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angelaiswriting · 4 years ago

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Lyudmyla | Blitz x fem!OC x Tachanka

[link with credits below]

✏️ Pairing: Blitz x fem!OC x Tachanka

✏️ Summary: in which Lyudmyla is no lady, despite what people might think, and she’s always down for some casual good times.

✏️ A/N: I... don’t know what happened haha apart from @kind-wolf throwing all kinds of new crushes at me 😈 the important disclaimer is: I’ve never played this game, I’ll most likely never have the chance to, either, but I was hit hard when I least expected it, so here I am. Let me know if anything is OOC: I read these people’s Wikia, but that’s it.

✏️ Warnings: 18+ ONLY (some language, mentions of weed and alcohol + sex: fingering, oral m/r and f/r, public sex (I have no shame), sex with quite the age difference, unprotected sex, mentions of a threesome)

✏️ Word-count: 10,075 (sorry?)

✏️ Translations: tesoro (Italian) = darling // mudak (Russian), stronzo (Italian) = dick/asshole/jerk // ptichka (Russian) = birdie

<< Part One: Elias (masterlist > rainbow six) <<

LYUDMYLA

“Lady.” Slightly taller than her, bald, confined inside an anonymous black suit, the man was smiling at her one of those smiles that could mean nothing and anything at the same time. “That’s quite the delicate codename around here.”

Someone coughed when passing behind her and when Lyuda turned her head to the side, Elias shot her a look. Need help? or so the look in his eyes seemed to ask. She shook her head once, though, the movement short and almost tense and even though she was more than capable of handling a ‘Bureau man’, as she called them, on her own, her German colleague stopped at her side.

“If she had a penny for every time she heard that line…” he chuckled, posture composed and almost standing at attention. Despite the chuckle, there wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his stance, nor on his face, at what he had just heard.

The man’s smile thinned. Lyudmyla had never been that good at reading people, but she thought she knew how to spot an annoyed man from miles away. “I meant no harm,” he said, cold gray eyes moving away from the operator to look at the woman in front of him again. “It’s a delight to see that there are delicate operators among our lines.”

Boring. Boring and presumptuous — almost as though caring about one’s physical appearance took away from the hits one had under one’s belt and made them… less lethal, less dangerous on the job. As fragile and as delicate as a flower — ha! It couldn’t have been farther from the truth in Lyuda’s case, but then again, she hadn’t shown up at that poor excuse for an International Meeting (TM, because they were mostly a waste of time these days anyway) expecting for people that didn’t know her to take her seriously.

She had been through it already, and so many times that she had not only lost count, but she had also stopped caring. It stung, and it was annoying as fuck, but there wasn’t much she could do and at the end of the day, ignoring the remarks was by far the easiest way out of possibly highly angering situations. And she didn’t do well with anger.

“It’s a pity that you have to-”

But she interrupted him mid-sentence. “Have you ever heard of Lyudmyla Pavlichenko, Mr.…”

“Porter. Mark Porter,” he grinned, extending his right hand just before retracting it a moment later, when it became fully clear that she had absolutely no intentions of shaking it — nor of reading the identification tag he had appointed to his suit jacket. “And I’m afraid I haven’t, no.”

Lyuda’s lips stretched and for a moment, they matched the man’s grin, even though her eyes remained untouched. “My father named me after her when I was born. And then, when I was made to join RAINBOW, my comrades named me after her once again. She was a fine sniper back during World War 2, had three hundred and nine killings under her name. But she wasn’t called Lady, and neither am I. The name is Lady Death.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Blitz trying to contain his laughter, barely able to hide a chuckle behind a closed fist in a mock and poorly failed attempt at coughing again.

She was more interested in the tensing jaw of the man in front of her, though, and even if the wish to deepen his uneasiness was tickling the back of her throat, she smiled sweetly — very lady-like, if she wanted to put it that way, just to mock the way others mocked her — and that was that.

“Have a good rest of the day, Mr. Porter.” She motioned in her colleague’s direction with a nod of her head, then, and dropped her smile until all that was left wasn’t but a shadow of what it had once been. “I’m afraid my duties are demanding my attention now, but a fine man like you will spot another lady to find entertainment in, I’m sure.”

With those words, she turned on her heels — uncomfortable after the last three weeks spent on the field — and made her way toward the exit.

“How do you manage to stand them?” Elias had caught up and was walking towards the elevators with her.

They had… bonded, if so one wanted to put it. It had happened just a few weeks before the mission they had just come back from, and it had been nothing sentimental, really. Lyudmyla might come off as a lady, but she truly was anything but — or so her mother still complained to her about, every time they spoke on the phone — less and less these days, but even ten minutes at the end of the month seemed to be worse than the most boring of missions.

So, no strings attached. Just two consenting adults that could die the day after and that needed a way to remember about the fact that they were made of flesh and bone, and not of tactic gear and shields and an M24 strapped to the back.

Her middle finger pressed the call button of the elevator and for a moment she stood there, staring at a decently manicured nail. There were still faint traces of blood underneath it and her breath hitched in her throat, albeit for just a second. She had scrubbed and scrubbed, and then scrubbed some more, to the point where she had feared her skin would be left raw and of an angry-red color. But the blood had come off, and she could only see it because she knew where to look.

“Myla?” Elias called and in a flash, she was back to the reality of the conference center floor. “You okay?”

“I don’t,” she replied, barely aware of the question she had just been asked, for her mind still had his How do you manage to stand them? on loop. “Stand them,” she voiced when all she was met with was his puzzled gaze. “I don’t stand them. It hurts, in a way. Hurts my pride. But then again, they can think whatever the hell they want. I come off as delicate and feminine and whatever they want to label me with, but at the end of the day, they are the fucks that have to rely on us for their missions. And that includes me in the package. I still get the job done, Lady or not.”

The elevator dinged. The doors opened with a breathy whoosh, barely audible above the elevator music, and they stepped inside. She didn’t complain when Elias pressed the button for the ground floor, even though all she wanted was a nap, and after a look at the guests’ faces, neither did the liftman.

“Maybe I should have beaten Tachanka’s ass when he found it amusing to bring up Lyudmyla again,” she chuckled, Russian rolling much more easily on her tongue than English ever did.

It was a luck that her friend spoke the language. It was nice to revert back to it whenever someone was around and she didn’t feel like flashing her business for the world to see, and it was much easier than dusting off her shallow German knowledge. Multilingualism was on Blitz’s resume, after all, not exactly on hers.

“He’s twice your age, and probably three times your size,” he laughed, staring ahead at the closed doors and shaking his head slowly. “But the mental picture surely seems to promise good fun.”

Her snort made him turn his head slightly to the side to stare down at her. She, too, shook her head for a moment before composing herself again. “He doomed me with that name. Two words; who the fuck has a two-word codename among us?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” He made a noise, then, a tsk that distracted even the liftman from his thoughts and made him lift his gaze on the two people in the elevator with him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. Big and tall as he was, and he still shrugged and managed to seem just as imposing as always. Not as Sanya, of course — that man was a fucking mountain. “Why didn’t you insist on it being shortened to just Death?”

Witty bastard, she thought, for he was right.

The hall of the hotel was bustling with life when they crossed it, Lyudmyla closely following Elias towards the bar. She seemed to recognize some of the people that had been present at the NATO meeting just less than an hour ago, but then again, she had been too busy napping and trying not to get caught that she couldn’t be so sure. They were all there for a reason she couldn’t exactly remember — she was still jet-lagged from the mission, and she just… wasn’t interested. She never was when official meetings were involved: they implied all kinds of formalities, uncomfortable clothes she wasn’t used to anymore, dickheads that wanted to withdraw financial support from the very organizations that kept them on their chairs; and she truly didn’t have time for all that. But she had received an informal reprimand by Six in person — sort of, if ‘video call’ could be considered an ‘in-person meeting’ — and so she had to behave.

The bar was the opposite of busy, even though it wasn’t empty either. It was a grand room, with tall windows on one side that offered a picturesque view on the city below, and a full wall covered in mirrors on the other. There were round tables, their surface made of crystal-clear glass, and elegant people that had nothing to do with the meeting she had just come out of sat and chatted in an environment that was the opposite to what Lyuda was used to.

“Did the others even make it to the meeting?” she asked when Elias leaned against the counter of the bar to catch the barwoman’s attention. “I don’t think I saw them.”

He shot her an amused look before he chuckled. “Mein Gott, no! Maestro is still pissed that we’re here in the first place, and Tachanka joined in with him. They said they would hit the bar,” he replied, but a look around the room revealed that the two men were missing. “Bandit is probably still in his room, ‘tending to his wound’.”

Completely ignoring the fact that her friend was still partially in mission mode, if the use of their field names could be considered an indicator, she laughed at the last thing he said. “I thought that wasn’t but a ‘bruise on his body’,” she recalled. She had managed to take out the offender from four hundred yards away, laying on her higher ground, but a bullet had already been shot and Dominic had been hit. It had been a week ago, and the man had carried on with their mission like nothing had happened, but guilt was still simmering in the pit of her stomach. Half a second too late, focused as she was on something that moved a few degrees from where the enemy sniper had been hiding, and her colleague had been hit.

“You know how he is,” he shrugged, handing her their good-morning whiskey before he grabbed his own glass. “He hates these things just as much as we do.”

She hummed, taking a sip from her drink as she listened to Elias ask the barista if she had seen ‘two disruptive men, this big, ugly military faces and with probably more alcohol in their hands than a human liver could stand’.

“Why didn’t you stay back as well?” she wondered out loud, downing the alcohol before asking for a refill. “I had ‘please Six this time’ as my excuse, what was yours?”

The right corner of his lips rose in an amused smirk and, raptured, she stared as he sipped on his drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The tip of his tongue came out then — and truly, it was an innocent and instinctual movement to lick away that droplet that had almost rolled down his lip, she was sure, but all she could think of was the last time he had gone down on her and how ardently she craved that contact again, now that her body felt closer to exhaustion than she would ever admit.

“I had to make sure no one found you sleeping surrounded by heads of state and RAINBOW officials reporting on our missions.” There it was, that shit-eating grin of his that always made her want to scoff and laugh at the same time. “Plus, I was hoping we could sneak out somewhere, have some fun, and for as much as I care about the guys, I’m not sure I’m into being dicked down by Alexsandr.”

She snorted out a laughter this time and her hand came down to slap his shoulder. “You are terrible,” she laughed, walking away from the counter when he got a new drink and pointed his glass towards the French windows that opened onto the panoramic terrace. “But you could have told me. Could’ve sneaked into the restroom before heading for the elevators.”

Still navigating around the tables, she turned her head in his direction when she didn’t receive an answer and she found him staring, lost in his own thoughts, his tumbler half-way to his lips. “Hadn’t that dude stopped you like that, I definitely would have.”

The terrace was slightly busier than the bar. It had a view on the city and on the lake — and the dozens of press reporters buzzing around the entrance of the hotel as they waited to report on some actual news.

“There you are, motherfuckers!” Alexsandr’s booming exclamation caught everyone’s attention, and a couple of kids sitting at a table for a late breakfast with their parents burst into giggles under Mommy and Daddy’s scowls.

“How much did you have to drink already, old bear?” she chuckled when she reached him, grabbing the bottle he and Adriano had on their table — Dragon Bleu. Her eyebrows arched. “French vodka?” she asked as she sat down in the chair to his right, amusement curving the corners of her mouth upward.

“I’m keeping the good shit for tonight,” he simply said, implying that he had plans and those plans involved getting hammered just so that he could avoid whatever meeting they should be attending to the next day as well. “So, did you two do all your homework like the good pupils you are?” he snickered, lifting his right hand to his lips to take a drag from his cigarette.

“Oh, fuck off,” Elias groaned, eyes rolling upwards under Tachanka and Maestro’s amused gazes.

“Nice teamwork, abandoning the two of us to the vultures,” Lyuda chirped in before taking a sip of vodka straight from the bottle.

“Tesoro, you know these things are not for people like us.” Adriano was in a good mood, but even though she was fairly sure he had spent the morning drinking with his Russian friend, there was still sleep laced in his voice. “We do the dirty job and they,” he gestured vaguely at the people standing or sitting on the terrace but everyone knew who he was really referring to, “take to the talking and hand-shaking. That’s how the world rolls.”

“The Italian mudak is right,” was nodding Sanya, completely ignoring Adriano’s half-amused, half-pissed Who the fuck are you calling ‘mudak’, stronzo? “Plus, I’m sure your pretty face is a much nicer sight than our rugged mugs, da?”

They always played around her Lady nickname, but when it came to her friends and colleagues, it never mattered as much. It didn’t irk her, didn’t bother her, for she knew they were playful but still respectful — and even though Bandit had gotten a graze from a bullet on his arm, she knew they valued and respected her abilities, whether it came to a long-distance rifle or a gun.

“News from Dom?” she asked instead, accepting the cig Alexsandr was handing her. The smoke tickled her nostrils more than it did her throat, for her mind had wandered back to that goddamn sniper and the luck they had had when that gust of wind had unexpectedly risen.

“Probably watching porn at the expenses of RAINBOW,” the man to her left snickered, hitting his closed fist with Maestro’s.

“You should stop worrying,” the Italian said, putting out his cigarette butt before lighting up a new one. He took a sip from his drink and smiled at her as a hand came up to rub at a beard-covered cheek. “It really is just a bruise. Bandit just likes to rub it in everyone’s face to avoid boring-ass meetings, not because he’s in pain.”

She sighed, a hand scrunching up and massaging her forehead as she looked down at the metal surface of the table. It was gray and almost sparkly under the bright, almost midday sun, and the light reflecting off of it felt like a finger in both eyes when they were still tired and sore. “I know,” she huffed and almost tensed when Elias’ hand squeezed her knee under the table in a reassuring gesture she hadn’t expected. “I just…”

“Nothing happened, Lyudka.” Tachanka knew how to be menacing — he was huge and imposing, a real mountain in human form, and he could be equally terrifying both with and without his helmet. But the look on his face was so sincere, and the half-smile he was throwing her way so sweet and reassuring, that she couldn’t not believe him.

“But it could have,” she insisted, inhaling a sharp drag of smoke. “It almost did. Half a second earlier, and Dominic wouldn’t have a head anymore now. I should’ve seen that guy, I should’ve-”

“You shot him down, that’s what matters,” Elias intervened, tipping his glass back to finish his drink. “Dom is fine. Shit, he’s great! And he loves you just the same.”

“Kid’s right. ‘Terrorist’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘incompetent asshole’,” Adriano smiled. “Some of them do their job just as well as we do. Aria got a bullet in her leg because of me once, and we’re still good. Mistakes happen, and you shouldn’t spend so much time brooding over a ‘what if’ when things already went the other way.”

Defeated, Lyudmyla sighed. She sipped on her drink, smoked Alexsandr’s cigarette, and a second before a message made Adriano’s phone beep, she nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Anyway, buzzkill. We’re going out tonight,” Sanya declared and by the tone of his voice, she knew there was little to no room to complain about the plan he had come up with for the whole group. It was a way to keep the feeling of camaraderie going for a little longer, before the post-op high and exhaustion faded away and they went back to a half-idle wait for a new mission. “We’re all getting some pussy.” His grin widened and his eyes closed as he inhaled sharply from his nose before exhaling even more noisily from his mouth. “Or dick,” he added, eyes shooting open when he turned to look at her. “Or both.”

The way he stared at her made a shiver run down her spine and for a long minute, before Dominic joined them with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, she couldn’t look away from the stormy blue of his eyes.

The knocking on her door was what woke her up at three thirty-seven in the afternoon. Lyudmyla had slept for less than two hours, but she felt better than she had in what could have very well been forever. Her back arched as her arms stretched toward the headboard, and a drawled-out moan of satisfaction crawled up her throat and almost made her lips tingle.

It took her a while before her still-sleepy brain put two and two together and she fully registered the knocking and the voice calling her name from the corridor.

“I’m going to put my hands on the door pad if you don’t come, Lyuda!”

Dominic’s insistence made her chuckle but a moment later she managed to yell out a Wait a sec! The light throbbing in the muscles of her legs showed up again when she stood from the bed after successfully managing to untangle her feet from the mess the blankets had become while she slept.

“The plan was to take a bath when I woke up,” she half-heartedly complained when she opened the door to reveal the man she had almost got killed. “Not to babysit you, Dom.”

Laughter seemed to rumble directly in his chest when he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her backward to step into her room. “No one is stopping you, Schatzi. What, are you suddenly shy? After that emergency shower we had to take back in Syria?”

“You are so full of yourself sometimes.” But it was said in a light voice, and Bandit knew she didn’t mean it in a negative way.

He stood there as she made her bed, and he barely moved out of her way when she reached the window he was standing in front of so that she could open the curtains. Light entered the room again, and the creamy colors of the furniture seemed to turn a bit more welcoming than they had looked in the half-darkness.

“We were worried,” he said after a while, when she indeed started to fill up the bathtub to soak into that bubble bath they all shared the need and wish for in their fantasy. “You didn’t show up at lunch.”

