#did this to my brother for more accurate results
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asl sibling bonding time :D
ft ace returning their love <3:
*insert clip of dubbed sabo screaming*
#one piece#one piece fanart#one piece fan art#one piece comic#op#monkey d. luffy#straw hat luffy#portgas d ace#fire fist ace#revolutionary sabo#sabo the revolutionary#flame emperor sabo#asl brothers#asl trio#op art#my art#monocuboodles#did this to my brother for more accurate results#kid ace canonically gets stronger when angry so that's why he can use luffy as a whip LOL#silly asl heals my soul
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Locked Eyes
Jing Yuan finally returns from his Grand Tour, but by the bounds of society's customs and traditions, you cannot marry him. This is a romance story told through letters exchanged, secret rendezvouses, red silk embroideries.
jing yuan x afab!f!reader, regency!au, sfw
word count: ~15,300
cw: explicit language, slight suggestive content, minor character death
notes: the regency era is too complex, and i got lazy with my research, so this is not accurate!!! best read on desktop because there are some long paragraphs... would also appreciate reblogs + comments!!!
infinite thanks to @staraxiaa, for always being a fantastic and incredibly insightful beta-reader, and for watching me lose my sanity over the past 1.5 weeks. and to io, wherever you may be, this is for you. you made this piece possible, and even if we do not talk anymore, i hope you are well and happy. every day, i am so grateful we met, and i hope you can enjoy even bits and pieces of this story.
YOU HAD met Jing Yuan in your early years, by chance, peering at each other through the relentless beating of the sun’s rays and the glittering of the sea’s many jeweled crests. At the time, the boy had, you thought, equally dazzling eyes, as golden as the chains that adorned your mother’s neck and wrists, the same in reflecting your curious, admiring gaze.
Now, the gold is shades darker, matured and cured, a reflection of his much more grown state. Even from across the room, past the rotating crowd of other noble families, where you peer at him over the top of your lace fan, you can deduce his transformation, his broader, fitted shoulders and chest, inappropriately loose, long hair, tall stature that dwarfs those lingering near him. Most importantly, though, you cannot help but smirk at the flicker of red when Jing Yuan adjusts the collar of his tailcoat. The flash of color is meant to be discrete, though to observant eyes, it might as well also serve as a challenge.
For now, this will do.
A call of your name from your older brother pulls you from your watchful perch. Beside him is another man, another introduction, another attempt at your mother’s instruction. Your foxy satisfaction melts into your typical countenance, and you curtsy as the two gentlemen approach you. You know this conversation will result in nothing, but you entertain your brother and the baron he has brought over anyway.
–
You have never been the daughter your mother wanted. Perhaps, when you were once little, you were on course to becoming favored, but you have grown, enough, at least, to develop a pointed sense of your own being. Your brother says you think too much, that you are unable to see the bigger picture, and perhaps that is why your mother does not take too kindly towards you. After all, why would anyone favor another that watches, observes, judges their every move?
Even now, as she sits across from you, informing you of the baron and his lineage weeks after your introduction to the man, your mother is aware that while her directions may escape your memory, her movements do not. The shuddering of her fingers, an instinct that comes with age; the adjusting and readjusting of the pleats of her nightgown, a glean into her deep-set fear of abandonment; the twitching arch of her brow, the permanence of her distaste and disappointment in you.
“Mother,” you interrupt, “I suppose you are willing to sacrifice the nobility of our family name in order to satiate your sole desire to marry me off?”
She harrumphs. “Incorrigible.” The word is equivalent to being spat on. You give her some reprieve by pulling out your handkerchief and dab at your forehead, as if she really did. “You dare to claim you exhibit even an ounce of the dignity and lavishness you have been raised in?”
“Not at all.” You cease your acting, slipping the cloth away, and stare straight into your mother’s eyes. The briefest thought, that it is your fearlessness, a lack of tact, that your mother wholly detests you for, flickers in your mind before you extinguish it effectively. No matter. You say, “But we must not forget I still bear your husband’s last name. Regardless of your personal feud,” and you raise your chin towards her, “your husband would never allow even the likes of a woman such as myself to tarnish the family’s honor.”
You can see the tightening, working, grinding of her jaw. She grits, “You must have someone in mind, do you not?” She throws down her fan, the lacquered wood snapping in half when it collides with the ground, and rises on her haunches, towering over your seated figure. “You whore. Who is this man that you are seeing? Do you not understand what a scandal –“
You tilt your head, less than impressed. “There is no other man. That is your job, to find your only female kin a suitable proprietor. I would never do something on your behalf.”
Your response simultaneously placates yet enrages her further. “See yourself out now. And do not appear in my sights again tonight.”
“Of course, Mother.” You finish the last sip of your tea before standing to curtsy and exit the drawing room.
You pad through the darkening halls of your father’s manor with purpose. Instead of returning to your bedroom, you make your way to the third of four floors, veer towards the right end of the hallway, and knock on the last door.
The door cracks open before you can identify yourself.
“I am no postman, My Lady.”
“Oh, Fu Xuan!” You giggle and clasp her hands in yours, holding her fingers up to your cheek. “You are absolutely wonderful to me.”
“I would prefer if you kept your correspondences to a minimum. The servants are already gossiping about the frequency in which letters are delivered to me, and in due time, your mother will begin to pry into this matter.”
“Please, it is only every fortnight!”
Fu Xuan huffs, retracts her hands, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You would not believe how bored your servants are.”
“Well, then, I do apologize. Perhaps I should have a more extravagant fight with my mother next time? At least she might knock over a teapot or something. That should occupy the maids for a day or so.”
“My Lady, if I may presume, it seems you will no longer have to meet that baron?”
You flash a wide grin at your governess. Born in an unconventional household, Fu Xuan is educated, beginning her academics at the age of no less than three, and prepared her whole life to work as a teacher. At first, your mother was against employing Fu Xuan because you were already struggling to conform to the set of traditions and expectations she had placed upon you then, but after meeting the young academic for a brief hour one morning, Fu Xuan and her adept way with words convinced your mother otherwise.
To you, Fu Xuan is more than your governess. She is also your closest confidant, similar enough in age to understand your perspectives yet more than practiced to offer wisdom when required. Though she was shaking her head as you proposed your strategy, Fu Xuan nonetheless agreed to help send and receive letters on your behalf to avoid the hawkish gazes incessantly monitoring you, to deprive them of another chance to pierce and tear at your person.
You walk over to her desk, cleared of everything except for a paper envelope and a small butter knife. You pick the former up, running a pointer finger across the wax seal, and release a soft, muted sigh. “You have always been so keen, Fu Xuan. How could you tell?”
“My Lady, your strengths have never lied in deception.”
“Oh, please!” You feign offense, dramatically setting the back of your hand to your forehead with faux urgency. “I am always excited to see you!”
“Please read the letter, so I may rest.”
Fu Xuan pulls out her desk chair for you to sit in, and you take the small butter knife in your unoccupied hand. Carefully, you prod the tip underneath the seal, gently pushing and easing its grip, until the wax plucks off neatly.
The envelope is thin this time, slimmer than many of the previous letters you have received, and you feel a pang of disappointment, resounding and clear in the hollows of your chest. You pull out a single sheet of paper and unfold it carefully, as if it might tear and dissipate into dust if you so much as brushed a finger a degree too harshly against the fiber.
Dear Lady,
I would like to foremost extend my condolences regarding your father’s condition. Word has reached the far edges of my relatives’ stays in Bath, and when I had visited a week ago, my family had discussed the news over lunch. I should have returned for a brief stay by the time this letter arrives in your hands, and do give Lady Fu Xuan my utmost thanks. I believe I shall see you at the dinner party that is occurring in just a few days time, and, if the chance arises, I will see to it that I am introduced to your brother.
Regarding your question in our previous exchange, my thoughts on the matter vary. Perhaps we may reach an impasse on the issue, but it is an overwhelming hurdle to pass such aggressive tax revisions without unanimous agreeance from many of the other men on the Royal Council; this is hardly achievable in the current instance, and I would advise My Lady and myself to not fancy ourselves with ill-conceived hopes. However, I do concede that your suggestions come from willful intent and are what is best for the common people, and therefore, I will do my part and pass on word to my father and his heir. I sincerely apologize that that is the extent of my powers. I am also aware that this writing may be shorter than before, and I hope My Lady is not discouraged, though, it may be presumptuous of me to assume My Lady would ever have such moments of wavering.
Once my tour has been completed, I can assure that there will be plentiful recounts of my journeys and more debates to be had about the state of affairs I come across. I bring your embroidery with me at all times.
– Your most faithful friend
Jing Yuan, ever thoughtful, always considerate, never one to miss a single detail. Jing Yuan has always been thorough, that has been clear ever since you witnessed those dense, molten golds, and you are glad that he actively reciprocates your efforts in conversation, despite how inexperienced and eloquent you may be in comparison. On cue, Fu Xuan pulls out a drawer to grab a quill, a sheet of paper, and a well of ink, setting them beside your dominant hand. A maid will come to check on you very soon, judging by the rising of the moon, so you must write with precise decisiveness.
Sir,
Many thanks for your condolences to the Marquess. He is recovering and should be able to return to his post in a few morns. I did, indeed, witness you at the dinner party, and I am a little dimmed at the lack of correspondence between you and my brother. Instead, I was subjected to quite a drawling meeting with this baron from somewhere in the South, and the Marchioness has been encouraging his affections for me since. I managed to escape the impending engagement, after inciting a fit from her, but good Sir, while I do not mean to expedite our efforts unnecessarily, I would prefer if we could bring our exchanges elsewhere soon. Paper simply does not compare to the excitement and passion one feels in speech and gesture. Miss Fu Xuan is also beginning to fall under scrutiny, and I would never put her in harm’s way.
As for my simple questions regarding the rumored tax revisions, I thank you, truly, and can only implore My Lord to use the full extent of your ability, despite slim chances at approval. I hope your travels are safe and felicitous, and do write to me next month. I will be awaiting your full return.
– Your most affectionate friend
There is very little time for you to look over your reply. Quickly scanning, you pause only for any glaring errors, and at the lack thereof, you set your quill down and fold the letter in half.
“I must go now,” you tell Fu Xuan as you stand.
“I shall see you tomorrow, My Lady.” The two of you share a soft embrace, cheek to cheek, before you creak the bedroom door open and traverse with light steps to your own chamber. You make it in time, already shuffling into bed when one of the servants arrives to snuff out the candles lighting your room.
–
You remember the soft pulses of warm wind against your arms, the crisp, slightly briny scent of the sea and sand the breeze wafted to your nose. There were many families, children and women and men alike paddling in the sea, while others lied underneath umbrellas on the shore. If there is anything you and your mother have ever agreed on, it is that the beach is truly a healing, almost spiritual location.
Although your mother forbade you from wading into the waters, in fear of the sun burning your visage and hands, you did not mind staying behind on the sands in the first place. The feel of the dirt and grains and cracks of shells felt foreign against your palms, your nerves much more accustomed to the smooth, flat texture of grass blades and rough cobblestone. The beach sands were harsh, sometimes sharp, sometimes rounded from years of natural erosion and other children’s curious touches. You also took delight in the colors of the shore, glittering hot white and beige and speckled pink, winking at you as you scoured for conches and clams. The large sunhat you were wearing kept perturbing your digging, constantly sliding down your forehead and obscuring your vision, yet every time, you would pull it back into place and continue shoveling with curled fingers, until the sand transitioned into wet, moist sediment.
Your mother could not prohibit your burrowing for she was under another umbrella with her acquaintances, and you took much delight in being able to cause some mischief right in front of her without repercussion. But more than petty vengeance, you wanted to find a memento to bring home. Though young, you were already aware of some rift between you and your parents, and you were not guaranteed attendance on such trips in the future. The only way you could comfort yourself was by digging for that perfect shell, with its spirals and grooves and gradient of pearlescent white and baby pink, the ones described in the simple novels Fu Xuan lent you.
But the area around your feet offered little reward, and you were dissatisfied by the chips and scraps remaining in your palm as you sieved through the sand with your fingers. You gave up a little saddened and frustrated, as children do before they lose interest. Then, suddenly, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder, and you peered over to see an outstretched hand with a piece of something bright and orange. You glanced up, and that was when you first laid eyes on Jing Yuan.
“What is this?” you asked, voice muted and withdrawn in the face of a stranger.
“A piece of coral,” he answered. His voice was light and energetic, warm and welcoming, what you imagined playing and frolicking in the sea might feel like.
“What is coral?” He grinned wide, and you decided then that you liked this boy with wild white hair and generous hands. He did not shun you for speaking in questions, did not criticize your lack of knowledge, did not comment “little girl” under his breath.
“My mother says it is a type of rock, found on the ocean’s floors.”
“How did you get it?”
His grin softened into a gentler simper. “She gave it to me. She has these beautiful coral necklaces, and one broke two nights ago. She and her maids could not string it back together, so she gifted me the beads.”
The way he spoke so adoringly, lovingly, about his mother was foreign to you. But even then, you knew how important this woman was to him, and you could not understand why he would give you a present that was meant for him.
“Should you not keep this bead for yourself?”
He shook his head adamantly. “I can share.”
“But this is not something to be shared, yes?”
He paused for a moment, considering his response. He cocked his head to the side, rubbed at his temple with a knuckle, carefully stringing and knitting together the words he wanted to say.
“I want to,” he decided, with a tone of finality. “That way, I will not be the only one to remember my mother.”
You would later find out that Jing Yuan is the illegitimate child of one of the honorable dukedoms. Your brother had informed you but elaborated no further. It was then that you learned that it is customary for those of different castes to separate themselves from each other.
–
Jing Yuan listens to you well. You receive his next letter exactly a month later, timed intentionally no doubt, during a luncheon with Fu Xuan. Your father was still recovering in his chamber, and your mother was away for the weekend to spend some time with her younger sister. It has been a while since the last time you could so openly indulge yourself.
Dear Lady,
I believe I must offer my condolences to both Lady Fu Xuan and My Lady herself; I hope this report is delivered not even an hour too soon. Alas, I am also deeply perturbed at the notion of you being engaged to a baron, of all potential suitors. Though I will not fault the Marchioness, for you are of age and she must feel the pressures from the Marquess and other prying persons, it truly is deeply troubling that she has had to resort to such dire methods. Rest assured, however, that I will do my best to build an alliance with your brother.
I am to complete my tour before the New Year, in time for the coming Season, leaving us ample time. I only pray that the Marchioness does not rush My Lady into another introduction in the meanwhile.
“My Lady,” Fu Xuan interrupts, “your countenance is slipping.”
Without removing your gaze from the letter, eager to continue reading, you simply reply, “He will be back in less than two months.”
I am eager to see the familiar fields of the Duke’s estate when I return, but more than that, and I hope My Lady does not take my affections so lightly, I am delighted to reunite with you. As of this writing, I have only just arrived in Rome, with its famed colonnades, brilliant masonry, and fine arts. If my travels allow, I shall ensure that I bring some trinkets back with me to present to you. I will say no more regarding my tour, as My Lady and I will have more than sufficient time and space to discuss all that I have seen and experienced in the past three years.
However, this is where I have to mark the end of good news. My communications with my father have been unsuccessful, and the revisions we have agreed upon will not even reach the table of the Royal Council. The Duke has made it clear in his returned correspondence that he will speak no further on the issue, and therefore, that is the limitation of my influence. While this outcome may be discouraging, I hope My Lady’s interest in the politics and machinations of our nobility will not wane, and I will continue to improve upon myself to aid in seeing your efforts to fruition.
Before I forget, I must say that I had arrived late to that evening party and could not identify you or your brother at the hall. Next time, I will be more vigilant. Do tell how My Lady is faring, and perhaps we are only a letter or two away from being able to speak to each other in person.
– Your most faithful friend
You do not even bother to respond to Fu Xuan’s calls for you to finish your meal. Rushing out of your seat, you head straight to your brother’s study to write your letter in answer. Fishing through the drawers, you manage to find a dwindling well of ink along with an old, ragged quill, but they shall suffice.
Sir,
How excitable that My Lord is to return so soon, but surely, you jest. Upon the conclusion of your tour, you will have met many characters of people, and therefore, will not feel a need to see such a lively creature as myself. If I had the privilege of my own tour, I know I would lock myself in my room upon its finishing for three days or longer, with no disturbance, not even from Lady Fu Xuan, to record and digest all that I have experienced. There are also the remnants of your mother’s garden; though they may be bare in the midst of the winter snow, I am sure the winding branches and thick brushes are welcoming, familiar sights.
That said, I will hold My Lord to his word and shall comment no more on the matter of our formal introductions. I will continue to educate myself, to silence any hesitation or doubt you may have of my fancies towards academics. It pleases me to know that My Lord has such adoring concerns for me, as I to you.
– Your most affectionate friend
Just as you seal your envelope, waiting for the wax of your family seal to harden, a knock comes from the door.
“This is your own room. You ought to walk in and out as you please.”
Your brother laughs, always amused at your quick wit, and pads over to the front of the desk.
“You behave as if this room belongs to you. It looks like someone has ransacked my drawers for ransom and treasure.”
You roll your eyes. “There are none of such wares here. Your most pitiful sister could only employ an abandoned quill and a leaking pot of ink.”
“But you finished writing, nevertheless. To whom may I inquire?” He attempts to peer at the back of the envelope, hoping to catch a glimpse of a name or an address, but you slide it off the table before he can see.
“A friend.”
You know this answer will not satiate your brother’s endless curiosity, one of your many similarities. “Do I know of this friend?”
“You will,” and you wave at him to dismiss his other queries.
Unwavering, he says, “I see my ‘most pitiful’ sister has tricks up her sleeve. I am eager to see what surprises you have in store for me.” You nod cheerfully in agreement.
Aside from Jing Yuan, your brother is the only other male figure in your life that encourages your willingness to explore and learn. In the first place, he distastes the act of patronizing or critiquing you, and only provides guidance when even Fu Xuan cannot convince you of your wrongs. So when he brings up the debates and discussions that have occurred at the Royal Council, you are ever grateful for his generosity.
“I am sure you have heard recent word of the revolts happening in the slums. Such news has reached the ears of those in the Royal Council, and the Dukedoms have unanimously agreed to patiently wait for silence to befall the common folk.” He glances at you to see if you have anything to say. You blink, urging him to continue. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly, leans forward, bending at his waist so you two are now nose to nose. In a hushed voice, he says, “In fact, in the upcoming Season, they plan to raise the taxes again.”
You huff, frustrated. You mutter, “Relentless, they are.”
Your brother echoes your sentiments, wearing a solemn expression as well, and mumbles, “Indeed. How cruel, too, to decide the fates of so many right before the New Year.”
“I am confident Father agrees?”
“Regardless if he does or not, a Marquess cannot possibly rebuke the demands of a Duke.”
Both of you can only sigh. Without lingering for too long, though, you rise, preparing to send off your waiting response.
“Be well,” your brother says as he accompanies you to the study door, “for I have heard this winter will be sinister.”
Rather than feel a chill in your bones, though, your blood rushes with renewed warmth and vigor. An initiative, a motivation to take action, something you have never experienced before, appears in your mind, burning into your thoughts so you will never forget. This is a chance, you think. An opportunity I will never be bestowed again.
–
In and out, through and through, back and forth. You wet the tip of the thread with a flick of your tongue and string it through the silver of the needle. In and out, through and through, back and forth. You tie a small knot at the end of the thread. In and out, through and through, back and forth.
Stitching did not come naturally to you. If one studied the pads of your fingers at length, one could discern the faint scars of scratches and pierces of the tender skin, remnants of your debacle with the needle before you learned to seamlessly wield it. Now, after many years of practice, you have come to enjoy the meticulous process of creation, watching as each push, pull, and tighten amounts to a stroke of an image.
At first, it began with tambouring, straightforward enough for a young girl to grow accustomed to the pricking and stringing motions of a needle, decorating spare handkerchiefs and old dresses that you could no longer fit in. Then, when you received some canvas and a circular wooden frame from Fu Xuan for your birthday, you transitioned to the needle and began to acquire knowledge of the many different types of stitches and patterns. From there, your practices extended beyond the frayed edges of cut cloth. From lace trimmings of your skirt to the cuffs of your brother’s shirts and coats to the reticules your mother had long abandoned and forgotten about, your work started to resemble that of the many renowned seamstresses in town. Of course, many did, still do not, look favorably upon this talent of yours. Embroidery is considered a lower form of art, incomparable to the ways of music or sketch or paint. But, still, you seek comfort, when your mind is much too tense and worn, in the rhythm and coming together of fabric and lines.
“What is it?” Disinterested, convinced that whatever you have conjured up is of no importance, will always never be important, your mother looks outside of the window panes, more content to watch flakes of white drift from the graying sky.
You are not swayed. You clear your throat and say, “We are mother and daughter. Occasionally, the blood that binds us does show in our behaviors.”
Your mother sighs. “Out with it, foolish girl.” She casts a glare at you before her eyes flick back to the scenery outside. “I require total peace, so hurry with your speech.”
“I simply want to request a tea party with a few of the other ladies.”
Eyebrows furrowed, your mother peers at you as if you have sprouted the Devil’s horns atop your head. Incredulous, she asks, “Why such a change in heart and mind?”
“Well, to ease some of your concerns, I think it is best that I learn from those you deem proper enough. Further,” and you stare at her intently now, “your dearest son has informed me that this winter will be particularly harsh. How can we entertain our guests when we are all inside for so long?”
“Is the usual routine of games and food and good laughter not sufficient?” Your mother is fully facing you now. Inwardly, you chuckle with much delight.
You speak slowly, stretching out the silence between each phrase to heighten pressure and suspense. “Fair,” you muse, “but all of our fathers are getting older, too. See your husband, Mother, his state is faring worse and worse. Perhaps... us ladies can spend the time more wisely.”
“I see.”
All you can do is wait as your mother mulls over the idea, letting your suggestion sink, ruminate, digest. You cannot push anymore, so you bid a good night and return to your room. Even without the tea party, even if you have to bear the burden yourself, your work awaits you.
The next morning, you are surprised to find one of your mother’s maids carrying several letters outside.
“What are these messages for?” you ask.
The maid does a brief curtsy before answering, “The Marchioness is sending out invitations for a tea party, My Lady. It is set to happen immediately, a week from today.”
The outcome is even better than you had anticipated.
You rush to the morning room, where your mother is eating bread and chocolate.
“Mother, thank you,” you say, a hand over your heart as you bow.
She huffs and finishes chewing her bite. Dusting her fingers, she replies with arrogance, knowing you owe her a favor, “I have also gone ahead and asked for layers upon layers of cotton, linen, and wool to be delivered to the estate. Let this be a reminder that you owe everything to your noble upbringing.”
You are much too giddy to smartly reproach her.
–
The tea party is loud and boisterous, filling the usual silence of your family’s manor with tall tales, news on the men’s recent fox hunts, and scandalous romantic couplings. You hear that a baron was caught with his mistress of several months. A Duke’s son fell off his horse because he was severely inebriated, but thankfully only broke his dominant arm and nowhere else. An older earl and countess were blessed with another daughter.
You sit in a rocking chair and let the conversation float freely in your mind. For once, your mother has truly outclassed your expectations, presenting you with an occasion, an opportunity, so bountiful that you are almost compelled to forgive her historical grievances towards you. You sew together sheets of linen, piling in wool and cotton, before closing the seams. The other ladies also work with unparalleled diligence at having been given a purpose.
“What a wonderful idea!” one praised with joy. Another said you were “incredibly thoughtful.” You smirk within your thoughts, concealed by a pleasant countenance on the outside. Even the accompanying men nodded approvingly at your intentions.
