal shocked Michael also. The confidence he had at Hawthorne seemed to return. He held his head just a little higher as he walked out. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, people stopping to stare at the angelic looking man that strutted down the street. On his way to his next destination, he stopped at the sight of a certain symbol. An inverted cross. His feet had a mind of their own, leading him inside. His scar began to tingle. The congregation turned to stare at the man that had just walked in. They knew. It had to be. The high priestess getting on her knees before him. He could get used to this. //// He reached his final destination for the day. He didn’t usually kill men, but if they got in his way, he didn’t care who he killed. He waited for Kevin to come home. He was going to kill him here. He wasn’t worth the effort of taking him all the way to the murder house. Michael didn’t even give the man a chance to scream. Getting rid of him with a snap of his fingers. //// The murder house watched Michael carefully curate his image the next few months. An entire new wardrobe, his old clothes dumped in the murder house. They watched the elaborate skincare ritual every morning. Carefully peeling away masks and applying serums. How very American Psycho of him. You loved the new look. You made sure everyone in the office new you’d made the right choice. Michael loved the new attention, but he made sure you knew he only had eyes for you. He even planned on offering you a better job in Kineros’ legal team, just so he could keep you close and get you out of the sector you complained about so often. //// A strange thing happened one night. Michael took the camcorder down into the basement with him, setting the lens to record his newest victim. After he was done, he burned the footage onto a disk. What was he up to? //// You were on autopilot as you opened your door. You felt numb. Ms Grace had become another victim to ‘the Alpha’ along with one of your neighbours. You spent the entire day in police interviews, trying to make sense on the situation. As you walked into the house, you stepped on something. A thick envelope, labelled only with your name. You picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. In it was just an unlabelled disc and a sticky note saying ‘love from the Alpha’. It made your blood run cold. This had to be a joke. Some was messing with you; it could be the only explanation. You ran to your DVD player, you had to see what was on the disc, you hoped it was some shitty quality movie ripped from the internet. The video came on, starting in a dark room. The camera turned to a woman tied up, it zoomed in on her face and you immediately recognised her as Ms Grace. Your eyes widened and you felt ill, running to the bathroom to be sick. It was still playing when you came back, changing to a different video. It was dark again but it all seemed so familiar. The camera panned up and you gasped, your hands covering your face. It was a video of you, sleeping in your own home. You no longer felt safe here. You quickly took the disc out and grabbed your essentials, running to your car. As you pulled out your street, you had no idea what turn to take. Turning right would lead to the police station, you could submit the disc and ask for protection. However, they rarely did anything about stalking cases, and the disc had your finger prints all-over it. A left turn would lead to Michael. You felt safe around him and you were sure he could offer you comfort at this time. The beeping behind you made you make your decision. //// You pulled up outside Michael’s house. You rapidly knocked on the door, there was no answer. No light was on in the house. You prayed to whoever that would listen that he didn’t have any other plans for the night. As you lost hope and looked around, your eyes fell to the imposing structure next door. You remembered a conversation where he had said he was restoring the home. A light was on. With a deep breath, you ran up the steps, repeating your previous actions and hoping for a response. A shocked Michael opened the door. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. You didn’t notice the feral look he had going on. Hair dishevelled and blood-stained clothes. He gently put the knife down and wrapped his arms around you, cooing and shushing you. Telling you to calm down and it would all be okay. He was glad you were wearing a dark colour; you hadn’t noticed the stickiness of his hands and the stain they left. He gently moved you into the house, shutting the door. He used his magic to shut the basement door too. Your face was still buried in his arm as he walked you up the stairs. You should have paid attention to your strange surroundings. The ghosts of the house looked at you with the greatest of pity, wishing they could do something.

He sat you down on the bed, kneeling before you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” he asked gently, wiping your eyes. You sniffled and calmed your breathing, trying not to freak out again as you explained the situation to him. “I… I think he’s after me,” you whispered. “Who’s ‘he?” “The Alpha, he’s after me, I know it.” Michael paused, you must have seen the DVD. He had to stop himself from laughing. “Why do you think that hmm?” his thumb stroked your cheek. “Three people I know have died and then I got this DVD in the mail,” you paused, “It… it’s a video of Ms Grace tied up and then one of me sleeping,” you began to cry again. Michael sat on the bed next to you, pulling you in for a hug, you buried your face into him again, taking in his scent and trying to calm down. “You’re the only person I feel safe around,” you mumbled. Michael smiled into your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted. ////

You decided to wash your face after you had calmed down. Wetting a towel with cold water, you placed it on your eyes in an attempt to de-puff them. The ghosts thought this was the perfect opportunity to warn you about your possible doom. Vivienne pulled open the shower curtain behind you. Revealing a bathtub full of ice and another victim placed in it. However, their plan didn’t seem to work. You didn’t even look back at the sound, having walked out the bathroom just in-time. Michael was sitting on the bad, waiting for you. He had changed into more casual clothing and was rolling a joint. “It might help you calm down,” he smiled up at you, twisting the end off. You sat back on the bed and joined him, relaxing into the headboard. The conversation was casual and mundane, something you really needed right now. Between the sound of his voice and the passing of the joint, you had no idea how much time had passed. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Hands began to wander, and your lips met for a heated kiss, you ended up straddling him. You let yourself be lost in the haze, not knowing exactly when your clothes came off, just that you enjoyed the feel of his skin on yours. You lifted your hips, moving to finally having him inside you, to be as close as you could be. You waited a little, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you got used to his size and took it all in. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your spine was blissful. His hands finally rested on your hips, gripping them and encouraging you to finally move. You complied, taking your time. You moved away from his shoulder. He took the opportunity to leave marks all over your breasts. It just felt so good. You could feel that you wouldn’t last much longer, your movements becoming sloppier. Michael rested his hand on your throat, his face morphed into something a lot more vicious than you were used to. It must have rang some alarm bells, but you weren’t listening. His grip on your neck tightened, and his hips began to thrust up, meeting your movements. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his grip tightened once more, causing the coil in your belly to snap. Your legs shook, walls pulsing around him as he followed not long after. He pulled you into a deep kiss by your neck, slowly moving you off him and onto the bed. You lay there catching your breath, staring into his eyes. Just for that brief moment, nothing else mattered, forgetting about the serial killer that was on the hunt somewhere. You got closer to him and got comfortable, your head resting on his chest, being lulled by his heartbeat. “I was thinking,” he started. “Hmm?” you mumbled back, enjoying the vibration of his speech. “Maybe you should take a break from work for a while and stay with me for a bit, just until things calm down,” he suggested. At that moment in time, the combined high of weed and sex made it seem like a genius idea. Surely it was the most obvious solution? “Yeah it’s a good idea,” you yawned. The exhaustion caught up to you, your heavy eyes falling shut. Michael squeezed you just a little tighter and smirked up at the residents that had surrounded you. Their looks of pity towards you were something else. Michael buried his face into your hair, turning off the lights around him. It was the most blissful sleep he had had in years.

////

You woke up sometime the next afternoon. Michael was nowhere to be seen. After using (the now empty) bathroom, you ventured through the house. It looked different. It looked complete in a way. The tarp, random cans of paint and building materials that you were sure where there last night, were gone. It was as if it had been transformed overnight. The strangest thing was how familiar the décor and interior looked. It looked like a bigger version of your own home. It felt familiar yet uncomfortably so. Quite frankly, it looked like your dream home, styled as if it was going to featured in Architectural Digest. You knew it didn’t look like this last night, nothing close to it. Then you thought back to the wardrobe upstairs, the one you had sleepily pulled your current clothing out of. It was full of your own clothing. Clothing that you didn’t bring with you. Did Michael do this while you were asleep? When did he get the time? You scoured the house for your car keys and purse. Only finding pieces of familiar décor instead. Your stomach got the better of you, heading to the kitchen and hopefully finding something to eat. The pantry was stocked full of your favourites, pulling out a box of your favourite cereal. It was at this moment you were sure that all the pieces were taken from your home. One of the cereal bowls had the same chip that yours had. The nervousness and paranoia of last night began to seep back into you, your face visibly twisted in those emotions. As you mindlessly ate your cereal, the basement door creaked open. You stopped mid chew to look. You quickly swallowed and slowly walked towards it. Telling yourself that there was nothing to fear, and that you were just going to shut it. You heard a thud as you reached the door. Maybe Michael was down there and needed some help or something. You slowly walked down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your scream and prevent you from vomiting from the smell. The image forever burned into your memory. There was blood everywhere. Michael had his back turned to you, you were sure he hadn’t sensed your presence yet. You slowly backed away, trying to be quiet and not alert him. You let out a shaky breath when you were back in the hallway. You didn’t care about finding your things now, you had to get out of here. The front door wouldn’t budge open, the backdoor was no different. None of the window’s downstairs would open either. You then remember one of the windows was cracked open in the room you were sleeping in. You may injure yourself, but it looked like your only way out. You pushed the window up even further, making enough room for you to jump out. You hoisted one leg over the ledge, looking out for your landing spot. You prepared yourself to move the other leg, but it wouldn’t budge. You tugged at it a few times before looking back. Those blue, rage filled eyes were staring back at you, holding your leg, and preventing you from getting out. “Get. Back. In.,” he said, through clenched teeth. You shook your head, looking away from him. You didn’t want to think about who’s blood he was covered in. “Please let me go,” you whispered, hoping he’d take mercy on you somehow. His grip just got tighter. You mustered up all your strength, kicking him off you. He let go of your leg, it gave you enough time to jump. You felt the wind rush around you as you fell. You hit the ground a lot harder than you thought. Your head ricocheted off the ground painfully. You ignored the crunch your legs made. Everything hurt so bad, the pain wouldn’t even let you scream. You knew you had calculated your fall right. The ghosts thought you did too, all watching with various shocked expressions. You tried to move and look around you and stay awake. You could only look up. Through your darkening vision, the last thing you saw was Michael leaning out the window, smiling down at you. The cat had caught the canary.

////

You groaned in pain as you opened your eyes.

The light was blinding, difficult to adjust to.

Where were you? Why were you here? How long had it been?

As you looked around, the room looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oh? You’re finally awake, It’s been a few days, I missed seeing your eyes” a male voice spoke from beside you.

You slowly turned your head to the voice.

The man looked familiar; you raked your brain to figure out who it was.

He placed his hand on your cheek, you hissed and flinched as he stroked scabby and bruised skin. “Look at you. If you had stayed inside, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

His eyes finally met yours and everything came rushing back.

A feeling of dread overtook you. You tried to shuffle away from him, but something was preventing you from moving.

You tried to figure out what it was. Looking yourself over, noticing the blanket was bulky.

You momentarily forgot about the predator in the room, pulling the blanket away and revealing your legs, both in casts.

One of the casts had been signed, ‘get well soon, Love, your Alpha’.

You wanted to sob, but you knew any sudden movements would be painful.

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over you, tucking you in.

“If you’re good, you’ll get your painkillers. If you’re bad…,” he leaned over you, putting his weight on your legs, “I’ll cut them off next time,” he grinned.

He got onto the other side of the bed, holding you close to him, squeezing you just a little too tight, and giving your forehead a kiss.

Not even the apocalypse could get you out of his grasp now, he’d kill you both before anything tried to take you from him. Wherever you were, that was his sanctuary. Even if it meant eternal torment in the pits of hell, it didn’t matter, as long as it was with you.

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Two

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 2.6k → click here for the next part !

You're apprehensive the first few days. Peering over your shoulder when you walk through the halls of the Duke's estate. You often find yourself fiddling with the only real possession you have remaining from the entire ordeal - a silver locket given to you by your mother, it hasn't stood the test of time, it's littered in small scratches and it's clearly seen better days. Neither does it shine the way it used to but you need it to feel at ease.

Currently, sitting in the estate's library you attempt to focus on reading the book in front of you. It details the life of an orphaned child, the rest of the plot is a blur to you as this task is not done with the intent of enjoying the literature but with the purpose of distracting yourself.

You've been avoiding Duke Ackerman for days on end now. He's made the occasional visit to your quarters, always politely asks if he's permitted to speak to you - allowed to take even a second of your precious time. You decline every single request, your excuses range from "I'm feeling particularly ill today." to"I would like to rest early.", He never inquires after you've responded. You do however find he communicates in a variety of different ways ; Meals of the finest standard, A luxurious place to live, the maids also offer you the opportunity to venture out into the beautiful gardens but you know he's asked them to do so.

Quite frankly, you're still petrified and are unable to fathom what happened that fateful day, you had never been one to put much faith in God especially after all he had put you through, but maybe there was a God or a higher being or a somebody who helped you in your moment of despair.

Eyes darting from your page to the door of the library, you swear you see the door knob twist and you hastily double take. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so you allow yourself to shake it off. Your eyes droop shut as you knead your shoulders attempting to relieve some of the tension you feel. Recently, you find it to be an ordinary occurrence for your muscles to seize at the worst possible opportunities.

"May I speak to you?" A beaming voice enters the room from behind you but never had such a cheerful voice made you freeze in fright. It's him.

At his appearance you begin to think of all sorts of scenarios and outcomes but the specific thought you've been actively ignoring slyly slips into view. What if the spell weakens?

Fate is an ever changing entity, one minute it may be in your favour, the next... you'd rather not delve any deeper into that alternative.

Jumping to your feet you don't look in his direction trying to keep the contact you have with him minimal.

He audibly huffs and just as you're about to scurry away he speaks again. "Halt your movements."

Something about his voice beckons you to do so and you anxiously face him.

"Did I come off too bold?" The expression he makes is unlike any other you've seen from him before. His eyes twinkle and it looks as if he's holding his breathe expectantly. It's almost comical how different he looks and you can't stop your cheeks from flushing. He's quite adorable under this spell.

But then a flashback is presented to you. The anger in his eyes, the cold feeling of his sword, if he were any closer he would have been swiftly slicing your neck open. Y/N, you were seconds away from becoming a corpse you remind yourself fiercely.

"I'm not doing very well at courting you, Am I?" He frowns as he asks but he's not upset, perhaps disappointed.

Looking at the floor you hear him bombard you with even more questions, he's crowding around you now like a swarm of bees - somehow he manages the job of an entire hive on his own. No one has ever taken such an interest in you.

Your conscience tells you that you will regret this later on down the line, it tells you this will come back and bite you incredibly hard, you will regret being so ignorant and trusting yet you yield. Is it so wrong for you to consider feeling affection? When the Duke snaps out of this spell he will promptly execute you and you're aware of that fact, so what reason is there to cower away in fear?

For all your life you have never experienced the true feeling of love. You had mother's maternal love, which hadn't lasted very long at all. Never would you have any other opportunity to experience the romantic intimate kind involving a significant other. If you were to die you may as well play the role of his wife for as long as this spell wills it. Perhaps he'll receive his memories back so late he forgets or simply no longer cares. Part of you hopes he doesn't remember at all.

"Would you like to..." you pause already regretting what you're doing but before you can continue the Duke cuts you off.

"Have tea together? Explore the gardens together?"

What really sticks out to you most is how he casually emphasizes the word together. He really doesn't care what activity you engage in as long as it's with him. You feel your heart twist in your chest. This is dangerous.

He's eager, leaning forward with wide eyes. It feels odd having someone care about your input, even more odd seeing that person smile at you with the same spirit of an elated child. It's bittersweet knowing his true character.

"Let's have some tea."

A few months have passed since then. Surprisingly you're still alive and the spell shows no signs of wearing away any time soon.

After the raid at your palace he's been nothing but sweet towards you. At first many people were against him courting you and a handful of his advisors attempted to steer his sights away due to suspicions and speculation that you were a "sinful witch" who had manipulated or even seduced him.

The day he had heard those rumors he caused an uproar and had fired the royal advisor who spread them around. "Impertinent fools have the audacity to make such comments about my Duchess." You would usually add in you were not worth such respect considering you were not officially a Duchess but the fiery blaze in his eyes had stopped you.

"Hey Lev, lets go have some tea they've learnt their lesson." You shot the gossiping maids a sympathetic look.

Being under the spell does not make him more tolerable towards other people is what you learnt that day.

Multiple women all with visuals worlds more appealing than your own approach him, some even sent by his advisors to set you up. They test if his love is strong enough to withstand the attacks of others. Time and time again he proves everyone wrong and doesn't think for a second to give up on you.

You're glad for that because through these few months you've ascertained how much you love the Duke for who he is. Well, who he's acting as. You want to slam your head against a concrete wall repeatedly when you think about the level of affection and tenderness you hold towards the man but you can not lie and say you hate him.

The fact that before meeting him you lived a life lacking of love and affection does not help your case either. It only makes it harder.

But it's painfully obvious to you that this is all truly one sided. You aren't really in love with the Duke but you're in love with the magic holding him hostage.

You share these thoughts to yourself as you take a short sip from your tea cup. Sasha has left the room to fetch some pastries and sweets. She takes her job seriously as head maid (you never address her as such because really she's just a friend to you). It's a chilly day hence why you've covered yourself up in a shawl, it coincidentally matches the beige drapes.

Suddenly a boy who you recognize to be one of the young apprentices by the name of Eren bursts through the doors of your tea room. His hair is all over the place and he's panting as he tries to formulate a sentence.

"Duke." Puff. " Duke Ackerman" Puff. "Refuses to return to the Imperial Palace and is threatening the Emperor stating he won't return to his duties!"

You ignore it and try to keep to your own affairs because who are you to interfere in military business? It's looked down upon to involve yourself in such matters.

You send him off and in the mean time Sasha makes her way back.

A few minutes later as the both of you are munching on a particularly sweet macron the palace's butler bursts in the same way as Jaeger and tries to get a word in but Sasha manages to interject first.

"My lady, perhaps you should check in on the Duke." she suggests.

You try to speak but the Butler cuts in abruptly.

"Duchess. I'm afraid he hasn't ate a meal in five days. Please talk to him."

"Mike there is no need to call me a Duchess when I hold no such title...wait the Duke hasn't ate for five days???"

You find it unbelievable that Levi has forgotten to eat or possibly starved himself for something.

Making your way to his office you enter with a speech prepared about how eating is one of the blessings you've been given and how it should be appreciated but instead you're met face to face with a trail of rose petals that lead to the Duke.

You stare at him in confusion. He holds a bouquet of roses in his hands and they kiss his chest, He gives you a look of admiration that can only be described as the look that is reserved for your one true love. His eyes glimmer and they shine along with his glossy raven hair. You look him up and down in astonishment.

He's arranged all this for you.

"I'd do anything to have you be by my side for all of eternity. Will you honor me with the opportunity of taking your hand?"

Just looking at this entirely different version of the Duke, you feel relieved and in the moment you recklessly accept his proposal. You know it's stupid, you know it's ignorant, you know you should be denying him but you can't make yourself ignore the will of your heart.

"I hope to live a long life. One with you present." he whispers into the shell of your ear, it tingles.

After weeks of the Duke's courting you accept his marriage proposal and the both of you quietly wed two months later.

He's so kind and affectionate that you're plagued with nightmares where the spell wears off.

In your nightmares he continues what he left unfinished. Every time he's about to plunge his sword into the depths of your chest he wakes you up and caresses your face in between his large hands. He wraps his arms around you after some time. Once your breathing relaxes he asks what has made you cry and you can't do anything to explain. It only hurts more seeing his concerned expression. The way his eyes flick between your eyes and trembling lips, you want to tell him the truth, instead you state that you"had a nightmare, and don't wish to talk about it." You don't want him asking questions over it.

It's another Wednesday and you're pacing back and forth in front of his office door arguing with yourself about whether or not you should enter. Finally, you decide to make your entrance and peek inside. You hear him arguing with his advisors as normal.

"Instead of blithering like a idiot and making excuses why don't yo-" he's midway through his sentence when he sees you at the doorway.

Dropping the previous matter he rushes over towards you and scoops you up in his arms. Smiling up at you, you smile back sheepishly ignoring the stares of his staff.

"Honey, why did you leave me? Where did you go?" He whines into your neck and you try to push him away shyly but he won't budge.

Everyone around you grimaces at his usual mood swings as well as the heavy flirting that he's targeting at you.

"You haven't come to eat dinner with me for three nights. You're the workaholic who left me." You swiftly retort his point and you pout at the end of your sentence. He pouts back and you can see his cheeks are tinged a blushed pink.

"Then we must dine immediately, you should have informed me that I had made you feel so neglected, my darling!"

After making your way to the dining room you and Levi are conversing happily as per usual when you spot his highly agitated secretary Mikasa. It settles in that she's been standing there for a considerable amount of time, time flies when you and Levi speak. She's clearly waiting for him to report back to duty.

The first time you had met Mikasa she was highly suspicious of you and would keep an eye on your movements at all times (literally) , you thought she perhaps fancied the Duke but later learnt that she was related to him and that was probably why she was on edge at the appearance of a new individual. Besides all that she's sweet really, sometime she joins you and Sasha for tea and you happily converse. She isn't much of a talker, more of a listener which works out well considering how extroverted Sasha is and how you love to story tell. You've shared many fond memories with her.

That's why you place a hand on Levi's shoulder and interrupt him.

"Why don't you return to your work? It's about time I send you back now." You suggest but he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Why do you keep on trying to get rid of me? I want to stay for a little longer. After all you are my wife. You count as one of my duties. If not the most important duty of all!" He's about to break out into one of his embarrassing speeches and you want to save Mikasa from that.

"Mikasa really needs you to complete your other duties. Do it for me Lev." You try and butter him up with the mention of his nickname. As expected he perks up and stands up to leave, not before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Ah Lev, I'll be taking a short trip out today. Is that alright with you?"

You don't specify that 'out' means the Sunday Market place, he'll ask question after question.

He holds onto your chin with his thumb and leans in for a chaste kiss.

"Of course my darling. Be careful."

He giddily waves at you as he leaves and you wave back with the same enthusiasm. You giggle at the sight of Mikasa practically gagging at the two of you and glaring daggers at Levi.

The door then shuts and you're left alone.

All that accompanies you is silence and you purse your lips together trying to keep it together. Recently as soon as he turns away from you all you can think about is how this love of his is a hoax.

He doesn't really love you.

That doesn't stop all the sweet words he's ever uttered from flooding your memory.

"You're mine and I'm yours."

"My beautiful love."

"I love you I mean it." It hurts. He doesn't mean it.

But you'll keep the charade up. You'll find a way to keep him this way forever. It's selfish but you can't be blamed, It keeps you safe and happy.

Love is nice but you would prefer to live.

[lumina-rose]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 2/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/79765408#workskin 

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist's new assistant, who's presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining.

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes:

Chapter 2: Love & Hate

It had been a full day since your strange interaction with Dr. Kreizler.

After waiting to for him to gather everyone involved with the investigation, you were troubled when no call came. Part of you worried that it was due to your disturbing experience, but you fought back your anxieties with logic. Even if something had happened between the two of you, Laszlo would never let it interfere with the case. Still, that did not stop you from worrying about the alienist. Your mind constantly returning to that moment.

His tired appearance, caused by countless hours of work and stress, which were aided by sleepless nights theorizing the motives and background of the murderer that haunted New York. The vacant trace-like state that overtook him, as though his actions were being controlled by something else. Someone else. The warm feeling of his palm against your skin, a feeling that would have been calming and welcome, had it not been placed around your throat. Yet, the firm but gentle hold had thrilled you- excited you. But it also frightened you. And even now, you debated your mixed, complex emotions. There was fear, yes, but excitement too. Or was there both? Or were they the same? What was the difference between the two?