When she turned around, after dropping some of the hotel’s complimentary body wash into the tub, she found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. He wasn’t wearing a bandage on his arm anymore, but she knew there was band-aid tape on the stitched wound on his left bicep.

“I was tired,” she shrugged, turning around to face away from him so that she could take her shirt off. He was right — he had seen her naked, so she couldn’t see a problem in doing just as he had proposed. They joked and bantered, but there was nothing more than friendship between them and for once, it was perfect that way. “I didn’t sleep much last night, and that fucking meeting got my breakfast stuck in my stomach.”

From behind her, she heard his amused chuckle. “Burger King truly does sound like a light lunch after all…” he joked, hinting at the empty box that laid forgotten on the table.

“Oh, shut up,” she tried not to scoff.

She dared a look over her shoulder when her hands reached the clasp of her bra, but she found him staring the other way, back into the bedroom. Not a word left her lips on the topic, but she mentally thanked him as she finished undressing and climbed into the tub.

“You hurried away right after noon,” he spoke again, this time fully walking into the bathroom to come and sit down on the floor next to her. He had his back against the side of the tub, the back of his neck resting right against the edge, and for a moment they found themselves staring into each other’s eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

A soft sigh on her part, and then her lips came down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m just… so very sorry,” she admitted. “And before you start, too, the guys have already tried to talk me out of it.”

“Yeah, too bad your skull is too thick.”

“Oh, shut it!” They laughed together for a moment, and it was good to be light again, with not a worry in the world but what Sanya had planned to drag them into that night. “I’m serious, though. I almost cost you your life, and all because I looked in the right direction a moment too late.”

He turned around, and one hand slipped down underneath the surface of the water for a moment before he moved it back up on the edge of the tub. “What can I do to make you stop worrying about it, ptisha?”

Her lips parted to reply back, but then his words registered and she furrowed her brows. “What? What’s that?”

“What? Ain’t that how Glaz calls you?” he shrugged.

It took her a moment to realize what he meant and when she did, laughter bubbled up again. “Ptichka, oh my God!” she corrected him, and added a playful slap to the back of his head for good measure.

“Yeah, exactly what I said.” He tried his best puppy dog eyes on her, but if there was one sure thing, it was how badly they always failed. He was big and rough, and the scar he had on his head didn’t help him any, and so, instead of relying on them to have things done his way, he used them on her to make her laugh.

After that, they sat in comfortable silence, both their backs pressed against the wall. He even let her play with his left hand in hers. She dipped it into the bubbly water and then picked it out again, removed the bubbles with her forefinger — the one she used to pull the trigger — and then started again. It was relaxing, a nice way to empty both their minds after the hectic days they’d had on their mission.

“Are you going back home once we’re done here?” she asked after a while, when he knelt by the tub to rub shampoo in her hair. She didn’t really need to wash it again, but it was nice to have someone pamper her every once in a while, and so she let him do.

His answer was a hum as he massaged her scalp. Her eyes were closed and that was how she missed the comically focused expression on his face. “Are you?”

She sighed in contentment at his touch and it took her half a minute to reply, relaxed as she was in the warm water and the cozy atmosphere of the bathroom. “No, I’m probably going back to the base. I don’t feel like going back and have my mother over. You should leave that absurd job and do something more appropriate for someone like you, that’s what she’d say.” And then, when he pointed out that he spoke no Russian and that she should speak a more comprehensible language, she translated. “I was born into a military family, I don’t understand what she expected me to become. A kindergarten teacher? Knowing my father, I probably even held a gun before I held a book.”

“You’re a full adult, fuck what the old woman says!” His exclamation made her tremble with laughter and he had to tell her to keep still or he’d get water in her eyes. A moment later, he started washing the shampoo out. “Come to Berlin with me,” he proposed. “I’ll introduce you to my brother and the kids, and you’ll have the chance to pay me back for this head wash.”

It was truly something, the way he made her feel — light and weightless, with butterflies inside that weren’t due to some form of crush or physical attraction. From different groups and yet, she sometimes felt closer to him than she did her Russians. It was easy — spending time with him was easy, it made all her worries and thoughts leave her mind in peace.

“C’mon, ptisha,” he joked again, grabbing the towel from the hanger with one hand and extending the other for her to grab so that he could help her out. “Let’s not replay the broken nose you got in Syria.”

As it turned out, Alexsandr had rented a nice convertible at the expenses of the organization and had dragged them around the city before reaching his destination. Black and sleek, driving in it had felt like it just glided on the asphalt as she had sat there, in the passenger seat, with the wind moving her hair all over the place and laughter spilling from her lips. Even now, in the high-end nightclub Sanya had been recommended by God knows who, there was still that same kind of excitement making her fingertips tingle.

Four shots into the night, Lyuda was free. The loud music felt like the weirdest kind of contrast to the new routine of the latest mission and as she danced, it seemed to loosen up all of the knots she had carried in her muscles till that night. Dominic’s injury, the hostages, the terrorists, it all faded into a blurry chaos that got drowned out by the people around her and left her mind pleasantly empty.

The Germans were still sitting in their corner, she was sure of it — smoking weed when she was fairly certain they shouldn’t be allowed to, but they didn’t care. The initial plan had concerned both Tachanka and Maestro, but only the latter had accepted and shown to be down with trying. Sanya had scowled, said he needed no weed to relax and enjoy the party and had kept on muttering under his breath until she had dragged him to the bar before dumping him there.

A drink will do him good — or so she had thought — still did. She had left him there without thinking and had joined all those strangers on the dance floor, letting go to the unknown song the DJ was playing up in her booth.

She didn’t jolt when a pair of hands placed themselves on her hips and someone breathed down her neck, lips barely brushing against her skin. She had danced with a couple of guys already — no one worth mentioning, just good distractions that kept her mind as far as possible from RAINBOW and NATO and the meeting that was going to be held the morning after. One had tried to touch her, though, to let his hands go down her hips to the hem of the mini dress her friends had dropped in her hands when Dom had left her hotel room and then back up underneath the cool, almost silk-like material, and it was then that she had moved away, too relaxed to be bothered and put up a fight — one she knew she’d win.

But she was thinking about Elias — about his hand on her knee that morning and the Why don’t you blow me? he had whispered in her ear before leaving the hotel, an amused reply to the I’ll blow your knees out she had let out at a stupid punchline he had come up with. She had hoped he’d join her, that he’d moan dirty German she couldn’t understand right against her skin, and then maybe throw her over his shoulder and carry her someplace quiet, show her a good time. It made her feel bad, the way she thought of him as a ‘good fuck’ because Elias was really a nice person, one she admired and cared for, but that was the reality of things. Both for her and for him — it was a thing that went both ways, that was matched by both parties, and for the time being, it was good.

The man she was grinding against wasn’t Blitz, though, she noticed with a gasp when she turned around.

Alexsandr was staring down at her, an amused and tipsy smirk plastered on his lips. It was a surprise, to find him there, against her, his hands now down on her buttcheeks, gently pawing at them. He was twice her age, just as Elias had reminded her that morning in the elevator, but she’d be lying if she said the thought of him had never crossed her mind. Fucking massive and resilient, and yet ever so delicate when it came to his weapons; always saying things how he saw and thought them, and she did find that attractive.

He twirled her around. Lost in her thoughts as she was, with the alcohol in her system pleasantly making her head float just a few inches higher than normal, she almost lost her balance as his antics made her chuckle out loud. It lasted for a heartbeat, and then she was back to square one, her back against his chest and his arms caging her in this time, his hands on her hips making them sway.

“Everything alright with Bandit?” he yelled in her ear as one of his hands trailed up her side and somehow stopped on the front of her throat.

It was… hot, somehow. His warm skin against hers seemed to burn her sweat away, and his lips moving right against her earlobe made the baby hairs on the back of her head stand up on their ends.

She nodded against him, suddenly brought back to the guilt she had felt for how things had gone with Dominic. But he had assured her — more than once — that things were just as peachy as always between them, and she had no reason to doubt his words, not when nothing at all seemed to have changed — in the way he talked to her, looked at her, simply acted around her. He had made her promise she’d go to Berlin with him, and she had playfully told him that she wouldn’t keep that promise, but both knew they’d soon be on the same plane, headed towards the same destination.

Dom wasn’t on her mind for long, though, not when Sanya was grinding right back against her. And she could feel him. God, she could feel him, confined as he was in his black pants, almost nestled between her buttcheeks. The feel of him, the way he was moving, breathing down her neck, his lips ghosting against her skin — her eyes closed, her eyelids heavy, and she rested her head back against him, a soft sigh of contentment and pure peace slipping past her lips.

The music faded away, and at the same time, it seemed to buzz in her veins, to beat right in her temples as her arms came up and she placed her hands on the sides of his neck. There seemed to be nothing else for a moment or two, until his right hand moved away from her hip and slipped down her thigh much like that nameless man had done earlier. Her eyes shot open then, and the nightclub was back where it had always been, with its DJ and her music and all those unaware people dancing the night away.

Suddenly hyper-aware of every touch of his, her hand moved away from his neck for a second, almost shooting down to stop his out of instinct, before she brought it back where it was.

He kissed the side of her neck — he truly did, this time; it wasn’t just the ghost of a kiss, with his lips being but a feather against her skin. He kissed her neck, one-day stubble grazing her skin, and his hand slipped past the hem of her dress, his fingers trailed up her inner thigh before they reached her clothed core.

Her heartbeat was louder than the music, she could have bet her right hand on it, and it almost felt as though her heart had jumped up in her throat, making it hard to keep her breathing steady and slow. That thump-thump was in her temples, in her eardrums, and even down in the pit of her stomach as one of his fingers traced a line on her panties — so loud that she didn’t catch what he yelled in her ear.

Then, without notice, lulled as she was by the movement of his hips still gently swaying against hers, his hand came up to her stomach and then slid underneath the elastic band of her underwear.

She tensed against him, tried to turn around and tell him something along the lines of not here, not now, but one of his fingers slipped between her folds and teased her for a moment before swiftly nudging her clit.

“Nobody will see anything,” were the words in her ear as she ground her hips back and despite — or probably because of — the thrill mounting inside her, she blindly chose to trust him.

The place was packed, sure, but anyone could turn around and catch him with an arm across her body, his hand between her paralyzed legs. It was thrilling in a way, almost exhilarating, and she tilted her head to the side to grant him access to her neck.

Then, a thought crossed her mind like a meteor. She didn’t exactly know what happened to RAINBOW operators that had feelings for each other, or that were simply caught while getting down to business. A nightclub didn’t grant the same level of privacy a hotel room did, and for a moment — before his middle finger pushed inside her and she decided that she truly didn’t care — she wondered if someone ever checked the security tape of the places they went to.

Sanya’s finger was thick, the fingertip slightly calloused by use. Its slow and steady pumping made her toes curl in her sneakers and her head press back against him as she felt him smile against her neck.

It was a slow teasing, unhurried, proving a patience Lyuda didn’t know Alexsandr had. It made her insides tense, her breathing come out ragged and uneven, completely uncontrolled when he added another finger. She felt the stretch then — hot and delicious, in a way, making blood rush to her skin and burn in her cheeks. His thumb was on her clit, and its movements were lazy and irregular as he focused on fingering her, gently scissoring his fingers as her walls contracted around them.

“Sanya.” It was a groan, and although he felt the vibrations under his lips, he didn’t hear it above the scream of the music.

So close. Oh God, she thought — so close to losing it in the middle of a nightclub, with someone twice her age edging her closer and closer to an orgasm that was making her body hum in anticipation.

The idea that he had somehow — sometimes — thought of her was enough to almost make her feel delirious. It was easy, to forget about anything else when you were on the job, with a loaded weapon in your hands, even more strapped to your body, and a plan to follow, an objective to hit. Your focus was all there, on the very center of the target, and thoughts of anything else didn’t even knock on your mind’s door. But then, when you stepped back, mission accomplished and the permission to go back home for a while in your hands…

She pulled his hand out from inside her and as she did so, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, air coming in sharply from her nose as she tried her best to get a grip back on herself. One deep breath in, one deep breath out — and it was good to know he wasn’t insisting on keeping his hand where it had been for the past minutes, that he was respecting her spaces — she wouldn’t have expected anything else from someone like him.

But then she turned around, lips parted and cheeks bright, his hand still in hers, big and warm and finger wet and sticky. She brought them to her lips, kissed the fingertips of his middle and ring fingers before pulling them into her mouth and sucking them clean.

The smirk was still on his face and under the ever-changing lights of the club, his expression seemed to constantly change as well as he stared at her, eyes set on hers and never leaving.

He had her pressed against a wall in a matter of minutes, her back to the solid surface and her legs wrapped around his hips as he ever so slowly thrust up into her pussy — and neither of them knew exactly how they had come to find themselves in that position, in that dark corner with people less than five meters away.

The music was a blessing — probably the cause for a headache in the morning, but at that moment a blessing no doubt, concealing all her whimpers and moans as his dick stretched her open.

He was big — and on that there had never been a doubt. Proportionate — that was the word her old high school friend Nina would have used to describe him —, no doubt taking the first place among the men she had ever been with. The stretch was delicious, and the feel of him — heavy and thick inside her — was enough to make her eyes roll as her nails scratched at his neck.

She was panting when his hipbones pressed against hers and he was fully sheathed inside her; panting and whimpering as she felt herself clamp down on him. And his breath was scorching hot against the side of her neck, his right temple pressing against her shoulder.

His hips moved back, then, and the drag of him inside her made her head fall back against the wall as she fought to breathe when he pushed back in. It was a slow rhythm — slow but slowly mounting, making her mind and her body dance closer and closer to the delirious climax he seemed to promise her. At some point, when his hands moved down to grab her thighs and he tilted his hips up in a slightly different angle, a low moan scratched up her throat as the tip of his cock hit deeper inside her.

She was whimpering his name, a litany of Sanya, Sanya, Sanya that he couldn’t hear but that he could read on her lips as he stared at them, his own lips parted as he grunted, thrusts growing more and more unfocused the closer he was to orgasm.

Less than a minute later, as pleasure went off in her body and behind her closed eyelids, she would have seen Elias stare at her with a smirk on his lips had she had her eyes open.

The morning after Lyudmyla was sitting next to Elias at the very back of the conference room, where she knew they wouldn’t be attracting anybody’s attention in case one of them were to take a nap. And although she was as uninterested as the day before and had passed a sleepless night after they had got back to the hotel at around two in the morning, tired as they were, she couldn’t seem to be able to fall asleep again.

Eyes set on the spokesperson talking non-stop at the other end of the room, the pleasant soreness in her muscles was the only thing she could actually focus on.

Sanya had bruised her, that night — she had found his handprints on her thighs when she took a shower before bed. Big, red handprints on her outer thighs that had kept her awake all night as she replayed the nightclub quickie she could still feel in her very core over and over again. His lips on her, and then his tongue on her neck, his fingers — on her clit, inside her, on her throat, her thighs — and then…

“Myla.”

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t moan out loud when Elias whispered her name in her ear, his lips close enough to be perceived but not felt. He had moved a hand on her thigh, and his thumb gently soothing her inner thigh from above her pants made her lungs squeeze, the air come out hot and quick from her nose.

God, was the only word that kept on bouncing around inside her head. God. Her mind wandered, as it had been wandering all morning already, and for a moment she experienced the first actual thought of the day: What would it be like, to have both Elias and Alexsandr in her bed, even just for once?

And at that, there came another one: What would he — Elias — say if he knew about what she had done that night? What would he do? They weren’t exclusive, she didn’t belong to him just as he didn’t belong to her, but it would be a lie to say that she wasn’t curious.

His nose brushed against the shell of her ear, then, and all thoughts fled from her mind. “Are you still thinking about his cock?”

She gasped, but the sound was low enough to only be heard from the few people sitting close to them. When she turned around — to answer honestly or to just stare at him in shock, she wasn’t sure —, she found him staring ahead and even though his hand was still on her leg, it was now in a position more befitting to their surroundings and the seriousness of the meeting.

Her gaze trailed back towards the stage of the room, her breathing now a little labored as she took in the new person speaking — someone from RAINBOW, but at that moment she couldn’t remember his name for the life of her.

The muscles in her thighs tensed. Her mind was running a mile a minute, but without producing actual thoughts. It was just Sanya’s thrusts up into her as she clenched down on him and Elias’ awareness of what had happened, and they were both on loop, overlapping until their edges got too blurred to be recognized.

He opened his legs a little wider, then, and she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. As his knee pressed into her leg, the fabric of his pants stretched tight on his thigh and the only thing she could think of, was that time he had made her ride it, the day before Dominic had got hit.

She wanted to leave. She felt the need to stand up, grab his hands and drag him down the corridor — to the restroom or the elevator and then up to one of their rooms, she hadn’t made a decision yet — and get things going. But she didn’t want another call from upstairs, and so she resolved on staying put and just moved her hand over his to grip it.