At the beginning of the party, you announced to the many guests, “Please, do enjoy your time here at the manor. I am incredibly gracious towards you all for making the cold journey to this distant estate. However, I urge all of the ladies present to work as quickly yet dutifully as your hands can, for we need to make as many coats as possible. There is no such thing as too much warmth in this never ending cold.” Everyone agreed with solemn expressions before breaking for Chinese green tea, gingerbread, and walnut cake, filling the air with festive cheer.
You pause for a brief break. As you curl and uncurl your fingers, stretching out the strained joints, you glance over at a couch. In a day’s work, the couch is covered in layers upon layers of coats and thicker shirts. Some are small, others are longer, few haphazardly put together, but all will still do. Then, you look around the room, passing your eyes over the faces of all of the guests. The women, more than there usually are at such parties, sit in armchairs around the room. The men stand in between, wherever there is space, holding onto glass cups of wine and emptied coffee cans. Though you have never felt like you belonged in such groups and communities, you cannot help but find today’s gathering rather agreeable and successful. Is this what it feels like to start something and see it through to the end?
Well, not that you are at the end. You count in your head and conclude that there is still a month before Jing Yuan returns. When he does, then you will be able to see your work to completion.
At the thought of him, though, you feel a faint flicker of concern. It has been a month since your last letter, and you have yet to receive one in return. You try to comfort yourself with reminders that Jing Yuan is busy and there is always the possibility of mail getting lost or delayed in transaction. But, in that case, you must try again.
Later that evening, when all of the guests have dismissed themselves and the drawing room brims with clothes, you slip to Fu Xuan’s room and draft a quick message by melting candlelight.
Sir,
My sincere apologies for disturbing your journey. As I have not received a reply since my last letter, I wanted to send another one to let you know that I am, at least, faring well. Winter is rapidly approaching, and I hope My Lord is not experiencing any disorder or illness yourself, that is, if Rome is experiencing such volatile weather as well, I would not know. If possible, since you insist, shall we wait in your mother’s garden when you return, as we did years ago?
I patiently await My Lord’s presence.
– Your most affectionate friend
–
A knock on your window wakes you from your restless sleep. Already half-awake from tossing and turning, you hear the curt raps against the glass pane and slowly blink awake. The person is patient and remains silent, as if knowing you would require a few minutes to get dressed and prepared.
You pull on another two layers of gowns and a thick shawl. You also grab one of the coats you sewed. Finally, you grab two pairs of gloves, one much larger than the other, and pad over to open the curtains covering your windows.
The sky is overcast, large clumps of clouds blocking the moon and stars from your vision, but occasionally, faint streaks of light pour through the cracks of the grim overhang. And right as you see him, a single ray casts its brightness over the man waiting outside, as if to anoint him prince or king or some holy spirit. His hair gleams the purest silver, and he adorns a coat, one that is seemingly a little too small for him, with floral patterns adorning the length of its sleeves. He flashes a close-eyed smile, and you cannot help but also beam at him.
Firmly, you hold the top sash of the window while pushing the bottom panel up. As soon as the bottom panel is lifted even slightly, a gust of biting air enters your rooms and flurries around your figure. You shiver at the chill but continue to lift until the window is fully open and slip through.
Holding onto your arm with one hand and your waist with the other, he helps you out of your room and onto the tiny balcony with him. When you stand, you two are pressed chest to chest, but by now, the streak of moonlight has disappeared and you can only make out faint traces of him.
“Good day, My Lady,” the man whispers.
You take a deep breath, basking in the sturdiness of his frame against yours and the ticklish sensation against your ear from his breath. “Should it not be ‘good evening,’ My Lord?”
“The day is anew, so I shall be the first one to greet you in this early morn.”
As your eyes adjust to the darkness, his features come into clearer view. The strands of each hair, the creases of his lapels, those molten golds. You cannot stare for too long, lest you blaze and melt as well.
“I will go down first,” he says, “and be there to catch you when you jump down.”
“Yes, yes,” you agree, though, not without a tinge of sarcasm. “As we have done before.”
He nods, maintaining his grip on your waist for another moment, before he releases you, leaps into a nearby tree, and swiftly climbs down to the ground. You, on the other hand, pull yourself up to sit on the balcony railing, and when he motions with waves of his hands, you take a deep breath, feel the pounding of your heartbeat against your ribcage, and propel yourself off with a push of your legs, holding onto your belongings. He catches you, arms knowingly finding their way around your waist and under your knees, as if he did not simply perform a feat of great strength and balance.
“Jing Yuan,” you gasp.
“Oh, now we are using names?” he jests. You are still too excited to reprimand him, and he laughs at your awestruck state before saying your name. He carries you over to where his horse stays, neighing and nosing at the ground, and helps you get on. By now, you have recollected your breath and can say much more.
“Jing Yuan,” you call out. “Your coat is much too small for you. Wear this one instead.” You toss the one you have been clutching onto this entire time, along with the larger pair of gloves, into his arms. “It may not be as comfortable, but it should keep you warm.”
“It seems My Lady has become quite cold-hearted in the years we have spent apart.”
“No, I know why My Lord chooses to wear what he has adorned. But I cannot have you falling ill on me. I need you.” The sound of your last three words seem to soften something in Jing Yuan because when he looks up at you, his gaze is full of longing and yearning.
“Then, we must leave here immediately,” he replies as he mounts onto the horse, sitting in front of you. “Hold on tight.”
And with a tug of the reigns, the two of you are racing through the fields and roads that surround your family’s estate. You bury your face into Jing Yuan’s back, feel the scratch of the linen against your cheeks, and submit to the roaring of the wind in your ears.
Three long years since you have been on the back of this very horse, holding onto Jing Yuan as so. Mimi, a most peculiar name that Jing Yuan imagined, was only a young mare at the time, but she could at least withstand the weight of your younger selves, quite strong for both her sex and age. In the past, the two of you often made such arrangements, every fortnight or so, him greeting you at the window as he did this evening, you leaping into his arms, the two of you escaping to the safety and privacy of his mother’s garden.
You do not know how long it takes to reach his estate from yours, but Mimi must have gotten faster because you arrive before you can fully adjust to the jostling of horseback. With a tip of his chin, the gatekeeper of Jing Yuan’s manor obeys and cracks the gate only enough to let your party slip through. Mimi’s hooves clop against the gravel of the driveway as Jing Yuan slows her down to a slight gallop and guides her towards the left side of the estate, where one can enter his mother’s garden after jumping past a few evergreen hedges.
He gets off first before helping you down. From above, you can see the tips of his reddened ears and scoff, frustrated.
“What is the matter, My Lady?” he inquires, attentive to even the smallest shifts in your disposition.
“I must apologize, My Lord. I should have brought a tippet.”
“Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters. Yanqing has already prepared warm clothes and food for us.” He sets you down and guides you to an open space nearby that is hidden behind granite pillars and dry rose vines, where, on top of a picnic sheet on the floor, lay two oil lamps that illuminate a spread of covered tableware and articles of muffs, coats, and blankets. If you recall correctly, this area used to host a small table and two chairs, allowing Jing Yuan and his mother to nibble on biscuits and talk about the day’s events during spring dawns and summer dusks.
“Yanqing must have grown considerably,” you say as you take a seat. Jing Yuan nods, sitting right beside you, and drapes a blanket over your shoulders.
“Much has changed,” he muses. “He is at my shoulders now. He has taken great care of Mimi.”
“You did not bring her along with you?”
Jing Yuan tilts his head, as he always does when he is about to tell an interesting story. “I had to travel by boat several times throughout my tour. There was no way to bring Mimi, for she is terrified of the ocean.” You perk up at and listen intently, eager to drink in all of the details of his travels.
Jing Yuan speaks of meeting the British envoys and French royals. He recounts the myths behind the statue of the Tiber. He speaks of the many hurdles he experienced as he made his way from one country to the next, once needing to barter with a driver over ten cents for an additional mile, another time having to locate a luggage that slipped into a raging river. He describes the cuisines he ate in masterful language, the fragrant breads, seasoned fish, decadent pastries, hearty stews. He lists cultural differences, how the Austrians bond over musical theatre and opera, the way Italians pore over their massive collections of literature, the Portuguese’s peaceful lives separate from war and political strife.
“I wonder how Portugal does it,” you mumble.
Jing Yuan leans down to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “My Lady,” he mutters, “there is no such thing as a complete utopia in this world.”
“But did you not just prescribe their land as such?”
He hums, tracing his finger from behind the shell of your ear, down to your pulse point at your neck, back up to the under of your jaw. “A Grand Tour is still only a tour. One does not visit the slums or the rural villages or the dirty outskirts of cities, if it can be avoided. We will never fully see or understand how the common people live. How they survive.”
You can feel the intensity of his stare. He is testing you, urging you to look back, to taste the raging of flames and anger and frustration in his golden eyes. But you cannot, or rather, you should not. It would be too presumptuous of you to act like you still know how he thinks, understands, perceives the world.
“You are right, My Lord,” you manage to croak, throat somehow parched, despite the cup of warm milk you only just finished. “We will never truly know.”
You want to say more, but you do not know if you should. Instead, you shut your mouth and lean against Jing Yuan’s shoulder.
Unexpectedly, he shrugs you off. He even pulls away from you. Then, he taps at the middle of your spine, causing you to sit still and upright.
“Speak,” he instructs, voice low yet stable, as if he is waiting with bated breath, patience wearing thin. “I know you have your own thoughts, so speak your truth.”
“My Lord, I…” You falter. It has been a while since you have been allowed to speak so openly about such serious matters, and you are no longer accustomed to late hours past your curfew, neither of which aid you as you attempt to string together some semblance of eloquence. “In reality, I… I will never have the chance to know. To know how it feels like to go without food or shelter. Or to withstand this severe weather in the barest of threads. Or any degree of suffering and hardship, truly. But…” You take one hand out of the muff and place it on top of his gloved ones, running the pads of your fingers over the glazed leather. “But I cannot sit idly by and do nothing, no?”
Jing Yuan interlaces his fingers with yours and asks, “What can you do?” It is not an admonishment or an ironic jab, but instead, a genuine question with hopeful intentions.
“Jing Yuan.” The punctuated way you utter his name alerts him, and he tightens his grasp on you to let you know he is listening. “Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps, I have found a way. Your coat.” You nudge your chin towards his chest, and he finally examines the thick wool keeping him warm.
“Did you make this?”
You nod. “And many other ladies. I hosted a tea party a few weeks ago where we gathered together to make many. Though they may not be lined or hemmed properly, they should last a few winters.”
Jing Yuan shuffles to look around at the coat that he is wearing. You watch as his eyes dart from the collar to the sleeves to the buttons. As if coming to some sort of internal agreement, he nods and releases an interested hum.
“I wonder how you convinced such noble families to partake in charity?”
You chuckle, shaking your head before resting it on his shoulder. This time, he does not shake you off. “They do not know that it is for charity. I simply requested that we do it under the guise of my father’s illness, and bless their hearts, they agreed to assist in making as many winter pieces for the noblemen as they could. My Lord, women can be quite determined if given a meaningful task.”
Jing Yuan laughs at your last comment. “That I know well, for My Lady is a prime example of such fortitude. But will they not realize some of the clothes will be missing?”
“Oh, of course, I addressed that as well. I told them I would be sending the pieces we made to the seamstresses to get it properly fitted, which would require some time and patience. My Lord, you ought to know that, while many noble ladies know how to embroider, that is the extent of their talents. None of them even know how to put together a dress for themselves! At the very least, they can do rudimentary work in sewing together large pieces of fabric and stuffing cotton. Regardless, in the meantime, I will continue to sew as many as I can to substitute for the missing amount, and I will be sure to distribute the coats to their intended owners before the New Year. Speaking of which…”
You nudge at his chest with the point of your elbow. It takes Jing Yuan a second to react, the exhaustion beginning to penetrate and muddle his senses, before he realizes.
He chuckles again, softer, quieter. “I understand why My Lady said she needed me earlier this evening.”
“Would you be willing to support such an endeavor, My Lord?”
Without a single word, he brings his arms around you and sets his head atop of yours, embracing you with comfortable tightness and security. “Of course, anything at your behest. Let me know when, and I shall act upon your instruction immediately.”
“On Saint Thomas’s Day. Visit as many families as you can, especially those with children.”
“Then it shall be done.”
With that, silence fills the space around you. You should be even a slight bit cautious and careful, with the way Jing Yuan surrounds you whole. You both are much more grown, after all, and if someone, anyone, were to see the intimacy the two of you are sharing, it would tarnish your reputation irreparably. But three long years it has been since the last time you felt his touch. Three years since you could feel his hair graze against your cheek, his fingers hold at your waist, his chest press against your back. And more than anything else, these past three years have cost you the sound of his voice. He sounds different now. More worn and fatigued, yet simultaneously confident and articulate. You have been deprived of his lips ghosting your ears, his hot breath trailing against the lines of your neck, each of his words sending tremors through the flesh and bones of your body.
“Are you warm, My Lord?”
“Yes, much due to this coat of yours.”
You huff. “You should not have worn such an ill-fitted coat in the first place. It does not fit you anymore.”
He strokes at your side and banters, “My Lady, I truly do hope that you are not, in reality, ignorant as to why I chose to.”
Of course, you know. The way the coat stretched to accommodate Jing Yuan’s growth is only another sign, in testament to how much he has transformed since your last encounter three years ago.
You still remember doing, undoing, redoing many of the countless florals that are strewn across the expanses of the sleeves. The red thread is bold, in contrast to the crisp white of the article’s linen, and you remember how, at the time, you were embarrassed by your brazenness to choose such a distinct color. You had wanted to change it to something else, perhaps a muted blue or yellow, but it was too late, and you had to see Jing Yuan off before his tour.
Seeming to know where your mind is wandering off to, he says something that steals your breath and sets your heart ablaze. “I wear this coat whenever I can.”
You can only roll your eyes, and you are grateful that your frostbitten nose and ears do not give away the warmth in your face. “You foolish man, Jing Yuan.”
Somehow, his hold on you becomes stronger, and you feel as if he is swallowing you, overwhelming all of your senses with only him. “I think it is romantic. It is My Lady’s first gift to me, after all.”
That is true. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be coddled, and think back to when both of you were much younger and even more so naïve, not yet fully aware of fate’s unfoldings.
After your encounter at the beach, you did not meet the boy again until a few years later at a party. Your parents were unacquainted, but as soon as you saw him, you escaped your mother when she was too busy meeting other guests and pulled Jing Yuan aside to say your much belated thanks. When he was younger, Jing Yuan was mischievous, feisty, energetic. He delighted in your spontaneity as well, and as children do, the two of you decided to meet up after he learned to ride. There was no discussion of details or logistics, only an intangible promise that somehow carried more trust than any vow or oath.
Yet, he found you. And he brought you over to this very garden, to a small shed where his mother was awaiting the both of you.
You remember his mother in vivid detail. One could describe her as the embodiment of the nobility. Her posture exuded dignity and discipline, her choices in fashion tasteful and elegant, a woman of such gentleness and compassion that you had wished many times she was your blood mother as well. Jing Yuan’s mother was also responsible for introducing you to embroidery. Had she not, you are sure you would never have touched the needle and string in this lifetime. You practiced so diligently, hoping to impress and astound her with your talent. But truly, regardless of what came of your fastidious efforts, she always caressed the top of your head and praised you, repeating honeyed words and phrases until you almost believed them. Jing Yuan would watch the two of you work and occasionally try his hand at your activities, though he was never much good, too impatient and easily irritated as young boys are.
But then, in the spring of your twelfth year and Jing Yuan’s fifteenth, she was gone. There were no more traces of her, and the shed no longer stood where it once was. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. The tulips, pansies, and hyacinths his mother labored over were in full bloom, yet she would never see those sun-kissed petals and brilliant green stems. She would never witness Jing Yuan’s rapid improvements in the sword or your ability to peruse a text meant for grown men. She would never see the two of you grow up to become the man and woman the two of you are today.
And Jing Yuan did not cry when he told you. But you could see the sorrow and emptiness hang from him, outlining the lines of his face, scenting the tear stains on his button-up, creaking in his joints. You stood behind him, watching as he raised his head to look up at the sun, so bright and gleaming and proud. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. And he told you everything, answering all of the questions you never voiced or had.
His mother was the mistress of a Duke, making Jing Yuan an illegitimate child. But because his father was a Duke, no one batted an eye, and it never caused a stir, simply a passing comment made as the nobles greeted each other over mealtime before moving onto more extravagant rumors. And, as Jing Yuan described, he did not suffer much either. The Duke still gave him the education and training befitting of a high-ranking noble’s child, and he was granted unrestrained freedom and privileges. But the one thing Jing Yuan deeply, wholly wanted his whole life was never satisfied.
Although Jing Yuan was allowed to do whatever it is he wanted with no dispute, his father maintained distance and never showed much of an interest towards him or his mother. His mother had always been sickly and was often in isolation, yet despite the circumstances, the Duke only slipped farther and farther away. Jing Yuan had longed for a complete family, but to no avail. And his mother passed away, accompanied only by a physician and two maids, when Jing Yuan was away for a hunt. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully.
Afterwards, the two of you became an inseparable duo. You visited more often, almost once or twice every week, and though you never cared much for, or rather, did not know much of, affection, you began to let your fingers linger on his shoulders as he helped you down from Mimi and to sit in a way such that the cap of your knee would brush against his. And when you were not in the presence of each other, the two of you established a line of communication via letters. These letters would bridge the physical gap between the two of you and proved extremely useful when Jing Yuan went on tour.
Aside from letters, when he was away on tour, Yanqing would deliver some clothes to your estate, hiding a bag of shirts or tailcoats in a bush, of which you would collect when you and Fu Xuan would return from your afternoon strolls. These were articles prepared for Jing Yuan during his brief returns, usually due to some family emergency or duty for the Parliament. At this point, you fully embraced the color red and its flare and passion, choosing to take on the burden of a crimson so bright that you are left with no choice but to ensure that every stitch is perfect. You adorned his clothes with the subtlest of details, only meant to elevate them around the collar or cuffs or pockets.
And that is how those three years passed. Now that he is beside you, the time apart feels both painfully enduring yet incredibly effortless. Though he was not by your side, it never felt like he was far away, definitely not across oceans and mountain ranges and plains with names you have never heard of. Regardless, all that matters is, in the present moment, Jing Yuan is truly here, and you are with him.
–
The events leading up to Christmastide and the holiday itself flurried by. As planned, Yanqing had come to collect the coats you and Fu Xuan had left in bags behind a bundle of trees, and on Saint Thomas’s Day, Jing Yuan went out to deliver them, spending the day outside and reporting to you promptly when he returned home later that night. Through the grapevine, you heard of the countless praises the nobles showered upon Jing Yuan and his father, and from Jing Yuan himself, many of the common folk were at a loss for words, shocked that the son of a Royal Council member would dare to tread into their territory.
The end of such festivities also signaled the beginnings of the new Season. January was spent preparing the finest laces, silks, ribbons, jewelries you would be donning at the never ending series of parties, picnics, hunts, and other gatherings for the next few months. This time, though, you were eager, hounding all of the maids, Fu Xuan, even your mother to assist in the wake of your unprecedented enthusiasm.
Presently, you are en route to your first ball. You and your mother are in a coach, while your brother rides on horseback. It is dark outside and the snow is incessant, but the ambience is full of excitement, the hopeful chattering between young ladies and lords, as well as the charming music from the band playing inside, drowning out the howls of the wind. As your party nears the assembly room, you can clearly see the size of the gathering, dozens of middle- and upper-class families present and attendants rushing about to answer calls for help.
Your coach stops near the edge of the driveway, and your brother takes your hand as you step out.
“I heard from Mother that you were fervently awaiting today,” he says with a smirk, brushing off the snowflakes collecting on your shoulders. “This is your third season, so what could possibly be so unique about tonight’s party?”
You open your fan, concealing everything below your eyes, and shrug. Behind the fan’s ribs, though, you are smiling widely, unable to feign even an ounce of indifference.
“I simply hope this is your sister’s final season,” your mother remarks as she exits the carriage.
As soon as the three of you step into the hall, your brother is hounded with warm greetings and impatient requests. Your father had fallen ill once again, and given his series of absences, many have turned towards your brother as the patriarch of the family.
“I shall tend to these matters. Do enjoy your time, dear Sister!” your brother calls as he gets pulled away.
You and your mother walk over to a group of ladies, many of whom attended your tea party and took part in your ambitious project. One lady in a pale pink gown, in particular, seems to be at the centre of the conversation, as all the rest are peering at her with palpable expectation. You can hear bits and pieces of the conversation as you approach.
Another in tea green pokes at her. “Miss, please share! We are begging you to tell us how!”
The lady blushes deeply, fanning at herself. “Friends, there is no how! I simply met the man at a closed gathering the week before.”
“What is his demeanor?”
“Is he of your rank or above?”
“Have you garnered affections for him yet?”
Questions are flung at her, and she simply responds by closing her fan and tapping at one of her cheeks at each query.
When the arguably most important question is asked, whether or not she wants to be engaged to the man, she places the tip of her fan against her right cheek, and everyone breaks into surprised gasps and delighted murmurs.
Then, as if staged, the music in the room diminuendos until the band tapers into silence. There is a brief shuffling of sheet music before the musicians break into the first country song of the evening. A gentleman comes over, a son of an earl from a glance, and bows in front of the lady in the pink, holding his right hand out in search of her left. The other ladies, you and your mother included, watch with intent and rapture, and follow the extension of her elbow as she lets herself be taken. As the pair slip away, mutterings break between the remaining women before they, too, are asked, one by one, to dance with other single gentlemen.
As usual, you excuse yourself to the corner of the ballroom, finding a seat that ensures an adequate view of the dancing attendees. There are rumors that you do not participate because you are not well-trained, but truly, it is only because you have very little interest in dancing with men you have never met before.
From here, you can observe the subtlest of details without disturbance. You notice a younger boy slip into the room with refreshments, bound to gorge himself on bread and butter even though dinner is scheduled in two hours or so. An old couple stands at the tailend of the dancing line, half a beat behind everyone else, chuckling to themselves as they attempt to keep up with the steps they know by heart. The mothers of many of the debutantes are lined against the walls, their eyes not on their respective daughters but rather on the many potential suitors in the room, cherry picking the perfect son-in-law.
And then, a flash of red. You see it at the edge of your periphery, and your head whips to the left. You do not see the red again, but instead, a dense cloud of white. You are about to leap up and pace forward, but you catch yourself and hurry to rearrange your expression to one that is more neutral and acceptable.
Jing Yuan comes to stand before you, followed by your brother.
The latter says, “Dear Sister, this is Lord Jing Yuan.”
You bite at your lip to prevent yourself from reacting to the comedy of the situation, and curtsy towards Jing Yuan as he bows to you.
“Pleased to be in your presence, My Lord.”
“I should be thanking My Lady.”
Your brother chuckles. “The two of you are too stiff. Sister, Lord Jing Yuan has just returned from his Grand Tour and is the son of Duke…,” and he prattles on, listing facts and details you are already aware of. Jing Yuan is also amused and glances at you every so often, but you avoid returning such stares and focus your attention on the sound of your sibling’s voice.
However, soon thereafter, the Master of Ceremonies interrupts all activities, including your trio’s brief exchange, and calls for mealtime. Jing Yuan dismisses himself, returning to his step-brother’s side.
Suddenly, your brother grabs you by the shoulder. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shake your arm in response, urging him to loosen his grip.
“What a miracle!” he exclaims. You furrow at him with confusion. “Sister! Lord Jing Yuan himself rushed to greet you. That is unheard of!”
It takes you a second to understand, to remember that there are customs and traditions in society’s place, and the oddity of the situation finally dawns on you. “Brother,” you respond, “tell me how you encountered him.”
“Well, I paid the Duke, his father, a quick greeting on behalf of our family, and Lord Jing Yuan was there as well. When I was about to take my leave, he followed after me, and asked if I had any time. Can you believe it? He asked if I had time!”
