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valhallanrose · 3 years ago

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The Moon Will Sing

When facing the reality of a bargain made, sixteen year old Catriona realizes that hard choices must be made before she loses herself completely.

Avery (they/them), Edrine (she/they/he), and Astoria (she/they) are all nonbinary. Bolded pronouns are the ones used in this fic for each of them.

This fic acts as the end of the first ‘act’ of Astoria’s pre-canon, and also ends the frequency of Senga appearances. Hell yeah. I also blame the length on this being pretty lore heavy, because this covers a lot of bases.

7.4k. No CWs apply.

Title: The Moon Will Sing, The Crane Wives

Noise was no strange occurrence in the halls of Castle Kintyre - between the three generations living within its walls full time, the youngest generation currently ranging in ages from sixteen to twelve, it was an inevitability. It was easy enough to ignore after a time, and most of the residents had become accustomed to adapting if they could not completely block it out.

The kind of noise that had come to Kintyre on this day, however, was the kind that made your ears ring and your head pound just trying to make sense of it all. There were so many more bodies slipping between the walls, across the grounds, too many unfamiliar faces for Catriona to feel particularly keen on leaving their bedroom until they absolutely had to.

Blessedly, September had brought the beginning of the storm season - the rain pounding against the glass drowning out the gathering crowds until it faded to a murmur they could stand. Though, her sanctuary would have to end. Soon enough, she’d have to face the crowd, and brace herself for the hundreds of pairs of eyes from all corners of Rosinmoor.

Thunder crackled in the distance as she stood before the mirror, idly tracing the gilded flowers and birds that framed the glass with their fingertips even as their mind wandered elsewhere.

Three years ago, Catriona had left with Myrna to visit Lulia, and though she had a wonderful time, the shadow of the promise made with her mother still hung heavy on her shoulders. And it would follow her to Vesuvia, to Firent, to Prakra, from the Sea of Persephia to the Bay of Jewels and everywhere in between.

The letter came in the summer before her sixteenth birthday, calling her home to prepare her for her coronation as Luxe of Kintyre.

True to her word, she’d returned home no matter how desperately she wanted to run, and threw herself into the lessons her mother packed her schedule with in hopes she might just feel nothing at all.

A tactic that had worked a little too well, perhaps, as she felt empty all the way down to her bones.

Her mother hadn’t seemed to care. She’d gotten her way. A fact she emphasized when the Baroness herself flounced into Catriona’s room moments after the sun broke over the horizon with the coronation gown and two handmaids in tow, chattering happily about getting her ready and how perfect she’d look before the morning began to blur into an odd tornado of hair curling and poking and prodding to make everything look just so.

The dress Senga had chosen was white, with a simple neckline and puffy sleeves. The silk base was laid over with delicate gossamer, and the whole thing was embroidered with metallic silver floral motifs as well as tiny vines. The whole thing was finished with a golden sash and a rather full petticoat that made Catriona feel like the porcelain doll that sat untouched on their dresser for most of their childhood.

Senga had kissed her on the brow once she was ready, fluffed the carefully styled curls that hung against her shoulders, and promised she’d be back shortly to come get her once it was time for the ceremony to begin.

Rosinmoor was a nation steeped in tradition as much as it was superstition. The first heir to be named after the establishment of the seven seats was Aoife, the sixteen year old daughter of Balmoral the Breaker and Muiri Leamhnach. As their only child, she stood to inherit Braemuir in its entirety, and Balmoral had thrown a celebration, inviting not only clan leaders but all those who chose to live in the nation once it had been established. Seven clan leaders had borne witness to a public proclamation, and since then, every heir had been acknowledged in the same exact way.

So now that her time had come, seven clan leaders had come to bear witness and acknowledge her as the next to hold the title of Luxe Kintyre, and eventually, Baronet.

A knock at the door drew her out of her reverie, and she quickly slipped her shoes on - flats, her mother had insisted, because it would be ‘disastrous’ if she fell on such an important day - before taking the few steps necessary to open the door and meet her mother’s inspection.

Catriona recognized the suit her mother wore. It was the same from her own coronation as Baroness, though it had been tailored once again, and golden embroidery added to the cuffs and lapels of the deep green fabric. Never did Senga fail to look polished, either, with her auburn hair perfectly straightened and smooth beneath the intricate crown that adorned her head.

The leaders of Rosinmoor did not wear their crowns outside of official ceremonies, for the sake of practicality, but the proclamation of heirs was an occasion that called for them. Senga was no exception, the gold and emerald glimmering even in the low light of the hall.

“There you are, dear.” Senga smiled, reaching forward and gently smoothing a few pieces of hair away from her face. “You look lovely. Are you ready to go down?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Catriona stepped into the hall beside her mother, letting her lead her down the hall with a hand laid lightly against her lower back. Senga only chuckled softly in amusement, heels clicking on the stone floors and cutting through the chatter as it slowly became more noticeable.

“You’ll be fine, Catriona.” Senga took a single step down the stairs, then turned, offering her hand to Catriona with a smile. “It’ll be over before you know it. Cherish it.”

She lingered at the top of the stairs, looking up to the great window of stained glass that was dark with the storm beyond it, and let out a deep breath before she lowered her gaze to her mother’s palm.

Funny to think that once the worst thing in the world had been being eleven years old and having to hold someone’s hand to traverse these same steps. And now, being sixteen, knowing what awaited them at the bottom…

The dam that surrounded their heart began to crack.

* * * * *

When Catriona had been led into the great hall, it was absolutely packed with people - and the storm had kept away the bulk of the crowd, which meant they knew many of those spectating that day were the families and close peers of the families of Rosinmoor. Others still were notable figures of Rosafearn: merchants, artisans, performers, anyone from any walk of life who bore an invitation to the ceremony and the ball hosted immediately afterward.

For the rest of Kintyre, the tour would begin on the morrow. Senga, Catriona, and Senga’s personal guard would begin the rounds to major cities in the region, introducing the Luxe Canonach to the people that one day she would be charged with defending.

Catriona, ever the introvert, was stiff with nerves as Senga led her through the crowd that parted around them to let them pass - so much so that she was pretty sure she had blacked out for a second. One moment, they were just inside the doorway, facing down swirls of color in every shade worn by the guests, and the next...the next she stood before the throne at the complete opposite side of the hall.

Nor could they take comfort in the presence of familiar faces, not when every member of the Canonach family was here today, none the wiser to what terms held her here and how quickly she’d run if she saw a way out. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of Sachairi, who gave her an encouraging smile she couldn’t match as Senga gestured for her to sit.

Her mother, as Baroness, could not take the oath directly - it had been the same since Balmoral, who had not taken Aoife’s oath upon her own proclamation. Rather, the oath had been taken by Cliamon themself, in an attempt to display that Aoife took the oath of her own free will by not having to face her predecessor and her father in the same fell swoop.

Catriona was grateful that she would not face Senga, at least, but somehow seeing Avery Maollosa step forward when Senga asked who would name her was worse.

Avery looked every part the Baronet they were - wild curls braided back, the sleek black doublet and vest paired with the crimson tartan of the Maollosas, the carefully polished silver buttons and sword-shaped kilt pin...and the crown, forged by Avery themself from iron and the raw quartz mined from Ardaleith out of the crown of their father.

A table with a long, hinge-top cedar box had been set up off to the side, watched over by Myrna until Avery approached and gave her grandmother a polite nod and a smile. Myrna returned the expression before she turned, gently lifting the lid of the box and reaching in with both hands to neatly lift the sword inside from where it rested in silken

For a moment, Catriona forgot the situation she was in, tilting her head back and craning to get a good look before Myrna turned and laid the sword delicately in Avery’s outstretched hands - grip snug in their left and blade laid flat against their right palm.

Catriona had only seen Òran na H-ealachan, the Swan Song, once before in their lifetime, but it was as if they knew it like the back of their hand.

The two-handed Highland claymore that had once belonged to Cliamon the Great had been carefully maintained over the centuries, now falling under the stewardship of one Myrna Canonach to be safeguarded and maintained when it was not being used for ceremony. It had been this way since each of the Seven had sworn an oath upon their own weapons to defend not only the land, but the people who lived within it, until their dying days - and Aoife Leamhnach had done just the same on her sixteenth year when she became the Lady of Braemuir.

Senga had made her own oath to the Barony of Kintyre the last time Catriona had seen the sword, and now, they would make their own.

With the sword laid across their hands, Avery turned and took the few steps to approach the dais, each step louder as the crowd watched with bated breath.

Eyes fixed on hers, they lowered themself to one knee, hands uplifted and open for Catriona to take the blade for themself.

“Catriona Canonach.” Avery began, and any lingering chatter in the room swept into silence, the only other sound the rain against the glass. “You come before the people of Kintyre to make an oath, swearing fealty to the Seven Seats and all within the boundaries of Rosinmoor. Do you make this oath of your own free will, with true understanding of the title it will bring you?”

Even though their expression was carefully schooled, Catriona could see in Avery’s eyes the unspoken question.

Do you really want this?

Her eyes flickered toward her mother, whose brows lowered ever so slightly as the pause became slightly more pronounced. Catriona swallowed down their nerves and straightened their shoulders, looking only at Avery, and hoped that they could mask their true thoughts well enough.

No.

“I do.” She said, voice lifting to be heard over the winds that blew the rain in sheets.

Avery nodded and raised the blade, offering it to Catriona from their place before her with both hands open. Catriona would take a breath, then lean forward, carefully wrapping one hand around the leather grip and slipping the other under the flat of the blade so as to not cut herself or Avery when she lifted it into her lap. As she settled with the weight of the blade, she caught a reflection of her own eyes, blue against the carefully polished steel.

“In your hands you bear Òran na H-ealachan, a symbol of the legacy established by Cliamon, first Baronet of Kintyre. I ask of you, as heir to this legacy, will you solemnly promise and swear to lead the people of Kintyre according to its laws and customs? Will you aid the remaining six seats, whoever they may be upon your ascension to the throne, in guiding the nation forward for those who will follow you?

Catriona, whose palms had begun to sweat, could not wipe them on her dress for fear of dropping the sword on the floor in front of hundreds of intently staring eyes. Rather she tightened her grip on the hilt and tried cupping her fingers along the edge, all without cutting her fingers in the process.

Perhaps it was all in her head, but the steel felt like ice - like dipping your hands into the Frozen Sea in the dead of winter.

“I solemnly promise.”

“Will you hold yourself to the same principles of law, justice, and mercy that are upheld by the people of Rosinmoor, in all course of action this oath may bring you?”

Avery held her gaze intently as she nodded slowly, as if searching for something more the longer they looked.

“I will.”

“To the utmost extent of your power and ability, do you swear to act in collaboration and diplomacy to defend the liberties of your people? Do you swear to act in defense of the people’s faith, traditions, and livelihoods wherever you are capable? To act in the best interests of Kintyre and those within, and to spend your life in her service?”

