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scary-grace · 1 month

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Off-Script - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is my second fic for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, with the prompt 'summer blockbuster'! As usual, thank you for running this event and congratulations on the milestone!

Chapter 1

“No.”

“No?” Midoriya Izuku repeats. He taps his headset, like there’s something wrong with it instead of what Dabi just said. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t do swordfighting,” Dabi says. “It’s in my contract.”

Midoriya looks baffled, just like every newbie director who’s ever hit their head against one of the batshit provisions in Dabi’s contracts. And Dabi’s not anywhere close to done with kicking the director around. “How come I’ve got a sword, anyway? Quicksilver didn’t have one in any of the other movies. Or the comics.”

In Tomura’s opinion, Dabi should keep his mouth shut about what happens in the X-Men comics. Everything he knows about the comics and the character he plays is something Tomura had to explain to him way too many times, in detail. “We’re rebooting the Apocalypse arc,” Midoriya says. “The premise is that Apocalypse rises in every age – long enough for people to forget about him in between – and the same characters have been fighting him the whole time, reincarnated over and over again. Only this time it’s different, because four of those characters have been chosen as Horsemen, and they’re fighting for Apocalypse, not against him.”

“Great. Why is there a swordfight?”

“In the original arc, technology provided a boost to the anti-Apocalypse forces,” Midoriya says. “By setting it in the Iron Age, we’re taking that advantage away. That’s why everyone has weapons. Including Quicksilver.”

“Cool.” Dabi lights up a cigarette. “I’m still not doing it.”

“But –”

“That’s what I pay him for.” Dabi jerks a thumb at Tomura. “Talk to him.”

Tomura’s been Dabi’s stunt double for basically all of Dabi’s career. Most stunt doubles stick to stunts, but over the years, Tomura’s role has expanded from stunts to include anything Dabi doesn’t feel like doing. Swordfighting isn’t a stunt. It should be well within Dabi’s skills. And it is – he just doesn’t want to do it. Which means that Tomura’s up.

Midoriya looks at Tomura hopefully. Tomura levers himself up off the wall and rolls his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Midoriya follows him to costume and makeup, yapping the whole way, trying to figure out what he did to upset Dabi so much. Tomura thinks about explaining that it’s not Midoriya’s problem and Dabi’s just like that, then decides against it. Midoriya’s the one who decided not to recast Quicksilver, and Dabi isn’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He made his own bed. Tomura’s not here to tuck him in, and he’s not here to make excuses for Dabi. He’s here to do stunts. That’s it.

Quicksilver’s costume isn’t skintight, which makes it miles better than any of the other Quicksilver suits Tomura’s had to wear since Dabi was first cast in the franchise. It’s his first time in the outfit, so he asks the costumer about it. “There was no Lycra in the Iron Age,” Magne explains as she stitches one last panel into place. “The director wanted historically accurate materials. And the SFX team threatened to quit if they had to edit any more bulges out of the shots.”

That’s a relief. Whenever a new movie in the franchise comes out, the fan blogs make lists ranking all the bulges, which is awkward at best and career-threatening at worst, given the one time a list used a shot where Tomura was doubling Dabi and ranked it higher than Dabi had ever placed on his own. Midoriya is deeply weird, even as far as directors go, but Tomura will take the wins where he can get them.

He tunes back in to what Midoriya’s saying as Magne screws around with his hair to mimic Quicksilver’s signature look. “Who am I fighting again?”

“Psylocke. You read the script, right?”

Sure, Tomura read the script. The script isn’t the problem so much as the fact that the actress playing Psylocke quit last week. “Did you find a new one?”

“Of course!” Midoriya brightens up creepily fast. “Right, you should meet her! She’s – um –”

“Up at the site already,” Magne says, spraying Tomura with hairspray without warning him first. “She was pretty quick to costume. I didn’t even have to put her in a wig.”

Midoriya beams. “She’s great,” he says. “We’re lucky we found her on such short notice.”

“Who is she?”

Midoriya says a name Tomura’s never heard in his life. Magne hasn’t heard it, either. “Come again?”

“She’s on the newer side,” Midoriya says. His smile’s looking a little insane. “Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec.” Magne sprays Tomura again, then attaches three motion-capture dots to his forehead. “There we go. All set.”

Tomura stands up, but he doesn’t get clear fast enough to avoid Magne’s customary ass-slap. “Break a leg,” she says.

“Thanks.” Tomura slinks out of the costume tent, already in a mood.

They drive to the site in one of the various beat-to-shit Jeeps Midoriya inherited from the person who directed the last X-Men movie. Midoriya drives, which is bad all on its own, but halfway there, Tomura realizes there’s someone missing. “Don’t we need Aizawa on this?”

“Aizawa’s choreographing the first big fight scene. Most of the actors haven’t done real swordfighting before, so it’s taking a while.” Midoriya’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled in a way that makes Tomura wonder if he should be bailing out of the car. He’s pretty sure he can do it without getting a single bruise. “Even if it’s just for a few tracking shots before we cut away to you – sorry, Dabi – chasing Psylocke, it needs to look good.”

That’s fair. Tomura hates a lazy background shot, on the rare occasions when he watches a movie. Midoriya glances at him. “I know you said you read the script, but – give me your take on what’s going on in the scene.”

Tomura’s heard Midoriya ask people that before. Correction: He’s heard him ask actors before. “I’m not an actor.”

“There’s not a ton of dialogue in this scene. The physical aspect has to tell the story,” Midoriya says. “So?”

He’s not going to let this go. Tomura decides to get it over with. “During the main fight, Psylocke lifts the artifact everybody’s fighting over and runs. Quicksilver goes to catch her, but she uses her mutation to slow down time around him, which puts him on the same playing field as she is. They fight, he pulls her mask off, and figures out she used to be on his side. Then she cheap-shots him and escapes with half the artifact. Did I get it?”

Midoriya nods, but he’s frowning. “Quicksilver and Psylocke are foil characters in this interpretation of the story. He’s Magneto’s son and she’s part of a family of heroes. When they recognize each other, it should be a shock – they’re not just seeing a friend who’s now an enemy, they’re each seeing the person they should have been. So the back half of the fight should, like, reflect that.”

Tomura doesn’t do emotional turmoil. “You want Dabi for this.”

“That was the plan,” Midoriya says. He sighs. “Just – do your best, okay?”

Tomura was doing high-wire stunts while Midoriya was still in high school. He doesn’t need hyping up for a swordfight he can do in his sleep. But just because he can do it in his sleep doesn’t mean the actress Midoriya pulled out of a cattle call will be any good at it. “Does Psylocke 2.0 know what she’s doing?”

“That’s why I picked her.”

Huh. Tomura crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat for the remainder of the ride.

The site is up on a bluff, in a stretch of forest thick enough that barely any sunlight gets through. “This is supposed to be a nighttime scene, but thanks to the tree cover we can fake it,” Midoriya explains as he parks the Jeep and scrambles out. “Hey, guys! Over here!”

The crew looks like they’ve been waiting a while. Tomura knows most of them after spending the last seven years on the sets of various X-Men movies and hanging out at C-list afterparties. Of the group, he really only gets along with Spinner, who handles props. Everybody else is just someone else to be irritated with when they inevitably start bossing Tomura around. He props his feet on the dashboard and waits for something to happen.

“Psylocke! Quicksilver! Over here!”

Midoriya’s beckoning to him. Tomura forgot about Midoriya’s habit of using character names during shoots, and he thought Dabi was just using it as something to bitch about until right now. It’s annoying as hell. Tomura gets out of the car and skulks over, but someone else gets there first. Midoriya’s talking to her as Tomura approaches. “I know the script says you’re shooting with Dabi, but he, um, doesn’t do swordfights, so he sent his stunt double instead.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not you,” Midoriya says hurriedly. “He’s just having an off day.”

“An off year,” Tomura corrects. Midoriya jumps, steps aside, and gives Tomura his first look at you.

