#he would gladly storm the black city for her... if she wanted him to that is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wellthebardsdead · 3 years ago

Text

Everything I Wanted Sojiro X Fem Reader

Pasted from my old account. My works are by no means perfect and are riddled with grammatical errors but I do this for fun so, enjoy ~Bambi

~I had a dream... I got everything I wanted...~

How did it come to this?... why did it come to this?... you’d spent your whole life trying to be a good person, a model citizen, the daughter your parents always wanted, a perfect girlfriend and future wife to your boyfriend... you tried to become what everyone wanted...

~not what you’d think...~

You looked over the lip of the rooftop down at the city streets below. The rain made everything sparkle in the warm glow of neon light, it poured down your face mingling with your tears. Your hair wet and stringy, your blouse and skirt soaked... you took off your shoes and climbed over the railing before standing on the edge...

As your grip began to loosen up you heard a deep, firm, but gentle voice call out for you over the ambiance of the rain and the city life below. “Y/N!”

~and if I’m being honest it might have been a nightmare... to anyone who might care...~

———

You could hardly contain your excitement as you rushed into your apartment carrying the large garment bag, your dress was finally ready, it wouldn’t be long before the wedding.

To everyone who knew you, your life looked perfect, the model daughter of two successful entrepreneurs of a tech company that was recently sold allowing them to retire in luxury.

You were everything they wanted you to be. Beautiful, smart, poised, and kind. You lived in a nice apartment with your fiancé, a handsome and wealthy businessman who doubled as your manager at your parents now former company, your manager, his name was Hitoshi.

You’d worked so hard to build up this life, you thought it was perfect, if this is what everyone wanted for you this must be what you want right?...

After fumbling with your keys you bustled into the apartment. Your fiancé had already left for work. As you walked into the bedroom your heart fluttered seeing a red box, you set your dress and a folder of paperwork down and opened it to find an expensive set of lingerie, you gladly tried it on, it felt a little tight... You didn’t mind, you were losing a bit more weight before the wedding anyway. Maybe this was a surprise for the honeymoon he’d forgotten to hide, or maybe he’d left it as a bit of motivation for you.

Either way it looked nice. You took it off and placed it back in the box before putting your dress away in the closet. You had just enough time left of your lunch break to freshen up and head back to work.

After making sure you were presentable you left.. forgetting the folder of documents you’d left on your bed...

———

You worked as a secretary at your parents now former business, they offered you higher positions many times but you wanted to earn those positions, they were extremely proud of you for your decision. You worked hard, and you were due for a promotion very soon, one that’d move you to your fiancés department. You were so excited that you’d get to work along side Hitoshi.

As you approached the building you smiled seeing painters renovating the outside. They were applying the new owners logo, Shimada enterprise. You’d have to thank the new CEO for allowing your parents to retire.

You stepped inside and walked past the receptionist desk, it was empty again... There was a new girl working, Ichika. You weren’t sure of her last name but she’d been there a few weeks, and she had a bad habit of slacking off. You sighed spotting 24 missed calls on the phone. You some files on her desk before walking to the elevator and riding up to your office.

There were a couple men in the elevator, one a young gentlemen around your age, a nice blue and black vest, a white button up and smart black slacks. His hair was short with a slightly long fringe and he had well groomed facial hair. The other man was taller, dressed in a black suit, black hair greying slightly around the sides yet his face looked rather youthful, strong jawline, sharp eyebrows and a piercing gaze.

The two nodded at you in greeting and you returned the same with a smile assuming they must be business associates. They returned to their conversation and you checked through emails on your phone until the lift reached your stop. You couldn’t help but eavesdrop a little, apparently they turned up and the receptionist wasn’t there, after 5 minutes of waiting they decided to head up to find whomever was managing all the departments today...

As you stepped off you swear you heard one of them say to the other that you were cute. Your face went bright red and you booked it off pretending you didn’t hear.

Before heading to your desk you made your way to your fiancés office. As you approached it you saw Ichika step out giggling back at the doorway. She jumped seeing you standing there. “O oh miss L/N!! I was just dropping off some pap-” she stammered out before you cut her off. “That’s not part of your job. You’re meant to hand them over to me first for revision and then I hand them to whomever the recipient is. You’ve missed 24 calls possibly more in the time it took me to get here, and on top of that what appeared to be two business associates were left waiting at the front desk for you! Go back to your desk.” You say firmly. You were getting sick of her finding excuses to leave her desk like this.

She quickly scurried off past you, something about her... there was something that just rubbed you the wrong way. You stepped into your fiancés office and smiled seeing him there, he heard you come in and turned on his heal, “hmm forget something ich- Y-Y/N!” He stammered out surprised. The tone of his voice caught you off guard, “of course it’s me. Why do you keep allowing her to drop work to run files up to you? The phones have been ringing off the hook today and she wasn’t there to answer them.” You say annoyed.

“Ah come on Y/N, she’s new.” He says walking to you planting a kiss on your lips. “She’s been here for over 3 weeks, she has no excuse I’ve warned her plenty of times. Just because my parents no longer own this business doesn’t mean I’m going to allow the quality of our service drop.” You say before kissing him back. You caught a whiff of Ichikas perfume... maybe she just applied a little too much and brushed against Hitoshi, yes that had to be it...

He sighed. “If you say so.” He shrugged, “I’ll have a chat with her.” He smiled. You smiled back before kissing him again. “Thank you, she’s been making my job hard enough as is.” You sigh. “Thank you for that little surprise too by the way. It was very comfy~” you giggle. He blinked looking at you a little confused before it clicked in his brain. -shit!! I forgot to hide it!- he thought. “O-oh yeah baby! Ah damn it I was going to hide it for our wedding night. Did I leave it on the bed?” He says rubbing his head.

You nod and giggle. “Mhm, don’t worry~ I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.” You say placing a finger to your lips and winking. He chuckled and hugged you close giving you another kiss. “Thanks baby~” he smiled. “I gotta get back to work now, I’ll be home late tonight.” You sigh. “I’ve got a heap of new contracts I have to sort out.”

He nodded and smiled, “I’ll see you when you get home, no need to rush. Text me when you leave Kay?” He asks. He’d suddenly gotten into a habit of asking that whenever you’d be working late... you assumed it was just because he was worried for your safety working so late at night. You nod and smile, “I will.” You say before kissing him once more and walking out to your office.

———

The day dragged on and soon the afternoon turned into the evening. It was getting late and you were getting hungry.

As you finished the stack of paperwork you went to move onto the folder of contracts... it wasn’t there. You panicked looking through your bag, your desk, as you scanned your memory it clicked... the bed. You’d left it on the bed at home...

You sigh getting up, you’d have to go and get it. At least it’d give you an opportunity to get something to eat, and see your love...

Picking up your bag you called for a cab and headed to the elevator. You jumped as it opened to see one of the men from this morning, the one in the black suit. “Hm oh didn’t mean to startle you miss.” He chuckled a little, he had a deep voice, it matched his powerful exterior perfectly. “O-oh no no it’s fine!” You say flustered before stepping in and hitting the ground floor.

“You’re here awfully late. Do you often stay after hours?” He asked checking his watch. You shrug a little, “hm, not really sir. But these past few weeks I’ve unfortunately had to take up extra work due to the new receptionists underperformance.” You sigh. “Oh w-where are my manners! I’m Y/N L/N!” You stammer out bowing politely.

He chuckled, “it’s nice to see at least someone here is working hard then, it’s a pleasure to meet you miss L/N, I’m S-” the lift suddenly jerked violently and the lights shut off. You stumbled forward and prepared to hit the floor but instead you felt a pair of strong arms grasp hold of you keeping you steady. “Are you alright?” He whispers. He smelt so nice, a mix between citrus, sandalwood, and undertones of cherry blossom with a hint of musk.

You nod as he helped you up right. “I’m fine sir, th-thank you for catching me.” You were thankful for the lack of light, you could feel how hot your face was with blush right now. “Don’t mention it.” He says softly.

After another moment the lights clicked back on and the back up system kicked in. The power must have shut off... the lift opened at the ground floor and you were right, there was a huge storm outside, it must have cut power off to most of the street. At least with the backup generator you could keep working. “Would you like a lift?” He asked as you two approached the doors.

You went to answer as suddenly your cab pulled up outside. “Ah no thank you, this is my ride.” You smile and bow politely. “Goodnight sir.” You say before rushing out to the cab. You never did get his name.

As you got into the cab and drove off an omnic walked to the building holding an umbrella. “A new acquaintance Master Shimada?” It asked as he stepped under the umbrella lighting a cigarette. “Not yet... but... I’d like her to be.” He says as he walked to his car.

———

The taxi pulled up outside your apartment, you paid in full plus a generous tip asking them to please wait for you to come back before rushing inside. You’d forgotten to text Hitoshi you were coming but you figured it’d be fine. The power was out here but you could see light coming from the bedroom. Turning on your phone flashlight you spotted the folder on the kitchen counter... along with the now empty red box...

You turned the flashlight to see your fiancés shirt and pants on the floor leading through the hallway bedroom... you quietly walked towards it when you heard it, moaning... a woman moaning...

Creeping closer you peered through the opening in the doorway, big enough to see through, small enough to hide you from view... you stifled a shocked gasp as you saw your fiancé, with Ichika. She was dressed in the lingerie set and laying on her back between his legs...

Tears poured down your face... you turned and walked out taking the folder with you... you got back into the cab and returned back to work...

The driver was thankfully kind enough to give you the return drive for free after seeing the distraught expression on your face. You thanked him and returned back to your office... as you sat down at your desk you started to sob... you buried your face into your hands and you just sobbed.

It was around 2am when you finished the paperwork... you heard your phone buzz, Hitoshi. “Baby it’s late, when are you coming home?” You felt sick reading that, you replied simply. “On my way, we need to talk.”

You packed up your work for the night and turned off the lights. The rain had become little more than a drizzle at this point so you found yourself walking along the lonely streets. The power had come back on and the neon lights of store fronts sparkled in the puddles that lined the pavement. It helped distract you from the inevitable pain that awaited you when you got home...

———

You stifled back sobs as you quietly packed up your desk into a cardboard box. After arriving home last night you fought with your now ex-fiancé... he’d decided to leave you for Ichika. He threw you out after making you pack up all your belongings minus the furniture... and your wedding dress and engagement ring... -you don’t need need them. And they’ll look far better on her anyway! I spent too much money on this wedding as is to just cancel it- his words replayed in your head.

She’d be enjoying your wedding, wearing your dress, and your ring...

And to add insult to injury he’d given her your promotion too... and as a result gave you her job instead... now here you were moving your belongings down to reception all the while trying desperately not to cry...

You approached the elevator to see the doors closing, and inside Hitoshi and Ichika... they looked at you, and smirked... “hold the door!” That voice. You turned to see the man from last night approaching.

Hitoshi immediately panicked and held open the lift. “Y-yes sojiro san! I I mean Mr Shimada!!!” He stammered out. Your ears perked up, Shimada... this was your new employer!!

He stepped into the lift before looking at you. “Ah good morning Y/N. Aren’t you coming?” He asks gesturing to his side. You glance at your ex and his mistress before looking back at Sojiro... he had a nice smile... you stepped in and stood at his side.

Sojiro could sense something was very wrong... he wasn’t an ordinary man... -hurt... shes... hurt...- a deep booming voice sounded in his head. He glanced down at you to see your shoulders shaking and your lip quivering as you held back tears. And for whatever reason the two in the lift with you were the ones causing you this distress... -betrayed... betrayed... kill... kill...- the voice sounded again.

As soon as the lift doors open you stepped out quickly without another word and went to the receptionist desk. Sojiro watched you quietly begin to unpack your things before casting a glance at your ex that could cut holes through his soul... he watched him rush off with his new lover in hand...

He looked back at you... This shouldn’t be any of his concern but... His heart wanted you... -sad... help... help her....- the voice whispered... “I will... just be patient...” he whispered back.

———

A few weeks had passed by.

Youd gotten yourself your own place, a tiny and empty apartment... it was all you could afford on your new salary. Your bed was a futon, you had a small coffee table that acted as your kitchen table too, and a tiny kitchenette and bathroom...

You tried contacting your parents to ask them for help but to your horror they sided with your ex. They said you clearly hadn’t been performing well enough as his future wife so it’s only fair that he’d replace you... you hung up without saying another word...

Your life had crumbled around you, the life you’d spent your whole existence building. The one you were expected to build, the one everyone wanted... but was it what you wanted to begin with?... What did you want?...

Every day at work was a misery, Hitoshi and Ichika seemed to be intentionally throwing more and more your way, jobs that weren’t even any of your business were now your responsibility... they were trying to make you quit. And at this stage you were really considering it.

The only saving grace was your lunch break... youd find yourself up on the roof all alone. You’d eat there staring at the city life below. All those happy lives... It wasn’t long though before you had unexpected company. One afternoon you were surprised to find Sojiro had stepped out for a smoke, he asked to join you and you said yes.

He was so easy to talk to, despite his intimidating exterior he was so kind and honestly a little goofy in your company. He had the most gentle smile when he looked at you.

Sojiro wanted so badly to know more about you, to ask why you were hurting, to whisk you away from it all and take you somewhere safe. Every time he was close to you that voice in his head would sing out wanting you to be nearer.

He found himself at his desk late one night filing through paperwork, but all he could think of was you... curiosity got the better of him and he looked at your file. His heart fluttered seeing your face... he felt like a fool for hoping someone as young and pretty as you would want him, he hadn’t loved another since his wife had passed away giving birth to his second born. He was lonely, he buried himself in his work and any free time he had was devoted to his sons... but they were grown up now... and his heart was aching for love.

He looked through your file with interest. You were the daughter of the previous owners, the fact that you never mentioned it to him boggled his brain. He should have guessed that by your last name but even still he thought you would have mentioned it once at least... Maybe you didn’t want special treatment he wondered.

What didn’t make sense to him was why you were moved to a lowly receptionist job. You were practically over qualified for your old position too, heck you were more qualified for your ex’s position than he was.

His ear twitched hearing a low chittering noise from behind him. “Yes I know... isn’t she pretty.” He smiled reaching back and scratching the scaly cheek of a large black dragon... -help... her... help... love...- It groaned.

“Shhh I know... I know...” he cooed softly as it rested it’s head on his shoulder before changing to the size of a large snake and draping itself around his neck. He gave it another scratch before continuing to read your employee file... his eye caught the document below yours, Ichikas.

He read through hers and scowled, there was no way in hell she was qualified for your job, he could feel his dragon tense up before it snarled at the screen. “Shh... don’t worry... we’re going to fix this.” He cooed.

———

You sighed stepping into work, you had trouble sleeping last night after the storm woke you up. Summer in Japan was beautiful but the humidity often lead to some extreme weather. And last night the thunder and lightning practically shook your tiny apartment to its foundation. Thankfully it had died down to just a downpour, but it was supposed to be picking up again this evening...

Shaking off your umbrella you walked to your desk and blinked. A stunning arrangement of flowers all heavily significant of love sat on your chair, along with a box of chocolates. There was only a card that said “To my dearest Y/N, I hope this gift brings you reason to smile..” No signature... you didn’t recognise the handwriting either. Even still... it wasnt a cheap assortment, someone must care.

The gift was just what you needed to put a little spring into your step. You proudly displayed the flowers for all to see and you picked one of the chocolates to enjoy, you’d save the rest for when you went home.

You wore a smile on your face throughout the day, and it only got bigger as everyone who approached the desk commented on how pretty they were, and how lucky you are. Despite the rainy weather outside this was a much needed ray of sunshine in your life.

It was nearing your lunch break, you hadn’t seen Sojiro today. Normally he’d accompany you on the lift, or stop by to say hello... you felt dumb for missing his absence but... he’d become the only positive you had left in your life now... you’d developed feelings for him... you thought maybe... you wanted him...

The rustling of leaves and petals caught your attention. You looked up to see Ichika plucking flowers from your gift. “H-hey cut it out those are mine!” You shout standing up. “Oh get over yourself Y/N! It’s just a couple for my desk.” She says waving her hand before reaching to take another. You grab the flowers and move them away. “You mean my desk that you fucked my ex to get you homewrecking cow!!” You shout.

She scowled and scrunched up her nose. “Woooow real professional Y/N. Bringing personal life into work. Why don’t you act your wage and-” a deep voice suddenly cut her off. “Get back to work.” Your heart fluttered, Sojiro...

You both looked at him as he approached. “Y-yes sir I was just telling her t-” Ichika stammered out as he stepped between her and the desk. “I was talking to you.” He scowled. She practically shrunk under his gaze before skulking away.

He watched her leave, his stance proud and fearsome, it softened as he looked at you. He always looked so relaxed around you. “Are you okay Y/N?...” he frowned.

“Y-yes...” you lie. No. No you weren’t okay. Your whole body was trembling and tears were already pouring down your face. He took your hand in his and handed you a tissue to dry them. You were so distraught you didn’t even realise he was holding you as he led you to the lift for your lunch break.

There was an undercover area on the roof, with a table and chairs, it offered a nice view of the cityscape despite the rain. While everywhere else was drenched, here it was bone dry. You calmed down after he sat you down, even still your lip quivered as you hiccuped pitiful little sobs.

He dried your tears after a moment and handed you a sandwich from a cafe you liked. He’d gotten into a habit of bring an extra one for you knowing that money was tight at the moment. “...I’m sorry you had to see that...” you whispered. He glanced at you as he lit a cigarette, “don’t be... if I’d heard another word leave her mouth id be apologising to you for witnessing me punch her.” He says taking a drag.

“You wouldn’t have to apologise to me for that...” you smile sadly, your eyes red and tired... always so tired now... he wanted to see you happy, rested, enjoying your life... he wanted to give you the life you deserved... you were everything he wanted. But he was afraid you’d reject him because he was older... or if you did accept him... would you accept all of him?... The gentle businessman facade was only a part of who he was...

“I don’t think I’ll be around here much longer anyway...” you say suddenly as you take a bite of your sandwich. His stomach dropped. “What? Why?” He says sounding more upset then you were expecting. “I just... I don’t belong here anymore Sojiro... I see my ex and that.. bitch every day... my parents don’t even want to be associated with me anymore.” You sniffle.

“Then I’ll fire them.” He says simply. “what? N no please! Don’t...” you say softly. “Just.. because my life didn’t work out doesn’t mean thei-” you try to protest but he cut you off. “Your heart is too kind for your own good Y/N... very well... but if this continues then I’ll have no choice.” He says stubbing out his cigarette butt as you finished your sandwich. You nod and placed the empty wrapper in the bin. “I understand...” you say softly.

You hated your ex, you hated Ichika, but you were too kind a person, you didn’t want revenge, you just wanted them to leave you alone... “y/n...” Sojiro says as he gently took your hand. “I... have something I want to as-” a younger mans voice sounded from the lift. “Tou-san! There you are! The meetings already started!” You recognised him, he was one of sojiros sons, the oldest. You’d seen him the day you met Sojiro in the lift. Hanzo you think is name was.

Sojiro sighed pinching his brow. “I’m afraid it’ll have to wait. I’ll talk to you later y/n. Come on.. let’s head back in before it gets too heavy.” He says softly. You nod and stand up, still holding his hand. He held his coat over you as you two ran back to the lift. His son gave you two a look, not one of disapproval, more of a knowing glance. As if to say when are you two getting together...

The three of you chatted until they had to get off at their floor. You said your goodbyes and returned to reception. You were feeling better, talking with Sojiro always cheered you up. As you walked to your desk though the spring in your step died... the flowers were gone...

You rushed to your desk to find them in the bin, crushed with all the heads cut off. And the chocolates all eaten. There was a sticky note on the box that simply read ‘thanks for lunch :)’ it was Ichikas handwriting... next to it there was a mountain of folders, and another note that read, ‘I want this done by tomorrow morning...’

You held back a sob, your chest hurt, it was getting hard to breath... you cowered under your desk ignoring the phone as it rang. The walls were caving in, your face felt tingly and your head tight, your hands cold and numb with sweaty palms. You’d grown up your whole life dealing with anxiety attacks, the pressure to be perfect was overbearing. You should be used to them but they were never this bad before.

-ground yourself... think of something you like, something you want...Sojiro...- you thought... immediately the pressure in your chest released... you thought of his scent, his eyes, his smile... his hand holding yours... you had to talk to him...

After a few moments you composed yourself... it was over... you got up and sat in your chair, emotionally and mentally drained... they say everyone no matter how happy has their breaking point. And you were at yours...

———

~Thought I could fly~

———

It was around 9pm... you’d finally finished. You started to pack up when a loud slap made you jump out of your skin. You look up to see a large folder of paperwork in front of you and Hitoshi and Ichika walking away laughing. “This too, I want it on my desk tomorrow by 7am!” Hitoshi says waving at you. “Oh and, thanks for the chocolates~” Ichika laughed as they stepped out heading for their car... you fell back into your seat... defeated...

You just sat there... watching as the downpour outside turned into a storm... it was 11:30pm when you finally stood up. You walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto your face in an attempt to look presentable... you saw your reflection...

Your hair was a mess, your eyes tired and heavy, your lips cracked and bloody from chewing at them, and your skin pale from stress and stained with tears. You stared into your sad eyes, “failure...” you muttered to yourself... Once the ‘perfect’ daughter your parents always desired, the once perfect girlfriend, the once star employee... all gone... all that was left was your bare self,... and you didn’t even know who you truely were.

You’d lost everything, everything you’d worked so hard to build up, the perfect life everyone wanted... but was it truely what you wanted? what did you want?... you wanted to escape...

The bathroom door creaked as you exited and headed for the lift...

...

~so I stepped off the golden mm,.. nobody cried...~

...

You didn’t hold onto the rails as the lift carried you up, you didn’t so much as flinch as it stopped either, you stared right ahead. There’s no such thing as a perfect life... and if there’s such thing as a perfect person it wasn’t you.. you’d failed everyone... you were never the perfect daughter... nobody would love you... nobody would miss you...

...

~Nobody even noticed, I saw them standing right there...~

...

The rain bucketed down in sheets... you looked up at the clouds as lightning flashed and the thunder roared like the cries of an angry beast... you threw your head back and started to laugh as tears poured down your face, you screamed at the storm as it did to you...

You walked to the edge...

...

~I kind of thought they might care...~

...

As your grip began to loosen up you heard a deep, firm, but gentle voice call out for you over the ambiance of the storm and the city life below. “Y/N!”

...

~I had a dream, I got everything I wanted. But when I wake up, I see, you with me~

...

You look back to see Sojiro running towards you... He stopped just feet away, holding out his hand to you. “Y/N it’s alright... I’m here... come here...” he called softly.

“I’m going to do it!! Don’t try to stop me!” You screamed at him, “I’ve tried so hard to be everything everyone wanted me to be! I tried to do everything right! I’ve fucked it all up! It’s my fault he left me! It’s my fault my parents disowned me!! I’m not what they wanted!!” You cry.

He took another step closer, “Forget what everyone else wants of you Y/N!! What do you want?” He asks... What did you want?... you look down at the city below... “do you want this?...” he asked.

“No...” you reply. “Come down then... come to me...” he cooed... -he’s what I want...- you think...

...

~And you said...~

...

“Come here Y/N... as long as I’m here no one can hurt you...” he says stepping closer again.

As you turned around your bare foot slipped on the cement, and your grip on the railing released... you looked at him as you fell...

...

~I tried to scream... but my head was under water...~

...

It felt surreal, you fell with the rain. It was as if the droplets were suspended in mid air as you whizzed past them. The wind lashed at your drenched body and whistled through your ears, all you could hear was your heartbeat.

...

~they called me weak... like I’m not just somebody’s daughter...~

It didn’t feel real... you watched as suddenly Sojiro jumped off the edge after you... and in seconds he held you tightly in his arms.

You swear you saw a flash of black scales before suddenly the world went black...

...

~Could’ve been a nightmare...~

...

You opened your eyes briefly as you were shifted into someone’s lap... you were in a car. You recognised that scent... Sojiro... you were safe.. you let out a soft sigh as you felt him shift his coat around you and rub your back... your eyelids fluttered closed again and you faded back into unconsciousness...

———

The sound of bird song woke you up... you opened your eyes to find yourself in a very traditional buf luxurious looking room. The bed you lay in at first looked like an ordinary futon but that was only the blanket. The bed itself was imbedded into the floor like the worlds softest nest.

There were two doors, one that must lead further into the building and another that was open, it lead out to a beautiful garden. You saw sparrows and red breasted robins bouncing about on the porch eating seed. The sunshine danced in the ornately groomed trees and sparkled on the ponds surface, It was picturesque.

“Ah! Good morning miss L/N. I’m so happy to see you’re awake! Master Shimada will be so happy to hear you’re alright.” A female omnic voice... you look back at the doorway to see a very elegantly designed geisha like omnic enter with a tray. On it a lovely breakfast and some juice.

“Oh hello... I... where am I?” You ask as she set the tray in your lap before going about her tasks. “Hanamura castle of course. Master Sojiros home.” She giggled. It took a moment for that to register in your brain. The man you’d been conversing with as if he were your best friend, the man who saved you last night, was practically royalty.

“Wha?...” was all you could manage out. She could only giggle, “I understand it’s much to take in. Master Sojiro wanted to be here for when you woke but he had some business to attend to at the new enterprise, oh! Speaking of which. He wants you to stay in bed today... but if you wish to go to work he has a car for you to take.” She says as she began to comb your hair.

The idea of staying in bed after last night sounded perfect but... “may I take the car please? I have so much work to do I can’t rest...” you say softly. The need to be perfect, the need to please others... it had been beaten into your mind... you were hardly holding yourself together right now...

Even still the omnic didn’t argue. She got you dressed into a blouse and skirt that costed more than anything you’d ever owned and she escorted you to the car. “Are you sure you don’t wish to change your mind?” She asks after helping you into the car. “I don’t know what I want anymore...” you say meekly. If she could frown that comment would have made her do so with worry... “I’ll inform master Sojiro.” She says bowing before closing the door.

The driver started the engine and the next thing you knew you were off. You’d only ever been to hanamura a few times, it seemed to always be blanketed in pink. The land of eternal cherry blossoms all year round until winter would come and coat everything white.

You’d always wanted to live here... but your parents wanted you to live closer to the business, closer to them... but now... maybe you could live here after all. What did Sojiro mean by wanting you to stay in bed? Why did he bother saving you? How did he save you for that matter? Why these nice clothes? These gifts? Did this mean he wanted you?... no... he was just pitying you... you were sure of it...

The car pulled up in the underground car park, it was mostly used by the engineers who designed prototypes for your company, you’d rarely been down here at all in your time with the company. The omnic driver stepped out and opened your door for you before you had the chance to. “Th thank you...” you say softly. He helped you out and nodded. “I’ll be down here when you’re ready to leave madam.” He bowed.

You nodded and thanked him once more before heading up to reception... you blinked seeing Ichika sitting at your desk looking pale as a sheet. “Where’s my stuff?...” you ask softly, your voice so quiet and tired.

She nearly jumped out of her skin seeing you. “I.. I I i” she tried to speak... she looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Y/N!” Sojiro suddenly called from behind you. You didn’t think it possible but Ichikas face went even paler...

He rushed over and gently embraced you as you turned around... you melted into his touch, so desperate for positive contact. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.” He says softly but sternly. You look down at your feet and nod. “I-I had paperwork I never finished last night for Ichika and I left my bag here too I-I’m sorry.” You stammer out.

You jumped as he cupped your chin in his hand and made you look up at him, “it’s alright... your stuff is in my office dear. If you insist on working I have a few things I need organised. But I’d like you to please take it easy today.” He says as he stroked your cheek with this thumb.

Your face went bright red at the contact, you nodded. “Y-yes mr Shimada.” You squeak out. He chuckled, “why so formal now?...” he smiled. “Come along Y/N, I’ll get you settled into my office then I have to attend a meeting with some... unsavoury individuals.” He says glancing at Ichika who’d been gawking this whole time. She jumped and immediately got back to work...

He took your hand in his and pulled you close, your face was beat red now, you walked beside him obediently to his office.

After getting you settled with the paperwork you had to organise he suddenly placed a blanket and pillow on the large sofa he had near the bookshelf. “if you get tired please rest. One of my sons will come by to check up on you around lunch time.” He smiled. God, his smile.

You nod and immediately get to work, “y/n...” he suddenly says. You look up and almost jump out of your skin. How did he cross the room that quickly? and without you noticing? “I hope Ive made it obvious enough that asking this question would be foolish of me but...” before he could finish the door opened. “Tou-san. They’re waiting for you.” A young man entered, Sojiros youngest, Genji.

He had green hair and wore a nice suit similar to his fathers but had a tie matching his neon hairstyle. He looked similar to Sojiro, definitely had the same nose and eyebrows, though his eyes seemed a lot more bubbly than his fathers. He must get them from his mother.

Sojiro sighed and nodded. “Very well.” He looked back at you. “I need to speak to you after I’m done. I might be a while. So if you need to rest please do.” He says gently taking your hand and squeezing it before walking out. Genji looked at you and gave you the same look Hanzo did but, he looked a little more giddy than his older brother had. He bowed politely before closing the door.

The day ticked by slowly. Genji returned around lunch time as promised with something for you to eat. You two chatted as you ate, he was a lot more talkative than his father but just as easy to get along with. He mentioned that everyone in the company had heard of what happened last night, and they all knew Hitoshi and Ichika were to blame. That’s what the meeting was about apparently, a full staff briefing of workplace harassment followed by a private sit down with your abusers in question.

