#pantomime au

[wynnibee]

Having fun with no strings attached, hm?

@eyenaku HI IM SO SO SO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS IS BUT I WAS YOUR SECRET SANTA AND HERE'S YOUR GIFT HHHH

id in alt and under the cut!

[id: a shaded and colored drawing of harlequin sun, columbine y/n, and pierrot moon standing around a carousel coyote.

going from left to right; harlequin sun has a gold, six pointed jester hat resembling sunrays, with a bell at the end of each point. he's wearing a black mask with a line through it following his crescent. his eyes are simple white dots on a gray-ish sclera. sun has large blue and red ruffles around his neck, with a blue frill under the ruffles. he's wearing a blue, long sleeved shirt covered in alternating red and yellow diamonds, with blue ribbons wrapped around his wrists with a single bell on each. he has a barely visible blue hip drape, that sits on top of his red jester pants. he's hanging off of the carousel pole, and standing leaned over with a bent knee to look at Columbine. his other arm hangs limply at his side.

Columbine themselves has their curly brown hair pulled up into a half-bun, with a crown of white pointsettias behind their bangs. large triangle shaped earrings hang from their ears, and they have long wavy eyelashes with brown eyes, a small amount of blush and brown lipstick. they have brown eyes with large black pupils and a small white dot in the center of each pupil. around their shoulders is a large fur half jacket, held together by a sparkly moon shaped clasp. they have long, fluffy pink sleeves with blue ribbons wrapped around their wrist. while most of columbine's dress is obscured by the wrap, a gold band can be seen underneath, with then flows into their dress skirt. the skirt is blue on the outside, with an inner strip of pink bordered with red ruffles. they're sitting on the carousel animal, with both arms extended. one is held out and the other is resting on moon's face. they have a smile on their face and their head is tilted slightly towards moon while they look over at sun.

the coyote is multiple shades of brown, starting out dark on the back and getting lighter towards the white underbelly and muzzle. the inside of the coyote's fluffy ears are also white. the coyote is standing in a half running pose, with one paw pulled up. each paw is wrapped in flowing red ribbons with two bells on each leg. a red bridle and rein sits on the coyote's face, held together with a star shaped metal piece. the bridle is embroidered with simple green and gold floral patterns. a long golden pole extends from the coyote's shoulders.

pierrot moon is entirely black and white, and he wears a long nightcap with two black puffs on the tail and one at the very tip of the cap. he has large eyelashes and three jester stripes cutting through his black eyes. he has a single white dot in the center of his eyes. he also wears large neck ruffles with fluffy black trim. his shirt resembles a long sleeved pajama shirt, with black trim. his wrist is wrapped in black ribbon. he has a black band around his waist and he wears plain white jester pants. he's looking at Columbine with his hand on top of theirs, holding it to his face. he has one eye closed and he has a large smile on his face with black lipstick over his smile. he's standing mostly behind Columbine, but he's leaning slightly to the side.

the background is a blurred carousel at night, with glowing golden lights. the entire image is covered in white sparkles. end id.]

[eyenaku]

*sliiiiiides in* good evening

ooooo you wanna ramble about your pantomime au so bad ooo

I DO I DO I REALLY DO- here's a Very Long Ramble!!

let us meet our cast:

columbine (or columbina, as they're referred to in plays and promotional material)

harlequin (harlequin sun) and pierrot (pierrot moon)

Now these bad boys are the star actors (?) puppets! in a world renowned theatre specializing in Harlequinades, Melodramas, and other Pantomime-character-centric theatre.

(More accurately they're Commedia'dell arte characters, but people only know what pantomime is so. I'm calling it pantomime AU I guess LMAO)

The parent company (not quite a troupe due to their nature) also puts on other plays in other locations (with different characters and "tropes"/genres- like ballets, operas, etc. perhaps diff. fnaf characters in all of these).

The theatre is built like an opera house. The music is played by mechanical instruments- mainly a massive orchestrion housed in the back of the stage.

Now these puppets are entirely not sentient, manned by strings and puppeteered by a very advanced mechanical system of rails and the like in the ceilings (think similar to Moon's line thing in security breach- they move freely about a space, just with more lines to control each limb like a typical marionette). They're tall! Taller than the average human, Columbine included- they are very much life sized.

The characters are utilized much like human actors. They're used for meet and greets! They sign autographs! They gain fanbases and followings!

Columbine is marketed as Columbina the stock character. Female, with heavy make-up and vaguely promiscuous. Columbina is the target of affections. How attractive is she, in the eyes of the audience. How seductive. A soubrette- coy and cocky and conceited and saucy and a great deal of other descriptions.

However, just as the stock character was often the only Functionally Intellectual character in these plays despite all the not very demure connotations, Columbine, too, is multifaceted. Or perhaps single faceted, yet presented in a way that clouds the audience's perspective. Columbine is a puppet. Columbine is not female. People treat them as though they're female. People do not treat them well, especially in contrast to the followings of Harlequin and Pierrot

Columbine is pissed off.

Feeling a very strong emotion for the first time grants these puppets sentience. Why you may ask? Does it really matter? Its fiction.

Columbine's trigger so to speak was the issue of being perceived as female (and being treated in gross ways, thanks to the nature of theatre) when that isn't you. You are a puppet. Why is this happening? It's not so much being pissed off as being unbelievably frustrated. Columbine is frustrated!

So, in a huff, they carefully remove all their strings and just. Leave. Leave the theatre behind.

On the way to the exit they have to pass through a hallway with massive posters of the three of them illuminated. They see themself there and grimace.

So Columbine is gone now. And the theatre's management is sort of freaking out, after all this is one of the main three characters- arguably *The* main character. But they just try to cover it up, albeit poorly. Columbina is just under maintenance! Do not worry, audience! Harlequin Sun and Pierrot Moon are still here! Plays are still ongoing! They substitute in very basic clearly thrown together quickly "Columbine" stand ins for plays that are just. kinda sad. Blank dummies in an almost mockery of their costuming.

Speaking of sad, something is brewing within Pierrot Moon! Columbine leaving is kind of destroying him. He's sad, like really sad. Like... depressed. This is so strong that Pierrot, you guessed it, becomes sentient. Columbine being replaced is the final straw.

Moon becomes the kind of sad that drains everyone around him. He is not the only one suffering. It's not an uncontrollable thing either, he's just decided to not even attempt to manage his emotions, and everyone else has to deal with it. Anyone who is kind to him suffers for it. Moon's behaviour is not just disturbing to everyone, but is actively ruining plays.

Guess who this pisses off? Guess who else is sentient now? Harlequin Sun! He loves the theatre- a stickler for the rules and so very passionate about his plays. About his skills as an actor. Sun is incredibly unbelievably pissed off- Columbine is gone and Moon isn't doing anything right, and this stand-in dummy is godawful, and everything Was perfect, and now it isn't. and how incompetent! And so on and so forth. Sun is unabashedly pissed off. He is violent. When a play ends, he just about dismantles the stand-in dummies (more like rips them apart with his bare hands). A pile of "corpses" builds up, Everything is awful.

Moon decides it's all too much. He's going to leave. Maybe he'll find Columbine. He's desperate. He makes it to the exit hall, rips off his strings roughly with no care, and then!

Sees the same poster of Columbina from before.

Moon is just. stuck there looking up at it. Transfixed, he falls to the floor sobbing. He can't move. Sun finds him and *physically drags him* back. Hooray more violence 👍🏼

More plays, more Sun scrapping dummies, rinse and repeat. It just. Sucks. Human staff are quitting, it's too much for them. Dealing with either of them is just so horrible. Stage hands come and go and come and go and never stay.

Sun gets a turn to have a breakdown at the poster too!

He's not happy about everything sucking. Obviously he's not the issue, he loves the theatre, it's the other two. Why did you have to leave? It's not just anger but grief- he really truly misses Columbine, though he shows much differently than Moon. It's all too much.

(re)enter the new stage hand: totally not Columbine

ahaha what a nice welcome back! Columbine came back because they missed the two only to come back to. whatever tf this is that's going on. Violence from Sun, Moon's whole deal, The matter of the poster and littered approximations of their past self mangled about the backstage area. Yk how it is

Now at this point both Columbine and Moon don't have their strings (though Moon has stray bits still half tied to him). But Sun? Sun has his. They're Extremely Frayed though. His aggressive tendencies serve to have him work against the strings, even though he doesn't want to intentionally. Perhaps a lash at Moon mid-play, or pantomimed motions played out too rough. He's a touch too aggressive to be any kind of restrained. They're very close to just snapping- quite a feat considering they were made to support giant marionettes!

Anyhow, Columbine is back! They expect any sort of welcome but.. neither Harlequin nor Pierrot recognize them (and their dumbass didn't fkn think to... y'know... tell them? oh hey it's me?). They sorta assumed the two would recognize their face, or perhaps their oddly tall stature, or the remaining recognizable details (face paint, hairstyle (even with hoodie) eyelashes, etc) but nope! They're both blinded by their own selfish bitterness and can't see Columbine literally in front of them.

So the two are horrible to them, of course, since. Y'know! New stagehand! Ripe for Sun to be so passive aggressive to that it might as well just be aggressive to, and for Moon to be difficult and taxing towards.

Columbine is abhorred by this since, y'know. They missed them. And they take this as a sort of more messed up version of the silent treatment- surely they know it's them and are just acting like this out of spite! Fine, two can play at that game. Columbine can pretend they're strangers too.

They pretend they don't think Sun demolishing the faux-columbinas isn't a direct threat towards them. They pretend it doesn't affect them. They pretend Moon acting horrid and a type of sad so selfish it makes them want to leave all over again doesn't hurt. They, again, think Moon sobbing over heartbreak and abandonment is him rubbing their actions in their face. That him comparing them bitterly to themself is the same thing. They just do their job backstage. The two directly antagonizing them all of the time is hardly tolerable, but tolerable nonetheless since they do still care!

So it's horrible. At least it can't get any worse- WRONG! It can!

Sun went through too many stand-ins. The theatre can't just...get more. These are carved. They may have been simpler, and worse that Columbine, but they're still massive. You can't just get more like that. Management is freaking out- the public is getting even more upset. Where is Columbina? They need Columbina! A play is about to be put on, and the crowd is chanting for her. They're getting upset. They're demanding. But what can they do? There's nobody to put in the role- no human tall enough, no mannequins unscathed.

And then Management notices something- or someone. Columbine. Columbine is weirdly tall. Columbine would fit in the costume.

Before they know it, they're back on stage- stringless. In the same costume, the very thing they tried to escape.

The crowd goes absolutely wild- there she is! There's Columbina! The *real* Columbina! Columbine is distraught, they look around the stage for any semblance of help- Sun and Moon may be mad at them but they trust them! They know them!

And they make eye-contact with Sun. He's absolutely seething. He looks ready to rip them limb from limb. Does he recognize them? Nope! But this Stranger, this impostor is taking their place. A simple stagehand is taking Columbine's role, their spotlight, their fame, their cheering, their fans- He looks at them, who are identical in all but expression, and can't see Columbine. He's completely blind in his rage.

The bells begin to toll. The music starts to play. A final dance.

Columbine is passed between the two- spun in dizzying circles by Pierrot before being seized in Harlequin's crushing grip, and so on, and so on, and so on, again and again and again.

But then they see something change in Moon's eyes- recognition. It's actually them. He has no time to celebrate, to talk, to convey the overwhelming feelings bubbling in his chest. The dance becomes more fervor-ed- a true battle between Harlequin and Pierrot, one for Columbine's literal hand, for their safety.

The audience is oblivious to the ramifications, to the plight. They're mesmerized by the passion, the emotions so thick they can be felt in the air. There's tension, there's drama- it's a masterpiece of story and vehemence spinning and pushing and pulling and twirling about the stage.

Columbine can't tell if the snapping noises are from Sun's strings or from where his hands grip them in a stranglehold and splinter their limbs.

It's a struggle as entrancing as it is violent. The audience watches with bated breath- what will happen next? The three weave and lunge and with each forceful effort, Sun's strings making awful creaking snaps. The very system he's so desperate to maintain is working to subdue him, the two have a chance!

But just as Columbine manages to weasel their way out of his grasp-

SNAP

Nobody can do anything but watch in horror as Sun's strings feather limply at his sides, frayed like a violin bow gone sour. There's nothing stopping him now.

He's deaf to Columbine's pleas, to Moon's, to anything but the pure rage rolling through him. He lunges towards Columbine in a frenzied attack- a sickening crack ringing through the opera house.

And the audience erupts in applause as he realizes what he's done.

[cantdanceflynn]

FOR ANYONE CURIOUS YES IM GOIN A LIL INSANE OVER THE POSSESION/DOPPLEGANGER/IDK WTF IS GOING ON BUT I LOVE ITTTTTTTTTTTTT STUFF GOIN ON W LIMITEDLIFE

[skeetlebeetle]

this was going to be a doodle..

(DONT MAKE ME TAP THE SIGN!!! if yr gonna use my art [don’t repost] u gotta credit me!!)

[enviedear]

you've picked some easter lillies !

— jason todd

! one shots ੈ♡˳

honey don't feed it, it will come back ━━━ in which working undercover alongside your ex-boyfriend feels like cruel and unusual punishment. like a feral hound—he keeps coming back into your life.

loving alone is what you make it ━━━ jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush | requested

you should let me ride shotgun ━━━ in which jason todd shares in your dilemma of keeping this security arrangement professional. lines tend to blur so easily though. bodyguard!jason

you didn't see my valentine, i sent it via pantomime ━━━ could i request jason todd being jealous of dick and reader who is slightly older and he’s harboured a crush on since his robin days? AND jason todd/reader + jealousy | requested

the legend of gotham hollow ━━━ your small town is overrun with strange happenings. murders and deceit run rampant, so much so, that you're wary of trusting a single soul. superstitions have become as sacred as the holy book, delusions making up most of the townsfolk's minds. particularly that of the feared headless horseman. so when constable jason todd comes into town, impassioned to find an end to the madness, you vow to aid your mission. sleepy hollow!au

the ghost in your room ━━━ on hallows eve, jason todd undergoes his worst nightmare. death, or rather, the thin line between living and death. he's cursed to reanimate, walk the earth again—only as a malformed spirit, a mere shadow of life. a cruel fate, that he’s dead set on making enjoyable. for him, at least. ghost!jason

the beast of the unknown ━━━ there’s a known beast within the woods—the fearsome death of hope. he’s known to run amok every full moon, hunting for victims. searching for the last of their hope to steal away. how unfortunate for you to get lost in his woods tonight. eldritch!jason

! hc's & thoughts ੈ♡˳

jason and never saying the right thing... | ...unless the helmet is on

jason owning a body shop / mechanic!jason

jason can't push you away

jason todd + scream

jason's views on domesticity (imo)

bodyguard!jason

jason + love letters | jason + post cards

jason and being shown off

jason todd is a man of action | nsfw 18+

jason is a yearner

jason mourning his youth

jason helping you control rent prices | nsfw 18+

jason's hair

jason steals your things

jason will always make your birthday special

jason loves to hear you talk

jason and getting the last word

college!jason thoughts

jason todd and control | nsfw 18+

farmer!jason | 👤ྀི 🎧ྀི 🧸ྀི 💋ྀིྀི

buying a home with jason

jason's big three and enneagram (imo)

fanart for this fic by @luffyadolover !!!!

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from a "Kara actually got to Earth on-schedule and now she's got a baby cousin to raise" AU:

Kara doesn’t understand the aliens’ language, which is fine. She didn’t expect to. She watches them interact and listens as they speak, familiarizing herself with the cadence and pitch and rhythm of their voices and doing her best to pick out individual sounds and patterns. She likes languages well enough. She did pretty well with Daxamite dialects in school last year, anyway. 

The aliens are kind, at least so far. They found her and Kal curled up in the remains of their smashed-up ships in their ruined field and brought them into their home despite the mess. Kara thinks they’re farmers, probably? So probably Laborer Guild, or whatever this planet has instead of Laborers. The House of El is mostly Thinkers, but Kara isn’t worried about that. She’ll figure something out, as soon as she figures out how to communicate with the aliens. Pantomime has not been all that helpful, at least not so far. 

They gave her a warm, unusually sweet drink that might have some kind of milk in it, with soft white pellets in it that are even sweeter. It’s not quite like anything she’s ever tasted before, but she likes it. Kal really liked it, though the aliens seemed to think he shouldn't have too much and gave her a little cup of just milk alone for him instead. Or she thinks it's milk, anyway. 

It's white. And very thick, and almost creamy? Though it tasted good too, when Kara stole a sip to make sure it wouldn’t upset Kal’s stomach if she gave it to him. 

"Pye," the alien that Kara is assuming is female announces in their weirdly simple-sounding language, putting a round plate with a slice of something on it on the table in front of her. Kal reaches for it from her lap with a burble. Kara peers at it too. The slice is triangular, with a crisp crust and an oozy red filling. She wonders why the plate is round, if the "pye" is meant to be sliced and served triangularly. It seems a little disrespectful to the cook–or baker? Or at least the artisan who made the plate, which was clearly painted with very dedicated care–painted by hand, even, not a pre-programmed design reproduced by a machine. That’s very luxurious for Laborers to be offering unexpected guests who just destroyed their field. 

Maybe they’re overcompensating, Kara thinks. Or maybe the aliens are really just that kind. 

Maybe. 

She thinks they’re little flowers, the designs around the edges of the plate. Or at least they look like they could be flowers. They’re flower-like, if nothing else, and all the weird colors of them might just be a stylistic choice. 

They’re pretty. 

She wishes she could show her mother. 

Kara crushes down the grief for the thousandth time and smiles at the aliens. They smile back. 

It helps, almost. 

Almost. 

The “pye” tastes very good.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 31

part 1 | part 30 | ao3

updating the rating to E. cw: recreational drug use/marijuana, foreplay, mild-to-moderate spit kink

“I feel like a water bottle,” Steve slurs. At some point he wiggled his way between Eddie’s legs to get a better look at his tattoos — starting at his ankles and working his way up, pointing at each piece and asking, "What's this? And what's that?"