You had felt like this before, in fleeting moments and never quite as strong. You had felt it with small admirers from your past, though nothing ever came from these interactions. You had felt it when you first began your work at the Kreizler Institute, upon seeing the care taken to provide the city's troubled youth with a sanctuary, free from the pressures of society. And recently, in small moments with Dr. Kreizler, himself, after working by his side tirelessly. On your trips to the Opera, when you both would be given a chance to simply talk- not about work or the mentally ill- just genuine conversations, discussing your hobbies, interests, and hopes for the future. One particular moment had stuck out to you, thinking back. It had been late, and you had joined Kreizler back at his home after a long day of work. You shared a drink together, when he finally asked you what you hoped to gain from learning from him.

Usually when men asked about what you wanted to do as a working woman, they were against the notion that you wished to become an alienist, believing that a woman could never become a doctor despite the fact that there were a rare few that already were. Indeed, even with the likes of Marcus, Lucius, and John Moore there was apprehension. With Dr. Kreizler, however, he never tried to persuade you otherwise and spoke only with respect and encouragement in regards to your dream. Ever since that moment, you had harbored affection for the alienist, though you would never act on it. If not for the sake of your own feelings, then for Laszlo's reputation.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

Your mind found its way back to the present, returning you to your surroundings. You stood in the small apartment that had become your home, a space you had rented out from a Mr. Louis Arnett. He was an older man who had been left a widower, and remained unmarried to this day. While he was a bit older than yourself, perhaps eleven years your senior, it wasn't impossible to imagine the possibility of him remarrying. It often made you wonder if his lack of interest in remarriage was due to his age or grief. Due to the sudden passing of his late wife, he had moved to a new house in the city, but offered for you to live in his previous residence, as long as you kept paying your bill on time. Since the Kreizler Institute was more generous in terms of wages, that had never been an issue for you. Still, sometimes the older landlord would come by to check on the space, often taking time to sit and chat with you despite your insistence that it wasn't necessary.

"I must apologize, Mr. Arnett." You sighed, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'm afraid my mind is elsewhere as of late."

The older gentleman sat at a small table in the center of the room, drinking from a cup. He wore his typical suit, all black- save for one pin attached to his tie. A lily was depicted on the small item, as a tribute to his late wife. You eyed the item warily now, only being reminded of the bloodied bouquets.

He gave an understanding look. "As I can imagine. Nasty business. I must say, I'm rather concerned about that alienist you say you work for....Kreshner, was it? Letting a lady such as yourself work well into the night, with all these horrible attacks going on."

"Kreizler. Doctor Kriezler." You corrected. Another burning heat flashed through you, upon Arnett's mentioning of your employer, wrapping around the collar of your dress jacket. "As for myself, I am capable of finding my way home safely."

"Of that, I am certain. I do hope the man doesn't keep you there too late." Arnett relented, chuckling slightly at your reaction.

You turned to the landlord, scoffing.

"I assure you, if Dr. Kreizler had it his way, I'd be back well before the sun had begun to set. If anything, it's at my insistence that I spent so much time at the Institute."

"Is that so?"

You were used to speaking casually with the older gentleman, during such visits, but your comment seemed to intrigue the man. Perhaps you should be a bit more careful with your words. You stiffened slightly, rushing to correct your mistake.

"With the attack of those four women, I believe we should be using what time we have to catch the person responsible. My beauty sleep can wait, for now."

The man nodded, thinking for a moment, before standing to come closer to my side. Holding a hand out, he gave a quick goodbye. "Very well, Ms. (L/n). I suppose I shouldn't keep you. Though, I do wish you would take care of yourself."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Arnett." You nodded. "I should be heading to the Institute soon, anyways. Perhaps I can walk you down?"

"You are too kind, my dear."

You brushed off the endearment, convincing yourself it was merely a phrase he used often, and went to join the man in his exit. Once outside, the sounds and smells of the street hit you, reminding you that even with a killer on the loose, nothing could stop the momentum of New York. You escorted Mr. Arnett on the sidewalk, waiting as he attempted to hail a cab. After a few long minutes of idle conversation, a small carriage approached, stopping before the two of you. You gave a quick goodbye to the landlord, beginning to rush him away, as you grew more concerned with the time. Finally, once the cab was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh.

It wasn't that the man's company was unpleasant. In fact, you were grateful to find a landlord in the city who was so welcoming and reasonable with rent prices, there was just something about Mr. Arnett that seemed odd. It was as though he sought to interject himself into a person's life, whether or not it was welcomed. Though you were now used to the man's occasional visits, it had been a bit unsettling at first. From what you'd heard before moving here, most people in the city didn't bat an eye when it came to the lives of strangers. Then again, he was a widower, offering up what used to be his home to anyone who would be willing to pay. Maybe having a woman in the house reminded him of happier times?

Now on your own, your mind was drawn back to Dr. Kreizler and the investigation that had taken over your current daily life. You had been a bit untruthful in your conversation with Mr. Arnett earlier, in saying that you needed to return to the Kriezler Institute for the day. In fact, you had been given the day off in advance by the alienist, for what he called a "well deserved break". Nevermind the fact that he had ignored you when you suggested he do the same. Looking back on it now, you wished he had taken your advice. These murders were clearly effecting him, if yesterday was any indication.

The walk to the Institute had been short, given that you only lived a few city blocks away. Even from the sidewalk outside, you could hear the cheers and laughter of the children inside, followed quickly by the voice of one of the matrons. You smiled lightly, knowing that at least the patients of the Institute seemed happy, despite the dark times the city was currently facing. It reminded you why your efforts in the investigation were so important. You faced the ugliest parts of life, so that they wouldn't have to.

When you entered the front doors of the Institute, you were relieved to see that no one appeared to be in the halls. While you usually enjoyed the company of the children, you didn't want to be pulled away from your current goal of finding Dr. Kreizler. You made your way towards the alienist's study, knowing you might find him there. After the fourth victim had been found, there was no doubt in your mind that he had once again stayed up all night, trying to go over every detail of the murder.

You found the door to the doctor's study left ajar, a sight that unsettled you. You crept inside, calling out softly for the doctor, before stepping in fully. After receiving no response, you glanced around. The walls of bookshelves towered over you, but you noticed spaces were there were empty slots where certain books were meant to be, no doubt to help create the ever-growing mountain on the main center table. Papers and pages were scattered about, messily, along with notes and photos from the murder victims. A chalk board had been placed inside the study, and had stayed there ever since the new case began. Countless questions were written, some organized to certain corners, while others were placed haphazardly.

Sleep fascination? Somnophilia?

Meaning of Flowers? Personal or Symbolic?

Physical Strength- perhaps a labor worker or military background?

Love and Hate?

Your eyes landed on the last question, drawing you back to your last discussion with Sara. Only now it seemed the question wasn't love or hate, rather love and hate. Much like your fear and excitement, it seemed Dr. Kreizler was starting to blur the two. In your distraction, you had failed to notice the door to the side laboratory open, where Laszlo emerged from, followed closely by a young girl.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

The gentle questioning tone in words were countered only by the rough, scratchiness in his voice. Turning quickly, you gave the doctor a startled stare. The circles under his eyes were darker, confirming your suspicions, but you were pleased to see that he had taken the time to clean up his appearance overnight.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Kreizler, I had called for you but you never answered." You explained.

"It's quite alright, I was just talking with Loretta." He gave a small smile to the girl, who clung to his good hand. When his eyes came back to you, a small jolt went through you. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Never."

The man quickly told the young girl to go join the other children outside, earning a silent nod and goodbye from her. As she rushed out, her hair bounced behind her, as she eagerly went to find her friends. You couldn't help but grin. Loretta was one of the more troubled youths. After an incident with a wild dog as a small child, she had been left with an intense fear of all animals. That fear later formed into troubling habits of torturing and hurting any creature she came across. Even going as far as to set fire to a neighboring cat's tail. You never would expect such a sweet smile to hide such violent tendencies.

"How did she react to the monkey?" You asked, curiously, looking back at Laszlo.

"She's improved, but is still afraid of them unless someone shows that they're friendly. It may be a while until she can deal with animals on her own." He nodded, mostly to himself, as if making a mental note. He stayed in his spot, by the door, as he continued. "I wasn't expecting you, I'm afraid. I believe I told you that you could have the day off."

"You did."

"And yet, you are here."

Still, he remained in place, as if he wanted to be near an exit at all times. You paused for a moment, stepping back towards the chalk board.

"I wanted to discuss something with you, but if you are otherwise occupied, I can wait." You said.

He stepped closer now, but still a good distance away. For some reason, that fact irked you. "Then you caught me at just the right moment. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

Ah, avoidance.

You didn't miss the fake curiosity in his tone, as he vaguely asked you what was on your mind. It was a test, and you both knew it. Would you mention his strange behavior? Did you dare? Did you want to? Did he want you to, or was this simply an attempt to forget the action, altogether?

You bit the inside of your cheek, biting back a frown. Two could play these games. "I wanted to share a thought I had about the case."

Instantly, Kreizler approached the table, overlooking the piles of read and unread books, in order to watch your expression, gauge your behavior. His expression became serious. "Go on?"

"I was thinking about why the killer used chloroform on his victims, despite failing to render them unconscious." You answered, your eyes meeting his. "I thought about the possibility that perhaps putting them to sleep wasn't his goal, nor was it to be used as a painkiller. As you pointed out, if reducing pain was it's purpose then he wouldn't resort to strangling the women. So then what if his goal was merely to disorient them, to make them unable to fight back? Perhaps the combination of panic and the effects of the drug caused them to go into shock? If that were his goal, then that would explain why he continues to use it."

The alienist pondered this for a moment. "He’s created an obsession with his true target, creating a delusion and using his victims as substitutes for her. If this is true, then perhaps the use of chloroform was simply a desperate attempt to keep them from fighting, from breaking the illusion he's created in his mind."

"That would also explain why he would then turn to using violence against them when they struggled." You nodded. "I suspect our latest victim fought a bit harder than the others, due to the stronger markings on her."

"It also supports the killer’s effort to cover up the wounds of the struggle. It would suggest that the victims didn’t want it to happen, when his delusion depends on their submission to him." Laszlo added, looking over the photographs. "He's become obsessed his target, taking pleasure from the idea that they will accept him, and escalating to violence when he's denied that pleasure."

He moved with a strong purpose, over to the chalk board, writing down a new series of thoughts and questions. There was a serious focus in his gaze, contradicted by a light glint in his brown eyes. You focused on his hand, as he quickly scratched the white chalk against the board's surface, following its path until he was done. The doctor stepped back, his chest heaving up and down slightly. A slight, satisfied smirk on his face.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" He asked, curiously, sighing.

A burning blush had reached your face, and your heart raced at the fact that your theory had brought some level of joy to the man. Blinking, you looked away, slightly embarrassed by your reaction. "I had an idea back at the morgue, before you..."

...before you grabbed my throat. You had trailed off, not wishing to speak the words aloud. Still, It seemed your message got through to Laszlo.

Now his eyes turned away, looking to the ground, as a rosy color reached the apples of his cheeks. There was a mixture of emotions in his expression, ones you could see he was fighting to hold back. Shame, embarrassment, regret, and something more. He no longer stood far away from you, as he had been just a moment before, yet you could tell he wanted nothing more than to be closer to the exit of the room.

“I must apologize, it was improper on my part and disrespectful to your boundaries." A hand went through his hair, a nervous reaction. "I fear I’m not sure what came over me.”

He didn't seem capable of looking at you, and you found yourself desperate to see his eyes. Taking a small step towards him, his head slowly turned to you. You gave him a reassuring smile.

"This case has been disturbing for all of us, Doctor, I won't blame you for being effected by it. Trying to understand the thoughts of the person responsible for these acts has proven to me that there is darkness in all of us... and that it's hard not to be consumed by it." You said, hoping to sound understanding.

You now stood only a couple feet away. His eyes met yours, as his expression gave way to something softer. "I’m not sure how I could make it up to you, after frightening you in such a way. If I still...”

Now you understood. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but it was there. He was afraid. Afraid of his actions, afraid of how you'd react, afraid that you were scared of him now.

"I don't fear you, Laszlo." You admitted, softly. "I fear for you. If you truly wish to make it up to me, then allow yourself a break, if only for a day."

"I.." He shook his head, stubbornly, and glanced back to the photographs. "I can't-"

"-you will do no good if you work yourself to death before we even find a suspect." You countered, standing your ground. "Perhaps time away would clear your head. Please, Laszlo."

You bit you lip, as you prayed your heart would stop racing. You knew that Kreizler could be stubborn, often not listening to reason once he'd made up his mind. He paused, debating whether or not to listen to your advice. The ghost of a smile flickered over his face, before disappearing just as quickly as it came.

"How long has it been since we last went to the opera?"

You stared, unable to process his question for moment, as you focused solely on the word: “We”. After your initial shock, you cleared you throat. "I..I believe a month, perhaps?"

In truth, you weren't sure. After your investigation began, days and nights began to blur. You knew it had been more than a couple of weeks, at the least. Kreizler chuckled, softly.

"Well, then we must remedy that, shouldn't we?"

You weren't sure why you were so nervous. Going to the opera with Laszlo wasn't a first for you, so why did it feel so different this time?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, after changing into yet another dress for the outing. Perhaps it was because you felt surprised that Laszlo had asked you to join him, after the events of the day before. Or maybe it was because you couldn't get his actions out of your head, constantly thinking back to the feeling of his hand on you. You had been understanding that his action wasn't completely his own in that moment, but had that changed anything between you? Had he thought back to that moment, as you had?

Surely not, since you were about to accompany the alienist for the night. Then again, when you had insisted that he took a break, you didn't think he'd want to spend it with you, and yet here you were: stressing over what you should wear to the engagement. You wondered if you were just making a big deal out of nothing. He had said he wanted to make it up to you, and perhaps this was a compromise he'd found acceptable, allowing you both to have a night without worry or stress.

"Foolish." You sighed at your reflection, and the obvious blush that overtook your features, making it clear that it was not simply makeup that gave your cheeks a darkened color. "Absolutely foolish."

It wasn't often that you wore your formal attire, nor did you have an entire day to prepare for the night ahead. The payoff was that you looked far better than usual, a small comfort for your nerves. Was this too much? The question was now an echo in the seemingly endless cave that made up your mind. You shook your head, turning away from the mirror, once again cursing yourself for thinking in such a manner. Regardless, it was far too late now to worry about these little details, as the clock in your home rang out, signalling the time. You'd have to leave soon in order to make it to the theater at a reasonable time.

Every so often, as you began to gather you things for the night, your mind returned back to the investigation. You'd scold yourself. Tonight was a break, you didn't need to think about the horrors you'd seen. Laszlo needed this. Lord knows you needed this. Despite your nervousness, tonight was just a fun outing with a dear friend. And you intended to enjoy it, while you still had the chance.

A knock at your door startled you, as you prepared to leave for the evening. A shadow danced under the crack at the bottom of your door, signalling that there was indeed someone there, and not just your ears plating tricks on you. Cautiously, you reached for the knob. Was someone meant to visit today? No, you wouldn't have forgotten if Sara or the Isaacson twins were meant to come by.

When you opened the door, a man stood there, smiling down at you.

"Oh, hello Cyrus!" You greeted, sighing in relief.

The tall man gave you a nod, a smile playing out over his features. "Ms. (L/n)."

"Why..I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you, has.. Has something happened?"

Your heart and mind raced together. Had Laszlo changed his mind? No, he wouldn't be so rude as to cancel your plans last minute. Unless there was something important. Had another body been found?

Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "No, nothing of the sort. Dr. Kreizler just asked if Stevie and I could take you to the opera."

"Oh." It's all you could say, as you fought back another flush from your face.

"You look lovely tonight, Ms. (L/n)." Cyrus said, comfortingly, before turning his head back to the street. 

There, Laszlo's young ward, Stevie, sat at the driver's seat of the carriage, clearly itching to leave, so that he might race through the streets. You smiled, unable to hold back your joy.

"Thank you, Cyrus."

You had already gathered your belongings for the evening, not that there was really much you could bring, only a small bag attached to your wrist. You stepped out of your home, pausing only to lock the door behind you. You hurried down the front steps to the sidewalk, where you were promptly let into the empty carriage. Once inside and settled, you beamed, unable to contain yourself. You reasoned that your unexpected escort was probably due to concerns for your safety at this time of night, and nothing more. Still, a certain lightness in your chest emerged, bubbling up inside you, causing you to beam as you looked out the side window. 

You heard Stevie cheer out, and suddenly the vehicle pulled forwards. After a moment, you felt the wheel hit a large bump. You laughed after a second of surprise. Maybe your ride wouldn't be as calm as Doctor Kreizler had expected, but you couldn't find it within you to care.

When you finally made it to the theater, you had arrived a bit earlier than you expected. Not that you should be surprised, given how Stevie raced you through the city. On the carriage had stopped, Cyrus opened the door and bid you farewell. You watched the boy-driven carriage disappear into the night, before turning to face the opera house. The building was a towering structure, with large marble beams that made up the entrance. The warm, yellow light from the inside called to you, ushering you to join the fun. Given that Cyrus hadn't told you when Laszlo would arrive, you assumed he was waiting there for you. Picking up the skirt of your dress, you began your climb up the stairs, a slight urgency in your step.

You had found him a few minutes later, standing by the large stair case that lead to the upper level seats of the theater. Before he had seen you, you took a moment to admire his form. You had seen him in his formal suit before, a simple black suit with a white bow tie, but you always had to stop and admire the expensive outfit. He also had his cane with him, the one with the bird handle that you had once said you liked before. The one detail you thought was odd was the fact that he held the item with his right hand, as opposed to his left. Due to the weakness in the arm, he usually kept it close to his side in order to keep from hurting himself. It was only until he pulled a pocket watch from his vest with his dominant arm that you understood the change.

You walked towards him, until your approaching figure finally drew his attention. With a shy smile, she greeted the man. "I hope I'm not too late."

He shook his head, giving you a warm look. "Right on time."

He seemed rested now, compared to earlier, no longer wearing the dark circles that had plagued him for the last couple of days. You felt happy, knowing that he must have taken a break from the day as well.

"I apologize for sending Cyrus and Stevie to you without warning, I thought it'd be best if you didn't travel alone." He explained, before quickly looking over you. "You look beautiful tonight, (Y/n)."

"Thank you, Laszlo." You replied, blushing, while clasping your hands together nervously. "Though, you didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"It was no trouble at all. Stevie, in particular, seemed more than willing."

When the crowd of people began to move into the auditorium, you joined Laszlo as he led you up the stairs, towards the direction of the private box seats. You were a bit surprised to see this, given that he had gotten the tickets on such short notice. As you entered the box, you each took a seat next to each other, with you seated in your usual spot on his left. The opera you were watching was Aida, a story about an Ethiopian princess of the same name who was held captive in Egypt, and fell in love with an Egyptian general, Radames, and he with her, despite being promised to the Egyptian princess. As the show began, Laszlo quickly explained to you that the opera had been made by Antonio Ghislanzoni and Giuseppe Verdi, and had premiered December 24th, 1871. You chuckled, mostly to yourself, as you knew he'd be listing off little facts like this throughout the night.

As the show went on, you slowly realized a running theme in the show, in relating to it's star characters. Love & Hate. You found it a bit ironic, given the circumstances. In the first act, Aida, the main character, loves her country deeply but has hate for the Egyptians who have taken her and her people captive. Including Radames, as he continues to fight against her country. Time passes in the story, and the two begin to fall for one another. You were impressed with how the performer playing Aida was able to portray the conflicting emotions of the character- with her love for her country and her love for Radames, as she begins to fall for the Egyptian general. 

One of the reasons that made Laszlo's company so enjoyable was his ability to talk during a show, without taking away or distracting you from the experience. Often times, he'd speak quietly, leaning slightly for you to hear him over the music. He'd go on to tell you the historical origins that the opera was based on, and you had a feeling he had studied the opera before coming here. It seemed nearly impossible for him to know so much, if that were not the case. However, once the music began and each new song was sung, Laszlo's words would fall silent as all his focus was placed on the stage. Occasionally, his hand would twitch in the edge of you vision, pulling away your focus to the watch as his fingers shot up and down in the air, as though he were trying to play something.

Act Two played out similarly to the first, but showed how Radames fights with his own loyalties. By the end, the Egyptian general asked for the Pharaoh to release Aida and her people, but the Pharaoh would only accept if the general agrees to marry his daughter. Once the woman on stage stopped singing, the curtains closed and lights flickered back on. Already, some of the crowd had begun to leave the auditorium, in order to socialize with the other members of New York's society.

The two of you join them, going out into the crowded halls and lobby in order to celebrate your evening. Drinking champagne, you exclaimed your love for the story so far, as well as the performer's work. Laszlo agreed, complimenting the orchestra as well, before listening to your thoughts on the characters, occasionally interjecting how it's history was exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Truly, you felt content in this moment, sharing your same passions with the alienist, while being able to give each other new thoughts and opinions. 

You were both finishing up your drinks, when your name had been called from some far off part of the room. Turning, you were shocked to see none other than Louis Arnett for the second time today. The man came over to you, dressed to the nines.

"Mr. Arnett, what a surprise to see you." You greeted, politely. "I thought I recalled you saying you weren't fond of the opera?"

"I've been known to come on the rare occasion." He replied. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dear. Lovely, as always. I also seem to recall the fact that I said you could call me Louis."

Kindly, you shook your head in denial. "I apologize, Mr. Arnett, but I highly doubt that'd be appropriate."

Before, you may have brushed off the endearments, but now they were beginning to irritate you. Especially with Laszlo present. Turning your head, you looked at Laszlo, who's warm smile had returned to his usual subdued expression.

"Mr. Arnett, I must introduce you to Dr. Kreizler!" You said, steering the conversation away from you. Laszlo gave you a confused expression, before you quickly explained: "Mr. Arnett was kind enough to open his home to me for such a low price, when I first moved here. He'll stop by on occasion."

Laszlo smiled, giving Arnett a nod, before placing his cane back into his right hand. With his left, he shook your landlord's hand, introducing himself.

"Ah, the alienist." Arnett hummed. "Tell me, Kreizler, do you always take your assistants with you to the opera? One might think you're trying to keep (Y/n) all to yourself!"

"Mr. Arnett, please." You hissed out, appalled.

Arnett chuckled, but you found nothing about his words humorous. Not only were they rude, given the circumstance, but the implication alone was entirely inappropriate. You also despised how he had spoken as if you weren't right there in front of him. Laszlo was clearly uncomfortable with the man's words, but tried his best to hide it.

The alienist merely sighed. "While it's true, Ms. (L/n) does work with me, It's been a pleasure to enjoy her company. Though she does assist me with my work at the Institute, I'm honored to consider her a close colleague and friend."

The last word was barely more than a small whisper, yet Arnett seemed to catch it. The older man nodded in understanding, before looking to you.

"I understand entirely. I don't blame you for wanting to spend more time with her, especially way from those horrible murders."

You blushed, stiffening slightly at the mentioned case. "Mr. Arnett, I'm afraid the purpose of our outing was to get away from the investigation. I'd highly appreciate it if we could enjoy our night in peace."

"Ah," He cleared his throat, embarrassed at your reaction. His hand went up to smooth out his tie, his thumb brushing over the lily pin. "I apologize. Of course you wouldn't wish to speak of it here. " Something in the distance seemed to catch the older man's eye, drawing his attention. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

You found yourself stunned at his erratic behavior, as he moved away back into the crowd. Once out of earshot, you let out a heavy sigh, turning to Laszlo with an apologetic look.

"I must apologize for Mr. Arnett. He has a tendency to overstep in conversations. I hope he didn't offend you too greatly."