You wondered why you weren’t attending the full staff one but it made sense you didn’t, you weren’t well right now... and it seemed Sojiro wanted to keep you as far away from Ichika and Hitoshi as possible.

After eating Genji said his goodbyes once again before leaving you to your own devices... you looked at the paperwork... it had to be done but. Sojiro wanted you to rest... you wanted to make him happy... you wanted him. So you climbed onto the sofa and cuddled the blanket close. It wasn’t long before you were asleep.

-sleep... safe now... no one can hurt you...-

A deep but gentle voice sounded in your head. You looked up and saw those scales, the ones you remembered from last night... you followed them down to a pair of sharp claws. Then up to a large snarling lion like face... a dragon... “Safe...” it spoke. “What?...” you reply.

It lay it’s head down to be eye level with you. “You’re safe now...” it whispered, it sounded almost like music. “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.” It repeated.

You reached your hand out and touched its nose making it sniff at you, “am I dreaming?... who are you?.. why am I here?...” you whisper. “You’ve suffered much your whole life... they tried to mould you into what they wanted. So much so that you’ve forgotten who you are... what you want... if I could change the way you see yourself... you wouldn’t wonder why you’re here.” It said nuzzling your hand.

...

~they don’t deserve you...~

...

You opened your eyes feeling a warm familiar hand on your cheek, it was just dark outside now... you blush seeing Sojiro smiling down at you, “did you sleep well?” He whispered. You nodded in response. “It’s time to go home now...” he sighed, “y/n... Will you come home with me again?... and live with me permanently?” He says softly.

It took a moment to click, he really did want you... you thought you were still dreaming, but it felt too real. “I... do you want me to?” You ask softly. He smiled and stroked your cheek, “the question is... do you want to?” He chuckled a little. “I... I...” you pause... “I want you.” Silence.

“I I mean! I want to be with you! That sounded too forward I’m so sorry I’ll go n-” you ramble out before his lips cut you off.

You let out a surprised gasp before your eyelids fluttered shut. You leaned into the kiss and he pulled you close and held you so gently it brought tears to your eyes. This was it... this is what you wanted. As you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders he scooped you up and cradled you like his new bride. “I promise... I’ll look after you...” he whispers. You nod in response.

He gently lay his coat over you and carried you from his office. He stepped into the lift and hit the basement level, the car park. You rested your head against his chest and hummed softly as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “What would you like for dinner dear?” He asks as the elevator suddenly stopped on the ground floor. “I... um...” you tried to think but your thoughts were silenced as the lift opened.

You blinked seeing Hitoshi and Ichika standing there both looking pale and terrified. Behind them, Hanzo and Genji stood quietly. Genji had seemingly ditched his suit jacket, his tie hung loose around his neck, and in his hand he held a baseball bat. -oh! He must be into sports!- you think innocently.

Sojiro gracefully stepped to the side allowing your ex and his mistress in, followed by his two sons. The ride down was painfully silent, you noticed Ichika and Hitoshi growing more and more agitated by the second... yet Sojiro and his sons remained calm as ever, smiling even.

You blushed a little as Sojiro held you closer, you couldn’t tell from this angle but it was clear he was looking at your ex, as if to say look at what you lost, she’s mine now. It made you feel so special.

As he shifted you, you caught a glimpse of something on his neck, tucked away under the collar of his shirt... a tattoo?... part of one... Tattoos weren’t uncommon in Japan, but they were heavily associated with the yakuza... no... maybe he got it as a memorial for his wife? Maybe it’s her favourite flower? Maybe it’s to show his love for his sons? Any of these were valid reasons. He couldn’t be a criminal, he couldn’t...

You glanced at hanzo... you could see a hint of blue ink on his exposed wrist... then Genji, you could see what looked like a green dragon through the fabric of his shirt... -calm down. I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’m sure they must have an explanation for this- you think.

The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. Immediately Hitoshi and Ichika stepped out and began walking a little too quickly to be normal, they must have gotten a big talking to from Sojiro...

Hanzo and Genji both looked at each other, before glancing at their father... Sojiro nodded, and the two stepped out after your ex and his mistress... you felt a knot forming in your stomach...

Sojiro stepped out still holding you tightly as he texted the driver to come around to the lift entrance. “I know a place not far from here, I think you’ll like what they serve there.” He says smiling at you... you didn’t notice. You were too focused on Genji suddenly bringing the bat down hard on Ichikas back knocking her down before swinging up and hitting Hitoshi.

Your voice died in your throat watching the scene unfold. Hanzo pulled Hitoshi to his feet before punching him across the face so hard it broke his jaw. Genji swung it down on his legs breaking them in several places. Ichika got up screaming and pulling at the two trying to save your ex...

From the shadows of the car park several tattooed men in suits stepped out, they all looked at Sojiro... he nodded. Genji and Hanzo both stepped back, dropping Hitoshi’s now dead body to the concrete allowing the thugs to take over and deal with Ichika. You watched in horror as they flogged the living hell out of her... her screams burned into your mind...

“Y/N...” Sojiro whispered gently turning your head to face him. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t happy either, it was serious but... soft as it always was when he looked at you. “They don’t deserve you. Or your pity... they’ll never bother you again.” He smiled.

You nod, your whole body was trembling, you couldn’t make a sound. You were in shock. “Come, lets go home and then will see how you feel about dinner.” He says as the car pulled up. The omnic driver stepped out and opened the doors. Hanzo and Genji got in first, as Sojiro sat you in your seat you caught a glimpse of Ichikas face, still alive, still screaming, bloody, broken... they’d wiped that smug smile off her face for good... you felt guilty, but... part of you felt so good...

Sojiro got in and closed the door, his body keeping you from seeing anymore. He placed his arm around you and held you close. And here you sat, in an expensive car, with three extremely dangerous men. You look at Hanzo and Genji who were busy cleaning the blood off of themselves, you heard Genji muttering about it staining.

Hanzo looked up and smiled catching your gaze... it’d seem both the boys approved of your relationship with their father... you smile back and tiredly rest your head against Sojiro once more... Maybe... this would be okay...

———

~I had a dream... I got everything I wanted~

———

The car pulled up back at Hanamura castle. The boys jumped out first and rushed off inside to get cleaned up, undoubtably they had more than a little blood in their clothing.

Sojiro stepped out and lifted you back into his arms. He’d been silent the whole drive. He took you back to the room you’d woken up in, it was pretty clear now that this was in fact his room. “...I’m... sorry you had to see that Y/N...” he says removing his tie after he set you down on the bed.

You couldn’t answer, you couldn’t even find the words to after what you’d witnessed... “Y/N...” He says softly.

After a moment you willed yourself to look up at him. He was shirtless now, his body was god like. Perfectly toned muscles, smooth skin adorned with scars, and a giant black dragon tattoo that started at his neck and twisted around his torso. You assumed it kept going down to his leg but his trousers cut off your view. It was the same dragon from your dream... you were unsure if you should ask him about it but.. right now you weren’t sure about anything really...

You blushed and looked down shyly. He chuckled a little at the cute display of bashfulness. “Look at me Y/N...” he says kneeling down in front of you. You sheepishly obeyed looking at him. You locked your eyes with his gaze and felt entranced, you couldn’t look away... you didn’t want to...

“I’m sure it’s obvious what I actually do for a living by now my dear... but I assure you... I’ll keep you far away from any of my yakuza dealings... I never meant for you to see that... my temper got the better of me, I should have held off but...” he clenched his jaw, “They hurt you...” he sighed.

You trembled remembering the ordeal, but, after a moment you settled. Sojiro did that to protect you, to save you... he didn’t have to but... part of you couldn’t help but feel they deserved it. Even still, your lip quivered as tears threatened to pour.

He suddenly leaned in and kissed you. You gasped in surprise, but after a moment all your doubts, all your fears... everything melted away... you leaned into his touch as he pulled you into his lap deepening the kiss. His hand trailed down and rested on your waist, he wasn’t looking for sex, not tonight... Tonight he just wanted to hold you and keep you safe.

After a few blissful minutes you both broke the kiss gasping for air. Your eyes were dewy and your lips pink and swollen from the passionate embrace. “Let me look after you Y/N...” he says pressing his forehead to yours. “Let me give you everything you deserve... everything You want.” He whispered looking into your eyes.

You nod and lean in kissing him softly before pulling away. “Please... look after me...” you whisper. He kissed you back. “I will...” he sighed as a smile crept onto his lips once more.

It was comfortably silent for a moment as you rested your head against his chest, the skin on skin contact felt so nice, you didn’t realise how deprived of it you were. Your stomach suddenly growled and your face reddened as Sojiro laughed. “Oh, right, dinner!” He chuckled. You’d give anything to hear him laugh more often.

“Let’s get ready, the boys can come along too, they want to know more about their future step mother.” He smiled. Your face went a deeper shade of red and you buried your face into his neck shyly. You were so happy you couldn’t handle it.

He smiled and planted another soft kiss on your forehead. “Care to share a bath with me?” He whispered. You nodded maybe a little too eagerly. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He scooped you up and kissed you once more on the lips before whisking you away to the bathroom.

It’d still be a long while before you’d be better, but Sojiro would be there every step of the way to hold your hand and assure you you were loved. But for now, it’d seem you finally got everything you wanted.

...

~But when I wake up I see...you, with me...~

...

#Sojiro shimada #Sojiro x reader #Sojiro x fem reader #old work #Hanzo shimada #Genji shimada #fanfic #Overwatch #Overwatch fanfic

85 notes · View notes

sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years ago

Text

A Future That’s Worth It

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+ (lots of implications but nothing explicit)

Original Idea: Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I have some headcanons on height and weight of the characters that I used for this one. Have fun!

^^^^^

The bed dipped behind me. I’d been more than halfway to sleep, but the movement shocked me awake. I rolled over.

Rhysand gave me a lazy smile. “Evening, love,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Technically no, but a little bit.”

“Sorry.” The look on his face implied he was in no way genuinely apologetic. He shuffled to get more comfortable, one wing draping over the two of us, and loosed a long sigh. I snuggled against his bare chest, eyes on his tattoos.

“Something the matter?” I asked quietly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“If I never have to truly fight again, for the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life, I will be grateful,” he said, breath fluttering my loose hairs.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I felt a claw against my mental shields, a single, gentle drag against the black marble I used to keep my private thoughts private. A request for entry. I reached out tiredly to feel his own mental shield was already lowered. A rare occurrence for him. He had one of the most complex shields I’d ever experienced.

I let the shield drop. His presence overwhelmed me almost immediately. I’d probably never fully witness the extreme depth of his power, but it dominated over my little well of magic by what was probably thousands of times.

His presence was the comforting, healing darkness of lovers clinging to one another. The gentle shade under a wide oak tree on a hot summer day. Nothing of the sharp, secret darkness of spies and assassins. The soft night of dreams. “Do you feel peace, now?” I asked. “Now that the King of Hybern is dead and his army decimated?”

“It’ll take years for me to reach true peace for that, after all the pain and death and suffering. But I feel peace right now, holding you. I feel a grim tranquility in knowing I would gladly cause more carnage if it meant keeping you safe. I hated releasing that beast inside me during the war, but I’ll always go feral to protect what’s mine. You, our family, this city, our people. All of it. I would fight until my own death to ensure the future of those I’m responsible for.”

“Self-sacrificing fool,” I teased. There was no bite to the words.

“You’re one too,” he retorted with the same tired lack of malice.

“Never said I wasn’t. Therefore, you can’t call me a hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me. “Get some sleep, High Lord. We both need it.”

He brushed some of my loose hairs from my face. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” I smiled slightly.

The sweet caress of his darkness in my mind soothed all the day’s worries. If neither of us ever had to pick up a blade for a battle ever again, it would be too soon.

I reached up with the hand around his waist and stroked the bone of his wing. He shivered, but he’d taught me where to touch to calm, and where to touch to excite. His other muscles were pliant, relaxed, as I ran my fingers gently over his wing.

We put each other to sleep not long after that.

—

“—told him it was a bad idea, but he was just like, ‘Stop telling me how to live my life!’” Mor’s loud voice woke me the next morning as the doors opened downstairs, the last bit dropping as low as she could go in a horrible but hilarious imitation of Cassian. Amren’s laughter followed.

The bed was empty besides me, but Rhys’ side was still warm.

I got up and pulled on my dressing gown over my nightgown. I brushed my hair briefly so it wasn’t quite so tangled and ventured out of our room.

Mor and Amren had already made it to the kitchen and were raiding the pantry for breakfast.

“What’s a bad idea?” I asked around a yawn.

“Cassian was gonna challenge Azriel to a flying race. From the House to the roof here,” Mor explained, pointing directly overhead.

“Azriel’s gonna win,” I said.

“That’s what I said. Cassian didn’t listen.”

I chuckled, joining them for breakfast.

Amren looked around. “Where’s your High Lord?”

“I was gonna ask you two the same thing. I assumed he got out of bed and came down to talk to you guys. Sheets were still warm when I woke up.”

Mor’s expression turned to one of amused dread. “He’s gonna join the race,” she said.

“I bet you’re right,” I replied. I rubbed my eyes. “They are five-and-a-half centuries old and they still behave like children.”

“Glad you’re his mate and not me,” Amren said with a smile as she drank from her goblet and shuddered. She hated food still, but she no longer had a choice.

“Frankly, me too,” I said. “I can’t imagine the chaos the two of you would cause.”

Mor laughed.

I assume you’re at the House of Wind? I thought down the bond, pushing the thought hard to make sure he received it.

Yep, Rhys’ voice replied in my mind.

I’ll be on the roof. Mor and I will referee.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The words were too laced with laughter to be the truth.

Children. All three of you, I fired back.

All I got in return was his rumbling laughter. Distant thunder promising a welcome summer storm.

“Wanna join me on the roof?” I offered to Mor and Amren.

“Not really,” Amren replied.

“I will,” Mor said.

The two of us climbed up the stairs and sat on the white-painted iron chairs. Mor had a cup of tea and I had a mug of molten chocolate.

I looked up at the House of Wind. So far, there were no figures flying around its peak.

Mor lounged on her chair and eyed me. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrugged. The early spring air was still clinging to the cold of winter and my satin dressing gown and nightgown were clinging to the cold right along with it, but it was something of a welcome change after the stifling heat under the covers in bed. “I’ll be fine for how long it’ll take Rhys and his brothers to get here.”

You ready? I asked.

Waiting on you, he replied.

We’re ready.

Then look up.

“They’re going,” I said to Mor, turning my attention back to the House.

Sure enough, three figures leapt off a balcony near the peak, streaking in a straight line toward us, wings barely extended to keep them aloft and at the angle they wanted. From their distance I couldn’t make out who was who yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Five gold marks on Azriel,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to always bet on Rhys?” Mor teased.

“Azriel is lighter than Rhys and Cassian. I’m making an educated guess.”

She laughed. “Okay. Five gold marks on Rhys then.”

We watched them get closer.

“Rhys is going to be offended you bet against him,” Mor remarked.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Rhys can winnow and Azriel… kinda does to. With the shadows. I’m not sure how he does it,” Mor mused. “But, Cassian—he just flies everywhere. So he’s probably a little better at it than both of them. More practiced, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah… how about, if Cassian wins, we each give Amren five marks?”

Mor laughed. “She’d love and hate that. That we made her bet for her and chose Cassian.”

I shrugged. “Probably. But she wouldn’t mind the money.”

“Not at all.”

I caught glints of blue and red. Rhys was on the left, no Siphons, with Cassian in the middle and Azriel to the right. I still couldn’t tell who was in front, but it looked like I might have been right about Azriel. He looked like he was barely ahead of Rhys and Cassian.

As the three drew closer, I realized this was the future we’d fought the war for. The future full of fun and joy. The future of stupid games and meaningless bets. No gambling lives. Just a few marks for no reason other than fun. If Rhys never turned into that beast again, if he’d done enough to ensure our safety and security—finally—then it was all worth it.

They were close enough to see their faces now. Mor and I cleared a place where three could land all close to the same time and not knock over any furniture or trip. While Mor thought it’d be funny, I didn’t want anyone to face-plant off the roof.

Azriel slammed feet first into the roof. I thought I heard the attic rattle. Rhys hit barely half a second after, with Cassian right behind.

Mor gave me a long-suffering glance and sipped her tea. “I owe you five marks,” she said before flouncing back downstairs.

“You placed bets?” Cassian asked.

“You’re surprised?” I retorted sharply. Azriel snorted quietly.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said.

“You bet against me?” Rhys sounded offended even as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His warmth banished the cold clinging to my dressing gown.

I shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to rise to his bait. “Azriel’s lighter than both of you. Skinnier. He can probably cut through the air easier. I made an educated guess,” I said, repeating what I said to Mor. I tilted up onto my tiptoes and kissed Rhys’ chin, since he was too tall for me to reach his cheek.

Rhys chuckled. “That’s okay, because I owe Cassian ten marks. I bet on Azriel too.” He kissed my forehead. The four of us still on the roof started making our way down. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever anyone can find!” Mor shouted from below.

I grabbed Rhys’ wrist and held him so Cassian and Azriel would get ahead of us. When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around him. “This is the future we—you—fought for,” I whispered. “Is it worth it, to you?”

“I can’t think of anything more worth it.”

“Me neither.”

We held each other for a few more moments.

Then Cassian was calling us to haul downstairs before the food was gone.

Laughing, we descended.

#Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #A Future That's Worth It

39 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years ago

Note

How would things turn out if the genders of Aenys's children were swapped? Rhaena is Rhaegar/Rhaegel, Aegon Junior is Aerea, Viserys is Viserra, Jaehaerys is Jaehaera, Alysanne is Aelyx etc. I imagine Rhaegar/Rhaegel would take a more cautious approach as Rhaena wanted to, and just wait for Maegor's court to implode.

Under the cut:

Rhaenar Targaryen was the eldest son and heir of Aenys. He was considered a shy and dreamy boy much like his father at a young age, who did not have many close friends and preferred the company of animals and books. There was some concern over his hesitance in the training yard, though he could never be considered cowardly.

However once he bonded with the dragon Dreamfyre his shyness seemed to melt away, and while always a quiet man, he became much more assertive and active after that. Rhaenar was known for his musical talent; like his father he had a fine singing voice and played several instruments. He was also known for a group of male favorites, leading to much speculation about his sexuality, though he was wed to his younger sister Aerea as according to tradition.

Aerea Targaryen was the eldest daughter of Aenys, an attractive girl with a charming and even flirtatious demeanor who was said to be the very image of her grandmother Rhaenys. She was was a popular and charismatic young woman much admired by her peers who excelled in dancing, embroidery, riding, hawking, and numerous other ladylike pursuits.

Aerea was seen as much more outgoing and lighthearted than her brother, but the siblings were very close from a young age and got along well. However Aerea was much more hesitant to claim a dragon for herself, and did not until she was 17, after her father’s death claiming his mount, Quicksilver.

Rhaenar and Aerea wed to much condemnation from the Faith in 41 AC. After the wedding there was a royal progress, though Aerea’s lack of a dragon meant she must ride with her brother. While the sight of the young Rhaenar on dragonback quelled some of the crowds, the young couple was largely rejected and jeered at by the commons, whose fear of fiery reprisal had faded over the course of Aenys’ ineffectual reign.

The Faith continued to preach against the marriage as sinful and debauched, and by 42 AC and uprising had begun across Westeros against Targaryen rule. Rhaenar and Aerea were besieged at Crakehall. When Aenys heard about this he collapsed and died. Visenya meanwhile flew to Pentos to bring Maegor back from exile.

While this was happening, Rhaenar and his sister flew from Crakehall back to King’s Landing. Though menaced by mobs and a city on the verge of anarchy, they made it to the dragonpit where Aerea claimed her father’s mount, Quicksilver. Despite this triumph the siblings realized they could not hold the city without an army, nor could they trust the panicking courtiers.

That and Aerea’s suspicions that she was pregnant caused Rhaenar to decide they must fly to Casterly Rock and seek guest right from the Lannisters. They reunited with the rest of their household there, and Aerea gave birth to twin girls, Aerea and Rhaella. Meanwhile Maegor claimed his right to the Iron Throne from Dragonstone.

Realizing a bloody war of dragon against dragon would ensue, Rhaenar is said to have seriously considered fleeing into exile in Essos, not for his own sake but to protect his infant daughters from Maegor’s brutality. However his wife Aerea convinced him otherwise, and the couple resolved to stay and fight, despite the Faith declaring their children abominations and Lord Lannister’s refusal to declare for them.

Rhaenar assembled an army at Pinkmaiden in late 43 AC, largely of men from the Riverlands and Westerlands willing to risk it all for ‘Rhaenar the Uncrowned’. Rhaenar followed the advice of his counselors to attack and defeat each of Maegor’s forces separately.

He first defeated Lords Harroway and Tully, then Ser Davos Darklyn of the Kingsguard, and then Lords Peake, Merryweather, and Caswell. Though all the enemy forces were half or less the size of his own army, Rhaenar was an inexperienced commander and the victories were hard won.

By the time he advanced on the capital with Aerea, who had fought alongside him all the while, he had only ten thousand men remaining . Now they reached the God’s Eye, where Maegor waited with Balerion the Black Dread.

Rhaenar’s forces plunged into battle with the loyalists but Maegor fell upon Rhaenar and Dreamfyre with Balerion. Only his wife Aerea’s bravery saved the young man’s life. As Balerion and Dreamfyre grappled, Quicksilver attacked from above, distracting the larger dragon.

Rhaenar escaped with Dreamfyre and Balerion ripped off one of Quicksilver’s wings. Though he raced after the falling dragon and rider, it was too late. Aerea, his beloved sister and wife, was killed in the plummet to the battlefield below.

Enraged and heartbroken, Rhaenar attempted to reengage Maegor in battle, but Dreamfyre was weakened by her own injuries and Rhaenar collapsed from exhaustion and shock besides his sister’s corpse. The fleeing rebels dragged him to safety before he could be incinerated by Balerion’s flames.

Over the six months that followed Rhaenar lived in hiding with the rebels on the run while Maegor consolidated his claim and terrorized the court with a series of trials and executions. Meanwhile Alyssa and Rhaenar’s younger siblings were being held captive by Visenya on Dragonstone, with his brother Aegon a hostage and page to Maegor himself.

Yet in 44 AC, nearly a year after the battle at the God’s Eye, Visenya died, and in the chaos Alyssa fled with her daughters Viserra and Jaehaera, along with the sword Dark Sister. In return, Maegor had young Aegon, all of eight years old, tortured and mutilated by his wife Tyanna before finally killing the boy.

Rhaenar had now lost his sister and his brother to his uncle. When he heard the body had been staked out in the courtyard of the Red Keep for their mother to claim, Rhaenar is said to have coldly announced to the Farmans of Fair Isle who were harboring him, that he would gladly reclaim his little brother in his mother’s stead, and replace his corpse with Maegor’s.

Rhaenar was now older and grimmer, wizened by terrible experience and an attractive alternative to Maegor’s wildly unpopular reign. Even the Faith seemed less notably hostile. He flew to Storm’s End to reform a new army, with the simple message that they could either fight together against his uncle, or die apart. The great houses pledged to his banner and with a larger and more fearsome Dreamfyre the rebels advanced on King’s Landing once more.

Two of Maegor’s Kingsguard absconded to join them. By the time they sieged the city, Maegor was dead, reportedly having committed suicide. The city’s defenders quickly switched sides and it was less of a battle and more of a somber procession to the Red Keep.

Rhaenar was crowned king at last, and under considerable pressure to remarry, either to his 15 year old sister Viserra or a lady of a great house, and sire sons. However he would refuse, citing his firstborn child Aerea as his heir.

#ask #anon #rhaena the black bride #aegon the uncrowned

41 notes · View notes

xwing-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Impulse: Remedy (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Rookie has really terrible coping mechanisms. Drug use, alcohol, swearing, derogatory language, smoking, mentions of murder(?)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Sorry for the delay lads, for some reason this chapter did not want to be written! As always don’t sleep with your boss and don’t do drugs unless their prescription :P

<-- Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter -->

You were exhausted. You hadn’t slept for more than an hour after leaving Javier’s apartment. Not for lack of trying, you thought your previous activities would have worn you out. But no. You were too scared to sleep, not wanting to deal with any nightmares that might occur so you sat on your dusty old couch, drank a vat of coffee and waited until the rest of the city woke up.

You cursed under your breath when you saw Steve’s truck had already gone by the time you got downstairs. It was Connie’s volunteering day at the hospital, he always took her early. You had to go with Javi. You sat on the wall outside the apartment, smoking a cigarette and waiting for Javier to come outside. You had no idea what you were supposed to say to him, how were you supposed to act. You couldn’t really pretend like nothing had happened, sleeping with him like that was not something you could brush under the rug. But you didn’t want to talk to him about it, that would make it real. A real action with real consequences. If anyone found out that would be the end of your time here, and quite possibly the end of your time in the DEA entirely.

Eventually Javier came outside, spotted you on the wall and waved. You got up, chucked the packet of cigarettes in your hand to him before you stubbed out your own and got into the truck.

“So, do you want to talk about last night?” He asked as he lit a new cigarette.

“Not particularly. There isn’t really much to say is there?”

“Not really,” He shrugged, “You’re not in love with me now, right?”

“In your fucking dreams Peña. You weren’t that good,” You laughed at his audacity. You were lying, he was very good at it. But you weren’t in love with him. No, you couldn’t allow yourself even if you were.

“You bitch,” He tried to be serious but your laugh was contagious.

Javi immediately felt relieved, he’d spent all night worrying about you. He really didn’t want the sex to ruin everything you had going as a team. He was a little scared he had scared you off entirely but now you were laughing in his passenger seat as if nothing had ever happened all his worries were laid to rest.

“It happened and that’s it. We don’t need to make it a thing,” You said.

“Agreed,”

“Awesome, let’s go to work then,”

And just like that, it was like nothing had ever happened. Back to piles of paperwork, chasing up lazy cops for their reports and trying desperately to avoid Carrillo. It was going to take time to get over what you had seen him do. You didn’t want to see him, let alone be left alone with him. You’d pushed all responsibility for anything related to him onto Javier, who in return passed you more of his paperwork. It was a fair trade off.

At your desk, hummin away to yourself you could almost convince yourself you were fine. Thanks to the never ending cup of coffee and the sugar doughnuts you found for lunch, your energy levels were back up high. All reminders of the night before were out of sight and you were so consumed in work you didn’t notice as the day came to a close.

“Good night last night?” Steve asked across the desk.

“Huh?” You looked up from your work. Steve motioned to his neck, and you immediately cringed. You had forgotten about the hickey. “Oh, um yeah I guess,” You pulled your jacket back on, despite the heat, as the collar would cover the mark again.

“I thought you and Peña were out in the jungle for that lead. You would have got back super late,” Steve said.

“Everyone’s got their vices, Murphy,” Javier reappeared, jumping to your aid. Steve looked suspiciously between you and Javi.

“Guess you two are becoming more similar by the day,” He chuckled to himself, shaking any ideas from his mind.

“Guess so,” You agreed. You and Javi shared a glance while Steve looked away, both of you well aware of the shit storm that would kick up if Steve found out. He loved you and Javi a lot, but there is no way he would just skip over such an event. You flashed a smile, silently thanking Javi for stepping in for you, before he went back to work again.

To avoid any further questioning, you kept your jacket on for the remainder of the day, rather enduring the heat and cursing Javier for leaving a mark, than having anymore prying questions from Steve. When you finally gave up struggling with your mountain of paperwork, Steve offered you a ride home which you took gladly.

“You and Javi slept together last night, huh?” Steve asked as you rolled out of the embassy. Startled, you immediately went on the defense and laughed.

“Wh-what no!” You spluttered.

“I’m not an idiot, Rookie,” Steve raised an eyebrow at you. You didn’t know what to say, so shook your head and shrugged, “So Javi was talking out of his ass earlier?” He said. Your stomach immediately dropped.

“Who’s he been talking to?” All laughter was gone from your voice. If Javi had said something that was it. Why on earth would he say anything?

“So something did happen?” Steve exclaimed, happy that his hunch was right.

“Steve,” You sighed heavily. Relieved for only a moment before more dread piled on.

“I can’t believe you two,” He said shaking his head, “I mean I was kind of expecting it with Javi’s reputation but I thought you had some standards at least,”

“You weren’t there, you don’t get it. It wasn’t anything meaningful just- things happen sometimes,” You sighed, “Did he actually say anything to you?”

“No,” He spoke more sympathetically now, “but I figured something was up, you’ve been acting weird all morning,”

“That’s more to do with the lack of sleep,” You explained, “Yesterday got a bit… dark. I don’t think I slept at all,”

“Carrillo?” Steve asked. You nodded solemnly, “You’ll get used to it,”

You didn’t get used to it. That night haunted you. You couldn’t sleep, every time you shut your eyes the tortured man's face stared back at you. You were practically intolerable come the end of the week. You’d fallen asleep at your desk on multiple occasions, snapped at everyone in the office, and drank enough coffee to fill an Olympic swimming pool. You made a secretary cry by snapping at her over some missing evidence and, had broken the phone on your desk.

As bad as your week had ended up being you still had to go out at the end of it. Instead of curling up with a movie and takeout you had to attend María’s family’s party. You didn’t know why you were invited but you definitely couldn’t back out of it. You’d hoped by now you would have cheered up, that you would be excited to let loose but you were miserable.

The party itself was gorgeous. Set out in the countryside, an hour from Medellin, the hills made for a beautiful backdrop. The Parreño’s summer house was exactly as you had expected, lavish and decadent. Courtyards filled with marble statues and paintings by various famous artists covered the walls. Lights were strung up around the garden between the pool house and a gazebo creating a colourful glow out onto the golden sky.