“Is that why you couldn’t look at him in the eye at breakfast?” Elias asked when the debate started and there was enough noise in the room for him to murmur those words, everybody’s attention now fully set on something concrete. His hand didn’t move from where it laid on her thigh and although for the better, it slowed her brain down. “Because you kept on thinking about him fucking you against a wall?”

Her gaze came down to frantically look at his watch, just to then remember he barely ever wore one, just like she.

She shook her head and absentmindedly, her legs opened a bit wider, his left one pressing right into his knee. “No,” but her voice trembled when she spoke.

He chuckled.

It was a tense half-hour the one that followed. They both sat there, listening to what people said and proposed, but Lyuda’s mind was somewhere else — with someone else. Her gaze kept on flickering to her left as she checked Elias out from the corner of her eye. It was excruciating, to have him there next to her, an amused smirk on his lips, when he was talking about someone else fucking the sanity out of her.

God. Fuck. Hadn’t it been for Six, she would have left that room. And hadn’t it been for that stupid high-level meeting, she would have her hands on him and his on hers. And for no reason other than how much she enjoyed being with him.

His hand cupped her from above her pants and she lost it. Almost. She gripped his wrist, blunt nails digging into his flesh, and the soreness and the feeling of Sanya inside her came back.

“Let’s leave,” she whispered as she sat there, on the edge of her seat and turned into an absolute bundle of nerves. Her eyes didn’t meet his and instead, they remained set on the window wall in front of her. Why were they brought there, to this absurd event that barely had anything to do with them? Why did she have to let herself get involved with him in the first place? “God, Elias, let’s leave.”

She had her jaw set, her right hand wrapped into a fist at her side, on the chair, and her thighs clenched and trapped his hand in-between them.

“The meeting’s not over yet,” he replied.

When she turned to look at him, eyes wide and lips tight, half a curse starting to form on the tip of her tongue, people started to stand up and he quickly freed his hand from her hold.

They stood, shook hands with a few people as they eyed those from the organization to have a nod of confirmation that allowed them to leave. And when they received one, she grabbed his hand in hers and dragged him outside, and on their way to the elevator, she almost crashed into that very Mark Porter that had committed the mistake of underestimating her the day prior.

“Relax, Myla,” Elias said when the doors of the elevator closed and the liftman pressed the button for her floor. He had one hand on her hip as he stood right behind her, his left leg pressing into the back of her right. “What got you so worked up?”

He was smirking, she was sure of it, she could hear it in his voice as he pressed that half-erection of his against her rear end, lucky in the fact that he was being discreet and that the liftman was minding his own business, probably too hypnotized by how many hours he spent in there with the same elevator music in his ears.

“You’re a dick,” but they both knew she didn’t really mean it.

Back in her room, the electronic keycard thrown blindly on the table, he pulled her to him and kissed her breathless. His lips were insistent, just as hungry as always, even if they had all the time in the world in this hotel. He pulled on her lower lip and then kissed down her cheek to her jaw, and then down her neck, one hand quickly unbuttoning her pants to slip into her panties.

“You like them older?” he groaned against her as the pad of his middle finger massaged her clit. Her hands moved to his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as her body seemed to purr against his. “Or was it the thrill of a public place?”

One of his legs moved in-between hers and she had to do her best not to cave in and grind herself down against it.

It was when he pulled back to look at her, a grin plastered on his lips, that she came back to reality and took his hands out of her pants.

“What, Elias?” she smirked, pushing him back until the back of his legs hit her bed and he fell down to sitting. She bent down and pecked his lips as her hand trailed down the front of his button-down shirt to his crotch. A hum left her lips right against his as they stared into each other’s eye. “Did it make you hard?”

Her fingers traced his outline downward before her hand flattened against him.

“Did the sight of Alexsandr fucking me get you going?”

She kissed his neck as he choked on a chuckle, his hands trailing up to her hips until he managed to pull her down onto his thigh.

“Did you spend the night thinking about it?” she moaned, lips moving up the side of his neck to gently suckle right underneath his ear.

“I never thought I’d be into sharing,” he confessed, turning his head to meet her lips in a kiss. It was soft and slow this time, and a hum crawled its way up Lyuda’s throat as her free hand moved to cradle the back of his head. “But shit, that was fucking hot.”

She chuckled a yeah when she slid off his thigh and knelt between his legs. Her actions were slow and deliberate when she pulled down his zipper, eyes set on his as he stared down at her, breath almost hitching in his throat when he pushed his weight up with his hands to let her take his pants and briefs down to his ankles.

“Maybe we should call Sanya,” she hummed, breath hot against the sensitive skin of his dick. She licked a stripe up, from balls to tip, before she smirked. “Ask him if he’s up for a threesome…”

Her lips wrapped around his head and his breath hissed, his reply got stuck in his throat. He didn’t lie down when she took him in her mouth for a moment before pulling back to lick at his underside. Instead, he kept his eyes on hers and Lyuda could feel them even without seeing them.

She kissed and licked him, got him wet before she started using her hand. Her movements were slow and controlled and when her mouth came down again to suck him off, both his hands came up to her head to keep her in place.

The more she teased him, tongue swiping over his frenulum, the more labored his breathing got, and when his hips started to thrust up a little, he pulled her head up and begged her to stop in a whisper, eyes almost closed and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Undress and lay down,” he asked, hands still cradling her head as she looked up at him.

It made her burst with pride each time, the way she managed to work him up. Elias was an entertaining lover to have, if so he could be described, and she loved watching him fall to his feet in front of her.

And instead of teasing him, of keeping up the game, she stood up and made a deliberate decision to strip down for him. Slow and teasing, and she watched him take himself in his hand the second after tearing his shirt off his body as he stared at her.

He bruised you? There was no need to ask it out loud, for she saw the question in his eyes, in the knitting of his brows. Elias had never bruised her — maybe once, but he was very careful not to leave marks behind. Uncomfortable questions were the last thing either of them wanted, so the unspoken rule begged for no bruises and no hickeys.

When she laid down, he was quick at moving over her body, kissing up from her abdomen to her lips, and his tongue came out to tease her nipples in passing, drawing a sigh from her.

“Was he harsh?” he hummed against her neck, one hand trailing down her side before moving between her legs.

She shook her head no and brought his lips back on hers just as he touched her. “But I’m still a bit sore,” she confessed, right thigh tensing when he brushed two fingers between her folds.

He kissed down her body again then, and this time his lips moved past her navel and he licked all the way up her slit to her clit. “I’ll be gentle, then.”

And it did feel like a promise when he started going down on her, one finger and then two slowly pumping into her as he focused on her clit.

She could feel the noise his fingers made inside her — and then those groans of his that just made her toes curl.

He built her up slowly, almost as though they had all day to spend bunkered up in that room, just the two of them. And then, just as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her release, he slowed down, fingers still inside her but lips leaving kisses to her right inner thigh.

It wasn’t common, to have her beg for him, but this time was an exception. With Sanya’s rough fuck now in the back of her mind, her thoughts were all on the man between her legs and on the way she knew he could worship her body.

She hissed slightly when he pushed into her and it took her a moment or two to realize that he had stopped dead in his tracks and was now staring down at her.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice trembled when she contracted around him, but there was a serious look in his eyes and she knew, then and there, that he’d follow through with whatever she felt more comfortable with.

It squeezed her heart, really, and she found herself smiling. “No, just start off slow.”

That he did. He pulled his hips back and then slowly eased himself back into her, and every time he reached a bit deeper. Hands covering the bruises another man had left on her thighs, his lips were on her breasts, tongue teasing and mouth sucking until her hands were on his back, pressing against his muscles as her back arched.

He moaned when her lips latched on his neck, on that sweet spot right on his pulse point, and she smiled into the action. He laid down flush against her when she pulled him down, and his hands moved from her thighs to underneath her butt as his thrusts deepened.

She called his name, voice trembling and faint as she closed her eyes and swore she could see stars. She had never felt closer to him than right now, with him moving slowly against her — and so deep that she would swear she felt him in her soul.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist and as she did so, he angled her hips a bit better.

Elias — and then she was gone, nails scratching down his back as she came, back arching and breasts pressing into him, thighs locking against his sides. A few thrusts more, and then he followed suit, grunting his orgasm into her neck as his thrusts turned snappier, and then sloppier. And then, when they both came down from their highs and their breathing was back under control, they both gasped at the condom they had forgotten to use.

He cleaned her up when he pulled out and she heard him chuckle to himself on his way back to the bathroom when she squealed out of happiness. He had given her the all-clear about the whole Sanya situation and so, as she waited for him, she picked up her phone from the nightstand where she had left it all morning and texted Alexsandr. She was promising for a good time now that they finally had some time off — he even more, since he never showed up to the meetings — and she knew that Sanya would never turn such an offer down.

Still, she watched powerless as her text got read — just read.

“Is he coming?” Elias asked when he walked back and lay down next to her.

He was strong and warm, and Lyuda felt herself relax in his arms as he played with her hair.

“I don’t know, but I hope so.” She was looking into his eyes as he repeatedly pecked her lips, and the laughter that bubbled up was hard to contain. “I’ll just need you to remind him to take it easy on me if I can’t talk.”

She let him kiss her, arched up against him as she molded into his arms, and that You have nothing to worry about of his seemed to linger in the hot air around them for a little longer, until someone knocked on the door and shattered the magic of the moment.

It’s me. Open up, read the message she received right after.

[ Original pic used for the banner: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photo-of-plant-4630020/ ]

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ASK)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi @becs-bunker

#angelaiswriting #rainbow six siege #rainbow six #rainbow six x oc #tachanka #tachanka x oc #tachanka imagine #alexsandr senaviev #blitz #blitz x oc #blitz imagine #elias kötz #tachanka smut #blitz smut #alice is the sole responsible of the majority of my crushes. she hits you hard with military men and you just cant say no to them lol

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clad-in-sunshine · 5 years ago

Text

Annie of Anglesey

My submission for @arowrimo I hoped to get this in earlier - as it is I’m a day late for the week 2 prompt of self-love. It’s based on the song ‘The Bonny Lass of Anglesey’, and ended up far longer than I intended. The main character is aplatonic and aromantic.

Title: Annie of Anglesey Word count: 4,676 Language: English Genre: Historical fiction/folk tale (I guess? Idk) Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Self-love CWs: Past marriage, Unwanted romantic interest, Public proposal, Grief

Summary: Annie is living quite happily alone in the mountains, when the king comes to her for aid in a competition. Hoping to get something for herself out of the situation, she agrees to help him.

The castle grounds were awash with a hubbub of excitement and jubilation. It unnerved the king. He stood atop one of his watchtowers, following the procession of nobles through the festivities with rattled nerves and shaking hands.

“They can’t win- won’t win. Will they?” he asked, not tearing his eyes from the approaching men. “Will they, guard?”

“No sire. Absolutely not, sire.” An unseen salute, and he returned to position.

“Of course. Of course...” The king mumbled mostly to himself, before straightening and turning. “Well, I must greet the newcomers...”

Arriving like a tidal wave, groups of men dressed up in extravagant finery swept up to the castle gates. The air around them filled with a jumble of expensive and rare perfumes, and exotic spices.

And then the gates were opened, letting them pour out into the huge ornate entry hall; their perfumes colliding with the delicious smells of food to create a chaos for the senses as tray after tray was rushed through into the dining hall.

The floor of the entrance was a deathly smooth marble that shone their faces back at them, and the walls were lined with huge and detailed tapestries: the most recent of which depicting the king’s marriage to the late queen Penelope. The king’s likeness stood tall and confident beside him as he descended the stairs with small and wavering steps. He stopped where the two halves of the staircase joined, and lifted himself to his full height.

“Welcome!” he cried in one breath, “Welcome... “ Another pause. “Welcome one and all! We all know why you’re here, and we will get to that this evening. But for now at least, my servants are laying out the very best food and drink we have to offer - so let us feast!”

The silence was quickly overwritten by an eruption of cheering from the men, who bundled themselves into the well laid out hall, to seat themselves around the table of epic proportions. Across the surface were pastries, fine cheeses, fruit, preserves, breads, cakes, wines, jellies, cider and nuts. A spread that could put most others to shame. The nobles, now seated, dismissed their servants as they relaxed into their chairs for the evening.

Ruddy faced and jovial, the gathering ate with a lack of elegance and poise that only the very wealthy could afford. Very few words of substance were passed between them; instead bowls of food and bottles of wine were constantly moved from one to another, not from noble hand to noble hand but by the dedicated effort of the king’s own servants. As the food began to dwindle, and fire petered out, an anticipation built. It grew in drips, until the final fork clattered to the table and it spilled over; bringing all eyes up to the king, who swallowed and pushed his chair back to stand.

“My Steward, if you will?” With a hand, he beckoned forward a small and unassuming man who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway for some time.

The Steward hurried beside him at the head of the table, unfurling a scroll and clearing his throat. “In the matter of the upcoming competition, the event has been decided. It is to be…” He looked around the room, all eyes looking back. “Dance.”

A silence as everyone looked around in turn.

Then a fist hit the table and there was an explosion of noise.

----

Leagues away from the castle, nestled between the hills at the foot of a mountain, lay a small cottage surrounded by blooming May trees. Within it, Annie looked up from her book to watch the pinpricks of light that flickered about the castle grounds through a gap in the thorn and flower-strewn branches. The evening sun had long since hidden its face behind the mountain that sheltered her, and the lights of celebration were rendered as bright in the darkness as any of the stars in the sky above.

There was no finer place to enjoy the view than that; sat on the sil with a fire to warm her, and with no company but the chatterings and murmurings of the animals that shared these hills. She sipped from an open bottle of elderflower wine, brewed by herself from fresh flowers she’d picked the previous summer. It drew a smile meant for no one but herself.

She had almost everything she could want.

Almost.

After a short time of watching the lights, a sound pulled Annie from her daze. She’d long had a tendency to pick up on noises before someone else might, aided here by the amplification from the mountains, and she could soon make out the distinctive rhythm of hoof-beats approaching.

It was easy enough to deduce that anyone entering the area was coming to visit her, being the only one to live on the mountain. It was uncommon for her to have visitors however, and she wasn’t keen for strangers to find her house, so she prepared to leave and meet them: pulling on her white cloak, and beckoning Fiore to her from the forest.

Fiore swiftly appeared before her door, huffing huge clouds of breath that hung visible in the cold spring air. She was wondrously ghostly; a large white hind that cut an imposing figure in the silver moonlight. She’d been Annie’s friend since she’d rescued her as no more than a foal, having been orphaned by hunters. Nowadays she lived in the woods nearby, visiting occasionally to offer, or ask for, assistance or companionship.

After a quick and kindly greeting, Annie threw a leg over Fiore’s sturdy torso and directed them to a hilltop closer to the approaching horses.

Seated on the elusive animal with the white cloak billowing out behind her, she could be easily taken for a ghost or one of the fair folk. Just how she liked it.

They stood astride the crest of the hill, easily within sight of the oncoming strangers when they came close enough.

Finally a score of horses emerged through the valley, bearing well armoured knights that wore knotted strips of the castle’s colours. At the head rode a young man with the self-important stature typical of nobles. As they emerged, his face turned up to see her and he stopped dead. Behind him, all horses followed suit.

“Are you the bonny lass who is rumoured to live in these here mountains?” he called. His voice was carried further in the enclosed valley, so he didn’t need to shout to be heard; even so, he sounded quiet.

“More than rumoured, as I’m sure you know. I take it you are someone of importance - what use have you for me that you travel here?”

“Are you so ignorant as to not know your own king?”

“You hardly knew my own name, nor whether I exist or not. It seems fair that I do not know yours. Last I remember we had a queen, and few bother to keep me updated on the comings and goings of monarchs. Either way, it is you who’s come to me, so I ask again: what do you want?”

The king stepped down from his horse, puffing up to his full height, seemingly unaware how little difference it made to Annie above him.

“I have need for your skills. I am in the position to fight for my own status, and there are many who would seek to deprive me. I hear that you have skills that exceed most in many things, and I hoped that you may represent me.”

“What kind of fight?”

“A dance of sorts. The last one standing is to claim the throne and its wealth, but I feel it’s hardly becoming of a king to engage in such a competition.”

“I see.”

“We would compensate you generously, of course. I could grant you a stretch of land - a farm - and servants to work it of course.”

“Land?”

The king appeared concerned suddenly, and looked about before following up with:

“And-” The king looked to his men uncertainly, before looking back at her. “And the chance to marry the fairest noble in my court - I’m sure a woman such as yourself would enjoy the opportunity to marry. And into status and money, no less!”

She considered his offer; perhaps she could make this work for her.

“Very well,” she said, “I’ll represent you as you wish. Will there be stabling for my hind? She will not share with horses, and will need a space away from people. And I expect gold as compensation too.”

She mounted on Fiore quickly, bolting down the side of the mountain ahead of the men before the king could reply. “Shall we?”

The journey back took less than four hours, though it felt longer in the company of those with so little to say, and they were soon settling her into her chambers in the castle. She was filled in on the details on the way: the competition would be in five days, she would be expected to remain silent about her position, and she would remain out of sight as much as possible in the lead up.