“Yes, yes, please proceed.”
“I was worried I had done something imprudent in front of him and the Duke. I began saying a flurry of things, but he simply asked if I knew of any ladies that are seeking engagements, as he is in a rush to get married himself. I should have asked why –”
“Brother.”
“Ah, dismiss that thought. Anyway, of course, I had to say that you are of age, and he requested I direct him to you. I resisted, because as our father is only a Marquess and him a part of a Dukedom, it is only proper that I bring you to him, but he said he needed to be somewhere quieter and hurried us off.”
Your brother takes a deep breath and waits for your response. With much effort, you remain stoic.
“How peculiar,” you muse, with as even a tone as you can muster.
“Dear Sister, perhaps…” The two of you share a quick look, his expectant, yours knowing.
After a lingering moment of silence, you can only sigh. “We shall see.”
Ecstatic, your brother takes your shoulders with renewed vigor, lightly shaking you back and forth. “How auspicious! Of course, I will miss you, but Sister, you would be much happier away from our estate! You must seize this chance!”
You go along with his antics and incessant chattering, making slow progress towards the dining hall.
–
The third month of the year promises a multitude of changes. Primarily, fox hunting ends in March, therefore the men are rushing to organize their final hunts. As the men are occupied during their outings, the women pass their leisure time inside, rather impatiently, too, for Easter and the height of the Season, which will be at full throttle within a few weeks’ time. For noblewomen in particular, they also have the option to accompany the hunts, and on this late morning, you and your mother stay in a carriage to support the participants from afar.
Today’s hunt is small, exclusive to a few select Dukes and Marquesses of the nobility. Your father, now recovered, and your brother are present, and you notice Jing Yuan and his step-brother are also members among the group.
Truly, Jing Yuan stands out amongst the crowd. Again, you are reminded of his towering and broad stature, and even when he is not speaking, he carries a solid aura of authority and a command for respect such that the other attendants do not dare to mention, let alone mock, his birthright. At the moment, he is running his hands through Mimi’s mane, and even his trust and care for her alone are superior to the mediocre handle the other men have of their horses.
The hunters seem to be strategizing, plotting out routes and dividing themselves into smaller groups, and with each passing second, your interest dampens, and it seems your mother is also growing disinterested.
With a flick of her wrist, glass-beaded bracelets clinking and clanking, she speaks, “The white-haired man, is it?”
You nod.
She huffs through her nose, but she is not unhappy. She is silently beckoning you to question her.
And so, you inquire, “Mother, what are your judgments of Lord Jing Yuan?”
She leans towards the window and narrows her eyes. “A man of benevolent nature… Quite handsome as well… But a bastard child, is he not?”
You shrug. “What does it matter? His father is a Duke.”
“It does not change that he is born from the womb of a wicked woman.”
A striking flash of anger and urgency erupts in your gut, and you are close to hurtling uncouth insults at the woman sitting before you, but there is no need because your mother finishes her thought before your outburst can materialize.
“That brings me great pleasure,” the absurd woman says, with a twisted snark, “for you do not deserve happiness in your marriage. While I may be gone, misfortune shall always befall you. You will always suffer from your ill nature.”
Without a word, you swing the door of the carriage open and step out, in need of space. You strut to a group of barren trees, sparkling with melting dew, and lean against the trunk of one, looking off at where the hunters and their hounds are racing after the scent of foxes.
The biting cold does nothing to cool your raging internal heat. The echoes of your mother’s spiteful words act as fuel, a permanent well of dark, staining oil, spinning and stubborn in your mind. In fact, you become more bitter and sensitive at their persistence, and if anyone were to say one wrong phrase or make one wrong move towards you at this very instance, they would, for sure, catch your ire.
How dare she. Even in your most distant memories, the thought of Jing Yuan’s mother brings warmth, a tight embrace, an affirming kiss on your forehead. In comparison, your own blood parents have done nothing more than bring you into this world. Even the jewels, fabrics, food, shelter they provide you are done out of obligation; given the option, they would abandon you without hesitation.
The taste of acid and iron surprises you. You are usually tame, capable of extinguishing any sign of anger or disappointment, so to find yourself so outraged that you have bitten open the inside of your cheek serves to worsen your temperament. You refuse to let that woman, only bound to you by blood and flesh, grate at your nerves, but it seems, this time, she has poked at your most sensitive vulnerability.
Suddenly, a loud neigh from a horse rings through the field, and you turn your head just in time to see Jing Yuan, a crumpled body, and Mimi leap through the air and land near you.
“Jing Yuan!” you cry, hands clutching at the sides of your skirt, annoyance and frustration set aside.
He tugs at Mimi sternly, and with a kick of her front legs, she rears to a halt. You rush over as Jing Yuan hops down with a man on his back, the latter wearing a deep-set frown and releasing low groans.
“What happened? Someone, please –”
Jing Yuan intervenes with a call of your name, shaking his head. “No need for your people. I shall bring the Marquess to his carriage and stay with him till he reaches his estate.”
You could care less about the injured man. “And what about you? Are you injured, Jing Yuan?”
He nods. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “Careful, for we are being watched. But thank you.” Something in his eyes glitter, a light diamond yellow, a new color so beautiful and mesmerizing. You force yourself to tear your gaze away. “I am fine, My Lady. Please, take care.”
You clamp your mouth shut. With that, he paces away, doing his best to carry the injured Marquess steadily.
You do not see him again for the rest of the day. But his heroics, over the course of an evening, become the talk of the town.
Two days pass, and for the first time, Jing Yuan and you meet during the daytime, accompanied by Fu Xuan. A nearby promenade has been kept cleared, as more and more folks spend time outside, and it is only proper that the two of you extend your public interactions beyond simple greetings, primarily to discourage and drive away any suitors who still retain hopes in having your or Jing Yuan’s hand.
“My Lord has certainly come under scrutiny,” you say, playful and amused in tone.
“Ah, the nobles do love their entertainment, I suppose.”
“Do not be so bashful, My Lord! I have heard of everything, and what you did during the hunt is truly an accomplished feat.”
“Tell me, then, My Lady, what you have heard.”
You switch your parasol to your other shoulder and tilt it up so that you can better see in front of you. There are other prospective couples, as well as their respective chaperones, but all eyes seem to be on you and Jing Yuan. With no fan in hand, it is difficult to signal to your partner, but he, too, already seems aware of the prying stares.
You begin to tell, “I much prefer the noble ladies and their recollections. Their recountings began before the hunt even started.
“You were steering the conversation, as if you were a general and the others your cavalrymen, planning every possible move and route.”
Jing Yuan stifles his fit of laughs with the back of his hand, and you do as well.
Resuming, you say, “Then, the group broke into partitions of four or five men each. The hunt seemed already destined and fated for success, with you in charge. However, many of the noblemen are elderly, yes? So as you and Mimi galloped so freely under the blue sky, the other men in your group struggled to keep up, and one Marquess with very little talent in horseback did not jump over a jutting root in time and came tumbling down with his English thoroughbred.”
Jing Yuan claps when you finish. “I am surprised you know what a thoroughbred is, My Lady.”
“I do not. To me, a horse is simply a horse. But, more importantly, what does My Lord think of my rendition?”
You glance up, only to see that he is watching you, and immediately, you turn your cheek the other way.
“I think,” he muses, “that My Lady is an excellent bard.”
“A bard?” You feign shame, because you already know how hyperbolic the noblewomen are in their gossiping.
“Indeed.” He continues to tease. “My Lady seems unmatched in her lyricism, rhythm, and most importantly, exaggerations. A true bard in nature.”
You cackle out loud, at which Fu Xuan shoots you a swift glare. You calm yourself and ask, “Exaggerations? A bard only makes songs of tales they hear from their journeys. My Lord, then, must tell the truth himself, as he is the protagonist of this one.”
“It pains me to say, then, that the story would no longer be as interesting.”
“My Lord does not aspire to be a bard or a court jester, so please speak.”
He sighs. “I did no such leading or commandeering. I simply listened from the side. Though the noble ladies are not wrong that it was an older Marquess who felled, it was not due to his own carelessness. Rather, one of the younger hounds must have caught the trail of a fox, and ran in front of the Marquess and his horse. His Lord was only trying to protect the little one, but injured himself in the process. I happened to be riding behind the Marquess and assisted him in returning him home.”
Jing Yuan, ever observant, always humble. You do not know if he is dismissing the finer details of his saving the Marquess, but you cannot even pinpoint where to press him further.
You settle with a simple platitude. “My Lord’s kindness knows no bounds.”
He does not say anything, only closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the winter-spring air.
“What plagues My Lord?”
“My Lady, tell me another story, one from your childhood.”
You still, and he takes two steps forward before he pauses as well.
You turn around to face your governess. “Fu Xuan, shall the three of us sit somewhere?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Fu Xuan replies. “There is a bench around the bend.”
Between you and Jing Yuan, neither of you speak until you both sit down. Fu Xuan finds another spot, a shady patch underneath an old willow, to supervise from afar.
Your bench is located beside a fountain, a large stucco vase with carved borders, emblems of flowers and reeds, gilded bronze around the circumference of the bottom. The water splashes past the rim, wetting the surrounding pavement, amusing the toddlers that belonged to some of the lounging women.
It is not rare for Jing Yuan to ask about yourself, to request to learn more about who you are in the moments when he is not by your side. While it is not always enjoyable, especially when you reflect on the less joyous memories, you do like that he is the only person in the world that knows so much about you, your strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, fancies, displeasures.
But on occasion, he asks you to share because he does not want to speak about himself anymore. Today, as you judge the crease between his brows, the white of his knuckles, his hair free of its usual braided cord, this seems to be the case.
You speak of the many sleepless nights you had in December, how you had pricked the pads of your fingers several times from trying to sew by dim candlelight, hurrying to finish as many coats as possible, lest the noblewomen became suspicious. You speak of the shelf of books your brother had lent you when you were only ten years of age. You finished the literature within a fortnight, and your sibling was shocked, jaw agape, from your intellect and efficiency. Lastly, you speak of the morning of Jing Yuan’s departure, how you refused to come out of your room because of how distraught you were from bidding goodbye, needing to lie to the maids that your tears were only a result of a gut-wrenching stomach ache.
The entire time, the two of you sit side by side, shoulders brushing against each other, staring straight ahead, never at each other. But you do not need to see to know that he is listening with rapt intent to each and every one of your words, and you feel empowered to continue and please him with whatever he wants to hear.
Many hours pass, from high noon to late afternoon, finishing well past lunchtime. The atmosphere has relaxed, and Jing Yuan himself seems more at peace, and you are grateful that you have an eternity to indulge him.
When the three of you retrace your steps back to your family’s coach, he grips onto your hand as he assists you into the vehicle. His grip is tight, restricting you from sitting down, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his forehead against the back of your hand, nose brushing against your fingertips.
“A fortnight,” he mutters, loud enough for only the two of you, and promptly releases his hold.
You bring your hand, the one Jing Yuan held moments ago, to your cheek, basking in his lingering, escaping warmth, and nod in understanding.
You repeat, “A fortnight,” and he closes the coach door behind you.
–
It is uncharacteristically cold for April. Frost forms a thin sheet over all of the foliage and herbage, the rabbits and woodchucks still slumber in their dense burrows, the moon silvery and thin in its wake.
You tuck yourself into Jing Yuan’s hold, where he sits behind you with his legs propped on either side of your figure. He grabs another blanket and lays it over your knees down to your feet, and sets his chin on your shoulder.
“I wish your mother’s shed was still here,” you admit through gritted teeth.
A little sleepily, he agrees. “I, as well, but please bear with our conditions for tonight.”
You are grateful, though. The worst of winter is past, and there are no clouds to conceal the stars or moon, meaning outside, you can make out his features and expressions with little effort. Before, you would have to strain and squint at his visage, but there is no need anymore and you think Jing Yuan appears softer, younger under the placid moonlight.
“My Lady,” he says, “if it is not inconvenient, I have an inquiry to make.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Why is it that you never look at me?”
You startle, jumping in your skin, not expecting such a jarring interrogation at this hour and place.
“Of course, I look at you. What can you possibly be insinuating?”
If you sound offended, you do not mean it. Rather, you are, to a minor degree, disgruntled at being caught. Internally, you have been well aware of your sudden shyness towards Jing Yuan. Before his departure, you had no such fears, but since his return, upon seeing all of the ways in which he has transformed and grown, you can no longer allow yourself to be so bold. You cannot look at him with wholly pure intent.
“Apologies. I meant that My Lady does not seem to look me in the eyes anymore, as we used to. Have I done or said something to deserve such avoidance?”
“Do not be foolish, My Lord.”
“And what is with the use of ‘My Lord’?”
“Do you not refer to me by ‘My Lady’?”
“Only because you seem so insistent on such etiquette. If I had a choice…” He takes a sharp inhale. “I would call you by your name all the time.”
The chill of the atmosphere does not seem so acute anymore. You feel a rush of heat, from the crown of your head all the way down to the lengths of your toes.
“How improper,” you mumble.
He laughs. He knows you could care less.
To drive his point further, he enunciates your name, rolling the letters and phonetics out with the curve of his tongue and a caramel sweet, taffy-stretched tone. He then whispers, “You seem to only use my name when you are quite agitated or excited.”
You swat at his arm. “Jing Yuan!”
Your reaction causes him to bark out true laughs, ones from the gut and stomach, and he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. You want him to press further into you, to bite and nibble and mark at the tender skin, to meld into you so you always have him with you. You need more of him, all of him. Being by his side as a confidant in public, a lover in private, for eternity will never satiate your greed.
“My Lady, you never cease to entertain me! You are absolutely darling.”
“You are totally arrogant.” You shrug his head off of your shoulders, to your own disdain, only for him to place his chin on top of your head, entrapping you once again.
“My Lady, I believe I am not so arrogant. Rather, my actions are demonstrations of my affections for you, and the latter seems to grow at an astounding rate with every moment we spend together.”
He utters your name again, so sincere, full of unconditional respect. This time, you are forced to look at him, scooting yourself forward and twisting your back halfway around to soak in those melting, incandescent golds, brimming and spilling over with unfiltered love, loyalty, trust. You cease, completely bewitched and spellbound.
Slowly, he leans forward until the peaks of your foreheads touch. He is still staring at you, you are still unable to breathe. His hands have come up to cup your cheeks, and by sheer instinct, yours grasp weakly at his sleeves.
“Finally,” he breathes, “you are looking at me.”
Shuddering, you try to nod, but his hands keep your head in place. Regardless, he knows.
Jing Yuan, ever knowing, always understanding. He can see through you at all times, and you do not mind that it is him. In fact, you want it to be him, always him, and you have been waiting for this moment. Since you saw him on that sandy beach, with the orange coral bead and crystal clear waters and damp earth. Since you saw him standing alone in the garden, his back turned to you, tearless yet grief incarnate. Since these three long years, where he was seas and mountain ranges and plains separated from you, only brief moments of respite when he would return for business, yet never to interact.
You, who have waited this entire time, can finally see him again. You have no reason to disallow yourself. You have an eternity to indulge him, and an even longer infinity to indulge yourself in him.
The oil lamps flicker no more. The hawks and owls no longer cry. The vines and stems of the flora no longer sway in the wind.
The only movement is from Jing Yuan, when he purses his lips and takes a deep breath.
He whispers your name, as if it is a prayer, an oath, full of promise and reverence. He says it once more, twice more. Then, he closes his eyes briefly before looking up at you again, a fire and determination now smoldering in bright gold.
“I have kept you, yet you have patiently, without any complaint or excuse, waited for me. You, the only person in the world who has witnessed me a mischievous child, a brooding boy, and now, an older man. I cannot fathom being with another, and this has been true since I first met you.”
You can only gulp, and staring wide-eyed, anticipate his next words.
“You cannot imagine how many times I begged my mother for permission to visit you during the day. At the time, I could not understand her unshakeable refusal, and even now, I am still resistant in some ways. Did you know I became jealous of my mother? I have never been adept with delicate work, and at one point, I was convinced you only came so you could sew with her. I would leave the shed to shake off my anger with the sword. And then my mother was gone, and I thought you, too, would disappear. But, of course, in light of all of my deepest fears, you stayed.”
There are traces of tears in his eyes, but he is more preoccupied with brushing away the ones that stream down your face. You do your best to cease the trembling of your lower lip, the blur of your vision, the cries that threaten to spill out.
“I was frightened once again, when my father announced the beginning of my Grand Tour. I knew you would come of age as soon as I was scheduled to leave, and I wanted to propose right then and there. But my father does not know who you are, and not even the illegitimate child of a Duke could get away with marrying someone of a lower caste. A coward I was, am, indeed. Yet, we maintained correspondence, and we wrote to each other at length. Many times, I wanted to abandon my Tour, but your curiosity and eagerness convinced me otherwise.
“It has always been because of you. I am who I am today because of you and your endless affections. And it is my turn, now, to let you know that my love for you goes beyond words and actions. My existence is solely yours.
“May I?”
You nod vigorously, desperately, longingly.
He presses tender kisses to the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips. After, he takes your hands in his palms and kisses at your wrists and knuckles and joints and fingertips.
Finally, he sits up, and you raise your chin to follow his eyes.
He says your name, this time firm, grounded, determined. “I love you. Please, let us never part again.”
–
The Season has reached its peak, and at long last, June permits enduring hours of sunlight, hot, humid evenings, a myriad of blossoms of all distinct shades and colors. Your brother guides you into the ballroom, your mother trailing behind the two of you, feathered fan concealing her rather displeased disposition.
“I still cannot believe it,” he gasps with incredulous wonder.
“No? Will I have him come to ask for your permission again?” you reply, indifferent, more concerned with identifying Jing Yuan amongst the crowded halls.
“No, no, no need for that, Sister! I am, well, rather, well –”
“See, Brother! There he is!”
Adorned in a handsome cream ensemble, Jing Yuan stands near a table of refreshments, collecting two glasses, one of which you presume is yours. You rush to his side, your brother in tow, and curtsy when he notices. And, as you suspected, he bows and hands one of the cups over to you and the other to your brother, already turning around to grab another for your mother.
Your brother takes a nervous sip before exclaiming, “Lord Jing Yuan! Good evening!”
“Good evening!” Jing Yuan greets, festive and light-hearted.
“I wanted to give you my thanks, again, Lord Jing Yuan. I have never thought my younger sister would marry anytime soon, but you have truly done her a wonderful service. How could I –”
Your mother coughs and interrupts your brother. “Son, cease with your rambling. I could hardly stand the fuss you are making, let alone imagine how exhausted Lord Jing Yuan must be.”
Jing Yuan shakes his head and intercepts. “Not at all. Brother-in-law, I understand that our engagement has only been newly confirmed, so your surprise is inevitable.”
The boisterous chattering and guffawing seem to quiet down, passersby slowly redirecting their attention to your quartet.
Your mother seems to notice as well and fans at herself. “How could the son of a Duke possibly have taken an interest in the daughter of a Marquess?”
The encompassing crowd falls into a hush. All are thinking the same question, almost bloodthirsty in their intrigue to know the answer, and they flit their eyes between you and Jing Yuan, wondering who will speak first.
You, for one, have no interest in such public or dramatic gestures. You put your glass back down on the table and comment, “Mother, Brother, My Lord, the dancing is about to commence.”
Someone whispers that they have never seen you dance before, adding another layer of suspense.
Jing Yuan extends an arm out, and you take it without a shred of doubt or hesitation.
But before the two of you leave, you pause to speak with your mother. “Oh, Mother, please, take my fan!”
She glares at you, and you smile back, taunting and urging her to keep watching you, to see what you can and will do.
You can imagine the way the room will uproar with shock and rage as soon as you step out. You know your mother will splinter your fan in her wrenching grip, and your brother will have to figure some way to placate her. You know you and Jing Yuan will reminisce on this memory with much jest and delight.
And so, you do it.
Committing to putting on a show, everyone watches the flick of your wrist, the extension of your index finger along the frame of your fan. You direct your gaze to Jing Yuan, who is already looking at you with unreserved adoration, and slowly draw the fan across your cheek, dragging out the moment for as long as you can.
You hear the gasps, the cries, the confused mutterings. But the Master of Ceremonies, always in a timely fashion, calls for everyone’s attendance in the ballroom, and you drop the fan in your mother’s upturned hand before Jing Yuan whisks you away.
Now everyone knows you and Jing Yuan are lovers, to be married in a little over a month. Though you would prefer to be married already, you remind yourself that your shared happiness has already begun, and nothing will change that.
Hand in hand, you and Jing Yuan, along with many other couples, approach the middle of the ballroom, taking your positions in the dancing circle.
“When was the last time My Lady danced at a party?”
“Never before, actually.”
“Then, I must be blessed to have your first dance.”
“And many more, of course.”
“How many more? And just dances?”
You raise your head to stare at him, right as the Master of Ceremonies gestures at the band to begin. Jing Yuan’s eyes shine a brilliant gold underneath the glow of the chandeliers, clear and proud in their affections for you. Jing Yuan, always loving, forever yours.
As the waltz begins, you rise en pointe, and he clutches onto you so that your chests press together and your faces are only a breath apart.
You speak, the words you articulate only for him to hear.
“My existence is entirely yours.”
#honkai star rail#honkai sr#hsr#hsr jing yuan#jing yuan#honkai star rail jing yuan#honkai sr jing yuan#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan fluff#hsr x reader#hsr fluff#honkai star rail x reader#honkai sr x reader#jing yuan honkai star rail#jing yuan hsr#jing yuan honkai sr#nereids' realm#house of solis occasum#carrot cake!
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The thing is that the dynamic between John and James does sound genuinely fascinating from the glimpses we get of it.
John says that James was always better at (social) stuff. James did go out and become a police officer, marry Lucy, and just generally have more of a "normal" life, but it's clear that Lucy thinks John and James *aren't* as dissimilar as John believes. James may have been better at masking, but he clearly didn't have an easy ride either. Still, John is envious of his brother and feels like James is what he *could* have been if he'd been able to venture out into the world. The fact that both brothers had crushes on Lucy only serves to hammer that in.
On the other hand, John is an incredibly successful puzzle solver and spending most of his life in his house in no way detracts from that. The murders he solves appear to be beyond the capabilities of James going by the reactions of everyone else. There's an argument to be had about how much is difference in solving vs being tied in by procedure and social niceties, but either way, John gets accurate results much faster than James ever did. Even if John does very much ignore behavioural factors as he attempts to simplify each crime scene to a "puzzle to be solved".
There's also something to be said for how James' coworkers didn't clock he had been replaced. How none of them even knew he *had* a twin brother. Obviously, there's an element of it being down to the writing in that the game couldn't be given away too quickly, but it does speak of a more distant relationship with his coworkers (perhaps aside from his former partner). And there's the voicemail where James says (though given the context, this can't be taken as 100% true) that he was the one most like their father, in his choice to run away. It was a hint to John, but it only worked as such because they had so little that tied them together in the first place. They grew up together, shared their childhood, and yet, they hadn't spoken in years. Makes me wonder how much of it was neither wanting to be the first to reach out. On John's side that makes total sense (James is the "social successful" one, after all) but James' side is much more a mystery (though, "they're more alike than they seem" comes to mind).
Of course, both of them were impacted by their father leaving as he did. It's spelled out several times that John and James reacted differently. John turning inwards (only pushed further by his bullies and discovering his love of puzzles) whilst James focused outwards (to become more socially successful). But we find that John doesn't want to lose the social aspects once he's found a place for himself. That James is able to go almost entirely non-contact with his family despite knowing the impact his own father had on his family. The one stuck in his house ventures out as the one surrounded by family escapes it all.
All in all, John and James are pretty interesting characters even if we only know one of them secondhand.