The air was full of conversation and music. Even though you were surrounded by people who would kill you if they found out who you really were, somehow with a drink in your hand you felt a little more relaxed. María had leant you a dress, a simple little black number, and fixed your makeup in the car ride here while excitedly telling you about her cousin from Argentina she was going to set you up with. You were at the very least, on the way to being happy.

María dragged you around introducing you to so many people you couldn’t remember their names. You gave up trying after ten different people María introduced as her auntie. You smiled and politely complimented their outfit or their hair and moved on. That was until you finally recognised someone. Senator Parreño, a regular face in your life. You prayed he wouldn’t recognise you, you had only met him once, sitting in the back of the ambassador's office while they spoke about something. Like most people, he ignored you that day and hopefully he wouldn’t have a clue now.

“Dad this is my friend, Isabela,” María introduced you. You were taken back for a moment. You knew her family was rich, but a senator for a father made them powerful too. Far more influence and scandal with their new link to Escobar too.

“Nice to meet you,” You smiled and shook his hand. The senator looked puzzled.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh stop it Dad I talk about her all the time, she’s been to our house a lot,”

“No, no it’s from somewhere else,” He squinted at you, looking you up and down. You could feel yourself sweating as you nervously took a big gulp of the cocktail in your hand.

“Isabela works at the American embassy papa, maybe you’ve just seen her there,” María said.

“I am a secretary,” You added quickly, “Usually running around the place, you probably saw me then,” You laughed nervously. Outwardly, you knew you looked normal but inside you were panicking massively.

“Ah I see,” He nodded, not entirely convinced. Luckily before he could interrogate you further or work out who you actually were, María linked arms with you and pulled your attention away.

“Come on, I just spotted Carlos. You will love him,”

Three things you had learnt about Carlos. One, he could and should be in a magazine. He was stunningly handsome in a shirt with far too many buttons undone you were practically drooling over him. Two, he was smart. An engineer. A very upstanding career especially compared to the occupation of most of the people at the party. And three, he really liked cocaine. That part did let him down quite a bit.

Hidden away from the prying eyes of parents and older generations, María, Diego, Carlos and multiple others you did not remember the names of, sat around listening to Carlos rave about the new recipe his friend had told him about. You listened carefully, if your hangover didn’t delete this information in the morning it would be great. Could finally have something to show for your weeks with María.

Carlos pulled out a pack of the new cocaine and poured out a good pile. You watched them all take a line. Part of you was interested in seeing what it was like. It must be good if everyone was so addicted to the stuff. You handled some much of the powder on a daily basis but you’d never even tried it. Seemed almost ridiculous. Maybe it was what you needed to finally relax a little, the alcohol wasn’t hitting the spot. One line wouldn’t kill you.

“Want some?” María offered, wiping her nose of residue. You shook your head.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” You announced, standing up from your seat on the couch. You climbed over María out of the circle of people. You could use their distraction to your advantage now. Now María wasn’t holding on to you you could actually go and investigate. Now with two Narcos connected attendees at least and the revelation that Senator Parreño was María’s father, any information you could find giving a definite link would be huge.

“Don’t be a pussy Isabela!” Diego hollered.

“Oh leave her alone, she’s only going for a moment,” María shoved her boyfriend playfully, “She’ll do it later,”

“Pacing myself,” You agreed with a smile.

“Miss you already!” María called after you before dissolving into fits of giggles.

Inside, the house was quiet. Only a couple of people sat in the living room downstairs and they paid no attention to you as you walked inside.

You walked up a set of elegant marble stairs, deciding upstairs may be your best option so not to get caught. Two long corridors led off the stairs, with doors leading off each side. You were looking for an office, that would be the place any paperwork would be kept. You would need letters, or meeting schedules. Something to prove a link.

You turned left, and hit the jackpot with the first try. Senator Parreño’s home office.You pushed the door open slowly, checking nobody had followed you before going inside. The office was immaculate, just as grand as the rest of the house. A large portrait of Maria’s family hung over the back of the desk, all of their eyes watching you as you searched through the room.

The room was full of things. One wall taken up by a set of shelves full of books and photographs and different trinkets of different sides. A leather couch sat in the window overlooking the gardens.

You came to the desk last. The top was clear of anything bar a photo of his wife, a line of pens and a rolodex. You flicked through it, found nothing of interest.

You stood up to find something you could use to pick the locks when you heard heavy footsteps from outside the door. You stood still for a moment, hoping to hear the footsteps go in the opposite direction down the hall. They got closer.

Before you were caught red handed, you made your escape. Racing to the door, you hoped you would have enough time to slip out without being caught. Quietly as possible, you opened the door.

“Isabela,” María’s father’s voice came from behind you as you shut the door. You turned around quickly, smiling innocently.

“Hi Mr Parreño!” You exclaimed, “Do you know where the bathroom is? I can’t find it?”

“It’s not in there,” He looked at your hand on the door, which you quickly removed and stepped away from.

“You’re house is just huge. I can’t ever seem to remember where I am going here,” You laughed nervously, “I’ll try down the hall,” You turned around and began to walk away, your

“I’d learn to be more careful, Agent,” The senator said after you. Your heart stopped. Slowly, you turned back around to face him again, “I guess you are here for my daughter’s stupid boyfriend?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You said slowly, your mouth slow to catch up with your brain which was already working out the multiple ways to get out of the house safely.

“You can quit your act, I won’t say anything,” He laughed dryly.

“No act,” You shook your head, “I didn’t lie, I really don’t know what you are talking about. I am not here investigating Diego. María invited me”

“I remembered where I saw you. You were with those DEA agents,”

“I work with them sometimes, we’re friends,” You shrugged.

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” He was on to you

“I’m sorry but I really do need the bathroom, if you could direct me there that would be great. I’ve had far too much to drink,”

“Down there, fourth on the right,”

“Thank you,” You walked away quickly, heart thumping against your ribcage at an alarming rate. He knew who you were! He knew exactly who you were!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You cursed under your breath.

You quickly spiralled, thinking off all the worst possible things that could happen now. Parreño would tell someone else who you were, maybe he would do something now. You were alone, neither Peña or Murphy knew where you were, out in the middle of nowhere it would be pretty simple to get rid of your body. You didn’t even find any evidence, you reasoned with yourself and he wouldn’t want any suspicion to his name. He probably wouldn’t kill you.

Taking another deep breath as you tried to calm your rattling heart. Your hands gripped the cold porcelain of the sink and slowly you relaxed again. You couldn’t go back out looking like you were scared, that would give you up entirely. You looked at your face in the mirror, at least outwardly you didn’t look too bad. Your makeup had shifted a little but you still looked ok. You were fine.

After another round of deep breaths and a pep talk to yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom and put a game face on.

“Isabela! You’re back!” María exclaimed as you returned to the group. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Your voice was not convincing as you watched the senator walk past. He looked at your briefly, a knowing glint in his eye as he clocked you. “Can I have some?” You nodded to the coke on the table as an impulsive and reckless idea came into your head. There was no way he could continue to think you were DEA if you did this. Either that or he would just think you were an idiot and not press you again.

“Finally you stop being a complete baby! Come here!” María cheered.

You stood up and stepped over to where María was knelt. You joined her on the floor, watching carefully as she lined the powder up with a card from the table. She presented it to you with a flourish, laughing again.

Surprisingly, you were not scared. The adrenaline of the close call was pacing through your veins. Your mind was so full of fear and anxiety, the idea of finally getting some relief was enticing.

You felt calm, no anxiety in your body holding you back anymore you took the drug from the table. You made a face of discomfort and spluttered a bit when it hit the back of your throat. The people around you laughed, but you didn’t feel embarrassed. It took a moment, but soon you felt the effects. All inhibition and anxiety left your body, you felt lighter and buzzing with energy.

“See, it’s good right?” Maria smiled. You nodded enthusiastically.

You woke up the next morning, tired and hungover. You couldn’t remember much of the night, but turning over to see Carlos naked next to you gave you a good idea of what had happened. He drove you back to Medellin a few hours later, his sports car was a very nice change from the cars you usually drove in. He was a sweet guy and you talked the entire journey home.

“Will I see you again?” He asked as he pulled up a little way from your apartment. You pretended to think about it for a moment, before breaking into a smile and nodding. “Perfect,” He smiled. You got out of the car, the happy smile not leaving your face as you waved and walked away.

You watched his car pull away before turning in the direction of your apartment. You still had an identity to hide afterall, even if he was nice you couldn’t let him see where you actually lived. There was still a threat of Parreño exposing you, if Carlos knew where you lived too it was only a matter of time before everyone would be in danger too.

“So that’s where you were,” Javier called out to you across the street as you approached. He sat on the steps of the apartment building, enjoying the sunshine, smoking and drinking a beer. “Getting laid,”

“Not jealous are you, Javi?” You smirked.

“No! You’re an adult you can do what you want,” He said with a laugh. A jealous twinge in his chest caught him off guard but he couldn’t let you know that, “You look nice by the way, it’s a cute dress,”

“Thanks,” You blushed a little. He shuffled out the way to let you pass him and climb the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,”

“Sure,” You shut the door behind you leaving Javi alone again. He sighed heavily, blowing out his smoke. He never got jealous, but you had done something to him. He initially put the feeling down the worry. He was concerned for you, going undercover was not something you should be doing at all and from the small amounts you had told him it could be more dangerous than you had first thought. But seeing you step out of that car, seeing you kiss the driver, he knew it was jealousy.

He wanted to have you close all the time, to protect you. You were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, and had shown that on many occasions but the idea of someone else holding you the way he had made him feel sick. That feeling in turn made him angry. He shouldn’t be feeling any type of way towards you, you were a team mate. He was your mentor.

He’d brought it all on himself, he shouldn’t have ever invited you in that night. He would have to suffer through the feeling until it went away, you could never know.

Let me know if you want to get tagged!

tagging: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @wille-zarr @danniburgh @itsaisopodkillmepls @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @xiao-lusi @all-good-things-have-an-ending @eternallyvenus @ajeff855 @mayangel19 @1950schick @pedrosmustache @wantingtobekorra @balmasedas

122 notes · View notes

thewritewolf · 4 years ago

Text

After the End Chapter 1: Rain

Summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir are triumphant! The big bad Hawkmoth goes down to roaring applause! People are crying in the streets, feeling emotions without fear for the first time in years! Everyone got everything they could have wanted...

...But the story doesn't stop just because the storyteller stops talking. So what happens when victory leaves unanswered questions and loose threads? Can they really let their guard down after so long spent struggling? What happens after the end?

Hello and welcome to my Marichat May 2021 story - After the End! We're gonna have some angst, some fluff, and hopefully a good ol' emotional time.

First | Previous | Next | Last

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The sun had set hours ago, but the City of Lights was never dark, not completely. The warm yellow glow of street lamps and the cold, white light pouring out from late night stores made sure of that, but they were small oases huddled against the heavy rain and howling wind. Tucked underneath the cover of a balcony canopy with his legs hanging over the side, Chat Noir watched the city get drenched but saw none of it. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

How long had it been now since that final battle? Four months, maybe? The moment that one parent that he thought was gone forever was returned to him, at the cost of losing the other completely. In the end, it was probably a fair trade, but even now it was too much for his heart to handle sometimes. But everyday it got a little better. He just needed to occupy himself while he got a grip on it.

And what better way than pursuing the quest that was keeping him in Paris? Although odds were good that the people he was looking for weren’t here any more now that their puppet was gone.

Chat was sure that his father would have kept some sort of record about them - if only in case he needed to blackmail them later. The problem was that the mansion was huge. Even with him spending most of his daylight hours thoroughly checking for secrets, there was a lot of ground to cover and plenty of places to hide things.

A plan of attack got put on the backburner when he finally registered what he had been unconsciously following. Someone was teetering down the street, one hand struggling to keep their umbrella over their head despite the strong winds, the other just barely holding a large package off the drenched ground. Even from where he was sitting he could tell that it was a losing fight.

A faint smile tugged at his lips and he rose to a crouch on the balcony bars, ready to pounce. Just because there weren’t akumas or amoks to fight any more didn’t mean he couldn’t still be someone’s hero.

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

“Stupid Professor Leclair,” Marinette grumbled to herself, stopping for the fourth time in six steps to readjust her grip on the project that would be worth a quarter of her grade. In an unflattering impersonation of him, she added, “Wah work on that cross stitching wah.”

Marinette scrambled to hold onto her things as a powerful gust of wind buffeted her, but it was no use. She’d have to drop one thing or another. Realizing that being sick for a few days would be better than losing the last few weeks of progress on her dress, she let the umbrella be wrenched out of her hands to get a better grip on her dress.

Clutching it tight to her chest to keep it dry, she braced herself for the first cold drops of the early fall rain to hit her.

She kept waiting for a few long seconds before tentatively opening an eye and looking up. To her surprise, the umbrella was still there, held in place by a hand covered in a familiar black leather suit.

“Oh! Chat Noir.” She gave him a sidelong look, eyes slightly narrowed. “What are you doing out this late? And in this bad of a storm, too!”

“No need to fall over yourself thanking me,” Chat Noir replied with a teasing smirk. “Just doing my best to help the citizens of Paris.”

Marinette gave a faint smile. “Right, sorry. Thanks, Chat Noir.”

“No problem. Care to switch?” Chat Noir held out the umbrella, his free hand reaching for the bundled up dress.

“Well… Alright, but just because I’m getting really tired of carrying it.” She gladly took the umbrella and cautiously passed the dress to him. “Just be careful with those claws, okay? That’s a huge part of my grade you’re holding.”

“Oh, no need to worry about me.” Chat Noir grinned, the white of his smile standing out against the glistening black of his suit. “These claws can be very gentle when they want to be.”

The two of them began to walk side by side at a brisk pace, with Chat crouching slightly so she didn’t need to hold the umbrella quite so high. Puberty had been kind to him and he’d grown like a weed during their teenage years. Plagg had no doubt been grumbling about how often he’d had to change the suit to keep up with it.

“I’ll take your word for it then.” But Marinette felt instantly reassured - her partner had always been true to his word, from their first fight all the way through the defeat of Hawkmoth.

Hawkmoth… The name brought a frown to her face. Not just because of the memories of a campaign against him lasting the better part of a decade, but because of how it all ended.

There were some things that even the miraculous cure couldn’t heal.

Before she had even realized it, they were back at her apartment. She had one foot in the doorway, her umbrella closed at her side and reaching for the dress as Chat Noir passed it carefully back to her. He took a step back, that same smile on his face but now she noticed something else.

“You take care now, okay?”

She realized that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, there was an exhaustion there, a weariness.

And loneliness.

“Chat Noir, wait!”

He hadn’t even made it down the three stairs that lead to the apartment’s door before he froze in place. His tail stood to attention as he half turned back to her.

“Something wrong?”

“Well, its just, um… I usually make way too much for dinner so if you ever want to come over to my place around this time to help me finish my leftovers, well…” She pointed at the balcony right above them. “...Feel free to pay me a visit sometime.”

Another teasing smirk found its way to his face. “You know what they say about feeding strays, don’t you? They might just keep coming back.”

“I don’t think I’d mind,” she replied with a smirk of her own.

“Then maybe I’ll take you up on your offer sometime.” He gave her a two finger salute and a wink. “See you later, then.”

He pulled out his baton and in a moment was out of view.

“See you later…” she repeated to the empty air.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Chat Noir #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Marichat #MarichatMay2021 #ml fanfiction #my writing #After the End

54 notes · View notes

nanoland · 3 years ago

Text

drowstiel fic in progress

title: Clean Hands

fandom: Supernatural

pairings: Crowley/Castiel, Crowley/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester

blurb: In which Crowley is no one's first choice and he's totally fine with that! :) Really! :) :) :)

warnings: smut, cannibalism, demons getting themselves Extremely murdered

Trumpets sounded. Mortar cracked. The ceiling collapsed, squashing half of Crowley’s court, and holy, horrifying light flooded into every corner.

“We are going,” Castiel growled, storming up to the throne and grabbing him by the scruff, “for a drink.”

Crowley’s tail twitched, wordlessly instructing his bodyguards to stand down. “Um. Fine?”

“Now.”

“Alright, alright. Where?”

“I don’t care.”

So Crowley teleported them to a cosy little nook in Finland, highly ranked among his personal favourites and unknown to any colleagues or enemies. It had a roaring fireplace, generously padded chairs, thick faux fur rugs, and a table by a window through which one could watch snow gently blanketing the city of Rovaniemi.

They ordered Koskenkorva and cider and Salmari and beer – or rather, Crowley did, while Castiel stared broodingly into the fire – and competed to see who could get totally hammered first.

Castiel won. Castiel always won.

“Coke?” Crowley offered.

Scowling, the angel mumbled, “No. Nnn-o. Dean drinks Coke. Dean bought me a Coke once. Said I should try it. He always wants me to try things. Bacon and Star Wars and cowboy paraphernalia. Human things. Never wants to recipra… recipe… recital… never wants to try my things. Angel things. One-way street. Always.”

“Mmm. I can understand how that might feel invalidating, kitten. However, I was in fact offering you cocaine. Top-quality stuff, of course. Or weed?”

“Oh. Uhh – no. Thank you. Can I sit in your lap?”

With a put-upon sigh, Crowley settled back into his chair.

A woman seated across the room tutted disapprovingly as Castiel clambered onto him, twisting this way and that until he’d made himself comfortable with his legs dangling over the arm rest and his tousled head heavy on Crowley’s shoulder.

Looking her way with a pleasant, if carnivorous smile, Crowley said, “Your husband’s name is Verner. Your sister’s name is Aurelia. They’re currently having sex in your kitchen. Her bare, perky arse is resting on your oven mittens – the nice ones with the canary pattern. If you leave right now, you can catch them at it.”

“You are an abomination,” Castiel murmured into his neck as she bolted.

“You’re an absurdity,” he countered, sniffing his hair. Cheap shampoo. Cheap conditioner. Wood smoke, presumably from the boys’ latest hunt. Traces of blood. Traces of God.

The fire crackled. They drank some more.

“I gave Dean a feather,” Castiel said. “One of mine. It’s what we do to show loyalty. Admiration. When I served Heaven, I received feathers from various admirers every week.”

He sounded smug.

Adorable.

“It wasn’t sexual, mind,” he added, quickly.

“Of course.”

“Nor romantic. We don’t engage in such things. Nonetheless, it was meaningful. Is meaningful.”

“And Dean, I imagine, didn’t realize that.”

“Obviously not. I wasn’t expecting him to. He’s a human; why should he understand our customs? But I thought… I thought he’d at least ask. I was prepared for him to ask. I had an explanation ready to go. And then he didn’t. He took the feather, looked embarrassed, smiled, thanked me, and returned to doing Sam’s laundry.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ve never been so humiliated.”

Crowley gave him a consoling kiss, which he returned hungrily, though not cruelly. In this, Castiel was never cruel. Only demanding. Which was fine; Crowley liked being in demand.

When Castiel withdrew his questing tongue, he looked unsatisfied. (Brattish.) “Why must you always lurk so deep? Come forward. I want to see you.”

Huffing, like it wasn’t something he was asked to do and gladly did every time, Crowley let himself slide from his host’s brain into his eyeballs, turning them crimson; from his chest to his tongue, causing his breath to stink of petrol and graveyard dirt; from his veins to his extremities, prompting his fingernails and toenails to adopt a distinctly claw-like appearance. His expensive black socks would be ruined. “Better, birdy?”

Immediately, Castiel returned to kissing him. (Really, it felt as though he was trying to suck Crowley from his host’s mouth into his own.

Like he wants to eat me.

Crowley shivered happily.)

Drawing back, Castiel said, “Take us to a hotel room. I want to touch your penis.”

“I live but to serve.”

It had taken Crowley a while to work out what Castiel’s odd sexual ministrations made him feel like; a stim toy. The angel liked nothing more than to fiddle with him. To tug at his chest hair, to pluck at his nipples until they were plump and rosy, and yes, to poke and pat and play with his cock until Crowley whimpered.

“I don’t understand why he’s so reluctant to open up to me,” Castiel sighed, breath-taking on black silk sheets and settled between Crowley’s thighs, twirling grey-streaked pubic hair around his index finger.

“I like opening up to you,” said Crowley, and demonstrated.

Castiel lowered his head and peered appreciatively. “Your vessel is so much furrier than mine. Like you’ve glued a badger’s pelt between your buttocks.”

Some might have found a fuckbuddy who had only two settings – i.e. ‘the worst dirty talk conceivable’ and ‘pining for another man’ – frustrating. Crowley had long since put such petty grievances aside, because he was emotionally mature. Worldly. Smooth. Definitely not because he craved Castiel’s presence all day long and whispered his name to the stars at night.

“Hurry up and stick it in me, you twat.”

As Castiel hoisted Crowley’s legs over his shoulders, he stroked the hair there too. “Mmm. So fluffy. Honestly, with all this to keep you warm, I don’t see why you have to cover yourself in so many layers.”

“You’re one to talk! You’d wear that trench to the scorching outback if you got half the chance.”

“Temperature isn’t a factor for me. Besides, Dean likes me wearing it. It gives him a sense of continuity that he lacks in other areas of his life.”

Castiel couldn’t tell the difference between a groan of pleasure and a groan of exasperation. That was for the best.

Afterwards, Crowley arranged his host such that the majority of his weight rested on Castiel’s chest. So far, it was the only reliable way to ensure he didn’t get dressed and leave the moment they were done.

“Were you busy?” Castiel asked, panting. “When I entered Hell? You probably were. You’re always busy. You work even harder than Raphael used to.”

“Never too busy for you, pet,” he purred, punctuating his assurance with a saucy wiggle.

Castiel’s phone rang.

Castiel actually answered it (rather than his usual reaction to ringing phones – his or Crowley’s – when they were in bed, which was to narrow his eyes at them until their screens cracked and they leaked smoke), which meant it was Dean.

“I am needed,” he announced, rolling Crowley off him.

With a mocking salute, Crowley slithered into the warm spot his body had left. “Godspeed, mighty warrior. Try not to lose any more feathers.”

Fumbling with his tie, Castiel said, “I’m planning to give him one more. A second chance. If he doesn’t react appropriately, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

The tie was abandoned, flopping half-knotted against his crisp white shirt. “I’ll be back for more sex. Goodbye.”

With that, he was gone.

Under his stolen skin, Crowley curled into a smoky ball and cursed the whole world.

‘Never too busy for you,’ he’d told Castiel.

‘My door’s always open,’ he’d promised Dean.

But surely they both understood that if they were going to summon him in the middle of the working day, they would, occasionally, be interrupting something?

“Is that a kidney?” said Dean, staring at the bloody lump in Crowley’s hand.

Flustered, Crowley popped it into his mouth and swallowed it. The thought occurred, a second later, that his instinctive, perfectly normal as per demon etiquette attempt to make the situation less awkward might have been ill-advised.

“I’ll just go, shall I?” he muttered dejectedly.

Dean shook his head, sighing. “Nah. Won’t make me unsee it. But we’re not kissing.”

“Could brush my teeth? Suck on a mint?”

“No. Now get your pants off. I don’t have all day.”

Dear boy. He wasn’t always like this. Often, Crowley appeared in the circle to find him red-eyed, puffy-nosed, and at least slightly drunk, and he’d touch Crowley without saying a word all evening. Other times, he’d be wound tight, buzzing with frustration after a hunt gone wrong or a fight with Castiel or Sam. On such occasions, sex would be more like a wrestling match, Dean’s quick reflexes and pickpocket cunning pitted against Crowley’s ability to lift a car with one hand, and after they’d brutalised one another for a few hours Dean would slide off Crowley’s cock with a bone-deep groan of satisfaction and sleep like the dead. Those times tended to be Crowley’s favourites.

But this was nice, too. Brisk, rude, faux-impatient – today, Dean was in a good mood. And Dean in a good mood meant one thing and one thing only.

“Jesus fu-aaah,” Crowley exhaled, having barely slipped his 100% virgin wool trousers down his thighs before the hunter entered the circle, dropped smoothly to his knees, and latched onto the waiting erection like there was a panel of judges mere metres away and a million dollar cash prize on the line.

Dean Winchester wasn’t nearly as good at sex as he thought he was. But he always, always tried his best, and sometimes that raw enthusiasm was erotic enough all on its own.

“So,” said Dean, pulling back to study his work with that critical mechanic’s eye. “Something weird happened the other day.”

“Really? To you?”

“No, not normal Winchester-brand weird. No new apocalypses brewing, far as I’m aware. Just… y’know. Odd.”

Abruptly, he stood up, wiping his lips, and took Crowley by the arm. Sweeping the edge of his shoe through the circle, he all-but-frogmarched him across the room to the old mattress he’d set up in a corner specifically for these occasions.

(They didn’t always have sex in a grimy abandoned shed three miles from the nearest road. Sometimes they had sex in grimy abandoned cars with wheels buried in knee-deep weeds or, when Dean was feeling unusually romantic, dive bar bathrooms. Crowley didn’t care. He’d fucked Napoleon III in a haystack once.)

Absentmindedly arranging Crowley to his liking, Dean said, “Cas gave me a feather.”

Unnoticed by Dean, every microorganism within a seventy-foot radius – excepting those within his own body – died in a flash of hellfire. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And not, like, a pigeon feather or whatever. One of his. Weird, right?”

“Mm. Very.”

Dean thrust into him, business-like. “You read a lot, yeah? Probably even more than Sammy. Ever found a book that analyses – I dunno – weird angel shit? Or ancient prophecies involving angel feathers?”

Goddamn rotten bloody humiliation kink, he thought moodily, feeling his cock begin to leak. Probably done more to damage my reputation than that time Lilith caught me sneaking into David Cameron’s bedroom wearing a silk chemise and a British Lop. “Not that I can recall, no.”

Giving his arse a friendly smack, Dean said, “C’mon. You gotta know something. Or, if you don’t, you gotta have a theory. I know that nasty li’l brain of yours never stops working. Why would an angel give a human a feather?”

The deranged, beautiful monster hadn’t stopped buggering him.

Even worse, Crowley hadn’t stopped liking it.

“Alright, alright,” he groaned, fingernails surreptitiously sharpening as he dragged them over the mattress. “Stop. Lemme think for a moment. No, no, scratch that. Absolutely do not stop. Oh fuck, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“Crowley,” Dean whined, and while he’d have loved to think that he was whining in passion, he knew better.

“Look, it’s a gift, yeah? He gave you a gift. Use – fuurgh – use your brain, squirrel. Why do people usually give gifts?”

A big, calloused hand wrapped around his cock. “Birthdays. Bribes. To say thank you. To say sorry. Hey, could that be it? Has he… aw, shit, has he done something stupid behind my back? Again? And he doesn’t want to admit it but he’s feeling guilty so he’s giving me weird presents? I bet that’s it.”

Crowley wasn’t certain what language he used to say, “Jesus Christ, you’re both beyond hope,” in the seconds before he came. He was only just mentally present enough to make sure it wasn’t English.

After finishing off with a hearty grunt, Dean belly-flopped onto the mattress next to him. “Fuck yeah, man. That was great. Wonder if I can use it for something? A bona fide angel feather’s gotta have serious mojo, right?”

Facedown and breathing into the pillow, Crowley made a ‘who knows?’ gesture.

“Maybe it could be made into a weapon,” Dean murmured, gently stroking Crowley’s scalp. “There’s precedent. The First Blade was a mule’s jawbone. Or maybe I could write with it – like a quill. Heh, imagine a devil’s trap drawn with an angel’s feather. That would fuck you guys up, right?”

“Sure,” Crowley rasped, lifting his head. “Why not?”

Dean yawned. “So how’s Hell? Been about a month since we last did this, so… what’s that… about a decade down there? Had any problems? Moved the furniture around?”

“No. Hell doesn’t change much these days. Lilith was the innovator. Always installing a new lake of fire here, a new torture chamber there; slaughtering her political opponents en masse; throwing out promotions and demotions and beheadings left and right. Not my style. I prefer stability. Behind my back, they say that I’m the most boring monarch Hell’s ever had. Well, no – they say that wherever they want. When they’re behind my back, they try to stab me.”

He rolled over, wincing at a twinge in his well-used arse.

“Stability’s great and all,” Dean mumbled, sounding half-asleep. “And for real, I think it’s cool that you’ve made Hell so much less… torture-y. But y’ever think about aiming higher?”

“Eh?”

“Making Hell not suck, I mean. You know? Not just stable but actually tolerable for everyone who’s gotta live there. Now and then when I’m ganking some demon dickbag, I start thinking that maybe they wouldn’t always be causing so much trouble on Earth if they liked being in Hell more.”

Crowley laughed. Long and loud. “Where’s this coming from? Is this a Sam idea? It sounds like a Sam idea. Your bleeding-heart centrist of a brother going through another introspective phase, right? Bless.”

Scowling, Dean said, “Wow, someone’s defensive. What’s wrong? Pissed that the Boy King could run the place better than you?”

“Come off it, Dean. You don’t believe that for a second. Sam’s no leader. Much less a leader of demons. And the notion of ‘fixing’ Hell… it’s Hell. It’s not meant to be fixed. It’s not meant to be tolerable, it’s not meant to be endurable. It exists to break people. Horror is its bedrock. Sure, I can tidy up, I can replace the Gitmo vibe with the good ol’ eternal queue, but I can’t make it nice.”