It was quickly evident by the next afternoon, however, that the last would be impossible. Word had quickly spread of the king’s female guest, who was kept quiet and hidden in the upper floors of the castle; those rooms usually reserved for royalty themselves. The rumour spread quickly. The king had been alone since the passing of Queen Pen a year prior - despite this, many women had tried and failed to gain his favour, making his romantic life a regular topic of idle conversation.

To Annie, it had become apparent very early on that while the rumours might not have followed the truth, they did seem to predict it. The king was gaining a fondness for her.

Somehow he would find himself in all the places she explored, waiting for her and making himself as appealing as possible.

On the second afternoon she spent there, he was once again waiting when she visited his sizeable yet bare music room. He was dressed up in his finest casual wear and sitting at the piano; a sad smile frozen on his face, and his fingers producing yet sadder music.

“It reminds me of Pen,” he stated forlornly as she entered. “I always used to play this for her… I have been wondering if I’d ever have such a thing again.”

Annie sighed, weary and disappointed that she wouldn’t have time in the room to herself. “I’m sure you will find someone,” she said reluctantly, perching on a stool and trying, for the sake of pity, to sound reassuring. He turned back to the piano with a look of disappointment, before disappearing back into his music. The playing was impressive at the very least, and enjoyable for what it was, so she remained there to listen for a time. It was interesting to note the places where his high class upbringing coloured his music; formal and so different from her own. Intriguing as it could be at times, she was feeling bored of the palace’s extravagant finery. By the end of the second day, she desperately longed to return to her little cottage and the beautiful wilds. She managed to convince the guards to let her visit Fiore on the morning of the third day, and she happily breathed in the forest smells that lingered in her fur as they embraced.

“I’m sorry about this Fi, we won’t be here too much longer. Just two more days.”

With an acknowledging huff, Fiore lay down in the warm straw. Annie followed quickly to lay down and curl against her warm side; she felt more at home in that stable, rocked by Fi’s gentle breaths, than at any point in those few days. She was drawn into a relaxed and shallow sleep; her mind painting pictures on the backs of her eyelids before a stablehand came and prodded her awake.

“Wow,” they said, gawping, as she stood up “It won’t even let me near it... is it yours?”

“She doesn’t trust strangers. I’m Annie, and this is Fiore. We help each other out. And who are you?” Annie asked.

“I’m-” They stepped back uncertainly. “I’m sorry, are you the girl who’s been staying in the castle...?” A shake of their head before they apparently remembered their manners. “Oh, uh, I’m Ren.”

“Ren. Yes, I am the ‘girl’ who’s been staying in the castle.”

“Are you really going to marry the king?”

“Marry?!” She spluttered, quickly descending into great convulsions of laughter that roused the sleeping Fiore into a startled headbutt; throwing Annie forwards and doubling her over further.

Ren jumped back at Fi’s actions, to awkwardly shuffle from foot to foot as she regained her composure.

“Sorry. Sorry. Just- never mind. No, I am not marrying the king... Are you?” she challenged.

“Er- No. I’m just a stablehand ma’am.”

“A fine stablehand that would refer to their guest as ‘it’,” she accused, “But don’t let that stop you! I’m just a wild woman from the mountains, and apparently I’m eligible,” she continued with good humour, enjoying this chance to speak with someone from outside the castle walls.

“That’s you?”

“Didn’t Fi here clue you in a little?”

“Heard you were one of the fair folk. ‘S all I heard, actually.”

“I wish! The rumours keep unwanted guests away though. Mostly,” she said, “Anyway, I was raised in a little village east of here - Durside.” Annie sat against Fiore’s side, and beckoned Ren to sit beside her. “How about you?”

“I’m from here; father’s responsible for these stables, and mam works as a seamstress for the king.”

“I suppose you hear a lot then. I know there’s a competition coming up soon - would you tell me about it?”

Time passed quickly as Ren explained the sad and unusual story of the king’s reign:

He had been Queen Penelope’s second husband, after the first had plotted her death to claim the crown for himself. Having been caught in time, the first was imprisoned, and hung for treason shortly thereafter. So when the Queen married again she’d established a will; one that said that, should she be survived by the king and have no children suited to the crown, then he would reign as ruler for a year while the people came to a decision. Then, in a manner chosen by the common people, nobles and those chosen by the king to compete would fight for the crown and its connected riches. The winner would rule until any heirs came of age - or permanently where no heirs are present - dependent on approval by the people. According to Ren, the marriage had lasted 5 years before Pen fell ill and died. Many suggested she was still bearing the wounds of her first marriage, which even the present king couldn’t heal.

Afterwards, they went on to discuss a little about their own lives - differences and similarities. She had to dodge their questions as to her reasons for being there , but compared to any conversation with the king, or the few noble’s she’d managed to speak to, she could breathe a lot easier. While she loved to be alone, and friends were not her style, it was nice to have an opportunity to talk to someone and catch up on the goings on for the folk she’d left behind.

-----

The next day she surprised herself by managing to feel something for the king, in a smaller and less planned moment than their previous ones. He sat at one of the high arched windows off the tower stairs, looking out nervously on the grounds; a guard stood by him, and while he addressed the guard, he spoke more to himself.

“... and I miss having real conversations. Penelope was someone I could talk to - all these people are after my wealth or status. Or fearful of my wrath. Even you, guard, can be nothing but what you are.” He leaned his head against the window, breath fogging it slightly. “I envy you common people sometimes.”

Annie kept herself out of sight as she listened. She too had found the sharp edge of being cut off from others, as much as she cultivated it for herself. It was the cost of freedom, so far, and it was worth it. But many things were lost to her thanks to it.

Rather than outstay her welcome and hear more than she’d like, she stepped away to spend more time in the library that she’d made her second home. While the king might be a somewhat sympathetic figure, she knew from Ren that he’d been enclosing common land and taxing the poor to pay for his extravagant feasting. Not the best of behaviours for one who’d want friends among their subjects, and she had no interest in soothing his troubled soul.

The library never failed to make her breath catch, and her head whirl; the light pouring in through stained glass and coating the shelves and shelves of books in stunning rainbow hues. The impossibility of reading all of the text in the place was incredible, and she ran a hand along the neat rows before slipping an intriguing one from its shelf, and removing it to a quiet alcove to slip inside its world for a time.

-----

The remaining days passed much like the previous ones had, with the king finding more excuses to see her, and by the evening of the competition she was in low spirits and desiring more than ever to simply return home. Earlier that day, the king had surprised her with a bottle of “the best wine in the palace” - When she revealed that it had, in fact, been made by herself, she couldn’t tell which was redder: the wine, or the king.

It was truly emblematic of the king’s distance from the food and drink he so gratuitously served and supped on that he never thought to ask of the source of it. She had accepted the wine regardless, but been left nothing but homesick and disappointed, as it tasted nothing like it had when she was sat, alone, in her own space.

She was very ready for the competition to be over, before it had even begun.

Nobles began to file in past where she sat at the king’s right side. They moved to stand proud and tall around the edge of the wooden flooring she assumed would be the stage; some with a knight by their side, and others dressed in more practical garments, presumably to compete themselves. There were fifteen nobles lined up by the time they finished, before common folk began to file in around the edges. They blended into a great mass of faces, so energised and excited that it was hard to pick out any one face from the others. A few fingers were thrown forward to point at where Annie sat, and suddenly the sea of faces was still and talking in hushed whispers.

The steward made use of the proximity to silence to announce the competition, which Annie listened to keenly. “The dance shall begin shortly. The challenger, or their representative, and the king, or his representative, will each have a kerchief knotted to his or her wrist. The first to acquire the other’s shall be declared winner. Should either cease to dance, then they shall forfeit the challenge. “Those who are successful must challenge all other contenders until they are beaten. The first to defeat all challengers shall be declared the new king or queen, and receive two thirds of the king’s wealth and lands along with that offered by the contestants.

“Let the first willing challenger step forward!”

After a moment of discussion a knight with a blue cloth stepped forwards, not even bothering to remove his sword.

“Elric, representing Lord Randall of Tyne. Annie of Durside shall represent the king.”

The musicians began a waltz from behind, led by a strong drumbeat. Annie rose and stepped to him, and the audience let out a collective gasp. Annie silently bowed and reached out a hand.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, taking his.

Dancing with someone was not where her experience lay; she tended to dance alone. However, her thirst for learning had driven her to learn every dance she could - and not just that, but both parts of them.

Once she began, she let the rhythm carry her, like a leaf tossed every which way by a raging sea. By the time Elric fell into her way of dancing, she’d change it again; often switching to dance the man’s part and throwing him off. When the music itself changed to a jig, she caught his sword and brought him crashing to the ground. As his chin hit the floor, the steward declared him defeated.

The next nine went similarly; the knights themselves were all decent dancers with reasonable stamina, but they were weighed down by their heavy attire. They’d arrived prepared for a fight, not a dance, and not one knew how to react to her flexibility. Many times they attempted to approach from behind, only to be let down by the rattle of their swords and Annie’s keen hearing.

Then the lords stepped up one after another; dancing more subtly and skillfully. They proved the harder challengers, though far more deficient in stamina. Annie danced with them, avoiding their frustrated attempts at her wrist until they tired; sweating and panting as she finally tripped them or tugged the silk from their trembling wrist.

By the time her fourteenth dance partner was left frustrated and hopeless, the sun had long set, and they were bathed, instead, by the cold moonlight. He fell to the ground with a cry of frustration, and left her proudly holding up his strip of yellow silk. She tossed it back to him dismissively, and turned to the last remaining man.

The knight, who until then had simply held back and watched, strode forwards. His body held the tension of a coil ready to snap, and his face was carved into an image of fury. He threw his sword to the ground, and stripped of his belt and coat, until he was wearing nothing but his cotton tunic, breeches, and the pink fabric at his right wrist.

He bowed wordlessly, and she did the same.

Much of the audience had thinned out by this point. When they both stepped up to dance, the rhythm of their feet played a perfect percussion for the hornpipe ringing out behind them.

It might have been a competition, but it felt great to dance with someone who knew what he was doing.

She smiled and laughed, as he cursed in between beats.

The broader her grin grew, the more it seemed to take from him, and the heavier his steps. Neither approached the other for this hornpipe, nor the reel that followed. And not for many after that. They simply watched, and danced.

By the time the sun began to show itself again, staining the sky a brilliant pink, Annie’s heavy and aching feet pushed her to put an end to it. She still had the strength to go on, however; she took it from the mountain she called home, where the air was weaker, and the terrain far more punishing. She jumped and tapped in time to the jig as she approached him; where his face grew grim, and feet raised slower from the ground.

With little effort, she grabbed his wrist and tugged the sweat drenched fabric free. She raised it high so the steward might see, and coaxed a small amount of applause from the stragglers of the crowd.

“The king wins!” he cried, waking up the now peacefully dozing king as the music played on.

Startling out of his sleep, the king jumped up and ran towards Annie with words of appreciation and praise falling from his lips.

The king removed one of his ornate rings in haste, and spoke softly with trembling breaths. “Everything I promised you is yours…. But in the matter of marriage, I think you could do better than a noble.” He held it out, as the audience looked on in a stunned silence.

Annie smiled.

“Do you take me…” She left a pause, in which she delighted as the king’s face lit up a little brighter. “For a fool?”

“What?” the king asked in shock and confusion, “why?”

“No man shall have me as a wife; now or ever. I could take the land you’ve offered me, that you have no right to own. Or I could beat you and take it all.” She took his hand and tied the pink kerchief to his wrist. “Dance with me. I will be your queen, but you shall not be beside me.”

The steward looked anxiously between her and the king, stiffening when he caught her gaze.

“Steward - she can’t do this!” he exclaimed, looking between him and his wrist. “Can she?”

“I’m afraid, sire, that she can.”

“But why?” the king entreated, turning to Annie.

“You have been taking the people’s land for your own, as something to give or take as you pleased. While people struggle to feed themselves, you host feasts far beyond any of our means. You are not my king.”

The king froze.

“So dance then, if you wish to hold onto your crown.”

The music changed to a waltz again, and Annie held out a hand. Hesitantly, the king took it. He stepped forwards; moved in time with the music and with her. Every step, the king kept up, but she was soon able to slip a hand down his unguarded arm to loosen the band.

Then a swift retreat, as his hand searched for her own cloth, and back to the dance. She led the two of them back and forth, constantly pushing where the king tried to pull. Then the music changed and threw him off; they split from each other to shift into an energetic percussive rhythm, where the king’s feet fell a second out of time.

One unbalanced moment for him, and she skipped up to him with an outstretched hand.

The ribbon pulled free, leaving his fingers to grasp at it hopelessly. She pulled it away in a smooth motion, and held it in the air triumphantly; her own cloth was still tied tight.

The small crowd burst into applause, turned to silhouettes by the sun behind them. The sound drew yet more of them to the borders, and there was the indistinct sound of many excited conversations.

The lights of celebration burned brighter, and music louder, that night. Annie was surrounded on all sides by people who excitedly questioned, and thanked, and asked favors of her. The lords, meanwhile, left exhausted and beaten, with far less to their name than they arrived with.

-----

It took days for her to return private land to common, and ensure everyone had the right to work it as they had done; spreading the word through messengers to other towns. It took yet longer to find someone else who could competently rule in her stead: her place was not as a leader, after all.

Fiore bore her back home then, before giving a quick farewell before racing back into the woods where she belonged. Annie also returned to her cottage. Where she truly belonged.

For now she needed days filled with nothing but the sounds of the wilds, and the thoughts of none but herself and those whose voices were bound in leather.

Eventually she would return to the town and take advantage of the many offers she’d received: to be taken as an apprentice in music and wood carving; to join in on dances and festivities; to share food, drink, and song. To do and share those things she could not do alone, while beholden to none but herself.

She smiled, sitting on her sil again, and drinking her wine that tasted as it should.

She had everything she could want.

#AroWriMo Writing #Arowrimo #Aromantic #Aro #Aromanticism #Original fiction

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sweetlangdon · 6 years ago

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From Eden: Chapter 2

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence.

This fic is currently in progress.

Chapter One Also Available on AO3

She’d been listening to the steady drip of water hitting the tiles for at least a half hour now, though time didn’t matter much anymore to her, not here. The haze of steam that had filled the room and wrapped her body in its warmth had long since disappeared. She sat on the floor of the shower, her back pressed to the freezing tile, her arms hugging her knees, as the air chilled and goosebumps rose along her skin. Droplets rolled down her back from the strands of wet hair plastered to her shoulders, and she shivered absently, half aware of the cold but too distant to do anything to remedy it.

It’s always been a part of you.

…it will find you eventually.

And you’d do anything to make sure you’re not abandoned. Not again.

Langdon’s voice filled up her thoughts, haunting her hours and hours later. She couldn’t shake him from her mind, couldn’t stop pulling apart what he’d said to her on a relentless loop. Eighteen months and he’d been the first person in this godforsaken bunker to see her. Maybe part of that had been her fault—she’d kept everyone else at arm’s length in an act of self-preservation, but something about him had compelled her to confess, to bear fragments of herself that she’d tried to ignore. What was it? How could a stranger make the words fall from her tongue so easily? It surprised her, even now, that she’d kept her own fear restrained enough to speak with him like that. Langdon—or maybe the impression of him; brooding, emotionless—had scared the shit out of her. She didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of him digging through her soul, chipping away pieces where he saw fit.

But there was still that infuriating part of her that regarded him with a strange reverence. And she couldn’t explain it, not yet. The weight of Langdon’s presence, standing in front of him, it had been unlike anything she’d felt before. It was terrifying. It thrilled her, too, though she wasn’t ready to concede that. It was like he’d made something come alive in her veins with a mere glance, a tilt of his head. They hadn’t even touched—she hadn’t dared to get close enough for that—but she still felt him on her skin, in her blood, breathing deep into the shadows of her soul.

Langdon had stared right into her and found something familiar.

And what he’d said couldn’t have possibly been obtained from whatever paperwork The Cooperative had on her.

A loud, persistent knocking wrenched her from her thoughts. Someone called her name from the other side of the door.

“We keep a schedule for a reason,” Ms. Venable said. Her exasperation permeated the room. “You know I don’t tolerate lateness.”

She exhaled. “Sorry,” she called back, “I had a headache. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“Don’t make this a habit,” Ms. Venable warned.

“I won’t.”

Once she heard the slow drumbeat of Venable’s cane fade and the door to her suite click shut, she dragged herself up from the floor of the shower. She knew Venable kept her neurotic schedule and all of her strict rules to maintain order. To give them a life—though that seemed too generous a term for what they had here—full of structure leftover from the old world. It helped some more than others; it’d helped her once or twice when the isolation became too much to handle. It gave the illusion of normalcy. And illusion was all the mind needed sometimes. But now, over a year later, it had started to wear on them in varying degrees.