In the crowd beyond Avery’s shoulder, Catriona could see her mother’s approving look - could see Avery’s wife, Rima, with Edrine’s arms looped around her shoulders as he stood behind her. She could pick out other semi-familiar faces from other clans, like the smiling face of Ewan Griogal, who had been crowned heir to Glenarden mere months before. They could see Myrna in their peripherals, forever in black, waiting to receive the sword again and still unaware of the bargain Catriona has struck to keep her safe.

But she had to wonder - was it really in the best interest of Kintyre to name someone heir who didn’t want it at all?

Though they supposed it didn’t matter. Perhaps in time she’d come to enjoy it, though her relationship with her mother would certainly never be the same no matter how much time had passed.

“To my last day.” She answered, and Avery nodded, their face neutral as they lifted themself from their position and extended a hand for her to take. Catriona would accept, shifting to balance the tip of the blade on their soft shoe rather than the hard stone as Avery pulled her to her feet.

“Then rise, and face Kintyre as Luxe Catriona Canonach, descendant of Cliamon and heir to the Seven Seats of Rosinmoor.” Avery gave them a small smile then, all other words nearly drowned out by the roar that greeted her once she was fully upright. “May your life be long and full of love and joy, Catriona.”

Myrna would step forward to gently take the blade from Catriona’s hands again - not before she placed the customary kiss to its smooth pommel before a chanting crowd, a gesture meant to invoke good luck to the one who took the oath. Avery stepped back to give Senga room to step forward, glancing back only briefly before rejoining their family as the Baroness gave the word for the festivities to begin.

Only five minutes, and in that short time, it felt like she’d signed her life away. Sixteen years of wishing and hoping for something to change, for their life to be different, and in moments it all had become meaningless.

In a perfect world, they could abdicate anytime they wanted. A new heir could be chosen and titled, and the cycle would begin anew. But there would be no heir to follow, not while Catriona felt she had to protect Myrna, and certainly not while Senga Canonach held the title of Baroness.

And in this room, full of hundreds all there to celebrate her newfound position, the cracks in Catriona’s heart widened into chasms that threatened swallow her whole.

* * * * *

Contrary to their introverted nature, Catriona actually enjoyed parties on most occasions. They were thrilled to take part in the Hogmanay festivities and birthdays and the like, but they quickly found they did not like being the focus of the party itself on this particular day.

Their sheltered upbringing had meant that while they had met several of the major players in the political sphere of Rosinmoor, it had been only briefly - and it made them a point of intrigue for most of them in return.

Over the sounds of the small band hired to play for the day, Catriona had been constantly at her mother’s side, rubbing elbows and forcing smiles without reprieve. On the occasion she tried to slip away to visit with Edrine or Sachairi or any of her other relatives, Senga would set a hand on her shoulder, a silent demand to stay right where she was, and Catriona would oblige even as she fought the urge to smack her hand away.

It would only be when Senga found herself entrenched in conversation with the Baron of Melinlaesh - Callum Urchardan - about a possible trade agreement for several Melinlaeshi horses that Catriona could finally politely excuse themself, making a beeline straight for one of the tables of confections rather than continue the charade.

After a moment, she picked up a crystal stemmed glass, eagerly eyeing the raspberry cranachan layered within and contentedly making her way to the edge of the room to eat it in relative peace.

The refuge was necessary. She couldn’t leave the hall, not without royally pissing off her mother, but every interaction brought her closer to wanting to scream.

Every single one of the people she’d met had been eager to ask her about her studies, what areas of the Rosen political sphere intrigued her, asked how she felt about this or that relating to the title until she thought she was going to go mad. Her entire education as an heir had just been a regurgitation of Senga’s own plans and beliefs, as she wasn't oblivious to the expectation that she uphold her mother’s legacy even when she was no longer Baroness.

There was a point where Catriona had actually enjoyed the conversation - in meeting the Lady Consort of Glasinshiel, Maisie Ainsworth, she had mentioned raising a litter of pups as herders for the region’s abundance of livestock - but Senga had steered the conversation back once again to politics, leaving Catriona to nod blankly in agreement whenever Senga looked to her expectantly.

Pity Senga was only thirty-five. At least as Baronet, Catriona might have had a chance at some form of freedom, but that wouldn’t be for a long time yet. Her future was so indefinite, so unclear...and yet she’d placed it in someone else’s hands so easily.

Well, that made her cranachan taste rather sour.

As discreetly as she could, she spit her mouthful of trifle back into her glass, setting it carefully on the windowsill and wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb as she hoped nobody had seen.

“Not a fan?”

Catriona jumped, head snapping toward Avery, who merely raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I come in peace.” They teased gently, and Catriona smiled a little before they relaxed. “Thought I’d join you as a wallflower, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. People are...quite overwhelming, honestly. I didn’t expect so many to be here.”

Avery chuckled at that, reaching up to pull off their crown and holding it loosely in hand as they folded their arms across their chest.

“There might have been more, if the rain hadn’t kept the crowds away. You missed Ewan’s proclamation, but people were crowding at the windows just to try and catch a glimpse once the hall was packed to capacity.”

“That sounds nightmarish.” Catriona sighed, wrapping her arms loosely around herself.

“It only gets worse from here. Thousands of people will meet you when your tour begins, all eager to put a face to the name that’s been drifting around the social circles of Kintyre for years. You’ll be at most social events, special occasions, ceremonies…”

“Are you trying to make me more anxious than I am, Avery?”

“I’m trying to be realistic, but that brings me to one of the main reasons I wanted to speak with you in what little privacy we could get.” Avery turned then, one shoulder pressed to the wood paneling on the wall as their expression turned serious. “What changed, Catty?”

Catriona’s breath caught in her throat for a moment before she managed to swallow it down, forcing that same, pretty smile she’d been forcing all night back onto her face.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Avery sighed and gave her a knowing look. “Once upon a time, this was the worst thing you could have imagined. I know five years is five years, but...not when you were so adamantly against it.”

“Perhaps I just came to realize how fortunate I am to have such a life and such opportunities. It’s a privilege I shouldn’t neglect.”

A regurgitated answer, one schooled into them by their mother, for fear that deviation from the script would reveal to Senga’s peers the farce Catriona found herself in. And, well, one that Avery saw through as if the lie were made of the same gossamer overlay to her dress.

“That’s a load of shit and you know it.” Avery’s face didn’t change, save for the slight creasing of their brows as Catriona gave them an incredulous look. “I can see it in your eyes, the same way I have since your mother’s coronation - that sad, heavy weight of understanding what weight fell on your shoulders and wanting none of it.”

Catriona couldn’t help the wry smile that spread across her face, and she kicked loosely at the floor, scuffing the white toe of her shoe.

“It’s not about me anymore.” She whispered, quiet enough to force Avery to lean in to hear her. “I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.”

Avery stared at them for a long moment, eyes searching for something Catriona couldn’t name - but feeling still that they were looking straight into her heart.

“Your mother is young and healthy, meaning she has the potential to be Baroness easily into her sixties or seventies, if she follows the same patterns as her predecessors. Sorcha, who didn’t step down until she was seventy-five, and Malvina, who stepped down at sixty-four, and she considered herself frail. That’s at least another twenty-nine years, possibly up to forty, or even longer than that.”

Catriona swallowed lightly, squeezing the sides of her arms as she looked up at them.

“What are you getting at, Avery?”

“Is whatever changed your mind worth the possibility of living your whole life like this? This life can be exhausting on the mind, body, and spirit, and you are starting leagues behind us all who took their oaths willingly. The dam on your misery will break one day, and it will drown you before you figure out a way to piece yourself back together.”

Her eyes burned, and Catriona quickly looked away, drawing in a sharp breath to try and pull herself together.

“Thank you for your concern, Baronet Maollosa.” She said, a little more forcefully than she meant, and dropped into a quick curtsy. “I’m going to step out for some air, would you be so kind as to let anyone who’s looking for me know? I’m feeling a bit hot.”

She didn’t wait for Avery to answer before she turned on her heel, heading for the veranda and forcing the same pretty smile whenever she got stopped - paired with a “excuse me, I’ll be back in just a moment” as she kept moving as fast as she could for the doors before she crumbled completely.

Avery had been right.

For months, she had pushed the feelings down, drowning out her rational mind screaming as she allowed herself to be pulled further into this life she didn’t want. She knew that in the deal she made with her mother she had condemned her lifetime to that of one dictated eternally by Senga, every move watched, every word controlled, to exist as little more than a porcelain doll on display.

She shoved past the heavy oak door, the thunder a thousand times louder and the wind ripping at that pretty white gown and her perfectly curled hair. Had she not been so numb in that moment, she might have realized that the rain was blowing nearly parallel to the ground, and the temperature was so icy it felt like needles pricking her skin with every gale.

She was selfish. She was weak, and she knew she ran the risk of losing everything, of disappointing her entire family - now her country, to have made the oath and now wish they could turn back the clock and run from the room the second Avery had stepped forward.

But...she would lose herself, too, if she stayed.

A few short steps beyond the safety of the veranda’s roof would have Catriona soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her cheeks and shoulders and her delicate shoes sinking enough in the mud for her to abandon them completely before she even realized that she was running. Anywhere, even in this, would have been better

Faintly, she heard the door’s hinges behind her, groaning under the weight of the oak as someone stepped out onto the veranda. She nearly shit herself thinking it might be Senga, and she pulled at the stupidly heavy skirts, trying to lift them out of her way so she might cover more ground.

“Catty?” She heard Edrine call out, voice nearly drowned out by the wind. “Catriona, what the hell are you doing?”

For a moment, they considered turning to face them, but...if Avery could see into her heart, Edrine would be able to peer right through her soul, and there would be no stopping what came pouring out then. And if Edrine knew, then Avery would know, and when mother inevitably found out that she’d broken her end of the deal to keep this to herself…

She wasn’t prepared for that fury to come down on her.

Catriona bolted out into the gardens, weaving through the carefully manicured hedges and colorful flower beds in an attempt to get as far from view of the castle as possible before she figured out how to go forward. Going back wouldn’t be an option - not with her looking like a drowned rat, even if she wanted to be there - but part of her hoped that if she got away, her mother couldn’t use her as leverage against Myrna ever again.

As she ran past the gazebo, the very same in which Senga had taken her coronation oath, she realized she could hear a second set of footsteps behind them, just barely audible over all the other sounds her ears were contending with.

Edrine had followed them into the storm. And, given the staggering difference in both height and athleticism between them, they were gaining on her quickly.

Catriona at least knew the gardens well after all this time stuck at the estate.