“Huh. Okay, I get it,” said Dean, stretching, slyness in his eyes. “It’s not that you don’t want to – it’s that you don’t think you can. You’re not powerful enough, or smart enough, or whatever. I guess that’s fair. Surprised to hear you admit it, though.”

Like a blowfish, Crowley’s smoke puffed up to thrice its usual size, spilling from his eyes, ears, and lips as he pounced on Dean and pinned him to the mattress.

“Watch your tongue, brat,” he hissed, tail manifesting with its point aimed at Dean’s throat. “I’m not your pet pigeon. Had I the magnanimity of Saint Francis himself I’d not sit here and listen to some cunting mortal question my leadership. What in the name of God’s greasy bollocks do you know about ruling anything? You’ve never so much as managed a fucking corner shop. You’ve never even been employed.”

Dean grinned. “Damn, did I touch a nerve? Sorry, sweetcheeks.”

A canine rumble poured from Crowley’s thick throat. He felt Dean’s wrist bones creak under his grip. “Arrogant little rat.”

They glared at one another, unblinking.

“You ready to go again?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

In a violent flurry, they competed to see who could jack the other to completion first. Dean won. Dean always won.

“Same time next month?” Crowley enquired, watching him get dressed afterwards.

“Maybe. It’ll be coming up on Halloween and that’s always the worst time of year for us.”

“Mmm. Same. You’d be amazed how many false alarms we get; idiot teenagers deciding to summon a demon for fun and not actually wanting to make a deal or not letting them out of the trap afterwards. Last year, my secretary found them waiting for her with SuperSoakers full of salted holy water. Still – unless I’m busy – and, obviously, I probably will be busy – I’ll only be a phone call away if you poor lost lambs get yourselves mixed up in something you can’t handle.”

“Cool,” Dean said over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. “Catch you later.”

Crowley waited until his footsteps had faded and his scent had cleared. Then he grabbed the pillow, pressed it to his face, and screamed for forty minutes.

(to be continued)

#supernatural #crowstiel #drowley #crowley #castiel #dean winchester #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

15 notes · View notes

jungwooisms · 4 years ago

Text

gekokujō | k.dy | official teaser

pairing: kim doyoung x female reader members: suh youngho (johnny), lee minhyung (mark), nakamoto yuta, lee jeno, kim jungwoo, jeong jaehyun genre: historical au (early 1900’s)/historical fiction, angst, fluff warnings: smoking, language, alcohol word count: 13k/? summary: kim doyoung left his home in search of himself; yet when a collection of both familiar and unfamiliar faces surface, he finds that he may just be a a part of something much larger than he anticipated.

| this will be a part of @puppywritings’ historical collab |

[1909.04.01. Boston, MA] ‘John,

I feel enough time has adequately passed to allow me to write to you. Although, there is not much news from home to tell you of.

The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in the paper the other day about Boston and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around the northern end of the city, but there seems to be nothing around now except the wild fowl, and an uncountable number of deer.

How are your hands now? I know that the winter air dries yours as it does mine. Mine are very cut, so scattered with paper trails that I fear I should bleed ink from all the books that you left me. Have you been able to acquire any more on your travels? I find that the supply you gave me is running rather low now.

You left for Munich inquiring after Daniel Lim if I recall the name correctly, I hope you found him in good health on your arrival. I also hope he does not overwork you, you said as much happened the last you worked under him in London.

I am very pleased to say I am keeping very well, and I trust you are the same. If anything happens, know that I will gladly storm my way across the sea and give your wrongdoers what for.

I miss you, John. And I hope you return soon, you know I love to hear about your travels.’

A short chuckle to yourself as you pull the pen away from the paper after signing your name, ink stains settling into the grooves of your fingers as you aren’t cautious enough with the writing implement. Short blows over the thin paper as you try to dry the ink as quickly as possible, although this isn’t the sweltering heat of the summer you’re unsurprised the ink hasn't run but so much. Carefully standing from your seat you begin your search around the room for an envelope, fingers brushing over various stacks of papers and novellas lying around your workspace. Eventually you find a weathered, but perfectly usable one underneath a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. You address the letter to his newest residence, some boarding house in Germany, but you aren't sure if he was even staying there anymore. If that doesn't work out and one of your letters was stamped “Return to Sender” once more, you’d just have to wait for him to send you something first. It seemed like you were always waiting after John. Not that you mind much, you had been as thick as thieves as teenagers and that had hardly ever changed, even after he’d decided to go abroad and study, then go onto some teaching stints wherever the wind blew him.

As you return to your seat you hear a gentle meowing outside, head peering over your desk and out of the glass panes into the garden below you spot a small black and white tabby looking up at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you move to grab your pen once more, beginning to write a post scriptum,

‘p.s. Your lovely feral cat has now decided that I take ownership of her in your absence. Is there a name you prefer I call her?’

You hope he can understand your tone, it’s an issue of yours that the words you write sometimes don't hit their mark. Regardless, you’d send the letter and hear his thoughts on it whenever he has the gaul to write back. You straighten your back from your hunched position and move through the house, your fingers tracing along the smooth walls until you reach the door leading into the garden, it lay nestled in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a faint scratching as you approach, only opening it to find the same tabby waiting for you, it barrels inside once it sees an opportunity.

“You wretch,” tsking as she begins brushing up against your leg. “What am I going to do with you?”

[1909.04.30. 今出川, 京都] The ground crunches underfoot as Doyoung walks; the pavement, covered with a thin layer of grit from a small windstorm that had picked up an hour or so prior, feeling as if it’s shifting as his leather soled shoes move over it. Storm having left its mark and not going to disappear until a rain shower decides to wash it away, he breathes in the particles still floating through the balmy weather. A small frown as he fans his jacket, allowing some air to circulate under the thick fabric. Had it not been impolite, he would have shed the garment as soon as he stepped out of the train station only minutes ago. His hand still wrapped around his bag he looks to the signs adorning the tops of businesses along the road. Doyoung was never great at learning hanja, so when it came time for him to begin learning the already different kanji and further hiragana and katakana that would come along with his trip abroad, he thought he might set out to find a tutor during his time here. Hand moving to rummage around the inside of his jacket, he procures a worn letter from its depths. ‘今出川居酒屋,’ it is the only thing foreign to him within the contents of the scripture, the sender had asked to meet him there for lunch on the second day of Doyoung’s arrival to Kyoto.

Doyoung finds the bar after walking a few more blocks, north from the station and hidden away behind a bookstore in a back alley. Before he enters, he pauses. His grip on the letter tightening, the parchment creasing from the increased pressure as the slight tingly pervasiveness of guilt begins to wrack him from the inside out. A look to his left, and then to his right, a ghost of a figure in his peripheral, deterring him from running from the drinkery. It drives him closer, away from an inevitable future and towards the uncertain present.

A haze of smoke blankets the air as he enters, that of tobacco intermingling with the small fire stoking in the back of the bar. It invades his nose rather viciously, itching the back of his throat and causing tears to form in the corners of his eyes as he greets the hostess with a small ‘Hello’ and ‘A table, please.’ She guides him and he settles down at a chabudai towards the front of the building, almost with enough of a view so that he can peer past the two small curtains at the entrance and into the street.

The letter now resting atop the table and his bag by its side, he reaches into his jacket yet again to procure an almost empty pack of cigarettes and a newly bought lighter. He had run out of fluid during his journey across the sea and he thought that buying a new one would be a novel idea to commemorate his trip. Doyoung’s eyes wander around the enclosed space as he scans the faces of the patrons. Most were men but there was the occasional woman mingling among the crowd as well. Cigarette placed on his lips, lighter spewing to life and igniting the end as he takes a deep breath in. Doyoung hates smoking, hates the way it pierces his lungs with its inky black vapors. It leaves his breath smelling awful, but it is just something people do to pass the time. Fingers finding the cigarette, he removes it for a moment, tapping it against a small silver dish atop the table, the ashes pooling at the bottom as he continues to look for someone he hasn’t met yet.

“Did you want to order anything else?” A voice to his right calls out, he jumps slightly before turning, only to find the kimono clad waitress at his side. She sets down a tray of dishes, some foods he recognizes, and some he thinks to be the local cuisine.

“Oh, no thank you.” As his eyes look over the food he moves to rest his cigarette in the ashtray to come back for later.

The woman gives a short smile and brief nod before speaking again, “Please let me know if you need anything.” Even after she had walked away, Doyoung could feel her eyes lingering on him like a child seeing some sort of marvel for the first time. This is not to say that he thinks that highly of himself, just that he knows that he is an outsider in a foreign place, his accent could tell anyone as much.

“I think she likes you.” A voice speaking up when Doyoung goes to take a bite out of the onigiri on his tray.

Mouth half full and brow furrowed in confusion, Doyoung turns to face wherever the voice had come from, “What did you say?” Chewing his food and swallowing rather harshly, he almost chokes as he thinks he’s going insane after hearing what sounded like Korean. This time it was a man who spoke, he was sitting at another table across from him, a shifty grin on his face. Something about him seemed different from everyone else in the bar, but the man couldn’t quite put a finger on it in this dimly lit room.

“She’s still staring at you.” The other man answers, now standing up and proceeding to walk over to him. “But it’s not like she’s hearing me say that anyway,” He laughs, brushing his hands against the lapels of his jacket.

Now in a better light, the man can get a better view of this stranger. “Are you Korean too?” He asks in his native tongue, feeling much more relieved that the burden of speaking a different language is momentarily sated.

“No,” Another laugh as the man settles down in the seat adjacent. “Just familiar with the language, is all.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes staring into Doyoung’s as if he’s trying to memorize his facial features. “You wouldn’t happen to be Kim Dongyoung, would you?”

“Doyoung, actually.” He clears his throat. “I am,” Eyes glancing at the letter still atop the table, Doyoung comes to a realization, “Are you Nakamoto Yuta?”

“I am,” A smile as he extends his hand. Less practiced with western formality Doyoung looks at the greeting for a moment before raising his own to formally address him, “It’s nice to meet you.” After a moment they drop their hands away from each other, Yuta’s gaze shifting to watch the hostess move his food from his old table to the one he now shares with Doyoung. “With an accent like that you must be from the south, Daegu, maybe?”

“Guri, actually.” He returns to his food for a moment, Yuta taking this time to also take a few bites from his own bento. “Where did you learn Korean?”

“Did Youngho not tell you?” Youngho is their mutual friend, he’d given Doyoung Yuta’s contact information to inquire if he had any availability to tutor him. “I studied with him when we were in college, I moved back here a year after we graduated, my mother fell ill and wanted to come back from living in Hanseong.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Doyoung frowns, shifting as he sets his chopsticks down. The two must have met after Doyoung had left his schooling to return to his family, per their wishes.

A smile, “She made a perfect recovery, but now that she’s home she never wants to leave again.” Yuta reaches for the porcelain flask of sake the hostess had brought over, pouring himself a small glass then offering one to Doyoung. The younger politely refuses, still not accustomed to the savoriness of the drink, as Yuta nods and knocks back his own cup before speaking again. “When can you start classes? We typically meet for an hour or two every day if we can.”

“We?” Doyoung’s caught up on the word, he thought these would be private lessons, not an actual class. He leans forward, somewhat anxious at the thought of his abysmal language skills to be put on show for more than one audience member.

“Just a handful of other students from all over the place,” Shoulders shrugging Yuta leans backwards, hands placed atop his knees as he stretches his back. “We have a few Korean and Chinese kids, even a Canadian student as well. Not everyone’s at the same level so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.” He smiles, toothy and carefree as if there wasn’t an unhappy thought that had ever crossed him, Doyoung somewhat resents the uncertain assumption he made. “The schoolhouse isn’t too far away from here actually; did you want to stop by?” Hand motioning towards the doorway, Yuta’s head tilts inquisitively.

“I actually have to check in at the hotel I’m staying in, my parents told me to write whenever I got here and I’ve been putting that off for a while,” A sigh escaping him. Doyoung had been thinking about what to pen for the past day and a half but couldn’t muster the strength to go through with it. He’d left on rocky terms and was expecting to be hounded whenever they responded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you have class if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me,” He’s now searching his own pockets, finding a pen and reaching out for the letter near Doyoung. Yuta scribbles down something, a few kanji that Doyoung can’t decipher, and hands him the paper back, “Classes start at ten, when you’re in the area just ask someone if they know where this is and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Doyoung looks down to the paper, seeing in his periphery that Yuta was already on his feet, straightening his jacket as he begins to head over to the waitress.

Doyoung sees him say something but can’t make out what, it’s only when Yuta turns to him and speaks that he can ascertain the meaning, “Don’t worry about paying this time, you’ll have to treat me to lunch some other day.” And with that Doyoung finds himself alone once more in the tavern.

[1909.04.30. Boston, MA] The letter had arrived early in the morning, but you had been out in town with your mother attending some group function that you didn't want to be a part of in the first place. So, when you walk into your own little study and see it lying atop your things you race over and tear open the seal adorning it.

‘When I arrived in Munich, my work left me so urgent that I could not write in time before I left again. I thus deferred it to a point where I once again found myself with solid footing. It rains heavily in Seoul today, my travels have taken me here instead of crossing the Atlantic.

Currently I am holding a tutoring position for the American consulate’s son. I expect to hold this position for some time before I return home to Boston.

Tell my mother not to fuss over me too much, if anything I implore her to look after you. Of all people, other than your own family, she knows of the antics you pursue.

I was able to sneak out a few books from Munich, upon my return I swear to you that you will have the greatest library in all America- no, the world, even.

If I were a better artist, or wealthy enough to photograph, I would show you how beautiful my journey across the world has been. Although, so much has changed in Seoul since I held my studies here. I cannot help but have the inklings of melancholy eat away as I recall the memories and compare them to what I see now. This will come to pass, I hope.

I hear the boy calling for me now— My writing will have to cease here, I fear. Send my affection to your family, I know they miss me as much as you do.

With all the love I can muster,

x John

p.s. I think I have decided to call her Minnie, please refer to her as that accordingly.’

While scattered with his familiarities and humor, the letter seems all too short, all too hurried. Your lips purse as you read over it, brow furrowing as a small knot in your stomach begins to form. Thumb rubbing over the x marking his name the worry only grows ever more prevalent, you pull your eyes away from the words and begin to rummage around for your own writing implements and paper, wanting to respond to him as quickly as possible.

‘John,

Your letter left much to be desired. Seoul? Your mother anxiously awaits your return any day now, before you left you said you would only be gone until early May at most. I hope that nothing unsavory has happened, God knows you find yourself in trouble more than any other man I know.

Please let her know that you are safe, I fear that she may follow after you should you be gone any longer. A son should never burden his mother with his absence for an extended period, I can only keep her company for so long before her weariness sets in and she longs to see you.

She also knitted you a pair of gloves, seeing as you left your moth-eaten ones behind. I know the air is growing warmer, but it is somewhat endearing to see how doting she is over you. Please, ease her mind by writing.’

[1909.04.30.-1909.04.31. 今出川ホテル, 京都] Doyoung eventually finds himself standing at the small entrance of a hotel, the name written in cursive English on a wooden sign above the doorway. Youngho had recommended the inn, saying that it would be one of the more accepting places to stay at as a foreigner. It has a somewhat Victorian looking façade, contrasting the traditional Japanese styled buildings around it, he wonders why that is as he ascends the handful of steps to the door, struggling ever so slightly while lugging his bag behind him. As the door swings open, he’s greeted by an elderly woman with a rather round face, “Good evening,” she smiles and ushers him inside. “Did you need a room for the night? Or do you have a reservation?”

Mind fogging as he struggles to keep up, “Apologies, my Japanese isn’t—” The stone floor clicking underfoot as he follows her to the main desk.

“Ah, Korean?” It’s accented, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you have a reservation?” Her hands dance along a worn leather book atop the desk, flipping it open as she looks down a list of names, some of those which are crossed out and some of which are not.

“I do,” He nods his head with a short smile, “It should be under Kim.”

Humming as she runs her finger down the list, as her head turns upward it causes Doyoung to return his attention to her, “Kim Heesung or Kim Doyoung?”

“Doyoung,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally hitting himself as he should’ve been more specific. Eyes scanning the list, Doyoung takes a short look around the interior of the inn.The space is smaller than he imagined, but rather cozy. A glowing fire going to warm the chill of the night, large armchairs beside it and the largest bookshelf he’s ever seen built around the hearth.

“Wonderful,” She smiles, turning her back to him to find his room key from a small drawer behind the desk. Before she faces him again fully, she shifts through a small stack of papers atop the desk, “This also came for you,” The woman reaches to pull out a thin card from the stack, it has both hangul and kanji printed on it so it was easy to assume it’d come from his homeland.

“Thank you,” He smiles back before taking the telegram and tucking it into his jacket pocket. She hands him the key and he’s off to find his hotel room. It lays up the staircase and down a winding corridor, as he passes by some of the rooms, he can hear the muffled voices of a few of the other patrons, speaking languages he can mildly understand and others that sound alien. Once he finds his room, he’s all too giddy to throw himself onto the bed. Door locked, shoes and suitcase strewn aside he falls onto the plush bed, his eyes watching the ceiling as the weight of sleep begins to take over his vision.

Broken sunlight filters into the room, the shades drawn enough only to allow sharp slants of light to come through. The city outside is bustling whereas the hotel room seems almost vacant of any form of noise, save for the sound of soft breathing as the occupant sleeps. Kim Doyoung continues to snore softly, dreaming of something sweet enough to add a slight curvature to his lips. He rolls in his slumber, the telegram received in the night folding under his weight, unbeknownst to him.

Three swift knocks awake him from the depths of slumber. He bolts up, raising a hand to run through his hair as a frown of confusing forms on his lips, wiping away whatever essence of his dream remained. “Are you awake?” A voice rings out seconds after the rapping. It’s the woman from the night before, Doyoung was too tired to connect the dots quite yet.

“Yes,” He responds groggily, moving to allocate his footing onto the floor. He hears soft footsteps leading away from his door, he supposes his wakeup call is completed. Rummaging around his wrinkled jacket-pocket he pulls out his timepiece, the clock reveals that it is seven forty-five in the morning, he has two hours before his lessons begin. Letting out a soft groan, he places the watch away and pushes himself onto his feet. His knees creaking and cracking as he rises and stretches out his arms, signaling that his sleep must’ve been docile. Once again, his hand moves to his jacket as he recalls the telegram, now crumpled in the crevasses of his pocket. Doyoung pulls out the letter, walking to draw open the shades to allow more reading light in.

“Kim Dongyoung,” He mumbles out, reading over the first, short line as the sleep is rubbed from his eyes. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill you if you continue to ignore them. For my sake, please write. - Donyun’

An audible scoff after he’s finished reading, he can almost hear his brother’s tone. Doyoung does care about his family, but his brother is as much on his parents’ side as he is against it, it is a giant rift in their already teetering relationship.

The telegram tossed onto the bed as Doyoung takes off his jacket, he’d been avoiding his familial issues for a while now and it seems as if they’re coming back to bite him in the ass. It wasn’t entirely his fault for doing so, his father was never a good listener and Doyoung’s ideas were always pushed asunder.

A few moments later he finds himself in a fresh set of clothes, ready to face the day. In truth, he is dreading his lessons but at least it will provide some relief from thinking about the drama happening back in Guri. His shoes drag along the wooden floor as he steps out of his room, locking it with the small gilded key behind him. Once in the hallway, his posture straightens as he begins to make his way towards the staircase that would lead him into the main lobby. The crushed emerald green velvet railing runs under his fingers as he descends, swiftly moving into his pockets once his feet land on the granite tiles splaying out an ocean of deep gray below him.

A thin beam of light shines in through the slit in the door of the entranceway, the windows attached to the door are covered in the same crushed velvet encasing the staircase via curtain. It feels like he is in a black hole with how dimly lit the interior of the building is. Eventually he makes his way through the lobby, past the plumes of smoke belonging to the lackadaisical men resting in overly decadent armchairs smoking out of their kiserus.

Doyoung shuffles his way to the front desk, a younger woman manning it instead of the elderly woman from the night prior. “Can I help you?” Voice sullen sounding, or maybe tired, Doyoung still isn’t awake enough yet to dissect it fully.

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out the letter from Yuta with the name of the school, “I’m looking for this?”

The girl leans over the desk, it’s easy to tell the yukata she wears is inhibiting her from her full range of motion. Eyes reading the characters carefully, “Whoever wrote this has awful handwriting,” She mutters under her breath and Doyoung can’t understand it entirely. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk that way,” Hand raising to motion southward, “When you see the sweets shop you should turn right, and it will be a few buildings down on your right.”

A nod of his head as he thinks he caught most of her instruction. He takes the paper back and tucks it away, thanking her as he makes for the door. The heat greets him with a gentle breeze, an inkling of warmth as to what’s in store for later in the day. Doyoung looks to the sky, to see where the sun is positioned so he is able to gauge the direction he was supposed to go. He sets off, pace not brisk or lax, merely at a stride to absorb what’s around him. It’s still early in the morning, plenty of time before the school day begins to wander the streets for a bit.

The street’s crowded, thinning in places where it seems more residential than not, it reminds him of home. Different feel, different language but it has a strange nostalgic aura about it. A sweetness hitting his nose as he approaches a small wooden building, he can’t read what it is but by the smells emanating from it he supposes that it’s the sweet shop the girl at the hotel had told him to turn at. Head tilting to peer down the street, it looks like nothing of note. As he stands there, presumably looking more confused than the average local, he feels a finger gently tap on his shoulder, “Are you lost?”

The voice comes as a surprise, turning Doyoung on his heels to come face to face with a stranger. Eyes wide as he looks the boy over, “A little bit... I’m looking for,” reaching into his pockets as the other stops him.

“Are you Kim Doyoung?” It seems as if everyone here knew of him before he could introduce himself. Before he can speak, a nod of affirmation rattles through him and the other smiles, “Yuta said that we’d be getting a new student in today.” Hand outstretching, Doyoung’s a little more practiced with the greeting now, “My name’s Lee Minhyung, I can show you the way to the school if you want?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” He gives a brief smile before another nod of his head, “I’d really appreciate it.”

[1909.05.05. San Francisco, CA] If anything were to be your downfall, it would be that of your impatience. You’d been sitting down with John’s mother, a woman you likened to your own family when the one back home was too involved in her own business, when the news broke. She was kind, offered you tea and as always had the little tin of biscuits you loved when you were a child sitting atop the tea tray, and then graciously divulged to you that her son was currently under police custody in Tokyo when the last you’d heard he’d been in Seoul. It would explain the absence of letters, or inability to write. Upon questioning her further you realize that maybe he was in far greater a circumstance than he left you off thinking.

It isn’t a matter of asking your parents to ship you off to a foreign land, it’s a matter of when and how soon you can leave. The money sitting in the dank vault of your late grandmother’s account had laid in wait for some sort of use, and she had wanted you to use it to fulfill some sort of errant dream of yours after her passing. You couldn’t find it within yourself to touch it, seeing it as too prized and too treasured a thing to take away from for some frivolous means. But your grandmother had liked John, the late one on your father’s side and not the vile one from your mother’s. She had treated him kindly whenever he had stopped by, sometimes even saying that she had wished him her grandson more than the monsters that were your cousins. You think that is reason enough to pull from your funds and splurge on a rescue mission to Japan. There were several people you’d known that had been there before, detailing it as a curious place but had neglected to tell you why; you don’t think of the language or cultural barriers separating you until you’re standing on a pier in San Francisco, waiting for your ship to dock.

The brine of the sea had never settled well in your stomach, salty on your lips and your cheeks as the coastal winds torrent towards you. Your ship doesn’t leave for a while yet but the queasiness felt on the decks of other ships returns to the pit of your stomach with a ghostlike vengeance. Perhaps it is anxiousness that riddles you instead of the fear of the sea.

“Im-a-de-ga-wa Gai-ko-ku-jin Ni-hon-go Ga-kko” words falling from your lips in strange and oblong vowels and consonants that were almost completely incorrect. John had mentioned it in the letter to his mother, detailing that should she not hear from him for another month to contact the school and ask for the aid of a Mr. Yuta Nakamoto, a friend that he’d talked about in passing a few times. Apparently, he is a persuasive sort that would most definitely help him out should the occasion arise. Or so John had put it, you aren't really sure what to think of him.

John’s mother had insisted that it had been a mix up at customs but a bitter taste in your mouth and gut wrenching feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. He was a rebellious spirit and had probably said a few choice words that had gotten him in trouble, he had said his Japanese wasn’t great but he had learned a handful of colorful phrases from the aforementioned friend in University that could definitely be taken the wrong way by unknowing ears.

If the seas were steady and your luck good, maybe you can reach him within a month. If not, a week or so longer but you’re not sure if the anticipation of it all would let you, you might jump ship and hope to swim there faster should such a situation arise. Again, impatience being your downfall you can barely stand just watching the large metal steamship land at port and empty its passengers before you were to board.

The air is salty, the gentle spray of foam from the shore landing on your cheeks carefully as you look towards the ship that is to be your dwelling for the next portion of your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have come alone, taken a chaperone or a friend with you, but you were worried, too crunched for time to even entertain the thought as you packed your bags and told your mother you were taking the first train out of town. Your face still stings with the remembrance of the slap she’d given you in her frenzy, calling you something along the lines of a girl too thoughtless to know her role. By no means a heartfelt way to leave her, but your father had said to go, knowing a little more than your mother how much John means to you.

Your bags, brown leather and worn from the days when your father was still youthful enough to travel, lay at your feet as the thin paper ticket folds under your grasp. The chatter from the crowds around you mixing in with shouts of vendors and merchants lining the docks over the squalls of seagulls overhead. It’s all too much when your mind is racing with concern, not too much though to deter you from a gentle tapping on your shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” Deep voice causing you to turn on your heels and face the perpetrator. When you do, you’re greeted with your passport being held out to you and a dimpled smile to go along with a rather dashing face.

“Oh,” Eyebrows raised as you reach out to gingerly take your own booklet from the other, you hadn’t realized its absence since you had thought it stowed away in the depths of your handbag. “Thank you—?” A pause as you wait for an introduction.

“Jaehyun, or Jeffery, whichever is easiest for you,” he nods and then you offer your name before he speaks again. “It was really no problem,” he continues with a smile as he looks down to the bags at your feet, “Did you just get back or are you going somewhere?”

The innate curiosity of the stranger mildly perplexing, “I’m off to Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” his tone faltering as his hand drops down to his side after you begin stowing the passport back away in the small purse slung over your shoulder. “What business is taking you there?”

You pause as you think, it isn’t exactly family troubles or business matters that are taking you across the Pacific, stubbornness, and inability to take your friend for everything he said, more like it. “A friend settled there a little while ago,” a nod after a moment of silence, “it seems that he has gotten himself into a little trouble so I am going to make sure everything is alright.” Absentmindedly patting the bag as you can see the other mull it over in his head, “What about you? Are you heading in or out?”

“Out,” The answer is almost immediate, a shift on his feet as he straightens his posture. “I’m heading to Korea; I haven’t seen my family in almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” The most John had been gone was the three years he spent studying abroad; you can’t imagine someone gone from your life for that amount of time. “What were you here for?”

“I was staying with a group of missionaries as I went through college,” Hands in his pockets as he turns to the blue horizon overlooking the ocean you were both meant to traverse, “Now that I’ve graduated there’s nothing keeping me here.”

“What will you do when you’re-” you begin to speak when a loud whistle blares from the port your ship had saddled up to. Growing quiet as you begin to hear the general buzz of the people around you grow as they begin to shuffle towards the bridge that linked the port to the steamship. “I guess it’s time,” Reaching to pick up your bags, the leather against your palm somewhat soothing your nerves, “are you boarding too?”

A shake of his head, “My ship doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Ah,” the sound leaving your lips as the thought of, perhaps, having someone to accompany you on your journey was swiftly diminished. “Well,” A small smile gracing your lips, “It was nice to meet you, Jaehyun.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” smile returning, “Safe travels.”

“And to you,” You nod as you begin to walk towards the front port, looking down to your hand to make sure that your ticket is still in hand.

[1909.05.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都] “It’s not kūremashita it’s agemashita.” writing on a chalkboard, the dust from the small white stick clinging to the ends of Yuta’s jacket as he scrawls out the hiragana. “Unless you’re thankful that Doyoung’s parents give him money?” A smattering of laughter echoing the room as he tries to teach the handful of students how to show appreciativeness and the reporting of it to others. “Try one more time.” Doyoung sits back in his chair and looks at a pink-cheeked Jungwoo who leans over his notes in an attempt to reconcile his verbal mistake.

There’s another try from the dark-haired man, it sounds good enough to Doyoung but apparently, the structure of the sentence needs more tweaking, as seen by Yuta giving out a small sigh before walking to Jungwoo’s side. Doyoung takes this time to look around the small, confined classroom. It was in no means shabby, but one could tell this building wasn’t meant to be a school, Doyoung thinks Yuta told him that it had been some sort of distillery prior to the deed falling into his hands.

From eleven in the morning, when the sun slants in through the two glass windows of the classroom just enough to see the dust flying through the air, to noon is when Yuta teaches the native Korean speakers basic Japanese grammar and vocabulary. It’s only a handful of students; Minhyung, whom Doyoung had met on his first day, Jungwoo, who is somewhat timid but roaringly confident at times, Jeno, a kid on some sort of exchange trip who hopes to build up his language skills before his university classes start in the fall, and of course, Doyoung himself. It is an intimate learning experience, perhaps that’s why Doyoung now feels miles more confident in his speaking ability now than he did a month prior. Hell, he could now converse freely, albeit somewhat confined in his topics, to the front desk woman at the hotel he still resided at.