Kreizler's brown eyes had followed Arnett, before finally looking back to you. While his smile hadn't returned, the warm look he gave you had. "John has, on occasion, accused me of doing the same. I suppose its only right that I should have to experience the same hardships I deal to others."

With that, the crowd was then directed back into the auditorium, as intermission drew to a close. To your surprise, Laszlo had offered you his arm, as you both returned to the private section. As the curtains rose and the next act began, you found yourself thinking about Mr. Arnett's strange behavior and how he'd spoken with Laszlo. You could understand if the man didn't like the alienist, given that Dr. Kreizler didn't have the best reputation among most of New York. Still, you weren't prepared for how casually he had disrespected him and spoke about you as though you were merely there to entertain them. Your chest felt warm, as you recalled how kindly Laszlo had spoken about you, complimenting your company. However, the way his voice has weakened upon calling you a friend had stirred all your anxieties back to the surface.

As the first song began, you looked to Laszlo, admiring him as he watched the show. Did he truly see you as a friend? Or was his hesitation an indicator of something more?

The third act began, with the story immediately picking up where it left off. Aida and her lover, Radames, perform in a song, where the characters are lamenting their forbidden and doomed romance. Once the song ends, Aida then began to plead with the gods, praying that they take pity on her people and the two lovers. In such dark times, as the one you live in now, you felt as though you would've done the same, had you believed in such a God. 

With the song at an end, you had expected Laszlo to then make another small comment about the show. However, when his gaze remained focused on the stage, you found yourself a little disappointed. It wasn't until you felt a warm brush against your hand, that your attention switched. It was brief, just for a moment, but Laszlo's left hand had touched yours, yet his eyes remained in place. Somehow, it seemed as though he hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he didn't mind. You blinked, clearing your throat silently, before looking back to the stage. The next song began, and followed the story with interest, wondering what would come of the two main characters, and the enslaved people of Ethiopia. 

Once again, you felt his hand against your own. There was no doubt now. Without moving you head, your eyes went back to his hand, a finger draped over your own. Slowly, you moved your hand into his, your palm covering over his own. Your heart raced, and the room felt significantly warmer. You began to doubt yourself, cursing whatever god there was for your foolish actions. But it all stopped, as his fingers wrapped into your own. You felt your breath hitch, but fell into a comfortable silence, watching the opera with a racing heart. As the song came to an end, you weren't sure if you welcomed it's conclusion or mourned it.

Laszlo turned, facing you. Even with the dim lights of the theater, you could make out the pink color of his cheeks and neck, as he continued to stare at you. His eyes held the same intensity as the day before, but that vacant expression was gone, replaced with something much softer. A binding energy trapped you in place, unable to look away. Even as the music began, signalling the next song, the doctor did not break his stare. Instead, his gaze slowly traced over you, a soft caress.

It wasn't until the music softened, transitioning from a loud crescendo to a soft steady melody, that you heard him whisper your name, as if asking something. You responded with his own.

You didn’t know who let go of the other’s hand, but it didn’t matter. Kreizler’s hand slowly reached up to you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek, as he pushed back a small section of your hair behind your ear, before finding it's destination against your jaw. He was hesitant to lean into you, not wishing to overstep your boundaries. It until you matched his actions, did the space between you disappear.

It was a small, innocent kiss. Even as you broke away, you felt the soft gentle buzzing on your lips. Your noses brushing, you looked up at him, staring into those brown eyes you've grown to love. You only broke the stare to lean in again, chasing the feeling of his lips on your own once more. You hardly cared where you were at the moment, as you lifted a hand to place over his own. You kissed him gently, not wanting to ruin this moment, as you lightly parted your lips for him. The hand on your jaw fell, finding it's place back against your neck, making you gasp. He seemed to grow more bold, matching your desperate enthusiasm. His fingers then dug down, not harshly but just enough to add pressure. The sensation was enough to send a sudden jolt of heat through you, making a small instinctive whine fall from you.

Suddenly, he broke away from you, a strange glint in his eye. As you caught your breath, you couldn't quite tell if his expression was one of excitement or fear. Before you could even ask what was wrong, the doctor got up from his seat, moving to leave the small theater box, not even stopping to take his walking cane. The light happiness in your chest died as quickly as it was born, and all that was left was the sinking feeling of fear and confusion. You then followed, doing the same, as the same nagging question played over in your mind. Had you done something wrong?

Tears threatened to form, but you fought to keep them down. At least until you had an explanation for Laszlo's actions. You found him just outside, in the empty halls of the theater. As you approached, he looked back at you, a troubled expression on his face. Your heart broke at the sight.

"Laszlo, I.. If I've done something wrong I sincerely apologize. I.. I'm sorry-"

Cutting me off, his head shot up, as if stunned. "You've done nothing of the sort!"

"Then why are you troubled?" You stepped forwards, searching for answer. "If I am not at fault, then you must tell me what it is I have done that has made you react in such a way."

"I just...I don't wish to see you get hurt. By being close to me." Laszlo looked conflicted, pausing as he tried to form his thoughts. His eyes looked to the ground, as he sighed. "By me."

The phantom hold on your neck returned, as you noticed the look of fear in his eyes. This man, who has trouble follow him wherever he goes, seemed haunted by something. You bit your lip.

"I've already forgiven you for you previous actions, as I know they were not entirely your own in that moment." You took a deep breath in order to keep your voice from failing you. "And even if they were, I trust you enough to know that you'd never hurt me, Laszlo."

"And if I wanted to?" He spat it out, quickly. Though the words didn't seem directed towards you, rather.. himself.

You blinked, a blush rushing to your face once more, as you were taken aback. Gathering yourself, you reached for his hand once more, silently. Lifting it gently, you gave a soft squeeze, a comforting gesture. His eyes met your own again.

"I'll trust you even then." You replied, feeling genuine in your response.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he looked down at you. He squeezed you hand, holding it in a grasp that was almost tight. A warning. Yet you stayed right there, watching as his eyes fell to your lips.

He pulled you forward, against him, as his lips met your own again. Unlike before, this wasn't so sweet and gentle as it had once been. No, now that underlying desperation, that need, broke to the surface as his teeth pulled on the soft subtle skin on your mouth, almost forcing you to open your lips for him, hadn't you not already been willing to. His weaker right arm found a place against your waist, as his left found the back of your neck, a strong hold keeping you there.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden forwardness of the typically reserved man. Your hands fell against his suit, finding a hold on the vest beneath his suit jacket. One of your hand slowly traced a path, running against the hairs behind his ear, as you gently pulled against them. The action sent a groan from Laszlo's throat, an unfamiliar experience for you, as you felt his voice against your skin. And Oh, how you craved more, smiling at how you had earned such a reaction. In response, you felt a quick nip at your bottom lip, a small jolt of pain coming from it, before his tongue ran along the same area. At the same time, the hand around your neck squeezed down. A thrilling chill passed through your entire being, finding it's destination just below your stomach. His lips changed direction, trailing a path from your lips to your jawline. You moaned, quietly, just enough for the alienist to hear.

"Laszlo."

Lust wasn't a look you were a stranger to, but seeing it overtake every aspect of Laszlo's appearance as he looked down at you definitely was. And you had no doubts that you looked the same. He pulled away from his advances, hesitating for a moment, blinking away the haze in his eyes. You leaned up, pressing a kiss against his cheek, as his left hand came down to your waist. As you silently stared at each other, you heard the volume of the opera's music return, reminding you of your surroundings. As much as you wished to continue, you knew you couldn't. Fortunately, it seemed Laszlo had come to the same conclusion, leaning back as he smiled again.

"It would be best if we return, before we are found in such a state..." He sighed, almost sadly.

He was right of course. If anyone had gone out into the halls at that moment, the mere sight of your disheveled states would be enough to cause a scandal, something neither of you wanted for the other. You looked away, nodding in agreement as you blushed, bashfully. As if you hadn't just clung to him, wishing that he'd continue. You returned to your seats, the two of you smooth out your clothes, erasing as much evidence to your actions as you could. Once you returned, Laszlo once again placed his hand against yours, drawing gentle circles against the back of your hand throughout the rest of the show. Permanent smile crept to your face.

The opera ended, with Aida and Radames dying in each other's arms. A tragic love story, doomed to fail from the start. But then again, did it truly fail? After all, Aida's people had escaped captivity and she had found her last moments with the man she loved. Perhaps if you hadn't missed part of the story you would've come to a suitable answer. You didn't regret missing it though, finding comfort in a far more enjoyable feeling in whatever it was that was between you and the alienist by your side.

You left the theater, with your arm wrapped around his own, sharing electric glances and soft touches. Once outside, you saw the familiar faces of Stevie and Cyrus, who apparently had been waiting to escort you back. Laszlo lead you to the carriage, opening the door for you. He took your hand, helping you step into the vehicle, before quickly joining you inside. Once settled, you met his gaze once more.

He smiled, warmly. "I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. John has told me that the opera can be rather dull, at times.."

You blinked, bewildered. Surely, he was joking. You couldn't help but laugh, as you gave him a strange stare. "You're the alienist, Dr. Kreizler. What would you believe?"

Laszlo chuckled in response, taking your joke as a good sign. Lifting his cane, he tapped the roof of the carriage twice, signalling Stevie to start our journey. Your ride home had been much calmer than earlier, and you enjoyed the comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. However, as you neared your home, you sensed that Laszlo had something to say. 

"I'm sorry if my reaction startled you, that hadn't been my intention. The troubled minds of other have always been something that intrigued me, yet when faced with it myself, I find myself at a loss." He said quietly. "I meant it when I said you could get hurt, being close to me. Someone I held dear was taken from me, and I still fear that the same fate may reach you, the way it did her..."

He spoke as though a ghost hovered over his shoulder, a new level of vulnerability you'd never seen before. You realized that perhaps this is what John meant when he said Laszlo had been hurt the most by the last investigation. 

"I understand," You looked up, reading his expression as you spoke. "But you shouldn't blame yourself for the past. If you truly cared for her and could have changed whatever happened, I know you would have. You cannot punish yourself for something you could not control. If you worry for me, for whatever may come, I know you will work to keep the same from happening."

Laszlo stared at you, a sad smile playing over his face, as he mulled over your words. Once more the silence fell over you. It was only a few minutes more, when you reached your home.

As you glanced out the window, you paused. "Thank you, Laszlo. I had a lovely time, enjoying your company."

"Perhaps we should go to the opera again?" He suggested, hopeful.

"I.." You blushed for what felt like the hundredth time at this point. "I didn't wish to assume."

"Never, kedvesem." He replied, speaking a Hungarian word you hadn't learned yet. But it didn't take much to know that it was an endearment of some sort. "Though, perhaps we should save Delmonico's for the next trip to the opera."

You heart leapt at the notion, sending a rush through you. You gave your farewell, before stepping out of the carriage. Quickly, you did the same for Stevie and Cyrus, once again thanking them for their services for the night. As you watched the carriage disappear into the night, you felt as though you could die from happiness. Stepping into your home, the door being left unlocked, you gave a sigh of relief. The night had been a success and so much more.

You dragged yourself into your private room, tired after the long night.

 And in your distracted state, you hardly noticed the small bouquet of roses on your pillow.

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Four || “April 10, 1912″

“I’m the king of the world!”

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

     Bells were ringing for miles as crowds formed both before and at the ports, the buzzing of excitement and utter joy radiating through the doors of your overly-crowded automobile. Cheers from all the awaiting passengers contradicted your current mental state. For you, it was just another ship - simply new. You had stayed in overpriced rooms before, eaten at countless never-ending buffets, been given towels with a special “scent” which simply had a hint of cheap perfume, and even eaten from plates and utensils engraved with real gold. So the size of this ship, the luxury it supposedly had, or the brilliance of its story, did not do much to excite you. 

     You rolled a piece of thread in between your fingers and looked out your car window at the street. You could feel their shouts vibrating from the street below you, adding an extra rhythm to the automobile that seemed humanly impossible. You watched people dance and drink, and it took you only a moment to realize that these people weren’t even going to travel with you. They were simply here to enjoy the momentous atmosphere, watch history in the making, and say goodbye to their loved ones. 

     With your mother and Cal in deep conversation and George focusing on the outside world as well, you actually allowed yourself to smile. Perhaps this was a good thing - to travel back home and see just how much had changed. You admit, the political and social world was most likely unchanged and that London was much more lenient to who joined certain higher-ranked circles, but America must have some good qualities they adopted over the years. New inventions, food, culture and religion, play-writing - anything that you had an interest in you tried to think of as brightly American. You removed your hat to comb your hand through your thick hair and to wipe the excess sweat building on your hairline, the summer air becoming a little too musty for your liking.  Your smile remained bright as you reached the long lines of actual passengers, both second and third class, going through their health inspections and bag checks. Lots of them would stop and stare at the first class carriages and automobiles that passed them quickly, some annoyed and some fascinated. It never bothered you when the lower class mocked you or spoke ill of the current political and economic systems, as you whole-heartedly agreed with them. If your late father taught you one thing it was that the system was deeply flawed and would remain that way as long as those in power who have never experienced injustice in their lives were allowed to live believing in business as usual. And yet, the total irony of you marrying into one of the wealthiest and greediest capitalist families in Europe was forever going to feel like a knife twisting into your back. 

     Just as your car passed the last round of third class health inspections, you leaned further toward the window to get a better view of the group of children laughing and pushing each other side to side. You grinned widely as you passed them, but your face fell almost instantly as you noticed the look of disgust from an older man. In the short seconds of that encounter, he had looked through your veil of upper-class protection and judged the color of your glowing skin, something that most people in your social circle in London chose to ignore. With your father’s influence and money, this issue was never even labeled as such, but to someone in another world, you were likely worth less than the piece of paper granting you passage on board. 

    You swallowed hard and leaned back against the red velvet seat, pulling your hat right back on to avoid the stares of the real world. 

     Over on the other side of the docks, just a mere distance from all the packed commotion, Harry held onto his sister’s hands as she said her goodbyes. 

     “Don’t you go spending all that money on art and women, you hear?” 

     Harry gasped and faked a gag, smiling down at his sister. “How rude of you to even think of me spending money on art I can simply draw myself and women I can woo with no fee.”

     Both his sister and mother leaned in for a giant shared hug, each one already imagining the next time they would see each other. 

     “It’s only a few months. You’ll be in the states with me before you know it,” Harry snuggled closer to his mother as she hugged him tighter. 

     “I know, but it’s the first time you’re leaving home on your own and…” she choked on a gasp, barely holding it together. The amount of prayers she recited last night didn’t seem efficient and she made a mental note to say double the moment she returned home. 

     “I’ll be okay. I’ll write as soon as I’m settled.”

     “Just be careful, okay? I hear they’re not as kind as we are here across the Atlantic,” his sister laughed, giving him one final, tight side squeeze and handing him his carry-on bags. 

     “You know, I heard that, too,” Harry joked. 

     “Be careful, we’re not joking,” his mother said, grabbing his chin gently and turning his face toward hers. “We’re not joking. Be safe.”

     Harry leaned down and kissed his mother’s forehead, rubbing her back up and down rapidly as if that somehow kept his own tears at bay. But he grinned brightly and placed another kiss on his mother’s forehead and on his sister’s, and reached down to pick up his two carry-ons and his father’s briefcase. 

     “I promise. I love you both. The stars will tell you where I am and who I’m with.”

     His sister was the first to let him go, “Alright, my little scientist! Get going and make us some money!”

     Harry laughed loudly, patiently waiting for his mother to release her grip. “Not a scientist, but an amateur astronomer!”

     His mother sniffed into her elbow and quickly rubbed her cheek, looking away momentarily before she collected herself and gave Harry her best broken but proud smile. 

     “Love you.”

     Harry nodded with deep understanding, leaned in for one final goodbye kiss, and crossed into the massive crowd. He looked over his shoulder and yelled out for both of them. 

     “I promise to make my girls proud!”

          It looked like every other ship you had ever been on, minus the shiny new floors and number of installed elevators. It almost angered you how disappointed your own disappointment made you, like nothing ever made you feel truly elated, truly surprised, truly ecstatic. But as you ignored the looks of other passengers and the excessive whining from your own mother, you started to see the little details other passengers were sure going to miss. Like the delicate stitching in all servant uniforms, the woodwork on the massive clock leading into the dining area, and the use of electricity in even the thinnest corners of each room. 

     Even the servants knew better than to comment on your true royal status with Cal beside you, who was in fact failing to find even one flaw on the ship. You quite admired that actually - something you could fully agree on. 

     “This is so gorgeous,” Cal whispered beside you, your arm intertwined with his. You nodded in agreement, absentmindedly keeping the same pace as him. It took a few more minutes to finally make it to your living quarters - three separate rooms, each with their own living rooms and bathrooms. You thought it too much for yourself and wondered why your mother didn’t request adjoining rooms between you and her. 

     Without even entering your room first, your mother ventured into her own and started ordering her maids and servants around. You breathed in deeply, ready to see your living situation but were gently pulled back to let Cal walk through the door first. You stopped momentarily, puckering your lips in slight annoyance but followed behind him nonetheless. 

     “Even more beautiful than the hallway!” Cal laughed after his joyous exclamation, falling lazily on the first couch he saw. You couldn’t help but giggle at his childishness, watching him with a tiny grin as he reached over to play with the fresh flowers and their heavy vase. 

     “Perhaps the open sea breeze makes a person absolutely giddy because I have never seen you smile this much from inanimate objects,” you said, placing your handbag on the circular table and removing your gloves. 

     Cal rolled his eyes playfully and jumped up from his laying position to run to the brunch table full of sweets and bread, a first-class greeting for Titanic’s most distinguished guests. He popped the first sweet he saw into his mouth, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. He groaned softly and waved you over, already picking up the second serving to give to you. You walked slowly, eyebrows furrowed due to his laid back nature, but decided to give in and lean your head forward, mouth open to be fed. He placed the sweet on your tongue and awaited your reaction as you chewed, grinning widely once your eyebrows raised in amazement. 

     “I am never wrong!” Cal laughed, picking up some bread instead, and offering you a piece. But before you could reach over and grab it, Cal threw it in his own mouth and ate it. You gasped playfully, mouth wide open and genuine laugh escaping from it. Cal smiled wide enough to crinkle his eyes, and he reached over to wrap you in a backwards hug, with your back pressed against his chest and his head in between your neck and shoulder. You howled with true happiness, your sounds becoming louder as he proceeded to step with you all over the room and tickling your side at the same time. With enough strength you pushed him away and ran to the outside deck with Cal hot on your trail. He ran after you, dodging the servants with luggage in their arms and their questions of where to put them, following you out on deck and gripping your wrist in time to twirl you around beautifully. This time you ended up face-to-face, gripping onto each other and chests still racking with laughs. 

     The crinkles on both sides of his eyes remained, and you felt your heart stir for him. He was always so rigid but in this moment he was carefree and young, absent from duties and absent from the raunchy world he was so accustomed to. Here you saw a side of him that you could definitely get used to. But that’s just what it was - a side, not all of him. Before you could assume more of the negatives of this situation, Cal leaned down and captured his lips with yours. His lips were smooth and experienced, moving slowly against your timid ones. And just how quickly the kiss came, it disappeared. The minor moment of intimacy was too little for your liking, but it still counted as the first time you weren’t disgusted by Cal’s attitude or personality. It confused you how swiftly your mind changed and concocted the perfect fantasy of Cal and your upcoming marriage. Like a spell’s flame ignited and burned your whole internal wall down. 

     Before either of you could comment, you were interrupted by a servant who began rapidly excusing himself. He exited the deck and left you there, still in Cal’s arms. You wanted to speak but Cal simply smiled, kissed your forehead, and let you go. 

     “We must finish unpacking and decorating if we want to be front row during the Captain’s welcome speech.”

     And with that, Cal stepped back into your living room and began helping the servants put up the paintings he had dismissed you on earlier. You stood there perplexed and could only muster up enough energy to lean over the railing and watch the waves hit the side of the ship and the docks you still hadn’t departed. 

     Apologies sprung from Harry’s mouth as quickly as he ran, pillowcase full of clothes over one shoulder and his father’s briefcase with all the family’s important documents and the freshly printed photographs in the other. He bumped into dozens of shoulders but even as he yelled his apologies, he didn’t look back. He was finally leaving for the promised land of opportunity, a place where he and his family could establish themselves and their business. New flavors introduced to the Americans would for sure boost business, and Harry was so excited to be the first of his family to step foot outside of London. Just being at the docks was the farthest his family had traveled. 

     The ship was vast in length, somehow seeming larger as Harry ran toward the third-class boarding area. He could see the crew was beginning to clean up, unhitching the ropes from the dock and removing the boarding stairs. His feet were already burning, but he sprinted as fast as he could, yelling at them to wait for his arrival. People stared at him, throwing themselves out of the way as he crashed into shoulders and knocked bags off horses. The background check and health inspection lasted longer than he had expected, all of the poking and prodding seeming more purposeful than necessary.  

     One particular horse came close to knocking Harry off his feet, and his belongings scattered over the dock floor. Harry cursed under his breath and quickly gathered his bags back into his arms, looking up every so often to check if the ship had departed without him. 

     “I got this for you, man.”

     Harry searched the floor for his important briefcase and but instead saw it held out for him to take. Harry thanked the man for his help, and before he could say anything else, the man spoke up cheerfully. 

     “Come on, we got a ship to catch!”

     Harry beamed at his new acquaintance and sped down the docks beside him. With two of them side by side, almost everyone jumped out of their way as if it was instinct. They continued to laugh at each other with each short tumble the other took, enjoying the quick pace at which they were traveling. 

      They both stumbled onto the attached railing that was being pulled away from the main entrance of the ship. The officers asked for their tickets almost immediately and Harry rolled his eyes. 

     “We’re passengers, here.”

      Both Harry and his running mate handed over their tickets for quick inspection. 

      “Have you been through all inspections?”

      The man behind him held up his bags in complete annoyance, “Why do you think we’re late?”

      The officers just nodded, letting both of them through the door. Together they hopped onto the ship and dashed down every corridor, following the signs for third-class passengers. 

   “I swear I didn’t think we’d make it!” Harry shouted, still muttering tiny apologies to those he shoved as he passed. 

     “Luck seems to be following me around lately,” the man laughed, following Harry down the flight of stairs. 

     “What room are you staying in?”

     “B60.”

     “You’re joking.”

     The two stopped to compare tickets, scoffing in astonishment. 

     “Hello, roommate!” the man smiled. “Name’s Drake.”

     Harry put one of his bags down on the floor and pushed his briefcase under his left armpit to extend his right arm out for a handshake. “Harry.”

     “You stopping in Ireland or New York?”

     “Going all the way to New York City,” Harry beamed, and he picked up his bag again and started for their shared room. 

     “Awesome, same. I’m actually from Montana but since New York will be the only stop in the states, I figured I would just hitchhike my way home.”

     “I thought I heard an American accent,” Harry chuckled. He rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the room number they were assigned. He opened the door and peeked his head through to make sure everything was decent for the door to be held wide open. Once the coast was clear, Harry opened the door widely and threw his heavy luggage onto the bottom bunk in the far corner. 

     “Oh, awesome. I get top bunk,” Drake cheered, also hauling his bags onto the bed. Harry ducked into his bunk as Drake jumped up onto his, the two settling in quite easily compared to the unorganized chaos outside their room. 

     The small room was designed to offer the least comfort possible, but it was still better than most of the rundown apartments in the middle of London. The walls were white, with the ship's pipes extending across the ceiling and down the side of the adjoining walls. Two brown blankets were folded on top of each bunk, and a pillow with minimal fluff was tightly tucked underneath the bedspread. The room offered one sink and three bars of wrapped soap, toilet paper, and an unlit lantern that would be useful for late night trips to the washrooms. Even with such limited offerings, it was way more than Harry expected. 