She took a sharp turn suddenly - planning to lose them in the hedge maze near the back of the gardens - but instead she slipped barefoot on the stone path, yelping as she tumbled down and crashed onto her hands and knees. She tried to scramble upright again, but that had been all Edrine needed to catch up, kneeling beside her and asking if she was alright when she shoved them away as best she could.

Edrine, however, barely moved, the brick wall that they were becoming, and reached to grab Catriona’s wrists to keep them from running again as they tried to get a good look at her bleeding palms.

“Stop it, damn it, you’re going to get yourself more hurt than you already are! What were you thinking, running out into this?”

The sob that wrenched out of Catriona’s chest in answer was unbidden, and it made Edrine freeze where they were, hands wrapped around her wrists and eyes wide in surprise as they looked her in the eye.

“Don’t make me go back!” Catriona wailed, body sagging like the strings on a marionette had been cut. “I can’t...I can’t go back, Edie, please, please don’t make me. I can’t do this anymore…”

It was a miracle they understood anything through the strangled hiccuping sounds she was making, but Edrine nodded slowly, releasing her wrists to let her wipe some of her tears away.

“...okay. Okay, we won’t go back to the hall. But I need to take you back to the gazebo so I can at least clean up your hands and take a look at your knees without getting pissed on by the sky.” Edrine cracked a small smile at that, but Catriona did not return it, only nodding slowly as she unstuck some of her hair from her face. “I’m going to pick you up, is that alright?”

When Catriona nodded again, Edrine slipped an arm under her knees and around her back, quickly lifting her up to carry her as quickly as they could to the gazebo without sending them both to the ground again. As soon as they were under cover, Edrine would carefully set her down, wordlessly extending their hands to take her own again and take a better look at them.

For a long while, they were silent, Edrine focused intensely on dabbing at her wounds with the semi-dry handkerchief that had been tucked into their blazer - her knees had, thankfully, been saved by the cushion of stupidly puffy petticoats - while Catriona looked anywhere but their face, her cheeks hot with both tears and embarrassment at the stupidity of the situation.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to play a guessing game?” Edrine said eventually, breaking the silence as they set the kerchief aside. “Last I saw, you were talking to Ava, and everything seemed alright.”

“We’re good at pretending, apparently.” Catriona sighed, closing her eyes as they felt Edrine shift to sit beside her. “If I...if I tell you Edrine, I’ll get in so much trouble…”

“You know, you’re whip smart, so considering I just witnessed you do the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, you’re not getting off the hook that easily.” She felt them nudge her with their elbow, and she turned to look at them, watery blue meeting the soulful dark of Edrine’s. “Let the rain wash it away, Catriona. There’s not a chance in all the world anyone else will hear you out here. Whatever you tell me, it stays between us, I swear that to you.”

Slowly, Catriona nodded, turning her head up to look at the wood paneling shielding their heads from the storm beyond.

“Do you remember a few years ago, how we had Hogmanay with Myrna down in her little cottage?”

It all came pouring out - once the first words left her, there was no stopping her, beginning all the way back at that first departure from Rosinmoor right after the holiday had ended. The reason why she left home, her mother’s threats against Myrna, the promise she’d made to keep her grandmother safe, the agreement to come back and take the oath to keep Senga happy in return, even what Avery had said that had made them finally break under it all

To Edrine’s credit, they kept their composure until the very end,

“Fucking hell.” Edrine muttered, and Catriona couldn’t help but laugh even as Edrine apologized, simply laying her head against their shoulder and letting out a long breath.

“That feels like an ample way to describe all of it.” Edrine huffed a small laugh as she continued, temple pressed to the crown of her head. “But...my stupid plan was to just run away. I figure if I’m gone, Mother can’t use me to hurt Granny anymore. I didn’t think about the rain, I just thought if maybe I could get away from everything else here…”

“Where would you go?”

“I said it was a stupid plan, Edie, not a full blown strategy. My running away attire unfortunately does not include a ballgown.” She said, tone dry. “I didn’t really get that far.”

“Would have been in character with all those fantasy novels you read.” Edrine teased, ruffling her hair playfully even as she groaned and tried to squeeze some of the water out of it. “But...I don’t actually think running is a terrible idea.”

“Sorry, what? I think my eardrums are full of water.” She made a dramatic tapping gesture against her temple with the heel of her hand, as if to knock water loose. “Say that again?”

Edrine only shook their head, wrapping their arms around their knees and lacing their fingers together. “No, I mean it. You’ve been talking about Myrna through all of this, and how you can’t be the reason she gets hurt, but...you’re not, Catty. If anyone hurts her, it’ll be your mother. But have you even spoken to Myrna about this, seen what she has to say?”

“No, I...I didn’t want to put her in the middle of this.”

“Well, sucks to suck, but she’s in it whether you like it or not. Senga used her because she knew it would hurt you, and it worked. And granted I’m not around your grandmother as much as you are, but the woman I know would kill for you before she let anyone else hurt you. So I think you should run, but I think you should go with her like you did before, because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“And what about the rest of her family?” Catriona whispered. “That’s her blood...everyone is here.”

“Blood doesn’t mean anything, in my opinion. Your family is made up of the people you choose, and who choose you in return. They love you without terms or conditions, without expectations - completely and utterly unconditionally. And if the rest of them don’t understand why she’d take you and go, then they weren’t family at all.”

“What if you’re wrong, Edie? What if she won’t go and I’m left alone?”

There were a few beats of pause between them both, punctuated by a clap of thunder, before Edrine broke the silence once again.

“Do you know what a threefold death is?”

Catriona nodded, swiping away the new tears that had formed before they could fall. “Yeah, they’re a type of oath. The idea is that if you break your oath, whatever it may be, you die in three ways simultaneously - which I am very glad my proclamation was not one.”

With a snort of laughter, Edrine shifted, kneeling in front of her and taking both their

“Smartass. Thought I maybe knew something you didn’t for once.”

“Keep trying, blockhead.”

They shared a small smile before Edrine squeezed her hands, drawing her gaze down to look at their joined hands before she met their eyes again.

“I ask because I intend to make you one, Catriona. Should it all go to shit and you find yourself alone, I swear to you that you will always have a place in Ardaleith. I vow to defend you in all ways, to be your sword and your shield to call on, even if you have no name or title to call your own. If I break my oath, then may the land open to swallow me, the sea rise up to drown me, and the sky fall upon me to right the wrong I have done you.”

Catriona watched with wide eyes as they lifted her hands, pressing a kiss to the back of each

“Why would you…?” She began, and Edrine scoffed, setting her hands back in her lap and sitting cross-legged on the wooden platform.

“Because, stupid, you’re my family. And while I can’t go with you, I want you to know you will never not have a home in Rosinmoor - no matter what happens in the future. I also think the idea of nature itself trying to kill me is pretty terrifying, so you know I’m good for it.”

She stared with wide eyes before she let out a small laugh and shook her head, swatting lightly at Edrine’s knee.

“You really want me to go, huh?”

“If I’m honest, no, because I’ll miss you. But I want you to be happy, and that matters to me more than anything else. Sachairi, too, if he were out here to say it himself.”

Edrine stood up then, offering a hand to help her to her feet as they looked around the gardens beyond the railings of the gazebo.

“Come on, Catty. The rain is slowing down a little bit. Let’s go find Myrna.”

Catriona looked at that hand for a long, long moment, briefly thinking back to earlier that afternoon on the stairs - when she stood at the top of the stairs and looked at Senga’s hand and thought back to the time where the worst thing in the world had been to take someone’s hand for help forced upon you.

There were no expectations now. Only a genuine love, of someone more like a sibling than a friend, who offered help in her time of need.

After another moment’s pause, she allowed herself to take that outstretched hand, feeling a little lighter as she and Edrine raced through the rain to find another entrance back inside without running through the great hall itself.

* * * * *

Thankfully, Edrine’s oath had not needed testing so quickly. When they made their way inside, Myrna had found them both easily - fussing over their sopping wet clothes and how they were ‘going to catch their deaths’ if they didn’t come up and dry off. She pulled them both into her own quarters, finding the fluffiest of towels and setting them up by the fire so they could fight the tremors that racked both of them.

It would be then that Catriona swallowed her fear and asked Myrna, ever so softly, if she could tell her something important.

Edrine had stayed the whole time, a comforting presence to Catriona as she recounted it all again - their hand gently rubbing her back when the tears started anew and she found it harder to get the words out.

To say Myrna wept with her would have been an understatement. Her tears, much like Catriona’s own, had become a blend of rage and despair that rivaled the monsoon as she began packing her things right then and there. She’d asked Edrine to help Catriona do the same, asserting that they’d get as far from Kintyre as they could tonight before taking a ship further north.

The storms would be too rough for them to depart tonight, but Catriona only heard ‘leaving Kintyre’ to crumble all over again, realizing that Myrna didn’t hate her after all.

Edrine had helped her pack the important things before leaving her alone in her room with a parting kiss to her cheek, promising they’d cover for her long enough to keep Senga from searching for them right away once she pulled herself out of the attention she’d been basking in. Catriona swore up and down she’d write to both Edrine and Sachairi as soon as she and Myrna stopped somewhere, though Edrine told her not to worry - that they’d take care of Sachairi, and to be safe above everything else.

Their departure was swift and silent once she’d packed and changed, taking two horses rather than the Canonach carriage to avoid attention, continuing that way even after Catriona glanced back over her shoulder and could no longer see the lights of Castle Kintyre in the distance.

She wasn’t sure either of them spoke again until they’d settled onto a ship at the crack of dawn the next morning, the skies clear and painted gold with the early morning light. But she knew it wasn’t because Myrna did not want to talk, nor was she angry with her - she was simply waiting for her grandchild to let her know she was ready.

Myrna’s cane heralded her presence as always, tapping against the deck as she came to join Catriona at the railing to watch the sunrise.

“Granny?” She asked, smiling a little as Myrna jumped in surprise, but seemed to recover quickly as she rested her elbows against the wood.

“Yes, a bhobain?”

“How long will we be gone?”

Myrna hummed in thought, then shrugged, watching Catriona out of the corner of her eye. “I should think however long you want to be gone. My place is with you, after all, and I don’t plan to stray from it.”

When she fell silent again, Myrna took advantage of the opportunity, knowing that she would still be listening.

“Catriona, I want to tell you something, I want you to listen to me well.” Myrna waited for Catriona to nod in acknowledgement, the latter turning to look her in the eye. “I could never be angry with you for wanting to choose what life you have for yourself. I have had my time, and you should never feel like you need to sacrifice for me.”

“But Astor and Balfour -” She started, but Myrna raised a hand, gently and effectively cutting her off.