There’s a knock at the classroom door, pulling the attention from the room’s occupants away from their work and now to the dark wooden door that leads out into the small foyer where the next group of students is presumably waiting for their lecture. “The next class doesn’t start until noon,” Yuta looks to the clock placed atop his desk, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The door opens with a small creak, shadows from the entranceway spilling in as Doyoung catches a familiar face standing there to greet the class. “I was actually hoping to sit in?” A voice Doyoung hadn’t heard since his university days accompanied the creak of floorboards underfoot as Youngho strides into the room. “I think my Japanese is a little rusty.”

A small laugh from Yuta as he recognizes his friend, “There’s the jailrat.” Yuta returns to the front of the room to stand in front of the taller, no doubt feeling the confused gazes of the students behind him staring past him and to the stranger. “I’m surprised they let you out that early.”

“You know I’m persuasive,” Smile lingering on his lips as his head turns and he catches sight of Doyoung looking at him quizzically. He is still caught up on the word jailrat and the connotation behind it, when had Youngho been incarcerated?

“Well,” Yuta turns on his heels to address the class, “Why don’t we end early today?”

Minhyung’s already leaned over his desk to get Jeno’s attention, Doyoung thinks he hears him say something about grabbing lunch at the nearby market, but his interest is far too deterred to be paying full attention to the younger men. The class packs their bags, Doyoung taking the longest time of all as he tucks away his books into his makeshift bag. In all earnest it was a bag he’d borrowed from the reception at the hotel, he’d neglected to bring or buy a suitable bag for school when he left home and arrived in Japan. The worn canvas of the thing almost wearing through at the bottom, he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way towards Youngho and Yuta, who look to be in deep conversation.

Youngho spots Doyoung approaching in his periphery, turning to greet him with a jovial smile. “I see you made it here in one piece?” His eyes looked tired, his face gaunter than the last time he’d seen his elder, but he wasn’t going to question, it was neither the time nor the place.

“Mostly,” Doyoung replies, “Yuta’s been a great teacher.”

“Thanks for the ego boost,” Yuta’s fingers dance on the lapels of his jacket in mock vanity, only then moving into his jacket pocket for a lighter and his infamous pack of Chūyū cigarettes. He offers one to Youngho and then to Doyoung, to which they accept, pulling their own lighters out of their pockets and lighting the butts of the sticks.

“God, these are shit,” a grit through Youngho’s teeth after he pulls in a drag. “They confiscated my Lucky Strike back in Tokyo.” Doyoung’s brow furrows as the other begins to speak again, “Let me know when you’ve got a free night. I’d love to grab dinner and catch up; it’s been a while.”

“I should have time this Saturday?” Doyoung thinks of his schedule, it’s not that he had massive time commitments here, but he was making a point to travel around the city in his free time. “If that works for you, of course.”

“It sounds doable,” A nod as Youngho moves his hand to tap his cigarette against an ashtray atop Yuta’s desk, the wood around the tray stained with the ashes of past smoking ventures. “Are you still staying at that hotel I told you about?”

Doyoung shifts on his feet, “I am, are you staying there too?”

“Yuta has offered me residence in his home until he is sick of me,” Youngho nods to the aforementioned, “I can meet you in the lobby around five then?”

“Sounds good,” Doyoung agrees, looking at the clock hanging on the wall, “I think Jungwoo wanted to go over the homework together so I should go and help him out.” It’s something of an excuse but Doyoung could feel as if there was some sort of pregnant secret looming over the heads of the other two.

“Would you mind sending Sicheng and the others in?” Yuta asks as Doyoung snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and makes his way to the door.

Metal knob in hand, Doyoung turns and gives him a brief nod, “Of course.”

There’s something that doesn't sit right with Doyoung. Youngho had noted that he’d planned on staying in Hanseong for a while in the letter he’d sent to Doyoung a few weeks ago. It’s not as if plans can’t change or anything of the sort, yet he’d seemed vehement about it, detailing something about a someone he was going to visit before heading home to America. He isn’t one to question where questions aren’t due, if his friend was to stay in Kyoto for the time being, he’d be nothing more than appreciative of having a familiar face around.

[1909.05.18. 今出川ホテル、京都] When Doyoung ascends the staircase, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he can immediately tell that Youngho sits in one of the large armchairs by the hotel’s unused fireplace in the lobby. Although his face is obscured by the wings, with the way his hand taps in rhythm with the song wafting through the air, the excitedness of the movements are a telling sign that it is his friend.

A glance to the victrola that lies in the corner of the room, the audio scratchy and soft as it emits a tune that Doyoung does not know. He strides over to the plush chair, glancing down to its occupant before speaking.

“Good afternoon,” the words escape him and Youngho turns to him with a jump and widened eyes before he realizes who it is.

“Dongyoung!” Youngho smiles from the armchair, rising to his feet to greet the other with a quick embrace, “Long time no see.”

“Actually I go by Doyoung now,” he nods awkwardly as Youngho steps back from him, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head, “helps me forget myself for a bit.”

“Still having family issues?” Youngho’s brow furrows as they break their embrace, “I thought you wrote that you had sorted that mess out?”

“More or less,” another awkward smile, “But enough about me— I thought you were supposed to be in Hanseong?”

“Change of plans, there was someone I was meant to meet in Tokyo, but they left during the time while I was imprisoned.”

“Yuta mentioned something like that when you first came in, what happened?” Youngho’s holds out his hand, motioning to the door, as Doyoung questions. The latter begins to walk forward, towards the entrance of the hotel as his friend trails behind him, “Were you really taken into custody?”

“They thought I had ties with Homer Hulbert,” A laugh as the two make their way out the front door, trapezing down the steps and onto the sidewalk, “Which is correct, but they had no grounds to imprison me on the idea that I know him alone or had one of his books in my possession.”

“Hulbert— is he the one that—?”

“The very same,” he nods, “But that is more than contrived at this point, let me know how you are. It sounds like things are the same with your family the last I saw you.”

“If things were okay then I would have stayed home,” A huff of heated breath leaving him in something of a passive laugh. “My father is still trying to set me up with that girl, the past runs deep, I suppose.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Youngho agrees with a nod, “Have you even met her yet?”

“The last time I saw Seungwon was when I was thirteen, even if I saw her I cannot say I could point her out in a crowd if you asked me to.” Doyoung's hands find purchase in his pocket, hidden away from the sunlight that falls onto his head and burns the back of his neck as Youngho and he walk further down the street, through the masses of people.

The older nods solemnly, almost as if he understands the situation, "I have a friend who's nearly in a similar situation as you. Although her parents haven't found her a match or approved of anyone she's liked, I'd say her feelings mirror your own."

"Is that right?" Doyoung questions rhetorically as Youngho digs through his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes, "Is that the girl who you spoke so much about during our classes together?"

Youngho sputters, his hands failing to ignite his lighter at Doyoung's words, a cigarette dangling from his lips, "Did I really talk about her that much?"

"So much so I feel like I know her," Doyoung smiles and shakes his head, a familiar pang hitting his stomach once he looks back to the street before them. "Do you want to grab something to eat? I don't think I've eaten since lunchtime yesterday."

"Too busy studying?"

"Something like that..." In actuality, he'd received yet another telegram, this time from his mother, scolding him for staying away again.

"You always were more studious than me," the other nods and looks to a small restaurant they begin to pass on their left before stopping in his tracks, "What about this place?"

"Soba?" The intensity of the sun once again baring down above him as he looks to the sign on the door, he nods quickly, "Sounds great."

The pair make their way inside, settling down at a small table in the back corner of the shop as they wait for their food to arrive. Doyoung moves his hand to unbutton a few fastens from the front of his jacket to allow some of the shop's cooler air to hit him. His hands then move to rest atop the table, his long and slender fingers tapping as Youngho smokes the last of his cigarette, snubbing it out on the ashtray settled at the end of the table.

"How's your family doing? Is your father's business going well? I saw a few copies when I was in Hanseong.” Lackadaisical in question, Doyoung can hear something edging behind his friend’s tone that tinges upon suspicion.

“It’s going well,” a silent nod as a server comes to their table, the two order quickly, leaving little room for questions before Doyoung asks, “What about your family?”

“Willfully ignorant as ever,” Youngho frowns, shifting in his seat. It looks as if bitter words reside on his tongue but he swallows them down with a redemption of a smile.

“About what?” Doyoung pauses as he reaches for the pot of tea the server had brought on her arrival, his hand hovering over the handle.

“Everything.” Youngho’s shoulders shrug as Doyoung eventually pours himself and his friend a cup of tea. “Korean politics, American politics, hell- even the politics of their own inner circle. I refuse to believe they aren’t intelligent, they refuse to accept anything that isn’t affecting them personally.”

“I see…” He winds off his acknowledgement with the abating of his words, woefully aware that his parents are of the same mindset. His own father being the worst of all of them, claiming that any interaction or deals with unsavory business men were for the benefit of the family, not to the detriment.

“My father’s own brother died in ‘07 and he seemed unfazed by it at all,” Youngho huffs out, “At the hands of the Imperial Army, and yet, still, he said nothing.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen and he raises a finger to his lips as if to tell the older to lower his voice, unknowing if anyone within the shop understands Korean. “Even if he did, there would be nothing your father could have done about it. Not only is he in America, he holds no authority in Joseon.”

“No one wanting to do a damn holds any authority in Joseon anymore, you know better than me what the yangban have gone through, what everyone’s gone through.” Youngho leans in closer to Doyoung, ceding as he lowers his tone, “It may be easier said than done but I believe we have the ability to change that.”

“How would-” Doyoung begins but is interrupted when the server comes back with their food, carefully setting each dish atop the table before retreating back into the depths of the kitchen. “How could ‘we’ possibly do that?”

“There are ways, I know there are. I just need time to think of a proper solution,” Youngho nods as he reaches for his chopsticks, eager to sate his own hunger that had risen during their conversation. “If you’re interested I’ll tell you more when I have an idea.”

[1909.05.27. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都] Doyoung’s mind doesn't return to that conversation with Youngho until a Wednesday afternoon about a week later. The sun begins to sink down in the sky as Youngho, Minhyung and himself were cleaning off some blackboard tablets in the main room of the school. Yuta was busy teaching a class and Doyoung’s fingers were pruned from what felt like endless scrubbing with a rag and vinegar ridden water.

“You know,” Youngho speaks up after what feels like an eternity of silence, brushing his hands on his pants after setting down a board onto the floor below. “I think we can really change something here.” His shoes quickly tapping on the floor in some sort of anxious apprehension, “Yuta and I have been talking and the resistance effort in Korea seems to be strengthening again.”

“What are you implying?” Doyoung asks, confused at the sudden statement. His brow wet with perspiration, even having the windows cracked open doesn't allow for much wind to travel throughout the building.

“I am saying that we can try and do something to change the… trouble happening back home,” Youngho shows no anger but a passion resides in his voice that remains hard to mask. “Do something before something more is done to us.”

“That is…” Minhyung begins, looking up to Youngho from his task of drying off the boards.

“Idealistic?” Doyoung interjects, biting his lower lip before continuing, “Youngho you do realize if someone hears you talking about that you’ll get thrown in prison again?”

Eyes trailing around the space as if he hadn’t already known they were alone, “Every one of us are sitting ducks. You know that,” a point to Minhyung and then a point to Doyoung, “and you know that. Is fighting back against that such a bad thing?”

“How do you propose we do that? Drop everything now, hop on a ship back to Korea and just roam the countryside looking for this supposed group?” Blood rushing to his ears as it sounds like waves crashing on a beach’s shore.

“Not at all,” A shake of his head. “There are ways of resisting that do not rely on fighting, think peaceful, diplomatic.”

A nervous laugh escapes Doyoung, it’s involuntary but he can’t help it. “Suh Youngho I knew you were insane, but this is another level.”

“I— uh— I’m going to get some chalk refills from the storage room,” Minhyung excuses himself from the conversation, a glance at him as he walks away tells Doyoung that he doesn’t know how to interact with the situation and was looking for an easy escape.

“Doyoung if you would just listen to me and get that stupid doubt out of your head you might just be able to make some sense of it all.” A sigh from Youngho as he stands, reaching into his jacket to rummage around for a pack of cigarettes. “Can I bum one off of you?”

Cheek bitten as he grabs his pack out of his pocket and tosses it to the other, “Do you have any idea what they would do to my family if they knew we were having this conversation? Your family and Minhyung’s are across the world and have no worries about what they say or do. The other student’s and mine are not privileged with that.” Cigarette carton tossed back, the sound of a lighter igniting and the smell of smoke pervading through the air as he tucks the pack away into his pocket.

Youngho thinks, an exhalation of smoke through troubled lungs as his outward breath intermingles with the dust thick in the air. It dissipates without a sound, quietly invading the space as Doyoung is overcome with a sense of trepidation from the other, he picks his words meticulously, trying to string them together as carefully as possible, “This is not just about you or me or my family or yours. It is the fate of a nation on the line, is that so hard to understand?”

It causes the younger pause for a moment, his hand falling to his pocket, hovering there before he pulls on the fabric as if he’d meant to straighten the coat all along. His throat clears, thinking of his parents and brother he’d left behind in Guri, what any actions that Youngho’s ideals cause may entail for them. Even if he was trying to get away from his obligations back home, he’d never want to intentionally put them in any sort of danger.

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, before catching a bright glimpse of color passing by one of the front windows, followed by the school door opening with a large slam against the wall. Silhouette standing in the setting sun for a moment, not looking at all familiar to Doyoung. An equally confusing circumstance when the words, “John Suh,” spill from your lips. It’s a confounded expression that crosses your face, standing in the front door of the school as the taller leans leisurely back against one of the walls.

Cigarette in hand, Youngho turns at the call of his name, nearly falling over in surprise to see you standing there. No, not surprise- bewilderment, shock or some form of abject horror as you take a few long strides to stand in front of him. It’s as if a child’s been caught by his mother and Doyoung is playing witness to it all.

Doyoung watches the scene in a state likened to childlike curiosity, he understands not one word that falls from either of your or Youngho’s lips, but he can tell you’re angry and him beyond apologetic. Hand movements gesticulating, he catches the words ‘Seoul’ and ‘Tokyo’ at some point as you huff something out under your breath. Voices raising, Doyoung’s surprised Yuta hasn’t come out to tell them to be quiet, but if he were in Yuta’s shoes he wouldn’t as you sounded royally pissed. When you turn on your heels Doyoung looks to Youngho for some sort of explanation, but his gaze is solely locked on you leaving.

“Shouldn’t you chase after her?” Minhyung asks, the two others not realizing he had returned, box of chalk in hand as the three men watch you storm out into the crowded streets.

“She needs to calm down before I talk to her again or she might really kill me.” Youngho sighs, bringing the cigarette to his lips before taking in a long drag. A hand runs through his hair as it looks as if all of the blood had drained from his face upon your arrival.

“Is that the friend you mentioned a while ago? You showed us a picture I think.” Doyoung questions, somewhat relieved at your intrusion into their previous conversation.

“It is,” the answer not coming from Youngho, but from Minhyung. “And by the sound of it she’s ready to pack you into her suitcase and take you on the next boat home.” Head nodding as he looks to the space you once occupied, “You really didn’t tell her you were coming here?”

“You understood that?” Smoke leaving him he turns to the younger, “You didn’t tell me you speak English.”

“It never really came up.” Shoulders shrugging as he sets the box of chalk he’d been fiddling with down onto a nearby chair. “And I am from Canada, after all.”

“Son of a bitch, Yuta told me you were from Hanseong.” Youngho muses, tossing the cigarette from his hand and smothering it with his shoe. “But yeah, that’s her. I may have neglected to mention that but I was a little held up,” he looks confused as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to the door, peering out in the street. “I just don’t know how in the hell she found me.”

“She probably used the wrath of God to do it,” Minhyung suggests, “That’s how my mom says she knows everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” A shake of his head as Youngho turns to Doyoung. “She said she’s staying at the hotel you’re in. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow morning in the lobby to talk some sense into her and get her to go back home?”

“I don’t even know her though?” Hands dried on a nearby towel, Doyoung stands and reaches for the bucket of now dirty water. He walks past Youngho and into the street to dump its contents out, “I don’t even speak that much English.”

“It’s more of moral support than anything,” Youngho steps aside to let Doyoung back in, “I wasn’t joking: she might actually kill me if she gets the chance.”

“Fine,” Doyoung sighs, walking to pick up his bag from the corner of the room. His hands smell of vinegar and he rubs his still pruned fingertips together as he thinks of what the next morning would hold. “You owe me, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Youngho breathes a sigh of relief as Doyoung makes his way to the front door once again, this time with the intent of leaving. “Nine work for you?”

“Nine works for me.” A nod as he walks down the two steps and onto the dirt road below, the indentations from your shoes leading off down the almost empty road. He glances back to Youngho with a, “See you tomorrow,” and then to Minhyung with a question of “Do we have a quiz on Friday?” before waving it off and beginning his trek back home.

The night descends on Kyoto quietly and without noise, the stores closing long after the sun has fallen behind the western mountains in Arashiyama, lanterns aligning the street as Doyoung shuffles his way to the hotel. It’s quiet, the city typically is at this time of night, he’s learned over the course of his stay in the ancient former capital.

Before he goes inside, he stands outside of the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he stares up at the night sky blooming with stars. His bag lays at his feet, more worn now than it had been on the first day of class. Crumpled in his fists, buried away into the depths of his coat lies a letter, the ink that had adorned it far too smudged and water damaged to read now. Doyoung hadn’t meant to ‘accidentally’ drop it into a puddle when it had arrived that morning, so the contents lie unknown. However, on the corner of the envelope, a blurred name, ‘Seungwon’ stays virtually untouched as if to remind him of former obligations.

It’s as if there’s a clock ticking in his chest, counting down to a day, a time, when he’s meant to take up the holstered responsibility of his family and place it onto his own shoulders. A burden not yet ready to bear, he sighs out into the balmy night and makes his way inside of the hotel.

[1909.05.27. 今出川、京都] Doyoung wakes to the knocking on his door, his head burrowing into the tangled blankets and pillows from a restless night’s sleep. It takes a moment for him to find himself, writhing around the sheets before pulling himself out of his own stupor. Feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, he drags his lethargic body to the small bathroom, running his hands under the cool water of the faucet before splashing some onto his face to wake himself further. He meets his own gaze in the reflection, tired eyes and the slightest shadow of stubble beginning to darken on his jaw and upper lip. He’d have to visit the barber at some point in the coming days before he becomes totally unkempt.

He dresses himself in casual attire, a white linen button up, the most breathable thing he’d wear today, before he dons the dark blue of his three piece suit, a light gray and black one still residing in his wardrobe. He notices the threadings are nearly worn as he buttons the bottom half of his jacket, the things threatening to fall off should he exert too much force. The soles of his shoes too lie in disarray, wearing thin from endless wandering the streets of Kyoto after his classes have finished. It’s not that he’s searching for anything in particular, maybe a solution to his current situation. But he can’t find that at a merchant’s stall.

The route to the dining hall located on the first floor is a path easily tread, remembered in his first few days of arriving in Kyoto. The carpeted floors giving way to a wooden expanse the further he delves into the hotel, the scents of varying breakfast foods calling out to his aching stomach.

His hands keep busy with the morning paper, perhaps yesterday’s or the day prior to that one. It takes a while for the Korean post to arrive in Kyoto, the postage system seems to take years for important things to arrive, yet the letters from home seem to be weekly. A sigh as he sets down the news, reaching out for the carafe of coffee situated some ways away from where he’s seated. He begins to pour himself a cup of coffee, only pausing when he catches something out the corner of his eye.

A few darkened drips from the coffee pot settle into the white linen of the dining room tablecloth as he spots you stalking towards him. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches when your gaze narrows on him, almost causing him to choke on coffee he’d just brought to his lips.

The way you saunter over to his table reminds him of his mother when she’d be out to scold either him or his brother. Doyoung doesn’t know you but can easily tell that you’re not a force to be reckoned with.

“Where’s John?” You ask, standing before him, arms crossing over your chest as you look down at him expectantly. “You were one of the men with him yesterday, right?”

“What?” Doyoung asks, trying to make some sense of what you were saying. When he was a young boy, his parents had allowed him to take English lessons with a handful of the Christian missionaries that had drifted through Guri, but seeing as he understands nothing of what you just said, it’s obvious he hadn’t retained much, if any, of his vocabulary. “What are you looking for?” He sees no glimmer of understanding in your eyes as your brow furrows, probably trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Youngho? Are you looking for Youngho?” It’s the common connection the two of you seem to have, it’s his best bet on trying to figure out what you want.

You nod at the name, recalling that his mother shouts that at him whenever he’s angry. “Where is he?” If you’d taken up John on any of his invitational Korean lessons, you may have had much better luck in this situation. But you’d gone off to learn French because you were enamored with one of your classmates at the time, you could almost hit yourself seeing where it’s gotten you.

“Whe-” Doyoung pauses, lips pursing together as he thinks of the word. Youngho was meant to be in the lobby when she came downstairs, but it’s now clear he’s nowhere to be found.

“School.” It’s one of the words he can pull from memory. “He’s probably at the school,” he says again and gestures in the general direction of Yuta’s academy.

“The school- Imadegawa Gaikokujin Nihongo Gakko?” You’ve said the name of the institute hundreds of times to yourself that you think it’s the only Japanese you know. Not that you fully understand what it means, just knowing that it’s the name of the place.

Doyoung nods, somewhat surprised that you know the name.

“Can you take me?” The question falls out quickly and you see he’s confused, so you repeat it again slowly in hopes that he comprehends it. It seems that he does, reaching for his coffee and finishing the cup before rising to his feet, motioning for you to follow him as he heads towards the exit.

The walk to the school is painfully awkward, drenched in a silence that neither of you want to address. Both of you are not confident enough in the other’s mother tongue to make small talk as the two of you begin to walk the streets.

“Hey!” Doyoung hears Minhyung call out as the schoolhouse nears, “Took you long enough, you’re almost late.” When the younger sees that you’re accompanying him he gives you a small wave, “You’re Youngho’s friend, right?”

“I am,” You say after a moment, not having expected to hear English today. But with the company that John keeps, you can’t be too surprised at anything now. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, he’s not here yet,” he shakes his head and turns to Doyoung, “Didn’t Youngho say that you’d meet him at the hotel?”

“He did,” Doyoung’s lips curve into a frown as the three of you make your way into the school. “She’s been interrogating me about him, I think. Although I can barely understand what she’s saying.”

Minhyung laughs at the older and then turns back to you, “My name’s Minhyung, but you can call me Mark if that’s easier for you.” His demeanor has a lightness to it that descends onto you as something of a godsend. It’s an ease that you’d probably find with John if he were here and you aren't still angry at him.

“It’s nice to meet you Minhyung,” you offer him a smile before your eyes go wide and you turn to your partner, “I uhm, I never asked him what his name is.”

“Doyoung,” Minhyung answers, another chortle leaving him and the elder looks confused as to why his name’s just been called out. “What’s your name?”

You respond quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if John is on his way in, to your misfortune, he isn’t. Minhyung quickly introduces you to Doyoung, probably so he has a gist of who you are. It’s hard to tell if John’s said anything about you to these men, but it doesn’t look as if he’s said much.

“We’ve got class soon,” Minhyung’s voice pulls you from your search and you turn back to him, “I’m sure Yuta would let you sit in on the class if you wanted to, although I’m not too sure that you’ll understand much, I don’t even get all of it.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head at him, “I’ll just wait out here for Joh- Youngho.”

The man in question strolls into the school around thirty minutes later, the local paper tucked under his arm as his brow raises in surprise to see you, “I thought I said I’d meet you at the hotel.”

“I got impatient,” a frown as your gaze flickers over to him. “Jail John? Jail?” You fume, storming over to the taller, “Do you have any idea how worried I was, how worried your mother was? God- If you don’t write to her today and tell her that you’re okay, I'm stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you back with me.”

He laughs heartily, despite you glaring him down, “I wrote to her as soon as I got out. I wrote to you, too, but it doesn’t seem like you got the message.” A few more chuckles escape him as he holds his arms out, “I missed you.”

You sigh, falling into his embrace, “I missed you too.” After a moment you pull away, stepping back from him, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but if you ever do something like this again-”

“I’ve missed your hollow threats,” John smiles and glances around the school’s empty halls, “Do you want to get out of here for a while? I know a good cafe nearby.”

“Don’t you have class?” You question with a tilt of your head, the gentle murmurs from the classroom some ways away drifting out into the hall. “Minhyung said that Doyoung was already late, I wouldn’t want to stop you from your lesson.”

“I’m not a student,” John shakes his head, “I’m just… in town for a while and Yuta’s putting up with me for a bit.” He flashes you a grin before you have a chance to ask him exactly what he means by that, “Now come on before they run out.”

The two of you walk out into the dense heat of August, passing by a group of students as you do so. John recognizes some of them whereas you don’t, him saying something to them that elicits a laugh or two before you’re both back on your way to the city center.

“Why were you arrested?” You can’t stop yourself from asking the question as you turn onto the main road from the alley in which the school is situated. There are only a handful of people perusing the streets, but none look interested in what you’d just said. “It wasn’t serious, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures you and looks to a few buildings ahead, “We’re almost there.” John walks in silence for a moment, his fingers rubbing against his palm as he looks back to you, “I lost my passport, can you believe it?” You recall when you were leaving San Francisco and you had lost your own passport, if it hadn’t been for the man that found it for you, you’re not sure where you’d be.

“Well, actually, I didn’t lose it, it fell between the pages of one of the books that I bought, which reminds me- I have a few for you, I wrote you about them, just remember to tell me to give them to you,” John says quickly as you approach the building he’d been eyeing earlier, walking into the opened door confidently and heading to the nearest open table.

You can tell he’s lying. You’ve only known him since you were children and he’s the closest person to you, you know almost every little quirk about him. And one of the first things you’d learned was that he talks quickly when he’s not being truthful. Yet, you don’t question him on it, seeing as you’d just calmed the tension between you, you don’t want to ignite it for the second time today. So, you just nod and follow him inside.

More oft than not, you hide your feelings behind a veneer of snark, of a bite that seems to sting but never lasts. It’s a sham way to hold yourself together, for if you let the dread of reality seep into your veins any longer than you allow it, you may just become the person you’re trying to hide. A vulnerable being who longs for the company of others but finds errant ways to keep them close instead of just outright saying it.

John offers out a seat to you and you sit, hands folding neatly atop the tabletop as you look to the menu scrawled onto a chalkboard near the cafe’s counter. You’re not sure why you do, the mix of Japanese alphabets is still foreign to you.

“I’ll go grab something, just wait here,” he says, noticing your confusion, still standing before he turns on his heels and strides over to the counter. You turn away before he begins to speak to the barista, looking out of the glass window at the front of the shop,

“How long were you planning on staying in Japan?” John’s voice stirs you some time later, the gentle sound of two cups being placed on the table making you turn in his direction as he sits down across from you.

“As long as it took me to find you.” You smile at him, reaching out for the small cup, “I guess that means I can pack my bags and leave now.” The smile placated on your lips is joking, but you hold a sincerity in your gaze as if to ask him if that’s what you should do next. He was the entire reason you were here, to find him, to make sure that he was okay and to bring him home if you could.

John’s finger traces the rim of his own coffee cup, gently lifting after a moment to tap along the surface of the tabletop. He hums, low and obstinate, as if to ponder the significance of you being here.

“I guess you could,” a slow nod of his head, “You know, you were never obligated to chase me half-way across the world to try and get me back home. I’ve been detained before-”

“You have?” eyes widening as you look from your coffee to meet his eyes, “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“I’ve been detained before but,” he continues, gaze hardening at you as you interrupt him, “I really thought I had lost my papers so I sent my mom a letter saying I may need my official documents back home to get me out of the mess I found myself in. This was a little more serious than the others.”

“What happened the other times?”

“Well, in London they stopped me for taking too much tea out of the country, I guess they thought I’d run them dry of it,” a teasing smile twinges on the corners of his lips, “and in Cairo, I tried to sneak off with a few things from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You know,” you lean back in your chair, a snide frown on your lips, “lying less might help you out in the future.”

John laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket to procure his pack of smokes, it isn’t until he’s got a lit cigarette dangling from his lips that he speaks again, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He suddenly gasps, the smoke he’d been inhaling filtering into his lungs and causing him to sputter for a moment. You reach for and hand him his cup of coffee so he doesn’t choke on himself. After a moment of hitting his chest and extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray on the corner of the table, he speaks up, “You didn’t use your grandmother’s money to get you here, did you?”

“Well, technically it isn’t hers anymore,” a guilty exhalation of a chuckle, “but yes, I did.”

“Oh,” He’s crestfallen in the most faux of ways, “You said you’d take me to Italy with that.” It’s a joke, but you can see his concern wavering behind the sincerity of his words.

Your hand falls to run over the textured brocades of your dress, a wavering smile delicately tugging at the corners of your lips, “I was just worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” brow softening as he reaches for his coffee, voice still a bit hoarse from his earlier choking. “But you don’t need to throw everything you have away for me, I know the trip probably wasn’t cheap.”

John’s not wrong. It had taken quite a large portion from your deceased grandmother’s account to get you here, and the subsequent stay in the country.

“I had to make sure you were okay,” you shrug your shoulders with a coy smile, reaching out to pick up your teacup and bring it to your lips. It’s then you realize something, setting the cup back down and looking around the shop, eyes wide.

“What is it?” John questions, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“I haven’t ever been abroad before, I thought maybe I’d travel to Paris or London, Milan, even… Never…” A small hum as you turn to look back at him, “Never to Kyoto.”