She was sure that Emily and Tim’s poorly kept secret romance would backfire sooner rather than later. The amount of bickering among the group had escalated to critical levels within the past few weeks, at least by her own estimation. How much more of this could they possibly take? She didn’t know if whatever Langdon offered was true or just a ruse, but at this point she’d consider anything else just to get the fuck away from most of these people. She couldn’t tolerate another afternoon of idle chatter, another dinner spent watching them tear at each other’s throats and obliterating Venable’s fine china and crystal glasses.

A bitter gust of air doused her skin the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. She left a trail of water behind her, not bothering to towel off, hoping the cold that stung her bare body would smack some kind of sense back into her. Or at the very least, help steel her for the night ahead. She dressed as quickly as she could, acutely aware of Venable’s lack of patience for disrupting order.

The nineteenth century-inspired dress she chose for tonight was blissfully free from the abundant lace that plagued most of her wardrobe. A gorgeous shade of lavender, it had full layers of cascading ball gown skirts and an off-the-shoulder neckline. A tiny pattern of crystals adorned the bodice, sparkling under the light of the candles in her room.

Her hair was still damp when she joined the table for dinner, but she’d at least pinned it up into an adequate style, though she was sure Gallant would say otherwise. She wilted a bit under the gaze of Venable and Mead and the rest of the outpost residents, guilty for being the one to hold up their meal. Not that it was anything to look forward to, especially with rations dwindling by the week. She didn’t think the Purples were irritated with her, per se, but she’d become so accustomed to flying under their radar. She shifted in her chair, rearranging her napkin and utensils, waiting for their attention to drift away from her. Thankfully, it didn’t last long; the hum of conversation picked up again, plates and forks scraping as they forced down yet another tasteless cube.

Venable’s unflinching gaze caught her like a helpless insect in a spider’s web from the opposite end of the table. She looked away first, scooping up her fork.

“Are you okay?” Emily whispered from her right, leaning closer. She lifted an eyebrow. “Venable looks like she wants to murder you.”

She poked at the beige cube in the center of her plate. “I’ll live,” she answered. “If only out of spite.”

Emily suppressed a giggle, turning her face into her shoulder to avoid Venable’s hawk-like eyes. She stabbed the gelatinous cube with her fork. “Did Langdon say anything to you yet?”

“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”

The rest of the evening passed as it usually did, the group of them gathered in the library ruminating over their current situation, trading stories about the way things used to be. There was a hush of nervous energy among them all, a quiet worry about the newest occupant of Outpost 3 and what it would mean for their continued survival. Like everyone else, she didn’t know what her chances were. During their brief encounter, Langdon hadn’t given any hints one way or another, only regarding her with the sort of amusement that she couldn’t exactly read.

Gallant and his grandmother provided the evening’s entertainment in dramatic fashion as only the two of them knew how. She shrunk into the corner of the couch, exchanging furtive glances between Emily and Andre while Gallant sparred against Evie, the flurry of quick-witted barbs charging the room with an awkward tension. She could nearly feel the explosion of rage crackling in the air like the wind before a thunderstorm. When at last the aftershocks of their shouting match started to weaken—Evie wearing a haughty expression as if it were a piece of lavish jewelry, an art so refined from her days of Hollywood glamour that it was almost impressive—they moseyed on back to their private rooms for the night.

The rest of the Purples wandered off at intervals after that. Emily and Tim laced their fingers together the moment they crossed into the hallway, as if no one would notice. Coco left in a huff muttering about her own soul-crushing boredom, Mallory obediently at her heels. Andre and Dinah were the last to go, yawning and stretching, bidding her goodnight before their voices drifted down the corridor. She sighed and unclenched her teeth, finally able to release the tension that had worked itself into her jaw from the Gallant incident.

Her skirts rustled around her ankles as she approached the bookshelves. Fingertips skirting along the titles that glittered on the spines, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in consideration. She’d finished the book from last night before she’d showered, amazed at her own level of focus. She’d made notes, too; scribbles across notebook paper that were now relics from the old world only because she had some of her college belongings when the alarm went off.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Langdon’s slow, lilting voice mused from somewhere behind her back. “A creature of habit, even now at the end of the world.”

She hadn’t heard his footsteps this time.

“Can’t help it, I guess,” she answered, still inspecting the titles. “It keeps me busy—keeps me from getting depressed about the old world, if I try hard enough. Anything’s better than listening to Coco whine about how much she misses sushi.”

That earned her a low, wry laugh, which made something flutter in the pit of her stomach.

She abandoned the thought of choosing a book and turned on her heel to find him. Langdon stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, half of his face bathed in golden light. The long black coat lined with buttons had disappeared, but he was still dressed in elegant black from neck to foot. He cut an imposing figure in his tailored clothes: slender, tall, and not a single hair out of place. She kind of hated herself for how captivated she was, how the fear that had gripped her before was beginning to fade.

“You were a college student—an English major,” he recalled.

She nodded. “Would’ve earned my degree if the world hadn’t been nuked.”

“With highest honors,” Langdon said, lifting his chin. “You were an exceptional scholar…not that anyone cared enough to notice. Apart from your professors, of course. Do you miss it?”

She studied the shadows on the floor, thrown by the way he spoke about her life in the old world. Langdon knew intimate details—her feelings, her insecurities—that would have never been of any interest to The Cooperative’s files. At least, she thought so.

“I don’t know,” she breathed. Slow, calculated footsteps brought him closer to her. “Maybe some of it. I enjoyed the learning part of college, not so much the stress and cramming for finals and term papers. It’s a shitty thing to say, but I’m relieved.”

Langdon narrowed his gaze. “In what way?”

“I don’t have to participate in a lifestyle that was never going to make me happy, or satisfy me,” she admitted. “There’s nothing left of that world now…and yeah, there’s always going to be parts of it I’ll miss, but I’m not exactly opposed to a clean slate. Provided your assessment of me goes well.”

She thought she saw that smirk again, just for the briefest of moments. Langdon brought one of his hands up and swiped his thumb along his chin. “Your parents,” he said evenly. “Does it upset you that they aren’t here to share this…new beginning?”

It felt like a stone had dropped into her stomach, a lead weight crushing her chest. The words dried up on her tongue.

“They sacrificed everything for me,” she answered, though her voice wavered. “Their lives, their money. I’m only here because they aren’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Langdon countered. His voice rose a little, demanding more from her. She swore the temperature in the room plummeted a few degrees. “Does the guilt of their deaths eat away at you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie,” he warned. The command pierced like the edge of a knife. “I know you’re not being honest with me.”

She felt the emotion welling up inside her, burning the back of her throat and prickling behind her eyes. She forced it to stay where it was, but her vision still blurred as the tears came dangerously close to sliding down her cheeks. The hardcover spines on the bookshelf pressed into the small of her back through layers of fabric, and she braced her hands on the wooden shelves just to have something to hold onto. Langdon covered the remaining distance between them until his boots brushed against her skirts. The warmth from his body enveloped her own—she figured his touch would be cold like the undercurrent of his voice, but instead he radiated heat.

“They’re my parents,” she reasoned.

She bit into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and tasted blood on her tongue. Langdon cocked his head to the side, inhaling as if he could smell it. One long finger reached out to trace down her bottom lip before he took her chin in a surprisingly delicate hold. His hands were much softer than she imagined. Clear blue eyes searched her own; unlike the solid presence of his body in front of her, they were pure ice.

“It’s a very convincing story you’ve sold these people,” he said. “A loving daughter tormented by the guilt of her self-sacrificing parents, who built an empire only to destroy it all to save their only child.” He let go of her chin, but kept two fingers hovering beneath her jaw.

“A noble end for two of the least deserving people on this godforsaken Earth. You were far too kind to their memory,” he continued. “I can see the truth—I have a certain talent for it: staring right into the darkest parts of you that you can’t run from. There’s no reason to lie anymore.” He grinned, and his eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “It wasn’t guilt you felt when they died and you survived. You were relieved. They got what they deserved, didn’t they?”

Her voice broke. “…Yes.”

Langdon’s grin widened, pleased. “You were nothing but a mere afterthought in their lives. An accident they didn’t plan for—of course they never dared to say that in front of you. No…but somehow…you already knew.”

When a sob finally broke free from her throat, he brushed his knuckles across her cheek, then cradled her face in his hand. She shivered at his touch but found herself leaning closer into the warmth of his insistent hold.

“They were selfish, neglectful, and it only got worse once they had enough money to stop worrying. You hated them. All of that fucking rage burned in your veins for so long, tearing you apart until you figured out what to do with it.”

She closed her eyes. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, but he wiped them away with his thumb. The gesture, a simple, fleeting thing, surprised her.

“Your parents didn’t die when the bombs went off.” Langdon’s face was now inches from hers, his breath tickling her collarbone, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I know the truth, I just want to hear you say it.”

She exhaled a ragged breath. “I killed them.”

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @mr-langdonn @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @softlangdvn @ritualmichael

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #fic: from eden

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tetrakys · 6 years ago

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Trois Allumettes - Chapter 1

What if Lysander never attended Sweet Amoris and he and Candy met for the first time in college? Starts between Episode 3 and 4 and will rewrite each MCL UL episode with Lysander as the main route.

“Ugh! This tuna sandwich sucks!”

It was just another Tuesday afternoon. Rosa, Chani ed I were having lunch in the dining hall.

“We both know you are going to eat it anyway” I laughed.

“You know what, Candy?” Rosa said pensively while biting into her sandwich “You look really tired. Is everything okay?”

One of my friend’s most charming qualities, she never beats around the bush.

“Everything is f-fine.” I said yawning “Yesterday I stayed up late watching a horror movie.”

“Oooohhh which one?” asked Chani, eyes shining with interest.

“Just a crappy one about a haunted mansion I found on Netflix. It was really bad but I was hooked and had to know how it ended. It freaked me out though.”

“I know that one” said Chani “it isn’t scary at all.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“It really isn’t” she added passionately “haunted mansions are not scary, they are really fascinating, all that mystery and the amazing ancient architecture… you would know it if you came urbexing with me. Tonight I am going back to that amazing place I told you about.”

“Uhm… no thanks.”

“Also” she added “that movie is very inaccurate, ghosts are not evil. They are just lost.”

“I can see how being lost for a few hundred years could make anyone grumpy” I said smiling.

“Oh crap!” we both turned to see Rosa looking at her watch “The keys! Sorry girls I have to run, I’m so late. I have to meet with…” she stuffed two sandwiches in her mouth and mumbled something we couldn’t understand while running towards the door.

For a few moments we both stared silently at the door where she had just disappeared, then Chani turned in her chair and said “You know what would be really scary? Being late for Mr Lebarde’s class.”

We both rushed to finish our meal.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was a cold windy night, I was coming back from the gym after one of my sporadic and exhausting work out sessions and, thanks to Kim’s drill sergeant ways, I was feeling sore everywhere. I couldn’t wait to have the shortest shower ever and jump into bed with a box of cookies, effectively nullifying all my hard work.

I was just about to open the dorm door when I heard a strange noise from the right side of the building. I looked around. Like any weekday night, the campus was basically desert. It had rained earlier that evening and a eerie mist surrounded the large open area. I really don’t like this… I thought. Last time I had heard a strange noise out there it was just Nath with a girl. Trying not to focus my thoughts on that scene, which was still quite upsetting, I headed back towards the door.

I heard it again. All of a sudden my conversation with Chani from the a few days ago came back to mind. Ghosts are not evil, they are just lost… No! Ghosts do not exist! I blamed my freakout on the stupid movie I had watched the other day, never again I was going to watch horror movies late at night.

To prove myself brave I headed towards the source of the noise, it seemed to originate from that little black door that lead to a basement at the back of the art department. With steady steps and led only by the moonlight, I made my way to the building. I was just about to grab the handle when I heard the noise again, louder than ever. The door suddenly opened with a bang and a tall dark shadow emerged on the doorway.

I ran to my room without looking back.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“OMG that’s just too funny!”

Sometimes Alexy could be really annoying.

“Quit it! I’m not joking, it was the scariest shit I’ve haver experienced.”

We were having a drink at the Snake Room and he was laughing his ass off without a care in the world.

“Yes Alex, stop teasing Candy, she looks quite upset” said Priya, patting me on the arm.

“Thank you!”

“Even though…” she continued cautiously “you should admit that a ghost is not the most plausible explanation.”

“Why not?” Chani interrupted “ghosts are perfectly natural. We are made of both flesh and spirit, some of us just stick around a little longer than what our perishable bodies allow.”

Alexy started laughing even louder.

“Come on Chani, do you really think that a dead guy would waste his time haunting a deserted dusty storage room? Personally, if it was me, I would set up home in the male locker room.”

“It could have been a girl, you know?” said Priya “and we have no idea what’s in that room at the back of the art building, anything could be going on there.”

“Nothing is going on there” I said “I went back in the morning. The door was locked and I found no indication of anyone ever being there.”

It wasn’t totally true. I did go back in the morning when lots of sunlight and passerbys felt like the best shield against whatever I had seen the night before. The door was indeed locked but I found a piece of paper lying on the floor that I didn’t think was there before. It was a page from a notebook where a poem was written in an elegant and slightly ancient-looking handwriting. For some reason I didn’t feel like sharing this detail with my friends. It may have had nothing to do with my ghost anyway.

My ghost… that sounded ridiculous even in my head, but I didn’t know how else to explain what I saw.

“I am going back there tonight and will get to the bottom of this!”

“Please let us accompany you, I hadn’t laughed so hard in days, we are all going back to the dorms anyway” said Alexy while we all got up and put our coats on.

This was secretly what I was hoping for, and the real reason I had brought up the incident in the first place. Strength was in numbers. Alexy wanted to get a good laugh out of the situation, Priya was the voice of reason and Chani was just interested in anything mysterious.

“Too bad Rosa was busy tonight, she is going to miss a real ghost hunt” he sniggered.

“Quite fitting” said Chani “it’s almost Halloween.”

Once on campus we made way to the dorms. The place was again desert.

“So… where is this haunted broom closet?” Alexy joked.

“Right over there” I pointed to the back of the art building.

“I hear no gruesome sounds”

“I know…”

“No scraping of chains”

“I know…”

“No dying screams”

��I know…”

“No…”

“Enough Alex” Priya said calmly “stop tormenting Candy, she feels enough mortified.” She turned to me and added “Don’t worry Candy, this place is dark and the wind is so strong, anyone could…”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the noise. Everyone froze. We looked at each other with wide eyes. Ah! I wasn’t crazy, this time I wasn’t the only one who heard it.

“What the…” said Alexy.

We heard it again, louder. It was a metallic sound, it did remind a bit of rusty chains scraping the floor.

In that moment three things happened almost at the same time: with the same loud noise the black door burst open and crushed against the wall, the tall dark figure raised against the doorway more imposing and majestic than ever, and a piercing scream split the air.

“You were right I would have never been able to open this rusty door by mys… Guys? What are you doing here? Alexy, why are you screaming like this?”

Rosa rushed out of the building and ran towards Alexy who was crouching on the floor with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard her voice, a moment passed where he seemed to pull himself together, got back to his feet, dusted his clothes and said with a too-bright-to-be-real smile

“Ahah I was just teasing Candy, she has been telling everyone she saw a ghost here yesterday. It was you all along, great prank Rosa.”

“It was me, actually.”

A deep voice said from behind Rosa’s back. We all turned towards the door to see a tall man step into the light. He had slightly long hair of different shades from white and grey to dark, and the most beautiful heterochromia of the eyes I had ever seen, one golden brown and one deep green. He was wearing clothes in what looked like a gothic or Victorian style, a long black coat and a dark green cravat at his neck. He was… striking, and he was looking at me with those unsettling eyes.

“Guys, this is Lysander, Leigh’s brother.”

Everyone got out of their stupor and started saying hi and giving their names. I felt like my tongue was tied.

“He just moved in town to study at Anteros, he stayed with Leigh and I for a few days while the university sorted the mess they made with his dorm room. The idiot admin officer apparently mixed up his documents and assigned it to someone else.”

“What are you going to study, Lysander?” asked Priya with a smile.

“Poetry” he simply replied.

“He is doing his fifth year specialising in poetry, he has a real talent with words.” Rosa replied proudly patting his back.

“And what have you been doing in this building at night?” asked Chani curious.

“He is collaborating with the music department as a lyricist, they do lots of rehearsal at night, as I said he is really talented.” Why was Rosa talking in his place? If he really was so talented at putting words together he apparently wasn’t as much at expressing them. Also, why did he keep staring at me?

“Okay, good, mystery solved. I’m going to my room. Nice to meet you Lysander” Alexy said walking towards the dorms still looking a little unsettled.

“I have to go too, I just came to bring a few stuff my dear brother in law forgot” she said laughing “I swear Lysander, if your head wasn’t on your neck you would lose that too.”

“I am going to the library, goodnight.” Chiani waved and walked away.

Priya, Lysander and I headed to the dorms together.

“Well, this is me” she said looking at me a little apologetically, I had totally forgot her room was on the ground floor! “Nice meeting you Lysander, see you tomorrow Candy, goodnight.”