Eddie explained each one in turn: the quotes, the lyrics, the silly art. "This one's the Elvish word for friend. That one's from an Iron Maiden song. Oh, the asterisk? It's supposed to be an asshole. No, I'm serious! That's how Vonnegut drew them in his books."

Now Steve’s lying flat on his back between Eddie’s splayed thighs, eyelids heavy, body warm. 'Go Your Own Way' plays softly on the stereo, and Eddie continues his tattoo tour, the fingers of his free hand weaving patterns through Steve's hair — lazy, twirling zig-zags that send skitters of sensation across his scalp and down his spine.

Steve feels like he could die right now. Happy. Held. Content.

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

“This is fucking awesome,” he hums.

“Good,” Eddie grins at him, “I’m glad.” He scratches lightly at his scalp. “What were you, uh— what were you saying about a water bottle?”

Oh, right. Steve lifts a hand; pantomimes tilting a bottle back and forth. “Like, uh….. Sssloshy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie snorts. “You’re so high.”

“Mmmmhm.”

“And you look like you’re jerking off a ghost."

“I’ll jerk off your ghost,” Steve mutters petulantly.

"I’m sure my ghost would love that.”

Eddie reaches for the joint and takes another drag, and Steve tilts his neck, arching up to look at him. Bites his lip at the pretty picture Eddie makes: the sharp shadows and delicate lines, the shape of his full lips exhaling rings of smoke. Big for a guy's. He remembers thinking that a couple weeks ago. That they were big. That they looked soft.

And now he thinks: Kissable.

Steve licks his lips. “What about your, uh- not ghost?”

Eddie laughs like he’s watching a newborn puppy try to walk. “You want to touch my dick so bad.”

“S’probably a good dick,” Steve shrugs, unashamed.

He probably should be — ashamed. Guilty for the feelings stirring deep inside his chest; feelings weed brings to the surface, sends southbound, turns to need. He can imagine how the good, god-fearing Catholics who raised him would react if they could see him now, how they'd foam and froth and rage, red-faced and covered in spittle as they shouted that he's condemning himself to Hell.

But the thing is, he's already in Hell. He's been here since July.

And anyway, Hell's kinda nice. Gentle and warm, surprisingly kind. Hell smells like leather and tobacco, like weed and aftershave, and it sounds like Lindsey Buckingham, and it likes to braid Steve's hair.

Hell has endless, inky eyes and probably kisses him with tongue.

Heat spreads through him like molten honey at the thought, spilling hot over the edges, curling in his core, and Steve turns his head to the side and drags his mouth over a tattoo on Eddie’s inner thigh — a cartoon cloud over a curled-up snoozing fox. He noses at the edge of Eddie's shorts; pushes them up.

Goosebumps pebble under the warm press of his lips. "What's this one?" Steve whispers, nudging the fabric further up.

Eddie’s laugh is quiet and strained. "Something I don't want to discuss with your mouth this close to my dick. Stevie," he warns, but it's breathless, full of want. There's a wet spot on his shorts.

Steve pushes onto his belly, blows hot breath over the spot, liquid fire coursing through him at he stares at the bulge in Eddie’s shorts. Blistering heat, the sweetness dense, rich and thick on his tongue; in his veins. He mouths at the crease of Eddie's thigh. Eddie smells so good, like skin and sweat and boy, and Steve wants this. Wants it so badly he feels the ache inside his teeth. I dreamed the goddess poured ambrosia...

Steve feels it drip from head to toe.

"Steve." Eddie's voice is sharp this time, commanding and firm as he fists a hand in Steve's hair — not hurting him; not letting him move. Keeping him from putting his mouth just where he wants.

Steve makes a desperate sound and rocks his hips against the bed.

"Steve, stop," Eddie scolds. Pulls his hair a little harder, like he’s tugging on a leash.

"Eddie, please.” Steve’s eyes roll back, and he shifts his hips again. Just once; just a bit. Not nearly hard enough.

"No. Behave. Be good."

Steve freezes — tenses every muscle, holds himself so still, his face flushing with shame, because he didn’t mean to not be good. Didn’t mean to do anything bad. He blinks at Eddie with watery eyes and says he’s sorry, his voice cracking around the word.

"God," Eddie groans. His fist tightens in Steve’s hair, and his hips twitch off the bed, the curve of his cock brushing the tip of Steve's nose. Fuck. "Holy shit. Roll over."

"What?"

"On your back, like you were before." He’s panting when he says it, and Steve does as he's told; flips over onto his back, face bracketed by Eddie's thighs, the tent in his own shorts embarrassingly big. Obvious.

"Good,” Eddie exhales. “That’s- Jesus. Yeah, that’s good." He sinks back against the wall with a winded sigh.

And then he doesn't say anything else.

Doesn’t even move, just slouches down to catch his breath.

Steve kind of wants to cry; feels chastised and stupid, because of course Eddie doesn't want this. He already said he didn't, didn't he? Not tonight, anyway. And now Steve’s ruined things by being high and dumb and selfish, getting himself worked up over nothing and making it Eddie’s problem, and he'll probably spend the rest of this night miserable and blue-balled because he's a horny idiot, but that's—

It’s fine, if Eddie wants to cool things off; if he doesn't want to— he's allowed to not want—

"Here's what's about to happen.”

Steve snaps his head up to listen. Twists his neck around, sees Eddie lounging against the wall like a bored king on a throne, one ringed hand cupping himself loosely through his shorts. He squeezes once, takes another deep breath; lets it out long and controlled. Steve’s gonna fucking drool. "You’re gonna touch yourself for me.”

Steve moans. Guttural and loud, the sound punched out of his lungs, because Eddie’s voice comes out like gravel — husky, deep, the words authoritative and slow; like Steve needs to be punished; like Eddie’s merciful.

“You’re going to touch yourself exactly how I tell you to, and only how I tell you to. If I say stop, you stop. If I say faster, you speed up. If it's too much—" His hand moves to Steve’s cheek, slapping lightly against the bone. “—you tap out, or you tell me.”

Steve nods his head, entranced. Eddie’s thumb moves to his mouth. “And if you’re very, very good…” He tugs his bottom lip; presses in; lets him suck. “…then I’ll let you watch me come. How does that sound?”

Steve whines; hollows his cheeks, sucking harder, flicking his tongue. Eddie’s thighs clamp down around him, and when he pulls his hand away the spit clings to his thumb, a delicate string connecting them before it breaks. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.” He smears the spit over Steve’s chin. “Does that sound good?”

Steve nearly swallows his tongue.

—

part 32

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[meiieiri]

water’s edge | concept dump

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ warnings: mean!gojo (but that’s not even the worst of it oh my god what monstrosity have i created), arranged marriage, illness, allusions to criminal activity that may include reckless homicide, physical battery and attempted murder. mentions of depression, cheating, physical and emotional abuse, trauma, adultery. fictional depiction of the japanese imperial family, etc.

LINK TO FULL FIC MASTERLIST HERE!

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who is the only son of the emperor and empress of Japan, the beloved and long-awaited child of his parents. As a child, he had been showered with endless praise and veneration as the one, true, legitimate heir to the chrysanthemum throne. The entire imperial household had expected the prince to inherit an unwavering sense of duty to the crown and to his people much like his fore-bearers, only to be severely disappointed when the prince turns out to be a pathological card shark with ambiguous morals, and a serial womanizer who has slept with countless women from aristocratic backgrounds during the height of his bachelor years.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who finally incurs his father’s wrath after a nasty bar brawl that leads to him getting unceremoniously arrested and is stripped of his title and properties as crown prince, favoring his half-brother, Prince Suguru Geto, who had been born of the emperor’s affair with one of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting. This incident has prompted his mother, the empress, to help in ratifying his public image by arranging Satoru to marry a commoner with an impeccable standing in Japanese society in a bid to re-portray Satoru as a responsible, married man. The empress, in turn, offers to grant you, Satoru’s future wife-to-be, anything your heart could ever desire.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who engages in a pantomime act of being a loving husband to you during a state banquet by showering you with endless praise in his speech addressed to all the world leaders in the Akasaka Palace’s reception hall. When he was asked to introduce you, his new wife, the honeyed words came so easily to him. “You see, the princess (Y/N) is no ordinary woman,” he chuckles into the microphone causing the guests to giggle at the sight of what looks to be a bashful newlywed.

“Other than being the first breath of fresh air our family has ever had the pleasure of knowing in so long, and the most active member in our family when it comes to supporting the many royal charities and foundations, she is…” he trails off. You dared to follow the wandering gaze of your husband, who seems to be searching for another pair of eyes in the room. His eyes eventually stop their search, softening at the sight of the one he loved. For a second, you think he is looking at you, and your heart naively skips a beat in your chest as if all these months of inattention and animosity were finally coming to an end.

“…My better half, the keeper of my own heart.”

Many of the ambassador’s wives who sat beside you nudged you in congratulations for being so blessed with such a devoted husband. You crane your head back to smile warmly at them for the kind words only to have ice coat your veins instantly when you see his Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, sitting about two seats behind you, staring directly at your husband with a wistful look in her eyes, exchanging words of love in a silent oath — one that is far more certain than the rising and the setting of the sun as each day passes with your husband hating you a tad bit more than yesterday, and one that is far more truthful than the wedding vows you shared.

Of course, writing this godforsaken death march-like speech was easy for Satoru, simply because these words of devotion and love were never intended for you anyway; this poetic spiel was written with another woman ensnaring his mind.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who sneaks out of bed during your wedding night, sparing one last cold glance at your sleeping form before he saunters out the imperial villa to meet his girlfriend in a nearby mountain resort, about half a mile away from the villa. His personal chauffeur had been sworn to secrecy, else, he would incur the wrath of the crown prince.

“I thought you couldn’t get away,” Himiko moans wantonly into his mouth as he roughly takes her from behind, the lewd wet sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the room. He had taken the liberty of secretly bringing Himiko along to your honeymoon, by booking the most expensive suite in the resort for her under another name.

“The bitch is too fucked out to even notice I’m gone— mmph—“ he throws his head back, releasing a pleasured groan when Himiko meets his sharp thrusts, grinding teasingly on his cock as she does so. He grips her hips tightly, readjusting his hips to pound into her from another angle, the muscles on his abs tightening as he gets lost in the feeling of her tight, luscious walls. “Sh-shit, ‘m-m gonna cum—“

“—Ah! S-Satoru,” she was close too, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the fat tip of his member roughly prods at her cervix.

He half-expected Himiko to be angry with him for engaging in intimate acts with you, but she simply acts like she didn’t hear him. And even if she was upset, why should he, of all people, apologize? She should have known that becoming his mistress entailed having to endure these kinds of things as these were simply Satoru’s marital duties, and by extension, his duty to the crown.

His high washes over him like a tidal wave crashing into the rock shore, grunting as he involuntarily thrusts as he releases inside her, Himiko collapsing onto the pillows as he does. “O-oh, haaa- agh,” his deep tenor moans into her long black hair as his seed paints her walls, holding her close to his form, their heartbeats racing a million miles an hour.

He pulls out his flaccid cock, plopping down next to her, pulling her small frame for her head to rest on his chest. “I just need to have father reinstate me as heir apparent and return all my estates, then,” he kisses her once, his lips moving in sync with her soft ones.

“…We’ll get rid of her.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who blatantly and publicly humiliates you by bringing along Himiko Zenin to a state visit to the imperial family’s counterpart in Monaco rather than you, his rightful wife. And when asked of your whereabouts, Satoru simply replies with a casual shrug, his hand squeezing Himiko’s smaller ones as she usurps the banquet thrown in your honor by the Monacan royal family while you watch the horrific scene unfold on your television screen, your heart shattering into a million pieces as Himiko and Satoru uncaringly waltz with one another in front of the watchful eyes of the entire world throughout the evening.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who crucifies you for your acts of sincere charity, believing you to be actively humiliating Himiko despite having no intentions whatsoever resembling his baseless accusation. “Did you honestly think your little publicity antics would go unpunished? I bet you were just itching for the attention, weren’t you?” he snarls at you the second you come back from a visit to one of the hospitals you had commissioned for the treatment of children with rare diseases, a compassionate act which had been heavily televised by national broadcasting stations and even international news agencies. “If you wish to compete with Himiko, wife, then, by all means. But I swear to you, I will do everything — everything I can — to make the entire world know just how much of an opportunistic whore you are—”

You gaze up at your husband with fear in your eyes. “…I was not competing with Himiko, can I not care for our people — your people? I’m sure they need someone to promote their interests when their own prince couldn’t be bothered to do so!” you retaliate but are quickly shot down when he throws his scotch glass at the wall, causing you to flinch when it shatters on impact.

“I will make sure this humiliation you dealt to Himiko will return to you tenfold, (Y/N),” he dangerously seethes, coming to the aid of his mistress. “Celebrate your victory all you want, wife, but make no mistake, this is far from over.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who indifferently scoffs when you crumble into a sobbing mess after yet another argument with him. “W-what can I do to make you not hate me so much? P-please tell me, Satoru.” The only response you receive is your husband dangerously moving closer to you, his eyes, dark with pure loathing. Instinctively, you step backward, only to be met by the cold wall of your shared bedroom. “S-Satoru—“

“—Here’s what you can do: do exactly as I say, without question,” he traps you between his arms, his breath hot on your skin, his lips dangerously close to yours, his voice dripping with the venom that could turn every silver thread in your heart into a hue that resembled charcoal black. “If I tell you to kiss me, you kiss me. If I tell you to get out, you get out. If I tell you to shut up, you sew your mouth shut or rip your tongue out, I really don’t give a damn. If I tell you to die…”

…

…

“…You drop dead.”

a/n: meh, just wrote this at the top of my head to get rid of this stupid writer’s block since hehe i have like eighteen drafts of jjk smut and drabbles in my tumblr folder rn help :’)

might turn this into a multi-chapter fic depending on how it is received. so lemme know your thoughts by reblogging, liking or commenting on this post!

[harmonysanreads]

Hi Harmony! I just noticed that your requests are open and I decided to drop by with a small request I thought about for weeks.

I was thinking about Arlecchino for a while, and it made me ponder of the concept of Arlecchino with a darling on a reincarnation AU. Maybe Arlecchino has met her darling at such an inconvenient time, and every time that it has happened, only she remembers their past lives.

It probably goes to the point that Arlecchino starts devising ways to be able to keep her darling safe, because each time they would meet, her darling gets into an accident... And it would seem that each time she tried, then it would simply fail. And it would push to a point where she resorts to one of the more not so morally good methods.

I don't know if this counts as a req. or a brainrot, but I offer you this idea because I think it could be interesting to think about sometimes. You're free to deny it btw if its typical, hard, or overall you can't write it <3 I completely understand if that's the case.

(p.s.: this is the one running @yxstxrdrxxm BAHAHAHAHAHA I'm sorry if I haven't replied to your message during OLC, I dont know how to talk to you w/o sounding really awkward </3 also!! hydration check! Anyways thats all, have fun with the idea + I hope you have a great day Harmony :D)

Pantomime Of The Night

yandere!arlecchino x reader

cw(s) : yandere, vampire!arlecchino, mentions of blood, murder, slight gore, non-consensual touching, unbalanced power dynamics

wc : 2.1k

a/n: omg hiii! would you believe me if I said I was just thinking about you before getting this ask? also please don't worry about my message! i had a hunch that you might be in a situation of sorts. thank you so so much for requesting arlecchino because i've been itching to write for her for a long time! i decided to go with vampire!arlecchino for this because i thought it'd suit the reincarnation theme well. i hope you enjoy it<3

lovely illustration based on this fic by a lovely person <3 (spoiler alert!)

At the deepest hours of the night, even the innocent crackles of hearthfire sound as clamorous as gun-shots.

You're dazed by the flame's continuous dance until the aroma of freshly brewed tea reaches your senses and the servants have left. A sharp clank from Arlecchino's glass and the weight of her gaze prompt you to meet her eyes. The light from the fireplace casts shadows on the other half of her fair face, she seemed to have foregone her usual taught posture in favor of a relaxed one. One of her hands supports her cheek while the other holds the wine glass, the beverage within sloshes as the claw-like accessories on her fingers curl around the object.

Your side of the table is far more decorated, desserts that you've never even seen in your impoverished mortal life and that tea you've grown fond of over the course of your stay in her mansion sit appetizingly. All beckon you to feast, all seek to fan the flames of voracity and you offer but a thoughtless stare in return.

The master of the house seems to have noticed your lack of appetite as she finally breaks the stretched out silence, “These are all confectioneries of the highest quality from the town and as I recall, all of your favorites. But you give them no more than a blank stare... you've also not taken a sip from the tea. May I inquire why?”

The raspy tone of her observation has your arms covered in gooseflesh, though, you note she does not sound as confused as her words suggest. You can feel her onyx eyes gloss over every part of your person, inspecting and dissecting each and every visible clue. You swallow dryly, “It’s just that it's way too late in the night,”

“Yet you look as ready as ever to head out. Tell me, have you been anticipating my return, dearest?”

Arlecchino stares pointedly at your attire, likely referring to the traveling clothes you have on instead of the silk nightwear that she had gifted. Your shoulders tense unconsciously, there's something about the way she speaks at this instance that has your heartbeat crescendoing. The silver haired woman gives you a few more beats of anxiety, her talons scrape against the dainty glass.

“I’ve been informed that you have not eaten anything since yesterday.”

The words escape her painted lips easily, but they don't fail to send a jolt through your system. Throughout your stay, she'd never spoken to you like this, like you were one of her children who did not know better and decided to cross a line. That realization renders you further puzzled, you did nothing wrong to begin with, but her tone made you feel as though you were on the verge of doing so. You clear your parched throat and gather yourself to meet her eyes. This time, you do not allow yourself to wilt at the force of her burning stare.

“Arlecchino, I have something to tell you.”

The addressed woman straightens up at your sudden serious tone, her hand abandons the wine glass on the table and you inhale involuntarily at the scratches that now decorate the object, “I’m all ears, dearest.”