     “How many other people are joining us in our room?” Harry asked while grabbing the two blankets from the end of his bed for a quick nap. 

     “Two other men, I believe. Pretty sure that’s what the two empty beds across the room are for.”

     “Oh. Oops.”

     Harry laughed at himself and snuggled deeper into his blankets, letting out a deep and relaxed sigh. 

     Drake leaned over the side of his bed to look down at Harry, a confused grin on his face. “You’re seriously going to take a nap and not explore the ship?”

      Harry winked one eye open and turned his head slightly upward. “After this nap.”

     Drake pondered for a moment, but he silently agreed, and became victim himself to the comfort of cotton blankets and a hard mattress. 

      The Captain spoke so eloquently, so loud and coherent, that his welcome was felt by everyone in the crowded first-class lounge area. He was met with praises and generous words as he greeted the crowd and his crew, tipping his head slightly as if to nod and remain mostly nonverbal. 

     Cal, of course, wanted to put his name into the Captain’s hat, so he pulled you along absentmindedly until you were in front of the Captain himself. As Cal droned on, you noticed how the Captain was practically trained for this, the tipping of his head and low grunts of amused agreement speaking for themselves. He was an elder man, around his mid-sixties it seemed, with pearl white hair neatly combed over toward the left side of his head, and a thick beard that matched his serious look. 

     As Cal began mentioning the architecture of the ship and asking the Captain’s crew just how fast the ship was able to go, the Captain turned toward you and held his hand out. He gave you a warm smile, introduced himself and proceeded to place a delicate peck on your gloved hand. You smiled back but had to contain the chuckle scratching its way up your throat as you caught a glimpse of Cal’s look of bewilderment. 

     “You must be the beautiful child of the famed American-Indian Lieutenant. The King of all Aztec riches and oil,” the Captain praised. 

     You nodded, “His one and only child, yes.”

     The Captain’s smile grew impossibly bigger. 

     You continued, “My father’s legacy branches farther than the oil industry. I am proud to say he was funding countless important causes.”

      The Captain beamed, “I have heard! Civil rights, the fight for free land, uh… what am I missing?”

      “Equal rights for women.”

     The Captain chuckled, “He was quite determined, I may say. Ridiculous, but determined.”

     Before you could say anything else, Cal sweeped in to take the same hand the Captain had kissed earlier. 

     “Yes, my fiance’s bloodline sure loved to mix the order of things. When we settle in America we’re mainly going to focus on the railroad and mining industry.”

      You gave a scarce grimace. 

     “Railroading! Invest where the money is, Sir! Art, automobiles, electricity, and dare I say civil rights!” the Captain laughed, patting Cal on the shoulder and leaving to greet the other passengers. 

     Cal stood still for a second and although you wanted to comment, you knew better. Instead, Cal seemed to knowingly pinch your hand a little too hard to the point you winced. But he cleared his throat, let you go,  and simply walked the other way. 

     Their short nap made them miss the ship’s departure, but the second they awoke, Drake and Harry dashed through third-class lounging to the bow of the ship. The nice cool breeze pinched Harry’s cheeks as he ran, the faint feeling of ocean droplets flying through the air.

      They reached the very tip of the front, cautiously looking over to somehow calculate the exact speed at which they were going. Dolphins raced each other beside the ship, acknowledging they had an entertained audience on board. 

     “You don’t think the ship’s gonna hit them, right?”

     Harry let out a loud and uncontrolled laugh, “Well, now I do!”

    Drake climbed onto the railing, carefully balancing himself with one hand gripping the thick iron strings. He stretched out his free arm, staring off over the horizon and enjoying the feeling of a rushed breeze slapping his chest. 

     “I swear I can see the Statue of Liberty already!” Drake yelled. 

     Harry grinned and climbed onto the railing as well, mimicking Drake’s position as to not accidentally fall overboard. 

     “Oh, this is madness!” Harry screamed, his hair flying all over the place. But he seriously could not contain the giant smile that widened with each new jump of a dolphin, Drake’s howls of joy, and with the ever changing color of the bright blue horizon. 

     It seemed to all be coming together - the colors, the voices, the American dream. Harry could feel the excitement in the pit of his stomach, and he swore it could not grow any larger for risk of actually exploding. But similar to his pondering back home in his chilly room, that luck that Harry had following him around was definitely to blame for such an adventure. 

     Harry raised a clenched fist in the air and joined Drake in all the howling. 

     “I’m the king of the world!”

          Dinner went as expected. You were quiet and polite, only speaking when spoken to, and the same tunes of violin screeched beside your ears. It made you miss more gentle rhythms, more upbeat sounds, and a much more excited band. European music was beautiful, but it seemed rich individuals only enjoyed the same three songs. 

     You drew a warm bath in your private bathroom after saying goodnight to both your mother and Cal. You weren’t expecting any further intrusions, and you swore that if any knock sounded from outside while you were in the bath, you would kill them. You had reached the end of your tolerance for today. And no matter how much you tried to prevent it with cold water on your face, vanilla candles, and your own private batch of special herbs, the first stages of a long migraine sneaked their way through. 

     You lay in the warm water thankfully undisturbed, big toe playing with the tub handle and a glass of champagne in your hand. It was all quiet now, the only sounds being your breaths and the tiny bubbles in your bath popping almost silently. Without another thought, you placed your champagne down on the side table and sucked in a deep breath, plunging your head underneath the water. Your thick hair swam in every direction, tickling your shoulders. You kept your eyes tightly shut and counted. 

     Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. 

     Once your lungs felt too constricted, you came back up and rubbed at your eyes. You cleared your nostrils and rubbed at your lips, the outside reality still unchanged. No noise, no new presence - just calmness. 

      And the water was becoming cold. 

-- 

Please tell me what you think and if I should continue! Please also let me know if you would like to be tagged in any updates. Reblogs would certainly help this story reach even more people. Thank you. - xxMoni

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter One

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“It’s a bit small.”

The landlady nodded and gave Gianna a sympathetic smile. She was a stout, older woman with drooping features behind wide-framed glasses that dominated her face. Gianna’s more generous first impression of her was that she looked kind, and the way she spoke reminded her faintly of her mother, though the landlady’s accent was thicker and her voice crackled and dragged with age like a damaged film reel.

It was due in no small part to this assessment that she’d chosen this apartment in the first place. That and the low price of rent. Although it was a decent neighborhood the building was fairly run-down and the long winding staircase leading up to her floor was creaky and narrow.

The unit she was supposed to be living in when she’d first made to move in had suddenly had to undergo renovations after a pipe burst behind one of the walls. Gianna couldn’t wait for the repairs or for another cheap space to miraculously open up in New York City, so she agreed to move from the second floor to the only other available unit, which was on the sixth floor.

It was little more than a single room with a bathroom and kitchenette attached and-- she could not emphasize this enough-- it was on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator. Thankfully, the rent was also considerably cheaper, and the landlady had offered her a discount for the inconvenience as well. Even if she’d stuck her on a cot in the basement for twice the amount she would have had little choice but to take it. It was either that or take the long, shameful train ride back to her parents’ house, tail between her legs.

Living with her parents after college had been fine for a while, but only just fine, and she wasn’t willing to settle for fine any longer. She wanted a life, a career, maybe a girlfriend? No, no, probably not that. Not yet. Being trapped in a town where every eligible bachelorette was somebody she’d gone to highschool with-- no thanks-- had left Gianna touch-starved and sexless, but that wasn’t enough to make her lose track of her priorities. She’d start her new job on Monday, focus on saving up enough for a marginally nicer place, then she could think about getting laid.

“Be careful about the light in the kitchen,” the landlady warned. “The wiring is old so if you leave it on for too long at a time in the summer it’ll start to spark.”

“Oh great,” she deadpanned.

“Tsh. You won’t miss it. On a sunny day like today you don’t even need the extra light.”

That was one thing she did like about the apartment. There was indeed a lot of natural light that came in through the windows along the east wall. She walked over and opened one, hoping to air the place out before she finished bringing up what little she’d brought with her. Despite the recent heatwave, the breeze that afternoon was cool and sweet, only smelling very faintly of car exhaust and asphalt. She sorely missed the sea-salted winds that had blown in from the shore when she had been traveling abroad, and reminded herself again that this was a temporary arrangement.

As she admired the view-- one of the few true perks of her new living arrangement-- a splash of green amongst the brown and gray colored landscape caught her eye. She pulled up the mesh screen and leaned her head out, one hand braced on the windowsill, expecting to see maybe a stubborn curl of ivy that had climbed its way up the neighboring brownstone. Instead, she was surprised to see a lustrous garden growing out of a terrace a couple floors below. If she took a good running leap, she mused, she could jump right onto that ledge from here, providing she didn’t miss and end up splattered all over the alleyway.

The elevated garden was too high and too hidden to be seen from the street, but from above she could get close enough to count the leaves on the shrubbery. It was quite an impressive collection, particularly the many-colored array of flowers. Gianna wasn’t exactly a florist, but they looked exotic, unlike anything she’d seen before.

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“Honestly I almost forgot about it. You can’t see it so well from the other apartments. The man who lives there is a… what’s the word? A stay-inside man. You know, someone who doesn’t go out much-- a shut-in! He likes his privacy. I remember once he called the office phone one day in a terrible mood, saying if I got in the habit of housing peeping toms he’d have to inform the police. Horrible old man.”

She tutted disapprovingly.

“Geez, all that over someone looking at his plants?”

“Well, he didn’t say it outright, but I got the feeling it was more about the girl. His daughter, I think, or granddaughter maybe. I never met either of them in person, and for that I thank God.” She blew a kiss towards the ceiling and chuckled raspingly. “Now come this way, I need to show you what to do if the sink gives you trouble.”

With no small effort Gianna pulled her gaze away from the window. The richly colored blooms just across the way captured both her attention and imagination in a way that made her wish she hadn’t given up painting. When the last of the paperwork was settled and she was alone in her-- her!-- apartment, she returned to the spot and stared.

At the center of that mass of plantlife, that color swatch of eden, there was a big ceramic fountain with even more flowers filling up its basin, taking root who knows where. Delicate vines dotted with purple and yellow flowers spiralled up the center statue, a broken, half-eroded thing which must have once depicted a human figure, though now all that remained was an offwhite pair of naked legs and the beginning of a torso.

After a few minutes of languishing by the sunlit sill like some lazy housecat, a door slid open and Gianna saw a figure enter into the garden. She took one look and knew this must be the man that the landlady spoke of. He was wearing a dark dressing gown over his clothes, which hung loosely from his bony frame, and moved as though he were ankle-deep in quicksand, plodding through the mass of green at a snail’s pace. As he came more into view, Gianna began to glean why. The man’s face was sallow, sunken, with an unscrupulous smattering of pure white stubble on his chin. Even from a distance, he was unmistakably ill.

Just like the beauty of the terrace garden had caught and cradled her attention, so too did the ugliness of its master. She felt bad for spying, but it was like a car crash on the highway or a particularly inane online argument; she couldn’t look away.

The man pulled on a heavy pair of gardening gloves and a paper mask and began to prune and pluck at certain growths. He gathered and sorted the clippings into little plastic bags. If he had some sort of system driving his path, it was an inscrutable one. After a while of picking through the garden seemingly at random, he retreated back inside.

However, just as he was shuffling through the sliding door-- the phrase, “back from whence he came” came to mind-- he paused with his hand on the glass and raised his head. He turned and, as if guided by some preternatural intuition, stared directly into Gianna’s window.

Their eyes met and Gianna withdrew with a gasp. Of course after the moment had passed, she laughed at herself for her reaction. There was no way he’d been looking at her. Coincidence paired with a chronically overactive imagination had made her see something where there was nothing. He was a sick old man with a perfectly normal hobby, not some sinister ghoul.

Nevertheless, she lowered the blinds and kept them lowered for the rest of the day.

-----

By Monday, Gianna had more or less forgotten about the creepy old man and his garden. There was unpacking to do, furniture to acquire and then spray with bedbug killer, and most importantly, a fancy new job to buy some fancy second-hand clothes for.

That was maybe overstating things a bit. She was hired on to work with a small team restoring and preserving a local university’s art collection. The reality of the occupation wasn’t glamorous, but it was dignified. It was something Gianna could and did take pride in, undoing the damage wrought by the passing years one cotton swab at a time, revealing the beauty underneath.

Being back in the city, she nostalgically recalled a field trip to the Metropolitan back at the age when the nude sculptures made her classmates giggle, earning rolled eyes from the chaperone, and made young Gianna deeply uneasy in a way she didn’t yet have the words to explain. But it was the women with the flowing finery and piercing painted stares that caused her insides to flutter with something like hope. Billowing skirts caught in suspended animation mid-twirl, whether staged in the dramatic light-vs-shadow games of the baroque period or abstracted by a million tiny brushstrokes in a more impressionistic style. They had changed something in her.

But in spite of her love of the arts, she could never seem to sum up the same confidence when the brush was in her own hands. After long struggling on her own, she reluctantly accepted her dad’s offer to put a word in for her with connections at Fordham. Once upon a time the idea of returning to her dad’s alma mater would’ve warmed her with pride. Now she was just thankful the surname Alexander was common enough that the chances of anyone recognizing her was slim. The last thing she wanted was to start her first day with people already thinking she was only here by the grace of her family connections.

In spite of all her apprehensions, her first day went by without a hitch, save for the belated realization that she’d forgotten to tear the tag off her new blouse. She didn’t think anyone noticed. By the time she stepped on the subway that evening she was practically vibrating with a frantic, ecstatic energy that didn’t abate into exhaustion until she was home and sweating off her six-story hike. That, more than anything, was going to take some getting used to, she mused.

She shed her good-first-impression suit in favor of a cropped halter top and sweatpants. The setting sun cast beams of golden light through the slats in the blinds and over the back of her neck, the curve of one freckled shoulder. It wobbled iridescent through the glass and on a whim Gianna got up to open the window. There was that sweetish scent on the wind again, overpowering even the smoke that wafted up from the tenant below as he ground his cigarette butt against the masonry. Innocently, almost incidentally, she cast her gaze upon the little eden. There was someone new in the garden today.

The woman in the violet dress was opposite to the old man in every way. Dancing through the garden, touching every bloom and bud as if it were the hand of a treasured friend, Gianna had never seen anyone more alive. Short, dark curls like fiddleheads bobbed around her plum-flushed cheeks. In the pink twilight, she almost seemed to glow.

It wasn’t like Gianna to start waxing romantic over a stranger. She hadn’t felt that sort of blind infatuation since her first year of college, when she left home for the first time and a whole new world of opportunity suddenly opened to her the way it never could have with her passionately Catholic mother looking over her shoulder. This, she reasoned, must be something like that. She was just getting high on that feeling of possibility and freedom again.

Before she fully realized what she was doing, Gianna had opened the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. She climbed from platform to platform until the neighboring terrace was only a stone’s throw away, until she could hear the young woman’s voice as she murmured fawning nonsense to the flowers. In her distraction, Gianna’s foot slipped on the last rung of the ladder. She caught herself, though not gracefully and not before making a notable clamor on the way down.

The woman’s head shot up. Her eyes were the same color as her dress, and there was a leaf caught in her hair.

“Hey,” Gianna said, trying and failing to recover smoothly.

“...Hi.”

She swallowed. “I live up there.” She pointed. “I’m not, like, a burglar.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good one,” the woman said with a timid, uncertain smile.

She stepped away from the ledge and started to walk away. As Gianna’s heart sunk, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“I just need a refill.” She held up an empty plant mister. “I’m coming back.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” she said under her breath, hands covering her face from the embarrassment. What is wrong with me?

“Are you the new tenant? My father said there was someone new. He hated the last person who lived in that apartment.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “But, I mean, I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She huffed a laugh, taking some comfort from the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one so utterly awkward at introductions.

“I’m Gianna.” She put out her hand, although it was obvious she couldn’t reach to shake it.

The other mirrored the motion. “Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, new neighbor, and a relief.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Beatrice fiddled absently with her dress, twisting one thin strap around her finger. “None of the other neighbors ever come to say hey. It’s been boring.” She smiled. “You don’t seem boring.”

That fluttery feeling returned, the tender thrill of standing before a piece of artwork. Here like there, now like then, something just clicked.

Insects filled the silence with their buzzing hums of contentment. A butterfly alighted onto Beatrice’s shoulder as she settled on the garden wall and a faint woozy feeling overcame Gianna as its wings slowed, spasmed, then went rigid as it fell motionless to the ground.

--

next chapter

[frogmentarii]

QUESTIONS FOR OC CREATORS

Haaaa ok so I am doing this cause i saw @fallout-lou-begas steal it from @tarberrymentats and they both looked like they were havin hella fun so i am commandeering this for my own purposes. So lucky for yall its Emi time (art by the dearest @yesjejunus because yall need to see more of her work)

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Because she's an older woman (57) that breaks a lot of moulds and I love to see it. Aside from just enjoying older characters, Emi isn't a sweet old lady and she isn't here to try and mother anyone. Her drives are entirely her own and while she prioratizes herself and her sister before anyone else, its not always due to complete selfishness and just due to growing up in the wastes (I try to keep her character true to a fend for yourself setting as possible). I think Ill go into detail in another question with this, but I went through a lot of concepts and personalities for Emi before settling on someone who was seasoned and very much a product of the wastes. I think after seeing a lot of other couriers I finally figured out what I wanted to do differently, and that sort of helped guide her to become what she is today.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I think my last line there sort of short answers this. I wanted someone different from the other couriers I saw, and wanted to make one that was distinct or even juxtaposed against some tropes. She's a woman in her late 50s that doesnt try and play mom/granny to the companions, she very much has no stake in what happens to the Mojave, she doesnt care about Benny or that he shot her in the head (such is life in the Mojave, but she did have a job to complete so ripperoni him), and a lot of her motivations are selfish or exist to benefit her sister. She doesnt act 'old' in the fact that she isn't a wise caring soul or a grumpy old man, but rather her age is shown through her experience, and this also shapes her personality. She's never had to formally 'grow up' so she can come off as immature and irritating for her own entertainment, but she doesn't have youthful ignorance for how the world works. She knows how to be responsible but she doesnt have to act like it outwardly, even with her Tragic Caregiver Backstory.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

To a large degree in the beginning, yes, and to specific degrees now, also yes. Writing in general isnt my strong point though I did know what I wanted for her. The main image is there but the details are funky, and Ive been slowly hammering those out as I work along with her and Camila's stories. There's been some huge changes along the way that help push both of them towards an ending I like and that fits them, and even if it takes forever and I never actually write a fic, I'll be happy when she finally feels completed in New Vegas.

Aside from that, she kind of fits in anywhere in regards to AUs. My friend @yesjejunus and I have probably like 40000 fucking aus for our OCs and all of them feel just as organic and their canon stories.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

So I know I have an 'original concept Emilia' art on here where she looked like Laura Croft and had aviators but that wasnt even her first concept. I had originally wanted to make a petite southern belle type from Louisiana who used a shot gun and had a mean streak, but as I kept playing with concepts Emi really started to lean other places. Another huge change was her personality. Even when her concept got settled as a sniper from Mexico, she was suppose to be an early 30s caravan guard who was way too sure of herself. While there are reminents of that concept still in her, she has a lot more experience in the wastes and in think-on-your-feet situations to back up her attitude. Another thing she required was dropping her "take me seriously" personality with more goofy "i do what i want cause why not" traits.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Emi can get along with anyone at a surface level, for a small while, if it will benefit her or she wants to pass time. She really doesn't have interest in folks who arent interesting or beneficial in some way. Since I don't really offer her much, and am a bit of a wet bag, she might yank my chain for her own funsies or she'd have no interest.

And while I did indeed give Emi my go with the flow attitude, I think I wouldn't be able to keep up with her. Emi is very fast paced and doesnt necessarily have regard for those she decides to pick up as drinking buddies for the night. Def dont trust her with my life, and knowing the shit she gets into I'd def want to steer clear of it....like a trainwreck its much better to watch her from a safe distance, lol.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

A lot of affection from a meta standpoint? I've worked with Emi and Cam a lot since creating them, and they've def come a long way since their original concepts. I wouldn't say their story is quite where I want it yet, but I am quite happy with it overall.

That, and Ive met so many awesome writers along the way with Emi. Not all of my friends have posted fic but the amount of world building and having our characters interact and talking OCs ive done with them has placed both Emi and their OCs in a special place for me. Sure her having her own story is fun but I much more prefer the bonds Ive created with people over OCs and I think thats a bit more of a cherished component to character creation for me.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Literally? That she likes to be irritating if she feels she can get away with it (or even if she cant). Actually? That she has a very "I shelter you and feed you therefore I make the rules, period." stance on how she takes care of her charge. She lets a lot of shit slide with Camila but things get very Rapunzel-esque at times.

H) What trait do you admire most?

How sure of herself she is. Even if its to a fault, she trusts herself and her judgements. That sort of confidence is something I strive to have haha.

To a lesser degree, and more of a meta point I wanted to make with her, just...her appearance I suppose? To me she's attractive, but she also has a lot of traits that aren't conventionally attractive and that's played a lot into how Ive wanted her to be. Again she's 57 years old. She has age to her body, her skin wrinkles and droops, her tits sag, she has the body of someone who uses chems, and yet despite her age and breaking of beauty standards ive made it a point to show that she is desired or thought of as attractive in non fetish specific circumstances. She herself, while aro, also still has an active sex drive and I really wanted this to be a backseat part of her character, as I feel like fandom in general shafts older women in this department (this also goes for a lot of her non 'old lady' traits I give her too). She still has sexual needs and is still very much sexually active, and she is still found to be a regular sort of attractive and is desired by those she gets involved with.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Yes? Ish, to a degree. I didnt have to but I wanted to. I also did a lot of headcanoning with post Mexico for her early life which, afaik is free real estate for lore/nothing super detailed has been given in canon.

Given that she and Camila both shape their stories as individuals, I did have to split up some canon elements to follow two seperate characters, but other than that I really just had to make sure Emilia's story wasnt "boring" in the fact that she again, has no real stake in what happens to Vegas/the Mojave.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Cackles in 'which au will I obsess with today'

For the most part yes, however I love placing her in new things or different stories. She may be 'my courier' but really shes just the frog granny that goes into whatever au I am feeling at the time.

[paper-chain-queen]

Once Upon A Dream *1*

Bakugou X FReader

Sleeping Beauty X Bakugou

Sidenote: I made the reader a brown girl but imagine her however ;p I just liked imagining it that way.

Rating: Teen.... because Bakugou I guess

Words: 8,000+

Summary: Super unorginal, fairy tale re-told again with little twists here and there. Please enjoy :)

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Two small children jumped on their plush beds as they threw pillows at each other, their giggles vibrating around the room. The door opened, but the playing did not stop.

"I thought I told you two rascals that it was bedtime." The man laughed as he entered the room and tried to get the two kids to calm down.

"Uncle! Tell us a story!" The little girl begged as she leapt off the bed and pulled on the man's sleeve, her large eyes made him give in quickly, and he let out a sigh as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Fine, I know one. But you have to be still, no more jumping on the bed." He reasoned, and the two kids nodded and quickly got into their beds and under the blanket's covers, getting comfortable and looking to him.

"Tell us, please!" They said in unison, and the man pulled up a chair between the two.

The man didn't need a book, he knew this tale by heart.

"Once upon a time, there lived a King and his fair Queen. Many years had they longed for a child, and finally, their wish was granted. A daughter was born, and they called her Aruna. They named her after the dawn, for she filled their lives with sunshine."