“I’d have loved for you to see Seoul,” John smiles softly, his fingers tapping along the sides of the cup, “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“You make it sound as if it’s impossible to go,” a tilt of your head. John had told you stories from his time studying abroad, of the antics he and his friends would get up to and of the history he’d learned.

“It would be a little difficult to go back right now,” the smile lingering on his lips looks sad now, almost wistful in a way, “I’m sure we could go in the future if you want to.”

“I’d love to,” you nod, glancing out of the window once more to watch the passersby walk up and down the crowded street.

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #doyoung fluff #doyoung angst #nct fluff #nct angst #13k for a teaser if that's any indication on how absolutely massive this'll be

41 notes · View notes

dany-is-my-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Born To Be Yours | Part VI

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word count: 1,993

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

The Hound was fighting an unarmed opponent atop the Walls of the Red Keep during a tourney to celebrate your brother’s nameday. He knocked his shield away and the man fell hard into the courtyard below.

You were seated next to Myrcella, Sansa was on the opposite edge, faking smiles to keep the King pleased. You grew closer and closer with each day that passes, so as your feelings.

“Well struck, Dog!” He said out loud.

“Did you like that?” He turned to Sansa. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a well struck, your grace.” She replied.

“I already said it was a well struck.”

She waited a few seconds to confirm. “Yes, your grace.”

“Who’s next?”

“Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard.” The announcer exclaimed. The last one didn’t appear to be in his five senses. Joffrey gestured him to have more wine, Ser Meryn Trant and another Kingsguard began to pour the liquid down the funnel and the poor knight gurgled and struggled to continue drinking.

“You can’t!” Sansa suddenly shouted before the man collapsed.

“What did you say? Did you say I can’t?”

“I only meant... it would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day.”

“What kind of stupid peasant’s superstition...”

“The girl is right.” Sandor tossed.

“Yes, she is. You’ll reap what you sow on your nameday.” You added.

“He’ll make such a better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” How kind of the northerner to save the life of someone she doesn’t even know. Those small actions make you admire her.

“Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From now on you’ll be my new fool!”

“Thank you, your grace. And you, my lady, thank you.” They took him away.

“Beloved nephew.” Your uncle’s voice made you instantly smile. He was accompanied by multiple men.

“We’ve looked for you on the battlefield. Joffrey sat down. “You where nowhere to be found.”

“I was here, ruling the Kingdoms.” You almost sneer.

“What a fine job you’ve done.” He jokingly said.

“My dear niece! You look older and prettier.” He kissed your forehead. You grinned.

“You look younger and more handsome” He winked.

“Look at you!” He smiled at your sister. “More beautiful than ever.”

“And you! You are going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking.” The three of you laughed.

“We’ve heard you were dead.” Joffrey unconcernedly said.

“I’m glad you are not dead.” The little princess assured.

“We’ve missed you. We have to catch up.” He nodded towards you.

“And we will. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world.” He looked at Sansa. “My lady, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor!” The blond angrily screamed.

“But still her father. Surely having recently lost your own you can sympathize.” Not his, but yours. You closed your eyes before the grief took over you.

“My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.” All she can do is pretend and say the right words. The loathe she had for him was only getting bigger.

“Of course you are.” Tyrion smirked sympathetically. The redhead looked your way and you gave her a sweet smile.

He left the tent with his group of people ignoring the King’s questions. It’s so good to have your favorite uncle back. You were still concerned about Jaime. Will the Starks trade him for Sansa? It was sure that Robb was not going to come to the capital. Arya was still missing.

You wanted her to be reunited with her family. The other part of you was shattering at the thought of her leaving. If there was an opportunity you would definitely support her, after all, what mattered to you was her safety and happiness, you tried to provide both but nothing can really fill that hole. Not with Joffrey tormenting her. You would be sad but relieved if she left, you couldn’t be selfish.

“Walk with me, my lady.” You offered your arm to Sansa what she gladly accepted.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to steal you.” You quipped and saw she blushed a little. “Would you fancy visiting the streets of the city?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” Two soldiers were accompanying you keeping their distance.

“I remember when I used to wander around the castle in Winterfell. They were all warm to each other.” She seemed to recalled.

“The people who live here... some are happy and some are not. They don’t have enough resources to subsist. They manage to survive.” You gave silver and gold coins to the elder and children who roamed.

“My mother used to tell me... humility makes people great. Envy and selfishness makes them small.”

“And she’s right.” You halted in the market. Spotting the tent you usually go to. They make beautiful things. Such as purses, necklaces, bracelets, etc. They are not made of the finest materials but they are nice and these merchants work really hard.

“Princess Y/N! You honor me with your presence.” The black-haired woman said, a friend of yours.

“Hello, Addy. What did you bring today?

“I have these pins. And the two lions you have it made.” She showed you the wood pieces with flawless details.

“Do you like them, Sansa? Choose the ones you want”

“For my siblings and my mother.” She picked five wolf brooches.

“Thank you very much. Say hello to little Cass. And remember, anything she or the other kids on the orphanage need, tell me.” Addy nodded with gratitude and bowed.

“It’s very generous what you do for them. You are truly an angel.” The lady smiled warmly.

“I know being in the Red Keep can be suffocating. I’ll get you out of there anytime I get the chance.”

“You are my hero.” You part ways once you entered the big castle. You headed to your uncle’s new room.

“The Hand of the King... I didn’t see that coming.” He waved at you.

“Me neither, sweet niece. It’s so good to see you! How is everything in here? I just had a meeting with the council. The summer is over. Your mother was quite angry with the fact I’m the Hand in my father’s stead. She brought this on herself. The North has risen up against us when your moron brother called for Ned Stark’s head.”

“I tried to stop him. It was useless. He thinks he owns the world now, he is not ruling cautiously, I fear for my siblings life, for everyone’s life.”

“Luckily I’m here to supervise his moves. Advise him. Save the city. Not as easy as it sounds I’m afraid.”

“Did you stayed out of trouble?” You asked him well knowing the answer.

“Well... I pissed out in the edge of the Wall. I slept in a sky cell. Lady Arryn almost sentenced me to die. I fought with the hill tributes. So many adventures.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh I see, that must have been a lot of fun.” Both of you laughed.

“You can’t imagine.”

It has been an unsteady week. Being with little Tommen and Myrcella has been a distraction from the incoming war you’re dealing with. Renly and Stannis proclaimed themselves Kings. You like to be up to date, so you talk with your mother about these matters.

“My uncles... they’re going to get here anytime soon. We have to be prepared.”

“They have no claim. Let them try. We’ll kick them off the moment they set foot on the shores.” Cersei declared dryly.

“I’ve heard some... disturbing rumors about-“

“You believe them?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just curious.” You shrugged.

“Everyone’s intention is to tear our family apart. Destroy us from within. This gossip is just feeding those who don’t want your brother on the throne.” And you said nothing more.

“You’re losing the people, do you hear me?” Tyrion tried to make her listen.

“The people, you think I care?”

“You should.” You told her, annoyed by her apathy.

“Yes. You might find it difficult to rule over millions who want you dead. Half the city will starve when winter comes. The other half will plot to overthrow you. And your gold-plated thugs just gave them the rallying cry, “The Queen Slaughter babies.” She remained silent. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it.” You scowled. “It wasn’t you who gave the order, was it? Joffrey didn’t even tell you. Or did he? I imagine that would be even worse.” Your uncle growled.

“He did what needed to be done!”

“No. They were innocent. What’s wrong with you? What kind of King is he becoming? You objected.

“You don’t even know who they were, Y/N. This is what ruling is! Lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep.”

“I’m no king, but I think there’s more ruling than that.”

“You’ve never taken it seriously. It’s all fallen on me.”

“As has Jaime repeatedly. According to Stannis Baratheon.” You averted your eyes.

“How dare you say that kind of filthy lies in front of my daughter!” The Queen Regent gave him a withering look. “You’ve always been funny. But none of your jokes will ever match the first one, will they? You remember... when you ripped my mother, open your way out of her and she bled to death.” It hurt to see the look of your uncle’s face.

“She was my mother too.”

“Now she’s gone, for the sake of you. There’s no bigger joke in the world than that.” She stormed out, you followed her.

“You shouldn’t be so cruel with my uncle. If I had lost you when either Myr or Tom were born I would never blame them. I know it must have been pretty hard growing up without your mom, but don’t take it out on him.”

“She died so he could live. A little freak. An abomination.” She spat poison.

“Don’t speak of him that way.”

“Why you defend him so much?”

“Cause he is my family. He is a good person.”

“Joffrey is also your family. And yet you detest him.”

“He has a serious problem. You don’t want to see it or maybe you’re okay with it. Remember when we were kids? I was four and he was five. He used to find pleasure on pushing me, you just stared at us and said it was a normal thing. I grew up and I was able to defend myself, one time I did it and you freaked out, you yelled at me, made me feel so small... you held him while I was sobbing, just because I moved when he tried to hit me making him fell to the ground. Of course, it was my fault according to both of you. How many times did Joffrey hurt me? Said I was ugly cause I wasn’t blonde like him? That I didn’t deserve to be a princess, he was so mean to me and you never lectured him. I recall how many nights I spent crying alone in my room wondering why my mother didn’t care enough to stand up for me when my big brother treated me like I was worthless. You broke my heart a very long time ago. I learned how to pick up the pieces. I’m not that helpless little girl anymore.” You could feel your eyes starting to get teary. You didn’t expect her to say something soothing. Cersei apparently ran out of words, you thanked for her silence instead of lying to you, deep down you hoped she’d embrace you. It was too much to ask for. You lingered a bit more before turning and leaving. Heartbroken once more.

#sansa stark x reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader #game of thrones fic #got #baratheon reader

83 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 4 years ago

Text

52 Project #33: Amaldis

Yikes, I completely forgot to post this! Hard day at work. -------------------------------------------

The prince was young and handsome, as they all were, with the sort of arrogant good looks that wealth and power almost always brought. It was a tragedy that so many of these young men had to die, the old woman thought. Such a waste. She stepped out into the road, into the pathway of his horse.

The horse reared up as the prince pulled on the reins. "Out of my way, old woman!" he shouted.

"Are you going to the capital?" the woman asked. She was over 40, but well-fed, clean and well-dressed. His eyes flickered over her, as if trying to decide her station.

"Yes. What business is it of yours?"

"Have you come to join? To swear allegiance to the sorceress Amaldis?"

"No." The prince's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as fury darkened his features. "I've come to kill the witch."

"Are you a fool, young man?" The woman's eyes blazed, and she stepped up to his horse, glaring up at him. "Threescore young men, brave and noble, have come to Cythia to kill the sorceress, and all of them have died. Are you so arrogant and foolish as to believe you'll succeed where so many have failed?"

"I don't fear the witch's sorcery," the prince said firmly. "I have a good sword and a trusty mount. That's all I need."

"Oh, you are a fool. A younger son? Expendable? You need to do something impossible, to make a name for yourself?"

"She stole lands that belong to my father!" he shouted, his face purpling. "My family's honor is at stake!"

"And so you'll die for your family's honor."

"If I die, at least I'll die in glory."

"Glory?" There was cold fury in the woman's voice. "Let me tell you what glory is, boy. Glory is a corpse rotting in a field, the crows plucking its eyes. Glory is your lover weeping, knowing her man will never come home. Glory is children bereft of fathers, crops burning, women raped, people enslaved. I spit on your glory." And she did, spitting on his boots.

The prince drew his sword, provoked beyond endurance, and swung it to behead the woman. But she wasn't there. Startled, he looked about himself, trying to find her.

The ground rumbled. The trees lining the road shed leaves in a storm of colors, and the earth began to shake. The prince's horse reared up in terror, and tried to run, paying no heed when the prince pulled at the reins. Then a chasm opened at the horse's feet, and horse and prince tumbled in together, screaming.

The chasm closed, and all was normal again. Except for hoofprints that led to the midst of a meadow and vanished, it was as if the horse and rider had never been.

***

The scene vanished from the focusing crystal as the woman leaned back. Her apprentice, Joraine, asked, "Did you have to kill him?"

Amaldis turned. She was a stout woman of peasant stock, appearing to be a well-cared-for dowager of over 40 or so, with wavy black hair and blazing black eyes. The fire in those eyes died slightly, to be replaced by sorrow, as she spoke.

"Sometimes it can be avoided," she told Joraine, a large-boned woman in her late twenties or early thirties. "But not this time. You heard him. I tried to get him to turn back, but no. He was bound and determined to die gloriously."

"It seems so cruel," Joraine said. "All these brave young men, in the prime of their lives..."

"Yes. It is cruel, and a waste. But it's them or us. If they had their way, they would make you a serf; condemn you to backbreaking labor all your life, with only the bare necessities of life in return. Some would demand the right to rape you on your wedding night, or whenever you took their fancy; others would allow their priests to torture you for refusing to spout their doctrines; still others would conscript your sons to die in their wars." Amaldis shook her head. "Sooner or later, a group of these young heroes will come together and raise a truly massive army, perhaps a thousand men or more. That will be tragic. Because my powers won't be enough to hold them off entirely; and our people will have to fight and die."

"Why do they keep coming if you keep killing them?"

"You heard the one just now. Honor and glory are worth more than their lives, and they think we stole their land."

"We did steal their land."

"Who gave them the right to own it?" Amaldis looked hard at Joraine, and some of the fire came back to her eyes. "We asked people if they wanted to be ruled by lords, or if they wanted to rule themselves. They wanted to rule themselves, so we extended the borders of Cythia to their areas and let them. As far as I'm concerned, the land belongs to the people who work it, not the nobles who get fat off it."

"Yes, but I'm saying, from their point of view we stole it."

"Yes. And so they'll never leave us alone." She sighed. "That's why I want you a master sorceress as soon as possible, Joraine. Our defenses are strong, but they all rest on me, and I'm only one woman. The most powerful sorceress in the world will still die if someone gets close enough to put a crossbow bolt through her throat."

"We have a militia, Amaldis. They'd die to defend you, and so would I. Anybody in Cythia would-- all of us love you."

"But everyone else in the world is trying to kill me."

"Don't talk like that!" Joraine got up, distressed, and looked down at Amaldis. "Remember the First Rule? 'When a magician and a swordsman fight, the magician will always win, provided she is smarter.' You're certainly smarter."

"Amend that rule. 'Provided she is smarter and makes no mistakes.' I'm 200 years old, Joraine, and I'm tired of being paranoid. I'm tired of constantly scanning to see if anyone is after me. But I can never stop, because if I die, Cythia dies with me. Unless you can protect it."

"I'm only 35," Joraine said quietly. "You've got 8 score more years of power built up in you. Even when I turn master in a few years, I won't have nearly the power you do." She walked around to Amaldis and put her arms around her mentor's shoulders. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes..." Amaldis stared into space. "I've had a premonition."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Something terrible. I don't know..."

Abruptly, awkwardly, Joraine hugged Amaldis. "I won't let it," she whispered fiercely. "Nothing's going to happen to you, so long as I have breath in my body to prevent it. You're the only mother I ever had, Amaldis, and I won't let you die."

***

Mor rode through the fields and woods of Cythia, heading steadily for the capital.

He was a big, brawny, barbarian type, proficient in any weapon but best with his broadsword, which was unbelievably large. He came from a country many, many miles away, where he had successfully killed over a dozen magic-wielders. He had also been offered the position of heir to the kingdom of Lowellan, if he could kill the sorceress Amaldis. And he had no doubts about his ability to do so.

All this Amaldis could gather just from watching him through the focusing crystal. It had been three days since the last prince had come, and she'd dispatched him; three days since she'd told Joraine about her premonition. A chill went down her spine, watching Mor ride. Something about his aura frightened her terribly. A dangerous man, moreso than any of the others. She was tempted to kill him now, without even trying to persuade him to turn back. But she had vowed she would always give them a chance.

So she focused herself, and appeared as an astral image, as solid as flesh but less real, standing in front of his horse's path. The horse didn't even slow down. It kept trotting on as if it would run her down, and Mor made no attempt to stop it.

Hastily she stepped back from its path. If it went through her, it would do her no harm-- but it would reveal her as an illusion. "Will you stop, Mor, and listen to what I have to say?" she said.

"There is nothing I need to hear from old women," he said.

Well. That settled it, then. She had given him a chance, and he had spit in her face.

Amaldis came back to herself, letting her astral image vanish. She looked deep into the crystal, focused, and spoke a Word. It resonated in the air around her. The resonation through the crystal was even greater. There, the Word whipped the trees and caused the ground to shake.

Mor's mount stood firm, holding in one place as Mor stroked its head. When the chasm started to open, the horse bolted as fast as it could go in the opposite direction, which happened to be the direction of the city. The chasm stopped widening before it could catch up to the fleeing beast, the power of the Word spent, and Mor and his animal made all possible speed for the city.

Amaldis threw another chasm in their way. They leapt it, outran its expansion, and kept going. She summoned demonic familiars and hobgoblins to waylay them. Mor slew them all. She cast illusions, which Mor paid little to no attention to; she summoned elementals, which Mor defeated; and she threw murderous obstacles in his path, which he destroyed, overcame, or bypassed. Amaldis had never seen anything like it. The man was at the outskirts of the city already, and still moving. Nothing magical had done more than slow him, and she was exhausted from rapid spellcasting.

Grieving in her heart, she called for a messenger, and told him to tell the militia about the threat. Good men and women would die at Mor's hands, she knew, and if it were merely her own life at stake, she would gladly die in their place. But she was founder, governor and defender of Cythia. Without her, morale would be destroyed, the government would become unstable, and Cythia would be wide open and vulnerable to whatever conqueror wanted to take it.

In her crystal, she watched as the militia went forth. Then she began preparing for the possibility that Mor would reach her. She set up some powerful and terrible binding spells, summoned a few invincible creatures from the lower planes, and set them to guard her door. Then she sent a messenger to Joraine.

"Tell her I want her to go to the belltower and prepare a Spell of Unbinding of Truths," she told the messenger. "When it's complete, I'll examine it." This particular spell took several hours to complete, and required its caster's full attention. Joraine had been telling the truth, 3 days ago-- she would even sacrifice her own life to preserve Amaldis'. Which would leave Cythia without a sorceress, if both of them were killed. Joraine had to be tricked into leaving the battlefield before the fight began.

That done, Amaldis turned to watch the battle in her crystal.

The militia were getting decimated. Amaldis sucked in her breath. How was this possible? Few of them were very good swordsmen, and Mor was the best of the best, yes. But still. It was impossible that one man could be doing such damage, and taking so little in return. One man, and not a magic-user at that. It wasn't even an enchanted blade he held-- Mor's contempt for magic was legendary. Without assistance from magic, it was just not conceivable that one man, no matter how skilled, could cut his way through an army, no matter how green. And yet Mor was doing it.

He had to be getting some sort of secret assistance. Amaldis focused in, looking for an invisible familiar, an enchanted item, something. There was nothing so obvious. If he had magical assistance, it was subtle and ran very deep. Sick at heart, Amaldis forced herself to watch the slaughter of her people. Here is your noble glory, all you young heroes. Here is what you wanted!

When she felt strong enough, she struck again, after sending a messenger ordering the decimated remains of the militia to retreat. It looked as if Mor would pursue them, and continue the combat until they were all dead, but he changed his mind when she called a thunderstorm down on him, as if remembering that she was his real opponent.

She rained lightning at him, but somehow, impossibly, he always managed to avoid them, fortuitiously moving at the same split-second she initiated the bolt. As he headed deeper and deeper into the city, people fled, knowing from the stormcloud that their governor was trying to stop the man, and failing. Amaldis sent all sorts of creatures at him. He killed them all, and kept coming. Even when one of her creatures managed to kill his horse, he leapt off the beast and kept coming.

If he were not in her city, she could swallow him with a chasm now, or put a ring of fire around him-- without his horse, he was more vulnerable. But this was her place, and she couldn't cause such damage to it. She notified the palace guard that he was coming, hoping desperately that he would be tired from the constant fighting, and easier to take down. She had given the guard strict instructions that if casualties were too heavy, they were to flee. But she didn't truly believe they would obey.

The palace guard met and fought Mor. He was still impossibly skilled-- his battles seemed to have barely blunted his edge. Again, Amaldis scanned him for magic, and this time she did catch a faint whiff. Quickly she focused her probe, sweeping him up and down, but at this range it still eluded her. When he got closer, perhaps she would be able to find it, and negate it; but of course, when he got closer she would have other things to worry about.

She began to scream into the crystal, ordering the guard to retreat, as Mor destroyed them. She appeared to them astrally, pleading with them to run and save themselves, but they ignored her. Mor was only a swordsman-- they should be able to take him down. The fact that they obviously couldn't meant nothing, when it was honor at stake. Tears burned in her eyes. How many more good people would die for honor's damnable sake?

Now nearly all her guard were dead. Amaldis steeled herself. He was coming this way. One way or another, even if he kills me, he won't live to enjoy his victory.

Then the door slammed open, and slammed shut behind as Mor strode into Amaldis's chamber.

"Time for you to die, witch," he said, advancing on her.

Amaldis released the demon guard. Invincible and tireless, the two launched themselves at him, battering him. The air rang with the clash of his sword on their metallic armor. While he was occupied with that, Amaldis searched him magically-- and finally found what she was looking for. There was a magical luck charm on him, cast before his birth, woven throughout his entire being. He had never failed at anything. And there was no way to remove the charm, not without negating her own power.

At this point, Mor defeated the invincible demons by thrusting his sword's point into their mouths. That shouldn't have killed them. But by now, Amaldis knew that the universe was on Mor's side. If an improbable occurrence was necessary for his survival, it would happen. If an impossible occurrence, even, was necessary, it would happen.

How could she defeat someone like that?

She spoke a Word, to activate a binding spell. He hated magic so much-- if she could make him see that he was using magic, perhaps he could renounce the spell, or perhaps he would leave her alone. It was not very likely, but the only other alternative was to negate all magic, and that would destroy her power, too. The spell caught Mor tight, holding him motionless. He struggled against the spell, as Amaldis spoke coldly. "You have such contempt for magic. But you yourself are a magic-user, Mor of Savann."

"You lie, witch," he grated out.

"No lie. How do you think it's possible that one lone man can kill over 50? That you miraculously survived everything I attacked you with? It's impossible. No one else has gotten even as far as the city, much less the palace, except for you--"

She sensed the bonds shattering before it happened. Somehow, he had broken her binding spell by flexing his muscles. That's not possible! Amaldis thought, and then remembered that Mor's luck charm could do the impossible. She leapt out of the way as he grasped his sword and swung it at her.

Amaldis cried a Word of power, and a bolt of light flashed out from her fingertips-- but he dodged. The laws of reality seemed to be breaking down to accomodate him. She threw up a magical shield, and his broadsword cut it in half. That wasn't possible, either.

Amend the rule, she thought, gasping, as she dodged another broadsword swing at her head. The magician will always win, provided the sword-wielding barbarian doesn't have magic of his own. It was getting harder to dodge, and there were fewer places to dodge to. Amaldis truly understood then that no magic could stop him. Even a sudden death spell would unravel against the luck charm placed on him. There was only one thing that could possibly work, and the notion filled her with horror.

There was a secret spell, jealously guarded by the few magicians who knew it. It was a last-resort weapon in magical combat, intended to take one's enemy down with one. The secret spell consisted of a single spoken Word, which could negate all magic within a certain radius. Mor was certainly within that radius. Unfortunately, by definition, so was the caster-- which was why it was a weapon of last resort. Amaldis had built up a great deal of power in 200 years. If she negated Mor's advantage, she lost all of that power, which might end up dooming Cythia as surely as if she died. And without her magic, she would be no match for him in combat anyway.

The sword smashed her crystal, scattering pieces everywhere, as she ducked behind it. Then there was a wall at her back, and nowhere to dodge to. Terror gripped her-- this was it. Only one chance-- and even that was more likely to see her avenged than saved. But it would be enough to be avenged, if that was all she could have.

She said the Word.

The magic drained out of the air. Amaldis sagged against the wall, feeling suddenly a thousand years old. For the first time, she could hear the pounding on the door, and realized it had been going on for some time.

Mor hesitated. He had sensed the change, apparently, though doubtless he couldn't understand what it signified. In that moment of hesitation, Amaldis flung herself to the side, and so when the broadsword came down it pierced through her shoulder, slicing away her arm, not her head. Amaldis screamed.

The door slammed open behind Mor, and there was a flash of light. Mor dropped, an expression of disbelief on his face. With rapidly glazing eyes, Amaldis saw through the pain that Joraine was running toward her. Then it became too dark to see anymore.

***

Amaldis wakened to the sound of Joraine weeping. "It can't be too late," Joraine was saying. "Come on, heal, Amaldis, heal! Please!"

Amaldis swallowed, and croaked in a hoarse voice, "I seem not to be dead. How surprising."

"You're back!" Joraine wiped her eyes and looked at Amaldis. "I brought you back! Oh thank you, Goddess, thank you, thank you..." She hugged Amaldis and began to weep again, this time for joy.

But as memory filtered back, Amaldis could see little cause to be joyful. She was alive, yes, and Mor was dead... but the cost had been her power. The only defense Cythia had had to keep it from a bloody war, and being overrun and conquered, had been her power. And now it was gone.

Tears welled in her eyes. After all her hard work, all the energy and enthusiasm her people had expended to make her dream a reality, one man with a magic charm could bring it all crashing down. What was the point to living, if her dream was dead? In a voice like ash, she said, "Joraine, my powers..."

Joraine lifted her head and looked down at her. "I know. I know."

"Cythia is finished." There was no strength, no life in her voice, just ruins and despair.

"No-- there's a way. There has to be a way."

"That's wishful thinking. " Amaldis changed the subject. "How did you find me? I told you to prepare a Spell of Unbinding..."

"The guard-- what was left of it-- broke in and told me you were fighting with that creature." Joraine's voice had an edge of fury to it. "I couldn't get the door open, at first--"

"His luck charm. It must have kept the door locked."

"When I got it open and saw he'd cut off your arm-- I almost went berserk. But it's all right now. I healed you. Your arm's fine."

"My arm's irrelevant, Joraine. My magic is gone. Without that..."

"No! We can buy time. We can keep going on a bluff for a while. I won't let your dream die like this!"

"Buy time for what?" Amaldis wanted to be swept away by Joraine's youthful determination, but 200 years of experience had told her that when something was doomed, it was doomed. There was nothing they could do. "It'll be another hundred years before you're powerful enough to defend Cythia by yourself..."

"Then we can't rely so much on magic. We need to find other solutions." Joraine got up off the bed. "We can buy time, like I said. And in that time, we can recruit more people. We can train all our citizens to fight and defend the country if they have to. We can try to recruit another magician. If we could get two or three magicians my age, we could all band together. Besides. Once people hear you killed Mor, they won't be eager to try you for some time. No one needs to know you're injured-- and as long as they send in their heroes one at a time, we can pick them off ourselves, the militia and I. We can send emissaries to other countries, and see if they have superior weapons or magical techniques we can use. There are all sorts of things we can try, Amaldis. You can't give up!"

"I'm old," Amaldis said softly. "I had a dream once, a revolutionary new idea, when I was young. But I'm no revolutionary anymore."

"You can't give up--"

"No. I'm not giving up. I'm passing the torch to you." Amaldis forced herself to a sitting position. The change made her dizzy and she swayed. Joraine quickly moved to prop pillows behind her. "You're right, of course. I'll continue to govern Cythia and to teach you magic-- I still know the techniques, I simply haven't got the power for them anymore. But you'll be in charge of devising our defense, Joraine. You're young and creative enough to see new ways of doing things. I can't anymore."

"I don't think you're as old and decrepit as you think you are, Amaldis," Joraine said. "Is this because you lost your magic?"

"Yesterday, for all my years, I was a young woman. Today I feel older than time itself. It has to be you, Joraine. I-- lost something vital when I lost my power, I think. Cythia's future is going to rest on you."

"You should rest," Joraine said, moving the pillows back so Amaldis could lay down. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you're recovered."

"I doubt it," Amaldis said softly, but allowed Joraine to put her to bed. The last thing she saw, through slitted eyes near the edge of sleep, was Joraine sitting by her bed. Her face seemed to Amaldis to look like her own had, when she was only thirty and had grandiose dreams for saving the world. Yes. The torch was in capable hands.

Amaldis slept.

#52 project #magic #wizards vs barbarians #democracy and self-rule vs landed interests and their mercs

42 notes · View notes

kiribaku-queen · 5 years ago

Text

Home [5/10]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Kirishima x reader

Fluff, angst, werewolf!au

Warnings: cussing

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: I just want to thank you guy SO MUCH for the overwhelming amount of support I got from the last chapter. I was not expecting it and seeing each and every comment and ask made my day. Your support means the world to me and is encouraging me to make a better story for you guys! Read till the end for another author’s note! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Summary: Being called the beauty of the clan isn’t as nice as it sounds. The beauty of the clan is supposed to exude confidence, power, and well, beauty. You were quite the opposite, only possessing one of those traits. Yet, the older you got, the more you fit into the role you were given. After your brother and all the boys of age come back from their training period, it was time to find a mate. But who will steal your heart? Is it Bakugou, the rising leader of the pack, or is it Kirishima, the personal guard and the strongest in the pack?

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

You got out of there as fast as you could. Nothing could have prepared your heart from what you just saw. You’ve been heart broken before. Sure. You were heart broken when the other kids didn’t want to play with you. You were heart broken when Bakugou left for training. You were even heart broken when he practically ignored you for days on end. But even with all that experience, this hurt on a whole new different level.