Your brows crease, as usual, Arlecchino is courteous, too courteous for someone who makes it obvious she's informed of something that she wasn't supposed to know. She's been like this ever since you and your travel-partner stepped foot in her ambiguous estate. Initially, you were touched by the hospitality she and her adopted children had shown you. Your greed lulled any arising suspicions, you neither questioned why she'd been so generous to a commoner with nothing more than fifty mora to their name nor did you bother to think about how she was affording all those gifts. You naïvely wished to believe in her kindness and that nothing was wrong about this house. But of course, self-woven deceptions last so long.

“Before you mistake me for being ungrateful, I did plan to inform you before leaving. Me and my friend are extremely thankful for the care your house has shown us, but we cannot stay in one place forever.”

“Why not?” you halt at her abrupt question but she follows up before you could even part your lips, “Have we lacked in any area to provide you with the adequate comfort? Have any of my children said something? If it's the latter, I'll apologize in their stead, they can be quite playful at times, I'm sure you understand.”

You stare dumbfounded at the sudden turn this conversation has taken, she wasn't supposed to behave like this. Why is she searching for a reason to make you stay when she should've been happy that a burden was about to be lifted off of her shoulders? Are all nobles this pushy?

“I—” you cut yourself off as the silver-haired woman leans in without warning, her shadow envelopes the delicacies laid out on the small table.

“Or… have you seen something?” she drawled.

You cannot hold back a flinch this time. A curse echoes in your mind at your stupidity, this was no ‘conversation’ to begin with ; this was yet another trap and you'd willingly played right into the palm of Arlecchino's hand. If there's one thing you've learned about this mysterious noblewoman, it is that she enjoys the process of dragging answers out of everyone. From the very beginning, she was aware of your scheme but, she chose to wear that mask of courtesy one more time and lured you out in the open, unguarded. If only your friend arrived to fetch you from your room at the right time, you wouldn't be in this messy situation.

Your eyes dart from her unblinking expression to the sharp accessories that adorn her gloved fingers and something about them forces you to reply quickly.

“No! I mean, you know that I'm a traveler, do you not? It's already been six months since we came to your estate, me and my friend were starting to.. crave that adventurous thrill—yes! We were starting to miss being on the road and decided to depart in the early morning.”

Once upon a time, your late mother had told you that some people in this world are like spiders. They're always at the centerpiece of their lair, leaving intricate translucent webs for unassuming prey to get tangled upon. Although the croaked warnings of your bedridden mother did not make much sense to the younger you, you understood now exactly what she meant.

“Incorrect. You were planning to escape with that friend of yours, weren't you?”

The hearthfire burns bright, shrouding Arlecchino's expression in shadows. The chilling octave of her voice defeats the warmth of the fireplace and has every muscle in your body stiffened. Escape? Her word choice never ceased to baffle you throughout this faux tea-party. She speaks as though you were her prisoner instead of a guest. She tilts her head and has the audacity to look betrayed as though you were a possession she held dear, and not a random human she decided to take pity upon.

Arlecchino runs a hand through her silvery hair with a sigh that actually indicates ennui and you bite back a scowl, “Honestly, I do not understand why you even befriended that thing. He's an obnoxious blabbermouth with a nose bigger than his brain. And he's loud, too. You've always preferred to mingle with level headed people with a sufficient intellectual capacity in the past and here you are, glaring at me as though—”

“Don’t speak like you know me!”

You pant after the force of that outburst, your voice ricochets across the walls of her room and further beyond. You open your mouth to continue but stop when you notice a strange flicker in the silver-haired woman's eyes. It's gone in a blink and is replaced with irritation just as quickly however.

“Oh, but I do know you. I know you better than you know yourself, in fact. I know that there are exactly 11 moles throughout your body, I know all your preferences and fears. Don't believe me? Did you really never stop to question how I managed to give you things that catered to your tastes? How I knew what you desired even before you did? Or were you so mesmerized by the words of that friend of yours to pay minimum attention?”

If the tone of a person's voice could kill, you'd be rotting in a ditch by now. You would've never believed someone could sound this malicious while not even raising their voice. You want nothing more than to shrink away but the adrenaline accumulated through your anger pushes you to keep digging your grave.

“And so what if that's exactly how it is? You have no right to have a say in who I choose to be ‘mesmerized’ by!”

A ‘ha!’ laden with disbelief escapes Arlecchino's lips. Fine silvery strands bounce at the mocking tilt of her head, “So what will you do now? Walk out of the gates with that waste of space like nothing happened?”

“Oh, you bet I will!” you fume, rising from the chair and turning on your heels. You barely take one step away from the table until the full weight of Arlecchino's malice crashes down on you and you remember something important.

“Arlecchino, where is my friend?”

The silver haired woman leisurely raises her wine glass at your stilted words, “In my glass.”

You swivel towards her, blinking several times as if to confirm you didn't mishear.

“Well, here and… probably in the stomachs of my pet vultures, excluding the carcass, that is. I'll admit, the taste is subpar compared to the trouble I went through. That thing kept on screaming until one of the vultures tore its heart out. Ugh, my ears are still ringing.”

Your wide eyes tremble towards the glass in her hand, the deep red liquid within sloshes to the direction of Arlecchino's hand ; paired with her words, your friend’s destiny becomes a no-brainer. All your wits abandon you in that instance and in a moment of sheer panic, you take a step back. Arlecchino promptly interferes with your plans, the door and windows close with no little sound and the table and your chair disappear without a trace—all in the snap of her fingers.

“What are you?”

You would've screamed if you didn't forget how to use your lungs. But then again, you doubt anyone would come to save you from her clutches even if you did. Your eyes connect to her onyx ones and in that moment, she appeared far less human than she'd been this whole encounter. Her pupils flash as two red xs and you feel an invisible pull tugging you to her side. The temptation dominates any coherent thoughts until you find yourself an arms length away from her seated self. Her claws dig into the flesh of your arm and yank you to her lap.

Free from the haze of that strange sensation, the first thing that permeates your senses is how cold Arlecchino's proximity is. Your palm meets her chest in a feeble attempt to push her away but all it does is stun you when you notice the absence of a heartbeat. You feel the sting of something sharp on your chin and waist, your eyes glance back and forth between the sources—dread pools in your stomach. Because of your closeness and the light from the fireplace, you're able to see that the sharp objects you'd mistaken for accessories are actually her nails and the gloves, her real skin.

Perhaps your trembling was so pitiful that Arlecchino could not help but soften her gaze, “Do you truly not recall?”

You look up at her, thoroughly perplexed. There's that previous glint in her eyes again but you've already accepted that understanding this woman was beyond you. One moment she accuses you as though you've been unfaithful, then she vividly describes how she murdered an innocent man and the next she looks almost… hurt?

“Recall what?”

The silver-haired woman’s red lips part and you gulp as unnaturally sharp fangs sneer at you. Albeit, she does not answer you and you wonder if you should get accustomed to playing mental gymnastics with her just to get a simple answer. Her talons let go of your waist and drag their up to your collarbone, creating a deliberate and irrepairable tear on your clothes. Her nails drum against your skin for three seconds before they latch onto your throat.

“Although, that'll no longer be an issue.”

She forces you to make eye-contact with a sharp tug on your chin, the color drains from your face as her cool breath washes against your skin. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but are quickly shushed as you feel her fangs sink into your lower lip.

“Because, we'll have ample time to get acquainted with each other starting from today.”

[siriusleee]

LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work. 

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work. 

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face. 

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house. 

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?" 

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution. 

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you. 

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen. 

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking. 

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested. 

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks. 

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father. 

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there. 

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread. 

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning. 

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons. 

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon. 

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other. 

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table. 

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight. 

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep. 

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea. 

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes. 

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'. 

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily. 

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment. 

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean. 

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run. 

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows. 

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?" 

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch. 

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market. 

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere. 

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave. 

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley. 

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction. 

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him. 

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight. 

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes. 

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time. 

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom. 

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread. 

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand. 

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly. 

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door. 

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you. 

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright. 

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 57

Part 1 Part 56

The dark, it turns out, is better than sunset. Sunset turns the sky pinks and purples and reds. Will can’t be sure where he is. At least in the dark, all he has to worry about is a Demogorgon taking him.

Still, every shadow is a threat that Will’s running from soon enough. And once he starts running, there’s no way to stop. Will’s panting and breathless in the 2 a.m. darkness by the time he’s crawling through Eddie and Steve’s bedroom window.

It sticks briefly when he opens it, making an ungodly screch but then he’s up and through, and falling on and then over Eddie’s dresser with a loud clatter.

“What the fuck, Byers?” Eddie says, bolting out of bed to click his lamp on.

Will looks around the carnage that surrounds him – Eddie’s knick-knacks and books all over the floor and looks up at him sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You should be!” Eddie replies, arms pantomiming a punch in Will’s direction. “I could’ve killed you!”

Steve, still laying down on the far side of their bed, snorts. “Like you’ve ever fought anyone in your life.” His voice crackles with interrupted sleep. He doesn't roll over, just keeps his face smushed into his pillow.

Eddie squawks. “You got something to say, Harrington?” he demands, finally standing up and putting his hands on his hips to loom over Steve where he’s still lying prone in the bed. Not that Steve notices, seeing as his eyes are still closed.

“Weak ass bitch.”

As Eddie gasps in affront, Will feels the sickly panic he’d felt upon waking slowly start to fizzle out.

Eddie kneels down beside Will to pick up his belongings, grumbling about his strengths, and how Will’s lucky he could feel him coming, and thank fuck Wayne’s not home. He doesn’t mention the spilled objects, doesn’t try to kick Will out. Will helps him pick up his belongings and hopes he can stay.

“What’re you doing here, baby Byers?” Eddie asks, flopping back onto the bed.

Will follows, burrowing into Steve’s side until he groans and slides over just enough that Will can fit. He turns his head on the pillow, opening one bleary eye to squint at Will.

“Can I stay here?” he asks, not looking away from Steve, living and breathing beside him.

Steve blinks a few times rapidly, clearly trying to wake up, before shifting his gaze past Will to look at Eddie. “Does your Mom know you’re here?” he asks.

Will turns onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He bites his lip, doesn’t respond at all. Not that they seem to need it with the way he can feel them having a silent conversation above his head.

“She’s gonna freak out,” Eddie says gently.

Will slumps further into Eddie’s sheets. He can already feel the nip of the cold night’s air when they kick him out. Only, he doesn’t want to go. “She doesn’t get up until six.” He says it like a prayer. If he leaves this bed right now, Will thinks he might just explode.

Eddie blows out a breath. Will can’t tell without looking if he’s exasperated, or resigned, or just done entirely. He doesn’t look. Not until he feels Eddie slump into the bed next to him, bracketing Will between his and Steve’s warm, protective bodies. “What happened?”

He turns his head, not toward Eddie but to look at Steve, who’s looking back, breathing and alive. “I had a nightmare,” he says. The word doesn’t seem loaded enough for the way his breathing had ticked wrong through his lungs.

Steve turns his head, finally uncovering both eyes. There’s pillow marks on his cheek. He looks sleep-rumpled and soft. “About me?” he asks.

Eddie sucks in a quiet breath behind Will. Neither of them look his way. Will nods, chokes out, “you were back there,” through his dangerously clogged throat.

Steve’s eyes soften further, and he smiles sadly. “It’s alright, Will,” Steve says, ruffling his hair the way he always does. “They got me out, remember?”

Will nods. He doesn’t correct Steve; doesn’t mention that he woke up thinking of Steve’s quiet voice – it’s like, sometimes I blink, and it’s like I’m there – or how when he woke up, he was sure Steve’d been taken again, until he crawled in through the window and spotted two snoring lumps.

“Yeah, they got you out,” Will says, trying to convince himself that out means back.

They hold eye contact for a while, until Steve's eyes begin to droop. None of them have been sleeping well lately. Guilt curdles in Will’s stomach that he’d interrupted both of their sleep. But, he might’ve died if he’d stayed at home; just shriveled up like a raisin in his own worry.

“How about you stay for a little bit, and we drive you back before your Mom wakes up?” Eddie asks.

Will finally turns away from Steve. Eddie looks sad, and worn, and worried. Still, Will takes what’s on offer with both, greedy hands. “You won’t tell her?” he asks.

Eddie shakes his head, glaring over Will’s head when Steve makes a protesting noise. Steve sighs. “Fine, fine, we won’t tell her,” Steve mumbles. “She’d flip out anyway.”

Will settles into the warmth, lets it soak through his bones, and closes his eyes. He tries to fall back asleep, but the darkness behind his eyelids is where the monster’s live. He opens his eyes.

“What are you guys doing for Halloween?” he asks. The guilt surges again when Steve snuffles like he’d almost been asleep, but Eddie answers readily.

“Fuck all, I imagine.”

“Language,” Steve murmurs around his pillow, cutting the G and making it sound more like lan-wah. Will snorts.

“What about you?” Eddie asks, ignoring Steve entirely.

Almost vibrating with excitement, Will replies, “we’re going as the ghostbusters!”

“Haven’t seen that one,” Steve mumbles, making Will gasp, outraged, even as Eddie chimes in, “me neither.”

“You’re both dead to me,” he says on instinct. Then the memories of all the times he thought Steve really was dead trickle through his mind, and his intestines prickle. But then Steve and Eddie laugh quietly – alive alive alive. “Anyway, we’re going to dress up for school and I get to be Egon!”

“Gesundheit,” Eddie replies.

“Wait, you’re wearing them to school?” Steve asks, sitting up like this news is enough to invigorate him. “Bad idea, Byers.”

Will glares at him, brow furrowed. “Uh, why?” he asks, in that same tone that gets Jonathan to call him a brat.

Steve just rolls his eyes, and ruffles his hair again, this time much more violently. “No one dresses up in eighth grade, dummy. You’re gonna get like, beat up.”

Eddie reaches over Will to smack Steve on the head. “That’s terrible advice!” he says, shoving Steve back into the pillows and looming over Will with intense eyes. “You gotta embrace the whimsy of childhood while you still can, baby Byers.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, if he wants to get picked on.”

“That’s going to happen anyway,” Will says without thinking. When both boys’ eyes narrow, he continues hurriedly, “so I might as well have some fun with my friends!”

Steve grumbles his unintelligible complaints while he settles back into his pillow. Eddie wraps his arm around Will and shakes him around. “That’s my boy!” He says it like a proud parent. Will preens, ignoring the way his cheeks are warming at the praise.

Eddie yanks him down so they’re all three horizontal, cramped together in his small bed. “Now, sleep!” he demands.

Will dutifully closes his eyes, but even as the breathing of his two companions evens out, Will doesn’t fall asleep. He doesn’t mind, just revels in the warmth of being where he truly belongs.

Part 58

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[generalluxun]

Half-Baked, An ML fanfiction.

So this comes out of my 'Chloe goes back in time' AU. set after she's stolen the black cat Miraculous, but before the repercussions of that have really gone full swing.

This AU came about mostly from asks, so the tag can be searched on my blog for getting up to date on our collective ramblings for it.

Super short Summary: Post S5 Chloe goes back in time into her Origins-timeframe body. She is angry at everyone and everything. She gets herself akumatized early on and steals the Cat Miraculous from Cat Noir(who wasn't taking things seriously, it's S1) Seeing it's Adrien she freaks, breaks akumatization and runs off before Ladybug arrives. Adrien is keeping who stole it a secret(though he tells LB he lost it) hoping he can get it back himself to make up for losing it.

Fic is under the cut because it is 4172 words. I'll also be posting it on AO3 tomorrow.

With the smell of fresh baked goodies taunting her nostrils, Marinette dodged between racks laden with hot trays and mixing bowls of fresh dough. She was already late for school, but seeing her parents frantically running around made her pause.

“Dad?”

Tom flashed her a big smile but immediately turned and fled into the back. Her mother turned from where she was scooping still-warm pastries off cooling trays and into boxes too soon. “Honey, your father and I are very busy today. A large catering order came in unexpectedly. It was extremely short notice, but you know your father.”

Marinette couldn’t help but puff up a little, “It’s the Egyptian opening at the Lourve, right?”

Sabine paused. “Why, yes honey. How did you-”

Marinette gushed, “I knew dad was bummed about missing out on it, so yesterday I took a few freshly baked pastries over to the museum before school. I managed to find a way back to the curator’s offices and wouldn’t leave until he tried one. You should have seen the look on his face! ‘Young lady I think that is the best confection I have ever tasted.’ It looks like it was worth being an hour late.”

Marinette froze mid-pantomime. Her story had run away with her again, perhaps to a few places her mother didn’t exactly need to know.

Whatever Sabine’s thoughts, she kept a gently serene face. “That’s… very clever dear. Only… perhaps you could ask before helping next time? This really is such short notice.”

Marinette winced. “Is it really? I could help! I can just call in sick, then I would be able to-”

Rushing back towards the kitchen, Marinette snagged her foot on one of the giant mixing bowls. She tripped and collapsed into it as it spun, coming to rest blinking up into her mother’s even more concerned looking face. Sabine reached down and helped Marinette extract herself, brushing some wayward flour dust off her backside.

“No, no, that’s quite alright, dear. Your father and I will handle it. It’s not as if sleep is necessary every night. On your way now. You don’t want to be late, again.”

That last word carried the only hint of maternal reprimand, but it was enough. Marinette let herself be ushered out the door. On the way to school she managed to convince herself everything would be okay. It would be fine. It wasn’t the end of the-

The Agreste Limo pulled up in front of the steps to the school, and ‘end of the world' took on new meaning. Adrien got out, but his walk up the steps had none of its usual spring. Even knowing the truth, it was hard for Marinette to overlap the image of him with Cat Noir. Hard, and maybe a moot point.

Marinette shook herself. No. Not a moot point. We will get the ring back. I will get it back. Anyone can make a mistake. She hop-stepped to catch up with Adrien and gave him her biggest smile, “Morning, Adrien!”