“I don’t need to visit their graves to remember them, sweetheart, though I appreciate you knowing how much they mean to me. But I carry them with me, always, and I remember them every day - it’s just nice to have a place to visit when I feel up for it. The fact of the matter is that I don’t need the place so much as I want for you to be happy, and there is nothing I would not give to make sure that you have every opportunity to achieve that for yourself.” Myrna sniffed a little, but stubbornly swiped a hand across her cheek, setting it on her hip once she flicked the tears away. “Do I make myself clear? No more secrets. You tell me everything from now on, or I’ll…”

Myrna floundered, waving her cane a little, and Catriona couldn’t help but smile - Myrna didn’t have a threatening bone in her.

Rather than answer, she stepped forward, wrapping Myrna up in the tightest hug she could manage and burying her face in her shoulder as she felt Myrna squeeze her right back.

“I promise.” Catriona murmured, and Myrna hummed her acknowledgment, but neither of them let go of the other. Nor would they until the ship began to move out of the harbor of Briar Glen, when Catriona broke the long silence to draw Myrna’s attention again.

“Granny, can I ask you for an odd favor?”

Myrna nodded, leaning back to look her in the eye and gesturing for her to continue.

“I...don’t want to be called Catriona anymore. It makes me think of Mother. And maybe it’s stupid, but Catriona is who she wanted me to be, not who I wanted to be. So I want to pick a new name, and I want to be just myself for myself, and nobody else. I hope that doesn’t offend you, though.”

Her grandmother snorted, giving her a playful look and nudging her lightly. “What, because my full name is Myrna Catriona? Please, darling, I don’t even use that part of my name for myself. Never have. But do you have a name in mind that you’d rather I use, or do you want to try a few and see what sticks?”

She hummed a moment, lacing and unlacing her fingers as she listened to the sounds of the wind catching in the sails.

“My full name is Catriona Astoria Elspeth Canonach-Fenharrow, though it’s always been shortened.” She mused. “I like parts of it still, so I don’t want to just get rid of it, either. Can’t I be just Astoria Fenharrow, like I was Catriona Canonach?”

Myrna smiled warmly, giving her a squeeze as the wind began to pull at their hair and the harbor began to grow smaller behind them.

“There’s nothing stopping you from giving it a go, Astoria.” She said, making the teen in question smile broadly at the sound of the name from someone other than themself. “But I do think it suits you well.”

#astoria fenharrow #idk where all these thoughts came from lmao #oops

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forgottnseccnd · 10 months ago

Text

Nirisch eyed the Captain worriedly, but he was quick to turn his focus to the Primarch when hearing the small noise of pain. A little detail. While most of Nirisch worriedly thought it could have been from his unending, ceaseless ramblings, another part of Nirisch's mind connected things. Theoretical: a Primarch of a different Legion boards the ship of your Primarch and your words have caused him pain, you need to figure out why, so what would you do? Practical: well, one, don't bother him more. Two, just-- just... aaaAAAUH, his practical procedures weren't loading properly!

That was fine. It was fine. Nirisch's eye squinted like he was trying to smile to be as polite as ever to Guilliman. Then, he turned on his metal heel, quick to make his way through the large room.

Where they landed looked to be a giant port, built like a palace's entranceway-- there were landing pads for hundreds, if not thousands of ships, old signs of what would have been registration and filtering of newcomers. Of course, for normal-sized humans. Nirisch weaved through old boxes of supplies-- all long since emptied-- and other old items. Some were old books from the days of the 30th and 31st Millenniums, others being old weaponry and equipment. What was beneath them was wondrous tiled flooring of star-like patterns made of a crystalline-like marble, with gildings of gold going along through the cracks like streams. There were pillars that towered to hold the very ceilings above, with giant statues accompanying them. Some were statues of the Emperor, glowering down to them as if looking down upon his very citizens, others of a giant man.

The giant man himself seemed to wear armor that would have been considered cruel. He was a man of wide stature by the looks of it, visible biceps with small markings carved into them as if they were trying to make signs of stars, with fur-lined armor that had studs along the gauntlets, chestplate, boots, shoulder pads... everything, as if it were meant to forcibly keep his armor on him as punishment. Swirls embroidered the armor, and his marble cape billowed in nonexistent wind. The helm had a similar four-pointed star motif just as the rest of his city-ship did... and a large battle standard was in the statue's hand, where a giant ripped-up and tattered banner. Words in High Gothic were barely legible. All of these structures-- the statues, the walls, ceilings... all had overgrowth and plant life. By the looks of things, there used to be giant placements of gardens that would have decorated this port. It overtook the ship, it seemed.

Nirisch had led them through this great hall to a large hallway of similar statues with an old rug that stretched from the entrance to the end, giant doors lining them-- there were signs of that horrid armor around, old Space Marine armor. Some still had skeletons.

The techpriest bowed his head and muttered a prayer.

But, he scurried along like a mouse to continue guiding the Primarch through the hall, gliding past carefully crafted guardsmen towers for this large hall that were long since unused and coated in dust, all the way to one of the doors. Nirisch nervously glanced to the others, but murmured a prayer to himself as he approached a small console near it.

The very machine spirits whirred to life the moment Nirisch approached, the screen flickering a gentle green-- he pressed his hand against the screen, suddenly bringing the doors open.

... The ship was huge.

Nirisch took them through an elevator, through more hallways, up and down stairs and past luxurious residential areas that must have been meant for the common man, past chapter serf abodes and Space Marine quarters, past Forges and cafeterias and giant gardens and small diviner rooms with telescopes and things of the sort, but where Nirisch was taking him was the engine room, somewhere near the heart of the ship.

It went untouched by overgrowth, and machinery hummed loudly within alongside... wheezing. Rasping. Like someone was dying inside.

Nirisch was wordless throughout, almost eerily so-- but he just couldn't bear to utter a word knowing what they were about to see.

The engine doors opened, and what they would witness was... of course, the many engines and power sources of the giant city-ship that must have stretched all over, tubes and machinery still whirring and clicking and dim red emergency lights continuing to light the way for long-gone enginseers and techpriests alike, the machine spirits continuing to work hard to keep the ship alive as if they had all the energy in the world despite the lack of power-- but the source of it wasn't any batteries. Instead...

... There was a large man, taller than Guilliman but shorter than the humanity shard of the Emperor. His torso was bare save for a loincloth over him and his heavily-scarred body with points that look as though his armor had dug into his very skin at one point. He had no arms or legs, but instead they were attached to the very walls of the engine room. Tubes and machinery held his arms and legs like tendrils of Chaos-- but there was no Chaos here. Only this man, and his techpriest.

The man wore the four-pointed helm. His head was lowered while his body often jolted from volts passing through him, a dim blue glow visible in the eyes of his helmet. A wheeze. A cough. Blood dripped from the inside of his helmet.

He didn't utter a word-- but looked like he was in deep meditation. Nirisch seemed to hesitate, bowing his head down and moving out of the way... and then, something embedded itself into Guilliman's mind. A voice, as if it once hid away into the alcoves of his brain to never surface, finally speaking in that gentle, quiet tone. It was far more clear than the vox-casts.

" Brother...? Is that you? I cannot focus on you very well from here... please, come closer... your sons... is Marneus there? "

While none of the others could hear, he spoke with such familiarity when it came to Guilliman... as if he weren't attached to some machine.

Roboute listened, honestly feeling almost as anxious at the techpriest sounded. Amidst the rambling was useful information that simply added to his amnesia fueled headache.

This really was the ship of one of his brothers; one long forgotten by abnormal means. The Ursa Major. Lord Aurelius. His brother. It felt like memories were trying to breech the surface of his mind, but something stopped them. Something he still didn't know the origin of. A small noise of pain escaped him as whatever kept those memories locked away shoved them down painfully to the depth of his subconscious once more. He knew he should stop actively trying to remember. Forcing it was just making things more difficult.

"Please, take the lead and we shall follow. The captain here will behave himself," he said, placing a rather heavy hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Won't you?"

#reblog.#ic / in character.#tertiusdecimusfilius #ask to tag tw #graphic injury tw #graphic tw #injury tw #blood tw #long post tw #the forgotten son // primarch aurelius augustus.#the loyal priest // magos biologis nirisch.#forever forgotten // 40k verse.

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babbushka · 5 years ago

Text

Beautiful, Beloved (4/8)

You had met three times: The first, an introduction. The second, a lunch. The third, your wedding. Can bonds be made in such short a time as a week long honeymoon aboard the immensely impressive RMS Titanic?

Yes, yes they can.

Titanic!AU Millionaire Kylo Ren x Reader

7.2k ; Warnings: Mild NSFW, mostly fluff and humor

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

He scowled all the way to the cabins, but you tried to pay it no mind. Kylo seemed like the type of man that scowling came naturally to. His hold on your arm was light enough, and his pace was not unusually quick, so you chalked it up to a simple resting expression of intimidation and not any sour mood.

Although he would have good reason to be sour, you thought to yourself as he led you away from the decks of the ship and into the safety of the interior. Such a chaotic beginning to the honeymoon, surely he would be angry with the poor fortune. Such a start didn’t bode well, although you were determined to put the events behind you.

You tried your best to ignore the sights around you, knowing that there would come a time for great admiration of the furnishings of the ship. As it were, too many passengers were gawking and staring and pointing at the surroundings, and you wanted to escape their gasps and murmurs. People clogged the hallways, not walking in an orderly fashion, stopping abruptly right in your path, making you want nothing more than to simply get to your cabin and unwind.

Kylo, ever the mind-reader, cut a path through the crowd like nothing else could. Dopheld and Rose had disappeared to go alert some staff as to your whereabouts for the luggage to be directed, with the promise to meet again in the cabin soon.

In a cheeky manner, Kylo covered your eyes when you arrived in front of the door to your suite. You felt a bubble of joy light up inside you at the thought of getting a moment to lie down, a moment to simply breathe, all alone with your husband.

“Here we are, cabin B-52.” He whispered, uncovering your eyes and giving you a moment to take in the sights.

Kylo opened the door for you, and despite the finery that you were accustomed to, you nearly dropped your jaw with the sight. Why, it had to be one of the most opulent parlor suites aboard the Titanic. Completely decorated in a Regency style, you felt as though you were stepping back in time, stepping a hundred or so years into the decadence of the past.

“Oh, goodness it’s – ” You were at a loss for words, something that wasn’t really all that familiar of a feeling for you. You were used to having something to say about everything, but even the sitting room alone rendered you speechless.

Or at least, the room which you entered immediately looked to be a sitting room. You weren’t sure if the ship gave it an alternative title. Two port-hole windows were beautifully framed by cream colored curtains, embroidered with floral motifs, and the sunshine from the sea beyond cast the furnishings in an ethereal golden haze. The walls were a highly lacquered deep brown wood of a warm tone, wood paneling which was adorned by 24 carat gold-gilded accents which were reflected in the fabrics which covered the filigree carpeting.