Kirishima took you far away from his place, far away from the city, from the people. And as soon as you guys were alone and he held you in his arms, you cried. You cried until the tears blurred your vision and stained your cheeks. You cried until your voice was hoarse and burning. You cried till you started hyperventilating and you were gasping for air. Your heart and emotions were reacting but so was your body. You were trembling. You held on tight to Kirishima for dear life. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. If he said the wrong thing, you could run away from him and never return. He was scared that if he let you go, you were a goner. So he held you and continued to hold you until you let go.

All of it didn’t make sense. One day he’s telling you he loves you and then the next he’s kissing another woman? Sure, that’s his fiancée, but… he loved you. Didn’t he? The more you thought about it, the more you could feel your heart break and tears would well up with tears. And soon you were a crying mess again. You were in Kirishima’s arms for hours. Nothing but the sound of you crying, sniffling, and heavy breathing. You sat in his lap, head lay on his broad chest as he cradled you in his arms. When you felt yourself having another crying episode, he could pat your hair and lean into you so that he laid his head on top of yours. When your quirk would appear to whisper depressing thought into your ear, Kirishima was quick to cancel those words out by saying sweet, encouraging words to you.

You’re useless.

“Look at how much you helped this clan.”

You’re nothing without him.

“You don’t need him. You’re strong. You are still you even without him.”

No one will love you now.

“I still love you. Your family still loves you.”

Your life is meaningless.

“You mean the world to me.” He counteracts every single comment, but you can’t help but feel that black ghost’s words are true. So you continue to break down in Kiri’s arms until you are physically unable to move. Crying takes a lot of energy out of you and by the time you finished crying, you were exhausted. Kirishima was so comfortable at the moment. The way he held you to the warmth his body was radiating to the way he smelled. All of it helped you calm down to the point where your eyes were slowly drooping down. The next thing you know, you were asleep.

Kirishima sighed as he looked down at your sleeping body. It hurt. It hurt seeing you in so much pain and there wasn’t anything he could do to make you feel better. His heart was hurting for you but at the same time, he was filled with so much rage. Bakugou always had the best life. He was born into a high-class family. He was destined to be the next alpha. He had the looks, the body and the girl. Ever since they were little, Bakugou only had eyes for you. What a coincidence, huh? So did Kirishima. But he never made a move or confessed because he was already aware of Bakugou’s feelings, even if he never talked or acted like it. Bakugou had everything he wanted. No matter how bad Kirishima wanted you, he already knew he didn’t stand a chance against Bakugou. He didn’t have the status or the charisma like his hot-headed friend. He was only the right-hand man. So he gladly gave you away and didn’t chase you, if it made you happy. But you weren’t happy. Right now, you were crying in his arms miserable. He gave up the girl only to see you being treated like this. That enraged him. As you fell deeply asleep, he picked you up and carried you princess style back to your home.

He was greeted by a worried and somewhat angry-looking Sero. No matter how much Sero wanted to bombard and interrogate Kirishima, the moment he saw your tear-strained cheeks and frown that was secured on your lips, he knew you were first priority. Interrogation can come later. Sero led Kirishima through the house until they got to your bedroom door. Kirishima gently laid you down into your comfy bed. As soon as you touched your pillow, you immediately relaxed and snuggled into the pillow. Despite feeling many emotions, Kirishima pulled a small smile upon seeing your action and he lifted his hand to gently pat your head. You’ve been through a long day and you were finally safe inside your bed. After admiring you for a quick second, Kirishima swiftly left your room, passing Sero on the way out.

“Watch her while I’m gone?” he asked which earned him a scoff from your brother.

“I don’t need permission from you to take care of my own sister,” he retaliated, speaking from his feelings. He knows Kirishima means well but he didn’t like seeing your tear stained face. Whether or not Kirishima did it or someone else, he took it out on the first person he sees, and that so happened to be Kirishima. As Kiri left, Sero sighed, letting a hand brush through his hair. He walked to your room and sat on the bed next to you.

“Silly girl, what am I going to do with you?” he asks himself while caressing your cheek with his thumb.

Kirishima enters Bakugou’s home, storming through the halls. He was on a mission. To find Bakugou. Kirishima spots Bakugou in his room just relaxing on his bed. This made Kirishima even more furious. When Kirishima slams the door open, Bakugou’s head snaps towards his direction.

“Oi, where have you-” Bakugou starts to say when he felt a hard force slam into his right cheek. As if it was in slow motion, Bakugou doubles over, his cheek throbbing. Teeth bared and eyes glowing, Bakugou leaps at Kirishima, holding him by the collar and flipping him over so that Kirishima’s body slam into the cold, wooden floor beneath him. The red head groans in pain as Bakugou has him pinned underneath him. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!” Bakugou snarled at his best friend. With all his might, Kirishima flips him over. Now he was the one on top.

“Trying to show you a fucking lesson, you son of a bitch,” Kirishima snarled just as harsh back, if not even harsher. Without warning, Kirishima started punching Bakugou in the face from left to right. “How. Could. You. Do. That. To. (y/n),” he punched in between word with an emphasis on the last word. Upon hearing your name, Bakugou snapped out of it. He swung his leg up, kicking Kirishima in the head which caused him to pause his actions to clutch the back of his head. Bakugou took this opportunity to tackle him back to the ground, this time a death grip landed on his neck.

“Don’t. Fucking. Say. Her. Name. You don’t know anything so I suggest you shut your fucking mouth before I do something really fucking stupid,” Bakugou warned, face dangerously close that Kirishima could feel his breath on his face. But Kirishima was filled with so much rage and adrenaline that he didn’t want to stop.

“I don’t care what your reasons are. I gave up too much to see you break (y/n) like that. I swear, if you make her cry one more time, I will never forgive you,” Kirishima threatened. Bakugou just laughed in his face. His low chuckle turned into a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Big talk for a guard,” Bakugou emphasized the word guard. He had to remind him where his place lied. Although they were friends since childhood, Kirishima’s job is to now be Bakugou’s personal guard. Bakugou was always lenient when it came to Kirishima, but right now, he was crossing a very thin line and Bakugou had no hesitation to put him in his place. “You talk as if you’re in love with (y/n).”

“I am,” Kirishima confidently says. He was a little too quick to respond. And this was the first time every revealing his true feelings out loud to anyone. The smirk that was on Bakugou’s face slowly faded into a frown and now he was glaring daggers into Kirishima’s soul. Kirishima looking unfazed. “I can make her happier in a week than you did in 4 years,” and with that, earned Kirishima a few, hard punches to the face. His fists causing open wounds to his face and his lips. Blood splattering everywhere.

“You don’t know when you shut up, do you? Fine,” Bakugou let go of Kirishima’s neck, shoving him back to the ground one last time. As Bakugou got up, Kirishima propped himself up on one elbow while the other arm went to wipe the blood from his lips. “Have her. Don’t come crying when she doesn’t want you.”

Kirishima dusted himself off and glared in Bakugou’s direction. He couldn’t believe his friend, your lover, could let you go so easily. Shaking his head in disbelief, he started to walk out the door. “Wouldn’t even dream of it,” he breathed under his breath, still loud enough for Bakugou to hear. Bakugou’s eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

“Oi, KIRISHIMA!” Bakugou shouted at the top of his lungs. Kirishima stopped in his tracks to look over his shoulder. Bakugou turned around to face him, a fiery finger pointed at him. “Don’t you ever think about coming back. You’re done.” Kirishima’s heart clenched slightly but at the moment he couldn’t care less. Without another word, he left his house. When the door could be heard being shut, Bakugou screamed in frustration. He continuously punched a nearby wall until his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

“What happened?!” you asked, concerned when you saw what kind of state Kirishima was in. You woke up feeling thirsty. Your throat so dry that you couldn’t even swallow your own spit. Luckily, your brother was right by your side and provided you with a glass of water. You downed the whole thing in one sitting. As soon as you finished your water, you suddenly realized how dirty you felt. You went to go check yourself out in the mirror, only to find yourself looking hideous. God, your skin was dry because of how much crying you did. Not to mention that your tears dried on your face which caused streaks to appear. Your hair was all over the place and you just looked like a mess. Groaning, you went to go wash up and relax. Despite a small distraction by your looks as soon as you woke up, your mind immediately drifted to Bakugou and how he was kissing another girl. If you could, you would continue to cry but you didn’t know if you had it in you anymore. Kirishima was at your door when you finished cleaning yourself up. But his appearance was not what you were expecting. His was all cut up and bruised. Blood was spilling out of his lips and a cut was opened on his cheek. You hurriedly ran to him to give him support. He gladly leaned on you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he gave you a reassuring smile but you weren’t falling for it. You led him to your bathroom and made him sit on the side of the tub so you could clean him up.

“Right, now tell me what happened. Who did this to you?” you roughly grabbed his chin out of frustration because he wasn’t telling you anything. You weren’t being gently with him until he you everything. When you touched the wound on his cheek, he hissed and flinched away. But thanks to your grip on his chin, he couldn’t move far away from you. After a few more attempts to try to get him to talk, you did the only thing you could do. “Eiji, please tell me what happened,” you pleaded and looked up at him with the most convincing puppy dog eyes ever. He looked at you and sighed. You knew he couldn’t resist.

“I just got into a fight, alright?” he said, defeated that you got it out of him.

“With who?” you raised your voice a little. He looked away and that could only mean one person. If he fought anybody else, he would be bragging at how well he fought and how he won, even if he didn’t. But when Kiri fought with him, things would always get awkward and he would never admit that he lost. Your motions to clean his wounds stopped momentarily to just stare at him in disbelief. Why were they fighting? It just didn’t make sense. Furious that Bakugou could do this to Kirishima, you stood up and went for the door. You ran out there so fast that Kirishima didn’t have enough time to process what was happening. By the time he went to your front door to chase you, you were already long gone. Kirishima cursed under his breath. As he was ready to go after you, Sero stopped him. When he looked back to look at your brother, he just shook his head, knowing that you can handle it on your own and that you should handle it on your own.

Despite recent events, you stormed into Bakugou’s house like how you would on any day. You headed straight for Bakugou’s room to see him laying on his bed. Hand around his eyes and legs crossed, he laid there taking deep breaths. When he heard someone walk in his room, he groaned loudly and sat up. As he was about to scream at whoever entered the room, he saw you standing at the door with arms crossed against your chest, a disappointed look plastered on your face. His groan turned into a sigh and he laid back in his bed, going back to the previous position.

“How could you do that to Eiji,” you started you scolding. Bakugou refused to look at you but he was starting to feel the anger rise in him again.

“He was asking for it,” Bakugou plainly said. That wasn’t good enough. You needed an explanation.

“That’s no excuse,” you argue back.

“Yeah? Well maybe you should ask lover boy why he decided to show up in my house to punch me in the face first,” he snapped at you.

“What are you talking about?” Kirishima hit him first? Nothing was making sense. Kiri never initiated violence first. Bakugou swiftly got up and stalked towards you. He was coming at you with such power that you had to back up. Your back hit the wall but Bakugou wasn’t stopping. Both his hands slammed on the wall against your head, making you flinch. You looked up and frowned. You could see his face more clearly now and he also had cuts and dried blood on his face and lips. Instinctively, you brought your hand up to touch his wounds but stopped yourself. No, you were still mad at him. You were very upset at him. So why did you do that? You put your hand down but your actions didn’t go unnoticed. He saw the hesitation in your hand and he let out a deep exhale.

“I made you cry,” he voice softened immensely. Your shocked eyes looked at him and he was already staring at you. You looked back down, not really wanting to say anything. He took your chin in his hand and gently made you look at him. “Tell me. I did, didn’t I?”

“Why does it matter,” you removed his hand and continued to face away from him.

“It matters because even if I’m acting like an asshole, I don’t like seeing you cry,” he says. You let out a soft sigh. Bakugou was confusing. He knows he’s acting like a dick, yet he doesn’t want to see you hurt? How could he be so bipolar?

“Then maybe you should just tell me how you feel instead of kissing other girls,” you finally let the cat out of the bag. Bakugou looked at you surprised and somewhat embarrassed.

“You saw?” his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, feeling the tears coming back. Your heart was racing and aching. The anxiety was coming back and you fiddled with your fingers. Standing still was killing you. You had to move something. Bakugou let out another breath, louder this time and removed himself from the wall. That gave you a little more breathing room. Bakugou paced around the room, ruffling his hair in annoyance. You could tell that he wanted to let out his anger and frustrations but he was trying to contain it. He was having a hard time doing so, it looked like he was about to explode.

“Why did you do it? Is it because you want to make things work with her?” you questioned. You closed your eyes, preparing to hear the answer to the question you’ve been wanting to ask forever.

“She kissed me first,” he started. You opened your eyes to look at him. You felt a little better at least. “But I do want to make things work.”

Crack. A sharp pain hit your chest and you bit your lip to stop it from quivering. For some reason, that hurt you more to hear those words than hearing he didn’t love you anymore.

“What about us?” your voice cracked asking that question.

“(y/n), this is more than just you and me!” he raised his voice once again. “I’m going to be the next alpha. I am responsible for this clan and its people. You heard my dad! Our clan is getting weaker by the day and if I don’t merge with this other clan, we might survive to see another alpha rule. I refuse to let this clan die out during my reign. So yes, I want to make things work with Uraraka because that’s my duty as alpha.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why did act that way for the past few weeks? Why did you make me feel unloved and unwanted? Why couldn’t you just tell me the truth?!” your voice raised with each question. Tears were streaming down your face as the questions were just getting more desperate. You were desperate for answers. You didn’t want to feel this way anymore. You didn’t want your heart to take this pain anymore.

“Because I knew you were going to ask like this! You wanna know why I acted like that? I wanted you to hate me so that it was easier for you to move on. I distanced myself so it would be easier for you to live life without me. But that made me feel like shit. You know how much I wanted to hold you in my arms every second of the day? If distancing myself wasn’t working, then I tried to be an asshole to you. But that didn’t feel right either. Seeing you cry because of me, made me feel so fucking shitty. I wanted to run after you and apologize but that would defeat the whole purpose. Fuck! I still want you. I need you. But I’m also trying to do what’s best for the clan.” He explained. Out of desperation, you clung onto his arm.

“If you still want me, then let’s be together! We can run away together! We can start our own family like you wanted. Please, I don’t want to lose you to someone else. Please…” you begged. Bakugou could be seen getting even more frustrated.

“What do you want me to do (y/n)?! Just run away from my responsibilities?! Abandon everyone and everything here? You didn’t want to do that in the first place. And I suggested marking you but you denied that to! What, do you want to be my mistress?” he questioned you. No, you didn’t want that either but you didn’t know what to say so you just stay silent. “See, you don’t want that. I’m throwing out all these ideas for us to be together and you just keep rejecting them! Do you even want to be with me? Because I’m trying to make an effort but I don’t see you doing the same” he was shouting now. You clutched your head, tears fully streaming down your face. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t like this change all of a sudden. So many emotions were taking over your body and so many thoughts were running through your mind that you looked like you were in so much pain. Granted, you were. You were conflicted on what to do. So you just stood there, sobbing.

The sight of your crying was breaking Bakugou’s heart into a million pieces. He reached his hand out to comfort you. He wanted to hold you and kiss you. He wanted to tell you that everything was alright. But he would be lying to you and himself. So he retracted his hand. Fuck, it was taking all of his might to not touch and comfort you.

“Sorry (y/n)… let’s break up.”

A/N: I’d love to know your thoughts on this chapter and if it pulled on your heartstrings like it did mine when I was writing it! Also, this may or may not happen, but what do ya’ll think about a small smut scene??? I don’t write smut ever but I think it’d really fit??? let me know!

Tagged: @goodpop9 @superblyspeedydragon @tspice283 @marvelobsessedteen @rosetheshapeshifter @cabbagesquadfam

#bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha kirishima eijirou #katsuki bakugou #Kirishima Eijirou #bakugou imagine #kirishima imagine #bnha imagines #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

151 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

Text

Blacksad: Arctic Nation Review: Digging Two Graves

Welcome you beautiful technicolor rainbow. And today I continue my black History Month coverage, this time with one that was suggested by Kev, my patreon on patreon and the blog’s biggest supporter, who sent me a bunch of things I could review for Black History month and, loving this comic and feeling given the events of last year with George Floyd that have had rightful shockwaves ever since, it was perfect.

For those needing a refresher Blacksad is a spanish produced french released comic series about John Blacksad, a grim private detective in a 1950′s set world full of anthromphized animals. It has gorgeous art, endless atmosphere and utterly captivating stories. Last month I covered the first story, Somewhere in the Shadows, since this one was only number two and I could track the series evolution better, and I loved the series and could make room on the schedule so there was no real reason NOT to do it. And since i covered most of the series background that time, I can dive in quicker to this one. So join me under the cut to see how the series evolves and to see a black cat take on white supremacists with the help of a smelly weasel.

First things first.. the cover, which is from the original version and was lovingly reprinted in my copy, is goregous and simple: John grimly and camly carrying a scared child through a bilzzard past the wreckage of a plane. It’s instantly eye catching, our black furred hero in a bilzzard of white.. and also serves as a great metaphor for a story dealing with white suprmacy as well as our hero trying to find the child he’s trying to keep safe on the cover. It’s just perfect.

We open in the Line, a city in the arctic, with Blacksad morosely narrating how one day he’ll write his memoirs, as he figures they’ll sell well given the public’s grim fascination with murder. We soon find out why tha’ts on his mind as the comic “pans out”... to show a black bird with a long neck horrifcally and publicly hung in a hate crime. It’s an utterly ghastly sight I will not be sharing, but needless to say it sets the tone and the setting in one horrific image.

John’s interuptted though by the introduction of Weekly. Weekly is a local journalist who true to his name, only takes a bath once a week and immidetly pisses off john by being nosey, assuming john is also a journalist and casually remaking about this horror show being a hate crime. Despite this terrible first impression.. Weekly goes on to be John’s best friend and sidekick, providing some levity in his grim world for the audience, while as we’ll soon see being FAR more useful and competent than his demeanor and lack of hygine lets on.

For now though, John has to go meet his client: Miss Grey, a schoolteacher whose hired John to find a missing girl, Kaylie, one of her students. Those around the neighborhood are relcutant to look into it, including Kayle and the police, who as we’ll learn very soon are white suprmacists, simply blame it on the Local Black Claws gang. Miss Grey also fills us in on the line’s backstory: it was once a propserous suburban place.. until the local plane plant closed down, leading to a rise in crime and unemployment with the place slowly but surely falling into decay. Despite this she’s determined to stay and fight.. and John is touched by her noblility and tells her he will do everything he can. And while that’s a natural thing to tell your client.. it feels genuine, that John senses this woman’s deep resolute will to keep going, and feels for her as the ONE PERSON who cares a small child went missing and isn’t either ignoring it or simply being a racist dickhead about it. John may hide it under lairs of cynsim and grumpus... but he’s good man and as we see he’ll go to hell and back to do the right thing.

We soon properly meet the titular Arctic Nation... who are as you would expect, a white suprmacist group, calling yesterday’s lynching a necssary thing and spouting your usual horrifying rhetoric about a white world and stuff. The Arctic Nation are also made up almost entirely of Arctic Animals.. and honeslty that’s a way to do a white supermacy metaphor I never thought of, simply having the fur be black and white, and using the fact most arctic animals are by nature predators to give us some naturally intimdating looking antagonists. One of them also is clealry not Happy John’s around, nor that John rather than be afraid or look nervous in the slightest... is simply pissed as he should be and simply dosen’t give a shit.. and given assholes like this love attention and pissing people off, it probably makes him even madder. Good.

John runs into Weekly again, and while still not happy to see him, Weekly is nothing but friendly and offers peace and a warm drink in a cold land.. and John takes him up on it noting in narration that since they are clear outsiders here... why not? Any port in a storm and given the blizzard of white supramcey just outside, John can’t help but take refuge in a diner. There’s also a really nice touch in their drinks with John having a simple .. alchohol ( I don’t drink sue me) and Weekly having something called a burobon mlikshake . Weekly outlines that the Line is about to explode with racial tension with two diffrent suprmacist groups: The arctic nation , who he freely and rightly mocks and the aformentioned black claws.

Before they can continue though two of the goons from outside come in and harass an old black bird at the counter, saying can’t he read the sign.. before he’s revealed to be blind. They confront John next... who gloriously takes NONE of thier shit, wirly pointing to his patch of white fur, which indicates him as mixed race in this unverse and says does this count.

The racist asshole dosen’t take the hint that maybe this isn’t going to work and tries provoking john by threatning ot turn him into a coat.. and john insults his, and his whiteness and we cut over to the head of the white suprmacist rally asking the owner to call the police, the owner only relcutantly agreeing when we see the supremacist asshole fly into the bar.

So naturally we next see our heroes in the office of Karup, the local police chief, polar bear and not even hiding it white suprmacist who talks proudly about his confederate saber on the wall and asks if John knows who it belonged to. His response is priceless.

Damn.. it takes balls of fucking platinum, on both of them, to be called into an unapolgetic white suprmacists office and roast him to his fucking face. It’s what we should all do granted but still, props to both of htem. it also shows Weekly, desipte being kinda sketchy.. is every bit as brave as his friend, and takes these fuckers every bit as seriously. That is to say they both KNOW their in danger.. they just don’t CARE, feeling rightly that simply cowtowing to Karup like he wants is not worth thieir damn time, and that he deserves no fear, no respect and nothing he wants. Just mockery for clinging to an outdated and horrific set of ideals like all white supremacists then and now. Karup is forced to let htem off with a warning as his wife shows up.. and Weekly wolf whistles at her because awesome he may be he is not a class act and this is still the 1950′s where that was okay for some reason.

We next catch up to John that night where he’s taking in a driving movie involving giant ants.

He’s naturally here not to take in a good b movie, nor is he being forced to watch it by mad scientests, but here to find Kaylie’s mother Dinah, who agrees to talk to him after her shift.. and John grabs a peak at her ass while she walks away.

Dinah has good reason for not calling the cops though... as she puts it, she has no faith in white justice, and given the police chief had a fucking confderate flag in his office, and many STILL do today, yeah fair point. We also find out she used to work for Karup, so she knows damn well he won’t be helpful at best or use looking for as an excuse to lynch more innocent black men at worse. Of course John, while symaptehtic brings up something about Oldsmill, and gets rightfully slapped for it.

We next see John talking to weekly, who he’s just kind of accepted is his sidekick now. Their grocery trip is interupted by the claws, who show up, beat up the racist shopkeep.. and then harass our heroes, beating up weekly to get him to say their innocnet of the kidnapping. This however.. shows that while not AS bad as Karup, clearly.. their still not good people. Weekly GLADLY would’ve printed what they asked if they’d actually asked, and instead they beat him up to do so, and the person who did so dosen’t endear himself further by asking john “What happened to your snout brother?”. As with last time, his response is fucking perfect

He wisely backs off though is still confrontational about it. Weekly wonders if john really was going to shoot him, and my response is...

He absolutley would’ve. John asks if he’s really going to print that crap.. and of course Weekly is. That’s where the story is, and he points out he’ sa star reporter and his name apparently comes from coming in with a big story once a week. John isn’t amused.. but could use Weekly’s help and tell shim to keep an eye on Karup’s household for him since he can sneak in there and be far less notecable. And he agrees. I’ll go ahead and say it.. weekly was an invaluable addition to the story and a missing peace for Blacksad they needed: like robin to batman, he provides someone for him to talk to, a bit of badly needed levity, an dprovides blacksad an ally no matter the case or situation, and one who has every reason to help both because hteir friends.. and because it’ll get him a good story, and his background as a reporter gives good reason as to why he’s good at this.

Something else to note is John has also taken on more of a sarcastic streak as you can tell and I love it: instead of being grim all the time it gives a human touch to him.. while still making him utterly badass as he usually uses it to disarm an asshole flexing their power over him. It simply adds some shades to his already wonderful personality.

We finally meet Oldsmill who denies having anything to do with it, as the rumor is his heavily inbred son is Kaylee’s father and Oldsmill belivies it was karup since he was apparnetly married to a black woman once. Oldsmill is also a racist ass blaming the downturn in things on black people instead of you know, the plant closing. John has what he needed.. and has a good shot at oldsmill pointing out if he actually mixed races his son might of turne dout okay instead of a braindead inbred moron.

Weekly hides in the bushes at karups.. and soon finds his wife plowing the head of the arctic nation we met earlier, huk, behind his back. “I love this job!”.... dude.. no just.. no. Don’t watch people have rough sex that’s just.. no. But he found out more as tailing them afterwords, he found them at a table with Kaylee’s mom, clearly wanting her to keep quite for some reason with Dinah not wanting her to suffer. Naturally she’s John’s next stop.. but instead he finds her brutally murdered, her body twisted and him lamenting that someone so full of life.. has lost hers and even if he achieves his goal now.. Kaylee lost her mother. And involved in whatevers’ going on or not.. she clearly loved her kid and whatever she got caught up in she died.. simply for proioritzing her daughte’rs own saftey and wellbeing over it. She was also stabbed with what John suspects to be.. a saber. Hmmmm.

John has no proof.. but decides fuck it, and goes to confront Karup anyway. His wife speaks up against him as does Huk... but given Weekly told john about her taking Huk in through the back door yeah... that dosen’t go great. And after Choir practice, Karup beats the every loving piss out of Huk for it, and tells him before that that, now weekly's’ actually printed the story he said he was going to, it’s open season on him and blacksad.

So unsuprisingly, Blacksad suspects he’s been kidnapped when we catch up with John and interogrates the blind bird from earlier, whose trying to sell weekly’s camera, and successfully batman’s him into taking him to where Weekly is. Menawhile Karup confronts his wife.. who mocks him and has no sympathy and accuses him of being a pedophile like everyone else has. He takes it badly and tells her to get out and to no one’s suprise.. has an arctic nation flag in his drawer. I do not get what this was supposed to prove as we know he’s a white suprmacist piece of shit and that previous scene with Huk showed that he’s directing the nation from beihind the scenes.

While the Bird brings john through and John laments his time as a vetran, we find their headed for a nation meeting, complete with Klan style robes.. and Karup getting ambusehd. someone having put bloody children’s clothes in his trunk. Karup is hunt and while he clearly IS innocent, given Huk both presented the evidence and let’s face it it was either him or Karup’s wife jezebel, and I have no sympahty because not being a pedophile does not make him any less of a horrible abusive piece of shit.

Someone we DO actually care if they live or die next is weekly, whose terrified, the defiance from earlier gone.. which is fair as he knows he’s about ot die and dosen’t know John.. is right there, revealed via his paws as he prepares weekly to escape and has infilrated the nation in the robes. John’s next action is also utterly badass as he SWINGS FROM THE NOOSE, KICKS OVER THE BURNING CROSS THE NATION SET UP.

Huk escapes and unsuprisingly is behind the kidnapping.. and the Magpie from earlier knew it and tires to stop him and gets shot. John kills one of the white suprmiacists and makes his wya out, finding Weekly, who escaped as john instructed and the two find the bird man.. is not dead and he takes htem to Kaylee. He dies in a really tearjerking scene, clearly senile and clearly talked into this.

Naturally the next day, John reveals via narration that the Line’s remaining police didn’t give a shit about what happened, a racist paper actively comended it as “how justice should go” and that Huk escaped... and naturally John isn’t going to let that shit slide down the glass. Huk however is dead when he finds him having gotten his but clealry this dosen’t quite satisfy john.

John listens to the song “Strange Fruit” while dressing up all fancy and looking damn good I must say. He’s preparing for a funeral and Weekly tries to help his pain.. by offering him the shots of Huk and Jeezebel.. only John spots something and tells weekly to get all he can on Karups first wife.

Turns out the funeral is Karups... and John confronts the widow who tries to brush him off.. before tearing her shirt open to reveal a black spot.. which while a neat reveal.. GOD that’s fucking creeptastic. Seriously while this story is moving, brilliant and all sorts of things i’ll gush about.. it has some REALLY creepy undertones at times with John’s treatment of Dinah, Weekly taking pornographic pictures of two people without their consent, and now this.. I mean it’s not exactly unsuual for the time but you may want to not make your heroes look like sex monsters is all i’m saying.

We finally get the full story: Dinah and Jezebel are Karups children the product of his first marriage that was geninely loving.. until Karup turned bitter and racist and upon finding out she was pregnant drove his wife out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter and left her to die. ...... sorry I was just fondly remembering him getting his neck snapped by the noose. Anywyays their mom did surivive long enough to give birth but the sheer pain of well.. everything collapsed on her and she eventually passed when they were young. Both sisters wanted revenge and since Jeez could pass for white, she married her own dad, and got some satstifactoin over not letting him touch her, and got Kaylee into the house. So she seduced Huk, even if clearly by the panel sleeping with that piece of shit greatly hurt Jez to do, and used him to set up the fake kidnapping scheme to frame Karup as a pedophile.