"Was she beautiful?" The young boy asked as he cuddled one of his many stuffed animals.

"The most beautiful."

"Was she strong?" The little girl asked with fire in her eyes.

"I hear she had a pretty good right hook... now shush if you want to hear the rest." He teased the kids, and they both zipped their lips and waited for their favourite uncle to continue the story.

"Then a great holiday was proclaimed throughout the kingdom so that all of high or low estate might pay homage to the infant princess. And our story begins on that most joyful day."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Joy and music filled the capital, people from all corners came to the kingdom, the streets filled with the many colourful banners of different households and the men and women in taverns gave cheers to the little princess.

Thus, on this great and joyous day, did all the kingdom celebrate the long-awaited royal birth. And the good King Nadir and his Queen Sabina made welcome their lifelong friend.

"Their Royal highness's, King Enji, Queen Rei and Prince Shouto!" The royal announcer's voice bounced off the grand halls as a large, towering man with bright red hair and matching locks walked into the hall. He was followed by his reserved wife with hair as white as snow who carried their young toddler with bi-coloured hair and curious heterochromatic eyes.

Fondly had these monarchs dreamed one day their kingdoms to unite.

The two men shared a friendly handshake, and Enji clapped his friend on the back, hitting him harder than he intended, but the good King Nadir just laughed it off and asked if they had a pleasant journey.

"Any news from those barbarians?"

"Now, Now Enji, they are not as bad as they seem, they're a fascinating people and very intelligent. They would be good allies to have. Their dragon warriors are second to none." The King tried to explain but long time friend who sneered at the very idea of working with the foreign people.

" All I know is that their leader is terrifying and completely unladylike, and apparently they have a little prince of their own," Enji warned his friend, and the good King just chuckled and told him not to worry so much.

"I sent them an invitation, but we haven't seen any of the dragon tribe." He said, even looking around the room to see if they had somehow missed their announcement.

"Good, hopefully, it will stay that way." King Enji scoffed, and the new father just shook his head, not letting his untrusting friend ruin this happy day.

Queen Rei placed her son on the floor and gestured for him to bow to the King and Queen, who smiled at him kindly as he did a clumsy bow. The white-haired Queen curtsied to the majesties of the land, and they smiled and welcomed her, glad they had both been able to make the long journey with their son.

Thus, today would they announce that Shouto, Enji's youngest son and heir, to The King's child would be betrothed.

Queen Rei held her young two-year-olds hand as they approached the small basket where the little princess lay. The Queen Rei lifted him on to her hip so he could look into the crib, and Queen Sabina joined them.

And so to her, his gift he brought. And looked unknowing on his future bride.

The little princess reached out and seemed to be waving at the strangers, causing the women to coo over how adorable she was while Shouto tilted his head, slightly confused by the tiny princess.

Light shined down on the grand hall, and three figures started to take form as they floated down.

"Their most honoured and exalted excellencies', the three good fairies!" The announcer's voice boomed through the hall.

" Mistress Momo!" The black-haired fairy in a dress with red and pinks smiled and waved politely at the crowd.

"Mistress Ochako!" The blue fairy skipped across the hall once she landed and gave a bright smile, her natural pink cheeks giving her a youthful look.

" Mister Izuku!" The freckled fairy in all green garb landed on the polished marble and looked a little nervous as he fiddled with his wand, muttering about what kind of gift he could give, there were so many options, and Izuku could only give one, and he hoped it would be enough.

The blue fairy held his hand to try and snap him out it, but he only blushed and looked like he passed out for a moment before Momo told them both to 'please behave.'

The three used their little wings and glided over to the crib to get their first look at the little princess. They all cooed and gushed as they admired the innocent babe.

"The little darling." Momo gushed and wished the little princess could remain small forever.

"She's so tiny! Look at her little fingers." Ochako reached in, and the baby held on of the fairy's fingers, giggling as she did so.

"She'll be an adult before we know it. Human lives seem to move so quickly." Izuku pointed out.

The three fairies then went to pay their respects to the good King and Queen.

"Your majesties." They all said together as they gave a respectful bow, and the King and Queen asked them to rise for they were friends.

"Each of us may bless the child with a single gift, no more and no less," Momo told them and then approached the crib to give her gift, bringing out her wand and taking a breath.

"Little Princess, my gift shall be the gift of beauty. "

The red fairy waved her wand up above the crib, and glittery fogs of pinks floated around the two, and a chorus seemed to come to life.

One gift, beauty rare

Raven locks that flow and shine

Skin blessed and loved by the sun

Lips that shame the red, red rose

She'll walk with springtime where ever she goes

Momo finished her spell and smiled kindly at the girl as she backed away, and her friend and fellow fairy stepped up.

"Tiny princess, my gift shall be the gift of song," Ochako said with glee as she gazed down at the newborn whose large eyes were trained on the movement of her wand. A haze of light blue smoke with specks of glittery stars appeared above the crib, and a chorus sang out again.

One gift, the gift of song

Melody her whole life long

The nightingale's her troubadour

Bringing his sweet serenade to her door

The spell ended, and the sparkles fell into the crib and dissipated into thin air, but that didn't stop the small baby from trying to grab the magic in her hands.

Ochako giggled at the sight and then dragged Izuku over so he could give his gift. The nervous green fairy took a deep breath and finally decided what his gift to the child would be.

"Sweet Princess, my gift shall be-"

The last fairy was interrupted, and a foul wind blew through the door and lighting struck in the middle of the courtyard, a green flamed formed, and the crowd all gasped in fright.

Out of the menacing green flames, a person was revealed, menacing gold eyes looked over the crowd, and a mask was on his face in the shape of a terrifying beak, a long sceptre in his hand. He wore a black suit with a long jacket that had dark purple fur trim and gloves. He would have been considered handsome, but his gold yes were drenched in disgust, and malicious intent oozed from his very presence.

"Overhaul!" The King shouted as he stepped in front of his Queen and daughter, as if to hide them from the menace's gaze.

"What does he want here?" Ochako asked Momo as she glared at the intruder, and the red fairy shushed her.

"Well, quite a glittering assemblage, King Nadir. Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and.. Oh.. hoe quaint. Even the rabble." Overhaul commented as he eyed the small fairies who looked no older than teenagers. Ochako leapt forward as if to fight, but Momo and Izuku held her back.

"I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation." He sighed as dusted off the dirt that didn't appear to exist off his coat and coughed slightly.

"You weren't wanted." Ochako sneered, wishing her two friends would let her give Overhaul a piece of her mind.

"Not want-... Well then, what an awkward situation. I had hoped it was merely due to some oversight. Well, in that event, I'd best be on my way." Overhaul decided, seemingly done with the whole ordeal.

The King had a terrifying glare on his face and was about to say something, but his queen laid her hand on his forearm t try and calm him down. Hoping to salvage the situation.

"We hope that you're not offended, Your Excellency?" The beautiful queen asked, using her diplomatic tone.

"Why, no Your Majesty." The way Overhaul said 'Majesty' felt dirty as if he was taunting her.

"And to show I bear no ill will, I too shall bestow a gift on the child." He declared as he stepped forward, his black sceptre clicking on the ground with each step.

Overhaul looked over at the cradle where the little princess laid, and the three fairies were quick to stand in front of it. He smirked at the action though no one could see it beneath his mask.

"Listen well, all of you!" He proclaimed as he lifted his arms and then slammed his sceptre to the marble floor, the sound echoing around the room.

"The princess shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who know her. But, before the sun sets on her 18th birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning well and die!" He cursed the innocent child.

Overhauls magic gave a vision of a grown but still young princess Aruna, lying dead on a marble slate, a coffin.

The Queen let out a cry and rushed to hold her child, keeping the little princess close to her chest as if her arms could protect the little princess from Overhaul's curse.

Overhaul only cackled at the sight, knowing that there was nothing anyone could do save the child from his 'gift.'

"Seize that creature!!!!" The King ordered his guards, and every guard in the hall leapt into action armed with spears and swords.

"Stand back, you germ-infested fools!" He yelled as he raised his arms and was bathed in the green flames. Thunder rumbled, and the guards looked on in terror. Too frightened to move.

Overhaul laughed at their faces and disappeared into the flames, his laugh still echoing through the halls of the court, leaving a chill down everyone's back.

The celebration was over. There was no more laughter or cheers, just whispers of worry and fright.

The distraught queen cradled her child close to her heart and looked up to her King, hoping he would have an answer to save their child.

"Don't despair, Your Majesties. Izuku still has his gift to give." The Momo pointed out, giving the parents some hope.

"Then, he can undo this fearful curse?" The King asked as he looked to the green male fairy who was staring at his wand with determination. But nothing came to mind, and his shoulders sagged with slight defeat.

"No, sire." He admitted, fidgeting with his fingers, his entire being drenched with nervousness.

"Overhaul's powers are far too great," Momo explained though she wished they could do more for the innocent princess.

"But, he can help." Ochako encouraged, fully confident in Izuku's ability.

But...." Izuku tried to look to his friends for help, uncertain that he would be enough.

"Just do your best, Izuku." Momo looked at him in earnest, and Izuku gulped, really feeling all the pressure.

Everyone watched as Izuku stood there, fidgeting and muttering, trying to think of something he could do. The longer they waited, and the more he muttered, the more the King and Queen felt uncertain.

Izuku thought hard as he racked his brain and realized that there was a magic in the world that could stop Overhaul's cruel curse.

It was this or nothing.

"Sweet princess, if through this wicked man's trick a spindle should your finger prick, a ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee." Voiced Izuku as he waved his wand at the princess, who seemed oblivious to all that was around her. She looked at Izuku and locked her large eyes onto his green ones, and she had a giant smile on her face.

"Not in death, but just in sleep. The fateful prophecy you'll keep. And from this slumber, you shall wake, when true love's kiss the spell shall break." He spoke softly as he smiled at the little princess, hopeful that this would save her and prove that there was something more potent than Overhaul's cruel magic.

For true love conquers all.

 .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The party was over, everyone had returned to their homes but the three fairies who stayed in the courtroom. All in the castle could hear the Queen's painful sobs as she feared for her daughter's life, and the King was ordering his men to stay on guard in case Overhaul decided to return.

Ochako flew about the room in her own distress. Flying in circles as she tried to think of what else they could possibly do.

The blue fairy let out an angry huff, and Momo only shook her head and made a teapot and cups appear out thin air.

"Now, come have a nice cup of tea, dear. I'm sure it'll work out somehow." Momo tried to comfort, even though she wasn't sure she believed it at that moment.

True loves kiss did seem farfetched, but if that was their best bet, then what else could they do.

"The guards won't stop Overhaul." Izuku pointed out as he took a cup of tea and thanked Momo.

"Oh, I'd like to turn Overhaul into a fat, old chicken." Ochako huffed as she grabbed a cup of tea and created a few cookies, eating them angrily as she sipped on her tea.

"Now, dear, that isn't a very nice thing to say." Momo scolded her fairy friend.

"Besides, we can't. You know our magic doesn't work that way." Izuku pointed out, though he did admire Ochako's strong spirit.

"It can only do good, dear, to bring joy and happiness," Momo explained, delicately stirring her tea before taking a sip.

"Well, that would make me happy." Ochako huffed as she hovered a bit off the ground, her wings fluttering furiously.

"But, there must be some way......" Izuku began to mutter again, and the other two fairies could only watch, hoping he would come up with a plan soon.

"There is!" The green fairy jumped up and hovered off the ground, and the other two listened intently to what he had to say.

After firing ideas back and forth, they finally agreed to a plan. The three good fairies came together with their plan to the King and Queen They would raise the little princess deep in the woods and only return when it was deemed safe after 18th birthday.

So, the King and his Queen watched with heavy hearts as their most precious possession, their only child, disappeared into the night.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Many sad and lonely years passed by For King Nadir and his people. But as the time for the princess's 18th birthday drew near, the entire kingdom began to rejoice. For everyone knew that as long as Overhaul's domain the Forbidden Mountain, thundered with his wrath and frustration, his evil prophecy had not yet been fulfilled.

A crumbling castle sat at the top of the dark and foreboding mountain, thunder rumbled, and lightning crackled, an ominous green fog flooded the area. Inside the throne room, Overhaul paced around, yelling at his minions in frustration.

"It's incredible!" He boomed, his voice filling every corner.

 "Eighteen years and not a trace of her! She couldn't have vanished into thin air!" Overhaul explained, mystified over the missing princess.

"Are you sure you searched everywhere?" He asked his minions, who all nodded with fervour.

"Yes, uh, yes, everywhere. We all did." The 'captain' of his minions explained.

"Yes, yes!" All of the minions began babbling.

"And what about the town? The forest? The mountains?!" Overhaul asked, making sure they didn't idiotically miss a spot.

"Yep, we searched mountains, forests...and house and, uh... Let me see. And all the cradles." The minion boasted, proud of how high and low he and his comrades searched.

"Cradle?" Overhaul raised his brow, his gold eyes widening.

"Yep, yep. Every cradle." He laughed as he mimed a cradle, moving back and forth with his hands.

"Cradle!" Overhaul yelled in disbelief.

"Did you hear that, my pet? All these years, they've been looking for a baby." He began laughing hysterically, holding his stomach and all the minions started to laugh with him. It wasn't often that their leader laughed, but they assumed it was a good thing.

"FOOLS!!" Overhaul yelled, lifting his hands in the air.

"IDIOTS!!! IMBECILES!" Overhaul created lighting from his staff and shot it at the large crowd of minions, and they all screamed and as they tried to avoid their leader's wrath.

Overhaul let out a massive sigh in disappointment as the throne room emptied, and he went to his large stone throne.

"They're hopeless. A disgrace to the forces of evil." He told the black crow, the only one he could truly trust.

"My pet. You are my last hope." Overhaul realized as he had the crow hop onto his gloved hand and made his way to the window.

"Circle far and wide. Search for a maid of 18, with hair of raven, and lips red as the rose. Go and do not fail me." He told the crow as he sent the intelligent bird on his mission, watching as the black wings disappeared from overhaul's sight.

.

And so for 18 long years, the whereabouts of the princess remained a mystery. While deep in the forest, in a woodcutter's cottage, the good fairies carried out their well-laid plan. Living like mortals, they had reared the child as their own and called her (Y/N).

A beautiful young woman opened the shutters to her bedroom window as she sang, using a cloth to wipe away any dirt or grim from the sill. She had the beauty of her mother and more, the fairies gifts had done their work as she walked with elegance and grace and had a voice that would make even the birds in the forest envious.

On this, her 18th birthday, the good fairies had planned a party. And something extra special for a surprise.

The three fairies who were posing as regular humans gathered around a table, looking through dress designs.

"Well, how about this one?" Izuku asked, he didn't really know anything about clothes, he thought they all would look nice on the hidden princess.

"This is the one I picked." Momo pointed to a design in the book, a three-piece set with a long, full skirt, a cropped blouse and a matching veil.

"Oh, she'll look beautiful in that." Ochako gushed as she leaned in to get a better look.

"Maybe make some changes here and -" Momo continued, and Izuku could only watch as the two girls conversed about the dress for (y/n).

"Don't forget to put lots of pretty beading and sparkle!" Ochako practically bounced with excitement. They had loved and raised the beautiful (y/n) and given her all that three fairies without magic could do, but she was growing more and more curious about the outside world, and it was time for her to be reunited with her parents and taught who she really was.

"Yes, and a few extra layers for a dramatic effect." Momo decided, very proud of her designs. She had never made anything like this, but she had read a how-to book and was confident in her skills.

"We'll make it blue! A nice, pretty blue will look perfect!" Ochako cheered as she pumped her fists but was quickly shot down by Momo.

"Oh, no, pink."

"But.."

"Of course, we need lots of fabric." Momo had already made her decision and was planning everything out while Ochako sat there pouting.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

(y/n) came down the stairs with a broom in hand and caught a bit of her caretakers' conversation.

"Yes, but how are we gonna get her out of the house?"

"I'll think of something." And they all giggled like children with a secret.

The beautiful (y/n) smiled at the scene and shook her head, a soft smile on her face.

While she had never known her real parents, she felt like she had three perfectly good ones in Ochako, Momo, and Izuku, who cared and loved her with everything they had. Even though sometimes it would feel a bit lonely from time to time, not that she would ever say anything as to not hurt their feelings.

Besides, she had her friends in the forest; she could always talk to when she needed someone. But today... today was her 18th birthday, and she was hoping to ask for something special. A chance to see the world.

The three continued to whisper around something on the table, and the girl decided to make her presence known.

"Well, and what are you three up to?" (y/n) asked as she slightly raised a brow.

They all gasped and crowded the table to hide the dress design.

"Up to?" They all said in perfect unison and (y/n) couldn't help but giggle.

"Well, well, we... uh... " Izuku began to stammer as they tried to come up with an excuse and (y/n) tilted her head as she watched with a knowing smile.

"We want you to pick some berries!" Ochako decided as she looked around for a basket.

"But I picked berries yesterday." (y/n) pointed out, she even gestured to the full basket of berries sitting on the kitchen counter.

"We.. we need you to fetch some water!" Izuku jumped in as he looked for the metal water jar.

"But, we have water right here." (y/n) explained, they lived right by the river and had a working mill and everything, they must really want her out of the house.

"We need it from much further up the river! The freshest cleanest spot you can find, you know the spot where we used to picnic!"Izuku shoved a large jar into her hands, and the others led her to the door.

Momo placed a long dark purple scarf on top of (y/n)'s head and wrapped it around her shoulders, it matched her simple purple skirt that barely brushed against her ankles and cropped blouse.

It would be a far walk, but the fairies needed (y/n) to be busy with something. They rushed her out the door and (y/n) let them, she liked walking through the forest anyway and enjoyed feeling the fresh grass beneath her bare feet as she sang with the birds.

"Now, don't hurry back, dear!" Momo called from the door as she waved.

"And don't speak to strangers." Izuku reminder her.

(y/n) had never seen a stranger in the woods and doubted she would today.

They all gave her their hurried goodbyes and (y/n) turned and waved back at them.

As (y/n) left their sight, the fairies got to work right away on a cake and dress that was made for a princess. Hoping they could get by one more day without their powers.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As (y/n) walked through the forest carrying the water jug, she began to vocalize, a sweet tune echoing through the woods, alerting her animal friends that she was there.

A few nearby birds heard the tune and repeated it back to her, chirping as they flew done to the forest floor.

(Y/n) sang again and a small blue bird appeared before her, chirping the same song, the bird landed on the low branch of a tree and (y/n) approached, singing again and another bird flew down and landed on a nearby branch.

Both chirped the tune that (y/n) was singing. She laid out her hand, and the birds used her fingers as a perch, she brought them close to her face, and the songbirds gave her cheeks a soft peck, making the young beauty smile and giggle. She waved them off her hand and sang again as she continued to walk along the forest path that she knew by heart.

As she sang, the birds went through the forest, alerting the other animals that (y/n) had arrived. A squirrel heard the song and started scampering around the tree, waking the other animals and forcing an owl out of its hole and pushing him off the branch.

The owl spread it's wings and floated down towards the ground, hooting along to the song as (y/n) caught him in the water basin. She sang to him, and the old owl cuddled into her face as he tried to sing along. She smiled at her little entourage and let the owl sit in the water basin as she walked along, crossing a fallen log to get to another side of the ravine.

While she walked, her song caught another's ears.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ash-blonde hair whipped through the wind as the boy and his dragon flew up high above the forest. The red dragon was circling the forest. His superior ears had caught something, and without his rider's okay had lowered down from the clouds, now flying just up above the trees.

"OI! What's the big idea!" Bakugou yelled at the red dragon, but the giant beast ignored him, trying to hear again for the sweet song.

"I outta-" Bakugou was ready to curse and scream but the most beautiful sound stopped him and he tried to listen more.

The giant red dragon knew what had stopped the young prince, and a smirk crossed his face, showing off his sharp teeth.

"You hear that, shitty dragon?" Bakugou asked as he looked around, trying to hear the sweet sound again.

Eijirou turned his head to look back at his rider, who was looking down into the forest. The dragon wasn't the one enjoying the tune. The sweet sound came again, and Eijirou watched as Bakugou became entranced.

"... It's beautiful...What is it?" Bakugou thought out loud, his volatile walls coming down.

He heard it again, but it sounded like it was getting farther away, and the dragon wasn't about to let that happen.

"Woah, what the hell are you doing!?" Bakugou yelled at his dragon, but Eijirou was trying to find the sound, if the barbarian prince liked the music then it must be something special, and he needed to be a good dragon and help his friend and rider.

But the forest was thick, and Eijirou was a large dragon, the landing would be a problem. His eyes scanned the woods, looking for an opportunity while his rider practically screamed in his ear to slow down.

Finally, there appeared to be an opportunity, and without giving his rider warning, the red dragon dived down towards the clearing and didn't even realize that Bakugou had lost his grip and let go of the saddle.

Eijirou landed proudly into the large grass clearing but heard a loud splash in the river next to him. He looked over, and the ferocious prince Bakugou looked like a drowned cat as he made his way out of the water. The dragon couldn't help but laugh, and the angry prince took off his soaking wet boot and threw it at him.

"Damn, Shitty Dragon! What the hell was that for??!!" Bakugou yelled, his red eyes glaring holes into the dragon who gave him an apologetic look. The prince told the dragon off as he took off his wet clothes and laid them on a few branches to dry.

"Just great.." He muttered.

Not only had he lost the mysterious siren, but he was soaked.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Meanwhile, back at the cabin, things were in chaos.

Momo, who had never sewn a dress in her life, was convinced that reading from a book would be enough as she started cutting into the pink fabric. Ochako was being used as a model and was still pouting that the material was pink and not blue.

Poor Izuku was trying to bake a multi-levelled cake and was still trying to figure out what the book meant when it said ' fold eggs in the batter.'

"Gently?" He read the text out loud and looked uncertainly at the eggs and then just decided to follow the book and placed the whole eggs in the bowl and fold them in, hearing them crack.

"No, that can't be right..." He muttered as he scratched his head.

It was a mystery how these three were able to raise a child from infancy.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

(y/n) came to her favourite spot on the riverside. Instead of immediately collecting water and going back, she decided to enjoy the beautiful day, sitting on the grassy riverside and humming as a small deer laid its head on her lap.

She watched as two bunnies hopped along beside each other, nuzzling now and then.

She loved her family, she really did. But... it was a bit lonely. (y/n) had never met anyone outside of her own house, and her only friends were the animals of the forest. She loved them and was grateful for them but...

(y/n) turned her head and caught two birds, flying together till they landed on a branch and cuddled and (y/n) felt her heart longing.

I wonder

I wonder

I wonder why each little bird has a someone

To sing to sweet things to

A gay little love melody

The deer that was resting with her raised its head at the song and gave her a perplexed look. She scratched under the deer's chin before getting up a dusting herself off. The beautiful young woman approached the tree that contained the love birds and leaned back against the tree, gazing up at the sky.

I wonder

I wonder

If my heart keeps singing

Will my song go winging

To someone who'll find me

And bring back a love song to me

Her imagination took wing as she thought of what could be out there for her or who might find her in the forest. A dreamy sigh leaving her lips as she continued to stare up at the passing clouds.

"Oh, well...." She sighed as she closed her eyes and rolled over. All the animals looked at each other, wondering what was wrong.

"Why do they still treat me like a baby?" (y/n) asked, and the owl flew over and let out a hoot that sounded like "Who?".

"Aunt Momo and Ochako and Uncle Izuku." She shrugged as she got up and walked closer to the water's edge, placing her toes in the water.