*However*, when we actually *see* James in person, my main thought is "that's a second David Mitchell"
#ludwig#ludwig bbc#bbc ludwig#I don't mention anywhere here but gonna forget to say if I don't but hard agree on those who say#the portrayal of john as neurodivergent/possibly autistic is surprisingly nuanced for a show that is just...#cosy murder mystery/comedy#ludwig spoilers
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gravity
pairing: lucien x reader
summary: falling in love with lucien felt like trying to resist gravity and realizing it’s a futile pursuit. slowly, and then all at once.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: none/mostly fluff!
a/n: i played around a little bit with my writing style and i really enjoyed it :’) also i’m only capable of writing fluff for lucien i think lol
masterlist
banners by @/cafekitsune !
lucien: derived from the Latin root word lux, meaning light.
When you had first felt yourself falling for Lucien Vanserra some odd years ago, you had been keeping a watchful eye on him — per Rhys’s request — upon his initial arrival to the Night Court under the guise that you would help him research ways to persuade the human queens to your cause against Hybern.
Initially, it had been just that. A favor for your High Lord, your friend.
But what had once felt like a vague indifference for the youngest Vanserra brother quickly devolved into a genuine appreciation for him. The more time you spent with Lucien, the more you glimpsed the light peeking out from beneath his guarded exterior.
(You nearly laughed at how aptly Lucien lived up to the brightness belying the meaning of his name.)
It had started with friendly teasing, then secret smiles over piles of textbooks, then not so accidental touches in the quiet of the townhouse. With each evolution of your relationship with Lucien, the more and more you found yourself wanting to be around him, seeking each other out with flimsy excuses that would guarantee a day’s worth of cherished company.
The inextricable desire you had to be near him that was growing exponentially with every subtle glance he stole had made you nervous. Wary, even.
You were an academic – the coveted researcher for the Night Court – relying heavily on concepts you could study, could quantify. Well-evidenced theory informed much of your advice to Rhys and his court, and you were often the first point of contact when anyone had any questions about…anything; your wealth of knowledge was endless.
But Lucien — his undeniable magnetism — was an enigma; you could never quite understand why you’d felt so drawn to him, could never formulate an accurate hypothesis for how easily he could coax a smile to your lips and make butterfly wings tickle your stomach.
But it was becoming increasingly evident that he felt the same indisputable pull that you did. He had spent much of his time in your presence, bringing you tea in the late hours of the nights you spent in the townhouse’s reading room, poring over tomes and texts that you and Amren had thought might be useful. Lucien always made the excuse that he made too much tea and didn’t want it to go to waste.
(Later, you’d find out that he didn’t even really like the tea he brought you every night, only brewing an excessive amount of it because Feyre had offhandedly mentioned it was your favorite.)
He was rarely there to give his opinions, merely lingering to offer his quiet companionship, situating himself in a comfortable lounge chair in your periphery as he perused the pages of his book of choice. More often than not, he’d fall asleep in what had to be a supremely uncomfortable position, untouched tea cooling on the table.
It was in those sweet and fragile beginnings of your relationship with Lucien that you had begun to contemplate the potential cosmic underpinnings of your mutual fondness for each other, and what that could mean for you and your future.
Orbiting each other like stars caught in the same gravitational field, you and Lucien were on a steady course of stellar collision, sure to erupt in some unexplainable astral phenomenon that would certainly result in your doom. Or your salvation.
(It was the latter.)
The same way you could track the trajectory of an apple falling from a tree and calculate the force with which it would hit the ground, you could guess — with near one hundred percent accuracy — how hard you would fall for Lucien. It was a dangerous descent, you knew, but one that you could hardly fight against.
Despite being quite the closet romantic — how could you not be, with the knowledge of endless possibilities at your fingertips? — you had been hesitant to pursue anything more with Lucien, wanting to preserve the innocent, lighthearted flirtations that had come so easily between you. You’d been hurt before, been wickedly tricked into the dangerous downward spiral of broken promises and fleeting loyalty of lovers past. And you’d be damned if you’d let yourself make that mistake again.
But Lucien…
Lucien was all of things your previous paramours had not been. He was kind and gentle and genuine. Funny and insufferably sweet. He was a wonderfully fresh breath of air in an otherwise stagnant atmosphere.
He had his darkness — he’d admitted as much to you himself. But he had never hidden it from you, had even allowed you the privilege of holding the most tender parts of his past in your hands to examine, always providing ample opportunities for you to deny him, decide that you didn’t want all the pieces of his whole after all.
You had never been afraid of the dark, though, not in the literal or metaphorical sense. It was comforting, quiet, familiar. Besides, before Lucien, you had never found a light bright enough to fear the return of the dark.
But when faced with the sheer enormity of the warmth his light provided, suddenly you were afraid of its absence. You wanted only to spend your time basking beneath the sun you had discovered beneath Lucien Vanserra’s ribs.
It was torturously paradoxical, how the more you chased Lucien’s light the more you were plunged into the dark unknown of what loving him would mean, and how afraid you had become. But resisting Lucien’s solar gravity was like trying to defy the very laws that governed the universe you were lucky enough to live in with him: near impossible.
The way he so effortlessly drew you to him, enticed you to trust him, open yourself to him was something that the greatest physicists of your time could never explain. It was a mystery you weren’t sure you wanted solved for fear that once discovered, he’d be taken from you; you selfishly wanted to keep Lucien’s impossibly beautiful energy to yourself.
He was undefinable in his unwavering loyalty and limitless consideration. Lucien’s love for you seemed to be as intrinsically written into his existence with the same certainty that you knew the sun would rise over the horizon every morning. It was with that same certainty that you knew falling in love with him was inevitable, and fighting it was a futile resistance of gravity.
So you had let yourself fall, let yourself dive deep into the unknown, praying – begging, really – to whatever gods that were listening that this wasn’t another funnel towards heartbreak.
You fell with maddening speed and Lucien caught you – having already fallen long ago – with all of the warmth of the sun that his name promised.
If your past self had ever doubted the stability of loving Lucien Vanserra (read: you did), none of that doubt existed in you now. Especially in moments like this: skin to skin in the morning light of the first spring day in the Night Court. Three years since you and Lucien (separate) became you and Lucien (duo), you could hardly believe that you ever considered any other choice but him.
The sun was warm on your back as you lay on your side, arm tucked comfortably beneath your head as you listened to Lucien give you his annual spiel about how the springs in the Spring Court were unbeatable, though the Night Court did have some acceptable weather sometimes. You giggled at his remarkable consistency, love and fondness filling the space between your ribs, momentarily seizing your heart to flutter giddily.
“Okay, Lu,” you responded in mock exasperation. “And then in the fall –”
“Autumn,” he corrected, just to jest further.
“ – you’re going to tell me that the Autumn Court has the best autumns.”
“Naturally.” His grin was blinding as he teased you, pressing a firm kiss between your brows.
You rolled your eyes but gave in, leaning in towards him – always leaning in towards him (that pesky gravity again).
“But I guess your court,” he continued, “has us beat as far as stargazing goes.”
“Naturally,” you mimicked, winking.
His laugh was a resounding bell of warmth and you took the opportunity to drink him in, warm skin tinted pink with joy and the heat of the morning sun. His hair was disheveled with sleep, but he was impossibly effortless in his beauty.
The freckles on his cheeks reminded you a lot of the stars that illuminated the streets of Velaris, and you spent the next few hours of the early morning drawing constellations on his skin and fabricating stories of their origin while Lucien’s own fingers drew matching patterns onto your back.
He whispered cheesy lines about how you outshone all of the stars in your beloved Night Court, and then his cheeks dimpled — beautiful craters of mirth — as he smiled at your feigned incredulity. He kissed you then, and you once again found yourself at the mercy of his gravitational pull, your body arching almost instinctively against his in an effort to satisfy your craving for the feel of his skin against yours.
Lucien – as always – indulged you, snaking a muscled arm around your waist to pull your body flush against his as he whispered in your ear about how he had heard once that freckles were the spots that past life lovers had kissed the most. In an act of petulant pseudo jealousy at the idea that someone had the privilege of loving Lucien before you, you spent the rest of the morning peppering his skin in a thousand kisses.
“No need to be jealous, my love,” he said as you anchored your lips to the apple of his cheek. “I’m certain that in every life before this one, I enjoyed the pleasure of your affections. And I will continue to find you in every one after.”
Maybe that was it. Maybe the undeniable, visceral need to have him, be with him, love him was written into your bones by the infinite previous lives you spent within each others’ orbit. Your devotion to Lucien seemed as intrinsic as the laws of the universe; there was no life in which you did not feel the warmth of his yearning.
You hummed in contented agreement, feeling as though you’ve just discovered the unthinkable as you continued your quest, reveling in the gentle shiver you earned with a well placed kiss to the junction of his jaw and neck. For a brief moment, you made a mental note to thank whatever force – physical, cosmic, celestial – that had bound you and Lucien together.
#lucien x you#lucien x reader#lucien x y/n#lucien#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#lucien fanfic#lucien fanfiction#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#acotar x you#acotar fic#acotar x reader#acotar x y/n#a court of thorns and roses#acowar#acomaf#acosf#acotar#lucien fluff#lucien x female!reader#lucien x f!reader#acotar imagine#lucien imagine#lucien fic
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Wingspan
Word count: 4.4k
Warnings: Minors denied. Don't want me to write the list of all shameful things I wrote under the cut
Because I've spent whole week with sick 2 years old child, managed to get sick as well and I'm deprived of Azriel because last two months I'm writing only Heal me and as soon as he appeared on scene, this invaded my mind.. Honestly too many reasons to write something silly ⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄
"Okay, guys. You know why we are here," I started. "At first I'd like to thank you that you voluntarily signed up as subjects for this research."
"We compare our pricks whole life. It's our pleasure that somebody finally took it seriously and wants to write a whole book about it," Cassian teased, laughing hard.
Rhysand was trying really hard to keep a straight face the whole time, but after Cassian's comment he was about to lose it, and Azriel standing in the dark corner rather disappeared in his shadows after this comment.
How did I even get into this situation? Well, I knew how. It all happened because I was a passionate researcher. Too passionate for my own good.
It all started with mated Archeron sisters and Mor who wouldn't stop debating about this thing of a correlation of wingspan with the size of Illyrian male's private parts. It picked up my interest and I searched the entire library to find out more info about it. Utterly failing in the process, there wasn't a single mention. There wasn't even a proper documentation of their wings alone. So I took it upon myself to collect necessary data to confirm or deny truth of this rumour. I briefly mentioned it to Rhys hoping he could help me find enough subjects for the research. Which he did in surprisingly short time. And as if it wasn't enough he and his brothers signed up, too.
"That part I will leave to you. I hope I can count on you to deliver accurate numbers. If you try to cheat I'll have your mates to do it properly," I laughed, but I meant every single word.
"I'm sure Nes would be all for it," Cassian grinned proudly.
"As if Feyre wouldn't," Rhysand lost it. I had to laugh. I was afraid it would turn into something awkward, but with these two it was impossible. They were like kids, turning everything into a funny game.
I met Rhysand under the mountain. He witnessed the moment my ex betrayed me and when Feyre saved us all, he picked up my remains and brought me to Velaris to heal. In the end I decided to stay here. I buried love, lust and everything related to it as deep as possible and focussed on what I liked - research - occasionally helping inner circle.
"At least they certainly won't cheat," I smiled. "This research origins in their concern after all."
The three of us laughed so hard we cried. Only Azriel stayed silent hidden in his corner.
"And who will make sure Azriel doesn't cheat?" Cassian wondered.
"Why should I," Azriel stepped out from his hideaway, lowering a challenging gaze at me.
"I believe Azriel is the last one of three of you to use such dirty tricks to manipulate the results," I said, returning his gaze. "But if he does, I'll personally make sure he delivers true data."
His hazel eyes lit up with mischief and corners of his full lips slightly moved upward in a hardly there smirk. He wasn't so different from his brothers. More serious than these two? Certainly, but he could be playful, too.
"Okay, guys, let's get it done. Who is the first to show off the wingspan?"
This was the part I'd been looking forward the most. Illyrian wings, the most important subject of my research and to be honest, the main reason of this fuss. So sacred that sometimes even their lovers weren't allowed to touch them. Not that I could touch them by any mean. Boys only granted me to take measurements and a close look to make detailed sketches. Totally understandable given how sensitive they were.
All three of them took turns one in a time, helping me when my arms were too short. I took measurements of different parts of their bodies, too, just to be sure I have all I could possibly need to get accurate results. I wrote down numbers into my notebook, already amazed by the results.
"That's all for today. Thank you for your time. When can I expect the other data?"
"You can get them even right now, if you want, but I guess you don't want to see it, do you?" Cassian, always such a tease. I shook my head laughing.
"Would tomorrow morning be a soon enough for you?" Rhysand purred, flashing a smile. "Tonight we're going to have a lot of fun with Feyre."
"It would be perfect," I agreed. The sooner I was done here, the sooner I could go to camps to collect data from volunteers Rhysand had found for me.
Cassian and Rhysand left soon after, but ever-silent Azriel stayed behind.
He seemed to be so flustered and nervous while I was taking his measurements. Cassian was picking on him for that, but Azriel stoically ignored him and held still. It seemed he didn't even breathe. I knew he didn't like to be touched. It was the biggest of the surprises that he voluntarily signed up for this, so I was extra careful with him.
Ever since I met him, he was always very kind and considerate to me. However it took some time until he opened up. It's just few months since we started to hang out more. Not that I wouldn't like him. If I were honest, I would admit that he was very interesting person, I liked him a lot and he was so incredibly handsome. Too handsome to be real.
But that's exactly the way I wasn't suppose to think about him. I'm the type who falls easily and hard, and loves with all her being. That's why I was so devastated last time. Nobody could possibly love somebody like me. I'm unbearable in many ways.
Plus he is too high league for somebody like me. He can have anybody he wants and the line of prospects is long. Elain and Gwyn for example compete for his attention for years. Successfully. There's no way he would think of me that way. I shook my head to get rid of these self harming thoughts.
Turning I smiled at him encouragingly. Azriel cleared his throat, wings rustled behind his back. He did this often when he was nervous or uncomfortable.
"The camps.. are you planning to go there alone?" His deep voice always did this strange thing with my insides. And today was no different. I pushed the feeling aside, to the box of things I shouldn't think about and shut it closed.
"No, I believe last time Rhysand mentioned something about sending an escort. Mor is going with me, too."
"Okay," he nodded. His one word responses the were death of me. It was so hard to keep conversation going.
"Uhm.. So tomorrow? You don't have to hurry if it's inconvenient for you."
"Tomorrow is fine."
"Oh.. So.. uhm.. I'll see you tomorrow." Shadowsinger just nodded looking down at me a little longer than necessary and then finally he turned and left. I let out a long breath.
Next day Rhys came as the first one as soon as I entered my office. I guess he couldn't wait. Cassian stopped by as soon as the training with priestesses was over. I checked their results with their mates during the lunch break just to be sure the numbers are correct.
It was almost evening and Azriel was nowhere to be seen. I packed some of the stuff I needed to take to camps and took a look around. There was nothing else to keep me occupied, so I decided it's time to go home. I was about to open the door when a knock sounded. It was Azriel.
"You came," I greeted him with smile.
"Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner. I was-"
"It's okay," I interrupted him. "You really don't need to apologise. I'm grateful you signed up for this."
He made a small noise and handed me a piece of folded paper. I took it and returned to my desk where I left the notebook with all data.
"Were you going to go home already?" he asked while I unfolded the paper.
"Yeah, you came just in time. One minute later and I would be gone." I looked at the number and froze. No way, this was certainly wrong. I compared it to the other numbers. Definitely wrong.
"Something's wrong?" he stepped closer, peeking down on me.
"What?" I was so immersed in my thoughts I didn't hear him. "Excuse me," I said boldly and reached for his crotch. Just to make things clear, I wasn't completely myself, otherwise I wouldn't dare to even think about doing so. In that very moment I was simply researcher and nothing else.
Azriel sharply inhaled, eyes widened, but he held still, blushing heavily.
"As I thought," I mumbled to myself releasing him. "Sweetheart, you were supposed to measure yourself when you are.. You know.. 'excited'. I really didn't think you would try to sabotage the research," I tried to joke to lighten his embarrassment. "With your .. equipment.. there's no reason for you to lose. I thought you are quite competitive."
He just silently looked to the side while the shadows danced around him as if trying to hide him.
"Or did you want me to help you with it?" I smiled teasingly. His head snapped up, hazel eyes finding mine. "Sit down there," I pointed to an armchair near the window. While he did as I asked him, I took a chair, placing it next to the armchair, facing the other side. I took the notebook, a towel and a tape measure I used the other day, and sat down on the chair.
I looked at him amused. From this angle I could see only his face and shoulders. "Go ahead. I won't look." With that I opened the notebook looking for the page, but he hadn't moved gazing up at me.
I smiled still leafing through pages. "Let me tell you a secret, okay? We have something in common, Az." I leaned closer to him as if it was really a secret I was about to reveal. "When I say I won't look, then I really won't do it." I looked straight into his eyes to make it clear that I meant it. "I can even measure you without seeing it. I don't need to touch you either. All I need is for this measure to touch you. That's all. So take your pants off and let me know when you are ready."
At this moment he was panting heavily, his pupils dilated. "Do you want me to chit chat you through it? Or do you prefer silence?" I added, arching a brow at him when he just sat there gazing. Finally he moved and I heard as his pants slid down. Azriel's gaze darkened, his eyes never leaving mine.
He swallowed, his broad chest heaving. "I'm ready" he rasped, his usually deep voice deepened even more. I'd be lying if I said it didn't effect me. Now it was my turn to blush.
I handed him the towel. "Cover yourself." I stood up slowly to give him enough time. I turned to him placing notebook on a small side table within arm's reach. I gasped when I looked down at him. My heart went crazy, running for marathon and I could only wish he didn't hear it.
Azriel sat in the armchair in full grace as if it was his throne, his bare legs with muscles on right places spread wide, towel crumpled in his fist. He grinned challengingly.
Okay, maybe we have more than one thing in common. I hate losing, too.
My mouth went dry and I was panting as heavily as Azriel. My head emptied. It took me every ounce of self-control to step between his legs, control my trembling hands and measure him. But I did it, I didn't break.
"Much better," I said coolly as I wrote results down. I collected my things, ready to leave.
"You want to leave me like this, Y/N?" Azriel growled lowly.
I made the mistake and looked into his beautiful eyes. I wasn't sure what I'd seen in them, but it dug out all forgotten feelings. As wave of lust washed over me I lost control over myself. I sat down on the armrest, my legs brushing his thigh lightly. I placed hands on his shoulders and leaned in.
"You are right. I should repay you," I whispered inches from him.
For a while Azriel watched me as a starved man. Slowly, very slowly he erased the distance between us, his soft lips colliding with mine. The moan that came out from his throat made me forget whatever happened after that.
When his fingers found a waistband of my pants and started unbuttoning them, it was like a cold shower. I broke the kiss, untangling my fingers from his silky dark strands. Eyes still closed, his lips followed after me. I squeezed his fingers in my hands and he looked up at me. I could see he wasn't pleased that I stopped him, but he didn't try to pressure me.
"This part of me is not on offer," I said calmly sending him a sad smile. There wasn't reason to be mad. It was my fault in the first place, I was the one to provoke him. "For you it might be just another one night stay that you forget all about very next morning, but I'm different." I stood up fixing my clothes. "I take male to bed only when I have feelings for him and vice versa." He frowned, ready to say something. "I'm trying to say.. for me it isn't just sex.. To do it, I need real relationship, real feelings, security.. Lust isn't enough. I'm sorry." I left quickly and he didn't try to stop me this time.
Next day early in the morning I left to collect data at camps. Work helped me to forget about that night, but as soon as I stopped, it all returned. The most scary thing was to return back to Velaris and meet him. So I extended my stay as much as possible.
Four months later I was sitting in a sitting room of River House, chatting with Feyre and Mor by the fireplace after the family dinner. I collected all data to get some presentable results and currently I was half through writing in down. (Just between us, the rumors have proven to be true. Larger wingspan equals bigger you-know-what)
It was few weeks since I returned to Velaris and so far Azriel was avoiding me as much as possible. When we happened to be in the same room, he didn't even acknowledge me, looking the other side. So much for my fear.
Did it hurt? As hell. He was my friend. The feelings he awakened that night also didn't disappear over night, haunting me down every spare minute I had. I pushed them deep down, but it was too late. I'd already fallen for him.
During our stay at camps, Mor found out that something must have happened before we left, but she'd never asked about it. Which I was very grateful for. I wasn't ready to talk about it.
Now she kept peeking somewhere behind me, biting on her lower lip, unusually silent. Something was obviously bothering her. I could ask her straight away, but I decided to give her 5 minutes to see if she would start to talk on her own. It took exactly 3 minutes.
"Uhm, Y/N, tell me. Something happened between you and Az?"
"I may have hurt his male ego. Why?" I replied as casually as possible.
"He keeps eyeing you and I know that look too well. He watched me like that for five centuries, but it's never turned into something so... Desperate?" She turned to Feyre. "What do you think?"
Feyre inconspicuously peeked behind me, too. "Yeah, definitely desperate. And sad. Rhys said that lately he isn't himself. As if something was wrong with him? Maybe bothered him? But he won't talk about it."
Mor nodded. I had the urge to turn around and see for myself, but I resisted.
"What happened?" Mor asked and Feyre leaned closer, eager for details.
"Well, he kind of misunderstood the situation.. and I told him.. that I don't do the one night stay thing.."
"He actually went after you?" Mor beamed lowering her voice.
"Not really. I might have provoked him a bit," I reluctantly admitted.
They giggled like small girls, looking at each other.
"Y/N, believe me when I tell you that you can't provoke him," Mor whispered enthusiastically. "Nobody is able to break him. He is like.. granite."
"There must be something more behind it," Feyre added. "You should go and talk to him."
"You should," Mor agreed. "He looks to be on the verge of total breakdown." She again peeked behind me. "Go. Right. Now."
They both gave me nod, stood up and moved to another chat group. I stayed alone, just like Azriel who sat in an alcove with window behind me. I inhaled deeply, slowly breathing out. I could at least give it a try. Standing up I took my glass and walked to him.
"Hey."
"Hey," he answered lowly. I hardly heard him. His face was as unreadable as usually, but his impossibly beautiful hazel eyes.. Yeah, they were right. He looked to be on verge of breakdown. Even his posture was all wrong. Slumped shoulders, hunched over, wings hanging down. The shadows hoovered around him like embodiment of his current mood.
"Everything alright?"
He nodded looking away. Ouch. He didn't want to talk with me. I probably hurt his ego more than I thought. I was lost for words. Did he expect me to apologise? I certainly wouldn't do that. I had every right to stop him back then.
Oh, male and their ego. Suddenly memories of my ex flooded my mind. And I got mad. Rage was the only emotion that never disappeared completely nor healed.
I turned around, ready to leave before I could take it out on the wrong person. Strong fingers wrapped around my arm, stopping me. They held me gently, but firmly. I looked back at Azriel and all the rage was gone instantly.
"Would you mind to it down with me?"
I couldn't speak, still shocked by the pain in his eyes. Just when I was seated in the alcove, he released me and sat back down, too. Silence stretched between us.
"I meant to say this much sooner," he started slowly. "I'm so sorry for my poor behaviour. I'm so ashamed." My fingers curled into fist, but I didn't dare to interrupt him. "I know you were just joking to make me feel better, to relax. I knew it even back then. I wish I could explain why I did it, but I can't. I was.. dick."
And how big dick. I had to bite down on my lip to stop myself. This was serious situation. But in all seriousness, he broke the records. Nobody had bigger than him.