Against the far wall was a beautiful mantle, where a fire could be lit if it got too chilly during the evenings. It was going to be a cold Spring, and you’d be passing through colder waters, so you looked forward to the idea of sitting by the fire with your husband, maybe stealing a kiss or two.

There was a round table surrounded by velvet cushioned chairs, many more chairs than you could all occupy at once. Such a sitting room was meant to be entertained, and you thought that perhaps over the course of your trip to New York, you might meet some new friends which you could invite back for a game of cards or perhaps tea.

“Do you like it?” Kylo asked, that scowl of his tipping further and further, not sure how to read your silence, as if he’d personally punish the architects and designers of the rooms for displeasing you.

You whirled around to face him, the skirt of your dress swishing from the excitement as you offered a wide grin to your husband to show your feelings which you couldn’t put into words.

“It’s breathtaking!” You settled upon, because that at least was the truth, that was something that couldn’t be denied. You walked further into the sitting room, ran your fingers across the wood paneling, admiring the electric lamps which sparkled crystalline, “Can you believe this is on a boat? All this finery?”

“Only the very best for you, only the very best that I can give, I’ll give to you.” Kylo smiled, relived that you were pleased.

How could you not be? How could you be anything other than incredibly grateful, to have a husband who knew next to nothing about you, and yet wanted to shower you in luxury? You knew other women, women who were not so fortunate, women who were almost shunned entirely by their husbands, who were treated with neglect and even on some occasions abuse, who had nothing more wanted from them than a son.

And they called Kylo a monster -- how could people be so cruel?

“You’re terribly generous, I’m not so sure what I can offer in return.” You reached for his hand, suddenly feeling the weight of his wealth and wondering just why he felt the need to share it with you. Even a son didn’t feel a fair trade, for all the things he has bestowed upon you in the very short time you’ve known one another.

And oh, the way he looked at you, the way his eyes softened at the sadness in your tone. It was enough to break your heart, the way he grew confused at your apprehension.

“Your companionship is enough, truly.” He said, as if you must know that, as if it were obvious that you were the treasure here, as if you were the gift.

You didn’t know what to say to that either, but he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond, simply taking your hand and leading you into the bedroom.

Dopheld and Rose arrived then, remaining in the sitting room and began directing staff on the ship where to place your many trunks and things of luggage. You were glad for their assistance, and hoped that the servant’s quarters where they would be staying were even half as nice as the bedroom.

Like the sitting room, it wasn’t the most large room you had ever seen, but that was to be expected. This was no sprawling estate out in the countryside, this was a ship, and you were certain such matters needed to be taken into account. But what it lacked in size it made up for in opulence, just as the sitting room had.

The bed was large enough exactly for you and him, it would seem, and it was tucked against one of the walls. Where the sitting room had been deep rich reddish browns and golds, the bedroom was a wash of light ivory and a silvery lavender. The walls were covered in a satin wallpaper of a beautiful French regency design, matching the design of the carpeting in the sitting room, and the light bouncing off that silvery quality transferred into the air, making it seem like something out of a dream.

There was another table in the room, however there were exactly enough chairs for two people to share an intimate moment together, the table just large enough to perhaps hold hands across it. There was a chaise lounge covered in a deep red velvet which matched the colors of the comforters on the bed, and the ceiling was a sculpted ivory that matched the sheets.

You boldly sat down on the bed, ran your hands through the soft plushness of the comforter which was lovingly tucked under the pillows, watched as your fingers drew patterns in the fabric.

“Shall we remain here for a while?” You asked, feeling suddenly anxious, feeling as though there was so much to see, so much to do. If the bedroom was this nice, how nice could the rest of the ship possibly be? The possibilities made your heart beat ever so quicker while you hinted, “Or would you like to explore the ship for some time? There’s so much to see, I fear we may not get to all of it before the trip is through.”

Kylo picked up your hints, and he smiled, nodded enough to let you know he knew what you were doing. He approached you, sat down next to you on the bed, took your hand between his own and pressed your knuckles to his lips.

“Whatever you are in the mood for blossom, I am at your disposal entirely.” Kylo said softly, voice so deep, so deep that it resonated through your corset straight to your very bones. You could feel his voice bouncing around in there, settling, making a home in your chest.

You found you loved the feeling, never wanted it to go away. No one had ever called you blossom before, you thought to yourself with a smile.

“Careful Kylo,” You said, watching as he traced gentle patterns onto the back of your hand with his large thumb, “Or you’ll find that I’ll want to be around you all the time.”

“There are worse things.” Kylo whispered, his hand coming up to press the tips of his fingers against the soft skin of your cheek.

“Walk with me? If I stay here with you I’ll never leave this bed.” You covered his hand with your own, reveling in the feeling of his touch upon your face. His hand was warm and only the smallest bit sweaty, endearing.

Kylo blushed, and nodded, with the promise that there would be much fun to be had in the bed in the evening to come.

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

The sunshine on your face elicited a great sigh of happiness from your lips, as you leaned slightly against one of the grand windows of the promenade. How ingenious to have the long walkway covered, to have it closed off. You were certain that should it simply be an open deck, men’s hats and women’s shawls would simply be whisked away into the ocean.

And oh what a monument it was -- the ocean! How it glittered sapphire underneath the late afternoon sun. Golden ripples of light shimmered in the distance, cut through only by the black silhouette of a seagull’s wings. You and Kylo walked down the promenade, both preening under the approving gazes of the other passengers.

It was a luxury to even be here, up on the promenade. A private access for first class passengers only, and my, were you and Kylo among some of the more wealthy and notable pairs that had graced the polished and waxed deck floors.

Still, it was important to impress, important to make your presence known.

And impress you did with your outfits. You’d both be changing for dinner of course, changing into much finer fabrics and cuts of cloth, but for this stroll in the beautiful weather you elected to don a more casual look.

Kylo had changed into a handsomely tailored three-piece lightweight tweed suit in a cream color so unlike the rich blacks you had seen him in before. He wore a striped button-down shirt underneath his vest, the stripes a light red color that matched your dress wonderfully. To shield the sun from his eyes, he sported the very fashionable straw boater hat, which did the marvelous job of making his ears stick out slightly.

You wore a very elegant walking suit of a sort of pinky coral color. It was made of gorgeous blend of cotton and linen that helped keep you cool in the sun, despite the high-necked lace blouse that you wore underneath the jacket. The jacket was tailored specifically to your measurements with smartly placed darts, and was secured with hand embroidered buttons in a matching coral fabric.

You were the only one on the promenade wearing such a color, and you found yourself blooming under the attention. Your wide-brimmed hat was decorated with beautiful ostrich feathers dyed a matching color, and your shoes were a matching satin. It was an ensemble that would be seen across the ship, that was for sure.

You took one last breath of the fresh salty air, and returned to Kylo’s waiting arm. He had been observant mostly on the stroll from the suite to the promenade, and he was observant still, sparing a glance to some wealthy reclining passengers.

“It might be prudent for us to rent a set of chaises and rugs, what do you say?” Kylo asked you, nodding in the direction of those who were all poised to lounge and people-watch.

The promenade was a long fifty-foot walkway, and there were expertly woven wicker chairs and tables set up alongside the more shaded wall. People enjoyed cups of tea and newspaper clippings as they reclined and people-watched. He gave a protective squeeze of your hand as those people people-watched you.

“Hmm, there are so many opportunities to sit aboard the ship, I’d prefer being arm and arm with you just as we are now, as we walk.” You said after a moment’s thought. The chaises looked very comfortable, but there were a hundred places to be comfortable on the Titanic it would seem.

No, you thought to yourself, better to stretch your legs and get your exercise now while you could, before the two of you decided to indulge in one another and possibly never leave the suite.

“May I ask you a question?” Kylo asked, voice so soft that the sheer shyness of it broke you out of your inner monologue.

“No.” You teased, eyes sparkling with mirth as you gently nudged his hip with your own, your feet carrying you slowly and leisurely down the deck.

“Had this not been arranged by our families, would you have agreed to this?” Kylo wondered aloud, with no small amount of tremor to his voice. He waved his hand about, gesturing with his whole body in that way that you were coming to really find endearing. “To me, I mean. I know there were other suitors.”

You smiled, ducked your head as far as your carefully balanced hat would allow. You didn’t want to seem so infatuated with him already, so soon – but you couldn’t deny that you were. You were so fond of him, and these questions of his would only endear you further to him.

“There were a great deal many other suitors, you’re right.” You nodded with a bit of a huffed laugh, thinking of the clamor that came about with the courting seasons, all those letters from adoring men you were so reluctant to respond to. “There could have been a thousand other suitors, and I would have still picked you.”

Kylo’s step faltered for a moment, and you wondered if his palms were sweating beneath his gloves.

“I don’t mean to give off a sense of false modesty, I am merely curious as to why. What is so compelling about me?” He pressed, frowning, as if it were some great mystery.

“Well, it’s just that, isn’t it? You’re compelling.” You said, encouraging him to press himself to your side once more, the sound of waves gently crashing in the distance a symphony to your ears. “The day we met for tea, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You’re captivating -- the way you speak and interact with the world, the ideas you have. I may not know much of them, but the little I do know is far and away more interesting than the lot of the other suitors combined.”

“Hm.” Was all your eloquent husband had to offer, but you took it more of a sign of him allowing you to continue speaking, rather than a true response.

“I didn’t want a husband who would treat me as a decoration. I didn’t want to be put on a shelf, confined to some archaic idea of what wives should be. I wanted someone who would be willing to challenge that establishment, to look at me and not see just some means for an heir, but a person of substance.” You explained with a sigh, letting some of your lingering fears about marriage out.

“There’s no one more challenging than me, that’s true.” Kylo quirked a little grin, prompting you to smile so widely that your cheeks hurt.

You were glad to know that this man, with all his faults, would do right by you.

“Good, it will do well for us both to keep the other sharp.” You bumped his hip with yours once more, and he lunged at you, captured your face in one of his gloved hands and kissed you outright, right in front of everyone on the promenade.

You laughed against his lips, pushed him away playfully because such a display would surely spark gossip, but you held him close to your side anyway.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, glad for the angling of your hat to allow it, and sighed happily, “I trust you to treat me with respect, you know.”

“Why’s that?” Kylo teased.

“Because you’ve killed others for not showing you that same decency.” You replied lightly, once again stunning him with your response.

This time, he did not slow his step, but you could practically feel the way his heartbeat jumped and danced below his skin, pulse going wild at the very mention of his patricide.

“You are not deterred by the fact that I am a murderer?” He asked. You were worried he’d be angry, but there’s a playful lightness to his tone that had you chuckling and only hugging his strong bicep.

“If I were, I wouldn’t have married one.” You said before shrugging, “I think murder can be a justifiable crime, sometimes it’s the only option we have to get what we want.”