He sees right away what Magne meant about your hair – you match Psylocke’s design from the comments in length and color, even if the texture’s wrong. You’re a little shorter than the original actress, and you don’t look like an actress, even though the makeup artists already got to you. Actresses in big-budget films look a lot like each other, because they’re all wearing the same makeup and getting the same plastic surgeries, and they’re all the same kind of hot. You look way too much like a person. Like you should be behind the camera, not in front of it.

As Tomura sizes you up, he’s well aware that you’re doing the same thing to him, probably having the same thoughts. But you smile and hold out your hand to shake. “Hi. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Tomura shakes your hand for lack of anything better to do. “Go see Spinner for props,” Midoriya instructs, “and think about how you want to do this. Maybe get in character also? I’m not sure how many takes we’ll get before the light changes.”

“Got it,” you say. “Spinner is –”

“The guy with the swords,” Tomura says. It’s hard not to roll his eyes, and it gets harder when you fall into step beside him. Spinner is waiting for you both behind the props table. “Hey.”

“I was expecting Dabi,” Spinner says, picking up a sword. When Tomura reaches for it, Spinner chucks it to one side and lifts another. “I was gonna give him that one, but you’re better than he is, so I can trust you with this.”

Instead of the kodachi, he’s holding out a tachi to Tomura. “See how you like the balance on that. And for you, Psylocke – one katana, coming right up.”

Tomura keeps one eye on you and your sword while he’s testing the balance on his. You’re not being stupid with it, at least not yet. Holding it properly is the lowest possible bar, but Tomura’s met plenty of actors who can’t even manage that, and at least your grip looks solid. You walk a few steps away to practice sheathing and unsheathing it, and Spinner elbows Tomura. He nods in your direction. “What do you think?”

“What rock did Midoriya find her under?”

“I think she’s a stage actor,” Spinners says. Great. “Mainly musicals. She’s never gotten cast as anything bigger than an understudy.”

Tomura would facepalm, except he’s holding a sword. “Still,” Spinner says speculatively, “the director’s not a total moron. He must have seen something he likes.”

“Yeah. He likes not having to blow the costume budget on a wig,” Tomura says, probably a little too loudly. He sees your shoulders stiffen, and you turn to face him. You don’t look like you’re going to cry or anything, but Tomura’s been wrong about that before. “What?”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to practice, or if we’re doing it blind,” you say. Before Tomura can answer, you make the decision. “I say blind. It’ll look more authentic if we’ve never fought each other before.”

Tomura likes that idea, if only because the chaos will mask his total lack of acting skills, but he was counting on a practice round to test your actual abilities. Still, it’s your funeral. “Fine by me. I’m not going to go easy on you or anything.”

“I’m glad,” you say, and smile. Tomura already saw you smile once, but it was nowhere close to being this spooky. You have to be doing it on purpose. “I wasn’t planning to go easy on you, either.”

Tomura should say something – maybe along the lines of ‘we just got off on the wrong foot, don’t cut my fucking head off’ – but before he can, Midoriya orders everyone to places. He must have given you instructions ahead of time, because you vanish into the trees, leaving Tomura to follow Midoriya’s hyperspecific directions for hitting his first mark. “We’re just going to roll,” he says, as Tomura steps out of frame and braces himself to run. “I’ll call cut once things go sideways.”

Things go sideways in choreographed fight scenes all the time. Things going sideways in an improvised fight is a guarantee. “Right.”

“Psylocke, are you set?”

“Set,” you call out from somewhere.

Midoriya takes a deep breath, like he’s the one who’s about to start a fake fight. “Okay. Action!”

Fake-running and skidding to a stop isn’t Tomura’s specialty or anything, but he can make it work. He hits the mark Midoriya specified, raises his hand to the hilt of his sword without drawing it, and takes a look around. Right here and now, there’s no reason for Quicksilver to think that someone’s about to attack him. Even Psylocke using her powers to slow him down could just be a tactic to ensure her escape. She’s basically already escaped. All Quicksilver has to do is wait for her grip on time to slacken, and then –

A twig snaps behind Tomura and he throws himself forward into a roll, pivoting as he gets to his knees and drawing his sword in the same moment. You put a lot of strength and a lot of momentum into your first strike, and if this was a real fight, Tomura would be injured or dead. As it is, you checked yourself at the last second, and you take your time settling into your next attack, giving Tomura just a second or two to plan out his own.

No attack yet. His wingspan is wider than yours and the blade of his sword is longer, which means the first step for Quicksilver to avoid a katana through the neck is to get out of Psylocke’s range. You’re not screwing around, so Tomura won’t, either – he picks up a handful of leaf litter, throws it into your face, and gets to a safe distance, remembering at the last second to make it look even sort of stylized. It’s a movie, after all.

You’re taking it seriously. The suddenness of your first attack has Tomura on edge, and the lack of any direction or choreography means he’s got no idea what you’re going to do. They won’t be in the back half of the fight until he pulls your mask down, and haphazard grabs look stupid on camera. He needs to get your mask on the first try, and between now and then, he needs to put on a show.

Tomura strikes at you, and you duck, pivot, halfway inside his guard before he can reverse the strike. But you’re in too close to use your katana effectively – on purpose – and Tomura aims a punch at your torso, hoping you know how to fake a hit. You do. You exhale sharply, jerk backwards, and Tomura separates from you again.

Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? Why are you going this hard? It occurs to Tomura as he parries your counterstrike and returns a few of his own that these are the same thoughts Quicksilver would be having if any of this was real. Now that Tomura’s introduced hand-to-hand combat into the equation, you start using it, too, throwing a high kick that brushes ever so slightly against Tomura’s jaw. Tomura snaps his head sideways to make it look good, then lurches backwards in response to a fake punch to the solar plexus. He’s holding his own, and he’s in control of the fight, but to the camera and everybody else it’s going to look like Psylocke is handing Quicksilver his ass.

And you should be. Tomura underestimated you, then insulted you, and now you’re making him pay. But as interesting as the fight’s getting, it’s a movie, not a grudge match. Tomura shortens his attacks and you step in closer, close enough for him to grab your mask. Or it would be, if your face was where it’s supposed to be. Instead you’ve gotten all the way inside Tomura’s guard, stepped across him, and grabbed his shoulder with your free hand – and now you’re throwing him over your hip to the ground.

You’ve got the physical strength to pull it off – Tomura can feel it – but he gives you some help anyway, making the resulting fall look even harder than it’s supposed to. He lands flat on his back with you poised above him, pinning him down with your katana at the ready. Now would be a great time to grab the artifact, since it’s hanging on a loop around your neck, but Tomura’s got his orders, as stupid as they are. He reaches up, seizes the mask over your mouth and nose, and pulls it down.

You really can act. Tomura watches your expression shift from startled to shocked to something else, and you recoil backwards away from him. Tomura’s slow to rise, because Quicksilver’s supposed to be shocked, too. Dabi’s going to have to deal with whatever character choices Tomura’s making here, and he’s going to be pissed. Tomura doesn’t care. If Dabi wanted to have a say over what this fight looks like, he should have done it himself.

You’re pulling your mask over your face, pressing it down. You’re so busy with it that Tomura almost gets away clean with grabbing the artifact from around your neck. You catch him at the last minute and pull it back, and it splits cleanly between his hand and yours. You take one artfully reckless swing with your katana and Tomura ducks back just a little farther than he needs to. Which is when you turn and run, booking it out of frame and towards the far edge of the woods.

Some camera guy – Iida, Tomura thinks – chases after you. Tomura’s off the hook, but he holds still anyway. He’s gotten yelled at more than a few times for moving before the director’s officially called cut. But Midoriya isn’t calling cut. He keeps not calling it. Tomura can hear him, though. He’s muttering to himself.

“Hey, boss-man!” hollers the unit director – Togata, or something. “Want to call a cut?”