Lysander and I were now alone in the deserted hall of the dorms. I felt really awkward, why was I feeling so awkward? I pushed the elevator button, a part of me hoping he also had a room on the ground floor, but no, he was waiting right next to me. At some point the doors opened and we got in. I pushed seven and he pushed nine.

Was this the longest elevator ride in history? The silence was deafening. I was rummaging through my brain trying to find something, anything to say when, to my surprise he spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

“W-what?” I stuttered.

“For yesterday, for scaring you. It wasn’t my intention. The door of the basement where we compose is very old and rusty, it needs a good push to open up. I apparently applied too much force and smashed it into the wall. I must have terrorised you, like that in the dark… I tried to explain but you run away, I am really sorry.”

I felt heath rising in my cheeks, God I was such an idiot.

“No, I should be the one to apologise, for acting like a child and thinking you were a…”

“A ghost?” he said and smiled. He actually smiled and it was… enchanting.

“I admit that’s pretty funny” was he teasing me? “but Casper was one of my favourite movies when I was a child so I’ll take it as a compliment.”

The elevator doors opened and, with a mental shake, I stepped out of the elevator mumbling a goodnight.

“Candy?”

I turned around surprised.

“See you around” he said with a small smirk on his lips. The doors closed, hiding his beautiful face.

Wow… I had so many questions. Who was this guy? Leigh’s brother yes but… where had he been all along?

And that intense aura surrounding him… those incredible and slightly sad eyes… I was intrigued and wanted to know more. Much more.

See you around he had said, I smiled a little.

Looking forward to it.

////////////////////////

Go to Chapter 2

#mcl #mclul #my writing #fanfic #my candy love #amour sucre #dolce flirt #amor doce #corazon de melon #mcl lysander #lysandro #lysandre #lysander #au #trois allumettes

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scriptura-adrepticius · 6 years ago

Text

A Heart of Ice - Zhu Xingjie

Uncalled for and unrequested, but inspired by Beauty and the Beast, some beautiful fanart I CANNOT FIND, and because Xingjie looks like a prince.

Pairing: Zhu Xingjie x OC/reader

Genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au

Word Count: 7.2k

Zhu Xingjie has a heart of ice, and unbeknownst to you, you’ve been tasked with melting it.

Masterlist

if he looked at me like that i’d melt

Deep in the forest lies a forgotten palace, a forgotten land, a forgotten king. Cursed, he wanders the stone walls, unable to even glimpse the outside world.

The king used to be vain, you see. He was pristine, perfect, his skin pale and smooth, his eyes sharp but charming, his voice sweet and alluring.

He had everything. And that was his trouble.

The king grew up a spoiled child, used to flattery and gifts, unaccustomed to want. Whatever he wanted, he had or would get by whatever means possible. And when his father died and he ascended the throne, his requests only became more and more impossible.

It was a wintry day when the fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter, to see just how horrid this king truly was.

“Please, just one night, my good king… Please…”

She found out when he ordered her away.

In return, she cursed him. He stared in horror as she began to glow, a brilliant white light rendering him blind.

All the nobles and ladies around him vanished into thin air.

The candles flickered once and went out.

The drapes blew shut and when he ran to open them, the fairy simply laughed. “Young king,” she chuckled, “you would not want to see the sunlight.”

Frozen, the king could only stare at the now-beautiful fairy, who appraised him with a cold smile. “You will live forever as the king with a heart of ice, cursed to never see sunlight until you have learned to love once more. If exposed to the sun, your heart will melt too fast, and your time on earth will be gone.”

The king felt a stabbing in his heart, bringing him to his knees, and he clutched his chest in pain. He felt himself grow colder, saw his skin turn paler, felt the color drain from his face and his lips.

A cruel laugh echoed in the ballroom.

“Farewell, young king, and may we meet again soon.”

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Stupidly, that’s the only thing you can think at the moment. A snowstorm is brewing, and all you can think is that you’re cold.

“Well, I’m not wrong,” you mumble.

The wind is howling in your ears, the snow obscuring your vision. You clutch the reins on Xing harder, huddling down into your cloak as you urge him on. Xing obediently tries, but he can’t see either, and the snow on the ground is impossible.

The sun is nearly down, and the sky is darkening fast. If you stay outside longer, there is no guarantee on how long you can survive. Survival instinct spurs you on, and you doggedly continue with Xing.

It seems like a blessing when you finally see what seems to be a wall through the whirling snow. As you get closer, the wall grows larger, until you can just barely make it out to be a sort of very large house. Xing perks up, as though recognizing the house as a safe haven, and he speeds up slightly, slogging through the deep snow.

“Just a little more,” you encourage, patting his neck, before squinting through the snow to take a good look at the place.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

It’s not a house.

It’s a palace.

A large, imposing gate - the wall that you saw - rings the grounds in which a tall, stone castle stands. You swallow, looking around nervously. It’s getting dark, and though you aren’t in a blizzard yet, the snowstorm very well might develop into one. So you steel your nerves, jump off of Xing, and lead him forward.

Once at the gate, you pause, unsure of how to get in, as the gate is made of heavy stone and metal. However, it seems you need not worry, because the gates suddenly swing open though not a single person is in sight. You look around suspiciously, but worry for Xing and the strengthening wind push you forward through the gates.

The gates are almost taller than you. Xing could probably just jump over them if he tried. There’d be no way for you to get out.

You shudder, not because of the cold this time, but because of how ominous this all feels.

You wonder if it’s too late to turn back.

A loud neigh jerks you around, the reins ripped from your grasp. Xing suddenly spooks and you shout, trying to calm him down, but he turns, rearing his neck, before running through the gate.

“Xing!” you yell, racing after him, but the gates clang shut right in your face, the loud noise ringing in your ears and rendering you frozen, unable to move.

You gape, stepping forward, but an invisible force repels you, sending you stumbling backwards.

Cold terror settles over you, but you force yourself to breathe deeply and turn around.

“Well, that settles it,” you mumble. With Xing gone, you have no way of going anywhere else. So you continue, hurrying to the doors of the palace as the wind continues to pick up speed.

The large, stone doors open surprisingly easily when you push, looking around for any sign of something living. “Hello?” you call, allowing the doors to close behind you.

There is no reply.

You shiver in the darkness, glancing back at the door. Again, you wonder if it’s too late to leave.

“Hello?” you try again.

Silence.

“Hello.”

A shriek builds up in your throat but you swallow it down, whipping around to see a lantern in the darkness, illuminating the side of someone’s face. A wave of relief and anxiety washes over you, and you bow slightly in their direction.

“I’m sorry for intruding, it’s just the storm outside was getting worse and my horse spooked and left and this was the closest place…” Your words die away when the person - well, the man - gets close enough for you to see his face.

He is striking, handsome, but inhumanly so. Perhaps the right word to describe him is otherworldly.

His skin is pale, so pale it’s nearly white, but not sickly. He stands with an elegant, cool grace you associate with nobles. His coal black hair contrasts sharply with his skin, and on anyone else, the combination would repulse you. However, it just makes him seem more aloof, even further away from you, a mere mortal.

His nose is tilted perfectly, his mouth unsmiling. A severe, wintry coldness seems to emanate from him, making you shiver even more.

But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you. And yet at the same time, they repel you.

They are dark. So dark.

And so, so cold.

“What brings you here, traveler?” he asks, gazing idly as though you are just a bug waiting to be crushed. You swallow, shrinking under his cold gaze, but you make an effort to hold yourself tall.

Your voice is steady when you speak. “I was trying to reach the next town, but I got lost when the snowstorm picked up. This place was the only place I saw, so I… I tried to come here. My horse spooked and ran away, and I have no other place to stay. I ask for your permission, please, to stay for the night. I will leave tomorrow morning.”

That disdainful gaze, that aura of cold, that wintry anger- is it anger? You’re not quite sure- makes you want to run away, but you swallow and stand your ground. “Please,” you plead again. “Just for tonight.”

The cold laugh that the man lets out sends chills up your spine.

“Traveler,” he says, staring directly at you. “I don’t think you understand.”

You take a step back involuntarily. “W-what...” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “What don’t I understand?”

There’s a long silence, and you’re about to bolt, blizzard or no, when he speaks.

“Once you enter this palace,” he says slowly, “you cannot leave.”

. . . . .

You jolt awake, panicking when you see that this is not your room. It takes a good thirty seconds for you to remember the events of yesterday, and when you do, you burrow under the thin blanket again.

“Please tell me this is all a dream,” you mumble, poking your head out of the covers once again, holding on to that stupid, vain hope.

Alas, the stone walls of the room shatter that dream. You sigh, kicking the covers away, before padding over to the small closet where you’d stuffed your things last night.

“I hope I brought that extra shirt,” you mutter, swinging the door open.

“What the fuck?!”

The closet is not empty, or even close to empty. Clothing of all types and designs fill the space with a rainbow of color, a stark contrast to the dark stone walls that surround you.

You blink.

You blink again.

You close the door and reopen it.

The clothes are still there.

You close it and open it again.

Everything is still there.

“Is this magic?” you murmur, hesitantly tugging on one of the shirts. To your surprise, it feels solid beneath your fingers, and you pull it out.

Dark blue, with intricate white designs bordering the collar and sleeves. You look between it and the rest of the fabric in the wardrobe.

“Why not?” you finally say, switching your rumpled, scratchy shirt for the new one. The cloth is comfortable and warm against your skin, and you pluck at it in curiosity as your stomach rumbles in hunger.

Food. Right.

You exit the room nervously, peeking around for any signs of the cold man from yesterday. There are none, so you venture out, stepping quietly on the stone floors. After wandering around for a long time, you finally locate what seems to be the dining room. There on a table lies a small assortment of fruits, breads, and other foods.

“Where does this all come from?” you ask yourself, eyeing the food uncertainly. You cautiously pick up an apple and examine it before biting into it.

Well, it tastes fine. You shrug before devouring the rest of the fruit.

“Magic, perhaps,” you murmur. You can’t think of any answer.

Once you finish, you take to wandering again, as there’s nothing better to do. You walk through the halls, taking random turns and opening random doors. You find a lounge, what seems to be a study, a lot of bedrooms, and then you find a library.

The room is large, filled with shelves that are in turn filled top to bottom with books. Mesmerized, you step inside, gazing in wonder at the book-laden shelves.

“Am I in heaven?” you squeak, breathing in the welcoming scent of old books. You pull one book off a shelf, scanning the title eagerly before sitting down to read.

The day passes in this manner, devouring one book and then pulling down another. It’s only when the clock strikes seven that you finally pull yourself from the fictional world to come back to reality.

You carefully mark your place with a scrap of paper, taking the book with you as you attempt to find the dining room again. It takes a good fifteen minutes, but that’s better than the thirty it took you this morning.

Still locked in a slightly dreamy haze, you step inside the room, ready to eat. However, you snap out of it quickly when you see the man from yesterday standing by the table.

Cold.

You shudder.

“You’re late,” he says simply.

You don’t sit down. “I wasn’t aware that there was a set time for dinner,” you reply, eyes flitting back and forth between the table and the door, wondering if you could just skip dinner like you skipped lunch.

“Well, now you are,” he replies indifferently. “Sit.”

You don’t particularly want to, but something tells you that you can’t disobey. So you sit down gingerly, placing the book down next to you. You notice the man’s gaze travel to it, but you ignore it, instead filling your plate.

The meal is uncomfortably silent. You want to talk, but at the same time, you don’t. There is no noise at all save for the sound of chewing and silverware clanking on plates.

“Where does the food come from?” you ask impulsively.

Then you want to throw yourself out the window because Xinyi, what the hell kind of conversation starter is that?

“Magic,” the man replies without even looking up.

You blink slowly.

Okay… so I was actually right.

“You don’t believe me?” he says, raising an eyebrow. You nod vehemently. “I believe you,” you say with conviction.

Well, how else could you explain the clothing and the food? You’re pretty sure he didn’t cook it all himself, at least.

He just raises one eyebrow. You kind of feel like he doesn’t believe you, but what does it matter? So you busy yourself with your food again.

You finish your food in silence, standing up awkwardly. “Uh, where should I put my plate?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“Just leave it,” he replies, standing up as well.

“Magic, huh,” you mumble to yourself, placing the plate down. You pick up your book, ready to leave.

“Xinyi.”

You freeze.

How does he know my name?

“The magic only keeps you from leaving the grounds,” the man continues, looking at you boredly. “You can still go outside.” He begins to walk away.

“How do you know my name?” you demand.

He turns back, a ghost of a smirk tilting his pale lips. “Magic.”

What an annoying jerk-

“And if you must know…” He pushes a lock of hair back, the simple motion rendering you speechless.

“My name is Zhu Xingjie.”

He walks away, leaving you to wonder just how he knew your unspoken question.

. . . . .

“Zhu Xingjie,” you mumble to yourself, wandering through the library. It’s a name that fits him, for some weird reason. You shrug, plucking a few books off the shelves. You’ll read those today.

A peek outside the heavy curtains tells you it’s sunny outside. You remember what Xingjie told you, that you could leave the castle, just not the grounds. You haven’t gone out in some time, so you think why not? and head out.

It’s cold, as expected, and you shiver even with the warm coat wrapped around you. You walk around for a bit, exploring the massive grounds, poking at a few strange statues here and there. They’re creepy, almost gargoyle-like, but interesting.

You find a large tree, and after climbing up the branches, you settle yourself in and continue reading.

Evening comes and you start to get hungry again, even after snacking the whole afternoon, so you reluctantly climb down the tree, shuffling inside the castle with rosy cheeks. You’re not sure if you’ll see Xingjie again, and you don’t really want to, but hunger wins over and you enter the dining room.

Xingjie is there. You don’t particularly care to sit with him for another meal, after they’ve been so awkward this whole week, so when you’re done filling up your plate, you start to walk away.

“You went outside?” he suddenly asks, a strange wistfulness in his tone.

Startled, you nod slightly. “Yes.”

He nods silently, turning back to his own food. You notice his expression turn from a blank face to a frown, but you stay no longer.

That strange display of emotion stays with you. You can’t help wondering why he seemed to have felt the way he did.

Still, what is there you can do about it? It’s hard enough to be in the same room as him- how can you get him to open up to you?

It’s a difficult question, one that you don’t have the answer to.

. . . . .

You decide to start by initiating conversation at meals. But wow, it’s hard.

First of all, you have no idea what to ask.

Second of all, it’s really hard to talk in Xingjie’s chilly presence.

Third of all, he doesn’t want to talk.

A few months drag on this cold manner.

“So what do you do during the day?” you ask one day, forcing yourself to keep the words flowing. It’s hard, and you’re running out of ideas, but you forge on anyway.

If you’re going to spend the rest of your life in this godforsaken place, you might as well get along with the only other person being held captive.

Xingjie looks up uninterestedly. You fight to keep your eyes steady, staring at him, though you want nothing more than to back away into the wall.

It’s not just that he looks scary. He certainly does, in a stupidly handsome way. However, it’s that unreadable expression in his eyes that makes you want to flee.

“Why do you want to know?” he responds, raising a single eyebrow.

Oh my god.

He’s been like this the whole past few months, and you now want to punch the stone wall, despite the fact that you’d probably break your hand.

Scratch that. You want to punch him.

He’s not making this easy at all.

“No particular reason,” you say evenly. “I’m trying to maintain a conversation, and I’m curious.”

He looks at you impassively. “Why do you want to maintain a conversation?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your anger to go away before you throw food in his face. If you threw food, he could probably freeze you right then and there with that apathetic gaze of his.

“Because if I’m supposed to stay here for eternity, I might as well attempt to get along with the only other person being held captive in this godforsaken place,” you snap.

A cold expression passes over his face, and you involuntarily shiver, chills running down your spine.

“You will never know what it feels like to stay here for an eternity,” he says lowly, standing up.

You stare, shrinking slightly under his cold eyes. He walks over slowly, and you scramble to stand. You want to get away, because he’s seriously scaring you, but it’s as though his cold gaze has you frozen in place, unable to move.

He stops in front of you, his face only a foot from yours. You shiver, his cold aura hitting your skin.

Perhaps he really is the embodiment of winter.

“You will never know,” he whispers, his eyes angry and… is that helplessness you see?

His hand comes up, almost as though to grasp your chin, but just as he’s about to touch your skin, he drops it to his side quickly as though he’s just remembered something. Without another word, he stalks out the room.

Your hand comes up, touching the skin where he almost touched you. You shiver when you feel just how cold it is.

. . . . .

The events of last night come back with full force when you wake up the next morning. You groan, shoving your face back into the pillow.

You really don’t want to face Xingjie today.

It’s strange. In that moment where he nearly touched you, you saw so much emotion in his eyes, so much emotion that you’d never seen before.

Perhaps you’re so shocked because you couldn’t even think of him as a human with feelings.

The thought makes you feel really guilty.

Your thoughts turn back to that moment, your hand coming up to touch your chin as you gaze into the mirror. It’s bright red and prickles, though it doesn’t seem to be any worse than that.

“Oh god,” you whisper.