He might not know it, but he’d helped her become Ladybug. Now it was up to her to return the favor.

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

Time was not on Marinette’s side though. Not even half the day had gone by when the school shook as if in an earthquake. Sirens sounded in the distance. Alya had her phone open to a news cast before anyone else even had theirs out.

“-eaking News. A giant man…monster…thing… has once again been sighted in downtown Paris. Police are on their way, but as we approach the presumed akuma I have to wonder, what can they hope to do? Will Ladybug and Cat Noir show up once again to save our fair city?”

Nadja’s voice rose clearly from the tiny screen. Marinette couldn’t make out the akuma clearly as the helicopter circled though. All at once the helicopter lurched.

Nadja turned to ask someone off screen, “What’s that smell?”

The camera jostled, the helicopter lurched again, and the image went dark.

Marinette jumped up, “We have to do something!”

“Do something?” Kim blurted out from the back before anyone else. “Ivan got turned into a giant monster and almost turned half the class into crepes! What are you gonna do? …No offense big guy.”

Marinette heard Ivan mumble something even as she watched Adrien’s shoulders slump in front of her. She had to think fast. “What am I gonna do? I’m gonna go to the bathroom! Can’t think on a full bladder, right? Haha. Ms. Bustier can I go please?”

Another rumble shook the entire classroom.

Nino scrambled to his feet, “It sounds like there won’t be a bathroom to go to pretty soon.”

Ms Bustier raised her voice clearly but gently, “Alright class, everyone out. We rendezvous at the park. Stay with your seatmates.”

Sorry Alya. Marinette bolted for the door.

It wasn’t until she set eyes on the akuma that Ladybug’s forebrain took control back from her reflexes. Fear grabbed ahold of her and queasiness dropped her on unsteady legs on the nearest rooftop. The akuma was huge, topping even stoneheart. It was visible head and shoulders above the rowhouses. The only saving grace was a strange familiarity. It was dressed like a baker, complete with toque on its head and giant wooden peel in its hands.

The combination of silliness and fear forced a nervous giggle from her lips. The giggle reminded her that she was alone this time, her partner couldn’t help her. That sealed her lips once more with fear. It’s all up to me, alone.

Doomsday scenarios pressed into her thoughts even as the akuma strode on in the distance. What’s its power? Why is it here? What is the item? Where is it go-

Ladybug’s brain did the math and drew the line from the akuma right through the school towards… Our bakery!

She was in motion instantly, vaulting two streets closer. She was crouched for another leap when her senses shoved another fact through her emotions. Screams.

Screams weren’t surprising, but the tone was wrong. The akuma swung its peel and something scattered below it. If only for a cat’s sight. Screams of fear turned to joy then fell silent.

Ladybug balked again. She had to think. Emotion wanted her to act, but she couldn’t afford to be wrong. How close could she get? The akuma moved on and she followed from a distance, trying to pick up any clues she could. How close is too close? The akuma plowed through a building in its way. More screams of fear, a swing of its peel and fear turned to joy then silence again.

She needed to get closer. But-

Ladybug was stuck.

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

“Go away!” Chloé stalked across the square, away from the class.

Sabrina trotted after her. “But, Chloé… we’re seatmates! We’re supposed to stick together.”

Chloé spun around and screamed, “Stick together? Is that what you call it? You sure didn’t stick with me when I needed it! Save me the trouble and go play with your new friends right now. Go!”

She jabbed a finger over Sabrina’s shoulder, but didn’t wait to see the results of her outburst. Her stomach felt hollow and sick. Her fingers tingled and her eyes itched. She wanted to scream until she ran out of air, but that hadn’t done any good before.  So instead she was getting away from the others as fast as she could. Chloé jogged across the street from the park and was around a corner in seconds. Sabrina didn’t call after her again.

For some stupid reason that made the sickness in her stomach worse.

Chloé stalked blindly, immune to the cracking of masonry and the heavy tread that threatened to knock her off her feet. Out of her tunnel vision a single figure resolved in the distance. Red, spotted, standing still on a rooftop. Ladybug.

She was just…standing there. The crunch of another building rang out but the hero didn’t move. “DO SOMETHING!” Chloé howled at her, unheard.

She hated Ladybug. Ladybug was lame. Ladybug was a loser. Ladybug was a failure. Ladybug was a traitor. Ladybug… was a hero. Ladybug was supposed to be saving the day. The thoughts rattled around and fought until Chloé squeezed her eyes shut and dug her nails into her hair in frustration.

With a sudden clarity Chloé’s eyes snapped open again. She whipped a hand around in front of her. “You! Come out now!”

The black cat kwami sparked into existence, anger evident on his tiny features.

“Tell me how to transform!” she demanded.

He crossed his arms smugly and replied, ��hmmm Mm mffm Hmm.”

Chloé growled, “Talk! You can talk! Tell me!”

The Kwami gasped but still grinned, “That’s the one thing you can’t order me to do, Miraculous or no.”

“Rrraaaaaggh!” Chloé pointed at the distant Ladybug, “She’s not doing anything. Tell me the password or we’re doomed!”

Plagg crossed his little arms, “Give me back to my rightful holder, and she’ll have a partner again.”

Chloé stomped her foot, “No! I can do this! I know what to do better than any of them do right now! I’m the hero!”

Pagg seemed unimpressed. He rolled his eyes,”You? Nobody would make you a hero. What would you even do with a miraculous?”

Chloé's world narrowed again,to a haze of red with a floating black blob in the center. She advanced on him, “I’ll cataclysm the stupid  akuma. I’ll cataclysm stupid Hawkmoth. I’ll cataclysm everyone and everything that gets in my way. No one will take you away and nothing will stop me this time.”

She was seething. Memories of disappointment, failure, and humiliation broke down into the core emotions and blended into a hateful spiral. She waited for the next barb to come, but instead Plagg’s green eyes turned towards her with a spark of devilish curiosity in them.

“Really?” he drew the word out, “That just might be interesting to see.” One fingerless hand thrust at her face. “Don’t think I’m out of tricks though. You just watch yourself.  It’s ‘Plagg, Claws out.’”

Emotion spoke before thought could form, “Plagg, Claws out!”

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

The akuma waded through the remains of the school and Ladybug knew she had to act. The bakery was at hand, and though she couldn’t see from back here, she could just imagine her father standing out front with a rolling pin. She still didn’t have a plan. She hadn’t risked getting close enough to get a good look. It had seemed prudent, but a nagging voice whispered she might just be too scared on her own. Had Cat No- Adrien been brave enough for both of them?

She tensed for a leap, but a sound like a thunderbolt stopped her. A black blur streaked at the akuma. It struck clean, staggering the giant, and clung before scuttling across the akuma’s bulk.

Ladybug was airborne before she had time to doubt. The blur had resolved into a person, a cat person. Her foolish heart leapt for a moment at the impossible idea her partner might have returned. No- it wasn't him. This person darted and leapt from point to point, tearing at the akuma. Buttons, hat, pockets were all ripped and torn. The akuma reeled and swatted at the attacker. One meaty hand connected and sent the black-clad fighter into the pavement in an impressive crater. Ladybug didn’t even have time to gasp before the fighter leapt from the cracked road and was back in the fight.

Ladybug landed, still one block away. In part she was still gathering information, in part she wasn’t sure how to engage with that black buzzsaw in motion. She had time now, her partn-

The other fighter was buying her time.

Ladybug was still trying to understand the ferocity of the assault. The -Ladybug mentally decided on cat hero just to organize her thoughts- was fended off time and again, taking blows that had to hurt. They were -she was- was relentless though, rebounding from being knocked clean through nearby buildings.The akuma’s apron fluttered to the ground like a torn parachute.

It clicked, akumatized object!, just as the akuma found space to swing its bakery peel. This time Ladybug could discern pastries showering down from the end of it. The cat hero was crouched for another leap but instead raised her head and sniffed the air. She reoriented herself and pounced… the confections.

Ladybug had her info. She raised her yo-yo, “Lucky Charm!”

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

The smell was irresistible. Chloé dove at the showering pastries, and she wasn’t the only one. Civilians swarmed out from everywhere, her classmates among them. Each and every one scrambled for the treats. There was no stopping it. Chloé bit down on a tart even as she scooped up half a dozen croissants. That she was aware of the compulsion made it worse. She growled around oozing jam and ground her teeth on buttery crust.

The too familiar feeling of helplessness was poison in her veins. Control, she needed to have some kind of control. She couldn’t stop so she pushed in the other direction. She crammed her mouth full until her jaw ached and she could barely breathe. It worked! She had a muffin in each hand but she could move freely again.

She launched herself at the akuma again.

A patch, no. A giant thermometer, no. She broke and broke. The muffins were goo, smashed against her palms. She couldn’t breathe but she wouldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t. Did. She bent double while crouching for another jump. Trying to inhale had dragged a chunk of her food-muzzle into her throat. She choked, coughed, heaved, choked again, and gasped for air. Her stomach twisted around the magical treats she’d already swallowed and dropped her to her knees.

Ziiiiip *thwip*

She was wrapped in a too-familiar away, airborne, grabbed, thumped on the back. She was spun again, free, something was shoved up her nose. Her overstimulated senses finally managed to focus. Her vision focused. Ladybug stood before her, with a tissue box in hand and polkadot tissues up each nostril.

Chloé hissed, “What do you think you're doing?”

“Saving you!” Ladybug grabbed her arm, “What do you think you are doing?”

Chloé pulled free and snarled, “He’s got an akumatized item on him somewhere, I’ll find it.”

Ladybug reached for her, “Do you have any idea what it is?”

Chloé recoiled and scanned. The akuma had turned away from them. It looked over the Dupain-Cheng bakery of all things. A petty part of her wanted to let it smash the place. That part of her became one more thing to be angry at.

She bared her teeth over her shoulder. “No, but I’m not the kind of hero who stands around doing nothing.”

She vaulted away with a protest lost in her wake. She landed and jumped again, elation mixing with rage. Her claws scored the doughy skin on the back of the akuma’s neck, checking the downward bakery-dooming swing of his peel. He swung it at her instead, showering her with sugary bait that no longer had any power over her. Her mouth was open, panting as a part of her breathing. What next? She picked a target and broke it. Then another, and another.

“The peel! Destroy the peel!” Ladybug’s voice rang in her ears.

Ladybug was a loser and probably wrong, but that wooden peel sure was big and this sure would be fun… “Cataclysm!”

She met the akuma’s swing with an outstretched hand. A grove’s worth of wood turned to powder at her touch. The butterfly flew free.

*Thwip* -snap- Ladybug caught and purified it. The akuma shrank to a befuddled looking baker. Chloé stood victorious in the center of a wasteland of violence and destruction.

Elation beat out anger, for just a moment. She threw her head back, spread her arms and, “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh!”

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

The primal scream from right beside her made Ladybug cringe and fumble the lucky charm she had been about to toss into the air. Once she recovered herself the fact that the crisis had passed gave her a moment to actually evaluate her erstwhile companion. Evaluate, and remember that she was not a partner, she was a thief.

A ragged looking thief. Her blonde hair -did the cat miraculous make the user blonde?- was a voluminous mane down her back, bedecked with black metal hooks and barbs throughout. She turned post scream to give Ladybug a maniacal grin, revealing her needle-like fangs in place of incisors. Her heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one green, were feline as Cat Noir's had been, and her pupils were currently giant black moons swimming in color. 

“What are you looking at, Ladybum?” The thief drawled, raising the hand still dusted with cataclysm remains and flexing her fingers slowly.

Her gloved fingers ended in wicked looking black ‘claws’. She wore black leather, that much remained consistent too, but her V-neck collar was torn, not tailored.  Lastly, in place of Chat’s amusing belt-tail she had a razor thin wire wrapped around her waist with a heavy cat's paw pendant hanging from the end.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes, “You stole Cat Noir’s miraculous.”

The thief turned her hand, revealing the paw print ring with three toes left. “Finders keepers.”

Ladybug swapped hands and spun her yo-yo up, “Give it back.”

“No!” The thief lunged, catching Ladybug’s yo-yo mid-spin.

Ladybug countered, wrapping her line around the other girl’s arm ensnaring her. The thief’s other hand went for Ladybug’s neck. Ladybug blocked the lunge with the remaining length of her string, but the other girl’s palm pressed within scant centimeters. They were locked taut. Whoever gave ground would lose.

Those wild eyes were narrowed to slits. No akuma had ever scared Ladybug this badly. The anger melted from those features but the fingers still stretched for Ladybug’s throat. Ladybug felt a prick against her skin. “It has to be a pun, doesn’t it? Of course it does. Call me… Purrge. I’m going to turn Hawkmoth to dust, and anyone in my way.”

Ladybug strained. Her own anger fueled a push that took Purrge’s claws from her skin. “You’re crazy! I’m taking that ring back. You don’t deser-”

*Chirp* *chirp*

The overlapping sounds cut across the tension. Purrge’s eyes darted to Ladybug’s earrings. Ladybug’s were drawn to Purrge’s ring. Her mind raced. Has it been three or four?

Purrge’s lips curled into a sharp fanged grin, “You used yours first. You think you can take me down in time?”

Ladybug wanted to, oh she ached to, but there was more riding on this than personal satisfaction, but how to- A very slight easing of the pressure against her line; was it a ceasefire? Ladybug took a chance.

She pulled back, letting the line go slack. No claws cut off her breath. She didn’t wait. She scooped up the lucky charm and turned, “This isn’t over!  Miraculous Ladybugs!”

Ladybug tossed the charm even as she began her swing. Triumphant cackling bubbled up behind her. She didn’t look back. Paris rebuilt itself as Ladybug swung further away, seeking out a quiet spot and settling for behind a dumpster.

Marinette burst from the shadow of the dumpster at a run. If she got back quick enough maybe she could catch a glimpse. Maybe there would be a clue. Maybe she could get her partner back.

There wasn’t, and she couldn’t. Not yet at least. All that awaited her was the rest of the class. Alya almost knocked her over, grousing and shaking her by the shoulders while delivering a friendly but stern dressing down. At least she wasn’t the only one gone. Chloé had unsurprisingly run off and still wasn’t back. It took some of the heat off at least.

A few of the class, plus her parents, were gathered around a baker who sat head in hands on the curb. Marinette recognized him immediately, from even before the akuma. She scooted into the semi-circle.

“Mssr. Levure?”

He looked up in confusion.

Marinette gave him a guilty smile, “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

She saw surprise, anger, then guilt pass over his features.

She continued, “I’m sorry. I think I’m at least partly responsible for all this. I convinced the curator to switch bakeries. I just wanted to help my family… but I didn’t stop to think about how doing it this way would impact them, or you. I know my dad and he’ll run himself into the ground to do all this work. Not only that but our bakery will probably be closed so he can do it. All our other customers will suffer.”

Marinette looked at her parents, who watched her with proud curiosity. She looked back to Mssr. Levure.

“Maybe… both bakeries can share the catering? I’ll make signs. We can promote both and have an even better, more varied selection for our guests. Would that be okay?”

Marinette held her breath. Mssr. Levure, her dad, and her mom held one of those ‘glance and head tilt’ conversations adults so often did. Then he stood and brushed his hands off before holding one out to Tom. “A temporary partnership?”

Tom shook hands, smiling. “Done.”

A small cheer erupted from the half dozen onlookers, and Marinette had the satisfaction of righting at least one wrong today. Still, there was one other… She looked around and spotted Adrien sitting by himself.

“What a day huh?” She announced her presence.

She might be right next to him, but he was still sitting far apart. “Did you see? Ladybug’s got a new partner.”

“Partner?! Oh no no, that’s not what it looked like to me at all. More like a new enemy, or a stray cat, or an enemy cat, or a stray enemy. There’s no way Ladybug would just replace her partner.”

Adrien turned to face her for the first time. The hope on his face was heartbreaking. “You really think so?”

Marinette fidgeted. Instinct said he needed a hug, but, but… he was… and she was…  Nervous laughter bubbled up without warning, “Ha! Sure sure No way! Oh look! It’s Alya! No one knows Ladybug like her. She runs the Ladyblog! Why don’t we go ask her together? I’m sure she’ll know! Come on!”

She waved her arms frantically to signal Alya, kicking herself internally the entire time.

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

On a rooftop balcony nearby Purrge landed hard. What should have been a hero landing turned into a stumble, a stagger, and a few lurching steps. A flash of green enveloped her, then Chloé collapsed face first onto the pavement.

Plagg zipped in a wide loop through the air, “What a debut! I think you broke three whole blocks before Ladybug put it all back together. Crack! Boom! That was fun, and you still beat the akuma, so Master Fu can’t yell at me!”

Chloé’s persistently prone repose caught his attention.

“Kid? Kid?”

He floated over, sitting atop her head, no response.  He turned an ear down against her skull, then floated to her back to do the same.

“Tsk, You gotta let the timer run out when it wants to, kid. You’re still pretty small.”

This got a response. The fingers of one of Chloé’s hands curled into a white knuckled fist for the space of a breath before uncurling again.

Plagg hmphed.

A CCTV camera, set up for security footage but never watched, recorded something odd that day.  The blanket from Chloe’s bed lifted itself by a single point and dragged itself out to the balcony(after one of the balcony doors mysteriously rotted off its hinges) The blanket was spread haphazardly over the recumbent heiress.

A little later the trashcan in the suite tipped itself over, and trash began emptying itself onto the floor.

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

“Master Please! Calm, Master! Here, your beads.” Wayzz hovered nervously with the prayer bracelet in his hands.

“Calm? Calm!” Master Fu paced between the gramophone that hid the miracle box and the small TV in his room. He would stare at the TV, then go reach for the gramophone, then pace back to the TV.

When he turned to Wayzz his face looked pained and afraid, not angry. He pointed at the TV, “How can I be calm when… that?!”

Frozen on the TV was a still frame of Ladybug and a Black Cat wielder who was obviously not Cat Noir, locked in a struggle.