"They never want me to meet anyone...." she looked into the water reflection, and she didn't see a child. She was nearly an adult, and she had never had the chance to go out into the world or meet anyone.

All the animals chirped and made little sounds, trying to console her, and she looked around at them and decided to tell them a secret.

" But you wanna know something?" She asked the forest creatures around them, and they all nodded vigorously, which caused her to let out a little giggle.

"I fooled them! But you must promise to never tell....." She asked the animals, and she booped the owl on his beak. The animals all swore to keep her secret.

"The truth is... I have met someone." And at this reveal, even more animals came in, wanting to hear the juicy details.

"Who?" The owl hooted, his large eyes looking into her's for answers. (Y/n) gave a knowing smile and got up, walking away from the river bank and the animals who then chased her. The owl constantly hooting 'who?' 'who?'.

"Oh? a prince." She revealed, a large smile on her red lips. The birds chirped in her face, asking for details.

"Well.... he's tall." (y/n) explained and hovered her hand a good foot above her own height.

"And handsome.. and strong..." She listed and then got a dreamy look in her face.

"And romantic.." She let out a massive sigh, her heart just racing.

"Oh.... we walked together...talked together... and just before we say goodbye.." She twirled as she spoke of their date together, and the animals all followed close behind, hungry for more details.

"He takes me in his arms...." She wrapped her own arms around her to emphasize her prince's actions. But it wasn't the same as the large, strong arms her prince had, no it didn't compare to that feeling of being held.

"And then... I wake up." She sadly put as she dropped her arms and looked to the grass, and all the birds started twittering until all sighing in disappointment with her.

"Yes, it's only in my dreams.. pathetic, isn't it...." She voiced, but then she saw the sad look on the animals' faces and decided to at least give them a little. She sat down by the water's edge and put her hand in the water, creating ripples.

"but they say... if you dream a thing more than once, then it's bound to come true..." She let out a dreamy sigh, hope still alive in her heart.

The squirrel that was sitting on a tall tree let out a sigh as well, hoping that his friend got the prince she was dreaming of. As he looked off into the distant woods, he noticed something rather odd.

A large piece of red fabric hanging on a branch. The little squirrel got excited and called up some of their forest friends, including some birds and the owl, pointing to what he had seen. The owl then stretched out his wings and told them the idea he had.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

" You know.... there was something off about that voice... it wasn't that pretty. Must be the wind playing tricks or something.... yeah, that's what it is." Bakugou reasoned as he rested on a rock, waiting for his boots and cloak to dry.

The crimson-scaled dragon let out a snort, he knew what he heard, and it wasn't the wind. That had been a girl singing, and now his rider wouldn't admit to the pretty sound that had him completely entranced earlier.

They both heard a strange noise and looked over only to see that Bakugou's clothes had come to life and were flying and hopping away.

Bakugou scrambled to get up and after them, cursing after the animals. Eijirou was just going to enjoy his nap and wait for the prince's return.

..-.-.-.--.-.-.-.

Once back by the river bank that (y/n) was lounging on, the squirrel wrapped the deep red cloak around the owl's neck and the strange crown of bones and jewels they had got, placing it awkwardly on the owls head.

The owl puffed out his chest in pride over this wonderful idea, hoping to make (y/n) happy.

The squirrel organized the bunnies in the boots, making sure they lined up with the owl in his fur-lined red cape. The squirrel then motioned for the owl to drop down and drop down he did, right in the boots and then fell over. A few birds helped out and carried part of the cloak as if it were arms.

It was a full proof disguise, and the owl puffed out his chest, and the team started marching forward, one bunny hop at a time.

(Y/N) was sitting on the riverbank with a bunny in her lap, petting it fondly as she hummed a familiar tune.

In an instant, all the animals scatted from her, and she heard the owl's call. She looked behind her, and there were a few of her dear animal friends, wearing mysterious clothes and walking as if they were a proud prince. Her heart soared at how thoughtful her friends were but couldn't hold back a giggle at the funny sight.

 "Why? It's my dream prince." (y/n) giggled as the crown on the owl head slightly slipped, but it didn't seem to bother him all that much.

"Your highness." She curtsied to her 'prince' and the animals in disguise did the same.

She twirled closer to the red-caped 'prince' and stopped right in front of him, the bird's holding the cape used the material to wrap around her.

" I'm not really supposed to talk to strangers... but we've met before." She flirted as she started to swing her hips and sing a song that had been in her heart for many moons.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

She twirled on the grass, and her long skirt flowed out as she danced, she grabbed onto the red cape and made her 'prince' dance with her. It wasn't how she imagined her first real dance with a prince, but this was still a fun time.

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

(Y/n) was so caught up in her fantasy that she didn't notice the ruby-red eyes peeking around a bush, entranced by her movement and her song. The beauty was as carefree as a songbird with her enchanting voice.

Bakugou's jaw dropped when he finally found the culprit behind this whole fiasco, no longer angry about his stolen clothes as he watched her gracefully glide across the grass without a care in the world. Streams on sunlight dancing on her glowing skin and bouncing off her luxurious dark locks as she spun across the meadow.

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

(y/n) sang to the owl in his cape and made the arms wrap around her as she danced, and Bakugou knew where he belonged. He had let that owl take his spot long enough. He knew the words, all he had to do was find an opening.

The beautiful girl was twirling and having a grand time, enjoying the gorgeous day and her handsome date.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once

Bakugou snatched the owl by HIS cape and trapped him on a nearby branch while the girl had her back turned and gently as he could to slide into place, taking her hands in his, and she seemed to be too lost in dreamland to notice, and he couldn't stop himself from smirking at her trusting nature. The dragon prince decided to join in song, unable to stop the words that so easily flew from his lips.

The way you did once upon a dream

(y/n) was shocked when a deep baritone voice sang with her, and in her shock, she swiftly turned around and threw a punch right at the stranger's face, just like Uncle Izuku and Aunt Ochako had taught her.

"Shit!!! Goddammit!!" Yelled the stranger as he held his face and backed away.

"Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry!! " (y/n) apologized as she tried to move forward and try to see the damage, but he turned away, and all you saw was his back.

 His bare... naked...back.... he wasn't wearing a shirt and poor (y/n) felt her face go entirely flush and her heart raced.

"Shit... that's what I get, I guess... not a bad right hook." He muttered, and then he finally turned around. He thought the girl was pretty before, but damn he knew he was in love now. Pretty and can throw a punch? That's his girl.

"Look... I didn't mean to frighten you." He pouted as he crossed his arms and stared and (y/n) felt her heart beating a million times a minute. He wasn't the prince she had dreamed of... no, he was something she could never dream of, he was better. His spiky ash-blonde hair, his muscular physique, but most beautiful of all was his red eyes that would but a ruby to shame.

"You.. it wasn't that... it's just that you're a ...a..." (y/n) uttered as she tried to keep her distance, handsome or not, he was still a strange shirtless man in the woods.

"A stranger??" the man finished for her as he grabbed her wrist to keep her from getting too far.

(y/n) nodded at his answer, and he only smirked, his slightly sharp teeth making (y/n)'s skin grew hot. This had to be a dream. Nobody looked like that. Even with the red mark from where she had punched, he still looked handsome.

"Well, aren't you a forgetful, don't you remember sunshine? We've met before." He insisted and (Y/n) blushed over the nickname he had given her.

 "We--We have?"

" Well come on... you said so yourself.. Once upon a dream." He teased as he smirked at her and (y/n) pouted and ripped her hand away from him, not appreciating that he was making fun of her.

"Dammit- I didn't... shit." Bakugou rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He was a prince, and he had no problem getting girls, they flocked to him, but he never gave them the time of day. They were nobodies.

 Now he had someone he actually wanted, and he had already messed it up. His mother was right... he was a bonehead.

He watched as she walked further and further away from him. She picked up a jar off the ground and hopped on a few stones to get to the other side of the river.

But.... she looked back at him, and that meant it wasn't hopeless. For she had sunshine in her eyes.

He walked to the water's edge and watched as she filled the water jug, looking to him now and then but staying silent.

Bakugou waited for something, anything. And then it happened as he leant down to the water's edge and looked at the reflection of the beautiful girl's face. There was a slight smirk on her face, and their eyes met. Bakugou felt a smile cross his face and then there was a splash of water, and he was completely soaked. Again.

He shook his wet and looked over to see the girl laughing, a bright smile on her face. Bakugou should have been angry, but...he wanted to spend the rest of his days with that smile.

Bakugou kicked the river and sent some water flying her way, causing her to scream in laughter and then she got up and ran, laughing as she raced, her water jug left behind. The dragon prince took chase, enjoying this game.

He sprinted through the river and climbed up on the other side, quickly catching up with the girl who was 'hiding' behind a tree. (Y/N) was looking around, and Bakugou could see a smile on her face, her cheeks flushed from running.

Slowly making his way around the tree, careful not to make any sound until the right moment.

"Gotcha!" He yelled as he grabbed (y/n) around the waist, and she laughed as Bakugou swung her around and soon, he was leading her in dance across the meadow. Singing her sweet song as it had forever been stamped on his heart.

 I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

 Once they finally stopped dancing, Bakugou took her hand in his and walked along the forest path until they came to an empty spot with a perfect view of a beautiful castle in the far distance.

 "Tell me your name," Bakugou asked as he traced patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb, her hands were so soft while his were rough and he would make sure they stayed that way, his queen would have no need to overwork her precious skin. It was only his to mark.

 " (y/n)..." She said so gently, never wanting this moment to end, praying it wasn't only a dream.

" (y/n)... " He tested it on his lips and hearing it from his gruff voice made (y/n)'s stomach flutter.

"And yours?" She asked as she gazed up at him, curled comfortably into his side.

"Katsuki." He revealed and (y/n) tried it out, and Bakugou knew the many ways he wished to hear it from her soft lips.

" I like it..."

"It's okay."

"It's beautiful." (y/n) complimented, and Bakugou felt his face flush, embarrassed at how she had so much power over him.

(Y/n) gazed over the horizon as she saw the sun's position in the sky, she felt a jolt of panic.

" I have to go!!" She jumped up and started scrambling back through the forest, not believing how much time had passed, it had gone by so quickly.

'Wait! What the hell?! Where are you going!?" He yelled as he chased after her, jumping over logs and rocks.

"I'm supposed to be home, they're planning a surprise." (Y/n) said in a rush as she found her water jug and quickly filled it up in the fresh waters of the river.

"A surprise? Who? What's going on?" Bakugou asked, his head spinning over how quickly everything was happening.

"Oh... my family. It's my birthday." (y/n) explained as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and Bakugou felt his heart do a flip, he needed to find a gift for her... he also needed to tell his mother that he found her. (y/n) was the girl he was going to marry.

"When can I see you again?"

"Never."

"Never?!?!!"

"Ahh! I mean... how about tonight?"

"Tonight?! Where?" He asked, still a little out of sorts. The mysterious beauty now had a name, but she was still full of secrets. (y/n) ran back up and stared up into his eyes, as if taking in every feature, treasuring every detail. She gently reached up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before running off again into the forest.

"The little cabin in the woods! Come after dark!" (y/n) told him and long after she had disappeared around the bend,

Bakugou remained. He reached up and touched the spot on his cheek, it felt warm.

"YES!! " He whooped as he clenched his fist, happy that no one was round to see him like this. He would kick his own ass if he was able to see himself right now, but none of that mattered. The dragon prince raced through the forest to retrieve all his belongings and then returned to Eijirou, who was peacefully napping in a forest clearing.

"C'mon shitty scales, we've gotta fly home and back. I've got an engagement gift to find." He told the dragon as he hopped onto the saddle, and soon they were off into the sky, and Bakugou's cheeks were starting to hurt from the dopey love-struck grin on his face.

It didn't matter if Bakugou was royalty or that (y/n) was a peasant girl, all that mattered that he had found the embodiment of sunshine. The dragon prince wasn't going to let anything get in his way.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 8- Discovery

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2780

Warnings: None!

7- Obedience

...

Artemis had learned that although snow is beautiful, it can turn into deadly sheets of ice when the temperature dropped low enough. She came to realize that the hard way, slipping along the streets of the city when completing her tasks. She had even fallen once, the sharp jagged edges of the ice cutting a gash above her brow.

It was superficial, but it had bled, much to her annoyance. When she had returned to the cabin with blood leaking down to her chin, Ivar didn't hesitate in laughing, mocking her for being weak. How could one who was born among hot plains become accustomed to an icy hell?

Winter appropriate boots were issued, a tiny delight in an otherwise tasteless life. They were surprisingly of high quality, the interior made of rabbit fur that kept her feet especially warm. Accroding to Ivar, it was no act of kindness. He would just tire of seeing his slave bruised up and bloody from her clumsiness.

More days passed, but the winter seemed endless. Artemis grew accustomed to her new life, though she was still struggling to accept it. In the early days she'd often cry herself to sleep, feeling an overwhelming loneliness suffocate her. Now, her emotions were blurred, and she began to view the world with apathetic eyes.

Sometimes, when she stared off past Kattegat's harbor, she'd imagine herself drifting away on a tiny boat. Her ancestors were masters of the sea, why wouldn't she be able to find her way back home? But it was just a fleeting thought.

She pushed herself to assimilate as Helga had often suggested, acquaintancing herself with other thralls and finding herself with Aria for company. The Irish girl was quite the character and would be considered a woman of loose morals in Christian lands. But she was kind, and had the skills of a homemaker, teaching Artemis mending techniques whenever she had the chance.

So far, life in Kattegat was extremely bland, cold, and uneventful.

The welts on her back healed quickly, scarring minimally with the help of the healer's salve. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for that, though she'd hate to admit it.

Whenever she thought of Ivar, she'd compared him to winter itself. His demenor was frigid, just like icy winds the seeped through the cabin at night. She had no idea what to think of him anymore. Sometimes she feared him, as most did, and other times she felt bad for him, watching him disappear into the mountains to grieve his losses.

Sometimes, she followed him, only to hear his gut wrenching sobs. In normal circumstances, she would've sympathized, but he was far too complex to simply understand his behavior. There were many instances in which he decides to ignore her, while on others he couldn't stop running his mouth, glancing at her with the curious eyes of a child, as if trying to work a puzzle.

That particular night had his curious eyes locked elsewhere, on something of extreme value. Artemis watched Ivar analyze a golden chalice, his ocean eyes admiring the craftsmanship and details of its design.

"What have I done to offend you this time, hmm? If your eyes could, they would kill me," She hadn't realized she was glaring as it was second nature to her now. She was always glaring.

Looking away from his eyes shining in the candle light, she continues to mend his breeches that had laid forgotten on her lap. Ivar was constantly destroying his clothing from dragging his body everywhere, and now she was constantly mending them, a tedious task that she hated.

Ivar sat slumped over his desk, his ale untouched to the side of him. He turned to eye Artemis, who sat by the fireplace, her mending forgotten again. Her skin glowed with the shadows of the fire and her pale eyes shone brighter than anything he'd seen before. The contrast was striking and Ivar couldn't bring himself to look away.

"That cup...it was stolen from the monestary in Crete, " Artemis finally answers quietly, turning to look at the shadows dance across his chiselled face.

"And what does it matter?" Was the boyish reply, "What is so important about this cup that your eyes wish me ill?"

She watches the fire for a moment, the embers hissing as they burn and crackle loudly against the quietness of Ivar's chambers. She wondered if Bjorn had gifted him the chalice. It was to no surprise to her that Ivar had in his possession the very chalice that was to be blessed for holy communion. Was Ivar feared so, that he recieved gifts to keep his anger at bay?

"Skilled hands made that chalice,"

"And what of it?" Not understanding, he sucks his teeth in annoyance. She wasn't a seer to be speaking in riddles. He focused his eyes on her as she laid his breeches on the fur rug, meticulous in sticking the bone needle into the thick fabric.

"I made it, Prince." She replies with equal force, holding out her calloused hands as if to prove her worth.

Ivar looks at her small hands, noting the lack of smooth skin, but it could have been due to her labors since arriving to Kattegat, and so he simply sucked his teeth unimpressed, waving his hand in the air aimlessly to dismiss her statement.

"You jest," He says, fingers gliding over the small pearls embedded perfectly into the gold, "This is fine work. Not even my people have learned to craft such delicate ornaments," Vikings made weapons of destruction, not dainty items to be viewed like a beautiful woman on display. Kattegat had only seen items such as the chalice when his father returned from his first raid in Lindensfarne. Whatever fine items they had, such as jewelry, were mostly traded or stolen from the Baltic lands.

Artemis frowns at his comment.

"My father and I were employed by the abbot. He had commissioned the gold chalice in your hands, as well as all the other gold and silver that was stolen from the monastery,"

"You lie."

"I do not." Ivar's huffs, glancing at the gold again as if he was just seeing it again for the first time. It was impressive work, even he had to admit.

"You can forge silver and gold?"

"I am the daughter of a blacksmith, I can forge any metal I please," The pride could easily be detected in her tone.

"Hmm." There was silence after that.

Artemis turns back to the mending, picking up the bone needle and staring intently at the tears the were left to mend. She couldn't focus on it, pulling the thread around as if she were actually completing the task.

"And that is why you were in the monestary," Ivar breaks the silence again, "To deliver the items." Turning the gold chalice this way and that, he put it to his smiling lips as if testing it. She grunts in reply, moving to work with the tough fabric.

"I suppose you aren't the whore we thought you to be," Ivar smirks, eyes peering at his slave who sat quietly by the hearth. He was half expecting a reaction from her, but instead she remained quiet, closing her eyes tightly and inhaling deeply. She refused to say a word. She wouldn't.

"I'm quite surprised you were allowed such an upbringing," He continues to taunt, "If women aren't allowed to fight, then how could you have learned the trade of men?" She remains quiet still, trying to ignore him as she poked the bone needle into the fabric with difficulty. She would need a lot more practice.

"You may speak freely, Artemis." To this she turns her head, shocked at her name name spilling from his lips so easily. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"I studied alongside my brother. He was to be the true heir, until he passed from plague," Artemis kept her eyes on the threading of the garment, distracting herself from Ivar's gaze, but it didn't help, "Someone had to help with the family business, even if it was a daughter." The memories of her father flashed in her mind, causing those melancholic feelings to resurface.

The man lost a wife, a son, and now a daughter. What did he have left?

Her hands begin to shake, causing her to prick a finger. She hisses, nursing her finger quickly before glancing at Ivar.

Why was he frowning?

"No mother?" He asks.

"She died when I was a girl of the side sickness,"

Ivar remains quiet, only looking at her with eyes that were less menacing and more...sympathetic. It must have been a trick of the fire. The fire makes people see what they want to see, and she had always wished for his gaze to be kinder. It was just a trick.

"I did wonder why you cannot complete the tasks a woman should," He breaks the awkward silence with a snort, "You were raised by men." He then tosses the golden cup towards her.

She catches it easily, watching the metal gleam beautifully with the colors of the roaring fire. Her reflection on it's golden surface revealed her frowning face. Ivar was right, for once. She was not the best cook or seamstress, as those tasks were expected from a woman to complete with efficiency. But her mother had passed when she was young, and Artemis didn't have the guidance that a young girl should from a mother, and there was only so much a father could provide.

"That is true," She begins, "But I can forge metals better than anyone," Well, she couldn't possibly be the best. She was still young, and with age came experience, but she was extremely skillful, and had learned so much already. She casts one last look at the chalice, thinking she'd never see it again.

Ivar eyes twinkled with mirth as a smile stretched across his pale face.

"Oh? Shall I put you to the challenge?" He was grinning now, like a mad man. Artemis ran the pad of her thumb over the rim of the chalice, her chalice, while looking at Ivar from under her lashes.

"What did you have in mind, Prince Ivar?" Ivar didn't hesitate in his answer, leaning forward in his chair as he focused all his attention on his slave.

"I am in need of a new axe, one to aid me in England. Have you ever forged one?"

The axe was the first large piece she had learned to make as it was the weapon of choice for the Emperor's soliders. Artemis hides a snicker behind her fingers, quickly gaining composure at the sudden annoyed knitting of Ivars brows.

"Of course, in the Greek fashion," Ivar hummed in approval, placing his hand under his chin in thought before replying.

"It's settled, report to me in the morning, we shall be paying the blacksmith a visit."

...

Artemis tightened her cloak around her body, hoping to shield herself from the morning chill. It seemed that the early morning and late night winds were always the harshest.

She has passed by Kattegat's blacksmith plenty of times since her duties had doubled, and she would often take a minute or two to peer inside the forge, reminiscing in the sights and sounds that tried to bring her back home. It didnt work, but she relished it, even if for a fleeting moment. But it was different arriving there with Prince Ivar, who dragged his body with gloved leather hands over the snow with determination in his eyes.

"Young Ivar, and company, what can I do for you?"

Artemis had seen this particular blacksmith before, sometimes with an older man. He was a handsome fellow, with long dark hair tied back messily, and with the typical blue eyes of the northerners. He was of strong build, broad shoulders that seemed endless and a height that made him tower over the both of them.

"Arvid," Greeted Ivar, heaving himself up onto a stool by the sharpening stone wheel, "Your father?"

"Out on business with Floki. The boats need stronger nails to support the wood," Arvid quickly answers the crippled prince, "What can I do for the prince of Kattegat?"

"My slave here is from foreign lands. She claims to be a blacksmith. I would like to put her to the test, if you can provide us with the materials needed," Ivar removes the leather from his hands, digging into the folds of his breeches to reveal a golden coin. He tosses it at Arvid who catches it in one hand with ease.

"From Ragnar's hoard?" The blacksmith asks, turning the coin over in between his fingers. It was a foreign coin for sure, but it was still gold.

"It is of no importance'" Ivar growls "Now get us what we need, she will be working on an axe," Arvid nodded, tucking the coin away in a purse before going to the back of the shop to retrieve the items.

Artemis takes in her surroundings quite vividly, as if it would be the last time she would see such a place. Not many candles were lit as the natural daylight illuminated the area just enough to work. The hearth was a familiar sight, and she absentmindedly stepped closer to it, her body shivering as it adjusted from cold to warm. It was all familiar yet so different. Everything was the same and yet nothing made it feel like home.

"Slave!" Avrid called out, "Come and help with the material."

"Her name is Artemis," Ivar shouted back with an grimace as he motioned for Artemis to remove his furs from his shoulders before taking his axe and placing it on the sharpening stone. "Go help the fool," He whispers to her. She bowed her head towards Ivar in respect before making her way towards the blacksmith, who bore the largest of smiles.

"My apologies, Artemis," Arvid had a charming smile, and she was happy to see he had all his teeth intact, "I know you," He says quietly, "You always peer in the shop. I was beginning to think it was to admire me," Arvid belted out a laugh when he saw the pink rise in her cheeks.

"I just wanted to observe your technique. It is different from what I've learned,"

"Right, well, if you say you are a smithy, then I assume you know what these items are," He had laid out on the long table familiar items to her that she had used alongside her father and brother.

"Yes." She says, running her hands over the different tools, before turning to look back at Ivar. He was sharpening his axes but his eyes were glued to the pair, the blue unmoving.

"This would take some time." Artemis says. It would take a few days, a week at most.

"Obviously," Ivar snorts, "We have time, it is not yet spring," Ivar removes the axe from the sharpening stone, testing the edge with his thumb. "We have time, but do not waste it."

"And what of my duties to you and Edda?" She wouldn't make much progress if she were expected to complete her daily duties on top of being in the forgery, it wouldn't work.

"Don't worry about the old hag, she has enough thralls to help her. But you will complete your duties to me come the morning and evening," Ivar said pointedly.

"You may begin."