He nearly gave you frostbite from touching you.

Actually, he didn’t even touch you, which makes things even worse.

Is he even human? You feel guilty for thinking that, but it isn’t natural, his ice cold touch. His wintry aura isn’t normal either, as is the pallor of his skin.

You swallow, swinging your legs out of bed to get a closer look in the mirror. The frostbite is mild, alright, but you can already see the blister that’s supposed to form afterwards. You prod at it, wincing in pain.

“He may as well be the embodiment of winter,” you mutter.

You stay in your room the whole day, save for sneaking a couple plates of food out of the kitchen. But by late afternoon, you’re getting antsy, so you set off to the library to find a new book.

You push the door open, only to see him browsing the shelves. He looks over and you stop short, nervous and a little scared.

Xingjie’s eyes narrow, and he walks over, staring at your chin. His hand comes up and you jerk away reflexively before realizing he has gloves on.

“Relax,” he says quietly, though a bit haltingly, as though he isn’t used to speaking with such gentleness. “The gloves will prevent what happened yesterday.”

You relax slightly, allowing him to touch your chin gently. You look anywhere but at him, unsettled yet transfixed by his sudden kindness.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice serious. “I lost control of myself. I shouldn’t have done so.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to untense despite your proximity to him. “I have to apologize as well,” you say. “I didn’t know that what I said would affect you so much. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… not your fault,” he says, taking a slight step back. “You didn’t know.”

You want to ask why what you said hurt him so much, why it made him so angry, but the look in his eyes tells you that that is a question for another time. So you swallow your curiosities in favor of nodding.

“It’s not your fault either,” you say. “If someone had said something to anger me, I can assure you that my reaction would have been much more than touching their chin.”

It’s unexpected, what happens next, but Xingjie smiles slightly. Not a smirk. A real smile.

You gape.

“Perhaps,” he replies, “but I also must apologize for being so rude to you over the past few months.”

You make a face. “Let’s put that behind us. It’s fine.”

Xingjie raises an eyebrow, moving over to let you inside. “You certainly let go of things quickly.”

You shrug a little. “I don’t like holding grudges. I forgive, but don’t forget.”

Xingjie nods, looking thoughtful. “Well, I’ll leave you now,” he says. The look in his eyes softens the smallest bit as he bows slightly, about to walk away.

“Wait,” you say, before you even realize you’re speaking. He looks at you, surprised, but you swallow and forge on.

“Please don’t leave on my account,” you say softly. “You don’t need to go.”

Xingjie opens his mouth, staring at you in mild shock. You don’t hear the thoughts echoing through his head, but if you could, you would have heard Why would she want to be in the same room as a monster?

And yet something possesses him to stay.

You smile as he nods slightly and a little awkwardly, then steps back into the room.

. . . . .

Your friendship with Xingjie is tentative at first. The blister on your chin stays for a while, reminding you of just what he can do. It’s hard to relax yourself around him, though you make an effort to do so.

It’s also a little difficult to maintain a friendly relationship with someone whose beauty is so utterly cold and ethereal.

But it happens, bit by bit. Though you don’t see him around much, the castle doesn’t feel so uninviting anymore, and when you do see him, conversation flows. Not very smoothly, but it’s a start, and you find yourself more comfortable around him.

You still have a couple of questions, though. For one thing, besides when he apologized, you’ve never seen Xingjie outside of dinner.

What does he do during the day?

It’s a simple question, one that you should have no problem asking. However, something stops you. It feels like you’re invading his privacy, somehow, like it’s something private for Xingjie and Xingjie only.

And yet you ask anyway, because the scholar within you won’t rest until she gets her answers.

To your surprise, when you ask, Xingjie just kind of looks down. He looks… almost embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

Who knew the almighty ice prince Zhu Xingjie could look embarrassed?

You look at his expression. It’s… cute. You almost coo in amusement.

“I… make music,” he says quietly, barely able to look at you.

You tilt your head, unable to see the reason behind his reaction to his statement. “Music?” you echo.

He nods.

“So you play an instrument?” you ask, leaning forward.

Xingjie hesitates, then nods. “Piano, guitar… basically all of the instruments in the music room.”

You’re too excited to notice his slightly confused expression. “Can I hear you play?” you ask, gazing at him eagerly.

It seems to take a moment before your question registers in his mind, and even then, Xingjie is still a little out of it when he answers. “After dinner,” he promises, and you have to fight to keep the wild grin off of your face.

. . . . .

Xingjie is confused.

Very, very confused.

First of all, why weren’t you… fazed… at all… by the fact that he liked to make music in his free time?

His parents had devoted their entire lives to telling him that his passion for music would take him nowhere, that it was useless, that he had to devote his life to running the kingdom and not to such stupid trivial pursuits. As such, the nobles of the court devoted their lives to telling him the same thing.

Even after his parents died and he became the cold shell he is today, he hesitated to go to music even though nobody could stop him.

All because of that stupid stigma against the arts that he was brought up to believe in.

So when you expressed enthusiasm in his interest, in his music-making, he was shocked. And what shocked him even more so was the genuine delight in your eyes.

In all his years in the court, he’d never seen anyone look at him as genuinely as you did.

When you continued to ask him about playing instruments, he was so lost. He couldn’t believe that anyone was speaking to him like this. Especially a monster like him.

Really, did you just not realize the pure coldness that he emanated? The fact that he was literally a frozen, animated… semi-human?

And then when you asked him if he could play for you… well, Xingjie really can’t explain the slight feeling bumping around his chest. It’s been so long since he really felt something for anything other than his music that he really just doesn’t know how to explain it.

Whatever the feeling is, it isn’t unpleasant.

It’s then that he learns you can play the instrument too, not as well as he but granted, he’s had decades of practice compared to your mere eighteen. It’s then that the feeling grows, filling his chest as he watches you play with your simple grace and charm.

You confuse him so, so much.

And yet… this confusion… it isn’t unwelcome.

Xingjie sighs, getting up abruptly.

He’s never felt like this before, and he’s not sure what to make of it at all.

. . . . .

You lie in bed, still on cloud nine because of the beautiful music this night had given you. Or, more accurately, that Xingjie had given you.

His fingers danced on the instruments, making sounds that were almost too beautiful for your ears. He was talented, sure, but you could see just how much dedication he had to music and how hardworking he had to have been to reach that level.

You turn over, humming one of his melodies quietly. It had been a wonder to watch him play, to watch how he transformed from a cold, awkward being to someone with so much passion.

A smile crosses your lips involuntarily.

It’s like you’re seeing Xingjie in a whole new light now. First he was the cold, unwelcoming prince of the castle. Then he became more like an awkward, shy transfer student from another school.

And now he’s more like the dreamy musician with a passion that’s infectious, that inspires you to do better, to do more.

Your heart thumps, thinking of his bashful smile when you complimented his playing, and you feel yourself reddening slightly.

Who knew such a cold person could make you blush like this?

Really, if there wasn’t so much… mystery… behind Xingjie, and if you knew more about him, you wouldn’t hesitate to say that you could definitely fall in love with him.

But there’s those other questions that continue to prod the back of your brain and force you to stay vigilant and guarded against these feelings in your heart.

Just why is Xingjie here? Why is the castle always so dark, and why are the windows never open? And why is Xingjie so… cold?

. . . . .

Now that you know where Xingjie is during the day, you don’t hesitate to enter the music room quietly, sit in a corner with a book, and read as he fashions new melodies and harmonies that bless your ears with their beauty.

Xingjie doesn’t hesitate to join you in the library either, with him giving you recommendations every now and then. He doesn’t say it, but you have a suspicion that he’s read everything in the library.

Which brings another question to your mind: how long has he been here?

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something.” You start a little, not having noticed that Xingjie’s stopped playing and is now looking at you with slight concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You really want to ask the questions you have in mind. But for some reason, you also don’t. It feels like… taboo. You don’t know why, but it’s like you just can’t ask.

So you opt for something else. “What’s the extent of the magic of this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” you trail off, trying to put your question into words. “Does everything necessary just… appear? Or is it like if you wish for something, it appears? Or what?”

“If you wish for something within reason, it will appear, I think,” Xingjie confirms. “I haven’t fully tested this magic either, despite-” He stops suddenly, then shakes his head. “Never mind. I just know that after I learned the guitar, I wished for more instruments, and the next day they were here.”

You notice his sudden hesitation and you want to pry further, but you don’t. Silence falls, and unlike other silences you’ve had before, this one is awkward.

Xingjie seems to know that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask.

“So what did you really want to ask?” he says quietly.

Damn, you were right.

You swallow. The air suddenly seems colder, and you shiver involuntarily, scared to verbalize your thoughts.

Fuck it, you think. And you open your mouth to talk.

“What is your connection to this place?”

Xingjie immediately clams up. You can see it. And you feel really bad for making him so uncomfortable, but you also really want answers.

“I…” He starts, then stops.

You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. To you, Xingjie has always been confident, cold, shy, embarrassed, sweet, and so many other things, but never… nervous.

And this expression makes you scared. What could be so bad about your question that the ice prince is now nervous?

“I can’t tell you that,” Xingjie finally says. “I’m bound by the magic of this place. I can’t tell you. At least… not yet.”

You nod slowly, putting down your book. “Then can you tell me why it’s always so dark?” You think for a moment, coming to a sudden realization. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you go outside either.”

Xingjie looks even more helpless. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“Okay.” You nod again, feeling awkward. The atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable, and you quickly stand up to leave. “See you, Xingjie.”

“Alright, Xinyi.”

You leave the room hurriedly, eager to escape the tense silence.

. . . . .

A week passes. Then another. And another. And another.

And, slowly but surely, the friendship you’ve built with Xingjie begins to crumble.

It’s your fault, you suppose. If you hadn’t asked those stupid questions, things wouldn’t be this way.

You’re miserable. You never realized just how much you enjoyed your time with Xingjie, how much you enjoyed talking to him.

You never thought you’d feel this empty without him.

It was your decision to stop going to the music room after that tense conversation. You stay in your room or outside for the most part, knowing that you won’t see Xingjie there. Dinner is awful - you’d forgotten how bad the silences used to be.

Without Xingjie, you feel empty and desolate. It’s like he’s become an essential part of your being over the past months, and you’re incomplete without him.

But if you’re miserable, Xingjie feels worse. He doesn’t blame your curiosity - he mostly blames himself for not being able to tell you what you want to know.

If only he could explain why he was so cold, why he couldn’t go outside, why the castle was always dark and how he was bound to this castle.

He sighs, his head in his hands. He’s sitting at the piano, but today, inspiration won’t come to him.

It’s strange. Whenever you were with him, lying quietly in the corner with your book, ideas came naturally to him. Seeing your smile inspired him. You made him feel that strange feeling in his heart, that strange feeling that he couldn’t figure out before… but now he’s pretty sure he knows that it is.

Love. That’s what it is.

Love.

But Xingjie’s afraid. He’s never loved before, for one thing. The only people he’d ever cared about were his three friends, all of whom disappeared when he was eternally bound to suffer here. He’s never felt this raw emotion for another human, this longing for someone that makes him almost physically ache for want of you to be near him.

For another thing, Xingjie has only one shot at getting this right. If you aren’t the one, and Xingjie only mistakenly thinks he’s in love, then things could go very, very wrong. For you and for him.

And the last thing, the scariest thought of all.

What if you don’t love him back?

Xingjie finds it difficult to believe that you could ever care for him in the same way he cares for you. He’s literally subhuman - his heart of ice confirms that.

How could you ever love someone who’s barely human?

The days drag on, with you slipping through his fingers with each passing moment. Xingjie becomes desperate to see you, but even when he does, it’s like there’s a wall between you two. An invisible wall that makes communication more difficult than ever.

It’s killing him. Well, probably not really, since he’s literally immortal and bound to this fucking place until he learns to love. But it really feels like it’s killing him.

And so he makes a decision.

. . . . .

You’re standing, ready to leave the dining room. You cast a glance at Xingjie, who looks conflicted about something.

You turn, but Xingjie’s voice calling your name has you stopping in your tracks. “Xinyi.”

“Yes?” You look back to see Xingjie walking up to you.

“I… um…” Xingjie looks down, then back at you, a slight blush on his face. “Would you dance with me?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register in your mind.

Dance?

“Here?” you ask, perplexed.

Xingjie quickly shakes his head. “No. In the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to tell you something, but in a livelier situation.” Xingjie smiles slightly. “And from my past experience, dancing is livelier than me sitting you down at a table to tell you.”

“But I have nothing to wear,” you say, looking down at your trousers and shirt. They’re undoubtedly nice clothes, but for a dance, you need a dress. Unless Xingjie plans on being unorthodox.

Xingjie laughs a little, a sound you’re glad to hear after so many weeks of silence. “Xinyi, remember that this place is magic?”

You blush. “Right.”

“Go check your closet,” Xingjie says helpfully. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he walks around you out the door.

. . . . .

Icy blue silk, white satin gloves, a rose pin in your hair, light blue shoes. You watch your step, doing your best not to trip on the stairs.

It’s with nervousness and anticipation that you walk to the ballroom, hoping that you don’t look a total mess, but all those thoughts fly out of your mind when you see Xingjie.

He looks so, so handsome.

His blue silk shirt matches your dress, as do his white gloves, contrasting with his black pants. His eyes are still as dark and deep as you remembered, but it seems that they’re… twinkling. An expression you’ve never seen before.

“You look very handsome,” you say shyly, taking his outstretched hand.

“And you look very beautiful,” he says back, unable to take his eyes off of your face.

You blush under his gaze, allowing him to lead you inside. “Are we dancing without music?” you ask, looking around at the various instruments leaning against the wall.

“Magic, Xinyi,” Xingjie says, whirling you into position. You attempt to recall the dances you were taught back home, hoping that this won’t be too different.

You look around, startled, as music begins to play. You catch a glimpse of a violin floating in the air before Xingjie is moving, placing his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder, and clasping the other in his.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers, his cold breath hitting your face. You shiver slightly, but in delight, before following his lead.

It’s strange, awkward almost, to be the only two dancing in this enormous ballroom. But after the first dance, your surroundings melt away, your attention focused only on the man in front of you. And you become comfortable enough to ask the first question.

“So,” you say, “what did you want to tell me?”

Xingjie twirls you under his arm slowly, looking suddenly serious. “You had questions before that I could not answer.”

You nod.

“I’ll answer them now,” he promises, “but don’t interrupt me until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply.

There’s a short silence as the music dies, signaling a new song. The opening bars are soft, eerie, and haunting, and you shiver in Xingjie’s grasp.

“I was once a king,” he says, looking into your eyes. “I was vain, selfish, and horrible. I had everything. I wanted for nothing. And if I wanted for something, I would get it. No matter what. In short, I did not love.”

You remain silent, unable to look away.

“One day a fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter. I refused her.” Horrible pain twists Xingjie’s face and he looks away for a moment to compose himself. “It sounds terrible, but that was the person I was back then.”

You find it a little hard to believe, but seeing the pain in his eyes, you know that he’s telling the truth.

“In return, she cursed me.” Xingjie swallows. “Everyone around me vanished. The lights flickered out. And when I tried to open the drapes… Well, in short, the fairy had cursed my heart. I did not know how to love - my heart was proof of that. So it literally became a heart of ice.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “So I’m not even human. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” you say staunchly. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Xingjie laughs a little sadly, adjusting his grip. “Alright, if you say so.

“Anyway, if I went outside,” he continues, “if I saw the sunlight, that ice would melt, and I would live no longer. As long as I remained in the dark, I would live, eternally bound to this castle until I learned to love.”

You nod slowly. Then, unable to restrain yourself, you ask, “But why couldn’t you tell me earlier? Why tell me now?”

A slight smile twists his pale lips. “If I told my story to anyone I did not love, I would die. Immediately, painfully, I don’t know.”

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest as Xingjie stops dancing, the music coming to a rest. It’s so silent in the huge room that you can hear your breathing, shallow and quick.

“You love me?” you finally ask, voice barely a whisper.

“I think I do,” Xingjie replies, his voice equally soft. “Do you love me as well?”

You nod once, twice, three times. “I think I do,” you whisper.

Xingjie’s gloved hand finds its way to your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. His touch is cold but dulled by the cloth of his glove, and you revel in the way his hand brushes against your skin, gently pushing away a fallen strand of hair.

You lean closer, cupping his face in your hands. You stare into his eyes, those dark eyes you fell in love with, those dark eyes that hold you captive in place. You are spellbound, feeling his breath ghost across your lips.

“Are you sure you love me? A monster?” he whispers.

“I said, get that idea out of your head.” You glare at him teasingly. “And yes. I am sure.”

And you press your lips to his in a gentle, sweet kiss.

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Xingjie’s lips are so cold.

It repels you and you almost pull away, but you force yourself to come closer, allowing Xingjie’s hands to rest around your waist as you cup his face in your hands. You force yourself to stay pressed against him, against the man you are sure you love.

And then, gradually, his lips become warmer. And warmer. And warmer.