“The Cat Miraculous is out there in an unknown holder’s hands. It could be in danger. The Ladybug could be in danger. If Hawkmoth were to get his hands on the Ladybug…”

He went back to the gramophone again and laid his hands atop it,

“We must get it back. We must be careful, but we cannot delay. Ladybug will need help in the meantime, someone she can rely on, a power that can aid her when there are so many variables in play.”

“Master, do you mean…?”

Fu keyed in the secret combination to open the antique player, and reached for the Miracle Box hidden within. “Yes Wayzz, him.”

[eyenaku]

anotha palette challenge w @cero-sleep!! this one of my pantomime au y/n (👁👁 columbina) cero be pickin the cool palettes hsjkjshdahjds i dont rlly like this one as much as yesterday's,, there's no dark colour in this pallette so I couldn't get any good contrast

[momobani]

TECHNICALITY

THE WAY I hate YOU - chapter 6 - 13k

&team Nicholas x fem!reader - arranged marriage AU

SERIES MASTERLIST

Sum: the one where you find out that everything is not as it seems.

Warnings: swearing, sarcasm, a smidge of angst, portrayal of dysfunctional families, mention of food and alcohol, mention of sex

Soundtrack rec: This is Love - JUD (honestly this is so the song i imagined playing for the scene - you’ll know when you read it hehe)

Taglist: @nichoswag @seokka0o @sseastar-main @hyuckslvr @ssshasssh @wtfisgoingright @heart4hees @uni-versalizar @blooqz

A/N: just to note there are a few sorta time skips, time flows quickly in this universe lol. sorry this update took so long, between being busy and sorta in a slump it was a bit hard to get to writing but hopefully i can finish it before the end of the year, fingers crossed! hope you enjoy <3

The one time turned into another, and then another after that, the days turning into weeks and the weeks turning into months, as your relationship became stranger and stranger. Sleeping with Nicholas was definitely a turning point but you didn’t regret it. It was just difficult to navigate the aftermath of everything that was going on between the two of you.

Yes, you were married but you weren’t in love. Yes, you were friends, but you were sleeping with each other. The two could exist in their own separate realms in their own right; but you had to admit it was probably not a great idea to play around when the two situations were this intertwined as they were with you.

Whatever your feelings on the situation were, they were simmering quietly under the surface, and sometimes you forgot they were there until you would spend the night in Nicholas’ room or he in yours, then in the morning you would walk around like you were just roomies and get ready for work. He wouldn’t kiss you goodbye before leaving like a husband would kiss his wife, but you would go to functions arm in arm and put on a pretence that you were the newlyweds of the year- hell - of the century.

The whole pantomime was exhausting but somewhere along the way it got easier as you became closer, got to know each other better and were in sync with your actions. You were so good at fooling everyone, that you were starting to fool yourselves.   

Your brain was starting to feel mushy and disoriented, denying reading into anything at all; the lingering kiss on your temple as you lay in your bed with Nicholas’ arms caging you close to his frame or the way he held your hand as you walked into a shareholder meeting on a winter afternoon, his large hand keeping yours warm.

It was convenient to fall into delusion but you tried so hard to stay in reality.

This was arranged. Anything else was just arbitrary. 

It was just habit, just friendly affection, just for show. 

Pick an excuse. 

Any will do.

You had to keep reminding yourself that you weren’t in a real relationship, you knew it was the right thing to do. You weren’t in love, no, but there were moments where you would catch yourself - the more time you spent with Nicholas, the more you got to know him, the more you liked him. Your proximity was starting to puzzle you. 

You sighed to yourself as you cut the engine of your car. You were so hungry, you were sure your body was starting to eat itself, beginning with your silly, tired little brain. 

By the time you get to your couch - your beautiful, comfy, delightful couch, which you missed dearly while at work all day - slippers on your feet, coat tossed on the rack by the door, you hear the door open a second time and your husband come in.

Nicholas mirrors your fatigue as he treads into the room silently, collapsing on the couch next to you, the whole thing shaking at the impact of his body hitting the pillows. 

“Long day?” he asks finally. 

“The fucking longest.” you mutter. 

“Same. I’m ordering us food.” he says if it was a solution to your problem. You hum in agreement, not moving a muscle. 

Nicholas ends up phoning the restaurant since he’s a regular there and you were both familiar with the menu. You sit up, ready to chime in with what you want to eat but he talks quickly and rattles off an order in Mandarin. 

You listen to the best of your ability, trying to track when to butt in but he beats you to it, asking for the dishes that you were thinking of, while looking at you as if he hadn’t just read your mind, then confirming your address - you recognised the numbers when he said 520 - before hanging up. 

You just look at him dumbly for a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, forgetting to switch from Mandarin then catching himself. “Er- sorry. Did I say anything wrong?” he raises his eyebrows innocently. You shake your head.

“No, just surprised you knew what I wanted.” you shrug. Nicholas half-chuckles.   

“Ah, I know what you like from that particular place, and…” he trails off. “Well, you don’t usually like to try new things so I figured.”

You pout a little at his insinuation. “I like trying new things…sometimes.” you realise you sound childish trying to rebut. He was right; you tended to stick to what works for you but in your head, it was because at least you knew what you wanted.

“I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m just saying, I know you by now, YN.” Nicholas smiles at you. You smile back automatically, your mouth incapable of refusing to return it. 

“Alright, Mr Know-It-All,” you click your tongue, coming up with some possibly terrible but also a little bit genius idea that you’re pretty sure Nicholas will be able to read just from the sarcastic lilt of your voice. “What am I thinking right now?” you challenge, looking him in the eye, daring him to say it out loud. 

He thinks for a moment, scanning your face for hints. Your stomach flutters slightly under his stare but in that second you tell yourself it’s just the hunger getting to you. He seems to settle on something and one corner of his mouth turns up and you know he read you like a goddamn book, if his cocky tone and smug tilt of his head is indicative of anything. 

“You’re thinking of how we have time to kill,” he begins, shuffling closer to you. “And that our couch is far too comfortable for us to waste its potential by going to a bedroom-” a hand finds its way to brush some hair away from your face. “- so we should just stay here and make use of it because no one else will.” he finishes, his face already barely centimetres from yours. 

Our couch. 

His voice echoes in your head. 

You feign consideration, as if you’re mulling over his suggestion, when in fact, it was what you were thinking the whole time. 

You nod slowly. “I guess that’s close enough.” you concede, angling yourself to accommodate Nicholas’ body as he pulled you closer. 

“Then tell me more, will you?” he mumbles, now nose to nose with you.

“Oh please, we both know actions speak louder than words.” you shake your head jokingly before taking his face in your hands and pulling him in for a kiss, and then another and well…everything that was the source of your confused feelings these days.  

True to your words - well, Nicholas’ interpretation of your thoughts - you stay on the couch, then afterwards go and change into pyjamas since it was that kind of day and return to the kitchen to wait for your food. 

You sit at your counter instead of the dinning table, eating comfortably. At least you think you feel like it’s comfortably. You’re paying attention to your food but still thinking about what transpired on the couch and how insanely good it felt-

“You know our six month anniversary is coming up soon?” Nicholas asks abruptly. You stop for a moment, mentally checking the fact and find that it would be in a couple of weeks or so. 

“I guess?” you reply, unsure where he was going with this. “I didn’t think we’d be counting it, if I’m being honest.” you mutter. 

It was an arranged marriage so you weren’t exactly invested in doing things ‘properly’ like a normal couple, then again, you also hadn’t planned on going on a honeymoon and look how that turned out. Remembering you even went makes it feel like it was a million years ago. 

How did time pass that quickly?

Nicholas hums in agreement. “Hm, I know, I thought so too, but I’ve been prompted by the powers that be-”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, but allegedly in cahoots with your mother, and she said it might be nice to do something as a family.” he continues, through a mouthful of rice. 

“Did you just say ‘in cahoots’?” you attempt not to choke on how ridiculous it was. 

“You got a better word for it, Mrs Wang?” he pouts at his bowl. You don’t say anything, too amused and wanting to hear more. “Didn’t think so. Anyways, they probably want some kind of business dinner in the guise of a family thing.” 

“Isn’t everything we’ve been through a ‘business thing’ in sheep’s clothing?” you point out. 

“Obviously, but we live another day to tell the tale.” he says. “So, what do you say?”

“It doesn’t sound that bad, I guess. Besides, it’s kind of neutral and we could write off another family dinner for like another few months.” you deliberate, weighing up the pros. Actually, that sounded really appealing - you could write it off for the holiday period and your anniversary and disappear for a while- “Let’s do it.” 

“Alright, that is a ‘go’, we can arrange something. It’ll be my parents, your parents, Maki, and do you want to invite your uncle?” Nicholas makes a note on his phone. 

“Not really. I’m still a little pissed at him for not sticking up for me before.” you admit. You’d talked to Nicholas about it at some point; he knew how well you’d gotten on with your uncle before the whole marriage business was thrust onto you. 

“No problem, just immediate family then.” he nods then puts the phone away. 

You eat in silence for a while again, but the reminder of your family riles you up just a smidge. You hadn’t forgiven your parents for everything they’d put you through, despite you having good feelings towards your husband, it didn’t alter the fact that they’d been the ones who’d thrown you into the deep end. 

“Did you ever figure it out?” Nicholas breaks the silence. You’re not sure what he means. 

“I have figured many a-things out, you’re gonna have to be more specific.” you shrug. 

“My bad, O Wise and Great One. Have you figured out why I agreed to the marriage in the first place?” he clarifies. “It’s funny how worked up you were about it before, don’t tell me you forgot?” 

You cringe internally at how suspicious you had been back then, though it had been founded, and especially because you were still strangers at the time. There was an occasional pang of suspicion that returned to you, but for the most part you’d established that Nicholas wasn’t that kind of person. 

“I think you’re too mellow to have an actual agenda,” you state. “So I retract my previous doubts.” 

“In other words… you don’t think I need an agenda to marry a beautiful woman?” he looks at you expectantly. You know he wants you to agree, but you refuse just for that reason. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re sleeping outside tonight.” you threaten. Nicholas frowns before laughing.

“We have separate rooms.” he says. 

“Figuratively. It’s the thought that counts.” you insist, starting to get infected by the laugh.

“Damn, YN, cut me some slack; a guy can’t even give his wife a compliment.” he complains. 

“No, he can’t. It made me suspicious again.” you retort. “You know it doesn’t make sense, right?” you say seriously. “You could probably have anyone you wanted, so why choose to get stuck with me?” 

You voice your recent growing insecurities about your marriage - sham marriage - but nonetheless, for all intents and purposes, real and legal marriage. 

“Bold of you to assume I chose it.” Nicholas says nonchalantly. 

“Ouch.” you say sarcastically. “Not exactly what you want to hear after sleeping with someone.” you mumble. 

“Hey, not what I meant. Will you let me finish?” he quips back. 

“Kay, I did ask,” you concede. 

“You think you had no choice, and you didn’t. But it was pretty much the same for me, if not worse.” Nicholas explains. “I have no siblings. I’ve been raised as the crown prince of the empire. My family’s future depends on me. Marrying you was a way to secure that future.” 

You mull it over in your head. “But we benefit more from the merger than Wang Enterprises.”

In your view, it had always been your parents trying to claw their way into higher society, to make more money, as if you needed it, when you should just be focusing on what good your company could do - you were in the medical supplies business and the world would always need those without a doubt. It’s why you decided to work in the company in the first place instead of leaving; because you could do more good from the inside.  

“Or do you?” Nicholas asks, not really expecting an answer. “Just food for thought. Don’t think the Wangs are any better, it’s business after all.” he sighs. 

Nicholas was right; this marriage deal was a two way street and both parties had agreed to embark on it together. Your choices had led you to each other but you had to remember it was just good business.

You had resented him, maybe almost hated him at first, but you couldn’t hold it against him. You’d told yourself it was just good business and you were protecting Maki, your family had to come first, right?

Perhaps it was a good lie to tell yourself or a fiery explosion that had the power to blow up your life as you knew it, but still good business. 

Your hand in Nicholas’, his mouth on yours, skin to skin, your heart thundering in your chest…all just good business and you knew eventually it would obliterate everything in good your life. 

It was just a matter of when, not if.  

*

You looked in the mirror for the hundredth time and sighed, chucking the clothes on a hanger over your bed and into the growing pile of rejects. 

Your problem for tonight wasn’t that you had nothing to wear, but that every single thing somehow didn’t seem right all of a sudden. One was too businesslike, another too flimsy for the weather, one couldn’t match with another piece to create an outfit.

You walk back to your closet and take out the last few hangers in hopes of making something happen. 

It was your six month anniversary and you had to be presentable to the whole family. Mostly, your mother, who seemed to always have an opinion about everything, even when you were simply breathing. 

You hold up one piece to your torso across the mirror and then the other. 

A quiet knock on your open door behind you breaks your concentration. 

“Everything okay in here?” Nicholas asks, leaning on the doorway, eyes glued to the mountain of stuff on your bed. You turn to look at him - his outfit a painfully simple black shirt, blazer and slacks. But it looked perfect for the occasion - not too formal, not too casual or uptight for the office. 

And he looked like a million bucks; a very handsome, very suave million bucks.  

You groan out loud after seeing him.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” he says then crosses into your room to look at the hangers in your hands.

“Sorry, I’m just stumped right now. I remember buying all of these with a purpose, but I never imagined the occasion would be ‘six month anniversary of arranged marriage’ when I did.” you hand the hangers to Nicholas and perch on your bed. 

“A true fashionista always adapts, no matter the occasion.” Nicholas comments while sifting through the hangers, holding one up for a moment then another and discarding them into a new pile. 

“Now’s not the time for preaching,” you retort. “Please help a fashion disaster in need.” you put your palms together and plead with your best puppy eyes. 

“Aigoo,” Nicholas coos. “At least you’re self-aware.” he says with an undertone of mocking your pathetic attempt at begging but smiles after. “Anything for my poor wifey.” You narrow your eyes at him but he’s too busy looking at the clothes in front of him to notice. You decide not to comment since your need his help. 

“Thanks, I’m going to finish my make-up.” you take a seat at your modest vanity and pick where you’d left off after panicking about not having an outfit then racing to your closet to figure that out.

You don’t do anything too crazy, just making yourself look nice for a dinner rather than a runway, all the while Nicholas arranges a slew of different outfits behind you. You watch him in the vanity mirror as he shuffles from one end of the bed to the other, assessing each one as he puts them together, or changing one part then standing back to look at it from a distance. 

It’s when you’re smacking your lips together after applying lipstick that he lets out a long exhale. 

“I’m done.” he says. “I think this may just be my masterpiece.” You close your eyes for a second to stop them from rolling. 

“Hold your horses, Picasso, I haven’t tried it on yet.” you rise from your seat and undo your satin dressing gown, sliding it off and leaving it on the chair. You move past Nicholas in just your underwear but it doesn’t phase either of you anymore. There was nothing left to be shy about. 

There are three options on your bed, each one unique in its own way but you zero in on a dress paired up with a cropped blazer. The dress itself was something you’d bought a long time ago but never worn because it had cutouts right where your tattoo was. While the tattoo was a simple bunch of lilies, you didn’t want to show it off at the places you usually went.  

“I’m going to have to eliminate this one because if my mother sees my tattoo, she might faint.” you point it out. “I’ll save it for some other occasion though.” you promise. 

“Fair, I just thought it would look good on you so I put it there.” Nicholas nods. “Why did you even get the tattoo if you would hide it all the time though?” he asks, curiosity colouring his voice. 

You hum, considering both the question and the remaining outfits. “I wanted something that was my own entirely. I made the decision and didn’t have to get approval because no one would know about it.” 

“I know about it.” he shrugs. “And anyone who sees you naked will know about it.” he adds as a matter of fact. 

“I’m thinking it’s not a long list of people, nor are they likely to care about it, so it’s whatever.” you gravitate toward the second outfit - a black skirt with a white top that gave off an elegant line and was stylish as it was pretty. “Not bad, maestro. Shoes?” you ask, starting to take the clothes off the hanger. 

“Those thigh-high boots you never wear.” he replies without hesitation. You nod while trying to remember exactly where you put those, but then you realise it must be in the communal shoe rack since Nicholas has seen them. 

“If I wore them all the time, they wouldn’t be special.” you argue as you put on the skirt first, zipping it up. 

You’re about to reach for the shirt but Nicholas is already holding it out for you. You slip your arms through and let him pull the material up. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on the skin between your shoulder and neck, catching you off-guard, then sliding the material the rest of the way as if he hadn’t done anything at all. 

“Still, you should wear them. You deserve to feel special more often.” he hums, stepping away. You button the shirt up. “We should get going, I’ll drive.” he announces before leaving you alone in your room. 

“Okay,” you say too late for him to hear. 

You’re still reeling from the random display of affection. What was he playing at? Didn’t he know you were already going crazy without him acting like- well- like he was your husband, even though he technically was, in fact, your husband, even if you weren’t in love. 

Was he allowed to do that? Were there even rules to this? 

You only had yourself to blame since the boundaries you’d set were pretty loose and not that clear. You’d agreed that you could touch each other and be close and that it didn’t mean anything deep, yet you couldn’t stop yourself now from wondering if maybe it did mean something? 

Did it mean anything to him? Did it mean anything to you?

Judging from how freaked out you were, it must, right?

Was it too late to worry about that? Were you simply denying something so obvious and simple?

Could you like your husband for real, even if your marriage wasn’t?  

You keep thinking about it as you finish getting ready and meet Nicholas at the front door. 

“Ready for the catwalk.” you mumble as you hold up your arms slightly, showing off the final outfit.

“Some of my best work yet,” he nods, assessing the way the clothes fit over your body. You narrow your eyes slightly. Now was not the time to be checking you out, but you don’t say that. “You’re going to be fabulous, darlin!” he exclaims, startling you. It was rare to see a supernatural possession in real life but you’d seen it all now. 

“Gosh, what a diva.” you smirk as you follow him out the door. 

“I prefer the term ‘icon’, thank you very much.” he quips without glancing back at you. When you don’t say anything, Nicholas looks back sheepishly at you. “Too much?”