“Oh, oops! Cut! Definitely cut.” Midoriya sounds like he couldn’t give less of a shit. When Tomura turns to look at him, he’s got a notebook and he’s writing furiously. And mumbling again. Tomura’s worked with a lot of directors and more than a few weird ones, and once he rules out the hand fetishist and the guy who wanted the fight scenes to include real knives and real blood, Midoriya’s definitely the weirdest.

You come back from wherever you ran off to, and you don’t seem to think Midoriya’s as weird as everyone else does. “Are we waiting for notes?”

“Huh?”

“After we run a scene in a stage show, we get notes,” you say. You’re not quite breathing hard. Neither is Tomura. “Do you not do that around here?”

“Nah,” Togata or whoever says. “Usually the director just hollers at whoever screws up and makes everybody do another take.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Who screwed up? Was it me?”

“You certainly took some liberties with the scene,” Iida says. “The original intent –”

“You want original intent, don’t tell us to improv,” Tomura says. The fight with you was maybe the most intense fight scene he’s ever done. When Midoriya inevitably nixes it, Tomura wants a copy. He addresses you. “It wasn’t you. Somebody on the sound side probably fucked up.”

“Excuse me?” The sound tech – maybe Jiro? – looks like she wants to club Tomura to death with a boom mic. “I fucked up? If you two hadn’t gotten all –”

“Midoriya,” Togata sings out, patting Midoriya on the shoulder. Midoriya jumps. “Hey! Good to have you back! Should we get set for another take?”

“No.”

Mirio looks confused. He’s not the only one. “Are we taking this one back to the drawing board?”

“No.” Midoriya shuts his notebook and looks up, his eyes shining in the crazy way movie people get when they have a really wild idea. “That was the take. We’re done.”

“What?”

“That was it.” Midoriya’s grinning. “It was perfect.”

Now you look weirded out. Finally. “No notes?”

“We need some close-ups, but –” Midoriya grabs his radio and hollers for somebody to put Dabi in his costume “ – you guys did a great job. Like, even the timing – it’s going to be so easy to use those beats for close-ups, and all the character stuff – you were so in sync it was scary, but emotionally you were each totally on your own journey, and it looked –”

“Hey, take a breath. Don’t faint,” Jiro instructs. Midoriya sucks down some air, and Jiro turns to you. “You did your first fight scene in one take. Congrats.”

Spinner lifts the sword out of Tomura’s hand, then takes the two halves of the artifact from both of you. Tomura’s done here for now. He’ll hitch a ride back on the Jeep that brings Dabi up and find a place to nap. Hopefully. He feels a little too keyed up to take a break right now.

You’re still standing there, looking sort of dazed. It annoys Tomura for a second, until he remembers that you’re used to understudying in musicals, not shooting superhero movies. “Hey,” he says, and you startle. “That was a solid fight. You’re better than I thought.”

“That’s not hard,” you say. “All I had to do to be better than you thought I’d be was to not impale myself or anybody else.”

“I haven’t seen you work before today. Sue me,” Tomura says. “You know what you’re doing. That was a really good fight.”

You shrug. It pisses Tomura off. Fishing for compliments always does, and Tomura hates it – but instead of telling you to grow up, he tries to hit you over the head with it for real. “You might not know your head from your ass yet, but I do, and it was a good scene. I haven’t had a fight like that in –”

Years? A decade? Tomura doesn’t think he’s ever been in a fake fight that felt real without actually feeling unsafe. “That’s the best one I’ve done in a long time,” he says finally. “You’re a real actress now. That modesty shit isn’t cute.”

You shrug again and make your way over to where Midoriya and Iida are talking. You’re probably going to ask Midoriya if you did something wrong, and he’ll get weird and reshoot the whole thing. Or he won’t, and he’ll think you’re insecure, which drives most directors up the wall. The fight scene was good on the first take. That never happens. Excuse Tomura for wanting to enjoy it.

“Shigaraki,” Spinner says from behind Tomura, and Tomura looks at him. “That’s not how you talk to girls.”

“Huh?”

“You, like – negged her. A lot,” Spinner says. Bullshit. Tomura knows what negging is. He knows he wasn’t doing it. “You told her she sucks, and then you told her she doesn’t suck as much as you thought she did. And then you trashed her whole career before now –”

“When did I do that?” Tomura’s done with this. “I said she knew what she was doing.”

“Uh, yeah. She took you to the cleaners on camera,” Spinner says. “And I hate to be the one to say this, but you looked really into it.”

What does he mean, into it? Tomura was doing his job. If he doesn’t get into it, he has to do extra takes. “So, like I said,” Spinner continues, “if you want to talk to girls and have it go anywhere, you have to give actual compliments. Not just tell her you’re surprised she wasn’t worse.”

“That’s not what I said,” Tomura growls. He doesn’t like anything about this conversation – not what Spinner’s implying, not what Spinner’s telling him to do. “Since when do you give me advice about girls?”

“Since I’ve gone on a date in the last six months,” Spinner says without blinking. “When was the last time you went out?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Dabi spent the last six months in rehab. You could have gotten out there,” Spinner says. Tomura glares at him. “All you did was work out and play League.”

“That’s what I was busy doing,” Tomura says. “I don’t need lessons on talking to girls.”

“Sure,” Spinner says. “Give her a real compliment next time. It’ll help.”

It’ll help with what? Tomura doesn’t know what Spinner thought he saw, but whatever it is, it wasn’t there. Tomura doesn’t date actresses. Or actors, in spite of what a bunch of Dabi’s fans seem to think is going on between the two of them. And even if Tomura was going to date an actress, he wouldn’t date somebody like you – somebody new to all of this, somebody naïve, somebody whose confidence can barely survive a single hit. Maybe you’ll be the kind of actress Tomura would date if you make it through this shoot alive. The fact that no actress would ever date Tomura doesn’t matter at all.

Even if this is the only blockbuster you ever do, he’ll get to fight you at least one more time. There’s another fight scene between Quicksilver and Psylocke later on in the script. As Tomura leans against a tree waiting for his ride to show up while you talk way too earnestly to Midoriya, he finds that he’s already looking forward to it.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #stuntman au #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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meluli · 1 month

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✨️ Bojack Horseman 10th Anniversary ✨️

Since today is a special day for this special show I'll share this cross stitch I finished years ago (back when I was a newbie at it) that is definitely one of my favorite things ♡

#it took me very long to finish it actually but it was so fun #and the colors are very wrong but i was working with what i had #bojack horseman #bojack #my art #cross stitch #bojack art #bojack horseman art #will arnett #raphael bob waksberg

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bippot · 11 months

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I love the 'monarch hotel' series

If I could shoot it directly into my veins like heroin I would

Well, here is your next fix!

The Monarch Hotel - Chapter 6: Milkweed

Story Summary -> How many times does Vigilante need to get injured before Harcourt finally gives in and hires a medic to help out with the squad's injuries? Far too many times, that's how many.

When it's uncovered that a fancy hotel is linked to, not only what's left of the legion of butterflies, but also a string of weird deaths and missing persons reports, the only two for the job are lovesick Adrian and the newbie.

Chapter 6: Milkweed Summary -> The Bardots' get dressed for dinner and come into contact with a substance called Milkweed. It's disgusting and mandatory, but that doesn't stop the pair from having a nice time dancing.

Tags -> Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Injury, Undercover as a Couple. Fluff, Idiots in Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Summer Vacation, Butterflies, Alien Invasion, Stitches, Weird Biology, Creep in a Bathroom, Aphrodisiacs, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drugging, Peeping, General Weirdness

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Previous Chapter -> Alien Perverts

Once they'd managed to disentangle themselves from each other, Y/N and Adrian got ready for dinner. They'd wasted hours in bed. Wasted hours lay together in the quiet comfort of their hotel room. Wasted hours in each other's grasp. Because they needed it.