You open your eyes, staring into his, before breaking away.

Where pale, white skin used to be, there is now a hint of pink and color in his cheeks. Your eyes roam his face, seeing pink lips and twinkling eyes.

Is that a tear you see? You reach up, brushing it away with your thumb.

“Xingjie,” you breathe. A tear wells in your eye, threatening to spill down your cheek. “Xingjie.”

“Xinyi,” he whispers, brushing it away.

And then he kisses you again.

Around you, the drapes blow open, the music begins to play again, and chattering begins to fill the room. But you don’t notice, focused only on the man whose heart you have melted.

“I love you,” you sigh against his lips.

He breaks away for just a second, just enough to say, “I love you too.”

#idolproducernet #idol producer #idol producer zhu xingjie #zhu xingjie #fluff #angst #royalty!au #idol producer scenarios #zhu xingjie scenarios #gramarie entertainment #a heart of ice #scriptura-adrepticius

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shadowknux372 · 6 years ago

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Ludvina Von Koopa, The Isolated Maestro

"Of all the melodies in the world...power is the sweetest song of all. Shall we dance? ♥"

The oldest of the Koopa children in the royal family, and the one spoken of with the most reverence aside from the Queen herself. Standing only slightly shorter than her younger bruiser of a sister Rory, Ludvina seems to have a theme of blue coloring; her shell and eyes are a dark blue, and her hair even darker so, smooth and kept well-groomed atop her face, full of smooth features, if one can keep their eyes away from her piercing, cold stare. Her body frame is tall and elegant, and she exudes an aura of power and nobility that one actually would associate with a person of her lineage. Very few times will Ludvina be seen without a conductor's baton she keeps on her person, something that is the first clue to Ludvina's interests.

Ludvina is very musically inclined, and devotes herself entirely to music and its compositions, particularly in classical style. To the world, she is a cold, analytical composer of melodies that haunt the hearts of those that serve in her territories, though none of those who find themselves haunted can say whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. For hours at a time, Ludvina will be alone in her studies, the only sign of life within her home the echoes of instruments as she dedicates herself to the greatest melodies to be created in the world. When seen outside her studies, she socializes little, saying little more than what is necessary, be it requests, or commands, or anything else besides. Often times, besides the biological necessities, Ludvina will only leave her home to travel, to hear the ambient sounds of nature, assumed to be further inspiration for her music.

Despite this predilection towards a non-violent hobby, Ludvina is said to be the strongest of the Koopalings in all regards, second only to her mother at this point. The charred remains of failed compositions is a clue to this, as before the birth of Bowsa Jr., no other Koopaling had inherited their mother's ability to breathe fire, except for Ludvina. It seems the only thing that keeps Ludvina from being a terror capable of taking over alongside her mother is her inclination towards isolation. Ludvina's home territories are quite out of the way and hard to find, and as such, little is seen or heard of her compared to the more publicly exposed and more maligned of Bowsa's daughters.

Even when taking part in familial bids for power, Ludvina tended towards isolation, finding ways to defend her areas and remain away from battles to focus on her studies. During The Great Airship Offensive, the distant island Pipe Land was retrofitted by Ludvina and her followers to turn all useless Warp Pipes into massive instruments, turning the entire island into something akin to a pipe organ. With which, Ludvina would fire at intruders (and occasionally fire out intruders to exile them) through cannons, all in tune to the beat of a gigantic orchestra. During The Bid To Take Over Dinosaur Island, she retired herself to a distant mountain area, rigging a bridge that led there to sound off musical tones when pressure was felt, different tones for different pressures, letting her know exactly what sort of threat was imposing itself upon her. And in the most recent group attempt at kidnapping the Princess Peach, Ludvina demonstrated handily that her magical strength was as strong as the rumors implied it was.

Although rarely reported to directly participated in physical confrontation, few assume that Ludvina can't hold herself in a fight. Many owe this to the remarks of a single Toad, said to be the only one who hasn't blocked out the memory, who describes Ludvina in battle as "the most deadly dance you'll ever see." Even with her power, like her siblings, Ludvina's efforts in the familial efforts failed due to the efforts of the hero Mario. Since then, Ludvina has retired to her home territories once again, and none know whether she cares not for her losses, or is even now preparing the hero's swan song...

#mario #super mario #mario bros #super mario bros #mario bros 3 #super mario bros 3 #monster girl #monster girl encyclopedia #mge #profile #koopa #ludwig von koopa #ludwig koopa #ludvina koopa #ludvina von koopa

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shannaraisles · 7 years ago

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Set In Darkness

Chapter: 28 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Expectations

"Are you busy, my dear?"

Rory looked up at the beautifully modulated tone. Vivienne De Fer, her least favorite character from the game, stood in the doorway of her clinic, tall and imposing, and exquisitely polite. Face to face, the First Enchanter of Montsimmard was intimidating, but not in the way she had expected. Instead of the coldness she had always assigned to her, Vivienne's eyes were warm and inviting, disguising her political ambitions and impressive magical power behind a manner that sought to put everyone at their ease. It was actually more worrying to think she might be taken in by it. But, as she'd told Evy on numerous occasions, merely disliking a person was not a good enough reason to deny them her time.

Tucking her notes back into the chest and locking it, she offered the striking woman a smile. "Nothing that can't wait, Madame," she assured the mage, gesturing for her to take a seat. "How may I help you?"

"I should like to consult you on a personal matter," Vivienne said, stepping inside but only far enough to be heard without projecting her voice to the village at large. There was a certain amount of distaste as the woman noted the sound of vomiting from the partitioned off ward. "Would it be possible to find time in your hectic schedule to visit with me in the Chantry? The matter is ... somewhat sensitive."

Rory raised her brows. "I can assure you, Madame, no one here would share anything you choose to speak of," she said, not prepared to give anyone preferential treatment. Even Kaaras had to come to the clinic for his daily dose of massage therapy on the marked hand when he was in Haven. "As you can hear, we have patients, and I cannot in good conscience leave the clinic when I may be needed at any moment."

"Your dedication does you credit, my dear," Vivienne responded, seemingly honest in her praise. She reviewed the situation for a moment. "Would you object to a small spell? Just to be certain that no one hears what is said between us."

Magic. She'd managed to avoid direct contact with magic thus far, but Rory knew that couldn't last. For all her faults, Vivienne was more than competent, and permanently disabling a trusted healer would not be a shrewd political move. Still, best to be sure ...

"May I ask the nature of the spell?" she queried, wondering why her syntax had raised itself several social levels to match that of the mage.

Vivienne smiled, apparently pleased with the question. "It is what is commonly known as a muffle, my dear, though it is more accurate to call it a block," she explained in a calm tone. "Once set, anything we two say within this small space will remain ours alone. You will still hear the comings and goings outside, I assure you."

"And is the spell cast on us, or on the room?" Rory asked searchingly. She might be sympathetic to the mages, but that didn't mean she wasn't rightly wary of magic itself.

"What an inquiring mind you have," the mage commented, but again, she seemed pleased to be asked. "A healthy respect for magic is rare in these times, even among mages. The spell is cast upon the room, not the inhabitants, and I shall naturally remove it when we are done."

"Thank you, Madame." Rory hoped she didn't look too relieved by that answer; offending Vivienne was an easy way to make a powerful enemy. "I have no objection."

Vivienne inclined her head in acceptance of that permission, her eyes going distant as she gathered her energies to cast. A strangely greasy quality settled over the room, muffling every sound that reached Rory's perception, even the sound of her own heartbeat. Yet, as thickly as the sensation settled, it seemed to thin, flowing outward to envelop the room itself. The sounds of the ward and the village outside this little space normalized into their usual faint intrusion as Vivienne's expression clear.

"It is done," she declared, her voice sounding just faintly distorted, like a radio that wasn't quite tuned correctly. "Now then, my dear, to work." She moved gracefully to take a seat with Rory at the desk. "I have need of your healing knowledge to help me end a miserable life."

To say Rory was shocked was an understatement. Evening knowing what she did of Vivienne's personal quest, it was disquieting to note how very matter-of-fact the woman was about it. "Madame, I am a healer," she felt the need to point out. "Death is not my first port of call."

"Yet when nothing else can be done and the life that remains will be agony, death is your gift to give," Vivienne countered smoothly.

"Are you certain you have reached that point?" Rory asked with an inquisitive frown. "Could you give me the details before asking me to help you kill someone, at least?"

To her everlasting surprise, the First Enchanter's eyes filled with tears. "Everything has been attempted," she confessed in a bleak tone of despair. "Exquisite magics now only cause pain; those herbs and potions known for their efficacy have no effect. I fear my own efforts have done nothing but lengthen his suffering. Oh, my dear, I cannot bear to see him brought so low!"

Bloody hell, she really does love him. What did she do to make his death linger for so long? But Rory didn't ask. Instead, she drew her chair closer to Vivienne's, laying her hand over the woman's trembling fingers. "Madame ... try to be calm," she urged gently. "I know it is difficult, but I need to know. There might be something we could try yet."

Vivienne had never struck her as the sort to accept comfort offered, but the mage clung to her hand, gripping tightly as she drew in slow breaths to calm herself. Not one tear fell, but they remained there, behind her eyes. This was a raw, vulnerable side to the woman Rory could not have predicted. In the game, it had always seemed as though Vivienne was only really interested in the power and influence her liaison with Duke Bastien offered her, yet here and now there was no denying the very real grief she felt at the loss of the man himself.

"It began several years ago," Vivienne told her, almost hesitantly. "He was taken unexpectedly with the falling sickness. He seemed to recover, though it left him with a weakness in his right side. That might have been simple to overcome, but a few months later, he suffered a fit of apoplexy. His speech became slurred, and for several days, he was unable to rise from his bed.The apoplexy had never left him - since then, he has suffered many such fits, and each time his recovery is slower than the last. We have consulted mages, healers, even heathens, yet nothing has worked to reverse the damage done. Then, last month, he was struck down by a fit that has left prostrate, barely able to move. I am at my wit's end, Healer. All there is left is to give him an end with some dignity."

As she spoke, Rory struggled to properly understand the true diagnosis. Apoplexy is what I think they used to call epilepsy, so he has uncontrolled epilepsy, brought on by ... What the hell is falling sickness? She said something about it leaving him weak on his right side, so ... that's a stroke. Fuck it, I don't know anything about neurological ailments long-term. But she did remember some small details from the game that might help.

"There is a potion that might save him," she said carefully. "But, equally, it might kill him. I've never seen the recipe myself, but I do know it requires heating by a magical flame and the addition of a snowy wyvern's heart at the last stage of preparation. I'm afraid that's all I know, but I've heard from healers I trust that it's one of the most powerful rejuvenation potions ever to be devised."

"That ... does sound familiar," Vivienne mused in a thoughtful tone. "A kill or cure, certainly. I do believe I may have seen this recipe of yours, in an old Tevinter medical text in the Montsimmard library. If I could find it, would you be willing to assist me in creating this potion?"

Rory drew in a slow breath as she considered this, but honestly, she already knew her answer. "Madame, if there is even a chance of saving your friend, then I will do whatever I can to help," she promised softly. "But please ... don't let your hope rise too high. He may be too weak for the potion to do anything more than stop his heart."

"Yet even that would be a release from the prison his body has made for him," Vivienne answered unhappily. "Thank you, my dear. Health or death is a far better choice than a full guarantee of death."

"I'm sorry I can't do more," Rory murmured regretfully.

"Nonsense, my dear," the First Enchanter said in a brisk tone. "You did not waste my time as others have done, suggesting everything that has already been tried, nor did you insist upon knowing exactly who I speak of. Such confidence in myself and knowledge of your own art is very much appreciated." She glanced up, straightening her back. "But I have kept you too long from your duties. Forgive me, darling. I shall not trespass further upon your precious time."

With a snap of the mage's fingers, Rory felt the odd distortion in the air around them cease, recognizing the release of the spell that had guaranteed Vivienne's privacy. She rose with the elegant mage, wiping her hand over her own hip.

"I hope I've been of some help, at least," she offered, walking the woman to the door.

"On the contrary, my dear, you have given me new purpose," Vivienne assured her, stepping out into the wintry village. "This young Inquisition is lucky to have a healer who cares more for the well-being of her people than protecting trade secrets."

"I can think of at least one healer who would call me an idiot for it," Rory replied in amusement, the ugly specter of Granthis rising in her mind. He would be horrified at her giving up even vague knowledge of an extremely rare potion to a non-healer, she was sure.

"Better an effective idiot than a foolish hoarder," was Vivienne's comment on that. "Do try not to work too hard, my dear. The commander will not like it."

That's the Vivienne I was expecting - smug and condescending, and suggesting she knows more about Cullen than I do. But after that strangely privileged glimpse of the woman behind the imposing mask, Rory found the persona made her smile rather than frown. She watched the First Enchanter walk away, turning back to the clinic herself. It was about time Evy got a break from ward duties, anyway.

A few hours later, Rory found herself giving very serious thought to her current need for at least one more pair of hands for this little ward of hers. A minor bout of something very like 'flu had hit Haven - all six of the beds were occupied by those hit hardest. Keeping on top of regular obs, cleaning the bedpans and sick bowls, changing the sheets, and making sure the fevers weren't running out of control twenty-four hours a day was really too much for just two people to handle; on top of that, they still had visitors to the clinic with minor injury and other complaints, not to mention the various dressing that had to be checked daily. Ideally, she needed a nursing staff specifically for the clinic ward ... and that probably meant lay sisters from the Chantry. As much as she disliked the idea of letting Mother Giselle's eyes and ears into her clinic, the health of her in-patients required her to swallow her pride and ask for help, preferably before Evy wilted away in front of her. No, there was nothing for it; she had to have help. Tomorrow, she'd have to approach Giselle and ask.

It was a shame she couldn't take Kaaras along with her, really. The Qunari clearly intimidated the woman, whether he meant to or not, but he was leaving for the Storm Coast at dawn, taking Sera, Solas, and Cassandra with him. No decision had yet been reached on whether to approach the mages or the templars for help with the Breach, but Rory had planted the idea of scouting Redcliffe village when he was looking for Blackwall. Someone else with secrets. She had faith that Kaaras would not simply stand back and give the mages up to Alexius once he knew what was going on. And, of course, that would bring Dorian to Haven. Of all the companions, he was the one she was most looking forward to meeting. Who knew if he'd even like her, but she hoped he would. She needed someone she could confide in, and Dorian, with his awareness of alternative magics, was the one least likely to instantly point the finger of blame if she let a little too much slip.

"You're looking a wee bit exhausted there, Ror," Rylen's voice broke into her thoughts. "Isn't even full night yet."

She looked up, smiling to see her friend walking into the clinic with a steaming bowl of stew in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. "Is that for me?"

"Aye, commander's orders," he told her. "You missed dinner again."

"Too much to do," was her only excuse, her stomach rumbling as she took the meal from his hands. She couldn't keep the smile on her face from softening at the knowledge that Cullen had found the time to order someone to make sure she ate. Soppy kitten that he is.

"You need more hands," Rylen pointed out, taking a seat beside her as she ate. "Evy's dead on her feet, and you're not much better."

"I'll ask tomorrow," she promised through a mouth of bread and meat. "Thank you for looking after her."

"She's my wee bonny," he said easily. The fondness in his voice spoke volumes of how he felt about Evelyn Trevelyan. "Never thought to have someone so sweet to call mine. Taking care of her's easy as breathing. You're the one we're worrying over."

"We?" Rory asked in a bemused tone.

"Aye, we," he agreed. "Not just the commander, either. You've many watching you spread yourself too thin, Ror. We don't like it."

"It won't last forever," she told him in a confident tone. "The ward will be empty again by the end of the week."

"And you'll do the same again next time there's sickness," her friend predicted sternly. "Don't give me that guff. You're terrible at looking to yourself, and it shows."

"I prefer to keep busy," she tried to argue, but he was right. She felt like Bilbo Baggins - like butter scraped over too much bread.

"Keeping busy'll kill you," Rylen informed her, pulling no punches. "And that'll kill Cullen. He needs you, Rory. And we need him."

She sighed softly, knowing he was right there, too. The Inquisition needed Cullen, and he did seem to need her. "Tomorrow," she promised once more. "I'll arrange for help tomorrow."

Rylen eyed her for a long moment. "Mind you do," he said at last, "or I'll do it for you. I'm not having my best girls run down by duty. I've seen that happen too many times."

His words stayed with her long after he left, haunting her mind as she settled her patients and curled up on her hard bedroll to snatch a little sleep before they needed her again. The implication almost frightened her. Somehow, she had become integral to the Inquisition. Just what was that going to do to the story? Only ... it wasn't a story, not any more. It was real. There was no checkpoint, no opportunity to reload and try again. She couldn't keep this pace of work up forever, and everyone knew it. It was time to truly accept her place here, and do what she needed to do to be the best she could possibly be. Preferably before someone else did it for her.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai fanfic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #rylen #vivienne de fer #healer doing healer things #a softer side to madame #rory's overwhelmed

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