“I won’t judge you for being targeted by the ghost of the Devil Who Wears Prada, but yes.” you confirm. 

For once you don’t complain about riding in his obnoxiously red Ferrari, too lost in thought to care about the noise or what you looked like on the outside. 

You zipped through the night, streetlights illuminating your way through the big city. 

Nicholas was quiet too, putting on some music as background noise. 

You arrived at the location, leaving the car with the valets and advancing inside. You’re met with a gust of hot air as you enter through the revolving doors and find yourselves in a dimly-lit foyer with a slab of marble clearly signed as an information desk and a pathway to a collection of elevators. 

You take the one that comes first and Nicholas presses the P button at the very top of the series of keys on the wall. 

The elevator dings at the top of the building and you enter the penthouse restaurant, eyes circling the premises, more lavish and luxurious than you could have imagined. The restaurant was huge but silent, clearly booked out for your family exclusively, its thirty odd tables left dressed in white tablecloths but otherwise empty.

The high ceiling drew your eyes up and you spotted several incredibly fancy chandeliers hanging through the main atrium, their lights reflecting brightly in the floor to ceiling windows that covered every wall of the restaurant. Under one such chandelier, a series of tables had been put together and the table set but your family was gathered at one of the windows, looking out to the city while holding their drinks.

“Ah, finally.” Your father says, raising his voice so you could hear him as the two of you walked towards the group. “We were starting to worry you got lost.” he continues, clearly teasing.

You smiled automatically as you approached, giving your in-laws your greetings then your parents and Maki, who seemed to suddenly wake up from being bored out of his mind. You reach up and pat his cheek affectionately while Nicholas is already joining the conversation smoothly. 

Nicholas has the parents holding on to his every word but your mother manages to zero in on you, her eyes searching over you, analysing but saying nothing. Sometimes silence was golden-

“Dear, don’t you think those boots are a bit inappropriate?” she asks quietly while you’re somewhat out of earshot. You spoke too soon; there was no scenario in your life that your mother kept her opinion to herself. “You’re not clubbing with your friends.” she says through a toothy smile.

“Nicholas picked them out.” you blurt in defence, not that it was going to retract your mother’s previous statement. She hums for a second, taking another discreet look at your attire. 

“Well, I suppose they do make your legs look slimmer.” she muses. You should have expected something like that; her son-in-law could do no wrong in her eyes. You ignore her in favour of locating the nearest waiter bringing around booze. Once there is a champagne glass in your hand, you feel a little more grounded. You prepare yourself for a harrowing conversation but are luckily saved by the bell. Or in this case, your father-in-law.  

“Why don’t we sit down, everyone?” you hear Mr Wang ask. “You must be starving.” 

You had most certainly lost your appetite but you were grateful for the progression of the evening - the faster you ate, the faster you could get home. 

Nicholas materialises by your side and slides an arm around your waist, leaning in so his mouth was close to your ear. “Everything okay?” he mutters. 

“Define ‘okay’.” you mutter back before reaching your seats. Nicholas squeezes your waist gently, as if reassuring you, then lets go.  

Your mother and Nicholas’ mother sit together, then your fathers, then you, Nicholas and Maki at one end, forming somewhat of a kids’ corner, which in some ways you were grateful for since you were a fair distance away from your mother but not your father. If you were being fair though, that was the lesser of two evils so you sat between your father and Nicholas and sipped your champagne.

For a few minutes, everyone is busy talking and mulling over the menus, yourself included. Once everyone has ordered though, the toasting starts.

You sorta zoned out from the sense of deja vu while your father spoke, then Nicholas’ father spoke and all they were yapping on about was business this and business that and how great it was that your families were joined etc, etc. You’d heard a carbon copy of this bullshit at your wedding and it was getting old this time around. 

It was only when you all raised your champagne glasses (and Maki his soda) that a flare of panic ran through your spine when you saw Nicholas raise his glass to his lips. Luckily, you had the mind to gently manoeuvre the hand holding the glass away from his face.    

“Oh no, you don’t.” you muttered under your breath. You’d learned the hard way that Nicholas and alcohol did not mix so you were merely taking a preventative measure. Besides, you needed to drive home and you’d beaten him to the booze earlier. 

Nicholas looks at you inquisitively for a second then nods, silently agreeing to your good call. You reach toward a glass of water and offer it to him instead, then exchange it for the champagne, downing first your glass, then his in one go. Nobody seems to be paying you any heed as you notice Nicholas staring at you in disbelief, clearly gagged at your display of near insanity. You regarded it only as insane since you were doing it openly at a family dinner, in front of your mother, rather than the fact you were drinking champagne like it was juice. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a lightweight like you, dude.” you answer his stare. 

“I didn’t say anything.” he clears his throat, looking away, but is clearly still amused. You’re sort of just grateful that only Nicholas had witnessed your little stunt instead of your mother.  

After a while, dinner gets served and the food is too good for you to pay attention to anything else so you use it as an excuse to abstain from conversation, though if you were being honest, no one was particularly interested in talking with you anyway, since your father was preoccupied with Nicholas’ father, the mothers were in their own world, and Nicholas and Maki were discussing something you couldn’t quite hear from Nico’s other side.  

Eating your meal felt almost meditative in the midst of the noise, but you found your mind wandering to other things. Like the way that Nicholas’ chair was really a bit close to yours so occasionally your legs touched, or your arms brushed against one another. Even these brief little touches were warm; he was warm next to you and your body felt drawn to his, as if you wanted him to keep some kind of contact with you. 

It was moments like these that you caught yourself - is this okay? Is this normal to think about your friends-with-benefits/husband? The logical explanation of your feelings was starting to feel obvious and undeniable, but you didn’t want to voice it properly, you couldn’t just admit it, even to yourself, because you knew that admitting that you felt something deeper towards Nicholas could shatter you. Mostly because you didn’t think he felt the same way. 

After the meal, you all take a moment to disperse and contemplate dessert. You were pretty sure it was just an excuse for your fathers sneak away and smoke a cigar or two while discussing more business topics that might be deemed inappropriate for the table. You go to the washroom to see how your makeup is holding up and feel a little buzzed as you get through the doors again, not quite swaying but managing to walk in the incorrect direction back to the open plan dining room. 

You end up walking into the alternate corridor which leads to the terrace seating area, now closed up by a thick, see-through vinyl tarp for the winter so the guests there wouldn’t be exposed to the elements. You can hear a loudspeaker above you somewhere playing music quietly as you wander into the terrace. 

For a moment you hesitate because you spot Nicholas some distance away with his phone to his ear, back turned to you. You approach him slowly, drinking him in. He seems a little tense by the way his shoulders are slightly raised as he perches on a nearby table while he talks. 

You’re within earshot now and you can hear him speaking in Mandarin, picking up only a few words here or there. You figure out it’s a business call and wait silently, feeling the slight chill of the air that seeps through the small gaps between the makeshift carpet laid out beneath your feet and the edge of the tarp. 

Nicholas concludes the call, obviously exchanging a few parting pleasantries with a laugh and hangs up, turning around and jumping slightly, clearly startled at your sudden appearance. Evidently, he hadn’t heard you coming at all. 

“Sorry.” you mumble in response. 

“No, it’s okay, I was just going to find you anyway. You ready to go home?” he asks. 

“Don’t you want dessert?” you don’t answer his question because you don’t want to seem like you had a crap time, which you did, but he didn’t need to know that, unless he already did, of course; Nicholas wasn’t that oblivious.  

“I don’t care about dessert, YN. I can tell you’d rather be like anywhere else at this point.” he gives you a sympathetic half-smile. Well, he’d picked up on that so there’s no need to spare him anymore. 

“You’re right. I would.” you feel a bitter chuckle escape your mouth. “If you’re ready, then we can go. I drank enough so it’s an excuse for us to dip.”

“Aha, so there was indeed a method to the madness.” he walks towards you and you start to leave.

“Pfft, how could I not have a strategy when going into battle? You know the best defence is offence.” you explain as you make your way back to the door. 

Nicholas is about to say something but stops for a moment, glancing around. 

“Do you hear that?” he asks. You assume he means the quiet music overhead. You nod. You don’t see his point. He seems to make up his mind about something. “Well, actually, I’m not quite ready to go home yet.” he says. 

You sigh. 

So close and yet so far.

“Fine, we’ll stay.” you concede. You were tipsy but not drunk so you supposed you could endure more. You step to go but Nicholas puts a hand on your arm. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean going back there again.” he says. You turn to look at him properly. “I want to dance with you. Here. How about it?” his eyebrows quirk in question. 

You think you must have misheard him. Dance? What was he talking about?

“We haven’t danced since the wedding. Why would we dance?” you hear yourself ask. 

Nicholas shrugs. “Because we can.” 

“Doesn’t mean we should. Nico, you know I suck. Let’s just go.” 

“Oh c’mon, dance with me, please?” he whines a little, the tiniest hint of a pout gracing his lips. “Please? You know I love to dance.” he says. You deflate a smidgeon since he’s asking so sincerely. 

“Fine, this is my gift to you.” you agree. 

“Awesome. Come on.” he offers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you close. You almost whine in protest but let it go. Nicholas seems to sense it. “What? I love to dance, so sue me.”

“I’m a lawyer; don’t tempt me.” you mutter in response but curl up into his arms.  

You focus on the new song that starts playing from the speaker above you, trying to figure out what to do but Nicholas starts to guide you gently, getting you to sway to the beat. You don’t fight it and soon you’re immersed.    

The song was wistful even if you didn’t understand all the words, but the feeling was somehow amplified as you swayed slowly, Nicholas’ arm around your waist and yours resting on his shoulder. You tried not to tremble as you held his other hand, afraid that he could feel your pulse just by having your fingers interlocked or from the way your heart hammered in your chest as you were pressed up against each other. 

You didn’t dare look into his eyes for too long because you knew that if you let yourself, you would inevitably stare for too long and somehow manage to expose your strange new feelings towards your husband. It was better that you didn’t do anything rash. Yet, it was hard because Nicholas was keeping you close, his head almost resting on your own as he leaned forward slightly. You could smell his cologne and the scent of his body wash and the fabric softener used on his shirt.

He filled up your every sense and as if that wasn’t enough, even though you were holding him close, he filled the cavities of your slowly emptying mind. You were letting the music carry your thoughts off; all thoughts except for those of Nicholas. 

His hand was steady on your waist and you could feel the warmth of his palm through your top. It’s not like he didn’t regularly touch you so you couldn’t understand why you were so aware of his proximity to you right now - you literally shared so much physical contact, especially lately, that you felt almost embarrassed at how much you were overthinking it right now. The realisation dawns on you in that moment; you’d grown close enough that his touch was so familiar and even welcome.  

The song finishes and you slowly unravel, the realisation that anyone could have found you like that dawning on you. You can’t help but glance towards the inside and see nothing and no one so you relax. You didn’t want your parents prying into your relationship with Nicholas, despite being the ones to throw you into. 

“Now we can go home.” Nicholas smiles. You smile a little too, grateful that you hadn’t turned him down.   

You brainstorm a plan on your way back to the main hall and decide that you’ll go with the ‘poor YN doesn’t feel so great but thank you for the celebration, see you (not too) soon’. You feign being sleepy and let Nicholas do his best charm-speaking, hypnotising the adults. 

Meanwhile, Maki throws you a scrutinising look that tells you he clocked your bullshit and you scrunch your nose in response, telepathically relaying a threat of telling your parents about your visit to his school, and though he frowns a little, he backs off. He probably didn’t want to be left alone with the adults and you’d apologise to him later, but right now, it was every person for themselves.

Thankfully, it is easy to make an escape and when you sit down in Nicholas’ car, you’re almost happy to be inside the vehicle. 

“Well, we’ve definitely written off Christmas and New Years’, so what do you want to do instead?” Nicholas asks on the way home. He sounds as chipper as you’d feel if you hadn’t had so much champagne.  

“Sleep. My vacation days are used for hibernation purposes only.” you state. “But you go ahead and have fun.” you add with a smile.

You get home fairly quickly, the night traffic barely there. 

The warmth of your apartment signals you to finally relax and you take a moment to exhale a deep breath you’d been holding all night. 

After that, you started the process of taking off your boots, leaning against the wall to stop yourself from losing your balance. It took an age but you finally got free of the shoes and the soles of your feet hit the cool tile in your foyer. You walked the few steps to your communal shoe storage unit and found your slippers laid out for you so you could just step into them, no doubt Nicholas thinking a few steps ahead for you. 

You smiled a little at the thought of him laying them out as he put his own on. He could be really sweet sometimes. Or a lot of the time. 

You walk into the kitchen and find Nicholas at the counter, blazer draped over a chair and forgotten as he concentrated on opening a small box. As you neared him, you realised that it was a cake box, and sure enough he pulled out a small chocolate and strawberry cake, decorated with beautiful wisps of whipping cream on top. You thought he was done until he pulled a small bouquet of red roses wrapped up in black mesh from behind the counter.

“These are for you.” he said, offering them to you.

“Nico, what is this?” you ask, surprised at the sudden appearance of the cake and flowers. 

“The real reason we skipped dessert.” he says casually. You accept the flowers hesitantly.

“Thank you.” you say as you admire the bouquet. You’d only ever received flowers from your best friends, like Jay at your graduation or Yunjin for your annual day-drinking fest (Valentines’ Day). 

You notice him take a few candles out of the box too and wonder how much he really had planned ahead. 

“Huh, I thought you were just getting us out of there, but I guess this is a bonus.” you shrug, grateful that you didn’t have to listen to your mother criticise desserts and then you as you ate them. You knew she was plenty capable and it wasn’t something you wanted to hear tonight. 

“Yeah, I thought we should celebrate on our own too.” Nicholas explains, adjusting the candles into the cake. “Happy six months, YN.” he lights up the candles and pushes the cake forward so it sits between the two of you on the counter. “Make a wish.” 

You look at him, finding the light of the candles reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle in the dim lights of your apartment. The image of him is so well ingrained in your brain that you think he might just be last thing you see before you close your eyes for the last time on this earth. 

You catch yourself - would that be so bad? If he was the last person you thought of, like ever? Or the last person you saw? 

You realise that the answer is no, it wouldn’t be so bad at all. 

“I haven’t made a wish since I was five, Nicholas.” you divert his attention to mask anything passing thoughts on your face. 

“Well, then it’s been long enough, hasn’t it?” he retorts playfully. “C’mon, I’ll make one too. Close your eyes.” he encourages you, closing his own eyes. 

You don’t close your eyes so you can keep looking at him. 

You had always been wary of making wishes - since you were five you knew that you had everything you could want - it had been drummed into your head, but you weren’t sure you really needed most of those things. 

Now you were an adult, you knew that wishes don’t really come true, it’s more the thought that counts, but regardless, you allow yourself to be a little selfish and make a wish. There was no harm in it since nothing would change:

You wished that you and Nicholas could be in love for real. 

*

The rest of winter rolled by fairly quickly and before you could blink, it was already early spring. 

Maki had a school holiday so you decided to invite him to hang out, knowing that Nicholas has some time off too. You’d been forced, mostly by your uncle, to take some of your outstanding vacation days and you had combined the two since you weren’t going anywhere. 

So there you are, waiting for you little brother in your car, thinking about how you were going to avoid traffic later on.

Maki opens the passenger door and slumps into the seat, underestimating his own strength and slamming the car door close. You don’t even bother to remind him to be more careful because there’s only so many times you can say that to a teenage boy before you lose your own mind from the reminders. 

“What’s up?” he greets you as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“Nothing much. I’m flattered you have time for your dear, old sister.” you chuckle. You start the car and pull out of the parking spot. 

“What? I’m coming to hang out with Nicholas.” Maki grins playfully and you click your tongue in response. How could you forget that sass was your little brother’s favourite skill? 

“Well then, maybe Nicholas can negotiate your allowance with Mom and Dad next time.” you declare, not letting Maki forget where he learned to talk like that in the first place; he was a graduate of the University of Having An Older Sister, majoring in Sarcasm with a minor in Sass.  

“Yeah, okay, and you, I guess.” he pouts. 

“Nice save.” you smile. “So, what do you want to do? We can go to the park, maybe play some basketball if you ask Nico nicely.” you suggest. You don’t even realise you’re using a nickname when you usually refer to your husband by his full government name. It’s three syllables: Ni-cho-las, yet you’d found yourself shortening it a lot lately.   

“Really? I didn’t think you’d want to go outside.” Maki says, contemplating the offer. 

“I do too! I like going to the park and the basketball court.” you say, though you’d barely even had the time to go more than twice since you’d moved into your apartment. But those two times had been nice, walking around with Nicholas and then getting coffee after. It had almost felt like a real date between two people who weren’t married. 

“Fine, let’s go. I want to play with Nicholas anyway. He says he’s really good but I need to see it for myself.” Maki vows. He seems determined to call your husband’s bluff. For a moment you feel a pang of pride; you’d taught your brother just enough scepticism not to get fooled by just anyone’s word.  

“Alright. In that case, we’ll go to the apartment and get Nico…las.” you find yourself adding for good measure. Maki doesn’t seem to notice though. So you change the subject. “Y’know, every time I see you, I swear you’ve grown a little more. It’s very jarring.” you say. 

Maki hums in agreement. “Well, that’s because I put insoles in my shoes just to mess with you and only you specifically.” 

You give your brother a momentary side eye as much as driving would allow you. “So help me God, if I find out that’s true, Machiato-”

“It’s not, I promise.” he assures you. You let out a quiet ‘hmmph’ and drop it. 

At your apartment you find Nicholas emerging from his room and you find a way to distract Maki long enough so that he can’t see into the room and the fact that it is not a couple’s bedroom. You usher Maki into the living room so that Nicholas can sneak away and get ready. 

“I’ll be ready in ten!” he offers from the hallway but you only make a small noise of acknowledgement while you get your brother some water. 

When you turn around from the kitchen area, you find that Maki has taken to the side of the couch temporarily housing dry laundry and has set up camp in folding it. You sigh. You didn’t want to feel like you called your little brother over so he act like a little maid. 