Kylo pulled you to the side of the promenade to allow others to walk past. He leaned handsomely against another one of the large open windows that you had begun this walk smiling into. He didn’t smile, he was deadly serious as he took your hand in his own, ran his thumb across the knuckles.

“I’d kill for you, if it meant giving you what you want.” He said sincerely, and you smiled, cupped his scarred cheek, showed him you weren’t afraid.

“I know darling, let’s hope you won’t have to.” You said back, about to lean in when --

“Tea ma’am?” A voice interrupted you.

You and Kylo turned towards the waiter, holding a silver tray that had practically anything one could require for a cup. Your stomach rumbled at the sight of the finger sandwiches, and you found that you weren’t so annoyed with the intrusion.

“Oh yes please, Kylo would you like some?” You nodded, and the boy set the tray down and began to fix you a cup, pouring tea into fine china.

“No thank you.” Your husband responded, stealing a kiss on your cheek anyway, “I’ll save my appetite for dinner.”

The waiter handed you the teacup and saucer to rest it on, and then disappeared, recognizing the scowl on Kylo’s face from the many years of being snapped out to scurry away. Kylo didn’t snap, but he didn’t have to.

You joined him in leaning against the window, sipping your tea. You could feel Kylo’s eyes on you as you squinted into the sunlight.

“When was the last time you were on a ship?” You were curious, for he seemed so unfazed by the wonder of it all.

“Sailing back from Africa.” He replied simply, and oh, you knew what that meant.

“Does it bring a sense of unease, to be back on the open waters again?” You asked, suddenly feeling guilty, worrying that perhaps he wasn’t enjoying himself, plagued with memories of battle.

“Not at all, this is much different from a warship. In fact, I don’t think it could be any more different.” Kylo smiled reassuringly, setting you calm once again.

“How so?” You asked behind your cup, and you swore you saw a blush creep across the strong bridge of his nose.

“Well, for one thing warships don’t have beautiful women sipping tea in day-dresses.” He said, making you laugh from the sheer force of his charm.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You playfully batted your lashes at him, and he rolled his eyes, stole another kiss to your cheek, as the sun shone on the ocean, shone on your skin.

“I think you’re radiant.” He clarified, and well, now it was your turn to blush.

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

You stayed out in the sunshine until the tea no longer kept you satisfied, until your stomach protested so loudly that it must have been dinner time. A bugle was sounded, something that had startled you and Kylo out there on the promenade, making you smile at one another in your startled fear. He informed you that it meant cocktails were being served in the reception room, so that’s where the two of you went.

You recognized the reception room from your entrance through the D-deck doors, past the grand staircase. It was Jacobean in style, a large open ballroom peppered with circular tables and wicker chairs which were upholstered in a lush green damask silk. The walls were glossy white, and there were potted ferns and palms which only added to the fine greenery of the space.

You could see the area where an orchestra was likely to set up soon, a marked off area where instruments lay waiting musicians to bring them to life. You hoped that perhaps Kylo would be in the mood for a dance or two once dinner had settled.

You were just about to say something, when your husband’s attention was captured by a shock of red hair, and the natural scowl on his face all but disappeared, melting into a warm expression that could only be described as that of seeing an old friend.

The red-headed man seemed to notice you and Kylo at nearly the same time, and soon he was interrupting his wife’s conversation to gesture to you. Your heart soared at the sight of the woman, for while this man was nearly a stranger to you, she certainly wasn’t.

“Lord Ren.” The man approached you both and extended his hand, greeting your husband with delight.

“(Y/N), I’d like to introduce you to my business partner and friend, Lord Armitage Hux and his wife, Lady Hux.” Kylo shook the man’s hand, turned towards you and offered an introduction as was custom.

You and Lady Hux met eyes and grinned, and you were simply dying to throw you arms around your friend.

“It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, my Lady.” Hux bowed to you politely, his hair gelled so well that it didn’t move one single millimeter when he ducked down, “I have heard so much about you.”

“Likewise!” You couldn’t help but laugh, making your dear friend laugh as well.

Armitage and Kylo frowned at one another, as you hugged the Lady, looking at them with mischief, quite pleased with your very small prank.

“I did not realize you were already acquainted.” Kylo blinked as you returned to his side.

“We aren’t, the illustrious Lady and I however, are. We’ve run many charitable balls and fundraisers together. You could say I am aware of the great engineer Armitage Hux by proxy.” You explained, making your friend blush.

Oh how radiant she looked in her evening gown! It was a peachy cream-colored bodice, wrapped up in a beautiful silvery blue that complimented her brown hair and eyes in the most wonderful of fashions. There was intricate beading work which creeped up the hem of the dress into a style which nearly made it look as though the blue were tied up in tassels, revealing a peach satin slip underneath. You recognized the gown immediately as being a House of Worth dress, the very same designer which had made your own finery for the evening.

“Had I known you’d be on this ship I would have made my darling seek you out sooner! How lucky that we are to share a dinner table.” Lady Hux beamed, using all of her five-foot-two stature to chastise her six-foot husband.

“Luck had nothing to do with it, I requested only the finest company for my wife’s enjoyment. It would seem that we are among the best passengers aboard the Titanic.” Kylo said, smug and arrogant in a way that had you rolling your eyes playfully.

“Oh Lord Ren how you tease.” Lady Hux followed suit, before flagging down one of the waiters who was dutifully checking to ensure each table was kept satisfied with drinks and light appetizers. “Sir, might we have a bottle of champagne?”

“Of course ma’am, right away.” The boy said with a deep bow, a move which impressed you considering he was carrying quite a heavy tray.

The four of you sit at one of the tables, the husbands pulling out chairs for their wives.

Ironically enough, you were dressed in a similar color scheme to your friend. Your Worth gown was also peach and blue, however your tones were much more muted. The blue was not the silvery satin of your friend, but a dusky velvet, and the bodice was not so much a light peach as it was a deep burnished shade. Your gown had beaded detailing too, but it cascaded down and wrapped around your waist, a shimmer of floral that reflected sparkles of candlelight.

You both complimented one another on your choice of dress, and your husbands shook their heads and smirked at your obvious silliness. You’re both still laughing amongst yourselves when the champagne arrives, the bubbly doing nothing to curb your high spirits.

“Gossip around the clubs are you’re sailing to America for your honeymoon. Is that so?” Lord Hux asked, sipping his own fluted glass.

“There’s much in New York that we’re very excited to see, isn’t that right?” You answered, as Kylo was entirely too occupied with the way your tongue darted out to lick the drink off your lips.

“I’ve promised quite the itinerary, yes.” Kylo said absentmindedly, before turning to his friend and joking, “What about yourselves, what brings you to the colonies?”

The comment made you huff into your glass, only your husband could be so cheeky.

“Weapons manufacturing, to be frank.” Lord Hux surprised you, piquing your interest and making you set down your glass.

“Weapons? What for, if you don’t mind me asking.” You leaned in slightly.

But before Lord Hux could dive into what you were sure was going to be a riveting discussion, his wife put a hand on his chest to deter him, looking at you with eyes that said oh please don’t get him started.

“Believe me my dear friend, my Armitage wouldn’t mind talking all evening about his weapons he is working on, but perhaps that is conversation that might best be saved for more private audience.” She said softly, and that only interested you further.

“Ah, I see.” You mused, settling back against the cushion of your chair and sipping your champagne. You thought about the large sitting room in your parlor suite, perhaps you could invite the Huxes there one evening for such a discussion. “Your secrets are safe with me, Lord Hux, I can assure you that. I have no desire for gossiping, I merely strive to educate myself on the goings on of the world. We are in such a riveting time of advancements in all avenues, are we not?”

“Kylo you have chosen a most wonderful woman to be your bride, congratulations are in order.” Lord Hux raised his glass to commemorate your union.

Lady Hux followed suit, reaching across the table to take your gloved hand in her own. You smiled at one another, glad to have a friend aboard this massive marvelous ship.

“Thank you, she is truly a wonder, isn’t she? I am forever grateful she had agreed.” Kylo said sincerely, making you look up at him with a deep fondness, your heart quickening once more. With all his comments, you were sure he would set you into a heart attack by the end of the honeymoon!

Just then another tone sounded that it was officially seven o’clock, and dinner was officially served.

You and Lady Hux rose, followed suit by your husbands, who offered you their arms and asked nearly at the same time, “Shall we be seated?”

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

“I notice there are some empty seats at the table, who are we missing?” You asked, once you had all been settled in the great dining hall that was affectionately known as ‘The Ritz.’

Lord Hux explained that this was an even more elite dining experience than the first class halls, as it was restaurateur Gaspare Antonio Pietro "Luigi" Gatti intimate à la carte restaurant. The space was elegantly decorated, and infinitely more intimate, fully carpeted and lined with French walnut-panelled walls and picture windows. You sat at small tables, which unlike the reception room, were lit by individual crystal lamps. Apparently guests could eat here any time, not only during the designated meal hours, which made it a popular choice for the up and up passengers – for an extra fee, of course.

“Oh there are quite a few people still board the ship, rumor has it that Margaret Brown and John Jacob Aster the fourth will be dining with us, they should be here any moment.” Lady Hux knew all the gossip aboard the ship, and you were grateful for it. You could always count on her to ring you up and give you all the details of the goings-ons, so that you didn’t have to.

“We’re taking on more passengers?” You frowned, eyebrows furrowing.

A waiter caught wind of your question as he placed menus on your plates.

“Yes my Lady, we’re in Cherbourg; it’s our only port of call for the continent. We’ll be docking once more in Queenstown, Ireland, before reaching the open waters of the Atlantic.” He offered, and you nearly gasped.

“Goodness I fear for the third class rooms, they must be so packed already.” You expressed your concern.

“No more so than any other ship, my Lady.” The waiter, who could not be a day over twenty years of age, smiled sympathetically to you, before leaving.

No doubt he was staying in such quarters, although you hoped not. For all their sakes, you hoped they were treated better. Something twisted in your stomach though, making you think otherwise.

“How considerate of you to worry yourself with the poor.” Lord Hux commended you, as if it were some air that you put on to appear more progressive.

“My heart aches for them, the conditions they must endure so often due to something as unavoidable as the status of their birth. So few of us are able to enjoy luxuries as these, I find it entirely unfair.” You challenged, for this was no mere fleeting passion of yours. You fought endlessly to close the gap between the rich and poor, Lady Hux nodded in agreement, for she did the same.

“Would you trade your position for one of theirs?” Lord Hux asked, in the mood to debate it would seem. “If given the chance I mean.”

“I don’t need to live in poverty to know the cruelty of it.” You replied easily, a response to a challenge.

He leaned back in his chair then, pleased that you’d play along in a little battle of wits. Lady Hux only smiled behind her glass as food was served, for she knew just how cunning you were. Kylo was completely enraptured with you, and it did wonders for your ego, you had to admit.