As for why Dinah died.. if it wasn’t obvious by now Huk did it not realizing Jez and Dinah were sisters and took Dinah’s udnerstandable worry about her daughter.. as concern she’d squeal. His death and who did it should be obvious and given he’s almost as big a piece of shit as karup, only barely avoiding that because his murder wasn’t his own PREGNANT wife. Jez assures John it’s all over and her mother and sister can rest in peace.. but John cuts through this with one simple fact: “What about Kaylee?” Sure Karup deserved it.. but going so far int heir revenge cost a girl her mom, and the weight of this finally hits Jez who merley collapses saying “i’m cold” knowing that in the end.. her revenge wasnt worth it. And really that’s the center of the story: Revenge.. and how it’s ultimately hollow. To quote Mr. Miyagi from the karate kid on revenge, as I feel it’s UTTERLY relevant to this story “You might as well dig two graves”. The sisters COULD’VE had a decent life on their own, living as who they were in spite of karup, leaving the line behind when they could and taking Kaylee with them. Instead? While Karup and Huk rightfully died and those deaths are a good thing.. the arctic nation shows no signs of slowing down and likely didn’t losoe EVERYONE in the factory fire, a child is orphaned, Jez wasted her life as someone she wasn’t to get revenge on a man who didn’t even know she existed. While two very bad men died.. it cost two other lives and a child’s innocence to do so.

So we close at Miss Greys, having taken Kaylee in for obvious reasons. John encourages Grey to keep going, that maybe with someone like her.. this region might get better. While the adults are lost... maybe the children can be better. Though John sadly looks at Kaylee, after she pelts week with a snowball, and i’ts clear from both of their faces the events haunt them. While john saved her.. he still couldn’t save Dinah. We end though on a very lovely scene: as John and Week prepare to get the hell out of dodge their job done, Weekly, seeing John’s very haunted by the events reveals the real reason behind his name: the boys only think he changes his underwear once a week. And this gets a hell of a laugh out of john... and ends a very dark story with a very grim resolution on a hopeful note: Things may of ended terribly.. but with the nation weak.. there’s some hope at least things might get better... and sometimes a little hope is all you need. It’s also a nice show of how far the two have come: From John really destesting week.. to the two being the close friends they’ll be from here on out, there for each other no matter what. And it really shows in the endings: Last album ended iwth John morosely sinking back into the shadows. Here while not much happier.. it ends with him at least.. not alone.. and with some hope things will get better. They have to.

Final Thoughts:

Arctic Nation is a masterpice. While the sexist comedy bits have not aged well the story is THROUGHLY relevant, a story of revenge, prejudice and standing up to prejudice, and after the last four years of having a president blantly favor white suprmacists and corrupt cops while things only got worse.. seeing John stand up to that flavor of monster with bravey, wit and most importantly no fear, was UTTERLY cathartic. It’s a captivating story that keeps you hooked the whole time.

And while on it’s own the story is very good and stands firm, as the second adventure for john.. it improves on somewhere in the shadows in every way except the art, which was already perfect last time and is just as excellent this time and is easily some of the best comic book art period. But the narrative is far more intresting this time going from a pretty standard noir setup to a fairly unique one as while “hero is stuck in a town where he’s an unwelcome outsider” isn’t new, having that blended with white supremacy is brilliant and provides an unyileding wave of tension over the story, as our hero is ONLY not lynched right away because his enimies are being careful and trying to appear resonable when their just bigoted bullies with delusions of grandeur like all whit esuprmacists. Our hero is not safe, he is not welcome, but he WILL NOT give up on a child whose been lost and needs his help. It’s a far more gripping setup and the payoffs including the awesome warehouse climax and the huge reveal at the end, all feel oh so worth it but the journey is never boring. THe additoin of Weekly was also easily the best move, as while he probably wasn’t intended to be permenant, his goofball demanour, skill beneath that, and great dynamic with John add some levity to the grim nature of blacksad’s world, and give him someone to work off of so we don’t get all the exposition via the narration, allowing it to breathe and come about when needed rather than be a constant presence. While Somewhere in the Shadows was good.. Arctic Nation is a masterpiece, and teh series would keep that level of quality and nuance from here on out.

I’ll be taking a break from blacksad for a while, so I’m genuinely not sure when i’ll be getting to red soul as I have other projects I deserpately need to get back to in april first, but i promise he’ll return some day. For now if you liked this review, follow me for more including weekly reviews of ducktales and amphibia, a lena sabrewing retrospective and if you really like this you can chip in a buck or two a month on patreon. The more contirbutions I get, the more likely i’ll hit my stretch goals and I have some pretty neat ones so check it out, there’s a link on my blog. And see you at the next rainbow.

#blacksad #john blacksad #arctic nation #weekly #comics #furry #anthro #noir #darkhorse comics #french comics #black lives matter #black history month

13 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 5 years ago

Text

Summary: Ki-Adi-Mundi was sent to Tatooine to bring back Sharad Hett. Instead, he brings back his son and, following the pleas of a tired recently knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi, frees Shmi Skywalker.

Read on AO3

A’Sharad Hett didn’t have anything but his lightsabers, his mask and the Force when he followed his new teacher into Mos Espa. The port was busy with people of all species hurrying through the streets, but he still couldn’t shake the looks they were giving him. It didn’t bother him, they were right to wary. A’Sharad was strong and had fought many battles for his clan to protect their hunting grounds from all these outlanders who thought they could push his clan to the dead sands where cowards went to die.

“There is a ship here that will take us back to Coruscant,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. “I have to run another errand before that though. If you want, I can take you to the ship first and you can wait there for me.”

His new teacher was a strong, wise and kind man. He assumed A’Sharad needed time to recover from the pain of the last days, and he undoubtedly would, but now was not the time to mourn. Tatooine was a harsh world where its very air and sunlight were your enemy and A’Sharad understood all too well that he couldn’t grieve here.

And, perhaps if he allowed himself to think of the honest cool and cutting truth of the moonlight, A’Sharad could admit that he didn’t want to be alone. He wasn’t used to it. Even if one’s fight was their own, a Tusken was never truly lonely.

“I’d like to go with you, Master,” A’Sharad answered.

Mundi smiled at him. “I am glad to hear that Padawan. Perhaps your presence might help make my venture a little easier.”

“What are we doing?”

Mundi guided them through the streets into the poorer districts of the city until eventually, they reached the slave quarters proper. A’Sharad’s clan never had any troubles with the slaves or Tatooine. Their people were hurting just as much as the Tuskens and when they crossed paths in the desert, they gladly invited them to stay a night. It took great strength to run away and take your freedom when you came from nothing. The slaves didn’t know to trust them, but that was no surprise. Their owners, rich businessmen, and moisture farmers alike claimed people and land with no regard to another’s autonomy or belongings.

They were all skaterkst, bad.

“About three months ago another Jedi was stranded here on Tatooine, Qui-Gon Jinn was his name. I mentioned him before.”

A’Sharad recalled that name. Mundi had talked about him with his father. Sharad Hett had held him in high regard. A’Sharad nodded and sighed for Mundi to continue.

“Qui-Gon found a boy here, Anakin. He is very strong in the Force, but was wholly untrained. He freed Anakin in a rather spectacular manner if the boy’s account is to be believed. However, his mother is still a slave. Anakin’s teacher asked me to take a slight detour on this mission to free his mother. We can hardly expect the boy to let go of his attachments if his mother’s torment looms over him like a cord.”

“You are kind,” A’Sharad said.

He had been taught to let go when the storms had claimed his mother when he’d been a young child still. He was an adult now, a warrior. He had slain a krayt dragon and he would become a Jedi of the Order and not think about parents left behind in the desert.

“I’m a Jedi,” Mundi replied, though his answer almost felt more like a correction. “I do what is necessary.”

Mundi then stopped when he saw a group of women talking. A group of children was playing around them, a game of catch or something similar, A’Sharad wasn’t sure. There appeared to be some rules the children followed, but the pattern made no sense to him. Mundi only smiled at the display, then walked over to the women.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I seek a woman by the name of Shmi Skywalker. I am Ki-Adi-Mundi of the Jedi Order and this is my Padawan A’Sharad Hett. We’re here on behalf of her son, Anakin.”

One of the women stepped forward. Out of the three of them, she was the brightest. A’Sharad was used to utilizing the Force as his compass when the storms got so bad, you couldn’t even see your bantha. This woman was so full of light, A’Sharad could be blind and he would still find her.

“Anakin? My Anakin?” The woman repeated.

“You are Shmi Skywalker then?”

“Yes,” Shmi said. A’Sharad couldn’t sense a lie. She was speaking the truth and she was telling it with so much hope, it was startling.

“I’m very glad to hear that. Lady Skywalker, I apologize that it took us so long, but we are here to free you.”

The children that had been playing around them stopped and all of them, with no exception, stared at them with big eyes. The two women with Shmi looked torn between suspicion and disbelief, but the same couldn’t be said about Shmi. She looked at them in relief and wonder. Her arms hung slack at her side and while she didn’t say a word, didn’t ask them a question, A’Sharad could feel it all in the Force. It must be similar for his new teacher who studied her in curiosity before producing a small pouch and giving it to Shmi. She opened it and slowly counted the money, piece after piece before she closed the bag again and closed her eyes for just one moment to take a deep breath. When she was finished, Mundi continued.

Then, in the same voice he had used to ask A’Sharad if he wanted to stay behind, he spoke to Shmi.

“Originally, I was just going to give you the needed peggats as a Jedi cannot be seen dealing in slavery. The political upheaval it would cause is unimaginable. Fortunately, my young Padawan has not been inducted into the Order proper yet and his actions before his introductions will not reflect back on the Order at large.”

Mundi’s eyes shone almost mischievously as he turned to A’Sharad. “A’Sharad, would you take ensuring the freedom of this woman as your first mission as my Padawan?”

Shmi Skywalker with her burning hope looked at him like he was the younger Sky Brother, ready to snap her iron chains and break her out of the cruel enslavement. He could do this, he had to do it. The Force was with him and had guided him on this path and his new circle of life started here on Tatooine with Shmi Skywalker’s name. He wondered if she knew what her name meant to his clan, that it marked her as a great warrior.

“I will guide you, Shmi Skywalker,” A’Sharad promised.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice just as strong as his.

She hesitated at first, but then gave the pouch to A’Sharad.

They bid Shmi’s friends goodbye as they made their way to the Builder that owned her. They didn’t speak a word for the entire journey, only when they arrived at a junkshop did A’Sharad saw it fit to talk again. Tuskens didn’t waste words. Their masks enabled them to speak, but it wasn’t pleasant in any form. Hence most of their stories being relayed through their sign language.

“I will free you,” A’Sharad said.

Shmi looked at him and nodded only slightly, then the two of them stepped through the entrance of the shop. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi stayed outside as not to attract attention of any kind. Inside the store, a Toydorian was flying around, counting his possessions. A’Sharad was glad that Shmi wouldn’t be a part of his calculations much longer. When he saw Shmi, his face twisted into an ugly snarl and A’Sharad knew that if he weren’t standing right beside her, the Toydorian would have said something as harsh a krayt’s claws.

Now, instead, he froze. He was undoubtedly aware of the danger he was in now. A’Sharad felt a grim satisfaction, the Builder deserved it.

“I want to buy your slave,” A’Sharad said.

“What?”

“I will not repeat myself. You will sell her to me.”

A’Sharad didn’t attempt to influence his mind, it wouldn’t work, but he could certainly outstubborn the Toydorian and let his reputation do the rest.

The Builder’s wings twitched nervously. “What do you want with her?”

“It does not matter.”

“It’s just that Shmi here is very dear to me… The price has to fit, I mean.”

A’Sharad wanted to take out his lightsaber and separate the Toydorian’s head from his torse. That too would be justice, but not the kind he could seek now. The way the Builder talked about Shmi was unacceptable, as if she weren’t there at all.

“I can pay,” A’Sharad replied merely. “So do business with me.”

Like all Builders, the Toydorian was a greedy creature, cruel and vicious. But A’Sharad had seen death and survived, haggling with such a bastard was nothing. After a discussion that felt much too long and too short at the same time, A’Sharad walked out of the store with a free woman.

“It is done?” Mundi asked when he spotted them.

A’Sharad wondered whether he had stood out in the sunlight waiting the whole time instead of searching for some shade.

“Yes,” A’Sharad replied. “She is freed and I have some money still over.”

“Well done, Padawan,” Mundi praised him. He gently put his hand on A’Sharad’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. The gesture reminded A’Sharad too much of his father so that for just one moment he resented it before accepting it as the support it was meant to be.

“Are you alright, Lady Skywalker?”

Shmi was still staring at the small black remote in her hand as if she couldn’t believe it. There was no telling how long she had been a slave for, but even just a minute in chains was a minute too long.

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I’m fine. I am… free.”

She began smile, happy, wide and mad like a spirit. Before A’Sharad could react, she pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” She whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. When she pulled away from him again, she wiped away the one lone tear that had rolled over her cheeks. With the very same thumb, she gently traced his right cheek. A’Sharad didn’t know the gesture, but he knew better than to disrupt it.

“I will not forget what you did for me,” Shmi said. “Jedi Mundi, I know I’m asking for a lot, but could you tell about my son? And give him a message from me?”

To A’Sharad it didn’t seem like Shmi was asking for much, but they had just freed her. She now had a whole galaxy to observe and travel if she so desired. It would take her time to figure out what her new limits were.

“Of course, Lady Skywalker,” Mundi assured her. “Nothing would please me more.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi was an honorable man. If A’Sharad followed his footsteps, he would certainly make his clan proud. And as Shmi Skywalker took her first steps into a world unbound, A’Sharad Hett set his compass anew and followed suit.

#star wars #ki adi mundi #a'sharad hett #shmi skywalker #fanfic

56 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .6.

thursday

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Warnings: non/dub con sex (you know what it is ;))

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader spends her last night in the Rogers’ household.

Note: OMG it’s the finale! Hope y’all are ready because I sure as fuck am not. But let’s get snappin’.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think!

…

It was your last full day with Kylie. With Steve. You were exhausted. The week had lasted much longer than anticipated. And the night. You spent most of it awake. Not just because Steve slept on the other side of your wall but because of the itch which never fully faded. Every time you about to doze, it woke you. Your thighs tickled and your core pulsed. He had left you wanting and you suspected it was no accident.

When the sun rose, you did too. You kept quiet. You listened until you heard movement in the next room. Steve's door opened and shut, his footsteps paused in the hallway. A light graze along the other side. A sigh. He carried on and left you to finally breathe.

You bathed if only to waste time. You were drawn from the tub by a knock. It was Kylie. As promised, she'd awoken early.

She entered as you held tight your towel. She was ready for the day. A black bathing suit with cut-outs complemented her perfect figure. Your flower bathing suit was out of the question and your bikini bottoms were missing. Your other option was the bright yellow frilly piece your mom had bought you. Oh well, you’d just be lounging in the pool.

You changed and followed her into the hall. The house was eerily quiet. It felt oddly empty. You listened for any noise from the room next to yours or below. Kylie slipped her sunglasses on as she descended the stairs lazily. You trailed her, your ears pricked for any sign of life.

“My dad went into town,” She yawned as she led you into the kitchen, “Something about his motorcycle? I dunno. He’s been working on that thing for years.”

“Oh,” You let out a silent breath of relief.

She rounded the island and pulled out a pitcher from the fridge and a tray of ice. “I figured ice coffees by the pool will be a great start to the day,” She grinned. “A lazy day to end your visit.”

“Thank god,” You smiled. “I’m not looking forward to a summer at the banquet hall.”

“Yeah, but the tips,” She took out two glasses and added ice. “My mom got me a job at a newspaper. Folding flyers.”

“Shit,” You frowned as she poured the cold brew and replaced the pitcher in the fridge. “I’d gladly trade weddings for the menial work.”

“If only,” She slid your coffee across to you. “Oh well, let’s just enjoy the sun.”

“When do you go to your mom’s?” You asked as you stepped out into the yard. Birds chirped merrily and you could smell the freshly cut grass over the fence.

“Another week. Figure it’s enough time to say goodbye to Taylor.” She sat on a lounger and sipped her drink. “He’s dropping out, eh? His parents are pissed.”

“Really?” You draped your towel over the back of the chair and sat.

“He hates it. He’s not one for reading, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s all just a waste of time. If my parents weren’t down my throat about it, I wouldn’t even be there. I just wanna go live in a big city and be me.”

“Yeah,” You took a gulp and set down the glass carefully beside your beach chair. “I don’t know what to do if I don’t get the switch. I mean, I could still write in my spare time but...whatever. You’re right, let’s just chill and worry about it later.”

“Ooh, I like vacation you,” She giggled. “I’ll enjoy her while she lasts.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” You snapped.

“Nah, not at all, mom,” She teased, “Don’t worry, it’s what I like about you. All my other friends encourage my bad decisions.”

You shook your head and put your own sunglasses on as you reclined. You were okay with spending your last day doing nothing. It would be a nice reprieve before a day spent driving to a summer of work.

Steve returned that afternoon. The sun’s heat had softened and you floated around the pool in half a slumber. Your heart fluttered as you heard the car engine and the subsequent open and close of the front door. The house muted all other noise and you prayed he did not come looking for you.

It was almost twenty minutes before he made his appearance. Your sunbathed trance had broke and you were antsy atop your floatie. You fidgeted as you tried to balance the still unfinished book and glanced to the glass doors as they slid open.

“Hey,” Steve appeared in a short-sleeve button-up and shorts. Kylie waved to him as she texted at the edge of the pool. “You look...relaxed.”

“What’s up, dad?” She grumbled as she tore her eyes from her screen.

“Just checking on you guys,” He sat on the lounger you had formerly occupied. “Have you had lunch?”

“Dad, we can fend for ourselves,” She shook her head and set her phone down as she pushed herself away from the side of the pool. “We’re adults.”

“I know,” He smiled and she didn’t notice as his eyes strayed to you. You closed your book and shielded your chest with it. “I was just trying to be nice.” He sighed and blocked the sun from his eyes. “I ran into Taylor’s mom...she asked how you were doing?”

Kylie sat up and nearly turned over her floatie. “You’re checking in on me. Dad, me and Taylor--”

“I don’t have a problem with Taylor,” He asserted, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She leaned back slowly.

“You didn’t mention he was going away,” He scratched his chin as he spoke. “I know it’s probably difficult but--”

“What do you mean going away?” Kylie’s floatie shook dangerously again as she jolted up.

“I thought you...knew,” He seemed genuinely perplexed, though you had found him to be a great actor. “He’s leaving on Sunday...for enlistment.”

“Enlistment?” Her voice peaked and she dove off her floatie. She broke the surface and dragged herself through the water back to her phone at the edge. “I didn’t--He didn’t tell me.”

She climbed out and dialed her phone as she stormed to the glass door. You gaped and Steve met your gaze. A grin slowly spread across his face. Shit. This wasn’t new information. This was an expertly timed reveal of a secret he’d been holding onto.

You swallowed and paddled yourself over to the ladder. You climbed out and Steve stood. He moved into your path as you made to follow Kylie.

“Get out of my way,” You hissed.

“I got you a gift,” He kept his distance but his eyes embraced you. It was as if you could feel the things he was thinking of doing to you. “I left it on your bed.”

“I…” You sidestepped him but he didn’t try to stop you. His fingers merely brushed along your thigh and snapped the bottom of your swimsuit. “I gotta go check on Kylie.”

You scurried around him and through the door. You could hear Kylie’s voice from upstairs and you glanced back to the yard. Steve had turned to watch you but did not follow. His hands were on his hips in a victorious pose. He knew what he had done.

Kylie spent an hour on the phone with Taylor. Then the rest of the night texting him as you tried to comfort her. She was too distracted, too angry to notice your own distress. When she didn’t have her phone, she was in tears or fits of rage. You listened to her rants as she paced restlessly or collapsed weakly on her bed.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” She bemoaned as she slumped on her bed. “He was just going to leave me.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your last day had taken a sour turn and you had zero relationship advice to offer. You had avoided men for most of your life. You didn’t get them either. They seemed more stressful than anything. The last week had confirmed as much.

“Kylie, maybe he was scared to tell you,” You peeked out the window just beyond her bed. It was dark out. Past nine already. Your evening had wasted away with her temper. “I’m sure he meant to but it’s probably hard for him, too.”

“Ugh,” She kicked her feet and stood with a growl. “I just...I have to talk to him.”

“Kylie,” You rose, “Come on, it’s my last night.”

“And it might be my last chance to say goodbye,” She whined. “I’m sorry, but I might not see him...ever again.”

“You have two days left to say goodbye,” You pleaded.

“I promise I’ll be back to see you off,” She took her phone and tucked it in her pocket. “Please.”

You sighed. You really didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to be here alone. But how much could you take of her fits? You knew she was going to leave whether you agreed or not. She already had her keys in her hand.

“Fine, I guess I can’t say no,” You muttered. “Go.”

“Thank you,” She grabbed your hand, “Really. I know I’m being a shit friend but…”

You pulled your hand from her grip and crossed your arms. “Just go.”

Her blonde lashes lowered in guilt but she left without another word. She brushed past you and rushed through her door and down the stairs. No pretense in hiding her departure. You listened from her open door as she hurried out. Her engine turned and tore down the drive.

You quietly pulled shut her door and tiptoed down the hall. You pushed through into your own room and it clicked behind you as you entered. You crossed to your bed and fell onto it with a groan. You kept yourself from screaming into the pillow as you landed on an unseen object. You sat up and climbed off the crumpled cardboard.

You shifted the lid off the box and blinked at its contents. You peeled away the tissue paper to fully uncover the lacy lingerie. There was no ass or crotch in the lilac panties, merely a series of lacy straps and a bra to match which could barely conceal your chest. A knock came at your door.

You stood but it opened without awaiting your answer. Steve let the door fall open and you stared at him as you held the pale bra. He smiled and crossed his arms.

“You opened it.” You tossed the bra on the bed and stepped back. “Oh sweetie, let’s not play this game.”

You looked to the lingerie strewn on the bed and gulped. You should’ve locked the door. Why hadn’t you locked the door?

“Go on, change. I’ll wait out in the hall,” He coaxed, “I just…I like surprises, don’t you?”

He slowly backed out and closed the door. His weight shifted the wood as he leaned against the other side. Whether you did what he wanted or not, he’d come back in and make you. He had crafted the situation so well. You couldn’t say no, even if you could’ve found your voice.

It was two minutes before you found your wits. You looked down at your bathing suit and shook your head. You peeled it off and let it pool at your feet. You stepped out of it and untangled the purple panties. You pulled them on, though it was no easy task to figure them out. The bra was easier though it offered just as little coverage.

You peeked at your body. The top of your breasts propped up by the underwire, only the top of your vee hidden by the lace. A gentle tap came at the door. “You okay, sweetie?”

You flinched. Your shock slaked away and you forced your feet across the room. You couldn’t muster words, only opened the door to reveal yourself. He backed up and looked you up and down. He grinned and took your hand.

“You look amazing, sweetie,” His other palm tickled your side. He turned you down the hall and led you to the top of the stairs. “Come on.”

“Wh-where are we going?” You whispered.

“I meant it when I said I wanted you on that counter,” He tugged you down the steps as he descended on ahead of you. “I’ve been thinking of it since that first morning.”

“Steve…” You came to the bottom and planted your feet, “I…” You heart raced and you could barely hear yourself think.

“You don’t have to be scared,” He reached up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “I won’t hurt you. Have I hurt you?”

You shook your head and looked down. He cradled your face in his large hand and pushed your chin up. He bent to kiss your lips.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we’ll keep it slow.”

He walked backwards and led you into the kitchen. He pushed the dimmer up halfway and turned so that you were ahead of him. He guided you backwards and stopped you just beside the island. He leaned in and kissed you again. This time he pressed his tongue along your lips. You opened your mouth and let him explore. You’d never been kissed like that.

His hands grazed along your sides, from shoulder to hip and back again. He tickled your waist and gripped it firmly. He lifted you without drawing away. He slid you onto the counter, your legs hanging over the marble as he pushed between them. He buried his hand in your hair and dragged his lips from yours.

He bent as he kissed and nibbled along your jaw and neck. Then your shoulders and teased along your collarbone. He cupped your tits as he kissed the top of them and pushed his face between them. He nudged you back so that you fell flat against the counter top.

He slipped the straps of your bra down your shoulders and pulled the cups past your breasts. You untangled your arms as he took a nipple in his mouth and the lacy bra slipped further down your torso. You shivered and he reached up to caress your cheekbone. He held your head in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb along your jawline.

He tended to you gently with his mouth. Pinched your nipple firmly with his other hand and you moaned. You were on fire at his touch. Your mind was a storm of shame and lust. You shouldn’t be doing this, but it felt so nice.

His hand continued down your body, along your stomach to trace the line of your panties. His finger delved past the lace to your exposed pussy and he ran his index over your clit. You twitched and he did it again. Your body responded without thought.

His mouth followed his hand and he got to his knees. He pulled you closer to the edge and hooked your legs over his shoulders. He replaced his finger with his tongue and you sighed. You clapped your hand over your mouth. You were shocked at your own pleasure. This was Kylie’s father; a man twice your age. It was so wrong.

His tongue chased away your doubts and you pushed your head back into the marble as he danced around your clit. He delved between your folds with his index and middle fingers. He dragged them along your pussy as his mouth played with your bud. Your wetness mixed with his saliva and he hummed.

“Sweetie,” He drew away just slightly and looked up at you, “You taste so good.”

You closed your eyes and covered your face with your hands. He reached up and tugged at your arms. You let your hands slip down and he guided them to the back of his head. He went back to work with his tongue and pressed his index to your entrance. He pushed inside just a little and you gasped.

He entered slowly and you trembled. His tongue eased the pressure and he moved his finger in and out. An odd sensation began to bloom. More intense than before. He added another finger and curled them inside of you as he toyed with your clit. Your legs tensed around his head and you latched onto his gold and silver hair.

You arched your back as the wave washed over you. So sudden, so sharp that you cried out and clung to him desperately. Your orgasm left you breathless and weak. He slowly pulled out as he raised his head. He licked your cum from his lips and fingers as he stood.

“Wasn’t that nice, sweetie?” Your head lolled back and forth as you crossed your arms over your body. The afterglow held you in a senseless haze. “It was, wasn’t it?” He cooed and began to unbutton his shirt.

You counted your breaths as they slowed and your vision cleared. He dropped his shirt to the floor, then his shorts. You peered down at him and removed his underwear with a smirk up at you. He stood and stroked his cock as he neared. You closed your legs and he softly touched your knees.

“Come on, sweetie, was that so bad?” He tickled your thighs, “Don’t you want more?”

You bit your lip and spread your fingers along your chest. You couldn’t look at him as you nodded and let your legs fall slack. He pushed between them and you shivered. The tip of his cock poked at your pussy and you lifted your head to look down at him.

“It’s okay,” His cock slid over your pussy as he bent over you. He slipped his hand beneath your head as he kissed you and his other hand ventured down your body. He pulled away and whispered. “Just a little bit of pain, sweetie.”

You pressed your palms to his chest as he rubbed his cock along your pussy. You could feel yourself getting even wetter. He groaned and lined himself up and you inhaled sharply. He kissed your cheek and pressed his lips to your ear.

“Are you ready, sweetie?” He asked but didn’t wait for your answer as he slowly pushed inside. You whimpered as he entered you. Only a little before he paused and caressed your temple with his thumb. “Just breathe and relax. Remember.”

You closed your eyes and grimaced as he continued. There was a moment of resistance as he got further in and sudden pang. You yelped.

“Steve,” You grabbed his shoulders and pushed on him. “Ugh, Steve,” You begged, “It hurts.”

He stopped and pulled out until only his tip was inside of you. He shushed and pushed in again. “Just a little more,” He said softly.

He stretched you terribly as he went even deeper this time. You dug your nails into his shoulders as the tears pricked at your eyes. Your breaths were loud and thick. You were almost choking on the pain as he brought himself to his limit. He stilled and you whined through gritted teeth.

“You’re so tight, sweetie,” He wiggled his hips and you groaned. “Fuck.”

He eased out of you and you shook. He thrust back in, just as slow as before but it still hurt. He repeated the motion several more times, each easier than the last. Your arms slipped around his neck and he kissed you. His lips smothered yours as his pace grew steadier. The agony dwindled and soon you felt the familiar warmth. The pain was but an echo in the distance.

“There,” He said as he leaned his forehead against yours, “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Y-yes,” Your voice was small as your chest hammered. “Ahhhhh.”

“Yeah?” He picked up his pace just a little, “You like that, sweetie?”

“Y-y-yeah,” You clung to him and his head fell down next to yours.

You moaned in his ear as you brought your legs up around his back. He got even deeper and you cried out. He went even faster but the ache was overwhelmed by the heat flowing through you. He thrust into you again and again and again. He never wavered, only sped up until your sweaty back glided along the marble.

You hugged him to you as he plucked at your nerves. They twisted to a point and shattered all at once. You exclaimed as you orgasmed once again and he groaned in your ear. His motion grew erratic and he pulled out suddenly. His hand pushed between your bodies and he stroked himself until his cum spilled onto your thigh.

He held himself up on his elbow as he looked down at you. His eyes were smoky; dark. He broke your embrace as he stood and glanced down at himself. His pelvis was streaked red. You blanched and sat up quickly. You peeked at the counter between your legs, his cum and your blood sticky along the marble.

“Aw, sweetie, let’s get you cleaned up,” He turned and grabbed a dish towel from a drawer.

He wetted it beneath the faucet and returned to you. You stared down at the mess in shock. Had you really just done that? He wiped the blood away tenderly from your thighs before cleaning himself. Lastly, he sopped up the mess on the counter and tossed the cloth in the trash.

He came close again, his hands on your hips as he lifted you from the counter. He cradled you in his arms as he carried you through the door and to the stairs. “There’s a few more things I need to show you, sweetie…” He climbed the steps slowly. “We’ve only go tonight.”

...

END

tags to be added in reblog

#dad!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic #series #au #steve rogers #dad!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #miniseries #mcu #marvel #dark!fic #dark fic #darkverse #dark!verse #captain america

1K notes · View notes