“Maks! Enough! You don’t need to do anything. This is our laundry so it’s our problem.” you insist, making your way to him.  

“Okay.” he says but carries on folding so you decide to just let him fold his heart out.

A minute later Nicholas appears in the living room, looking incredibly chipper. 

“Maki! My dude, how’s it going?” you’re surprised to see your (big) little brother perk up and jump to hug your husband. You can’t help but feel the pang of jealousy because you didn’t get the same enthusiasm. 

“I’m good, hyung. The question is: are you ready to get your butt kicked?” Maki grins cheekily. 

Nicholas frowns softly, as if contemplating the challenge. “You know what? I think I’ll do all my talking on the court.” 

You purse your lips at Maki’s feeble attempt at trash talking, if you could even call it that. 

“Anyways,” you cut in. “Let’s go, boys. The sun will set before we even make it outside.” you put a hand on one of their shoulders each and gently push them toward the door. 

The spring air is warmer than you were expecting but not warm enough for there to be a lot of people outside playing yet. 

You have the whole court to yourselves and you opt for watching the boys running around for a bit, playing one on one. Maki manages to get past Nicholas and dribbles the ball before taking a slightly clumsy shot at the hoop but scoring nonetheless. 

Nicholas nods in approval as Maki jumps up excitedly, celebrating his victory. 

“Not bad.” you hear Nicholas comment. “But that was just the warm up.” he explains.

“Oh wow, I sure am scared now.” Maki laughs. “Just play, bro.” he passes the ball to Nicholas, who was attacking this time. 

“No problem.” you sense a change in tone in your husband’s voice. Oh boy, he was getting competitive. 

You watch in amusement as Nicholas wins point after point against your little brother. Maki doesn’t seem disappointed in the slightest though - you catch him giggling and laughing like a little kid as he tries to block Nicholas from shooting. It seems so natural to see the two of them playing together, like this wasn’t the first time. 

Perhaps you weren’t the only one that was getting attached to Nicholas. Or even the idea of Nicholas being part of your family. 

Maki finally manages to win another point back and the two slow down and stop for a break. You offer them the water bottles that were parked next to you and get up to chase down the ball from rolling too far away. 

While the boys are busy resting, you decide to have a go yourself. You’d tried playing basketball in school a little bit in class or whatever, but it had been a long time. You bounce the ball experimentally then try dribbling it a couple times. You get the feel for it fairly quickly and try moving while dribbling. It’s not as easy as Nicholas makes it out to be but you get close to the hoop and stop to prepare your shot.

Nicholas materialises behind you and snakes his arms on either side of you, enveloping you slightly in his grasp. It surprises you that he’s there for a moment then you try not to laugh as you digest how cheesy your husband was being. Of course he would do the cliché where the guy tries to help the girl throw the ball. His hands are on yours and you let out a small scoff, disguising it as a laugh. 

You shimmy out of his arms slightly. “Thanks, Coach Wang, but I got this.” you declare, freeing your hands too and then throwing the ball by yourself. You manage to shoot it correctly and it goes through the hoop with no trouble. 

“Yo, that was like a three-pointer!” Maki shouts from the side, probably more surprised than you were at your success. 

You turn around to Nicholas, who seemed somewhat lost for words, stuck somewhere between shock and admiration. “What have you got to say for yourself?” you grin smugly.

“It seems I have been put on this planet to be humbled by my wife.” he admits, smiling back at you. You can’t help but laugh, just as Maki starts to laugh heartily some few feet away from you. 

After a while of trying to score by yourself, you decide to sit back down since physical activity was not your forte. Maki seizes the opportunity to turn to you and you immediately know he’s up to something. 

“Sis, can we have ice cream, please, pretty please with sprinkles on top?” he gives you his best pleading eyes while you roll your eyes. How didn’t you guess?

Before you can even make an argument to dissuade him gently, Nicholas exhibits traits of super-human hearing (or telepathy) and appears at the mere mention of the sweet treat. 

“Ice cream? I can go buy some. What kind do you like?” he asks. You shake your head slightly but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or he did and he didn’t want to seem uncool in front of Maki. You resist the urge to roll your eyes for a second time at the obvious attempt to kiss up to your brother.   

You let it slide when Maki looks for reassurance from you. You nod. 

“Whatever they got!” Maki lights up. His enthusiasm makes Nicholas laugh. 

“You got it, bro. YN, any requests?” 

“Whatever you’re having.” you say simply. You already knew that it was going to be some strawberry monstrosity. 

To be honest, you weren’t really feeling like it but you didn’t want to miss out on sharing something with your husband and your brother. Your afternoon had been really great so far, the sibling bonding turned up to the max. 

Nicholas leaves for the nearby convenience store and the two of you are left to talk by yourselves. 

“Ugh, the ice cream will spoil your dinner. I swear, Maki, mom and dad aren’t gonna be happy that I sent you home like that. They’ll get mad.” you sigh, the realisation dawning on you momentarily. 

Maki scoffs. “As if they’ll give a shit.”

“Yah! Language, mister.” you feel the need to scold him even though you couldn’t care less if he swore. He was old enough that it didn’t matter anymore.

“Besides, you like making them mad, don’t you?” Maki surprises you by asking. You’re drawing a blank. 

“Whatever do you mean?” it wasn’t untrue but you had a feeling he meant something in particular.  

“Well, you married Nicholas out of nowhere. I’m sure they were mad about that.”

The question sounds innocent but you almost burst out cackling. You wish you could tell him how wrong he was, but that would topple the Jenga tower of lies and appearances you and Nicholas had built for Maki’s sake more than the merger. The things your parents had decided to put you through were really too much but you bore it all and wanted to protect your brother in any way that you might be able to. 

“Aha, you have no idea, kiddo.” is all you manage without sounding like you were about to choke, but that doesn’t seem to be a satisfactory answer to Maki. He shifts slightly, thinking for a moment. You feel yourself anticipating something, unsure what, but something. 

“Actually, I have something to say.” he continues. 

“Um, is everything okay?” you try not to sound overly uneasy but deep down, anything that your brother said with a contemplative face like that was cause for concern. 

“It’s okay, nothing serious.” he hurries to calm you down. 

“Alright. Shoot.” you say. 

“You seem happier these days.” Maki states. 

You gap at him. That was the last thing you could have imagined he would say to you right now. You blink twice and gather yourself, letting out a slight cough. 

“Hah, I guess.” you put neutrally. You didn’t want any of your personal business with Nicholas being aired out, let alone become a discussion point with your little brother. 

“No, but really. And…” he hesitates. You watch him patiently. He takes a deep breath. “I know you didn’t choose to marry Nicholas.” 

“What?” you feel yourself start to panic. “No, I chose to marry him.” you insist. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; you did actively make the choice to do so.

“No, I know it was arranged.” Maki clarifies.

“Oh.” your heart sinks but you’re not sure why it’s followed by a sense of relief. Well, there was no need to beat around the bush if Maki was up to speed. “When did you find out?” 

“I’d had my suspicions for a while that something was off, but I figured it out after the six month anniversary dinner. I heard dad talking to Mr Wang.” he says. 

You sit with your thoughts for a second.

The six month anniversary? 

Good god, that was almost four months ago. How could Maki sit on that information for so long without saying anything to anyone, most of all, to you? You were his older sister, surely he should have felt able to confide in you, especially on the subject of your own marriage? 

“I was mad at you for not telling me you had a boyfriend or a fiancé.” he continues. “But then I found out it was arranged and I felt sorry.”

“I would have told you, Maks. I’m sorry. But now you know.” you say quietly. 

“Yeah. I don’t blame you. I don’t get it though. Why did you agree?” Maki asks. The question makes you dizzy. You didn’t want to get into it really. 

“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.” you reply, finding the right words for it.  

“But weren’t you scared?” your little brother looks at you wide-eyed and almost worried. You look back at him and assess the inquisition. He didn’t seem angry but rather concerned. 

You offer him a small smile of assurance. “I was scared for a second, then I wasn’t. I realised there were more important things than fear.”

“I know you did it ‘cause mom and dad threatened you.” Maki sighs, somewhat frustrated. “You didn’t have to do it for me, y’know. I can take care of myself. You didn’t have to sacrifice your life for me. What if your husband turned out to be awful?”

You’re taken aback because your little bean of a brother (now more the giant rather than the bean) was far more perceptive and mature than you thought. You appreciate his protective sentiment even though he couldn’t do much in the world yet. It made you nostalgic - where had the time gone? You were so used to being the grown-up that it was jarring to hear Maki say things like that.

“I only partially did it for you; I had to think of the company and our future too…besides, Nicholas isn’t so bad.” you allow yourself to compliment your husband in his absence. “He’s actually…really not bad at all…” you trail off, surprised at how you were ready to say more.

Maki laughs at your comment. “What are you talking about? He’s the best!” he grins. 

You find yourself smiling widely. “I’m glad you approve.” 

“Honestly, I don’t think you could have done better than him anyway, but maybe he could have.” Maki shrugs. 

Your jaw practically hits the ground. The audacity of this kid, the nerve! You shake your head in disbelief. 

“Hey now, watch it or I’ll eat your ice cream.” you warn.    

Maki nods vigorously. “Sorry, sorry.” he claps his hands together and you almost expect him to start singing the song. 

*

The clock seems to be ticking extra slowly this afternoon, you remark to yourself. The second hand could give a snail a run for its money, whilst the minute hand might as well be glued to the same spot for all you knew. 

You listen to your father drone on about prosperity and success and ‘welcoming a new era for our humble enterprises’. It’s quite humorous to hear your mid-sized corporations referred to as ‘humble’. You watch as a large piece of dust makes its way through the conference room from where the air conditioning flow filtered out into the room. It was far more interesting.  

It was getting hotter these days and the first few instances of heatwaves were already frying your city, so you had no choice but to start turning up the air conditioning within most of the building.  

You were gathered in an executive meeting at your company rather than at Wang Enterprises. 

The merger had taken just under a year and was completed as of the beginning of the week, a little bit ahead of its projected timeline to most people’s surprise. 

But not yours.

You knew your parents. They liked to move quickly, especially when it was certainly going to benefit them so extremely. 

You could never forget what kind of a big deal it was that your company was now not only associated with Wang Enterprises, but also merged and tied together in business as well as in matrimony. 

Especially not when the crown prince of said enterprise had left bruises on your hips and a dent in your mattress because he was simply too lazy to use his own bed when your usual shenanigans ensured that you barely made it to any bed at all. (You’d recently received a noise complaint passive-aggressive enough to rival your mother).

Your mind wanders and you shift your eyes to Nicholas next to you. His chair is really close to yours so the arm rests are touching. Nicholas’ elbow rests over the two whilst your arm is touching his. This feels normal now. 

Sometimes you notice your body acting on its own accord, being drawn towards his without an explanation. You wanted to be close enough to touch when you sat down, or to link your arms when you walked side by side. And sometimes you just needed his mouth on yours but you tried to control yourself.  

Other times you can feel when he enters a room or recognise the sound of his footsteps, the magnitude of his movement or the gravity of his breathing. It was like you developed a sixth sense. A Nico-radar that you were unable to turn off. 

Now you sense that he’s noticed you watching him in the corner of your eye. He confirms it by shifting slightly so he can discretely look at you too. 

You lock eyes for a moment, unwilling to let go. You’re first to break. 

You feign interest in your laptop’s closed lid but he’s clocked you checking him out judging by the twitch of his mouth that threatens to become a smirk. You had to watch yourself or it might go to his head and he would tease you forever.  

“Thank you everyone for your hard work. Have a great weekend.” your father concludes the meeting. You sigh in relief while everyone starts to buzz, packing up, chatting and making their way out. 

Nicholas takes the first opportunity to lean over slightly. “Care to share what were you thinking about, Mrs Wang?” he mumbles loud enough for only you to hear. The tinge of amusement in his voice makes you realise that your fears were confirmed; he was going to be annoying about it.

You huff at just how right you were. But you decide you’re going to make him regret it. 

You turn to him, surprising him with the intensity of your stare and the close proximity between you while you were still in the conference room. Your father was talking to his vice president barely six feet away from you. 

“I was thinking about you, Nicholas.” you say in the same quiet tone. “About us and what we might get up to tonight.” you give him your best sultry look and he gulps, glancing towards your father who may or may not have given you two a once over discretely. 

Nicholas seems to notice that and practically catapults himself away from you, straightening his shirt and tie, looking anywhere but at you. Your father side eyes him from the other side of the conference table. You try to contain your laugh by pursing your lips. He looks positively terrified, the bravado of his previous flirting abandoned in a moment. 

Although Nicholas was the beloved son-in-law of your parents, in your father’s eyes, he was still a man that was too close to his daughter in public. It was medieval (and somewhat hypocritical since your parents basically sold you off to his family) but right now you found it rather entertaining. It was one of those things that if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry instead.

You let Nicholas shuffle away quickly before you walk over to your father and the vice president. 

“YN!” the VP greets you enthusiastically. They must have been discussing a bonus or something. No one in the company likes you that much. “How about that; the merger is already done. You must be relieved.” 

“Ah, yes.” you nod awkwardly. In actual fact, it was all the same to you. You still worked as you always did. Your marriage and the logistical parts of the merger had nothing to do with each other - the marriage was simply for business politics. 

“YN worked hard in the legal department, didn’t you?” your father doesn’t want an answer. As per usual, he’s trying his best to proudly show off his prize daughter. “Her and Nicholas have been doing a lot of work on the merger, it’s been a really great time for our newlyweds.” 

You ignore a) how one had nothing to do with the other, and b) the work you and Nicholas had done was like any other employee so really anyone could have done it, and c) any other “work” that you had actually done together had taken place in various states of undress and in your bedrooms. Oh, and you hadn’t really been newlyweds for quite a while.  

“I’ll bet. I’m sure they’re happy with how smoothly the whole process has gone. Right, YN?” the VP asks. You appreciate him trying to include you in the conversation, whereas your father largely talked as if you weren’t there. It was to be expected. You were used to it and it didn’t bother you anymore. 

“Yes, sir.” you reply obediently. Your father chuckles heartily, the sound still surprising to you after all these years. Your father was not a man that laughed a lot. 

“You’re absolutely right, my friend. Well, you’ll have to excuse me, I have one last meeting for today. I will see you on Monday.” he says and promptly leaves you with the VP. He looks after your father then turns to you.  

“YN, just between you and me, your father undermines the delicate nature of the merger. You did a good job,” the man says to you earnestly. 

“Thank y-”

“I mean, really, your marriage to young Nicholas could not have happened at a better time.” he continues, cutting you off. You perk up immediately. 

What on Earth was he talking about? 

“Sorry? Better time?” you ask, genuinely perplexed by what he might be implying. 

“Oh, you know!” he says lightheartedly. You really wished you did. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” you persist. You had a bad feeling and you wanted to find out if there was something you didn’t know. You hated staying in the dark. 

“The coup! The situation at Wang Enterprises. It almost got rather ugly over there. If it wasn’t for your family’s merger proposal, then I don’t know what might have happened.” he talks as if this wasn’t new information to you but some common knowledge that you entered into this marriage with. 

“Remind me again exactly what it was, would you? I seemed to have forgotten. Too many things to think about lately.” you play along, not showing just how lost you were. He falls for the act and spills. 

“Right, well, it was after they had that problem with the investor. Not sure exactly what led to them pulling out, but the Wangs’ stock went down quite a bit and their directors were ready to stage a coup.” the VP explains nonchalantly but doesn’t give you any more details. Your blood runs cold however you force out a convincing pantomime.  

“That’s right, I remember. Silly me, how could I ever forget. Yes, indeed it is a good thing I married Nicholas.” you manage to joke it off. “Well, sir, I must be going, I have some work to attend to. Send my regards to the kids.” you offer and do a smile-and-walk-away combo as quickly as you deem still polite. You don’t even remember his kids. 

Okay, what the actual fuck was that about? 

Your heels clock loudly against the floor as you practically run to your office. You have to wait for an elevator to come to your floor, disrupting your clomping parade short. You don’t pay much attention as you wrack your brain for answers. 

What had happened at the Wangs’ company? What investor? Why didn’t you know about this, whatever it was? You try to remember everything you knew about the company and its business, but you come up with nothing relevant. What about their stocks? Had you heard about the drop in stocks? When could that have been? 

You feel yourself getting angry and frustrated as the elevator dings and you enter, ignoring whether there were people in there or not. You punch in the floor number on the keypad and cross your arms, holding your laptop to your chest. 

Then the most disturbing question crosses your mind:

Had Nicholas known? 

Had he known the whole time? Why didn’t he ever mention this? 

‘…just food for thought.’

Is this what Nicholas had meant? He’d told you months ago that the Wangs benefitted from the merger too. 

Your feet carry you to your office on autopilot while your mind wanders over these endless questions. 

You hated the idea of suspecting Nicholas since he had been nothing but nice to you and you found yourself making excuses for him already: maybe he hadn’t known, or maybe it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, or it totally didn’t make an impact on your relationship itself, which to some extent you acknowledged - whatever was between you hadn’t been because of some investor fuck-up that had occurred before your marriage. 

But perhaps this was the event that had led to the possibility of your relationship being proposed and accepted in the first place. 

Whatever had happened was the origin of everything. 

You sigh deeply. You needed more answers and you needed help. 

You find your phone and dial the person who might be able to help you. 

You wait while the phone rings, once, twice and it gets picked up. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“Hey, Jay. Listen man, I think I need your help.” you tell him. 

*

“There seems to be some discrepancy on the matter of who started it, but the Wangs definitely fell out with one of their investors.” Jay tells you, then takes a sip of his coffee. 

The two of you were sat in Jay’s apartment for Sunday brunch he’d cooked in your honour. You’d told him meeting for coffee would suffice since you didn’t want to burden him more than the favour you’d asked of him already but he’d insisted. 

You knew Jay well enough and you knew that there was probably a reason he’d insisted. About ten minutes after your arrival, he’s admitted it was so he could test out a new dish on you. You’d been right; your friend had his reasons and this time it was to turn you into a guinea pig. 