“Let me ask you a very fair question, if I may.” Lord Hux’s eyes were calculating, “How do you propose an end to this cruelty?”

“I believe we must vote in favor of laws and procedures which encourage the economic upward movement of the lower classes. At present they’re kept bogged down into the mud – both figuratively and literally – by the laws which rich men propose and sign.” You responded elegantly and easily, thanking the waiter who served you a bowl of consomme rejane.

“Ah you’re one of those suffragettes?” Hux said, as if it were an insult.

“Are you not?” You replied, as if he were the one in the wrong.

The stand-off impressed Kylo greatly, his body language tensing with anticipation. Hux himself was impressed, and he burst into laughter, the serious tone of the debate having disappeared in the recognition that you were no pretty woman with stuffing for brains.

“I’m not so bold to attend any WSPU meetings.” You added when the laughter died down to a pleasant chuckle, as you all sipped your soups.

“Bold is a very good word for them, I should think. I can’t imagine being so angry as to set fire to buildings.” Lady Hux offered, as the WSPU was something of a thorn in her side these days.

“When you have so little left to lose, it is not unfathomable to lose what you have left.” You shrugged, a small nugget of wisdom passed down to you from your grandparents, who themselves were once poor and in a similar position.

“What do you make of all this, Lord Ren?” The ginger inquired, friendly and playful in that cutting manner he and your husband seemed to share. It was no wonder they were good friends, with the way they bickered.

“Must I make something of everything, Lord Hux?” Kylo wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin, leveling a gaze at him.

“I’ll be more specific, your wife.” Hux pointed to you with his knife, before digging into his veal filet.

Kylo regarded you, and it was clear for all to see that he was once again, entranced. Absolute ensnared by you, making you nearly need to look away, for the affection in his eyes was simply overwhelming. And yet, you could not tear your eyes away from his own.

“She’s certainly a sight to behold, is she not? I envision many a night chasing her train of thought.” Kylo said, looking at you while talking to him.

“Oh you’ll chase me alright, my dear.” You mused, forking a chateau potato with the heavy silver cutlery, “But whether I shall let you catch me, well we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

The table erupted into a round of light laughter, and Kylo shook his head, so fond of you.

“I have a great deal of opinions on a great many things,” Kylo eventually answered Hux’s question, “But I also know when I am not well versed in a subject enough to give those opinions on it. I have much to learn from my wife, and I am honored to listen to more of her causes, if she would be so generous as to tell me of them.”

“A true politician’s answer.” You teased, making Kylo’s eyebrows raise slightly, tugging at the scar which traveled up his browbone.

“I am no more a politician than you are a philosopher, my darling.” He teased right back, and you bit back a grin.

“Strong words coming from a man who may find himself sleeping on the couch this evening.” You replied with the hint of a smile, no malice in your tone whatsoever.

“I’m glad you’ll have someone to challenge you, it’s so refreshing when wits are matched, are they not?” Lady Hux leaned her head upon her husband’s shoulder, and he turned to kiss her temple.

“To whom do you refer, my dear?” Hux asked his wife, as you and Kylo smiled at one another.

“The both of them.” She responded, only making you smile more.

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Eventually, the other guest boarded the ship, and there was a whole big fuss and to-do that came along with their arrival. You had very little interest in any of them, happily content with your own small company. However, the company soon grew larger as your table-mates entered The Ritz, and conversation picked up quite quickly about nothing in particular.

You simply sat back and enjoyed the company, even if now you were presented with strangers who made the setting a little less comfortable simply from not knowing them.

“Does the food please you?” Kylo asked, wanting to make sure you did not feel so alienated.

You were thankful for it, for while Lord and Lady Hux knew these businesspeople and wealthy aristocrats, you were not so familiar.

“It’s absolutely marvelous.” You replied, happy to simply talk with your husband, “Although I fear that there were so many courses, I’ll not have any room come the end of the evening for dessert.”

And there had been, goodness there had been. Between the hors d’oeuvres, the soups, the duck and veal and ham and beef and chicken, the boiled rice and cauliflower, the garlic spinach and watercress salad, by the time the pudding sans souci and charlotte colville came around, you couldn’t bear the thought of vanilla ice cream.

“Nonsense, there is always room for ice cream.” Kylo winked, allowing you the small permission of overly indulging yourself. That was the entire point of the Titanic, he reasoned, and you were inclined to agree with him.

But when the ice cream had settled, you found yourself buzzing with sugar. It must have been eight-fifteen, because the orchestra had begun to play out in the reception room, perking your ears up.

“Oh what a beautiful waltz, darling, might we…?” You asked hopefully, nodding your head in the direction of the sweet music.

Kylo was glad for the chance to part from the table, his long legs must have been aching for a good stretch of their own, surely.

“If you would excuse us, friends.” Kylo said, interrupting the pleasant chatter at the table while you stood.

They paid you little mind other than a few happy words of promises to get together in the upcoming days, and Kylo led you by the arm to the reception room, where many other couples in their utmost finery were dancing together.

You recognized the tune immediately as the popular cello solo from Saint-Saens, Le carnaval des animaux. Kylo hummed along to it, as his strong hand supported your lower back, your shoes carrying you across the dance floor in time with the music.

“Did you mean it, what you said at the table?” You asked, resting your head upon his chest, the starched shirt only moderately scratchy against your cheek. “The part about wanting to learn?”

“Of course, I won’t lie to you.” Kylo replied, “I find dishonesty detestable.”

“Then may I be honest with you?” You looked up at him with a smile.

“Always.” Kylo quirked a smirk of his own.

“I’d like nothing more than to disappear for the evening.” You whispered, though not a single soul was paying any more attention to you, too wrapped up in their own love affairs. “Perhaps we can…make somewhat of an undetectable exit, return to our rooms when the song is over.”

“Have you left anything at the table?” Kylo tried glancing through the doors into The Ritz, but the angle was blocked.

“Yes, do you think Dopheld would be kind enough as to retrieve it for us?” You groaned, not wanting to have to return to the table. Such an act would only make your intentions clear, and you didn’t want to be the subject of more gossip than you were certain you already were.

Kylo nodded, and when the song ended, you applauded the cellist lightly before escaping back to the rooms.

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By the time you turned the corner to your hallway, you were happily running, Kylo chasing you playfully. You gathered up the skirt of your dress and laughed and laughed, as he made good on his promise to catch you. And catch you he did, capturing your waist in his hands and carrying you across the threshold of the parlor suite.

You were out of breath from excitement when he carried you still through the sitting room and into the bedroom, placing you onto the bed and setting to undo all your clasps and buttons and hidden fasteners that Worth so craftily kept out of sight.

“What a beautiful evening.” You couldn’t help but sigh, as he kissed the exposed skin of your breasts when he freed them finally from their supports.

“You stole the show, truly.” He agreed, kissing down your sternum as you shimmied out of your foundation garments which pooled on the floor at your feet. “Your charms and wit went over so well with our table.”

You cupped his cheeks, brought him back up to your lips so you could kiss him properly, wanting to feel the hot slide of his tongue against your own, such a kiss scandalous in public, but here, here in the privacy of your rooms, you could indulge.

“I do too.” You whispered suddenly, making him frown.

“Do what, blossom?” He asked, kissing you again again again, stealing your breath away.

“I want to learn of all your causes too.” You explained, remembering the conversation from before, his answer to Hux’s question. “All of them. I feel I have spoken so much of myself today, I hardly gave you any time of your own.”

“I much prefer to listen, but tomorrow I’d be more than happy to delve into some of it.” Kylo suddenly grew shy, and you leaned back enough to look him properly in the eyes.

Your hands on his face lingered, and you rubbed a soothing sort of circle into his scar.

“Don’t be afraid.” You said, and he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“I’m not.” He turned his head to kiss your palm.

“Then why do I see fear in your eyes?” You wondered aloud, making him sigh.

“I only worry that your opinion of me may change.” He sat on the mattress next to you, his impressive weight causing it to dip, causing you in turn to lean towards him.

It was a valid concern, you thought to yourself. Valid for all the rumours about him.

“I think you’ll find I may just surprise you.” You said anyway, assured and reassured him with a squeeze of his hand.

That seemed to appease him enough for the moment, and that cheeky playful smile returned, the shy scowl disappearing into a smooth transition of lust that had your pace quickening all over again.

“I would like, if I may, to take you all over this room.” Kylo said, and you only grinned, only guided his hands back to your exposed breasts, remembering your naked body.

“How do you still have an appetite?” You teased, pulling him towards you, letting yourselves fall backwards onto the mattress.

“I need you like a fish needs water.” He proclaimed, making you laugh and laugh as you rolled on top of him, straddled his waist.

“Well we are behind closed doors now, shall we test the thickness of the walls?” You challenged, making him grin.

And oh, with what fervor he accepted that challenge, what fervor indeed.

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Tagging some friends! As always, if you’d like to be taken off or added to the taglist, please just let me know :)

@kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @taylovren-types @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @elfieboxcat @laurenshit @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @mp938368 @goodboybensolo @intrestellarsarah @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk–maaan @flapjacques @thepilotanon @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @runhbo

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader insert #historical au #titanic au #titanic!kylo #titanit!kylo ren #my writing #beautiful beloved #kylo ren fluff #kylo ren smut

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kinsbin · 4 years ago

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Title: Migraines Word Count: 1500 Pairing: Kai/Lucifer [SI/Canon]

Summary: Kai has a migraine and Lucifer helps them through it.

A/N: TWO PIECES OF WRITING IN LIKE 2 DAYS? I’M ON FIRE- not really I had a migraine for 2 days straight and just wanted Lucifer to hold me in a dark penthouse with some pain killers that's literally it.

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Lucifer felt his heart beat out of his chest when the elevator of his pent house sung its song of arrival. Kai had texted him in declaration that they would be up in a few moments upon their arrival at the LUX, their simple statement of ‘had a bad day’ not going unnoticed from the Devil’s detailed eyes as he sat expectantly at his bar, two drinks prepared for him and his lover as they entered the room. Something in him faltered as he watched them pull themselves into the space, however.

Kai winced at the brightness of the space, their gaze pained as they glared at the open curtains and groaned with annoyance, a hand raising up to pinch at the bridge of their noise and rub along their temples lazily. A sigh escaped their lips as they dropped their favorite bag - an expensive black leather thing custom embroidered with red threads and horror motif - at the edge of the bar and gave a weak nod to their boyfriend, going in for a hug as they sighed. Lucifer returned the hug with a carefulness he wasn’t aware he would have to use, his gaze curious down at his little human as he rubbed at their back.

“You look exhausted, love,” Lucifer noted with an edge of shock to his tone, “You meant more than just ‘bad day’ didn’t you?”