At two o'clock that day, they'd already had a wild fuckin one, and they had napped for most of the morning. So what if they neglected some of their work for a few hours of respite? Being drugged and creeped on was exhausting.

As Y/N was in the process of clipping her earrings in, Adrian exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel since he'd forgotten to bring his clothes in with him, and her mouth was forming a wolf whistle before she'd fully come to terms with the fact that her very sexy friend was half naked in her presence. Hell, why not lean into it? Why not inflate his ego a bit?

"Who is this sexy man before me?" she playfully cheered, her eyes raking over his dripping form very obviously, and she brought the back of her hand to her temple. "You've got me swooning, champ."

He turned fully bright red from the very tips of his ears to his freckled chest. He got so shy all of a sudden. He tried to hide his flushing cheek in his shoulder, but she'd already seen it and was enjoying everything that was presented to her.

"Baby, look at you blush!" she teased as she reached out to poke him in the chest. He was a furnace, the heat emitting from him was so intense that she couldn't resist the urge to press her palms against his skin to warm her room temperature hands to Adrian temperature. "You're red hot."

"I'm definitely red."

"You can say that again, hot stuff."

"Please stop being nice to me, I will get a boner."

Grinning at him like a maniac, Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head, but did give him some space to breathe. He found his clothes and held them in a bundle over his crotch as he awkwardly backed himself into the bathroom because he'd been noticeably turned on from the moment she'd called him sexy and was so glad she either hadn't noticed it or chose not to mention it. He dressed quickly and he did have to admit, the clothes he'd hastily grabbed didn't exactly go together. He grabbed some navy dress pants, an orange and white striped shirt, and a green argyle vest.

It simply didn't work at all.

"No."

"What?" He hummed in confusion. "No what?"

"Take it off."

Y/N crossed the room and lifted his arms so she could guide him to take the sweater off. As soon as that garment was thrown in the general direction of their bed, she began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"There's too much going on here," she commented, pushing the fabric from his shoulders casually.

So casually that Adrian was sure she wasn't aware of her effect on him, despite the fact she'd made fun of him a mere five minutes ago for the effect she was having on him. At this moment, to her, he was just a fashion problem to solve and not someone who'd spent the last few hours feeling her up. All Adrian did was watch in fascination as Y/N turned and surveyed the clothes Leota had packed for him. He stood there with his hands on his hips, just grinning to himself as she went about pulling the pieces from the suitcase one by one.

"You just wanted me shirtless again," he joked once he'd got the nerve to.

"Oh, I always want that."

With a chuckle, she finally found a white tank top and threw it at his face. "Put this on," she ordered, and obviously he obeyed. "Where did I put it? It was around here somewhere. Ah!"

The moment he'd gotten the vest over his head, she was guiding his arms into a slightly oversized beige shirt, doing the buttons up to about halfway, and rolling up the sleeves. Once a fancy-looking silver watch and belt were added, she stood back to evaluate, and fuck, he looked classy and effortless and so goddamned hot that Y/N unconsciously bit her lip as took in the image before her.

"This is better?"

"...Yeah," she breathed.

"You like?"

"I like." She averted her gaze to her feet. "Do you like my dress?"

She had picked a dark blue sundress that had a sweetheart neckline and came to just below her knee. That paired with the Jimmy choos and the delicate silver jewellery she'd added made her feel and look a million bucks.

"You, uh, you look really nice, Y/N," he answered. "Really, really pretty."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you're my pretty little wife," he tried to joke but there was a catch to his voice that he didn't think to hide - one that made him seem so boyish and vulnerable. "Never thought I'd get to call anyone my 'wife', especially not someone as nice as you."

Turning into a complete puddle at his confession, Y/N had no choice but to cradle his head so lovingly in her palms, her thumbs drawing circles against his just-shaved jaw. "You've been an excellent husband so far, just the best. Imagine if I had to do this mission with Chris... or John," she chuckled at the thought, "We'd be dead by now. So, thank you for being you and taking care of me like you do, and only you do. You are the only person capable of being my 'husband'."

"I...uh... I don't know what... People aren't... I mean, I've never... I don't... I don't know what to say."

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

Nodding his head, he pulled her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck, mumbling out a quiet, "John would fucking suck at this mission," that had Y/N laughing into his temple.

"No offence to John, but I guarantee that he's an awful kisser."

"He is." She waited for the explanation that he was dying to give. "He's an affectionate drunk, like, trying to stick his tongue down my throat kinda affectionate. Apparently, he needed to kiss his homies goodnight and was way too enthusiastic about it."

"Weird."

He pulled back to agree, "Really weird," and grin at her.

They held eye contact for a beat too long, his arms still around her waist, their noses an inch apart. His gaze dropped to her lips and he had to fight the urge to kiss her.

"We better go," she murmured, breaking the contact first and stepping back, but she'd only taken two steps away from him before she was rushing back to him.

Giving in, Y/N surged to snog the hell out of Adrian, who only had a second to register that he was being kissed before he was pushing her by the hips into the nearest wall, groaning and curling his hand into the back of her head so she wouldn't hit it against the concrete. His other hand cupped butt, pulling her closer as he rocked his pelvis against hers. It was a rough, urgent, possessive kiss that took everything he had to give, and even though he could feel his control slipping away, Adrian did eventually pull back and rest his forehead against hers.

"Sorry... sorry," he panted, a little embarrassed by how out of breath he was. "I got carried away and..."

His words trailed off when he got a good look at her face, which was flushed and beaming up at him, the grin on her face telling him that she didn't mind at all. Her lips were slightly parted and felt so soft when he brushed his thumb across them, causing a small groan to bubble up from his chest. He had to force himself to pull away, to let her go, to not drag her back to the bed and fuck the hell out of her.

"We should go," she said softly, then with a mischievous grin, added, "Before we make even more of a mess of my lipstick."

After a long, charged pause, Adrian let out a shaky chuckle as soon as Y/N began to wipe away any smudges of lipstick from his face. They were simply two idiots making excuses to touch each other's lips in any way they could, and they both knew it.

Y/N got halfway to the door before her hand reached behind for him to hold, and she only had to wiggle her fingers at him to know that he was going to do exactly what she wanted and follow after her, no matter what.

The walk to the dining hall itself was short, quiet, and filled with sneaky glances as each other, but their dinner was filled with conversation. Everyone they came across wanted to know about the newly married couple that arrived just this morning.

Apparently, word travels fast at The Monarch Hotel.

So, the pair painted fake smiles on and tried to remember all the names that had been thrown their way. It seemed the only pair that hadn't introduced themselves were their target and her partner. Queen Caroline and someone who was not her deceased husband hadn't moved from their seat the entire meal, not even looking out to the throng of other guests around them once.

"If you keep moving your hand up my thigh, I'm going to get another awkward boner. You're killing me here," Adrian whispered to Y/N during their lulls between conversations. Y/N had been taking the time to see what was going on with the Queen and was focused on that rather than where her hand was. She'd assumed that it was still innocently placed on his knee, yet that wasn't the case.

"Sorry champ," she whispered back with a slight giggle in her voice as her hand retreated back towards his knee, though she couldn't help but glance back up at his flushing face every now and again to take a peek.

Every single couple but one came up to them. All of them but Queen Caroline wasted their time on introductions and 'when was the last time you went skiing in the alps?' and 'isn't the caviar they serve here just delicious?' while the target sat there silently eating her food, refusing to acknowledge or respond to any of the other party guests' attempts at conversation.

All of them were all so fucking chirpy that it was unnerving. Aren't married people supposed to be miserable and hate each other? Or has every middle-aged male comedian been lying for the past thirty years? All these couples seemed so loved up, so happy and so damn... boring.

There seemed to be nothing wrong with them. They were rich. They were in love. They were happy. They were in paradise. They were fucking insufferable. It all seemed so fucking fake.