"I should have covered with towel as you asked me. I shouldn't have stopped you. I shouldn't have kissed you," he whispered the last sentence. "I should even be sorry that I kissed you, but I am not. I wanted it. Really wanted. Still want it. I'm trash." He stood up quickly. I managed to pull him back down before he could run away. My pulse skyrocketed.
Waitwaitwait. Had he just said that he still wanted to kiss me? My rational part demanded answers. I had to solve this question before my reckless heart could come to own conclusion. I didn't need another heartbreak.
I looked deep into his eyes. I looked only for truth and nothing else. "Tell me, Az, why? Why do you still want it?"
He blushed fiercely and tried to look away, but I wouldn't let him. "Please."
"I..love you," he whispered and my heart stopped for second only to start racing at a crazy pace later.
I wasn't sure he really said that. That must be just my imagination, right? I gazed at beautiful, elegant Elain with big doe eyes sitting on the other side of room, laughing with her sisters. Yeah, I imagined it. But when my eyes slid back to him, he was gazing right back, tensed, waiting.
"I'm sorry. I think I misheard," I smiled nervously.
"I said.. I love you," Azriel repeated quietly, but clearly.
A single tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't think. I couldn't. I just surged forward and hugged him. He stiffened for a heartbeat and then his strong arms wrapped around me and held me firmly. Another tear followed the first one and then another, until it turned into an endless stream. I felt a cool touch of his shadows. They hid us from prying eyes. Or so I thought.
World tilted to the side and we were in my office where it all had started.
"More private," Azriel whispered when I released him to take a look around, confused.
I quickly wiped tears away. "Oh." I still wasn't ready to talk. My head was a total mess. Love. Azriel just told me he loved me. And he was still waiting for my answer. But I wasn't currently able to put the words together to make even a simple sentence.
"Do you need water?" he offered, helping me to sit to an armchair, the very same armchair where he.. Nope, I couldn't think about it now. It would be too much.
What was the question? Ah, water.. Did I need it? I nodded anyway and he handed me a glass. I emptied it immediately.
Azriel watched me carefully as if I could explode any second. I was trying to find something to ground me and my eyes fell to the notebook. "Wingspan," I blurted. His brows furrowed. "You have the largest wingspan."
He huffed in amusement. "Do I?" Azriel took a step back, his eyes were sad again.
Maybe I was crazy, but I reached out and pulled him down on me. "I believe I still haven't repaid for your help."
He shook his head. " You don't have to-"
"I want." I cupped his cheeks between my hands. He hesitated searching my face, his body tensed above me.
Azriel slowly leaned down and kissed me. It was nothing like the last kiss driven by lust and desire. This kiss was careful, exploring. I pushed against his shoulder and we exchanged our positions.
Just like the last time, Azriel was sitting in the armchair and I was above him. I made sure there was space between us. I didn't want to provoke him, sex was out of the question yet. He knew it, too, and kept his hands on my waist.
I deepened the kiss and soon enough we both turned into a panting mess. Azriel's moan startled me.
"I'm sorry," he rasped.
I giggled. "You moaned back then, too."
"I can't help it," he smiled. Azriel leaned forward, keeping small space between us. He hid his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply again and again. "Touch them."
I swallowed. "What?"
"You can touch them," he spread his wings wide around us. "I've never allowed anybody to touch them. But now I want you to do so."
I was speechless second time today. Sacred Illyrian wings and he asked me to touch them. This was Illyrian way to say he trusted me. He trusted me even with his life.
I ran my fingers through his soft hair. "You know that.. there will be no sex today nor any time soon.." I hoped it came out as a joke. Truthful, but still joke.
He laughed breathlessly. "I know. That doesn't change the fact I want you to touch them. You said you want to repay me. So please.." He kissed the sensitive spot under my ear.
He got me there. If he only knew what he had called upon himself. I wanted to touch them, badly, but not only because they were his. I wanted it because I was the damn researcher which equals to a monster at times. I longed to feel the texture of the skin, to feel every single bone and muscle in them, everything.
"Are you really sure about this?" My attention was already trained on the beautiful enormous wings around me. This was his last chance to back out of this.
"Absolutely. So put those damn little hands of yours on them already," he rasped, landing another kiss to that sensitive spot.
He didn't need to repeat it again.
I gasped as tips of my fingers traced the soft skin around the bone. It. Was. Perfect. I expected them to be cold and rough to touch. Even though I touched him just lightly, I could feel every single muscle, even the smallest ones. The bone seemed to be so fragile and strong at the same time. Skin was so warm, stretchy and impossibly soft like baby's skin. I mapped every vein running through the membranes, his pulse drumming under my hands. I traced every scarred tissue I found, paying it extra attention.
I was so immersed into exploring his wings that I hadn't noticed what my curiosity did to Azriel until he came under me with a wall shattering roar. I winced, looking down at him.
His head was tilted back, eyes closed tightly. He was trembling and panting, his broad chest heaving heavily. Streams of sweat were running down the column of his exposed neck. His hands were fisting the material of armrests so tightly he almost torn it into shreds.
I couldn't believe I'd missed something so..amazing. Azriel was a piece of art in every possible meaning. My fingers traced the vein that bobbed out on his neck. He shuddered, his eyes slowly opened, looking up at me. Shadowsinger smiled weakly. "Only you can do this to me," his voice was hoarse.
I brushed away a damp strand of hair that fell to his forehead. My heart was beating wildly as I leaned in and kissed him slowly and deeply. His hands embraced me, pulling me closer.
"I love you," I whispered to his mouth.
I wasn't scared anymore. In this very moment I was more confident than ever that I would spend the rest of my life with this perfect male. Because he was mine and I was his.
#english isnt my first language#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#az x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel angst#azriel#acotar x reader#acotar fanfiction#acotar#sarah j maas
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didnt she also say something nasty about the queen when one of her kids had just died
Yeah here's part 2 of this
The way she talked about the death of Queen Charlotte's granddaughter; Princess Charlotte, who was historically only twenty-one when she died in childbirth. The Lady Whistledown commentary in QC is just outright cruel, it's clear Queen Charlotte in the off-season (QC present day timeline being set in the Winter/Early spring break between season 2 & 3) becomes Penelope's biggest target in the aftermath of her fallout with Eloise. There's no other way to describe it.
Ngl the above is really disturbing to me. She's angry at Eloise, has lost access to info from the Bridgertons because of her falling out with Eloise, and she's angry at the Queen for getting angry at Penelope's own words as LW, and trying to discover LW as a result. And so she spends the off-season insulting and attacking a grieving Queen Charlotte. I mean that's one way for a flower to bloom I guess...
Theo, one of the only working class characters in the show, nearly lost his job because of lady whistledown and may have lost it in the aftermath of the season.
A lot of her general commentary as Lady Whistledown isn't clever or witty; it's just outright cruel.
The way she talks about the Bridgerton family, a family that trusts and cares for her, is horrible. Particularly, the way she wrote about Daphne in season 1.
Betraying Eloise's trust for two entire seasons because it didn't start with the Theo situation. She listened to Eloise's frustrations about Daphne and then used LW to attack and belittle Daphne. Speaking as a sibling, I will rant about my sisters until kingdom come to my friends but the minute a so-called friend starts publicly attacking my sister, it's over. I would not be in control of my actions. Like over the course of two seasons, she's attacked and nearly destroyed the reputations of Eloise's eldest sister, two of her brothers, her first love, and the entire family as a result. Judging by the Bridgertons were born to shine line in the trailer, I doubt Francesca will make it through the season unscathed.
She hasn't felt real remorse. Despite nearly causing Marina's death (as she tried to miscarry in the aftermath of LW revealing her pregnancy), she ends season 1 smirking about being LW. Hasn't written or contacted Marina to see how she has been since, got jealous Colin went to see her and still probably hasn't written or visited her. Not to mention her "I least did something. All you did is talk" speech at the end of season 2 to Eloise. A speech that wasn't even accurate as Eloise had been to meetings, listened to speeches and debates, debated with Theo, shared and read and discussed different political leaflets with Theo, Eloise had grown intellectually from the beginning to the end of the season. It's because of Penelope that that came to an end.
Outside of rescuing Daphne from her betrothel to Berbrooke in s1, what good has her work as LW actually done? It's ruined far more lives than it's helped, and intervened countless times when it didn't have authority to. Many secrets weren't Penelope's to tell.
I could honestly keep going but I genuinely don't know how she's supposed to get redeemed in eight episodes because the character we have at the minute in no way deserves a happy ending. LW didn't really matter in the books as it wasn't as active a plot point as it is in the show. By expanding the LW concept to give Penelope a more complex arc, they've unwittingly robbed her of what made people like her book counterpart and as a result created a villain that they have no intention of trying to redeem, because they don't believe she needs to be redeemed.
#anti polin#anti penelope featherington#book violet would never forgive her let alone welcome her into the family
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Suffocation: Gojo Satoru x Reader
Pairing: Gojo x reader Warnings: none for this part, later violence and sexual themes Wc: 6k+ Summary: When you show up to Jujutsu High on nothing but a hunch to find your long-lost brother, you get more than you bargained for when you meet his handsome teacher. Who seems interested in you not only for your abilities but also your body. Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist. This story is also on my ao3 and wattpad. COPE fic alert. some things will not be canon accurate please keep in mind!
∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘
There was no way this was the correct address.
Truthfully, you had already forgotten how you even made your way into the stunningly vibrant complex with historically accurate landscaping and architecture—but you were somehow there. The path had turned from gravel to stone within one step, leading you toward decorated buildings and temples that seemed to tower into the sky. When you finally looked up, even the clouds seemed more plush.
Birds were chirping loudly, and you heard faint voices in the distance. Confused, you turned your head and looked for your car but found it had vanished. The path you thought you traveled down was no longer there and was replaced by a forest that stretched for miles. You hadn’t walked miles; you had only taken one step past a threshold that only someone like you could see.
Something was off, and you knew it deep within your bones. But as your eyes scanned your surroundings, you found no hostilities, ghosts, or curses. A sigh of relief left your lips at that. Wherever you found yourself seemed inviting enough, so you would persevere.
But that didn’t matter. You were there solely to reunite with your supposedly long-lost brother. A sibling you didn’t learn of until a month ago when you were sorting through the boxes in your adoptive parents' basement. It wasn’t fair. You were only twenty-six and had lost two sets of parents, your adoptive perishing in a car accident a few months ago, and your biological parents were still unknown. You were only ten at the time and hardly remembered anything, yet the need to solve their case was always in your mind. The suspicious death of a pregnant woman never went unnoticed, so you always had an inkling there was more to the story. A story you were now beginning to piece together a decade and a half later.
None of this made sense. The child your mother was carrying did survive, and instead of keeping the two of you together, they ushered you into the foster system? It was all so jumbled together, undoubtedly buried in layers of secrets. You were told you had no extended family, let alone a full brother. You’d been led to believe your life was as every day as possible, only to find you’d been lied to by the couple who took you in.
The curses were the only hint that something was off. But you’d never spotted any around your adoptive parents. And because they were oblivious, you refused to burden them with the knowledge. Instead, you practiced secretly, exorcizing what you could to keep your new family and friends safe.
You would do the same for your brother if he would have you.
Determined, you kept walking down the cherry blossom-decorated path, desperate to solve whatever mystery you’d been thrown into. Jujitsu High made enough sense, and the suspicions were confirmed when you saw through the spell. When you saw the DNA test results, all you had was your brother’s name. Weeks of searching on the internet led you to find the school he was enrolled in. There was no other address, and you found that strange. It made you suspect he was forced to suffer through your same predicament.
When you realized this high school was for sorcerers, it all clicked into place. Maybe he could see curses, too. He could have similar talents or be even stronger with practice. Did your sibling also have the same ability? Was he here for a reason? Maybe you had gotten your hopes up; perhaps you were hallucinating. You panicked and checked your phone, only to find no signal.
Why does this always happen to me?
You stopped abruptly under a sakura tree, the scent it emitted more enchanting than you ever thought possible. For a brief moment, you closed your eyes to take it in, only to realize it was not of cherry blossom. It was a musk of amber and turmeric.
Your eyes drifted down the hidden path that led off campus. It intrigued you. Somehow, it called you. A piece of the puzzle that you were trying to solve. You were about to indulge until you suddenly felt the presence of another.
“How did you get in here?” someone asked, the tone half accusatory and half amused. The deep, alluring voice caused you to stiffen.
And when you turned, your breath stopped. The man was striking, somehow able to captivate you by the faint smile on his lips. You could not see his eyes through what you presumed to be a charcoal-tinted blindfold. He stood a few feet away with his hands shoved in his pockets, radiating confidence and power. Before you could even muster a reply, the white-haired man swaggered toward you, somewhat curious but also cautious.
No words left your lips as he approached you; all you could focus on was the aura surrounding him. It was blaring, basically engulfing him, possibly the strongest you’d ever been able to comprehend.
It was as if you were suffocating, wasting precious air as you tried desperately to configure all he entailed. All that he was. He was far past your understanding, spiritual, bewitching, and commanding. His looks could kill. The black uniform was not concealing enough, and you fought past the spell he seemed to cast on you, making you fathom what was underneath.
Lucky for you, your determination cleared the haze he left you in.
“I’m here to see my brother.” That was all you managed to reply, but it was enough. Somehow, you knew that was what you needed to say. You were grasping at strings but understood that being truthful in a realm you couldn't fully comprehend was the best option.
The stranger was standing too close, towering over you as if inspecting every fiber of your being. Even if you couldn’t physically see his eyes, you could feel them all over you.
The intensity of his concealed gaze almost made you gasp out loud.
Silence passed before the man asked, “Do you even know where you are?”
Blinking yourself out of the embarrassing way you were staring at him, you reached into your purse and pulled out a piece of paper, brandishing it to him as a defense. “Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College”
“Ahh.” He plucked the paper from your fingers and took a step back. Since his eyes were covered, you didn’t even know if he read the contents. Regardless, it was your proof that you’d been led there thanks to Google Maps and your own detective work.
Frowning, you watched him closely for a reaction. The initial energy you witnessed was now barely a flicker. Was he a teacher? He seemed friendly enough but also shocked—as if you were trespassing.
“What's your name?” You practically squeaked, internally wishing you could display more confidence.
“Maybe you can help me.”
“Gojo Satoru,” he replied, folding the piece of paper and handing it back to you, suddenly becoming unbothered as his hands stretched above his head, a yawn threatening to escape his lips. “Not that I don’t enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, but you aren’t supposed to be here.”
Something in you fluttered, but it didn’t diminish your sudden panic. “I would have called, but there was no phone number!” You rushed out, trying not to sway nervously on your feet. You were antsy, knowing you were so close to finally getting the answers you’d dedicated the last couple of months of your free time to.
It was the only thing that had kept you strong through your mourning.
Gojo crossed his arms. That wasn’t a lie, but there was definitely something you weren’t sharing. Notably how virulent your cursed energy was and why he had never heard of you. “Why don’t you just call his phone?”
You slumped in defeat, knowing you had set yourself up to be trapped. But you needed to be honest to find the answers, to find your baby brother. That mattered most at the end of the day, and you would make this man help you whether he liked it or not.
“Look, I just figured out I had a brother, okay?” You paused for a moment and shifted your purse farther up your shoulder. It was hard to gauge his reaction when you couldn’t see his eyes. That was your specialty; it was how you saw the true intent of someone’s soul. “I just want to confirm he’s here and I’ll set up a meeting with his guardian. I know I showed up unannounced but I just need to make sure he’s alive…”
“What made you think he wasn’t?”
“I don’t know. It was hard to find him.” You glared. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
“Maybe.” He smirked.
“Maybe?” You scoffed. “What more proof do you need?”
“A few things…” He tapped his chin as if it was apparent. This man was being far too playful with you.
“Can you fucking help me or not?” Your question was laced with venom, so much so that you were shocked. Being toyed with about something so profound to you caused all your manners to vanish. If he would keep you from seeing your brother, you would find an alternative.
“Tell me why you’re suppressing your cursed energy.” Gojo shrugged, like admitting something so personal was an everyday experience.
After the initial surprise of his statement passed, all you managed to do was tilt your chin up in defiance. So, he was like you. Though in a different way.
“Take your blindfold off, and I can show you,” you replied back just as casually.
He whistled mockingly, but the way he stepped closer to you ensured he was impressed. And he was wondering if your previous anxiety was just a well-played facade.
“What a feisty little thing you are,” he whispered, dipping his head down, invading your personal bubble. “But I keep it on for a reason.”
Instead of backing up like your instincts told you, all you could do was stand your ground, trying to stare through the thin fabric, imagining what color they would be and what you would find once he let his guard down. All you needed was a glimpse of his soul.
A long stillness passed, and the stranger was way too close, but you were unbothered. You knew he was teasing you, possibly trying to flirt with you, and it took all of your strength to hide your bashfulness. The reason you were there mattered much more than your sudden curiosity for him.
“I want to see my brother.” You tapped your foot against the stones anxiously.
Sighing through his nose, Gojo finally asked, “What’s your name?” His hands fell back down to his pockets, demeanor relaxing now that he acknowledged you were not a threat like he initially anticipated, only demanding and impatient.
Your eyes were focused on him, analyzing his movements. A debate was ongoing in your mind. Part of you wanted to keep everything a secret, and the contrary was willing to admit everything. It was obvious, even to someone inexperienced like you, that this man could have killed you already if he wished.
So, possibly against your better judgment, you took the first step and entrusted him with information.
“My given name was Y/N Itadori.”
…Itadori?
Gojo’s entire reality almost collapsed at your reply. There was no way you could be related, not even a chance. Extensive background checks had been put in place, and an immense amount of effort was put into ensuring that Yuji remained a secret at Jujustu High. Yet somehow, you managed to appear.
A woman, an older sister that Yuji didn’t even know about. You looked nothing like the youngster. You were far too beautiful. It wasn’t just that, though. It was in the way you held yourself, the power pulsing through your veins, the way you smelled—your voice and your eyes. No woman had ever piqued his interest the way you currently were. Perhaps it was because something else about you was impossible to configure.
He was so stunned that his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. You could only see his eyebrows, but that was the hint you needed. The hesitation was expected and revealing—his reaction displayed that he was closer to your brother than you thought.
“So he is here,” you pried further, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to a single hip. Your snarkiness was blatant, and that was because you felt naturally drawn to play whatever game he had in mind.
“Maybe?” He shrugged, gritting his teeth, left hand raising to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.
“You better tell me where.”
“I can show you if you ask nicely.”
“Absolutely not,” you hissed but didn’t make a move to retreat. There was no way you were going to make the first move. Whether you were leaving or staying, you needed to be cautious. Even if he was playing with you, your eyes did not lie. He could be dangerous if he wanted to be. And you wanted to be nice, but God, was he pissing you off.
“How rude.” He frowned as if the potency of your tone actually wounded him. “I’m trying to be nice, and this is how you repay me?”
What you initially wanted to say was definitely discourteous. But that would get you nowhere. Instead, you tried your initial approach. Honesty.
“Gojo,” you said his name bitterly but managed to lower it to a hush. “I can see that you’re powerful, but you also know who my brother is.” You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nerves rushing back. Your brother was close. He was there, within reach. “I’ve been traveling all day…So please, show me where he is or let me find him myself.”
Your sudden shift surprised Gojo. Maybe that’s what he wanted his teasing to unveil—your true desperation to see Yuji. It became apparent that his dramatics would not work on you. His suspicion was also correct. You could see curses, and you could see his power.
“He’s here, and he's under my supervision,” Gojo replied, analyzing you again as he contemplated what to do. He shouldn’t let you meet your brother, as that would only cause more problems for him and the higher-ups. But you…could be useful. You could be something special. Despite his initial curiosity for you and the way you blinded him with your beauty, he wanted to know you as more than what you could be. He didn’t just want to use you. “He can’t leave. You still want to see him?”
You nodded furiously, hope appearing back in your radiant doe-like eyes. “Please.”
Gojo cursed himself for making it disappear in the first place, even if he had to. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to apologize. Why?
But instead of apologizing, Gojo gestured behind him and turned on his heels. He didn’t need to ask you to follow him, knowing you were going to anyway.
He led you down a winding path, and you tried your best to remain focused. It was hard not to become distracted. His physique and the power radiating from him were engulfing when you let yourself notice.
The breathtaking nature surrounding you was also impossible to ignore. This compound was picture-perfect. If you had another reason to be there, you would have pulled your phone back out of your pocket.
The air was crisp, not heavy like the city air. No curses were around, and you felt a foreign sense of peacefulness.
You followed Gojo into a building and then into a long hallway. You tried your best to trail the path but came up empty-handed. That was when you realized you were trusting the white-haired man too much. Far more than you would have ever anticipated, but your gut wasn't twisting. The hairs on the back of your neck were not prickling with warning. It felt safe.
When he finally spoke minutes later, you registered just how desperate you were trying to pick him apart with your mind.
“This is my office,” Gojo said, sitting in the chair behind the desk, kicking his feet up nonchalantly. “I’m a professor here, or an equivalent.”
“It's nice,” you replied, trying to hide your wandering eyes as they scanned the office. It would be nice if you had a blindfold as well.
You didn’t exactly know what you were looking for but were satisfied to see nothing suspicious. There were no clear signs of deception. An empty office with a few decorations. There was only one picture frame on the desk, presumably with students. One had black hair, and one had pink hair. You couldn't help but smile once glimpsing it, as they all looked so happy. Gojo was in the middle with the biggest smile on his face.
You wondered if he would ever smile at you like that. Your stomach flipped with warning the second you realized what you wished for. What was wrong with you? Who was this man, and why did he have such a hold on you?
“I already texted your brother,” he finally replied, face focused on yours. He knew exactly where your eyes were wandering. And that was what gave him confidence. It made him aware that his flirting attempts were successful. Whatever the two of you had going on, it wasn’t just him that felt it. You did, too.
Thank God. He was lucky his eyes were hidden. There was a mystery even with what he expected your abilities to be. Gojo was already craving for you to be underneath him, and he hated himself for it. Those thoughts definitely had a time and place.
“How long?” You asked, finally sitting in the opposite chair and away from his propped-up shoes.
You hadn't even asked for clarification on your brother's name. Still, your stare was so intense that Gojo couldn’t help but be physically flustered, his usual nonchalant behavior mending into something more severe in your presence.
At least Yuji had already replied to him. But Gojo did not know how to respond back. He didn't learn how to navigate a situation like this. Yuji would take the news of a long-lost sibling the best out of everyone, but Gojo was still nervous.
“Any minute,” he rushed, staring at the door, trying to ignore the beauty that commanded even the power of his six eyes.
There was no way you weren't feeling the same fervor he was. He could see it in your eyes, the way you chewed on the inside of your cheek. He was making you flustered, but he could be wrong. A few years had passed since he'd been intimate with a woman, let alone interested to this degree.
You had a facade he'd never seen before. You acted like you had a secret, even as you admitted the truth. When he pried for the truth, you gave it. So… what were you hiding?
You were looking at your hands, but Gojo was entirely enticed by you.
Studying your features, he almost lost himself in them before the door slid open—revealing Yuji Itadori. His student, your brother. A catalyst that tied your souls together.
If it was possible for Gojo to hear your heartbeat stop, he did. Your aura immediately changed, and all the sassiness you threw his way vanished, replaced with shyness and uncertainty.
“Yuji!” Gojo greeted enthusiastically to compensate for your silence, finally sliding his feet off the desk and sitting up straighter.
It took extreme willpower not to start bawling on the spot as you finally glimpsed your long-lost brother. You just knew it was him, and it made your eyes sting. They stung for all the months you’d been searching, for all the years you missed out on, and all the times you couldn’t be there for him. You wanted to reach out to him, but you were frozen. You couldn’t formulate a single word as your mouth hung open, embarrassingly so.
He casually greeted his sensei before glancing apprehensively at you. “Who’s this?”
A moment passed when nobody said a word. Gojo was waiting for you to say something, anything, but it seemed you’d short-circuited. How cute.