Artemis flexed her fingers, removing her cloak to which Arvid took and placed away. The blacksmith then placed a small block of steel on the anvil closest to Ivar, handing her a hammer. The fires of the forge seemed to roar as Ivar's and Arvid's expectant eyes watched her for her next move.

It felt like an eternity since she had been able to touch any metals, and her hands missed the transformation of rough surfaces into smooth finishes. She placed a pair of gloves on that lay beside her with no hesitation, grabbing at the long metal tongs to grip the steel. The fire licked at the metal, turning it from its usual dark color, to a beautiful combination of bright red and orange.

Heat started to build up, and sweat began to form on Artemis' brow quickly, her curls already laying damp against her forehead. Pulling the bright yellow metal from the fire, she placed it on the anvil and took a deep breath. Gripping the hammer tightly in her hand, she raises her arm high, bringing it back down with a vicious pound.

And then she smiled.

Now it felt like home.

...

 @didiintheblog @heavenly1927

[maehara-san]

savior of the pain // eijiro kirishima x reader

Pairing: Hero!Eijiro Kirishima x F!Reader 

Summary: Eijiro never expected to save someone from such a troubling problem and y/n was just as speechless as he was.

Warning(s): fluff, mentions of pain 

                               ✸         ✸         ✸         ✸         ✸      

Kirishima smiled widely as he held the bag of meat buns in his hands. For the first time in forever, he was able to take a day off due to the low crime rate in the city. It was as if the gods listened to his prayer. 

He didn’t mind being a hero of course! 

Helping people of all ages was what he loved doing, his heart has always been driven by justice. Seeing his citizens in trouble or getting hurt by a villain made his blood boil that’s why he vowed to end every single villain so that no one would have to go through such a terrible life. 

But once in a while, it feels nice seeing the city at peace and for him, it made his heart feel at ease knowing they’re safe. 

“Man I hope Bakugo his content with the number of meat buns I was able to get.” he sighed feeling a little nervous about his reaction never the less he was excited about spending some time with his friends. 

Kirishima turned the corner seeing the apartment building a few feet away. He was about to cross the street when a woman hunched over and held her stomach. People passed by not noticing the young lady toppled over in pain. 

His eyes brows knitted together, he immediately rushed over to her forgetting about the food. 

“Miss?” he spoke and placed the bag down before moving his hand on to her back. “Are you hurt?” 

You held on to his free hand, squeezing it tightly. “I-I can’t bear with the pain...” you breathed heavily feeling the waves of pain passing through you “...a-any longer...” you stuttered. 

He scanned your figure noticing beads of sweat coming down the side of your forehead. Your skin was turning a pale (s/c), you were seriously ill. “Where are you going right now miss?” he asked. 

You tried breathing but you groaned loudly in response. “I-...” you parted your lips to continue talking only for them to be pressed into a thin line. “I...I was heading...t-to...the...h-hospital...”

“Alright, I’ll take you there.” 

You were about to deny that he’d take you on his own when he lifted you up in his arms. He carried you bridal style, your body was too weak to move so you stood still letting him hold you. 

“Just hold on for a few minutes alright?” he smiled softly trying to reassure you. 

Your lips turned into a weak smile and nodded, you held tightly on to him while your head rested on his chest. 

The pain was unbearable at the moment all you wanted was for this to stop but it kept getting stronger. Your whimpers became louder, Kirishima kept looking down at you trying to make sure you were still awake and breathing. 

“The hospital is just around the corner. Keep breathing, you’re doing such a good job.” he softly spoke, your heart fluttered in your chest hearing his kind words.

Where was he when I needed him all my life? you thought following his instructions. True to his words the hospital’s name was in your line of sight, a sigh of relief washed over you both. Someone was finally going to be able to treat you and take the pain away. 

“I need help!” Kirishima shouted. One of the nurses walked over to him, “What’s wrong?” she asked him. 

“She was hunched over in pain on the side of the street.” he answered, “She began to sweat as well and brought her as fast as I could.”

"Okay thank you for bringing her sir." the nurse said, one of the doctors placed you down on the gurney and rushed you down a hallway. One of the female doctors began asking you a serious of questions to which you nodded or mumbled out a response.

"Sir...do you know the patient's name?" Kirishima shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair realizing that he had forgotten to ask her name.

"N-no..." he said, "I forgot to ask her name...I'm sorry."

"Please wait here while we treat her." the nurse said and followed behind the doctors. They had turned a corner but he didn't know where they had taken you.

There was a sudden wave of worry washing over him. Although he didn't know you, you were still a citizen. It's his job to save people and he hoped that the doctors would be able to help you the best they could.

Time passed by, he felt hesitant about leaving you alone. Especially in the condition, you had come in, there was no reassurance that you were okay.

He lost count of how many times he had sighed the past hour. He asked the nurse but she wasn't able to answer him neither. Kirishima ignored the texts he kept getting from his friends not wanting to miss any movements of the nurse.

After some time one of the doctors that had gone in with you walked over to him. "Is she alright?! Did she need surgery?!" he exclaimed feeling anxious to know about your well being.

The doctor raised her hands as a form of telling him to calm down "Luckily you were able to bring her in time."

Kirishima sighed in relief "Does that mean she's alright?..."

She nodded and smiled softly "We gave her a pain killer to get rid of the ache she was feeling in her abdomen. (Y/n) will pass out in about an hour or so depending on how tired she is."

"I'm glad she's doing better." he commented "But what happened? Why was she in so much pain?"

"Turns out she is going through her menstrual cycle. The pain she was getting was due to the cramps she normally gets, but this time they were much stronger than before."

"Are you serious?..." he asked surprised "I can't imagine how the pain must have been like for her. Wow..."

"Men tend to think that we exaggerate when it comes to our period but the reality is the pain is much more intense than they think it is. I'm glad to see you sympathize with the young lady at least," she said.

"I mean how can I not?" he said "She was in such distress. (Y/n) wasn't able to walk at all when I saw her. Men should be more manly they need to understand being a woman is hard! I'm sorry ma'am I hope we men can comprehend your situation better."

The doctor chuckled lightly "Not all men think alike at least some do." she smiled softly "If you'd like to see her you can go in ahead."

"Really?..." his cheeks turned light pink just thinking about you seeing him "Is that alright?... I mean if she doesn't want to see me I don't want to be rude-"

The doctor then stopped him mid-sentence "Don't worry about that. (Y/n) asked about you and wanted me to tell you that she'd like to thank her savior."

He chuckled lightly feeling his stomach turn into butterflies "I-I mean... I'm not really a savior."

"To her you are." she smiled brightly "Go on ahead her room is on the left, 27."

"Thank you doctor!" he exclaimed. She left him alone and went to attend other patients.

Biting his lip he felt hesitant about going to your room. She said you told her to tell him to go in but he was nervous.

Do my armpits smell? he thought and sniffed his shirt to make sure. Why am I nervous? Man...what would Bakugou do in this situation...

He took a deep breath and tried calming himself down. Don't overthink it. Just go in and talk to her for a bit don't overstay so she can rest.

With that in mind, he knocked on your door. "Come in." you faintly said. 

He opened the door to come face with a bright light coming from outside. Your face was a bit pale, your (e/c) eyes had still its beautiful color from earlier. 

Despite how you looked you were still breathtaking.

"Hello." he shyly smiled "How are you feeling?"

You smiled weakly feeling tired "I feel a bit better the doctor said the medicine will help calm down the pain."

"That's good to hear," he said and stood in front of your bed. "I was worried something had happened. They took a while until they told me what was wrong."

"I'm sorry to make you worry over a stranger." you said, "I didn't mean to bother you...I'm sure you had better things to do today."

He shook his head "Don't worry about it." he looked into your eyes making your face feel warm. "Your well being is a lot more important than anything else."

"Well...cramps aren't that much of a worry..." you mumbled feeling embarrassed.

"It is though!" he exclaimed, you were surprised by the sudden rise in his voice.

"I'm sorry..." he rubbed the back of his head "It's just...well women are really incredible. You're strong for dealing with such harsh pain, you guys give birth to babies and still walk fine the next day. Not to mention all those months of carrying that tiny human too. You're really manly (y/n) I admire that a lot! Everyone should."

You were taken back by his kind words. No guy had ever thought that way about you, more or less compliment women on how much their bodies endure. He was truly a different soul.

"You're the first to say that." you spoke up "Of all the guys that I've gone out with...don't usually last long due to the pain I get. They think it's weak when we cry because of it...so thank you for saying those kind words."

"They don't realize how magnificent you guys are. They're not manly at all and that's sad that they can't see the great things you guys do," he commented.

"You're different," you mumbled to yourself smiling softly.

“What?” he asked and you shook your head “It’s nothing.” 

"I'm happy to see you're going to be okay." he smiled softly "You should get some rest (y/n) you need it so you can get back quickly on your feet again."

“May I at least treat you with some meat buns?” you asked. 

“H-how did you-” 

“I may have peaked at what was inside the bag. I know you left it on the street and forgot about it. I’m sorry about that.” you chuckled slightly. 

He smiled softly “Don’t worry about it like I said your health was important.” 

“Can I at least treat you to some food afterward?” you said feeling nervous about your offer. “I mean I need to thank you somehow.”

“How about when you get out of here we talk about it and take some time to get something to eat.” 

"Right..." you sadly smiled "Well...may I at least know the name of my savior?"

With flushed cheeks, he stood tall "Kirishima...Eijiro Kirishima."

"I hope to see you again soon I know you’re a busy person so please do not feel pressured by it." you softly spoke making his heart melt.

“I’ll make time and I promise to come see you when you get discharged,” he said. Your eyes lit up hearing him, you were now excited to see him soon and hoped to leave tomorrow.

“I can’t wait.” 

“Me neither (y/n).” he smiled widely with flushed cheeks. 

[joachimnapoleon]

Meet the Bonapartes: Pauline (3/3)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Following the untimely death of Leclerc, Pauline’s brothers were anxious to find her a new husband--preferably a politically advantageous one. Napoleon had hoped to marry her to Francesco Melzi d’Eril, a wealthy Milanese nobleman who had just become the Vice President of the Italian republic (Napoleon himself being the president), but Melzi respectfully declined. On August 28, 1803, Pauline was married to twenty-eight-year-old Don Camillo Filippo Ludovico Borghese, Prince of Sulmon and of Rossano, Duke and Prince of Guastalla, who, in the words of Hortense de Beauharnais, “was not particularly clever but good-looking and who possessed a great fortune in Rome.” Napoleon was lukewarm to the match and, like Pauline, quickly came to regard Camillo as “an imbecile” (Napoleon, who adored bestowing derogatory nicknames on people, would also style Camillo as “His Serene Idiot”). The pair had no real chemistry and the marriage turned sour in no time. 

[Camillo Borghese]

In the summer of 1804, however, Camillo, still enthralled by his wife’s beauty, commissioned the sculptor Antonio Canova to immortalize Pauline in white marble. Canova was initially reluctant to accept the commission--until he laid eyes on Pauline in person, after which he agreed to begin working on it within a month. To Canova’s suggestion that he depict her as Diana, the virgin huntress, Pauline laughed, saying “No one would believe in my chastity.” She insisted on being portrayed as Venus, the goddess of love. 

[Canova’s statue of Pauline as Venus Victrix]

It was in August of 1804 that the relationship between Pauline and Camillo ruptured, and it would remain ruptured seemingly past the point of repair for the next twenty years. On the 14th of August, Dermide, Pauline’s only child with Leclerc, died in Rome after falling ill with a fever. Pauline was in Tuscany at the time, trying to reestablish her poor health. The news was first received by Camillo, who, anticipating his wife’s blame, had it kept from her for several days. “Pauline will regard me with horror!” he declared. “Wasn't it I who wanted her to leave her son in Rome? No doubt he would have died anyway, but she is bound to accuse me of his death.” Finally, one of Pauline’s attendants was forced to reveal the news after arousing her suspicions. Pauline raged at Camillo as “the butcher of my son” and ordered him out of her sight. The break between them was complete, and quite public. Pauline viciously hinted to her companions that Camillo was impotent, declaring that "to give oneself to Camillo was to give oneself to no one." She showed no interest in attempting to provide him with an heir, and took great delight in humiliating him by embarking on a series of openly flaunted love affairs. For his part, Camillo soon began a long-term affair with a distant cousin, the Duchessa Lante. From this point, Pauline and Camillo would lead mostly separate lives, until the final months of Pauline’s. Having never truly enjoyed Rome, she now grabbed any opportunity she could find to escape it.

In 1805, she began the first of the only two of her numerous affairs in the aftermath of Leclerc’s death in which she showed a legitimate, deep attachment to her lover. While taking the waters at Plombières, she met an artist, the thirty-year-old Comte de Forbin, and fell madly in love with him. Pauline soon made Forbin her chamberlain, so he could be with her constantly. The affair lasted for the next two years and, writes Pauline’s biographer Margery Weiner, 

was so intense, passionate and almost fatal because her obsession with him was so great that she declined visibly, although nothing would persuade her to detach herself from him; no doubt in temperament Forbin had much in common with Murat.

[The Comte de Forbin]

The eventual decline in her health was so great that a renowned gynecologist, Dr. Hallé, was called in, to consult with Pauline’s personal physician, Peyre. Hallé explained the situation in a letter to Peyre as follows:

Her habitual and constant state is one of uterine excitement and if this state is continued and prolonged it can become alarming. The spasms I saw in her arms were hysteric and so were the headaches. Her general condition is one of exhaustion. I talked to her in general terms about everything which contributed to the uterine irritation and I thought she listened to me but I'm afraid not sufficiently. One cannot always make douches responsible and one must suppose that in a young, pretty, sensitive and solitary woman, who is visibly fading away, there is a constant cause for this decline. Whatever this cause is it is time and more than time to eliminate it.

Napoleon was greatly displeased by the stories reaching him in Paris of his sister’s behavior in Rome. “Do not count on me for help,” he wrote to her, “if at your age you let yourself be governed by bad advice,” adding that if she continued to quarrel with Camillo, “France will be closed to you.” For good measure, he had their uncle Cardinal Fesch, write to Pauline to tell her, “on my behalf, that she is no longer pretty, that she will be much less so in a few years, and... she should not indulge in those bad manners which the bon ton reproves.”

Pauline’s affair with Forbin ended only when Forbin accepted an appointment in the army--whether at his own request, or at the insistence of Napoleon, remains unclear. Pauline soon moved on to other amusements. While staying in Nice during the winter of 1807-8, a young violinist, Felice Blangini, caught Pauline’s wandering eye. Pauline offered him the post of her chef d’orchestra (she had no orchestra). Blangini was a shy man, of a much humbler station than his predecessor Forbin, and found his suddenly elevation vaguely terrifying. "I knew,” he wrote later, “that the Emperor was kept informed of what his sister did, the names of her intimates.” But he lacked the will to stand up to Pauline, and submitted to being paraded around by her in public. It was with considerable relief on Blangini’s part that the affair was abruptly ended when Napoleon appointed Camillo governor-general of the Transalpine Department of the French Empire, and ordered him and Pauline to travel to Turin together to take up the seat. 

Pauline, disgusted at finding herself shackled to Camillo once more, made the journey to Turin as quarrelsome as possible. At one point she reminded her husband "in a not very amiable fashion that he was only governor-general by virtue of being her husband, and that he would be nothing if he had not married the Emperor's sister. Which," recounts Maxime de Villemarest, the secretary who accompanied the pair, "had some truth in it." To which Camillo responded in "the most piteous manner" (in the words of de Villemarest) with cries of "Paulette! Paulette!"

By mid-1808 she had already found a way to escape from Camillo and Turin (she insisted to Napoleon that the climate was bad for her health) and was back in France once more. Added to her delight was an increase of her income by Napoleon to six hundred thousand francs, a sum that Napoleon rendered off-limits to Camillo. In Paris she presided regularly over balls and cercles, and in no time had resumed her position as one of the central figures in Parisian society. In the words of one of her neighbors, Stanislas de Girardin, 

Pauline Borghese was then in the full brilliance of her beauty. Men pressed about her to admire her, to pay court. And she enjoyed this homage as her due. In the glances she exchanged with some of them, indeed, there was a recognition of past favors granted or hints of romance to come. Few women have savored more the pleasure of being beautiful.

She was one of the few people in whom Napoleon found comfort following his divorce with Josephine--an event which pleased Pauline greatly--in December of 1809. She was less pleased at Napoleon’s choice for a new bride--the teenage archduchess Marie-Louise--and sulked with her sisters over having to carry the bride’s train at the imperial wedding. The Countess Potocka has left this innuendo-laden description of Pauline from around this time (the italics are hers):

Princess Pauline Borghese was a type of classical beauty to be found in Greek statues. Despite the things she did which hastened the ravages of time, in the evening, by the aid of a little artifice, she captured all suffrages, and not a woman would have dared to dispute her the apple which Canova awarded her after unveiled contemplation, as it was said. To the most delicate and regular features imaginable she added an admirable figure too often admired. Thanks to so many graces, her wit passed unnoticed; nothing but her gallantries were spoken of, and certainly they gave plenty of matter for discussion.

After brief liaisons with Russian general Prince Alexander Tchernitcheff and Polish general (and future Marshal) Józef Poniatowski, Pauline embarked on her second of the two aforementioned love affairs in which she genuinely seems to have fallen for her partner. This time, her lover was a young hussar from Berthier’s staff named Jules de Canouville, who became fiercely devoted to her. At Pauline’s request, Napoleon made de Canouville a baron, but the young man (and his affair with Pauline) soon incurred the Emperor’s wrath. Napoleon sent him to Marshal Masséna in Spain, bearing dispatches (and a secret order to Masséna to keep the young man in Spain until further notice). It didn’t go quite as Napoleon had planned. Pauline’s biographer Fraser describes de Canouville’s journey:

Even in the midst of this duty, de Canouville thought only of Pauline. Knowing that, with her, to be absent was to be soon forgotten, he covered 170 relays at a gallop, a distance of over seven hundred miles, and arrived a few days later, covered in mud, at headquarters in Salamanca. There he learned that the supply lines to Portugal were cut and resolved to return the next day to Paris with the news, rather than pursue his quarry further.  An hour without Pauline, he said, was a desert, and he whiled away the evening while telling all who would listen that Napoleon had charged him with his mission only by way of vengeance.

[Jules de Canouville]

In 1812, he departed with the Grande Armée for Russia, where he served on the staff of Pauline’s brother-in-law Murat, who kept Pauline apprised of de Canouville’s whereabouts--and also informed her of his death at the battle of Borodino on 7 September. News of de Canouville’s death hit Pauline hard. “Apparently this braggart cavalier,” writes Fraser, “with his joie de vivre and optimism, had touched in Pauline some chord that her other, more sophisticated lovers had not. Weeks later Pauline's librarian and confidant Ferrand wrote: 'She does nothing but cry, she doesn't eat, and her health is altered.'"

She remained at Nice throughout 1813 and into 1814, her health continuing to decline, and her anxieties over the future of her brother’s reign mounting. She made efforts to prepare her finances for any potential catastrophe that might befall the family, but evinced no concern for her personal safety. When Napoleon was finally defeated and forced to abdicate in April of 1814, Pauline prepared to join him in exile on the island of Elba--after first going to Naples. She stayed in Naples from June through October, residing in a villa loaned to her during this period by her sister Caroline, the Queen of Naples, and reportedly helping to broker a reconciliation between Napoleon and the Murats, though there is no trace of any correspondence between Napoleon and his brother-in-law from this period. She also worked to quickly sell off her remaining properties in France, rather than risk having them sequestered by the Bourbons. Her final property, Neuilly--formerly belonging to the Murats--was sold to the British government, to serve as the residence of the newly-appointed ambassador to the court of Louis XVIII, the Duke of Wellington.

Pauline finally joined Napoleon on Elba in November of 1814, the only one of his siblings to do so. Her presence delighted Napoleon, and this delight in turn gave renewed life in the British tabloids to the long-recurring rumors of an affair between Napoleon and Pauline. At any rate, Napoleon soon began to fall into a state of depression, which Pauline worked to cure by arranging various balls and other entertainments to keep him occupied. She apparently attempted to coax multiple generals into affairs on Elba, and was turned down repeatedly, and Napoleon’s Mameluke servant Ali was highly critical of her conduct. Displeased with Napoleon’s plans to escape the island and return to France, she confided to Marchand both a diamond necklace for Napoleon to sell if he needed money, and her fear that she would never see her brother again. She was proven correct.

When it became known that the Allies intended to exile Napoleon to Saint Helena after his defeat at Waterloo, Pauline wrote to the Pope to request asylum in Rome. It was granted (partly on account of her brother Louis, now residing there himself, arguing on her behalf) and she made the journey in October. Like the rest of the Bonaparte siblings, she would remain, until the death of Napoleon, under heavy surveillance by multiple governments. The further intervention of the Pope ended a dispute between Camillo and Pauline which enabled Pauline to return to the Palazzo Borghese. Pauline received many British visitors here while Napoleon was on Saint Helena, and tried to charm as many influential Whigs as she could, knowing that they were sympathetic to Napoleon’s situation. As the years passed, reports of Napoleon's deteriorating health caused Pauline great anxiety, affecting her own health in turn. Visitors described her as "much altered" and "grown thin." The Canova statue--and its obvious contrast with her own now diminished figure--suddenly brought about in her a marked insecurity, to the point where Pauline eventually asked Camillo not to show it off to visitors anymore, using the absurd excuse that "the nudity of the statue approaches indecency." 

News of Napoleon's death in 1821 left Pauline both heartbroken and outraged. As she had following the death of Dermide, she lashed out for a scapegoat, finding it this time in the English people as a whole. “I have made a vow to receive no more of the English. Without exception they are all butchers." To Hortense she wrote, "I cannot accustom myself to the idea that I will never see him again. I am in despair. Adieu. For me life has no more charm, all is finished."

She fell deathly ill in Rome in late 1823, but recovered enough to continue to charm visitors and dance at soirees again the following year. Another reconciliation was affected with Camillo (this one also via the Pope), and Pauline moved back into the Palazzo Borghese--this time for good--in 1824. Surprisingly, their relationship seemed at last to be taking a genuinely positive turn, even inspiring a local poet “to write an ode on the subject of their matrimonial felicity."

In the spring 1825, Pauline's health began to fail for the final time. She suffered greatly--her bedchamber woman writing later that Pauline had been in pain for over eighty days. Her last letter was written to her brother Louis in Rome on 13 May 1825. "I do nothing but vomit and suffer, I am reduced to a shadow. They are repairing the street and I can't stand the awful noise. The Prince is going to take a villa in the suburbs here where we shall spend the month of May. It is impossible in the state in which I am to think of going to the villa in Lucca.... Embrace Mamma and I send a thousand good wishes to the family. I am ill, ill, but I embrace you." She also confirmed herself as a devout Catholic. "I die without any feelings of hatred or animosity against anyone, in the principles of the faith and doctrine of the apostolic church, and in piety and resignation." She died on 9 June 1825; a stomach tumor was attributed as her cause of death, as it had been for her father.

“Her greatest quality,” writes Margery Weiner, “was hidden except from those who knew her best; lovable herself, she was capable of the greatest devotion.... Not as Queen of Hearts, not as a woman given over to frivolity, narcissism and promiscuity should Pauline Bonaparte be remembered, but as a perfect example of a devoted and loving sister.”

***

Sources:

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Soldier of Destiny. 2014.

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: The Spirit of the Age, 1805-1810. 2018.

De Beauharnais, Hortense. The Memoirs of Queen Hortense, Vol I (ebook, 2016)

Fraser, Flora. Venus of Empire: The Life of Pauline Bonaparte, 2009.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

Stryienski, Casimir (ed.), Memoirs of Countess Potocka, 1900.