As the night wound down and most of the others had left for the after dinner mixer, the couple that the pair had bumped into when they first arrived appeared and sat in the seats opposite. "I hope you remember us from this morning?" the man asked, his smile so wide that Y/N was half convinced he'd been doused with the Joker's laughing gas.

"Oh! Of course!" Y/N smiled brightly at them, giving Adrian a little nudge. "How can I possibly forget? Steve and Sam, am I right?"

Steve and Sam nodded their heads in unison. "That's us," Sam said, smiling broadly at her. "Your dress is to die for, Syd. Can I call you Syd?"

"Please do. And this old thing? I've had it in the back of my closet for weeks now and, well, what better time than now to give it a spin?"

A long and way too pleasant compliment battle happened between Sam and 'Sydney' as their husbands sat there, just nodding along and watching with mild amusement and a few chuckles here and there. In his head, Adrian was trying to think of conversation starters but they were all too nerdy or downright too gross to say to this guy.

Peacemaker was easy to talk to. They'd talk about everything. From the time Chris witnessed somebody shit themselves when they were getting a tattoo and failed to mention it until the tattoo lady asked, "What is that smell?", to the time when Olivia Welch period blooded all over his brother Gut's white trousers when she had to sit on his lap cause there weren't enough car seats on the way to church one Sunday.

No matter how fucked up, Peace probably had experienced some way more fucked up so it was totally fine to say to him.

This guy? What has ever gone wrong in the rich asshole's life? Had he ever been period blooded on while dressed as a Backstreet Boy wannabe? Adrian fuckin' doubted it.

Soon, it was heavily implied that all of the guests should've been in the gigantic marquee outside so those remaining in the dining hall were not so subtly ushered there. It was white and filled with greenery and fairy lights and there were three ornate bars stocked with just about every alcohol you could ever need and a band on a raised platform. There wasn't any seating though, so everyone stood near each other chatting loudly about everything under the sun, waiting for something to begin.

Sparrow emerged and planted himself in the middle of the room with a tray of milky looking drinks on a platter and an excited glint in his eyes. "Everyone ready to party!?" He grinned widely at everyone, receiving several thumbs ups and cheers as one by one they took a glass from him. "Excellent. Let's get started!"

At his command, every person in the room took a shot, and immediately, music blared through the speakers and loud voices shouted in a jovial tone. The floor seemed to shake beneath everyone's feet and the entire crowd of strangers swayed to the music, laughing happily while having fun together.

Y/N and Adrian hadn't drunk theirs yet, and Sam kept shooting nervous looks at them. Her eyes shot between Sparrow and the Bardots, and when she noticed that neither of them looked like they were going to take a sip anytime soon, she pulled Y/N in to whisper, "Drink before they notice."

When Y/N heard her, she turned to stare back at her suspiciously before slowly drinking from the cup in front of her, grimacing at the strong taste of... she had no idea how to accurately describe it. Like the outside of a green bean but with the juice of an out of date peach? That was as close as she was going to get.

And since Y/N drank it, why wouldn't he? Adrian practically threw the concoction down his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a disgusted expression on his face.

"You alright?" Steve asked as he nudged him, and as soon as Adrian nodded, he added, "You get used to it."

Yeah, it was gross but it hadn't altered them in any perceivable way so that was a small win, he guessed. He was just glad that they hadn't been roofied again since that happening twice in a day would be too much for his brain to handle.

"What was that?"

"I think they call it Milkweed."

"Like the flower?" Y/N asked, her voice rising to be heard over the music, and all Sam did was shrug.

Milkweed, the poisonous plant that caterpillars eat to retain the toxins that give them that bold orange colour on their wings in an effort to scream at predators 'Don't try to eat me, I'll kill you!' Should humans consume that? Absolutely not. Yet, they weren't feeling the nausea that they should've been so maybe it was just a name after all.

Before Y/N could rack her brain for whatever information she had stored in her brain, Sam was pulling her into the mass of dancing bodies and, luckily, as she felt the tug, her hand gripped onto Adrian's bicep and was yanking him along with her. His moves were goofy and mostly consisted of bouncing from foot to foot with some wavey hand gestures that seemed like they could be dance moves - or someone trying to hold a piss in - but he seemed to be having fun regardless so it was fine.

She couldn't have cared less about how stupid he looked. He was smiling, and that alone, relaxed her enough to not freak out about possibly just being poisoned (although, that was definitely something that needed to be looked further into). If it killed them, then so be it. At least they died happy.

Most of the guests danced to the upbeat tune that was blasting across the room from the bandstand in the corner, except for a select few of them, who were just standing around talking with various groups and talking with each other. Most of them didn't seem drunk and they weren't doing anything crazy but, then again, it was still early in the night and things might get more rambunctious as time went on.

For now, Y/N let her hips sway side to side to the beat of the song as Adrian tried to follow along, trying his damnedest to look as cool as possible. He'd never been a particularly good dancer but, hey, at least it gave him an excuse to dance next to a pretty girl. As expected, each song got progressively slower and slower and slower until the last few minutes of the night dragged on interminably as everyone eventually found themselves slow dancing with their partner or retreating back to their rooms.

Despite how much the pair wanted to hide away from these happy freaks, there was so much information that could be gleaned from just watching people let loose. Y/N had come to the conclusion that most, if not all of these couples, were in the same general 25-35 age range. Queen Caroline was the only woman who was an outlier in that regard.

The women around her were all different shapes, sizes and occupations - some were housewives, some were athletes, some were creatives, some were entrepreneurs, and others fell somewhere in between those lines - but the men were all the same.

All of them were fit. All of them had that kind of lean muscle body type. All of them were around 6 ft-ish. All of them were rich. All of them had pretty wives. All of them had less social capita than their pretty wives.

The Bardot cover story was that Sidney was the daughter of a decorated colonel and had become a well regarded paediatrician in her adult life - which purposely wasn't too far from the truth. Marty was a karate instructor and they'd met when she was asked to do first aid at a karate tournament, which is where their love story blossomed from. They'd put karate instructor down as a joke and, at the time, thought they'd change it to something more serious as the mission got closer. Obviously, that did not happen.

Women were the key to understanding what the fuck was going on here. Now that's goddamned feminism.

Adrian was just getting his groove on. He'd guessed Y/N was cracking something open in her mind since she got that far away look on her face that told him that she was deep in thought and he was going to have to take brunt of the 'acting that we're having a fantastic time' shtick.

Bringing her closer to his chest, Adrian rested his cheek on her hair as they swayed along to the slow, steady rhythm of the song, his arms wrapped around her waist as he held her against him. Y/N leaned into his chest like it was second nature, her body unconsciously melting into his like butter as her mind tried to process, sort through and explain everything she was hypothesising.

After a few minutes, she finally snapped back to reality and craned her neck upwards so that she could see Adrian's lips moving as he very quietly sang along to the song playing and Y/N just melted all over again. There was something so comforting about hearing his low baritone voice, something so tender and gentle and soft and borderline innocent.

What's that playing on the radio?

Why do I start swaying to and fro?

I have never heard that song before

But, if I don't hear it anymore

This guy was a bloodthirsty assassin? This guy was a loony? This guy was the psycho her sister warned her about? No way. This dude was a touch starved dork who was a complete sap when given the opportunity and security to do so.

It's still familiar to me

Sends a thrill right through me

Cause those chords remind me

Of the night that I first fell in love to

He was completely whipped for her, that much was obvious. If she asked him to wear a shirt with her face on it, he'd grab two from his wardrobe and ask which one she preferred.

Those magic changes my heart arranges

A melody that's never the same

A melody that's calling your name

It begs you please, come back to me

Please, return to me

It was almost as if he was singing her a lullaby, whispering sweet words into the crown of her head and brushing the back of her hair.

Don't go away again

Oh make thеm play again

The music I wanna hear is once again

You whispеr in my ear

Her chin propped itself on his peck, her fingers curling onto his shirt to ground herself as she gazed up at him.