“This is your sister, Y/N Itadori!” Gojo almost yelled, throwing his arms up and pointing at you in a V-shape. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
Gojo’s exuberant nature snapped you out of your internal debate, realizing what he had just admitted.
“Really?” You snapped your head at Gojo, eyes wide with disbelief but your lips pursing with contempt. “That’s how you’re going to tell him!?”
The sorcerer dropped his arms in defense. “You weren’t saying anything!”
Frustrated, you returned to Yuji, who stood in the doorway with analytical eyes that were boring into you and trying to find any sense of a joke. You tried to think of something to say, but it was fruitless. No excuse or apology seemed sincere enough. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind.
He stepped closer to you, oncing you over and putting the pieces together. “You have grandpa’s nose,” he finally said. “Which means you also have mom’s nose.”
“Yeah…” You slumped in your seat, slightly out of relief. At least he believed you. And because of that, you chuckled to release the tension.
“You’re really my older sister?” he asked, apprehensively pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down. “I didn’t know I had one.”
Whether or not you should have invaded his personal space, you couldn’t help but reach for his hands. And when he didn’t shy away, you gave them a squeeze. “I can explain everything to you, if you want.” When you released his hands, you leaned back in the chair. “Or at least the pieces I’ve put together.”
“Of course I want that.” Yuji smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. Undoubtedly, he was thinking about everything you’d been stressing over. Right then and there, you decided you would do everything you could to make it up to him.
A tear escaped your cheek before you even realized it. He was a handsome young boy; he was strong and intelligent. He was everything your parents could have ever asked for, and it made you miss them even more. “God, Yuji,” you faltered. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raising in distress at how quickly your mood shifted.
You nodded, wiping your tears and laughing again. Too many emotions were racing through your body, and you didn’t know where to start. You took a moment to compose yourself and decided to start from the beginning, knowing Gojo was listening but not really caring. It would be beneficial for him to know as well.
Taking care of your brother was something you would forever be indebted to Gojo for.
“My adoptive parents were killed in a car accident,” you started, feeling your throat tighten at the memory of getting that police call. “I was sorting through their documents, and I found a folder from my adoption…”
Everything poured out quickly after that. You even gushed about how excited you were about having a little brother when your parents broke the news to you all those years ago. You told him about the good and the bad, about the struggles, about your sadness and belief he was dead. You told him about how angry you were when you found out that he’d been alive the entire time and how the adoption system failed both of you.
An immense amount of relief filled your being when you finished the story. Yuji hardly asked any questions as you spoke, and Gojo sat there perfectly calm, listening intently. Just being able to tell Yuji about his past was satisfactory enough. At least he knew. At least you were able to find him and be at peace that he was alive.
You glanced at the documents sprawled across Gojo’s desk. The proof was all there, and so were your intentions. “I’d love to be in your life, Yuji,” you said somewhat nervously. “If you’ll have me.”
Your brother’s face was blank for a second but then cracked into the warmest, brightest smile you’d ever had the blessing to witness. “Of course I will, Y/N!”
And before you could muster a reply, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you. You giggled, returning the embrace, holding him extra tight, cherishing such a tender moment. The best possible outcome. A healthy brother.
But when you pulled away and got a better look at him, you let the curiosity overtake you. The power inside of you couldn’t resist taking a closer look to truly know if his soul was untainted, if it was pure, and what the future had in store for him.
Within a split second, hardly a glimpse, you peered into Yuji’s eyes and beyond the surface level of his corneas. You broke down the barrier to see into his soul, desperate to know the color of his heart, the essence of his being.
Sunset orange.
But there was something else, faint but there. Crimson and black, ancient and all-powerful. Deadly and evil—from the deepest pits of hell. It wasn’t your brother, though. It scared you, the foreign essence constricting around your brother’s soul. And as you tried to look deeper, you brushed the barrier and were met with black and soulless eyes, feigning death and domination.
“How dare you try to see me, pathetic woman senkensha.”
Panicked, you came back to reality. You could barely even gasp before standing up, hands slamming down at the table. You were not going to blame Yuji for it; you would direct your anger to Gojo.
“What's inside him?!” you hissed, finger jetting out and pointing with malice. For a split second, your eyes were able to bore through the black blindfold that covered Gojo’s eyes, and you saw them widen with shock. The color filled your senses, but it disappeared before you could process it.
Gojo and Itadori glanced at each other.
“How do you know there’s something inside him?” Gojo asked, harshness blaring in his tone for the first time, covering up for that millisecond where you infiltrated his fortified barriers.
“I don’t know,” you said curtly. “I just do.”
“Wait…why do you assume it’s my fault?” Gojo asked as the surprise and pique faded away.
“Can you see curses too?” Yuji questioned somewhat excitedly.
You nodded, still on edge, as you glanced back to your brother. “Since before you were born.”
But Sukuna was different. Gojo knew that. A sorcerer, let alone an ordinary person, could not sense anything of Sukuna in the first place. You had also slipped through his own fortifications, closer to his infinity than he’d ever felt before. Did you have an ability he couldn’t sense?
“Doesn’t explain how you know there’s something inside me.” Yuji narrowed his eyes.
At the slightest hint of contempt from your newfound brother, your voice's hesitation and accusatory tone vanished.
“I can see souls,” you whispered. Neither Yuji nor Gojo replied, but you could feel their gaze as you fiddled with your thumbs. “I don’t like to. It’s invasive. I only do it as confirmation.”
“Of what?” Gojo asked.
“That I'm making the right decision.”
How extraordinary. With all the power you wielded, you could use it for good. You had kept it a secret, had lived among those who were weaker with no hunger for anything more.
But Gojo could see more than you could ever imagine. He could see your potential bubbling, strengthening each time you gathered the willpower to use it. Did you even know you could scramble someone’s mind with a technique like that?
“I just needed to know, Yuji.” You bit your lip. “Forgive me.”
“It's fine,” he replied. “You’re right.”
You lifted your head.
“I'm a vessel,” Yuji said. “There’s a demon inside me.”
“What!?” Your voice raised in concern.
“Its under control for now,” Gojo interjected. Before you could say anything else, he continued. “Yuji, its getting late, go back to your room. We will talk later.”
He nodded and rose from the chair immediately, which shocked you. “It was nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” Yuji lowered his head respectfully.
“Wait, Yuji!’ You stood up and rushed toward him, handing him a post-it note you snatched from Gojo’s desk with your phone number scribbled.
“If you need me,” you whispered faintly. “I’ll be there.”
Smiling brightly once again, Yuji took the note from you and embraced you. “I’ll see you tomorrow sister, yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured, watching him leave and sliding the office door shut. Your head turned with his footsteps as they pattered down the hallway, only hoping he got back to his bedroom safely. What you had learned was nothing short of terrifying, but if he allowed you to be there every step of the way, you would.
“There's an extra room for you,” Gojo said after a long silence. “I think you should stay.”
“I’ll be alright.” You smiled. “My motel is only a few minutes away.”
Gojo had a horrible feeling about it but knew he couldn't do anything to stop you. It would be impossible to convince you of things you couldn’t understand. Even if Yuji was your brother, he was still a stranger. So was Gojo, but he was wary of letting you leave now that you knew part of the truth, possibly one of the best-hidden secrets in the world. The least he could do for his sanity was give you his number and a few incentives to make you return and remain comfortable.
“How much is the motel room?” He asked nonchalantly.
“About 10,00 yen.” You shrugged. “Nothing fancy.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gojo pulled out his wallet. You watched him with a confused expression as he separated the bills and handed them to you. “This should cover tonight, but after that cancel the room.”
Hesitantly, you let him place the bills in your hand. “Gojo, I don’t-”
“If you want to learn everything I can teach you, what I’ve been teaching Yuji-” he paused momentarily, awkwardly reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. “You may become a target. You’ll be put in danger, so I need you to stay on campus.”
You took a moment to mull over his words and how he said them. His once confident posture had become somewhat humble, and you thought over your answer as Gojo turned to grab a post-it note and scribble on it.
“Preferably… as close to me as possible,” he faltered but pinched the paper between his fingers and brandished it to you, waiting for you to take it, to accept the deal he wanted to make.
Snatching the note, you saw that it was his phone number. And next to it was nothing less than a winky face.
Your eyes shot to what would be his, immediately searching for any signs of a prank. Yes, it made complete sense for him to give you his number, but your heart sensed an ulterior motive behind it, and you couldn’t help but blush, finally understanding what he said.
Gojo grinned at your stupified expression.
Tilting your chin up, you recovered from your hesitation.“I won’t trust you until I see your soul.” Was all you said, but then you went to pull out your phone and save his number in your contents.
“You can’t see it now?” Gojo smirked.
Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you began to take your leave, only looking over your shoulder once you had slid the door back open.
“Take off your blindfold,” you requested again.
“Not a chance.”
You chuckled, nodding your head in acceptance. It did bum you out, though, as you suspected the eyes under that blindfold to be incredibly mystifying. A pair that would only cloud your judgment, if anything. Gojo had already flattered you enough for one day, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up that the flirtatious sorcerer wanted something more.
It would have been easy to tell if he took that blindfold off. Perhaps it was the mystery that intrigued you. A mystery that would eventually torture you if you couldn’t solve it.
“Goodnight, Gojo.”
And then you left, stepping through that barrier like you had only hours ago. But this time, leaving felt much more intimidating. The safety you felt inside was no longer surrounding you, and you were left in the middle of a forest, standing on the decaying steps of an abandoned cabin, with your car only meters away.
The crickets were loud, and so was the wind. It was cold and dark compared to what you’d witnessed being so close to Itadori and Gojo.
But it was too late now, and you had too many belongings inside that motel room to lose. As you walked to your car and started it up, you ruminated over the proposal Gojo made. Staying there couldn’t be that bad, right?
For some reason, you felt the urge to send Gojo a text before departing. Perhaps he’d instilled a new fear in you, but you also learned to listen to your intuition when your gift was absent. Your mind was in shambles, your instincts convincing you that something bad would happen if you left.
Stay. Your mind blared. Stay the night.
Taking a deep breath, you ignored the warnings and theorized them just to be the intrusive thoughts that came with being in the presence of an attractive, powerful man.
Y/N:> Leaving now, thank you for the money.
Annoying ass teacher guy:> Let me know when you get back ;)
Y/N:> fine
Annoying ass teacher guy:>I’m open to pictures as well
Annoying ass teacher guy:> I mean
Annoying ass teacher guy:> As proof that your safe
Y/N:> you’re*
>Contact Name Successfully Changed
Yuji’s sister?? </3 :> it’s gonna take more than 10k yen to impress me
Annoying ass teacher guy:> noted
Shaking your head, you tossed your phone in the passenger seat and drove off. The teasing made you smile enough to etch a giggle from your lips. Embarrassing. It had been way too long since you’d flirted with someone.
Your giddiness only lasted for a few minutes, though, as the further out you drove, the stronger your trepidation felt. You turned your music up louder and glanced at your GPS. Only a few more minutes. A few more minutes and you would be in your room, safe and sound.
Down the long stretch of road, you could see the light illuminating through the forest, the neon-lit sign peeking over the darkness of the trees.
Shoulders relaxing, you were about to admit you were only paranoid before the hairs on your neck stood up. It made you gasp, the sudden alert of evil eyes on your frame, location, and vulnerability.
With one hand on the wheel, the other desperately reached for your phone. You quickly opened it and tried to type a coherent message with your thumb.
Yuji’s sister?? </3 :> something is wronfgg
And when you glanced in the rearview mirror, your heart almost stopped at what was barreling down the street toward your car.
“Fuck!” you screamed, only seeing the mass gain a staggering distance with each significant, inhuman stride. A curse. A large one, an intelligent one. Something way more advanced than your current capabilities.
You barely managed to press call before watching its arms reach out, seeming to stretch misshapenly, its mouth opening with a deadly, vengeful smile.
Instinct took over, and you slammed on your brakes, screeching to a stop. The force of its body colliding with your car caused you to lurch forward in your seatbelt and slam against the wheel. Coughing, you looked up and saw its body fly over your car and smack against the pavement. It rolled, seeming to break into pieces before they snapped back together.
The curse jolted, and you heard it scream.
All you could smell was the burnout from your tires. You were frozen in place, hands gripping the steering wheel with so much force that your knuckles were starting to cramp. Your foot was still pressing the brake to the floor.
“Y/N?!” You heard Gojo’s voice yell through the phone speaker. “Are you okay?”
You coughed again, struggling to breathe. But his voice snapped you back into place, the adrenaline fading only enough that you were able to speak.
“No,” you whispered, unable to think of an explanation for how to describe the situation to him.
“Where are you?!” Gojo asked a little louder, a little more frantic.
But his questions faded into nothing as the ringing in your ears grew louder. The curse shot up from the ground, its neck cracking back into place, flexing a total of six arms. That same decrepit smile was still on its face. You couldn’t even fathom what it was and what it could possibly want with you.
“On the road, just by the motel—!” you rushed as a sob of fear rose in your throat.
There was no way to know. The why didn’t matter when you were the prey. You wouldn’t even live long enough to ask.
“I think I’m gonna die,” you whispered as the curse took a wobbly step forward. Despite its imbalance, the ground still rumbled from the weight and force.
Its mouth snapped open, revealing layers of razor-sharp teeth and a decaying uvula. Its mouth consumed its entire face, causing you to scream in fear.
Then, the creature lunged as you slammed on the gas.
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x you#jujustu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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The Double, ep 18-19
I love that the Duke knows Li well enough by now to that he can tell she is gathering her courage to tell him something. There's part of her that desperately wants to tell him because she trusts him. However, when she says to ask her anything, he immediately gets to the point and asks who she is. She can't quite let go of that information but she will relent enough to say that she is not Jiang Li, which he already knows.
Yet he teases her and gets a smile out of her. He backs off, because just her admitting to him that she is not Jiang Li is huge. The rest will come. He reassures her that she is right to see her justice and that she is not just a ghost; she is real and alive. She does not have to be defined by her past.
I WAS SCREAMING AT THE CONTEXT OF THE SHIRTLESS RAIN SWORD PLAY.
The Duke stripped off his shirt in the pouring rain and... uh thrust his sword while thinking of Li. At the same time, Li is leisurely taking a bath, stroking bright red rose petals thinking of the Duke and smiling. And Li has a self satisfied smirk the next morning. Girl, what are you going to do when he really wakes up next to you?
Not sure how exactly they will top this.
The flower scene was so amazing! He says the flower is pretty and suits her so Li says it's ugly. Which leads him to pull her closer under the pretext of "fake" lovers. But Li dislikes being called lovers as that was the fake accusation that destroyed her before. The Duke though simply says when she's more open, it won't kill her. Meaning she is his beloved, and he would never betray her.
I adore that she stuck the flower in his hair. AND he kept it there the whole time, even when threatening the thugs. He only removed it when she left.
I think my favourite scene from ep 19 is the argument they had. She lays the out the entirety of the Duke's plans so accurately that he's a little stunned. He's always admired her intelligence but I don't think he realized how clearly she saw everything. However, he doesn't want her part of this because he doesn't want her hurt.
And here she calls him Xiao Heng, as she's starting to do whenever it's actually personal and important. She knows he's afraid for her; that he's unwilling to risk her life for the sake of the country. But their paths are converging. They may have differing angles and goals, but the end result is the same. She needs to be a part of this. She will risk her life for the justice of her father, brother and herself. She needs his help, because without it she will likely die.
The Duke relents, reluctantly. Because even if he refuses, she will go about her plan anyway which means more danger for Li. She's forced him into a corner and they both know it. So he lets her in, knowing that while it's still dangerous, he can protect her better this will.
But he still has rules! If she wants to go to the cave then she'll need to figure out a distraction plan for them. And so she does, and the Duke thinks it's brilliant. Plus he had full confidence she could do it.
When they are in the cave, I love how he recognizes that she has some kind of trauma (and expected since the caves remind her of being buried alive) so he takes her hand firmly without asking any questions to help her. He doesn't even consider asking her to leave if she has an issue.
Was the Duke showing off when he took of his shirt and gave his undershirt, which probably smells clean and like him and is warm from his body. Yes.
Did Li watch shamelessly and was turned on by this? Yes. (It gives her more to think about while bathing teehee). She's also curious about the scars on his back.
When Li and the Duke find the mining going on, Li finally has some of the missing pieces about how she and her family, Yurong, and the princess are all connected. It's one of the things the Duke was trying to protect her from but now she'll have a better idea what they are up against.
I didn't think I'd like the Third Uncle at first but he and Li are chaos together and feed into each other's chaos. I love them.
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Tough man loves his wife (MK1 Kuai Liang)
Author's note; reminder this is not a lore accurate to the Mortal Kombat universe. I write because they're hot. I also do no have beta reader or i read my fan fic from top to bottom to see any errors. I'm lazy okay.
Everyone knows that Kuai Liang and Bi-han have similar characteristics but the younger one has sympathy inside of him,always by his adopted brother’s side and isn’t too stoic to other people. Everyone knows that Kuai Liang will have a family of his own but they never expected he will devote his life to his wife and children.
Today he did a mission of helping the neighbouring village to slaughter invaders. He killed every invader without mercy just like they did to the innocent villagers. Covered in blood but not a single wound on him. Ever since his brother’s betrayal, Kuai Liang has trained himself to be stronger and stealthy, resulting in him not getting hurt in any battle and fights.
Before he enters his home. He takes a shower outside the house. Washes every blood on him and wears fresh comfortable clothing for staying in his house. He has done this countless times; taking a bath from a mission and already having fresh clothes he placed every time before he went on a mission because he will be drenching in blood and sweat. He doesn’t want to enter his house like that.
After done cleaning himself. He enters his house without making a sound, thinking his family is already asleep. It’s very late at night. He slowly slid open the door to the master bedroom. His eyes land on an awakened woman sitting in front of her large cosmetic mirror carved from the finest wood in the land. She is combing her hair with the rarest jade comb he gifted from a raid he had months ago. Kuai Liang approaches his wife and sits behind her taking the jade comb from her hand then comb her hair. The wife smiles at her husband's arrival and affection which he always gives her every minute they’re together.
“Welcome home,husband-of-mine”
“I have returned,wife-of-mine. Why you’re not asleep yet?” He delicately combed her hair,admiring every strand.
“I’m not tired yet. And” she turns to him with a smile “I’m waiting for you” she leans into her husband embracing him.
“I told you not to wait for me if i’m still not home at midnight” Kuai Liang smiles back at her stroking her hair.
“I know but it won’t hurt to wait for husband-of-mine home right?”
Kuai Liang chuckles “Not at all. Thank you. Now turn back to the mirror. I want to continue brush your hair”
She turns back and Kuai Liang continues combing her hair. His other hand fishes hair oil out from his pocket then applies them in her hair.
“This smells new.Where did you get it?”
“An elderly woman gave this to me for saving the village. It is made from ginseng,very good for your hair” he brush her hair until the oil covers her hair
“Oh” she holds her front hair to feel the texture “Feels much better than before. I love it”
“Really? Then i will buy this every month”
The wife smiles at her husband’s promise. Kuai Liang swiftly wears a set of gemstones that complement her true beauty “I saw a seller in that village who mines gemstones around China. He gave me a good offer on these earrings. The second i laid my eyes on this gemstone,i think of you”
The wife smiles more admiring the new gift her husband gave her. Tilting from side to side to admire them “They’re lovely,Kuai Liang” she hugs him tightly receiving a chuckle from him
“Let me see you” he holds her face staring at her. His thumbs strokes her cheeks admiring his own wife. The couple looks into each other eyes smiling together but then–
“Oh no. She’s awake” they both turn to a crying infant who was sleeping soundly on their bed. Kuai Liang with a big smile approaches his daughter. He gently holds the crying child but stops when she noticed her father is carrying her
“I think she’s jealous of you getting the attention” He teases his wife, “Very quick to get jealous just like her own mother”
“Hey!” she hits him pouting at him
The baby laughs at her mother hitting her father. Two sets of footsteps come storming into the room with a loud “Father!”
“Quiet boys. Don’t wake up the whole clan” their mother warns the twins but they didn’t listen. Launching themselves into their father like monkeys, “Look at these two rascals. Doesn’t listen just like their father”
Kuai Liang laughs “I really can’t deny that”, he looks at his sons climbing on him but aware of their baby sister is in his arms asking loudly to their father about the mission
“Boys! Let your father rest!” she warns again “Go back to your room now”
“Awww” the twins said in disappointed tone at the same time
“Let’s sleep together tonight. Sounds great right?”
The twins nod in excitement “YES!”. They both jump into the king sized bed ready to sleep. If they want to sleep
“You’re putting them to sleep” she pouts, watching their twins being hyperactive late at night. She takes their baby from him and walks to their bed. “Xiayi, Ruofei. Lay down!”
Kuai Liang watches his family being chaotic as they always are. A life he never thought he would get after years being betrayed by his own brother. His family is his beacon. To live,to fight and to have a peaceful life for them.
a/n; my bestie wants a fan fic where there's kids. bleh here you go
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I’ve been getting more and more attached to Jason’s character so please indulge me. I will be having to section these off cause I’m gonna be talking about two pieces of media </3
Titans
I’m watching season three of Titans right now and, it’s a wonder. There’s a few aspects that bother me but overall I’m in love so far.
The season makes a bold choice by literally opening on Jason- a hero- doing drugs. Sure in season two it mentions Hank doing drugs because of Hawk and it does show him in the act of snorting a substance, but the difference is, he’s an adult. Hank is a thirty something year old man who has probably most likely killed people, Jason isn’t.
Yes, Jason is violent. Yes, he did assault police officers, but he never killed anyone. Jason may legally be an adult but he still acts like a teenager because he is one. He’s a traumatized teen having to deal with the fact that he’s repressing so much from everyone he loves. He never gets an outlet to discuss what’s happened to him with people he trusts.
A great example of this is when he’s about to jump off the the Titans tower in season two. He tries talking to Dick, he says how he feels and he try’s expressing himself, he tries so hard to get his brother figure to understand what he’s going through. What does Dick do? He flips it around and unintentionally makes it about himself.
The closest we get to him actually opening up is when he starts trusting Rose, telling her about his upbringing and starting to get comfortable with her, comfortable loving her. Then she reveals that she only met him because she was trying to manipulate him.
The impact of him turning to drugs hits so much harder. He’s just scared, he turns to anything he can to help. It’s so much deeper when it’s shown that the drug he takes isn’t heroine or coke or anything like that. It’s a drug that stops fear.
He literally felt so weak that he took drugs to repress his emotions to the point where he felt nothing, he felt nothing and thought he was better because of it. There’s no doubt that at this point in the story he’s addicted. Jason started using before he died and the madman who gave him the drugs started using them to manipulate him. I’m really interested in where the story is gonna go with it, I really hope it actually dives into withdrawal and how Jason would cope with everything going on around him without the help of drugs.
Comics/Animation
Overall with every piece of media I see regarding Jason and the batfam, it never really manages to depict Bruce and Jason’s relationship accurately, one of the good ones was that single episode of Titans. (in my opinion).
Me personally, I see Bruce and Jason’s relationship in a very complicated light.
When he first gets adopted, Jason views Bruce as a nurturing figure. He sees him like every child sees their parents, perfect. It’s like he can do no wrong. He’s Batman! And he made Jason Robin! It’s a perfect opportunity, he was being helped, he finally had a dad, one that loved him.
Before Jason died, he still very much idolized Bruce but not to the point of thinking he was perfect. He knew Bruce wasn’t perfect, he just couldn’t bring himself to actually say it. Jason couldn’t face the fact that Batman didn’t need a Robin, he didn’t accept that he could still be Bruce’s son without being Robin.