You nod, the facts aligning with what you already knew. “It wasn’t a very public incident though, was it?” you ask. “I couldn’t find very much when I researched it.” 

“That’s because there was an attempted media blackout. Wang Enterprises isn’t some small fry in the big, blue sea.” Jay explains. “I had to dig deep to get even this much information.” 

“So what happened after that? What about the internal disturbance?” 

“I had to ask around but I pieced together that because of the stock drop, the Board of Directors were getting antsy and threatened to clean out the top of the pyramid. They wanted new management and were probably going to make it happen.” Jay recounts. “It was actually this one guy, some Mr Choi that was the ring leader. You know him?” 

You think hard about all the people that you knew at Wang Enterprises. They had had some changes in staff since you and Nicholas had married but you couldn’t remember if one of them had been a Choi. 

You shake your head. “Not sure.” 

“Well, my contact said he had some kind of personal beef with the Wangs apparently, which is why he looked to pick a fight. Anyways, that’s really their business, but the point is, he was really gunning for the executive switch-up.” Jay continues. “Obviously that didn’t happen. Now, here’s the part you want to brace yourself for.” 

You close your eyes for a second. “Alright. Hit me.” 

“It seems word got around and your parents heard about it because they were seen being friendly with the Wangs at some dinner event, then they were seen at the company for a private meeting.” Jay says. “Not a lot of people knew about it, but I have a guy, who knows a guy, who’s dating a secretary at the Wangs’ and…I guess the rest is history.” he concludes. 

You pause, digesting the information. Your plate sits half-finished in front of you. Your appetite had disappeared with every word that you heard despite the mouth-watering meal that Jay had prepared. 

“Y’know…I’m not surprised.” you state. The tendency of your parents to swoop in like vultures or hyenas wasn’t a foreign concept to you. They were shameless enough to do it. You felt ashamed on their behalf though, reaping the benefits of their tenacity with your head hung low. It was only after you went to university that you felt you could straighten up through your own efforts. 

“I’m sorry, YN. I think they must have made the proposal to the Wangs when they were at their lowest.” Jay says. 

“They probably said yes because they were between a rock and a hard place. I just can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing of this.” you shake your head, as if your disbelief could make all this untrue. As if it could all disappear. “I should have asked more questions. I should have been more careful.” 

“Well, you didn’t know about it. Most people don’t know it ever happened. You can’t blame yourself for being set up.” you appreciate Jay for being comforting but it wasn’t really working right now. You were beyond angry with your parents for their dirty tricks. 

“I don’t know how to look at my parents. It’s like I’m being blindsided all over again.” you explain. You were as mad as the day that your parents had cornered you and forced you to sign the marriage contract. 

Over time that anger had receded but you’d never forgotten what they had done; all you could do was be civil and keep your family at an arm’s length. Being told that they threw you into the fire because the Wangs had a moment of weakness rather than because they were truly a worthy family for you to join hurt.

It was past all the thoughts of your parents’ gross behaviour that the question of what Nicholas would say occurred to you. You didn’t even know how he fit into all of this, besides being the unfortunate pawn of his own parents. 

“I know it sucks.” Jay snaps you out of your thoughts. “You really had no idea, huh? Nothing telling in the contract?” 

Alarm bells go off in your head. 

The contract. 

Had there been anything there? You couldn’t remember much from what you’d read all those months ago. What would that even look like? This wasn’t a legal situation, this was merely the circumstances leading up to drawing up the contract. Surely there was nothing? 

“I doubt it.” you say, but you don’t entirely believe it. “But I’m going to check anyway.” 

“You can check but is it worth checking?” Jay asks. He looks at you expectantly. You almost think he means something more by it. “The dealings between your parents and companies are one thing, but you and Nicholas being together are another. This doesn’t annul your marriage.” 

Or your feelings, you add.

“No, it doesn’t. But I also can’t ignore it, Jay.” you tell him. You sigh. 

You had to go home and scour that contract right away but you fought the urge and stayed with Jay a while longer, enjoying his company as you finished the meal he prepared. 

It’s mid-afternoon by the time you get home to an empty apartment. 

Nicholas must be with his friends. Good; you weren’t ready for any difficult conversations with him yet. 

Despite being a little overwhelmed by what you’ve learned in the past few days, you decide to push yourself and read through the contract after all. 

You sit down at the kitchen table with the contract - you’d been given a copy of the finished, signed document before your wedding. It had sat in the bottom of a drawer in your desk, as if it had never really existed in the first place. It had been out of sight and out of mind. 

You take your time with reading it, re-reading passages and cross referencing them with what you’d been working on during the merger. Nothing seemed weird until you got to the part of the document about your marriage. You’d made a fuss about section 4 the very first time you’d read it but that had been mostly out of desperation. 

You didn’t realise that it would actually contain a really important passage. 

Your heart skips a beat.

You think you’re imagining things.

You read and re-read the words over again, then whisper them out loud to try to make sense of them in any other way. They taste like poison. 

It was written strangely but you couldn’t mistake its meaning. 

You jump out of your chair, producing an ugly scraping sound against your floor, and stagger to the balcony, flinging open the door. 

The cool early evening air hits your cheeks and you gasp, trying to inhale as much of it as possible. You grip the cold metal railing and try to calm down.

This couldn’t be happening, not now, not when you loved him. Not when you couldn’t remember your life before him. 

Just as you’re melting down on the balcony, you hear the front door open and shut. 

Nicholas. 

“Shit.” you say out loud. You had to hand it to your husband - he had like the worst timing in history ever. 

You can’t help but panic; what were you going to say to him? How could you explain? What would he do? Did he know about the investor fallout? 

You let go of the railing, slowly stepping back into the living room. 

“YN?” you hear him call from the hallway. Nicholas enters the room, shrugging off his jacket. He stops short as soon as he sees you. 

You can’t imagine what you look like right now; the colour drained from your face, bleary-eyed and dazed. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, walking slowly towards you. You hate the scared expression on his face, his usual relaxed demeanour gone.   

You look at him, then past him at the table where the contract was still laid out. 

He follows your line of vision and looks between you and the contract. 

“What is it?” he asks. You can’t figure out why you’re still hesitating. Maybe you simply can’t find the words to say it. 

Your throat feels dry and closed up but you try anyway. 

“We don’t have to be married any more.”  

~

memes as always :P

a/n: thank you for being here after so many months. i'll try my best to write the last couple chapters asap haha, thanks for reading, any feedback is always appreciated <3

*copyright 2021- © momobani 

[noisycroissant]

I Will Find You

Astarion x Reader (Soulmate AU)

Based on that aquarium scene from Romeo + Juliet (1996)

*******

She hated the costume. It was a sick twisted joke on her Mistress' part to make her wear this to the damned ball at the Szarr Palace.

A vampire ball on Hallow's Eve. How tasteless.

An ankle length white gown, plain and unadorned except for trimmings of lace at the hem and scooped out neckline. Of course her mistress would never let any of the spawn wear high-necked outfits or wear necklaces when they were taken out to mingle in high vampire society. The bite marks must be visible to everyone. The ownership must be acknowledged.

It was the wings that sealed the pantomime of it all. Stiff lacquered wings, covered in soft goose feathers, tied on to her shoulders with string. With the pale skin, she could pass easily for an angel should anyone see her flitting about in the darkness.

But one flash of her smile or a second look at her eyes and they would know that she was just another monster in sheep's clothing.

*******

Over the decades, Cazador had done several tasteless things to seal his status as the patriarch of the Szarr clan. From using his spawn as "entertainment" to holding lavish balls were his spawn waited hand and foot on drunken patriars of Baldur's Gate, there was no level Cazador would not stoop to to ascertain power.

But this? This took the cake.

A high vampire society ball on Hallow's Eve. Complete with costumes and candles and music.

Pathetic.

The armour and chainmail looked heavy but was actually just made of paste and cleverly dyed. As one of the prized spawn in the palace, it was imperative that he "mingled with anyone who looks important, if he knew what was good for him".

The threats didn't register anymore. After all, how different could this night's ending be from all the other times there was a ball in this wretched place? Some drunk and out-of-it duke or duchess would fancy him, he'd have to sweet talk and charm them into a chamber, do what was expected, make the necessary sounds and words, and it would be over.

And another piece would be added to the mosaic of power Cazador was building.

The hatred made bile rise in Astarion's throat and he retched into a nearby vase. It was better his stomach remain empty for what was inevitably to come.

******

It was not as bad as she'd imagined. There was a certain flair and theatre to seeing vampires of all classes costumed and swanning about.

Like they were normal people at a Hallow's Eve party.

Her mistress had let her "loose" for the night. Which meant she could walk around with the rare gift of turning down propositions. A small mercy, but after a century of servitude, she would take what she could get.

She walked along the edges of the great hall, trying to stay out of sight and in the shadows, trying to avoid anyone's eye. Just one night to herself. That's all she wanted after a century of turning.

******

Astarion saw the person with wings in a plain white gown seeking the edges of the room from the moment the Eastern Vampire Court's Mistress and her brood had arrived.

He'd been following her, unnoticed, since. He didn't know why but he had to see her face. It wasn't mere curiosity. It was an unexplainable pull he couldn't fight.

He followed and followed and finally had her alone in his sight. She was watching the ornamental fish in the aquarium near the archway to the garden. Her pale fingers following the path of a bejeweled looking fish. He moved to the other side of the glass and slowly walked into the faint light emitting from the aquarium.

Her smile was the first thing he saw on her face. The warmth, the soft creases at the ends of a generous mouth. The way her cheeks rose to her eyes.

His eyes were what she saw first. A warm burgundy, like aged wine, surrounded by soft lashes and sharp cheekbones. The curiosity pooling in those eyes as they took her in.

Astarion didn't believe in gods anymore. He didn't believe in love anymore. He didn't believe in fate anymore either.

But for one moment, he believed the goddess Sune had touched his heart.

The angel smiled at him and he knew. He'd heard of fated mates but he'd never dreamed he'd find his while living a life shackled to Cazador. But now he knew.

That fate spins along as it should. No point in fighting or denying it.

******

The spell was broken as another spawn of her brood appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "You must come immediately. The mistress requires you," says the spawn as he grabs her elbow and pulls her towards the dance floor.

Astarion did not think twice before dashing after her. He deftly moved between people, watching as she was pulled away further and further into the crowd.

Their eyes never left each other.

The curiosity and subtle longing in her eyes was enough for Astarion to know that she had felt what he'd felt too.

That damned, inescapable pull.

He'd found the one thing that was going to be his, and come hell or rapture, he was going to claim it.

[suzukiblu]

updated/expanded "Kara gets to Earth on-time with baby Kal" AU excerpt:

Kara doesn’t understand the aliens’ language, which is fine. She didn’t expect to. She watches them interact and listens as they speak, familiarizing herself with the cadence and pitch and rhythm of their voices and doing her best to pick out individual sounds and patterns. She likes languages well enough. She did pretty well with Daxamite dialects in school last year, anyway. 

The aliens are kind, at least so far. They found her and Kal curled up in the remains of their smashed-up ships in their ruined field and brought them into their home despite the mess. Kara thinks they’re farmers, probably? So probably Laborer Guild, or whatever this planet has instead of Laborers. The House of El is mostly Thinkers, but Kara isn’t worried about that. She’ll figure something out, as soon as she figures out how to communicate with the aliens. Pantomime has not been all that helpful, at least not so far. 

They gave her a warm, unusually sweet drink that might have some kind of milk in it, with soft white pellets in it that are even sweeter. It’s not quite like anything she’s ever tasted before, but she likes it. Kal really liked it, though the aliens seemed to think he shouldn't have too much and gave her a little cup of just milk alone for him instead. Or she thinks it's milk, anyway. 

It's white. And very thick, and almost creamy? Though it tasted good too, when Kara stole a sip to make sure it wouldn’t upset Kal’s stomach if she gave it to him. 

"Pye," the alien that Kara is assuming is female announces in their weirdly simple-sounding language, putting a round plate with a slice of something on it on the table in front of her. Kal reaches for it from her lap with a burble. Kara peers at it too. The slice is triangular, with a crisp crust and an oozy red filling. She wonders why the plate is round, if the "pye" is meant to be sliced and served triangularly. It seems a little disrespectful to the cook–or baker? Or at least the artisan who made the plate, which was clearly painted with very dedicated care. Painted by hand, even, not a pre-programmed design reproduced by a machine. That’s very luxurious for Laborers to be offering unexpected guests who just destroyed their field, even being the wrong shape for the "pye". 

Maybe they’re overcompensating, Kara thinks. Or maybe the aliens are really just that kind. 

Maybe. 

She thinks they’re little flowers, the designs around the edges of the plate. Or at least they look like they could be flowers. They’re flower-<i>like</i>, if nothing else, and all the weird colors of them might just be a stylistic choice. 

They’re pretty. 

She wishes she could show her mother. 

Kara crushes down the grief for the thousandth time and smiles at the aliens. They smile back. 

It helps, almost. 

Almost. 

The “pye” tastes very good. 

.

.

.

It takes some effort, but Kara learns the aliens’ names after she and Kal finish their “pye” and she cleans up his sticky little face. The possibly female one is “Ma Mar-Tha”, and the possibly male one is “Pa Jona-Than”. So . . . maybe they're both female, actually? Going by their names, anyway. They both identify themselves as “Kent”, too, though she’s not sure if that’s another name and they’re either married or related, or if it’s the local word for “farmer” or “Laborer”. It’s unclear. 

They don’t look related, but she doesn’t really know how “related” this species would look to her eyes anyway. The colors of their skins are close, although their hair, though similarly textured, doesn’t really match–Ma Mar-Tha’s is an oddly neutral brown, and Pa Jona-Than’s is an even more oddly dull blond. Kara’s never seen hair in such faded colors. Her own is as bright as this planet’s strange sun, and Kal’s is as black as the space between stars. And both of their eyes are the El blue, of course. 

Pa Jona-Than’s eyes are blue too, but a washed-out shade of it. And Ma Mar-Tha’s are brown, which is so exotic and unusual that Kara has a little bit of trouble not staring too much. They’re very warm and very soft, though, and she likes how they look. 

They’re both middle-aged, she thinks, or at least strongly resemble the Kryptonian version of it. Their clothes are soft and shapeless, with very little structure or sign of formality to the garments, though Kara supposes they might be some sort of sleepwear? She and Kal did crash very early in this planet’s morning, from what she can tell. 

She tells them her name and Kal’s, though they pronounce them a bit oddly. She’s sure she’s pronouncing theirs oddly too, so it’s not as if it’s an insult. They say their names all at once, though, as if they’re singular words–"Karazorel” and “Kalel”, almost. She manages to get them both down to “Kara” and “Kal”, and they get her down to “Ma” and “Pa”, so she supposes “Mar-Tha” and “Jona-Than” are their surnames, and “Kent” does mean “Laborer”. Kal isn’t verbal enough to get to any of it, of course, but laughs sweetly and claps as he listens to them all exchanging names and sounds back and forth. 

Kara crushes down the grief again and wonders how long it’ll be until he cries for Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor. He’ll miss them soon, she’s sure. He’s a sweet, good-natured little thing, but he’s not even old enough to walk properly yet. And they’re his parents. 

She only hasn’t cried for her own because she doesn’t have the room to. Not until she’s sure they’re somewhere safe, and that Kal is going to be alright. That she can take care of him here, however she has to. 

Who knows, maybe this farm needs some more “Kents” on it. 

.

.

.

Ma gives Kara clothes: a strangely soft knee-length dress patterned with more pretty alien flowers and clunky, heavy boots with actual laces in them and a sturdy blue jacket with a surprising amount of pockets and a thick, warm, fleece-like lining, accented with flat metal studs and an odd metal trim with a tag hanging from one side of it. It takes Kara a moment, but then she realizes the trim actually seems to be some sort of fastener. 

Huh. 

The clothes don't fit quite right–Kara thinks the dress is probably meant to be a little longer, from the cut of it, and the jacket is a bit too big and the boots are a little loose too–but she does appreciate them. She's been in her own clothes since . . . 

Krypton died while she was in these clothes. 

Everyone she's ever loved, everyone she's ever known, everyone she's ever seen . . . 

Kara appreciates the new ones. 

. . . although, do clothes on this planet just not have house crests? Or are Ma and Pa just not from families that have house crests? 

She supposes they might not be. They are Laborers, so . . . maybe. But they also served her on a hand-painted plate, if with strange manners, so she's not sure what to think. 

Maybe she just doesn't understand the specific signifiers in their clothing, or maybe their house signifiers are just in their jewelry. Ma is wearing tiny gold hoops in her(?) ears and a thin gold necklace and Pa is wearing a thick leather bracelet with a glass and metal circle in the center of it, and they're both wearing gold rings on the third fingers of their left hands. Pa's is just a single plain band, but Ma has two–one just plain like his(?), but thinner, and one with a trio of little clear gemstones set in it. Diamonds, maybe? That would make sense, for a Laborer's jewelry. Diamonds are pretty, but they're both reasonably common in nature and simple enough to recreate under laboratory conditions, so they're certainly affordable enough for a farmer to wear even day-to-day. And they're sturdy, too. Gold less so, obviously, but maybe the rings are just gold-plated or an alloy.

It's something to think about besides the end of the world. 

. . . their world, anyway. 

As far as clothes go there's nothing that'll fit Kal at all, so Kara just keeps him wrapped up safe and secure in the bright red El crest blanket Jor and Lara sent him here in. Though she knows he'll need more diapers soon, obviously, and something he can actually crawl around in too. He can't stay in her lap forever. 

She wishes he could, right now. Even letting Ma hold him while she changed was . . . stressful. 

A little too stressful, maybe, but Kara tries not to think about it. Not right now, at least. 

She needs to protect him. Needs to take care of him. Needs to–

Kara exhales. Wraps Kal up in his El crest blanket and her borrowed jacket, and smiles at Ma and Pa. They smile back at her. 

Well, that's a start.