Oh my darling

"You've watched Grease?" she whispered, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup," He replied softly with a shrug of his shoulder, chuckling nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. "My Nana used to have a crush on John Travolta. We watched it every Saturday."

"I bet you know it word for word."

"I do. Nana used to find it very funny when I did my Danny Zuko impression."

"Oh, I have to see this now!"

In a flash, he was pretending to comb through his bouffant of hair, dramatically slinging on an imaginary leather jacket and he was pacing around her like a shark with a certain exaggerated swagger that she'd never seen before. She found herself holding back giggles, barely able to keep a straight face as he continued to strut about.

"That's cool, baby. I mean, you know how it is, rocking and rolling and whatnot," he mimicked the sleaze, making her snort loudly, before dropping it for a second to say, "Then you're supposed to say, 'Danny?!' in an offended Australian accent," and then the character immediately went back up.

"Danny?!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Some more general Zuko-isms were performed before her eyes before Y/N was laughing hysterically at him and his downright atrocious accent while her hands flew up to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. He'd even attempted some kind of blue steel type facial expressions to imitate Danny as best he could. Her fingers playfully moulded the skin of his cheeks, pushing them in so his lips would pucker like a fish.

"Gimme a kiss, Mrs Bardot," Adrian teased, still in Travolta mode. "It's like a fucked up Princess and the Frog - if you give me a smooch, I'll turn into a scientologist."

"Not likely," she said through her chuckles. Yet, Y/N would know how much he would whine if she didn't give in. Plus, she wanted to give in. So, throwing caution to the wind and leaning forward, his fish mouth met hers in an enthusiastic, somewhat sloppy but nonetheless sweet kiss.

"We could go back to our room if you want?" Y/N began, although she did instantly follow up by taking his hands and placing them on her waist, "Or we could stay and dance some more?"

His answer was obvious. His hands clutched onto the fabric at her hips and he pulled her closer to him. As he pressed himself into her even tighter, she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up, tilting her head ever so slightly backwards until their noses touched. Her lips parted gently and his hand slipped off of her waist and slowly travelled upwards to cup of her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her cheekbones as he stared into her eyes.

"This is what I think Prom would've been like," Adrian breathed, gazing deeply at Y/N before pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. "I didn't go so I don't really know if that's accurate or not, but I've watched movies."

"You've watched movies?" she parroted back to him, a chuckle following her words.

"Yeah, a lot of 'em'." Adrian bumped his nose into hers. "And in all the coming of age teen movies, they dance like this at Prom so I assume the real thing is somewhat similar. Is it?"

"I don't know. Nobody asked me so I didn't go."

Shock permeated through Adrian's being.

"They didn't?" he repeated, his voice an appalled whisper. "That's insane! If I had the chance back then, yeah, I bet I would've tried. Maybe not succeeded. But I would've tried to ask you to Prom, would've done the whole cringe over the top promposal as well if I had the opportunity... But I didn't, obviously."

Y/N felt incredibly warm. Like, super warm. Not in the sickening, sweaty, sex way, but more in a nice, cozy, holy fuck I think I might be in love with him, happy way. It was weird. Really fucking weird and totally different to anything she'd experienced in her relationship before, which was saying something considering all she'd been through.

"Oh, you wouldn't have wanted to go with me. I had braces and I had these glasses that were just so huge on my face and I was seriously pimple covered - I used to keep Proactiv in my backpack cause I always needed to reapply - and my style back then, jesus -"

"Y/N," Adrian interrupted, pulling away slightly and staring straight into her eyes. "You would've been you, so yes, I would've been so insufferably into you. Like I am now, and probably always will be." His tone turned softer, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I think I would've considered murdering Chris if he got to come here with you instead of me. John I could threaten with bodily harm and he'd run away with his tail between his legs, but Peace? Probably would've had to fight him."

He snorted at his own joke but then he paused for a second, letting out a short, humourless laugh, as if trying to hide how desperately he was waiting for her to say something else or tell him to stop making stupid jokes or something, but nothing came except for a giggle, which caused his shoulders to rise higher than they had already, as a goofy grin broke across his face.

They just stood there, simply smiling at each other for a moment, neither feeling the need to say anything to fill up the void between them. Neither sure what to make of their current situation, let alone where exactly it was headed next, because frankly, they hadn't given it much thought. All they knew for sure is that they were both enjoying themselves despite all the cult weirdness going on around them; they were enjoying the fact they were finally getting what they both desired most of all: each other.

Next Chapter -> The Bee's Knees

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slifarianhawk · 7 months

Text

Chapter 2: an invitation (Wriothesley's P.O.V.)

I picked up the lady who moaned at my touch. Her clothes were tattered and now coated in what appeared to be her blood. Thankfully the infirmary was close by and she was in no real danger.

I jogged over to the next hall opening and walked up the steps. Several guards looked on in confusion but I waived them off saying it was fine. I heard Sigewinne discussing the proper treatment of a rash with an older male inmate who frequented the Pankration ring.

"Now be sure to apply this ointment before going to work in the production zone and before you go to bed." Our head nurse said cheerfully.

"Yes, mam. Oh, Your grace! I didn't see you there. What happened someone passed out in the ring and you happened to be there?" The older man asked staring at the woman on my shoulder.

"Nope, not this time. Was doing my rounds and this newbie slipped down the steps to her dorm hallway. That doesn't explain this though." I said lifting the side of her shirt as I laid her down on the middle infirmary bed.

"Oh, so this must be Ms. Silva then. Nuevillette wrote me about her yesterday. He said a new inmate would be coming in pretty badly injured. He said to expect her treatment at the hospital to be less than stellar given what happened between her and the guards." Sigewinne said staring at the wound, "It looks like her stitches were snapped."

"She tripped down one of the connecting flights of stairs leading from her dorm room hall. Could the fall of caused the damage to the stitching?" I asked, crossing my arms.

I stared at the unconscious lady before me. She had striking deep navy hair with some forest green low lights. It was a rather strange combination. I noticed there was blood on the palm of her hand slowly drying in the stale humid air of Meropide.

"The stitching still had to of been struck multiple times for the edges of the wound to be so far apart. Nuevillette did write saying she could have enemies among our guards." Sigewinne said cleaning the wound and restitching it.

I noted that the male visiting Sigewinne earlier had slipped out without saying anything. Sigewinne took her time with closing up the inmate's wound. Then for good measure, she rubbed some of the salve she normally uses on cuts and bruises I obtain when I fight in the ring.

"So her name is Silva? I haven't read her file yet but did notice one titled that in the new inmate paperwork." I said as Sigewinne put away her medical supplies into a locked cabinet after pulling out fresh bandages.

"That's right! Nuevillette said for me to help her get adjusted. I think he pities her." The human-like Melusine said shaking her head as she wrapped the fresh bandages around Silva's body.

"What makes you think that?" I said in surprise.

"The tone of his letter was different. It wasn't the usual great things about his day or a warning saying she was dangerous. He also said to be on the lookout for withdrawal effects." She said sitting at her desk, "Isn't the champion duelist visiting you soon?"

"Crap, that was why I was doing my rounds. I knew I would be busy for the next few hours." I said walking towards the exit, "Oh Sigewinne, please invite Ms. Silva to my office for tea when she wakes up. No one's first day in Meropide should be spent in the infirmary."

She smiled at me and nodded, "Yes your grace."

I took one last look at Silva. I felt a twang in my chest. She had a sad look on her sleeping face. It reminds me of how I looked after my trial. I shook my head, my hair tufts swishing a bit.

I left the infirmary and headed toward my office. My office... it still feels surreal. It hadn't even been a third of the year since I'd taken control of Meropide. I went from a lowly criminal in the eyes of the law to the Duke of the Fortress. I could have laughed.

I arrived at the cold doors of my office. With an easy push, they swing open welcoming me back to my solidarity. Ascending the metal stairs, I smiled as I heard the smooth jazz that played on my record player.