After he died and came back, there was resentment. He hated Bruce, despised him with every fiber of his being. Depending on what canon you’re watching/reading, there’s different reasons for why. Either Jason is mad that Bruce took Robin away from him before he died, effectively taking away his only coping mechanism, therefore resulting in his death. Or, he hates Bruce for not killing Joker. His father didn’t avenge him, he could care less about Batman having an obligation to avenge Robin as his sidekick—fuck Robin. He cares that Bruce, as a father, didn’t kill the Joker to avenge his son. He let his sons killer roam free, putting the psycho in Arkham won’t do anything. Or or, he holds resentment that Bruce couldn’t save him. He couldn’t save his sidekick, his son, his Robin. He failed.
No matter what happens between the duo, Jason always holds self loathing in his heart because of Bruce.
Across all forms of media, he always develops the thought that Bruce hates him. He always thinks that he’s the ‘least favorite/most hated child’ even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Bruce loves him, Jason is undoubtedly the favorite child.
(Sneaking a Titans reference in here—) The fact of Bruce caring for Jason more than his other children, (cough cough DICK) is solidified when he takes the Robin mantle away from Jason. He’s trying to protect his son in a way he thinks is best. He saw and heard what being Robin did to Dick, he doesn’t want to put Jason through that. Even the line where Bruce says “I don’t want to make the same mistakes.” Jason perceives it as Bruce calling him a mistake. He lashes out and gets angry because he thinks that he’s being called a mistake. It’s not true, the sentence itself with the context of the episode and the episode before show that it’s not true. Bruce is calling Dick his mistake, not Jason.
Throughout everything, Jason sees anything negative that Bruce says or does as a direct attack on him, when he’s the only one Bruce actually tried to parent. Dick was treated like a weapon. Jason, as a child.
#jason todd#dc robin#bruce and jason#red hood#dick grayson#nightwing#batfam#jason and bruce#daddy issues#dc comics#dc titans#titans 2018#so much violence#tw drugs#drug usage
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Hi! You have so many good Chicago stories! I had an idea for a Will Halstead fic, if you'd be interested... OC/Reader is a nurse at Med, she and Will are a (newish?) couple. She has been sick or hurt, but isn't telling Will, to avoid worrying him - Sharon (or someone) has been on his ass, for something he didn't do of course, but he's been under a microscope, so she doesn't want to bother or distract him - until she passes out or ends up in an OR (depending on the illness/injury) and he finds out after the fact... Heavy on the angst is always good ;)
A/N: I'm a sucker for angst. Hope this is good enough. I tried researching as accurately as possible but there might be inaccuracies.
I'm posting this is celebration of not failing my exams which means no resitting! I didn't get the high grades I wanted but we move on. Enjoy!! Hope this is good enough.
Warnings: Canon-typical injuries, blood, angst w a happy ending, surgery
*****
Becoming a nurse was inevitable for you because it was the next best thing after a doctor and you didn't want to go through all those extra years of learning and debt.
You were born with a congenital heart defect as a result of your mother poorly caring for her diabetes during pregnancy. All your life, your parents had been on top of your health, always dragging you to specialists and making sure you were still taking your meds.
You moved states several years ago and now you weren't constantly reminded of the defect you were born with.
There were times though when you did get forgetful and Will never complained about your bad trait that you couldn't handle, he shrugged it off and made sure your health was one hundred percent.
Your relationship was in the honeymoon phase, six months in you were both decently comfortable. Everyone was aware of your relationship but you both agreed to keep work at work and home at home.
Recently, Will was under extra scrutiny from Sharon because of a small incident that happened in the ED when his brother rolled up bleeding from his shoulder. No one could blame him for his reaction, it was completely justified but that hospital were being asses and wouldn't let go.
Following this, your interactions at work decreased at your suggestion to make things a little easier for him. And at first, it was working but then it just got straight up frustrating.
All of a sudden, following the intense summer heatwave, everyone's workload doubled and your hours never lined up. You'd be leaving and he'd be preparing for his second double shift of the week.
And things only got worse from there. You were so busy because of the nurse shortages that your priorities began shifting, your health dwindling down the list.
But no one needed to know that.
*****
Week One
"And that's me done, you ready to break?" Will asked, setting aside the tablet on the desk. You both took your breaks together as much as you could, any time you could get together you would take.
"Yes I am." You nodded, slipping your hand into his as you began walking out of the ED. "I remember someone promising coffee from the cart outside."
Will chuckled, rolling his eyes at the reminder of the expensive coffee sitting outside that you loved. Just as he was going to reply, Maggie shouting your name stopped him.
Sighing, your heart felt heavy both figuratively and literally. With a sheepish smile, you pecked him on the cheek with a promise to catch him later on during shift.
Not being able to get a word in, Will simply watched you scurry off to help the next incoming patient, leaving him to change directions towards the cafeteria.
*****
Week two
You should've been more attentive but being short of breath after a run wasn't uncommon. It was early morning and Will's side of the bed was empty so you took what used to be a daily run alone.
As the day progressed, you started feeling tired and your fatigue progressed. It should've been the first sign to you that you needed to slow down and take care of yourself but the next shooting in Chicago just couldn't wait.
"Y/N, are you okay?" April asked, standing besides you with a new file in hand. "You look pale."
"I'm fine." You assured her, nodding as you licked your drying lips. "And before you ask, Will doesn't know and doesn't need to be interrupted, he has a patient in the ICU."
April backed away apprehensively, always trying to check up with you whenever time permitted. Maybe she was also to blame for not being more forceful with her concerns.
It wasn't her fault that she forgot you had a heart disease.
*****
Week three
"I love you so much." You muttered against his forehead before stepping away to leave the dark bedroom.
Will stirred slightly at the contact, shifting under the covers and further messing up his curls you so badly wanted to delve your fingers into but you were on a time crunch.
Just as you were leaving the room, your chest clenched, pain suddenly overtaking you. Clutching onto the door frame, your grip slacked and your bag dropped causing Will to wake up.
"What's wrong?" Will asked in his half awake state, completely disheveled. He was blinking the sleep away while he turned to you and tried to see what was wrong but failed due to severe sleep deprivation.
"Are you okay? What happened?" He continued, voice hoarse like it usually was after a deep sleep
For some reason, you struggled to form words, your chest feeling as though it was being stabbed repeatedly.
And for some reason, you couldn't come up with a logical excuse and you stupidly left without a word to your lover.
*****
Week four
You couldn't ignore it anymore.
It felt like your body was starting to give up on you. You were constantly tired and out of breath and the chest pains never let up, at times, they even doubled and felt worse than the worst of your period cramps.
The biggest flashing red warning sign should've been when you fainted in the bathroom after your shower.
You came home shattered from your 24 hour shift. Just as you walked in the door, Will was leaving for his 48 hour shift. At this point, you really felt like the world was against you.
You were kinda like roommates more than romantic partners. You were barely at home together and at work, you tried to keep interactions to a minimum after the small incident that the board was elevating ridiculously.
Waking up on the bathroom rug, your body felt numb almost paralysed. It was like what movies described comas to be but your chest was still pulsating in pain.
You weren't being a really good nurse because you simply got up, drank some water and ate some food before sleeping it off.
*****
Week five
The silence was suffocating.
The two of you finally got more than two minutes together but words somehow failed you.
With droopy eyes and furrowed brows, your hands itched to grab the blue scrubs covering your chest. If it wasn't for your boyfriend sitting opposite you, you would've been hunched over the sinks in the women's room.
"What's wrong?" It was a question but with that tone, it felt more like a demand. His two words hit you hard, your eyes dragging from the table up to his big brown eyes filled with nothing but eternal love and concern. "And don't say nothing cause that's clearly bullshit."
And for some reason, you flinched.
Licking your chapped lips, you scrunched your eyes closed at the pain encasing your heart. Despite being back on your medication, the pain didn't cease.
"Y/N? Baby-"
"CODE SILVER. CODE SILVER IN THE ED."
*****
Today
For the past week, Will was hypervigilant about his work. Peter kalmik was never his biggest fan so it didn't help he was constantly making his presence known along with the more power holding board members.
You hated how he no longer fought his case and he just conformed, keeping his head buried in the sand and distanced himself from those he cared about.
It got to such a point that when Jay came in with only work intentions, Will physically forced himself to stay well away.
You were so caught up in your concern for him that you neglected your medication on the kitchen counter.
The pain today all of a sudden increased tenfold in the middle of shift. You were helping Doris turn over a treatment room, listening as she talked about her family drama that you loved to hear about when you felt the world come to an abrupt stop.
Before you knew it, breath escaped you and darkness enveloped you.
“Y/N?!” Doris shouted, going around the bed and crouching down besides your unconscious body.
As she started checking your pulse and your breathing, Connor ran in with Maggie in tow having witnessed you fall from the nurses desk.
In a flurry of rushed movements, you were placed on a bed as your friends searched for the cause of your unconscious state. Out of the blue, Maggie spoke up, reminding everyone of your heart condition.
Equipped with the new but old information, the cardiothoracic surgeon was now more than confident he was able to help you.
"Whose her emergency contact? Is it still her parents or has it been changed to Will?" Connor asked the charge nurse as they started wheeling the gurney towards the elevators. They needed to get you into surgery as soon as possible before you deteriorated.
"Good question."
"Page him anyways."
"Already on it."
*****
"I'm a horrible boyfriend."
"No you're not."
"All the signs were there and I missed them."
"We did too."
"I know Connor is one of the best but what if-"
"I'm going to stop you right there." Maggie cut him off, looking at him sternly, eerily resembling the face of a mother telling off her child. "This is no ones fault and you know that, stop punishing yourself for something no one could control."
Will opened his mouth to interject but stopped himself when Maggie held her hand up. "Yes, maybe Y/N should've taken better care of herself but as a doctor, you know that this surgery was inevitable anyways."
"It's better that she was already in the hospital and not home alone where no one would've noticed till you finished in another eight hours." Maggie continued, being more gentle as she got her point across. She was just as concerned but for everyone else's sake, she could be their pillar.
"Look at her Will." Maggie said, gently rubbing him on the back, hopefully bringing him some comfort. "She's in the best hands."
And of course Will knew that, he wouldn't say it to Connor's face but the man was a heck of a surgeon. There was no one else he would want operating on you but he was simply unnerved to no end.
He couldn't wipe off this icky feeling he had. It lurked around him like a shadow and stuck to him like a stain. He felt like a failure - he was unable to help you as both a doctor and a boyfriend - what good was he?
News spread of your collapse around the hospital and as an automatic response, the hospital board stepped metres away from Will, almost like he was sick with a deathly contagious disease.
It was so stupid that it was funny.
Will wanted to rip his hair out. How he was even standing watching your surgery was beyond him right now. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight of your chest cracked open, your heart just there for the world to see.
He never felt so useless before.
*****
Waking up was one of the most confusing scenarios you've ever been in. The last thing you remembered was being in the ED with Doris before blinking and the next thing you knew, you were waking up in recovery.
Your body felt like the heaviest gym weights were sat on you. Your mouth unbelievably dry as your eyes squinted in the dim lighting, trying to look around the room for any sign of life.
And right by your bedside, sleeping in a very awkward position was the man you considered the love of your life.
It must've been the movement of your head, you literally turning your head less than 90 degrees that woke him up because without any further prompting, Will was no longer dead to the world.
Instantly, he was alive and alert, no trace of sleep anywhere on his face as he made eye contact with you.
He felt as light as a feather to see you awake, the biggest weight being lifted off his chest from the relief that nothing went wrong despite knowing Connor made no mistake at all.
"Pulmonary valve stenosis." Was the first thing Will said, easily recognising the confusion painting your face. "Connor put in a balloon. They'll keep you for probably a week to monitor you to see if you need a valvotomy."
You hummed, letting him know that you understood everything he told you without talking. Somehow, without even looking at him, he knew and brought forth a cup with a straw in, holding it to your mouth allowing you to sip easily.
"I'm so sorry Y/N." Will said earnestly, his eyes shimmering as he intertwined your fingers with his. "I wasn't paying enough attention to you otherwise-"
"Stop." You interrupted him, voice still slightly hoarse from not using it. "Blaming yourself helps no one."
"What's done is done." You continued, squeezing his hands when he squeezed yours first. "I'm really the one to blame. If I took care of myself and did something when I first was having problems then we wouldn't be here."
Silence followed, the only sound being the constant beeping from all the machines attached to you.
"Never faint on me again, you hear me?"
"Can't promise you that babes."
"Yes you can."
"You're hilarious Will."
"No, I'm being serious Y/N."
"Don't make me laugh, where's Connor Rhodes, my favourite doctor?"
"Very funny, I think I'll buy April expensive cart coffee next time."
#one chicago x reader#one chicago imagine#onechicago#chicago med#will halstead imagine#will halstead x reader#will halstead#will halstead x you#will halstead fanfic#will halstead x y/n
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Hisoillu Week(end)
Prompt (08/23): past (first encounter)
Hisoka (24yo) was bored. He needed a new playmate. Illumi Zoldyck (21yo) just fell into his trap.
TW: blood, homie-cide, probably a violent family, stalkering, sexual references, so on and so forth... but just slightly :) also some typos.
This came out by the headcanon that my dear @lumizold and I had about their meeting. We also roleplayed it and it was the time of my life istg. Guess who roled who. Actually pretty easy. Too easy maybe. But here I tried to wrote them both on my own, and he liked the result, so i guess this is... good! At the very least. So shoutout to him for helping me understand better this difficult and majestic character, illumi zoldyck. He's now the boy of my life. And if it wasn't for him, i couldn't have written this as canonic as it- should be? is? well it's just conjugetion, we don't really care.
Enjoy!
Illumi was in the airship, heading towards a spot in the Padokea region where he got an assignment. A very important assignment... which would have made lots of money, according his grandfather Zeno, who just congratuled him for the assignment received. Well, if the Zoldycks' bank account was happy, the Zoldycks would have been happy too. Right?
He didn't question about it, but he had to admit that the request was pretty weird. Asking to a family of assassins for protection wasn't impossible, nor improbable, but... unusual? definiterly the most unusual thing ever happened to him. His square mind couldn't can a so shapeless thought... it was worst than having an uncovered glass of water in your car while speeding... and drifting. Up a montain road. Through sharp bends. In short, the water spills everywhere and you can't keep it in the glass, where it should have been since the beginning... if there were salted pistachios in that glass, they wouldn't have flown all over. Like the water did. He hated water as a kitten does.
Sitting straight and perfectly still in his second class seat, he kept overthinking his job assignment.
He knew little to nothing about it. Nothing too useful, and that was the reason he was ruminating the best way to make things work in case something went wrong upon his arrival.
A wealthy mafia boss has been repeatedly harassed by a real weirdo, whose incredible strength frightened all of his guards (all the hundred persons designated on working on his safety were terrified by him). He followed him everywhere he went, he stopped him to talk and ask him very molest questions. There, he had obtained this description of him: he was a molest man, tall and muscular with "shoulders like this" (you would say it's an accurate description), with magenta hair pulled back that stayed like this as if under an enchantment, a strange clown make-up with a little star and a teardrop under each eye, odd clothes with card suits motif and ridiculous shoes (again, what an accurate description...), but his voice was mellifluous and hardly you could discern his gentleness and his way of fooling you. It was so stressful, dealing with him. And therefore he was easily recognizable.
Illumk kept looking outiside the window.
The mysterious, molest clown was, among other things, a violent. He threatened to kill him in exactly five days, and already got in a fight with his guards, snuck in his super-secured estate's garden... well, he was a public manace walking on well-functioning legs. Illumi already thought that making those legs useless could be a good idea... but the client commissioned the homicide before he could pull out a joke of his, and so be it. In faxt, his job made more sense this way. Protect the client... by killing an enemy. Yes. This way, now, even the water in the glass had become governable in that devious journey.
And he went back to staring out the window.
He just wanted to go back home and see how his little brother Killua was handling their father's care.
?!?
Illumi felt dumbfounded. He wasn't effectively shocked, but... he still was speechless, his big black eyes whose pupils couldn't stand out over their irides were drawn towards the silent estate in front of him.
Corpses.
Corpses, corpses, corpses.
Corpses everywhere in the garden. Were they planted there as decorations, in order to scare the most cowards or were they there to give troubles to the one who had hired them?
One of the floor lamp along the walkaway had been blown. Something was stuck in it, and had short out part of the electric system, and now it was slowly catching fire.
It was... a playing card.
So, he really was dealing with a clown.
As if he was terrified, in that catatonic state of his, Illumi started running through the corpses, jumping over the blood puddles on his way, without sparing a glance at the deads' abhorrent expressions.
He really felt a bit of dread.
If... he failed...
He would not receive his payment! Those two- really serious parents perfectly capable of taking absolutely rational and logic decisions didn't get paid up front. Once, he tried to advice them about that little, hazardous detail... but after receiving that slap from his father, he couldn't even remember what was so hazardous about getting paid when the job was finished. And now they risked receiving nothing.
And yet, Illumi was right on time... he got embarked like a robot on the first available transportation, with the confidence that the clown would have made his appearence in eighteen hours circa... instead, the clown arrived and made them all dead. Deads. Deads everywhere.
Deads everywhere in every hallway he passed through. Was that a finger, that one he was seeing hanging on the wall with a card? Oh, yeah, it really was a finger. A little finger. Certainly a little finger, because the severed hand five meters further ahead was missing a little finger.
Macabre and thorny details passed under his unperturbed glare to embed in his mind, as if pinning them with pins on an enormous board. It was the summary of all the things he should be reporting his dad, along with his ass in order to let him whip it to a pulp, probably.
He began to spy a room, the only one with an open door, the warm light escaping by slithering through the threshold.
Corpses. Corpses everywhere. A man hanging on the wall, and one crawling to the door to escape, were the ones who immediately caught his big eyes.
A mature man, around his 50s and bald, was being held by the throat by... a... a guy really tall, and big... with a giggle sweet as honey, kind of mellifluous, his pale, muscular arms with protruding veins stretched towards the adult. Something about his appearence seemed off, but he didn't pay that much attention.
He was toying with the man. Like a white kitten pawing maliciously at a tailless lizard, already mortally wounded by his claws and canines. The man almost didn't try to free himself, but he looked like he was waiting for a miracle, a small glimmer of salvation to get his paws off of him.
They were the only ones alive.
— Oh, I guess I have visitors~
His murmur wasn't directed to anyone buy the adult between his hands, who he hold tightly. His face was vermilion. He could already see, already imagine them, some ecchymosis in his eyes, the attempts to free himself getting irregular and limp, his strangled sounds disappearing...
He finally showed himself up, throwing one of his pins already infused with Nen against the clown.
He, just as an expert performer in the circus, looked like he was expecting the pin as if it was a circus act he and his most trustworthy partner tried a thousand times. He moved even before the pin was ready to be flung, and... that was a matter of instants.
He bend his knees, threw back his head and all of his body. His back was a perfect arch in that pose so uncomfortable and artistic altogether. His hair, apparently with nothing left to hold it up, were now slipping across his face with oh so perfect features.
He abruptly released his victim in order to stay in that position, and the man stumbled in place for a single moment.
And threw himself back onto the clown, taking a breath in the process.
He jolted. Illumi, inside his soul, did the same.
The pin ended up on his jugular, and the man kept a hand on his neck, dazed. From the way he staggered you could tell he was dizzy.
With a wince which made him lose his playful smirk, the clown crouched down, ready to spring into action. His hair was in plac- his hair was in place, when had he recombed them?
He was glaring at the pin, without worrying about Illumi two meters away from them. He glared it. And glared at the man, while he was taking the unusual weapon and removing it from his neck. It was disgust. Disgust for his stupidity.
The man tumbled with a thud. His vertigo more dizzy than before with every squirt of blood gushing out the wound, now more deadly than before.
— Everyone knows that wounds with the weapon still inside should not be touched.
Both him and the Zoldyck watched him pant with wide eyes. The realization about his screw-up had hit him hard, just like the thought he was dying. The unknown man, pulling out a playing card, wondered if the victim of that cruel fate was thinking of something in particular: a warm greeting to his liver or the burning desire to spit on his father's and his assassin's tomb. They observed his life slip away from his eyes.
— If the weapon is still inside, you still have the chance to save your life yourself.
A strangled sound.
His eyes glassy.
An embarassing silence. The Zoldyck was stuck and static. He wasn't swinging lightly on his own feet. He wasn't shifting his weight from a side to the other, and he wasn't looking away from the new cadaver, still warm. He looked nervous in his own way. He was extremely illegible.
— Don't tell me that the one whose life I just casually took away was the mafia boss who instructed me to kill you.
— No no~ — the stranger laughed, turning to face him. That Zoldyck was so ugly and ungroomed... black hair cutted in a bob, his athletic figure concealed by a banal track suit in unattractive colors or... generally not very colorful. And it was such a shame, because his doll-like eyes, his perfect and also symmetric features, summed up with those thin, pinky lips with an adorable shape were really attractive. — He was head of the guards.
— So where did you left the person I'm looking for?
— Right at your feet, asking for mercy~
Illumi lowered his gaze. There was the man he previously saw, ho looked like he was crawling for his dear life.
Illumi took a deep breath, staring at him without batting an eye. Literally. Not a movement. He didn't even looked mad. No throbbing vein on his neck. Nor sweat droplets.
The maniac tried to incite him.
— I got bored waiting for you~ I decided to kill time playing cat and mouse. Or mice~ obviously you can see they're city mice~ they didn't run away from me well enough... I had to kill 'em all to satisfy my bloodlus-
The Zoldyck turned around, and calmly started walking away.
The maniac stayed there, looking at the threshold, batting his lashes with surprise.
Was he dumb?
He jogged after him, as if nothing had happened.
!?!
— Weren't you going to kill me~?
— Stop moaning and lower your voice.
— Coomee ooon~ answer me~
— I haven't been paid.
— Yeah, no shit, you didn't finish your job yet if I'm still alive~
— He who hired me is dead. The contract is no longer valid. I'm going back home.
— To mommy and daddy, huh~?
— Yes. If I'm going back home I'm going back to them. Not to other people.
— And don't you want to entertain yourself with me, killing time together~?
— No. I don't have time.
— Yes you have, that guy's dead and no one can disturb us while we're getting to... know each other~
That maniac was sticling his hands out too much. Yep. Pretty molest. He slapped them away, and the man groaned in pleasure.
— No. I have to go back home and explain this trouble.
— So~? I took away your assignment, you should be mad, or scared of their reactions~
— I'm just pensive.
— What else~?
He developed him in his sticky embrace, whispering in his ear. He believed he was pushing him into talking about more interesting matters, with his own hands brushing and caressing his hips, because he felt shivers running on his skin.
— I feel like. Having a lollipop.
— Here, take it, babyboy.
The Zoldyck, amazed, turned to face him, still in his embrace, as if it was nothing. His eyes weren't surprised, but his arched brows definitely were. Now they were both still, one before the other, and were looking at each other. Then, his black eyes slowly drifted away from the stranger's pure gold irises to halt on his lightly stretched-out hand.
Between tapering fingers, tightly hold between long and sharp nails, there was a small lollipop.
He batted his lashes and took it. It was as thin as a card, under his fingertip, and... seemed a card, for real.
— Are you kidding me?
The lollipop, point of contention of the two hands, suddenly became a card. A jolly.
Too fun. He was being sarcastic.
The man smiled like a fox, his lips stretched and closed, eyes narrowed. — It's a trick~
Illumi squeezed his eyelids, unamused, and took some distance from him to look at his face. His make-up was odd, it was true. He just noticed it. It seemed like a make-up for clown, maybe because of the teardrop and the tiny star, but... clowns didn't paint their face that way. They were... so colourful and showy.
His gaze wenr back to normal, while the man kept staring at him. — You... are not the clown I was looking for, right?
The man lost his smile, and gazed at him. His eyes had lost their light. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself either. — I am a magician, little Zoldyck.