Weiner, Margery. The Parvenue Princesses: Elisa, Pauline, and Caroline Bonaparte. 1964.

[agirlinjapan]

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes (Story 2- Week 1)

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

The Red Data Girl translation is back with another short story from Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes! This story takes place between RDG 1 and RDG 2 and gives us some information about Miyuki’s first days at Houjou Academy.

It’s nice to be working on RDG again! The past few months have been wild for me, as I’m sure they’ve been for everyone. Now that it’s summer vacation though, things are just a bit calmer than they were during the school year.

I hope everyone’s staying safe! Don’t forget to wear your masks!

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara Story Two: September Transfer Student- Miyuki Sagara- Third Year of Middle School- Fall Part 1  

Miyuki Sagara didn’t feel well that morning as he sped west down the expressway in his father’s car.

It was September fourth.

Many elementary and middle schools in Tokyo had summer vacation until August thirty-first and Houjou Academy, the school he would be going to now, was the same. The fall semester had begun on September first. His late transfer date was being explained by a leave of absence due to an illness, the same excuse given to Awatani Middle School for his sudden removal from the school.

The truth was completely different, however. This time around, Miyuki was not sick or injured. Until the beginning of September, he had been on Mt. Haguro, undergoing “fall” ascetic training.

Yukimasa hadn’t objected to this decision, but he had made plenty of snide remarks about it to his son to let him know how he really felt.

Yukimasa Sagara was an ascetic monk, but he did not train on Mt. Haguro. Miyuki’s teacher was a member of his divorced mother’s side of the family, Harunobu Sengoku.  

Yukimasa even calculated how he could bring up training to his advantage while we talked…

Even watching the scenery go by outside the window was making Miyuki feel sick, but he didn’t want to bring that up either. Yukimasa didn’t need to know that.—Afterall, the reason why Miyuki felt sick was due to the fact that he was hungover.

If this had been September first, I would have been able to go on my own…

He had gotten used to the idea of transferring schools and he would have much preferred to arrive at his new school without his father driving him there in the car while he, Miyuki, was hungover.

…Ugh. My head is pounding…

Regardless of that though, he wasn’t too upset that the day he would transfer schools had arrived. He was also completely fine with the fact that the classroom experience he was about to begin would be entirely different from the training he had just left. Besides himself, the ascetic monks he had been working with had all been adults. As a result, Miyuki had been rather on his own during his time in the mountains.

Mr. Sengoku helped me out a lot…

As far as Miyuki was concerned, the real father figure in his life was Mr. Sengoku. It was true that the man holding the steering wheel next to him right now was his father in the way that he had come before him in the gene pool, but in the end, that was really just a source of anger to Miyuki.

From Miyuki’s perspective, Yukimasa, who was driving the car with a pleasant expression on his face, didn’t look anything like a father. He had the physique of a young person and his hair was dyed a stylish brown. What was more, he was so used to being admired by other people, he tended to strike poses without even realizing what he was doing.

It was clear to anyone who saw him that he was the sort of man who had made plenty of women cry.

Miyuki had been born when his father had been barely legal himself. Then, seven years later, he had gotten divorced. Miyuki could vividly remember the day it had happened. He had been in fifth grade at the time. Yukimasa had conducted himself in a completely shameless manner even on the day it had taken place.

After the divorce had been made official, Harunobu Sengoku had been the only member of his mother’s side of the family that he had continued to see. He had even more or less lost contact with his mother. He didn’t know what his other relatives’ situations were, but in Kaori’s case at least, she never reached out to get in contact with him.

Yukimasa didn’t seem to notice the silence in the car. Smiling at something he had thought of, he opened his mouth the slightest bit as if he was going to hum and then said, “That’s right. I need to tell you something. I’m coming with you today so that I can get a certificate of residency here in Tokyo. I’m changing my address from the house in Wakayama Prefecture to one here. That’ll take some time to process, though.”

“Oh.”

The house in Wakayama had been Miyuki’s address when he had been transferring middle schools last time. When Miyuki had taken the elite Keibun Academy’s entrance exam, he had been grateful for a chance to live without his father, but Yukimasa had quickly acquired a house nearby. Yukimasa’s ability to pick up and move wherever was a great nuisance to his only child.

“Are you going to be living near my school again?”

“Seeing as you’re going to be living in the student dorms this time, it doesn’t really matter where I live.”

“Thank God you’re not throwing me into some random woman’s house again and making me eat her bad cooking.”

Since Yukimasa’s divorce, this had happened more times than Miyuki cared to count. Of course, there had been women who had been good cooks as well, but he ignored that in this moment.

“That’s an ungrateful thing to say,” Yukimasa answered composedly. “They were all just doing their best.”

“If by doing their best, they had an ulterior motive,” Miyuki retorted testily. In reality, however, Miyuki had always gone along with those sorts of changes in his father’s life, quickly finding the good points of each of the women that moved in with them. There had been a limit to all of that though.

“I wish you would have let me move into a dorm earlier.”

The car had turned off of the highway at some point and was now driving down a city road. It didn’t look the way Miyuki imagined Tokyo. The rows of buildings they were passing were small and simple. A nearby mountain range with blue sky and clouds above it was visible beyond the buildings as well.

Seeing as Miyuki was always moving, he had never gotten used to one area over another, but not having lived in Tokyo before, he was thoroughly surprised by what he was seeing now.

“…This looks like the countryside.”

“The Tokyo area has little towns and even remote fishing communities on islands. Your perception of the city is limited.”

Miyuki decided to keep his mouth shut until he got out of the car. However, it turned out that they were only a few minutes away from their destination.

The place was greener than he would have thought with stylish school buildings. It reminded him a little of the updated area of Tokyo Station in the way that the buildings were older, but had clearly been remodeled. Miyuki wasn’t necessarily impressed with the school because of it, but assuming the buildings weren’t a deception, this was probably an expensive place to attend.

Yukimasa parked the car outside of the school’s front gate, but did not move to undo his seat belt.

“I guess you can go on alone from here,” he said to Miyuki, remaining where he was. “I’m not going to introduce myself at the school today. You can handle the apology for being three days late on your own, right?”

It was all a bit strange, but seeing as it was what Miyuki wanted as well, he hurried to get out of the car before Yukimasa could change his mind.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t let anyone know the real reason why you’re at this school and stick to the plan as much as possible. And don’t drink as much as you did on the mountain.”

Miyuki felt like snapping at Yukimasa. His father always needed to get the last jab in.

“Obviously.”

“This school takes school customs more seriously than Keibun Academy did. You need to figure that out quickly. And don’t forget that you’re the one who wanted to come here. There’s no point in resenting me for sending you.”

“You can leave now.”

As Miyuki scowled at him, Yukimasa turned his smiling face from his son and drove away. The rental car grew smaller until it turned a corner on the street and disappeared.

Miyuki continued to gaze down the road, not because he was reluctant to enter the school, but because the weather was so nice. The longer he stood there though, the harder it became to move.

…I think I’m carsick now on top of everything now. I feel terrible.

His mood no brighter than it had been before, Miyuki took an unenthusiastic step towards the entrance to the middle school.

Keep reading!

[rainiedeforest]

I saw your headcanons for Madame Lan and I totally love them. Could you do the same but with Ouyang Zizhen's family? I always imagine them as a large family with a lot of children and various wives. Thank you in advance.

Ok, first thing, thanks for the ask! It has made me very excited and I hope you like it because it is the first one I have to answer :3 So... I've been looking for information about marriages in Ancient China because I don't want to screw it up and I've seen that although polygamy was allowed, it was only allowed in the upper-middle classes (because they had to be able to maintain them and so) and that it consisted of a first wife and the rest concubines (who could rise in rank to wives if they were mothers of heirs and the first wife died, or if the first wife died and the man decided to marry one of them). I don’t know if there would be more wives, but with this information and the “big family vibes” that I have from the rereading of a saga... This has come out xD (If you want something more, please, feel free to ask)

The leader of the Ouyang Sect married a woman in his youth with whom, no matter how hard he tried, he could’t have children in theory. Seeing that he could run out of heirs to continue his bloodline, legacy and inherit his surname and sect, he took a concubine from whom were born two girls and a boy (Zizhen).

Four years after Zizhen was born, the concubine passes away and the first wife takes care of them as if they were her own children, despite the fact that she later manages to get pregnant with two girls.

Zizhen, although he is the son of a concubine, is the only male in the line of succession and has priority over the girls.

Zizhen's father decides to take another concubine so he will be able to secure the line with some other male child in case something bad happens to his first-born Zizhen, and from that union were born two boys and a girl. The concubine ends up dying during the delivery of the third child due to complications and bleeding that they (the doctors) weren’t able to control.

Two years later, the firs wife died of an illness and he, to strengthen an alliance with the Yao Sect, took as his wife the niece of his friend's wife, who gave him two more daughters and, finally, another son. 

I leave here a small list of the children with the ages according to the year in which the "present" of the novel takes place (I have the headcanon that Zizhen is 16 years old):

First daughter of the 1st concubine, 22 years old.

Second daughter of the 1st concubine, 19 years old.

First son of the 1st concubine, 16 years old (Zizhen).

Third daughter of the 1st wife, 11 years old.

Fourth daughter of the 1st wife, 10 years old.

Second son of the 2nd concubine, 7 years old.

Fifth daughter of the 2nd concubine, 6 years old.

Third son of the 2nd concubine, 4 years old.

Sixth daughter of the 2nd wife, 2 years old.

Seventh daughter of the 2nd wife, 2 years old.

Fourth son of the 2nd wife, 5 months old.

And, going back to the headcanons:

Zizhen, being the heir, grew up with a lot of responsibilities and having to be perfect. And at first, he was, but, as he got older, he grew up admiring his two older sisters, who have a fairly high level of cultivation and don't care too much about social conventions (unfortunately for their father who can't manage marry them!).

His older sisters, seeing how sensitive he was to what was expected of a man, encouraged him to follow the path of the arts, buying him books of poetry and romance novels to increase his knowledge. They encouraged him to paint or learn an instrument as well, but it's not something he is particularly good at so... better not.

Zizhen adores his older sisters and, when they are at home (since they take the opportunity to travel quite often so they haven’t to hear their father telling them about marriage), he can be seen following them around the gardens like a duckling (which both sisters find adorable and annoys their father because that’s not the way of behave of an heir).

But, in addition, he has had to take care of his little brothers with whom he doesn’t mind playing. If he has to get down on the ground to chase beetles or ants or make mud cakes, then he will get down on the ground and that's it.

And he doesn't find them annoying (as other people may think), but rather loves that the house is so full of life. He loves his brothers very much (he would give his life for them) and on more than one occasion he has come out to defend them in front of his father (who tells him that he is a shameless boy who does nothing more than reply in bad manners to his elders - bless his rebel phase-).

If any of the little ones do something mischievous (especially his seven-year-old brother and six-year-old sister), he will cover them without a second thought (even if he was the objetive of the jokes).

His four-year-old little brother and the two-year-old twins take advantage of his kindness and manipulate him into giving them candy, even though they have been forbidden to eat sweets before dinner. But Zizhen always has a large supply of candy (which he learned to have from his older sisters).

His eleven and ten year old sisters are the most difficult to deal with because they think they are older and try to flirt with the other disciples (much to the amusement of the two older sisters). Zizhen has caught them on more than one occasion putting on makeup so much that they could pass for ghosts.

With the mothers of his siblings: the first wife, the second concubine and the second wife, he always maintained a good relationship and the women didn’t hesitate to mold him into what they believed to be an educated and pleasant young cultivator (they took as an example Lan Xichen xD), cultivating his sensitivity and his kindness (neither of them wanted Zizhen to look like his father).

In resume: they are quite a noisy family, but a really loving one. Zizhen is delighted to have so many siblings because they make his life happy and take a lot of weight off of his duties as the future leader of the sect, but also because being so many and having such different personalities, he has learned to mediate and get people to get along (something that later he uses with Jin Ling and company).

And speaking of Jin Ling, the first time he went to visit the Ouyang sect with his uncle Jiang Cheng, and saw such a pack of kids, he sticked Zizhen like a gum so they couldn't do anything to him. He completely failed because: the eleven and ten year old sisters tried to flirt with him while the seven and six year olds put a snake on his bed that night and the four and two year olds hung on his arms asking for candy. The only one he found “adorable” was the youngest five-month-old, at least until he drool all over his cheek thinking it was something yummy.

Extra: "What did you think of my siblings?" asked Zizhen with a big smile on his lips. "Noisy." "Mm... I think they are lovely." Jin Ling rolled his eyes. "If you like beasts." Zizhen made as he hasn’t heard him. "And my older sisters?" “Your what?” “My older sisters” “Exactly... How many siblings do you say you have?” Zizhen’s smile only grew more. “I have seven sisters and three brothers. Why?" "Because... Nothing…"

Needless to say, Jin Ling blushed violently when he saw Zizhen's older sisters return from training like they were goddess. Both women burst out laughing and soon cooed him exclaiming that he was adorable. "This has never happened," said Jin Ling fighting with the blush on his cheeks. "I won’t tell a soul, A-Ling" "OUYANG ZIZHEN!"

[soyforramen]

BHDC - Round 3 - Pirates

(Thanks to @satelliteinasupernova for helping me pick a historical era for this!)

Weak in the Knees

The sea was a harsh mistress - fickle, stormy, and deadly if you weren’t careful.  She would take your life as quickly as she took your heart.  Never could man tame her, nor could he understand her, he could only pray that he stayed on her good side.  She was also the best thing that had ever happened to Forsythe Jones the Third.

Employed at ten on a small trading sloop, sent to man the crows nest and work the rigging, he’d lost his heart to the open skies and lawless waves.  By fifteen he’d learned enough to become a crewman, his gangly body’s reach a boon during rough storms.  In his sixteenth year he, along with the rest of The Intrepid, had been pressed into British service for a war they neither knew nor cared about.  And by eighteen he’d traded the British Naval Fleet’s canon and tack for the crew of The Whyte Wyrm.  His shares were one one-hundredth of what it should have been, but Jones would have gladly worked for rum and plantains to get away from Admiral St. Clair’s savage rule.

The Captain of the Wyrm took a strange liking to Jones, partially because they shared the same strange name and partially because Jones was a quick, eager study.  An old, wizened drunkard too fond of the stories of his youth, F.P. had taken Jones under his wing and trained him in the manner of a second mate to the ire of the older crew.  Yet none complained for F.P. fostered a camaraderie that the British Navy, despite all their ineffectual pomp and circumstance, could never hope to rival.

Among the younger crew Jones found camaraderie of his own.  Each had lived on the sea longer than they ever had on land and knew a ship better than themselves.  So when the Wyrm sank due to the Captain’s error off the lagoon reefs of Bermuda, the younger crew staked a claim in their own future.  

Four years of hard work, scraping together their funds doing jobs for smugglers, merchants, and the occasional naive Lord who wanted the true ‘Treasure Island’ experience, had led to this moment.  They’d managed to save enough to trade for an old merchant ship, tried and true, one that had weathered many a storm.  Mr. Lodge had promised that this was a ship worthy of any seafaring man worth his salt.  It was an offer too good to pass up for the quartet, and so Fangs had readily negotiated for her.

“Doesn’t it make ye want to weep?” Fangs asked.

He clapped Jones on the shoulder and slid an arm around Toni’s waist.  Sweet Pea grunted, but even he couldn’t hide his excitement.  Standing on the dock the quartet gazed in marvel at the run down ship, it’s hide tattered by hastily filled canon holes and barnacles six inches deep, the sails eaten through by rats, and the mast standing only through a feat of tar, rope, and a strange aversion to gravity.

Weep was perhaps too strong a word, but despite its tattered disposition, The Iconoclast was theirs.  For once in their short, miserable lives they had something to their names.  Their future was their own.  To pirate or pillage, to trade or travel; the decision was theirs and theirs alone.

And the thought made Jones weak in the knees.

A brisk sea wind tickled the back of Elizabeth’s neck and she ran a hand across it to disperse the strange vulnerability she felt.  Necessity required her hair to be shorn almost to her scalp, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a pain of regret.  The loss of her hair made her feel naked in a way the harsh wool of the trouser should have.  The trousers, at least, facilitated her movement and helped her hide in plain sight.  

She walked down the docks to the next ship in port and was greeted by a leather faced man with a missing eye, the empty socket puckered and black.  Elizabeth swallowed her revulsion and stepped up to the man with her chin high despite the shaking of her hands.  The man chuckled at her bravado.  He made an awful retching noise and spat up a glob at her feet.  

“Lookin’ fer werk?” he drawled, amused by her if his grin was anything to go by.

“Yes.”  She winced at how high her voice sounded.  She cleared her throat and did her best to flatten the pitch to a gravel that itched her throat.  “Yes, I am.”

The man guffawed and winked lewdly as if he knew her secret.  “We’re dry docked until the captain sobers up.  Try the tavern off the square.  Ask fer Fangs.”

She nodded a thanks and turned back towards the town.  The man’s voice slowed her step and she turned back to him.

“They’re bastards, the whole lotta them,” he said.  “I’d be careful around those curs if I were you, sir.”

Elizabeth scurried away, the man’s hacking laughter haunting her.  She burrowed further into her coat.  If she weren’t able to blend in as a man she’d be found out quickly and sold to the highest bidder, pressed into service at the local bar or brothel, or worse.  Brought back to her mother and pressed into marriage.

It was easy enough to find the square in the bustling town.  Finding the tavern containing a ‘Fangs’, however, was much harder.  Almost every building around the square housed a tavern full of brawling, drunken men stinking of sweat, dirt, and rum, their companions ladies whose hard lives were etched in the lines around their eyes, skirts cut short above the knee.  These were the places her peers whispered about, aghast at the sheer depravity and jealous of the unrestrained revelry.  In all her life, Elizabeth never could have foretold this sort of people could be her saving grace.

It wasn’t until the fifth tavern that she had any luck.  Behind the bar was a rough looking woman, her leather skin beaten by the sun and highlighted with rouge and tattoos.  Elizabeth shouted above the din and the bartender nodded.

“But you din’t want a thing to do with them, laddie.  Only greenhorns looking fer an early grave,” the woman cautioned.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from pleading.  This was the third coastal town she’d been to and the first she’d found any hope of leaving Bermuda.  With a sigh, the barkeep nodded towards the back corner of the room where a pair were holding court at a wooden table by the fireplace.  Elizabeth nodded her thanks and picked her way through the rank crowd.

The large one of the pair, dark complected and scowling, gave her pause.  He towered over his companion even while seated, his arms coursed through with muscles borne of fighting the sea.  A black and blue sea snake coursed through waves drawn on his arms, its tail propelling the creature from one wrist to the other.  Next to him sat a petite woman, her long, sun kissed hair strewn through with pink and purple ribbons.  Kohl outlined her dark eyes and brightened her smile.  They made an odd pair in this tavern full of old, sun-beaten men and women, both too young and new to have much experience.

She swallowed down her fear; Elizabeth hadn’t made it this far to let her own prejudices hold her back.  It didn’t matter if they were young or old, experienced or not.  All she needed was a ship that could take her away from this island as quickly as possible.  

“Fangs?” she asked in a wavering voice when she drew near.

The tall man sneered at her and crossed his arms, a threat that made the sea snake writhe along the inked sea.  The woman peered at her in curiosity.  Elizabeth drew her fingers into her palms to keep from rearranging the ill fitting clothes.  Without the gloves she normally wore her nails bit into her skin and the pain reminded her why she was there.

“I heard you were looking to take on crew.”

The man snorted and waved her on, as dismissive a gesture as she’d ever seen at any of Lord Mantle’s dances.  Elizabeth held her ground.

“Are you Fangs?” she repeated.

The woman, taking pity on her, shook her head.  The ribbons danced, a hypnotic wave of color that rivaled any fashionable trend from London.  

“You just missed him.  But I don’t think this is the crew for you,” she said kindly.

Elizabeth was stunned.  Never before had she been denied anything; the daughter of a landed Baron - former Baron - she’d grown up with all manner of worldly creations at her feet.  Anything her hearts desire had been done at once, unless it went against her mother’s wishes.

“And why not?”

The woman raised her eyebrows.  “Have you ever been asea?  Have you ever held on for your life while Poseidon crashed down around you, determined to take you for his own?  Have you ever sat on deck for days on end while Helios does his best to make you believe you’re in a Maharaja’s palace?  Have you ever -“ she glanced down at Elizabeth’s hands, pale and unblemished “-worked a day in your life?”

Fury ran up Elizabeth’s chest into her face; no one dared to speak to her in this way, especially not some commoner.  Her nails bit deeper, drawing a bit of blood.  She squeezed harder until the fury ebbed.  That wasn’t her place anymore.  She was, if nothing else, lower in status than the two in front of her and if she didn’t act with the proper etiquette she would quickly be found out.

“I’m willing to do whatever work you require.”

The tall man snorted and purposefully looked away from her.  “Keep walking.”

“Are you Fangs?” Elizabeth challenged again.

“If I’m not?”

“I was told Fangs was hiring.  If you aren’t Fangs -“

An arm was thrown over her shoulders and she stiffened at the overly familiar touch.  The smell of rum, pomade, and a day spent in the sun overwhelmed her.

“You were looking fer me?”

Elizabeth turned her head a fraction to find a man with close cropped hair crowding her.  “Fangs, I presume?”

He grinned.  “Aye.  And you are?”

“Eli-“ she caught herself, though not quick enough at the woman’s interested glance. “zar.  Elizar Smith.”

“Well then Eli, what fate brings you our way?”  Fangs said as he sat down at the table.  He sloshed out a bottle of amber liquid into three waiting cups and pushed one towards her.  Forgoing a cup, he drank deeply from the bottle.

Elizabeth - Elizar now, she supposed - pursed her lips.  A farce done once was theater; a farce done twice was folly.  

“Work.”

Fangs looked her up and down, a mirror to what had just concluded.  “Can you climb?”

“Yes.  My father couldn’t keep me out of the cork trees he kept.”

“Can you follow orders?”

“I’ve been doing it all my life, I don’t see why I should stop now,” she said sourly, remembrances of all her mother’s chastising coming to mind.

Fangs and the woman laughed at her cheek.  

“Can you cook?”

Her mouth went dry.  A woman of her station always had someone to cook for them, to clean and launder for them, but how hard could manual labor be?  A bit of water, a bit of heat, and you have a meal; a bit of elbow grease, thread, and cloth and you have a sail.  

A lie, though, could not fall from her tongue.  Regardless of her urgency, she’d heard too many stories from her brother of pirates killing their own, hanging them off the side of the deck and watching for sport as the sharks and eels and piranhas leapt to eat their crew.  How easily they’d eat their own companions when food ran low, or how quick they were to draw guns over an insult.  

“No.  I’m afraid I’ve never had the privilege.”

Fangs nodded at her honesty.  He raised his glass in a toast that no one else joined.  “We push off at dawn in two days.  You’ll be paid a hundredth of anything we make, minus provisions.”

He held out his hand and Elizabeth shook it, ignoring his companions.  Business concluded, Elizabeth stood and made a shaky exit.  She escaped into the alley behind the tavern to catch her breath.  Without lies or deception she managed to make her way in the world.  Though she’d never had to do anything more taxing than a waltz with a suitor, she was determined to make this work.  

She had to, if she wanted to be free of this island she’d been brought to as a babe.  The prospect of leaving the broken mess of her mother’s dreams behind; the shame of her sister; the anger of her father.  It was almost too much to be denied it now.

The reality of it made her weak in the knees.

(Cross posted on Ao3)