I walked over to my sofa and grabbed my kettle from the coffee table. It was nice they installed a tea nook when I became Duke. It saves me the trouble of having to boil water in the kitchen.

"Let's see, what blend do I drink with Ms. Clorinde? Hmm... it's about time for dinner so how about... ahh here it is Fontainian Garden." I said pulling out the glass jar with the loose tea leaves.

This was an uncommon item in the rag and bones shop so I bought it whenever I could. Hopefully, Clorinde likes this blend. She was quite picky when it came to tea.

There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" I ask out placing a couple of spoonfuls of the leaves into the kettle.

"It's Clorinde. Come on Wriothesley, open the door. We have important things that need to be discussed." A harsh female voice rang out.

"Coming!" I shouted setting down the pot.

I walked down the stairs and opened the door. In front of me was Clorinde with a decent-sized crate behind her. I raised my brow and gave her a funny look.

"I thought you said we were just going to be friends," I said crossing my arms and smiling, "didn't expect you to want to move in after what happened."

Clorinde just glared at me and shoved past, "Just grab the crate Wriothesley. It's your new prisoner's belongings. Not much gets to me but the thought of that woman just skipping

"Alright, alright, Archons you seem like you need a cup of tea. Thankfully I have some brewing." I said lift the crate and brought it into my office.

Closing the door, I ascended the stairs. Clorinde sat down on the couch. I shook my head and sat the box down on my desk. The kettle started whistling as I grabbed the sugar from the bookshelf. I plopped two cubes into a cup and poured the slightly red-colored tea.

"Care for a cup?" I asked looking over my shoulder.

"If you insist. One sugar cube would be nice, please." She said her shoulders relaxing as she laid back and got comfortable.

"So this is the girl who landed ten guards in the hospital. I haven't read her file yet but the steambird sure had decent coverage on it. Said she took them out with a dendro vision. If that's the case why wasn't she sent here as a precaution? That's what they do with dangerous prisoners. It's protocol so why wasn't it followed." I said curiously pouring Clorinde's tea and placing one cube in it.

I sat at my desk placing her teacup at the top of it. She stood up and shuffled through the files until she uncovered Ms. Silva's. Handing me the file she walked back towards that couch, taking her tea.

"Take a look and you will understand." She said.

"You know it's rude to rifle through someone's work desk," I smirked as I opened the file.

"Just read it, then we can proceed with the main reason why I am here." Clorinde huffed.

I started skimming the folder. There wasn't much on Ms. Silva. Her travel records show she came through the Chenyu vale of Liyue and was in Mondstat before that on a job for Dr. Baizhu of Bubu pharmacy in Liyue. She wrote down that her reason for traveling to Fontaine was research. That didn't explain much either.

"Weird how there is so little right, Wriothesley? Normally we would have all her information. We contacted Liyue, Sumeru, and Mondstat. They only have records of her traveling for research. We could only assume she's from Inazuma as her first record is a travel permit to Liyue from Ritou. It was commissioned by an Ayato Kamisato. Every one of her permits is for research. Nuevillette asked me to bring the belongings from her hotel room and search through the items with you." Clorinde said taking a sip of the warm beverage in her hand.

I continued to read over the file and a note from Monsieur Nuevillette shocked me. I could hear his voice as I read the line.

"Ms. Silva was attacked and drugged using a potent Dendro drug that has been spreading like wildfire through the court of Fontaine. While there have been only a few deaths due to this drug. Ms. Silva has shown us that those with dendritic energy have a horrific effect on these drugs. A Dendritic energy overcharge causes a massive burst of the Dendro element dealing damage once the user is put under stress. What Ms. Silva told me has led me to believe that there is a tie between this drug and a dendro dragon. Keep an eye on her at all costs Wriothesley. Something tells me she will be the key to solving this case." His voice rang in my ears.

"WRIOTHESLEY!" Clorinde shouted snapping me out of my trance.

"Huh, oh sorry Clorinde. It's just Nuevillette's notes. They just have me a little on edge." I said setting down the file and picking up my now cooled tea.

"I was trying to say that you should be careful with regarding her. I just have a bad feeling, call it hunter intuition." She said setting her empty cup down.

"I will now let's get going through this stuff I'm sure Ms. Silva would at least like some of this stuff back. As long as it is appropriate for the fortress of course." I said prying open the wooden box.

As the box cracked open, I was met with a soft aroma. It reminded me of walking into a luxury tea shop in the city. When the lid came off there was a multitude of sealed glass jars with many varieties of herbs. They seemed to be being kept fresh by cut mist flowers. I've seen the corollas being used but not whole flowers.

"So it seems she does not possess a vision after all," Clorinde said sifting through a small pile of folded clothes.

"There is a small silk pouch right here," I said picking up the purple purse, and with an unfortunate turn of events the contents spilled out.

"Letters and documents?" Clorinde said picking up the papers strewn about.

I glanced down and saw a lovely wax seal of a glaze lily on a golden letter, "What's this?"

"I have no clue. It must be important and it has been opened previously. Why don't you go ahead and read it?" Clorinde asked.

"Everyone has the right to privacy. In one sense or the other. I have no search warrant, so I won't read it." I said setting it down on her pile of documents, a smirk growing on my lips, "I'll ask her directly."

"And how do you plan on doing that? From what I heard from the guard who escorted her, she fell and passed out." Clorinde said crossing her arms.

"Did he now? Because from what Sigewinne has told me she had to of been shoved multiple times with relatively decent force. She was bleeding when she fell right in front of me." I said with a slight growl in my voice.

One thing I detested among my staff was lying to higher-ups. I knew lying to prisoners was sometimes unavoidable, however, lying to me or a champion duelist would get my blood boiling. Clorinde stared at me with mild shock in her eyes.

"Sigh, I'll leave this to you then but your grace as a friend I have some advice for you." She said as she walked to the stairs.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" I asked staring at the golden envelope.

"Don't forget Nuevillette's warning. That woman is a danger." I heard Clorinde say as she exited my office.

"Tsk. I can handle myself. This is Meropide. No newbie could cause that much of a distraction. Her sorrowful sleeping face came to my mind. Could she?

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x oc #genshin impact #wriothesley #romance #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfics

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hedgestitcher · 10 months

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Roll into our cross-stitch wonderland and discover patterns that are 'hedgehog-approved'! Whether you're a newbie or a seasoned stitcher, our e-shop offers designs to suit every level. From charming florals to cheeky critters, find your next project here. Get ready to create cross-stitch magic that'll leave everyone 'spiky' with awe!

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hauntingkiki · 4 months

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so! a little background/story about me; i’m in two choirs, and i’ve been doing choir for three years now, almost four, and on 5/7/24, we had an awards ceremony concert and I GOT AWARDED!!

so, this story is a little bit inspired about me getting said award and i hope you guys enjoy!:D

(also this is very catholic/religious so if this isn’t your ally then don’t read it!:3 and i apologize if i get anything wrong in this!! i wasn’t born into a catholic/religious household so im not very religious myself so again, i apologize if i get anything wrong! but please feel free to let me know if i messed up anywhere for future requests!)