And he parted his lips in a "o", his brows lightly arched as if comprehensive. — So you're not who I'm looking for. — and he added under his breath that, in fact, the magician make-up wasn't included in the identikit, and that he was licky he recognized it. The man's frown deepened.
— I indeed am the one~ you silly~
— No, you're wrong. I'm looking for a clown. He looks exactly like you... but he paints his face like a clown.
— You dummy, I'm the one who persecuted your client~ I did it on purpose, in order to lure you here~
The Zoldyck parted again his thin lips in a "o" shape, and his eyebrows raised, too. Maybe he realized he was in a trap.
— But I was told to look for a clown... you're a magician, I noticed it.
— I am a magician, my name's Hisoka, — he spelled his introduction for the idiot. — As a matter of fact, however, I get mistaken for... a cheap clown.
— Clowns are not cheap. — said the young man. On second thought, he looked really young — They make you laugh, scared and kill people.
— Only in horror movies.
— My life is a horror movie.
Hisoka smiled a little hearing those words. — You're an enjoyable person, little Zoldyck~
— I'm not little. I'm the firstborn.
— But how~ how old are-
He got interrupted by an unpleasant noise. In the quiet of the night, to sweep away the blissful and relaxing sensation of the humid air brushing the naked skin, several sirens got closer to the location of the slaughter.
The Zoldyck started running to the woods. Hisoka, without missing a bit, followed right after.
— And here I thought you enjoyed attention, all eyes on you. — the Zolduck murmured, between a long stride and the other. — Back there, there are lots of eyes ready to watch you and lots of hands ready to catch you.
— But no one could do it like you~
That answer didn't break him down, instead he quickened his pase. Hisoka was stalking him.
— You still haven't ask me a single thing. — he said after one minute of jogging in the wood.
The Zoldyck didn't spare him a single look. — I don't care.
— But we're walking together~
— You're following me.
— Talk to me, coomee oonnn~
— I gotta go.
Hisoka grabbed him in his embrace, forcing the other to stop.
— What's your name~?
— I have no time. — was his crude response
He found himself pointing a pin against his throat, and his Adam's apple grazed it as it bobbed to swallow and moan.
But Hisoka craved for more. He crawled over his body as if he were dying. He didn't care about the pin, may the pain be welcomed, on the contrary. But he needed to be with him.
— I'm bored~ so bored~ I need... someone on my level to fight with~ I've set a trap for you to meet you, little Zoldyck.
So he had revealed his cards. I hoped to intrigue him. It had to intrigue him. He had to get it out of that head somehow. Maybe it would all end in a bloodbath.
But the Zoldyck just kept glaring at him. — I'm sorry. I can't stay here risking to het caught. If you know my surname, you also know my family and the rumors going around us.
Hisoka nodded, purring on him. He wasn't trying to leave his arms anymore. — No one know your names and your faces, so infamous in everywhere in Padokea~
— My father would not appreciate me ending up in jail. — he pointed out. — I don't know about you, but I don't want to get arrested.
Hisoka's face leaned over towards his. — When will I see you again, then~?
And the young man allowed himself to be deceived. He paid no attention to that touch, to those hungry looks, and only said a few words.
— Are you able to remember phone numbers?
A shiver run down his spine. A Zoldyck's phone number was the best he could hope for, obviously after a fuck/fight with one of them. — Ohh~ well, yes, yeah...
— I'm going to tell you. — he cutted short.
But Hisoka moaned, attaching himself on his body. Illumi felt with a growing embarrassment... something poking against his hips. — Oh no, just not right away~ if you write it on my arm... I'll show you a trick and no one will see your number~
The young man stayed still, looking at him. In silence. His eyes shone a bit. — A magic trick?
— I'm a magician for a reason~
He batted his lashes. — Arm. — he streched out his hand.
Hisoka vibrated with excitement, extending it to to him, nonchalantly. He still had his lips streched in that fox-like smirk of his. — How merciful of you~ you allow me to still stay close to you and give me such a cuddle~? I must seem to you to be on the verge of death and in need of one last wish~
The young Zoldyck took something out of his pocket. A small pin, so sharp, the top of it green. Slowly, looking at him in the eye, he started likinv it, his pink tongue leaving saliva at every lick.
Hisoka didn't know exactly what that little show he was witnessing was, but he knew that he didn't mind it at all. His throbbing member between his legs told him so. The warm pang in his stomach told him so. The eyes that became pools of liquid gold at the heavenly sight.
When it was all nice and moist, he dully took it away from his mouth.
— Are you going to write with that~?
— Yes. How are you going to hide the number?
— With my favorites Nen technique, of course~
He carried it lightly against his skin. He pressed the tip gently, and when he broke the skin a trickle of blood flowed calmly.
The night was torn from its quiet by the moans and cries of pleasure of a man, sweetly tortured by a very nice, unique and skilled assassin, who loved to dilate time under his expert touch to prick it with pins.
Hisoka couldn't remember ever feeling so excited.
When their paths separated, the young assassin had discovered that Bungee-gum has the properties of both rubber and gum, and Texture Surprise could be very useful in cases where the wounds needed to be hidden in some way, and Hisoka had discovered that the person with whom he had pleasantly spent minutes of total ecstasy was called Illumi Zoldyck, and that his telephone number was... divine when written in blood.
#hisoillu weekend#hunter x hunter#hxh#hisoillu#first encounter#omg i did it#omg im so late#omg im so lame#omg i need sleep#fanfic
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Top 10 Portrayals of Mycroft Holmes
In my last couple lists for the supporting cast of Sherlock Holmes, I discussed two of his closest allies: Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade. It’s now time for another of his allies, though perhaps the most begrudging of them all: his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft is an intriguing character, because there are essentially two completely different ways to portray him. In the original books, Mycroft is declared to be even smarter than Sherlock is, which is already quite interesting. What makes him even more fascinating, however, is the reveal of his career: Mycroft “IS the British Government.” He’s the head of political and military intelligence, his power seemingly second only to the Prime Minister and the Royal Family themselves. With so much power and brilliance, one would expect Mycroft to be a rather imposing figure…but in Conan Doyle’s stories, the character is actually depicted a sort of comical figure. Mycroft is a sort of stereotypical, pompous bureaucrat in the books; like Sherlock, he’s a trifle eccentric, as well as rather pompous and slightly foppish in demeanor. The humor comes from his blustering attitude and exaggerated rotundity, which are completely at odds with the potential for something more dangerous when you realize what and who he really is. As a result of this dichotomy, different reimaginings and adaptations of Mycroft tend to gravitate more towards one side or the other: some versions play the character very much in the Conan Doyle vein, as a comically uppercrust caricature. Others, however, have focused much more on his political prowess, making him a much more serious character, with the humor stemming now from his dandy manners and the relationship he has with his brother. In the books, Sherlock and Mycroft have a SLIGHT sibling rivalry, but they actually seem to get along fairly well; most reinterpretations, however, really play up that rivalry and have the two constantly at each other’s throats…but when push comes to shove, that brotherly love still shines through. With so many different ways to handle Mycroft, choosing my favorites was rather difficult: this duality to the character and the way he’s been portrayed means that he is both easy to mess up and yet hard to mess up at the same time, if you can imagine such a paradox. I think, however, that the choices I’ve made are more or less finite, though a few may rise or fall on the scale depending on my mood, more than anything else. With that said, here are My Top 10 Portrayals of Mycroft Holmes!
10. Rhys Ifans, from Elementary.
It took me a while to warm up to this version of Mycroft, but ultimately I did come to like him. In here, instead of being the head of British intelligence, Mycroft is simply an AGENT of said intelligence: he’s essentially this universe’s version of James Bond, a suave and classy spy for MI6, who works under the facade of a restauranteur. While I do have a few issues with this take on the character, overall I think it’s an interesting one; a big part of what makes him good comes from Ifans’ acting.
9. Robert Morley, from A Study in Terror.
This Mycroft COULD have been in my Top 5, at the very least, if he had a larger role. Morley is probably the most book-accurate take on Mycroft ever, but he’s only in the film for a couple of short minutes, and…well…frankly, he has absolutely NO purpose to be in the story at all. I feel like someone just included him BECAUSE they wanted to see Robert Morley play this character, and…fair play to them, I suppose, I’m glad it happened. I just wish he had more of a reason to be there, and more screentime in his pocket.
8. Peter Jeffrey, from Hands of a Murderer.
In this period remake of “The Woman in Green” (one of the Basil Rathbone films), Jeffrey’s Mycroft ends up being kidnapped by Professor Moriarty, who is seeking information he wishes to sell to enemy agents. (Which actually sounds similar to a completely different Rathbone movie, “Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon,” but I digress.) While his role is relatively peripheral, I enjoy Jeffrey’s work with the character, and they really play around wonderfully with the relationship between the two brothers.
7. Richard E. Grant, from Sherlock: Case of Evil.
While Mycroft’s role in this film is small, his presence is important: it’s revealed that part of the reason he is such a reclusive figure is because he was captured and tortured by Moriarty (after the previous pick, I’m sensing a pattern) during Sherlock’s first encounter with his arch-nemesis. Mycroft’s brain is as sharp as ever, but his body still bears scars. This is one of the most supportive takes on the character out there, and Grant plays him very well.
6. Boris Klyuyev, from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson.
Arguably one of the funniest versions of Mycroft, in my opinion. This Russian-made TV film series used Mycroft fairly often, and he was always fun to see in action, really leaning into the comedy of the character from the original stories, and even doing a few new things with him, such as having him help Mrs. Hudson during “The Tiger Hunt” (their adaptation of “The Empty House”). Very, very amusing to watch.
5. The Version from Moriarty the Patriot.
This version takes some obvious cues from the rendition from “Sherlock,” portraying Mycroft as a more traditionally handsome, limber fellow, and really emphasizing his power as “the very embodiment of the British government.” However, he’s a much “warmer” character than the BBC version, which I think helps make him stand out, and gives him a little more of the humor that was present in the original stories. In Japan, he's voiced by Hiroki Yasumoto; the English dub is played by "Black Butler" star himself, J. Michael Tatum.
4. Stephen Fry, from the Guy Ritchie Films.
Mycroft appears in the second film, “Game of Shadows,” in another case of a “small but important” sort of role. Some of the funniest scenes in the film are thanks to him, and he’s also important in terms of the movie’s climax and conclusion. Fry is a shockingly book-accurate take on the character for the modern era, both in appearance and portrayal, and I think that’s a big part of why I like him. For all the things these films did differently from Conan Doyle, Mycroft almost feels ripped straight out of the pages.
3. Christopher Lee, from The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes.
Lee was the first “serious” Mycroft, depicting the character as a more athletic and icy sort of character. This is ironic, since “The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes” is mostly rather comedic in nature, although it does have its hard edges. With that said, while he is a bit more dramatic than earlier interpretations, he still has a lot of humorous bits and moments. Plus, it’s Christopher Lee: of COURSE he’s awesome.
2. Mark Gatiss, from Sherlock.
Gatiss not only plays Mycroft in the series, but is also one of its chief creators. As if the guy needed MORE power. This version rather famously plays up Mycroft as a very, VERY authoritarian figure: much colder and more mean-spirited than almost any other interpretation. At times, he’s more of an antagonist than a protagonist in the show. However, he does still have a heart hidden under his dictatorial ways, a fact that’s made clear literally from the start of the series, and does help Sherlock out in various ways throughout the show. I was sorely tempted to make him number one…hopefully the person I chose instead won’t disappoint.
1. Charles Gray, from the Granada Series.
Gray first played the character in the film “The Seven Per-Cent Solution,” but it’s the Granada series (with Jeremy Brett as his younger brother) that I REALLY recognize him for. Alongside Robert Morley (and possibly Stephen Fry), I would argue that this is the most book-accurate take on Mycroft there’s ever been. I love how even though he is depicted as the generally more lighthearted figure from the original stories, he’s not played up as a caricature or a cartoon, and can be serious when the moment calls for it. The show even had two episodes where Mycroft took the place of each of the Baker Street gang, with one episode teaming him up with his brother, and another teaming him up with Watson. Gatiss may be more recognizable nowadays, but for me, Gray IS Mycroft, just as Brett IS Sherlock and Colin Jeavons IS Lestrade, plain and simple.
#list#countdown#top 10#best#favorites#actors#acting#tv#film#movies#animation#sherlock holmes#mycroft#mycroft holmes#sherlock#elementary#moriarty the patriot#case of evil#hands of a murderer#a study in terror#the private life of sherlock holmes
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Little hurt/comfort speculative post-canon TBB piece since I suspect canon is going to be all hurt.
Echo and Tech talk out their time under enemy control. PG, Gen.
CWs: PTSD, panic attacks, grief, mentions of injury
STRONGER
“It doesn’t get better if you don’t talk about it, you know.”
Snarling, Tech whirled around, unaccustomed anger biting under his skin. “You don’t - ah.” Wincing, he ducked his head and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the lights flickering to life across the island as he pushed his repaired goggles up to rub at the scars that spiderwebbed across his face. “Apologies, Echo. I did not realize it was you speaking. And, if you will forgive the insensitivity of the statement, it is… easy to forget that you were once The Algorithm.”
“Really,” Echo answered drily, gesturing to himself with his scomp link. Tech shrugged, slipping his goggles off entirely and letting them dangle from his wrist as he rubbed at his scars further.
“To me, you are as I have always known you, simply in better health than when we… initially met.”
“When you unplugged me from a cryo-tube I was wired into being forced to calculate plans to kill as many of my brothers as possible, you mean.”
“Well… yes.” Wincing, Tech slid down to sit against the sun-warmed paving stones, propping his back against the wall. After a moment, Echo settled beside him, close enough to very gently knock their shoulders together.
“I am aware that discussion of traumatic events can help reduce their psychological impact,” Tech began hesitantly, staring down at the goggles he was restlessly twisting in his hands rather than looking at Echo. “However, that would first require me to have a greater understanding of both my own prior psychological state and recall the conditioning I was subjected to on Tantiss, which I do not, and also comprehend why Crosshair was immune to such conditioning when I was not, and-”
The frantic, ever-hastening tumble of words was halted by Echo’s hand gripping his shoulder, giving him the lightest of shakes - everyone was treating him as though he was fragile, now, as though his scars had not healed.
“Tech, breathe.”
Tech sucked in a deep breath, then winced and coughed weakly, one hand rising to rub at the starburst scar high on his left pectoral, the bacta patch on it not entirely removing the pain. Perhaps everyone’s current treatment of him was not unwarranted.
Echo kept the hand on his shoulder, the gentle grip grounding, until Tech’s breathing had regained a more normal rhythm, and for several minutes they sat in silence, watching the moon-yos scampering about in the trees.
“I don’t imagine Crosshair’s going to use his rifle again,” Echo said softly, apropos of apparently nothing, and Tech exhaled sharply with another wince.
“I am certainly fortunate to have survived. A direct hit from a Firepuncher rifle bolt, particularly one modified as Crosshair’s has been, would typically result in death regardless of the quality of one’s armor.”
“I don’t think he’s ever been grateful to have missed a target,” Echo remarked, “even if you did pop up and declare ‘Crosshair, you missed,’ you little shit.”
“It was an accurate observation! I have not known Crosshair to miss a target without injury being involved, and I was unaware of his tremor at the time, so I had no basis for comprehending such a phenomenon! Also, I did not ‘pop up’ - ”
“No, you stayed down long enough to give all of us heart attacks, because your damn helmet fell off - ”
“I do not understand what the - truly inadequate, I might add - state of the Empire’s armor has to do with inducing myocardial infarctions in the squad - ”
“ - and we saw your face on the assassin Crosshair had just shot - ”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“….he would not be the first of us to kill a clone,” Tech said softly, leaning a little more heavily against Echo’s shoulder. “I would not, in fact, even be the first clone he had killed, and I was willing to give my life to ensure the survival of the squad previously. His actions were objectively correct, even if he had been aware of my identity at the time.”
“If he’d been aware of your identity, he never would have taken the shot,” Echo countered, shifting enough for his head to rest ever-so-gently against Tech’s.
“Not taking the shot would have been illogical. I was a threat to the lives of the squad at the time.”
“Feelings aren’t logical or objective, Tech.”
“I am aware, which is why they are often difficult for me to process. I am struggling to even categorize the emotions my experience as a CX-trooper have left me with, although I have identified guilt, inadequacy, anger, resentment, and what I believe to be grief. I was unable to resist the programming as Crosshair was, despite having been deliberately engineered for my intellect, for the strength of my mind, while Crosshair, who was created to - to shoot accurately - was able to resist the entirety of the reconditioning, and to escape Tantiss with Omega’s help, while I was so fully under the command of our enemy that I not only destroyed our home, I returned our sister to them!”
His voice had been steadily rising throughout, and it shattered into sharp gasps on the last words, prompting Echo to turn and gently pull Tech against his chest, wrapping him gently in an embrace and rocking them gently from side to side, stroking Tech’s hair as the other clone trembled against his chest.
The moon had fully risen by the time Tech’s breathing slowed again and he drew back slightly from Echo’s embrace, turning so that he was resting with his shoulder against Echo’s chest and his head tucked under his chin.
“I should have been stronger.”
“You were plenty strong, Tech.”
“Echo, I am aware you have not been present for significant portions of my - ”
“Tech. I can read a damned report whether I was present for something or not. And I’m not focused on what you did, I’m focused on what you didn’t do.”
“…please elaborate.”
“You landed the charges on the Marauder while Wrecker and Gonky were outside of it and gave them time to get clear, rather than blowing it up with them inside. You didn’t shoot Hunter, you shot down the pilot of the ship he was trying to hijack and let him swim away. You scared the civilians here, but you didn’t hurt any of them.”
“I killed numerous members of Rex’s team on Teth.”
“Do you want me to tell you how many deaths I’m responsible for? Because I’ve calculated that, you know. Should I have been stronger?”
“Echo, our situations were completely different and comparing them would be pointless. Furthermore, you were not deliberately mutated specifically to have a significantly increased intellect which should have offered immunity to - ”
“Have you considered that it wasn’t intellect that protected Crosshair?”
“Clearly it was not a matter of his intellect, as mine did not… ah.”
“He didn’t outsmart it, he out-stubborned it.”
“That hypothesis seems entirely reasonable, yes. However, I shall not endeavor to test it.” Wincing, Tech sat up slowly, bracing himself on one of Echo’s knees to rise to his feet, then offering a hand down, which was calmly accepted.
When they were both standing, Echo jostled their shoulders together gently. “So, feeling better?”
Tech blinked. “…somewhat, yes, thank you.”
“Anytime, brother.”
FIN
Short and kinda bad but I just needed them talking it out and Echo being his good ori’vod self. Tech is Not Coping Well and needed a hug.
The initial idea of this had less talking and Cody was there at the end telling them they both now understood how regs felt after Order 66, but that version failed to materialize when I got to my keyboard.
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So... I paid $220 to go from this...
To this...
I'm pretty sure that was not worth it.
But good for Dakota. He is an excellent salesman.
Now, my previous tire sensors were wildly inaccurate. Sometimes they were off by over 5-10 PSI. I can't tell you how many times I thought my tires were nearly flat and then I'd bust out my Jaco Elite Digital Tire Pressure Gauge with shop-grade accuracy, a robust stem, and a 360° swivel chuck...
And I'd be like, "Yo Jaco, my dashboard says my left front tire only has 18 PSI!"
And Jaco would be like, "Dude, chill. You're still at 27. You'll be fine. Also, remember that since your brother had to swap out a wheel, your sensors think your left front tire is your right front tire. He said it was a pain to fix and you should just remember which is which and he was sure that wouldn't be confusing in the future."
Narrator: It was very confusing.
If there could be one redeeming result from this, it would be getting those Cadillac-grade super accurate tire pressure readings.
So... let's compare the new fancy $220 pressure sensors to Jaco, who is certified accurate to professional ANSI 2A standards.
*drumroll*
Well slap my patoot and call me a Cadillac.
That's... amazing.
The largest delta was only 0.6 PSI!
I don't know if that meets ANSI 2A standards, but that exceeds FROGGIE 2A standards.
And the left front tire was the left front tire and the right front tire was the right front tire. And I'm sure all of that time I spent training myself to reverse the reading from the front tires will not cause any more confusion.
Narrator: It will.
This means I can actually rely on these readings. I don't actually have to bend over and kill myself trying to stick Jaco onto the little... *brain gears grinding* umm... the tire nipple? The pressure nubbin? The nubbin nipple pressure thingie?
The valve stem!
That's what that's called. The tire nubbin nipple valve stem.
Poor Jaco might end up collecting dust. I'll make sure I remember to press his rapid air bleeder every once in a while to give him some attention.
Narrator: He won't.
Poor Jaco.
In any case, having reliable pressure sensors that save me from bending over does make me feel better. Not $220 better. But better. I mean, having an expensive thing be functional is a low bar, but I am happy it works.
Alright, down to business. Who wants to see some beauty shots of these budget tires that get super hard in the winter?
May I introduce you to the Radar Dimax AS-8 tires.
So fresh and new.
So rubbery.
Those leaves were totally just there. By no means did I kick them in front of the tire to add a pop of color. I have journalistic integrity and I only shoot the truth.
Look at that asymmetric tread on this all season sport touring tire.
Do you want to go sport touring with me?
Is that a thing people do?
Look at how deep that tread is. These babies won't be balding for years.
Let's get closer.
Absolutely cavernous.
I'd even say that tread depth is downright... trenchy.
Like, I'm half expecting an X-wing to fly in there.
If only I knew someone proficient in the ways of Photoshop.
I'm that someone!
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Lucifers VS Lucifers : Round 3
Propaganda under the cut
Lucifer (Obey Me !)
He's the real ex-angel Lucifer except him and his brothers fell cause God wanted to delete their sister from existence for feeding a human she had fallen in love with angel food to save him. God. Wanted to get rid. Of his sister. For saving a human.
So he did war about it, and lost, and now he's a demon with stress and a homoerotic bond with the Lord of the Devildom and 6 unruly little brothers which are the other avatars of sin.
He's like a middle aged single father and he needs a break I stg. He's getting grey hairs! Some of those are caused by the MC also! Because they're a little shit sometimes! Also he's hot. Wears glasses sometimes. I think they should actually salt and pepper his hair but no one listens to me and my huge brain. Give him wrinkles also. I know hes an ageless being but I want hot middle aged men and not just more twinks.
Sorry that's unrelated op my bad. Anyways his family is chaotic but he still loves them deeply despite it all.
Lucifer (WicDiv)
Luci is the heart of WicDiv. It's a book about her. Or, more accurately, it's a book about her death. She's an irreverant hedonist, a lonely teenager thrust into stardom, and, above all else, the Devil Incarnate.
WicDiv is incredible, a masterpiece of indie comics, and all about 12 teenagers (mostly 18-19yos) who incarnate as gods - they will be loved, they will be hated, within two years they will be dead...and Lucifer is the first to die, though she does it before her time.
SPOILERS, but she gets better, and the ending is incredible - they all announce that they're giving up their godhood to end the cycle / save everything, and Lucifer goes last, and follows the same, "I'm not a god..." format, only to go, "...I've never been a god. I'm Lucifer." And it's iconic. And the scene that follows it up, where "Persephone" goes to rescue her - "there were two girls in hell" ??? incredible.
Also, in universe after her death, people started wearing Lucifer Died For Our Sins t-shirts, and they started selling them as real shirts, and I think it's fucking hilarious. https://wicdiv.threadless.com/designs/lucifer-died-for-our-sins-dark/mens/t-shirt
#lucifers bracket#tournament polls#round 3#obey me lucifer#obey me swd#obey me shall we date#obey me fandom#obey me game#obey me#lucifer obey me#the wicked and the divine#the wicked + the divine#wicdiv#wicdiv lucifer#eleanor rigby#indie comics#gameblr#comicblr
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