Congrats, Newbie

Jack Merridew x Choir! Reader

Lord of the Flies

2nd POV

you pulled uncomfortably at the long, black cloak that dropped at your ankles, the frilly white ruffles ticked your neck awkwardly. sweat built up under your armpits and on your palms, making you lift your arms up to somewhat dry your underarms and wipe your hands on your shorts that were under your robe. you turned to one of the girls in your section, jerking your hands up and down with a slight head tilt. “does my uniform look okay?” you asked her softly, dropping your hands back at your side.

she hummed in thought, tapping her chin before fixing your black cap before adjusting the f/c rosary that hung from your neck. she pulled her hands away from your body, eyeing you up and down with furrowed brows. she turned to one of the nearby tenors, tapping his shoulder, she pointed over to you with a quirked brow, muttering to the tall boy.

you shuttered when you made eye contact with the light, icy blue eyes of the tenor which flickered around your frame before going back to your e/c eyes.

his bright, orange curls fought with his black cap that was centered perfectly atop his head. he had pasty skin, dark brown freckles coating every inch of his skin, some dark reds and the same brown color on his lips. he wore the same black robe and black cap like everyone else, but his uniform was slightly different. he had a golden cross stitched into the left side of his robe, indicating he was the leader of this group.

the group you were in.

you noticed his cloak shifting slightly at his waist, faint cracking snapped in the quite air. you put it together that he was popping his knuckles, a nervous habit you noticed he did during rehearsals, warm ups, and performances.

once he was done cracking his fingers, he lifted his hands out from under the black robe and he quickly dusted you off, making sure to not touch you in any weird way. “you should fix your makeup.” he quickly circled a finger in your face before grabbing your rosary and huffing on it, wiping his white button up sleeve across the metal to make it shine slightly more. “it’s creasing.”

your eyes fluttered wide, stumbling over your words, you struggled to find the right sentence. “how much time to i have?” you asked, slipping away from the ginger.

“you have ten minutes.”

“thank you!”

you jogged over to your makeup bag and snatched it, making your way over to a mirror not too far from where everyone else was. you zipped the bag open, hastily moving your makeup around before grabbing your powder and your brush. looking in the mirror, you opened the container before pausing with a slightly ajar mouth.

your makeup wasn’t creased.

you shook your head softly, cursing under your breath, as you gripped the brush tightly, your knuckles turning white.

“-and for our final chorus of the day; we’re going to have jack merridew and his choir sing; Hail Redeemer Kind Divine.”

your heart skipped a beat, snapping the container shut before dropping them back into the bag and running away from the mirror, you sucked in a breath as you watched merridew lead the choral onto the risers.

thankfully, he was busy giving a speech about the piece and what it meant to him, so you quickly ran over to the alto section just before they walked out from behind the curtains.

merridew turned and faced the risers once he was finished with his speech and applause echoed through the chapel. his brows knitted together when he locked eyes with you, the two of you holding eye contact while he walked to his spot on the fourth row. he only broke contact when the clinician coughed, gaining everyone’s attention as the hall fell silent.

the clinician turned to the pianists, waving her hands around before the piano started to play. the clinician; sister jane, turned back to the choir, muttering ‘one, two, three and-‘ before waving her hands around wildly with a loud inhale which made you all gasp before a beautiful harmony of voices boomed through the church hall.

“Hail, Redeemer King Divine!

Priest and Lamb, the throne is thine,

King whose reign shall never cease,

Prince of everlasting peace.”

you slowly glanced around your section as you all sung, smiling softly as you made eye contact with the other altos before turning back to sister jane as she continued to conduct.

“Angels, Saints and nations sing

'Praised be Jesus Christ our King;

Lord of life, earth, sky and sea,

King of love on Calvary.”

you glanced over to the right to look at the guys who were in the middle, your face flushed from any color as you locked eyes with those piercing blue eyes again. you didn’t know what do you in that moment, all you could do was keep singing and deal with it after the song.

“King whose name creation thrills,

Rule our minds, our hearts, our wills, Till in peace each nation rings

With thy praises, King of Kings.”

you swallowed thickly, a small pause in the piece which allowed you to turn away from merridew’s harsh gaze before everyone started to sing again.

“Angles, Saints and nations sing

'Praised be Jesus Christ our King;

Lord of life, earth, sky and sea,

King of love on Calvary.”

you crackled your knuckles from under your robe, fiddling with your thumbs as the song continued on.

“King most holy, King of truth,

Guide the lowly, guide the youth;

Christ thou King of glory bright,

Be to us eternal light.”

sister jane smiled as she conducted, leading the huge group of children and teens through the chorus once again.

“Angles, Saints and nations sing

‘Praised be Jesus Christ our King;

Lord of life, earth, sky and sea,

King of love on Calvary.”

you weren’t going to lie if you found the song kind of annoying. to be true, everyone in your choir-besides merridew-found all the songs your group sang were annoying. even some of the other kids from advanced groups thought some of the songs you all sang were annoying, but no one would say that to the directors.

“Shepherd-King. o’er mountains steep,

Homeward bring the wondering sheep;

Shelter in one royal fold

States and kingdoms, new and old.”

but today.

today was the day for 6 lucky people in every choir to move up to a higher level. obviously, everyone wanted to move up, but you had to put the work and effort into your piece in oder to move up.

“Angles, Saints and nations sing

‘Praised be Jesus Christ our King;

and of course, this only happens once a year.

Lord of life, earth, sky and sea,

King of love on Calvary.”

sister jane brought her hands closer together to create a decrescendo from everyone, signaling a cutoff when she seemed satisfied with the volume control. she smiled brightly over at everyone, dropping her hands at her side.

everyone in the crowd cheered and clapped, some of the older chorus members whistling loudly.

sister jane turned towards the crowd, bowing and extending an arm back towards you guys as you all bowed slightly.

the head priest made his way over towards the front of the stage, white slip of paper in hand as he tapped the mic, chuckling awkwardly as he cleared his throat, opening the paper as his eyes flickered from the 6 names listed down at the huge crowd in front of him. “let’s make this quick, shall we?” he joked, a few of the nuns chuckling.

you bit your lip, holding back a holler as your eyes scanned the room, locking back with jacks piercing eyes.

a faint smile was on his lips, also biting back a laugh at the failed attempt of a joke.

one of jacks friends; simon, stood behind him, his hands placed atop of the ginger’s shoulders. simon slightly leaned forward and smiled brightly at you, waving a finger in your direction which you returned with a closed eyed smile.

“okay.” the priest sighed, adjusting his attire before speaking again. “our six chorus singers who are moving up are…roger crawford, david shore, jackson hill, linsey shore, y/n l/n, and millie harrington.”

claps erupted through the hall again, the choir leaving the stage and soon everyone was out of the chapel and chatting out in the hallway, waiting for rides or wondering off.

you stood by the tall doors, waiting for your parents to arrive to pick you up. you gasped with a stumble, catching yourself with the door as you looked towards the culprit who punched you in the arm.

“congrats on the move up, y/n.” roger beamed slightly, rocking on his heels as he offered his right hand towards you.

you stared at him for a moment, snapping out of it before shaking his hand, faintly smiling. “oh! thanks, you too.”

he smiled, letting go of your hand. “we should probably get acquainted with one another; that way we’re not alone when we get into the new choir.” he suggested, tilting his head side to side.

you nodded, rubbing your neck. “yeah, that’ll be a good idea.”

roger smiled, turning to his left when he spotted auburn curls in the crowd heading over to the two of you.

jack made his way over to both of you, patting roger on the shoulder. “congrats, roger.” he smiled, slowly glancing over towards you. “and…congrats to you too, y/n.”

your eyes fluttered wide, your cheeks flushed a soft pink. you nodded, stuttering faintly. “t-thank you, merridew.”

simon appeared out of no where, throwing his arms around jack’s shoulders. “please! call him jack.” he reassured, smiling warmly towards you. “after all, we’re going to be friends, yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah, yeah we are.” you muttered.

simon beamed before waving his hands around as if to brush that conversation away. “anyways, jack, roger, maurice, and i are gonna hang out to-“ he pinched his pointer and thumb together, bringing them up to his lips whilst clicking his tongue. he quickly dropped his hand and went quite when one of the nuns walked past. once she was out of sight, he turned back to you with a smile. “you wanna tag along?”

your eyes sparkled, surprised that the top four boys in your choir were this rebellious. you expected the four of them to eat dessert before dinner or to skip brushing their teeth in the mornings before heading to school, but this was something completely different and you were all for it.

“of course.”

i hope you guys enjoy!:3 maybe i’ll do a part 2 of them all hanging out if you guys are interested???

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