“Mmmm,” Kai’s voice was a groan against his chest as they buried their face into him with a sigh, “Migraine mostly… My head feels like it’s going to be popped… I don’t know, I was just sensitive and I kept making stupid ass mistakes. I feel shitty for a lot of reasons… But, I think, it’s mostly the migraine.”

“Well,” Lucifer sighed as he patted their back gently, “Let’s take care of that first, shall we?”

It wasn’t long before Lucifer scooped his lover up in his arms, pressing a kiss to their aching forehead as he moved them over to his bed. The silken sheets felt heavenly on their aching muscles, making Kai groan in appreciation as they buried their face in the nearest pillow, rolling so that they rested on their front and hid away from the intensity of the sunlight. Lucifer smiled slightly at the movements before going around towards the curtains of his bright penthouse.

One by one they were drawn shut, the hotel quality blackout material keeping the entire room in all but complete darkness. The lack of light made the pressure in Kai’s head ease as they dared to lift their gaze away from the pillow that smelled so familiarly of their boyfriend. They followed the vague outline of Lucifer as he moved around the penthouse, his fingertips forgoing his alcohol in favor of snatching up a tall bottle of ice cold water from the nearby mini fridge and bringing it over to place at their side on the nightstand as carefully as possible. Kai couldn’t help but smile and give a nod of appreciation to the beverage, but even more so to the painkillers that joined them shortly after. It was enough to bring them into a sitting position in order to take the needed drugs.

“I also have weed, too, if you think that might help.” Lucifer chimed before adding playfully, “Or cocaine.”

“Cocaine would make a migraine worse, I think.” Kai laughed as they downed the ibuprofen and a chug of their water, sighing at the feeling of the cold beverage making its way down their throat. The mere act of sipping at the water made their head feel a little less pressurized, making them sigh as they leaned backwards until they were laying down on the bed once more, stretching their body like a cat across their favorite sunspot as they sighed. Lucifer watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the form of his human with the fondest of smiles gracing his full lips.

When they buried their face once more into the softness of the familiar black and red sheets, Kai sighed as they felt a hand inch up their back, pushing their shirt up and away from their skin as the heat of Lucifer’s body radiated sweetly between their shoulder blades. He tugged gently, a silent request for them to pull their shirt all the way off if they were able to. With a little wiggling and a near begrudging grunt from them, Kai managed to slip the tank top off of their form and lay, shirtless and comfortable, in the pile of blankets surrounding them. They shut their eyes, letting the darkness ease their aching head as they fisted handfuls of the sheets into their grip with a low mumble of nothing that resembled words.

They exhaled in appreciation when Lucifer’s hands slid across their back, massaging their aching bones with those wonderfully clever hands of his. No one would expect the Devil to be as good at massages as he was, certainly, but it did feel amazing. Each shift of his hand made the tension in their muscles ease, his palm pushing down on the line of their spine as he moved up and down, taking his time in loosening the muscles attached to his lover. It took all of Kai’s energy not to arch into the other’s touch like a greedy cat, their mewling gentle as hey bent to Lucifer’s will.

“I’ll take those little sounds as approval!” Lucifer teased with a chuckle as he continued to let his hands work on his lover’s back, “You’re so tense love.You’d think that you’d carry your migraine more in your back rather than your head.”

“Mmm, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what? Spoil the love of my life? Let a man have a little fun, K.M!”

Kai rolled their eyes, but accepted the gentle movements of their lover with little protest outside of their initial mumble. Their head didn’t allow them the luxury of being argumentative this time. As much as they felt embarrassed when Lucifer fawned over them like he was, they had to admit that there was something nice about the feeling of simply laying there. Of simply allowing themselves to be for once in their life as they were taken care of. To allow the world to continue around them without running after it as fast as they were physically able to…

The movement of his hand lasted a little while longer before they stopped, making Kai sigh in appreciation as they shifted their shoulders, hearing the echoes of the residual cracks break against their skin as they stretched themselves. Lucifer chuckled, leaning forward to place a kiss on the base of their neck before simply trailing his fingers down their skin just light enough to create goosebumps.

“Better, love?”

“Mm, yeah, thanks.” Kai managed out with a smile as they dared peer out from beneath the comfort of the sheets, “Sorry, I know you wanted to have fun today. Migraines are the least fun…”

“They are,” Lucifer hummed his agreement, “But you aren’t. My evening was yours anyways, this doesn’t put a damper on my plan of ravishing you either way.”

To add to his statement, Lucifer gave a playful nip to the back of his lover’s neck, making them giggle and squirm beneath him as they sighed and stretched some more, their eyes fluttering shut as they exhaled.

“Will you lay down with me?”

“Of course.”

In those singular moments, Lucifer was next to them. Kai couldn’t tell when he had taken his shirt off, but it didn’t matter much as they both wrapped themselves around one another, Kai burying their face into Lucifer’s chest with a sigh. His warmth was welcome and his body was comforting, their legs touching together and their skin connecting perfectly in the cool space of the dark room. The pain killers had begun to set in already, making the headache fade away into exhaustion as Kai listened to the sound of Lucifer’s heartbeat in his chest, their mind fading into nothingness between bouts of exhaustion as they let their feet brush along Lucifer’s. His hands played with their arms and his chin rested atop their head as he kissed it.

“Love you…” Kai murmured out.

“I love you too,” Lucifer chuckled back, “Now get some sleep, silly little human.”

“Whatever you say, silly little angel.” Kai scoffed back as their eyes fluttered shut. Lucifer pulled away their glasses and put them on the side table with a huff at the nickname, simply sitting there in their lover’s embrace as they fell asleep at his side. The darkness surrounded him and the world seemed to fade in and out of slow motion. No matter the thoughts that seemed to bubble in his head, he couldn’t help but exhale as he understood the honesty of a single one:

He belonged here. He belonged with them. Nothing would change that.

#self ship #self shipping #self insert #selfship #kinley writes #kaicifer #lOOK I'M FUCKING WEAK OKAY #I JUST WANT HIM... TO HOLD ME CRIES

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moroccorug · 4 years ago

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Moroccan Impressed Rugs Featuring Traditional Moroccan Rug Designs

That’s ok if that’s what you want however simply let you understand that the quality shall be poor. The designs were formed by local weather conditions and tribal life.

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Semi-nomadic cultures required looms and carpets to be transportable, so weavings couldn’t lengthen past seven ft. Beautiful new Kilim with geometrical tribal design and light colors, totally handwoven with wool on cotton basis.

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Moroccan Vintage rugs are nicely characterised by abstract, non-repeating patterns of tribal symbols and color. Tribes objective their rug creations for private use, give them away as gifts to others, or sell them.

Traditionally, Moroccan rugs have been woven by tribal peoples for his or her utility rather than for ornamental purposes. vintage moroccan rug Twentieth-century Moroccan rugs are broadly collected in the West, and are almost always woven by tribes individuals who do not search nor possess formal creative training.

Nice new Kilim with geometrical tribal design and nice colors, completely handwoven and embroidered with wool on cotton foundation. Nice new Kilim with geometrical tribal design and nice colors, entirely hand woven and embroidered with wool on cotton foundation.

For our closet, that didn’t work in our closet, so my pal Brittni (photograph above is hers!) is now the proud owner of it. BUT I STILL LOVE IT SO MUCH. This shop may actually be THE most colourful of the bunch, like jaw drops to the floor bold.

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See what speaks to you, what moves you—they’re so unique and soulful that it’s really hard to supply rules past quality. We picked Ben’s brain for recommendations on deciding on, styling, and caring for these one-of-a-kind rugs. Revival Rugs works on the bottom, instantly with artisans, to select handmade items.

Boucherouite rugs are multihued items which are created by cutting readymade textiles like clothes and sheets into scraps to be woven. Far from just aesthetic, the motifs are symbolic, revealing a story passed down through generations.

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Nice Tunisian rug with lovely geometrical design and good colors with purple, blue, yellow and green, entirely hand knotted with wool velvet on cotton foundation.

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Vintage Berber Moroccan rug artwork pieces made inside the last years are collectible. Fewer objects produced during a sure time increases the worth of the item. With classic Moroccan rugs, the value raises if they are handmade and one-of-a-kind.

These reflect both the ceremonial and everyday life of the group. The vivacious oranges and sunny yellows reign in the High Atlas. Dramatic light blue and camel tones seem in northern Morocco .

In turn, the ivory background and charcoal motifs are characteristic of Beni Ourain rugs. All forms of Moroccan rugs are perfect for the stylish up to date interiors of the 21st century.

Woven by the semi-nomadic Berber ladies who reside in northern Morocco, classic Morrocan rugs have been initially concocted as sleeping mats, bed coverings, and light-weight shawls.

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Beni Ouarians are thought of probably the most prestigious of the Berber rugs. Simple geometric designs, impartial colourways and a deep, soft pile - minimalist luxurious outlined.

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You will see a noticeable distinction of colour in the course of the fiber in bleached rugs. The rug pile could have worn spots revealing the foundation of the rug.

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We assist women's weaving cooperatives throughout Morocco and have long-standing relationships with these talented artisans. Every piece is a part of Moroccan history representing true folks artwork.

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tendertenebrosity · 5 years ago

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Parts one, two, three, four, five, and the recent noncanon sad AU

The ambassador from the elven nations had written back personally to congratulate Lian and the empress on their impending wedding. He had, in fact, graciously accepted the invitation that the empress had sent him.

Lian had thrown up almost everything they had tried to eat for a week.

They were past that, now, though, which was good because it hadn’t helped anybody in the slightest. Now they could mostly move through their day not thinking about it, trying desperately not to think about it. They had had enough to do trying to wind back some of the harsher measures that the empress considered necessary for ‘whipping the court into shape’, so this had been working.

Up until now. Over breakfast today, which Lian had managed to keep down, the empress had told them that they would be attending a fitting for their wedding clothes this afternoon.

One of the ever-present guards followed a pace behind Lian as they made their way to the room they’d been told, their stomach twisting with familiar dread.

Lian stopped, surprised.

They had expected that the wedding clothes they were being fitted for would be in the style of the Empress’ people. They actually had no idea what that might entail – they’d never been to an Imperial wedding - but imperial-style robes were all Lian was allowed to wear at the moment.

But the seamstress standing in the room was one of their own subjects.

She bowed to Lian. “Your highness,” she murmured. “I specialise in traditional wedding attire. I’m very honoured to have the opportunity to dress you.”

Over on the other side of the large room there was a table, and spread across this were samples of fabric, sketches, a spray of silk flowers. A stand beside it held folds of blue cloth.

The guard moved behind Lian, skirting around them in order to walk around the room. Lian realised they’d been standing staring at the seamstress like an idiot for too long.

“I – thank you,” they stammered. “The honour is… mine.”

The guard, apparently satisfied that there were neither escape routes or enemies lurking in the room, took up his position just inside the door. He leaned back against the wall and looked bored.

The seamstress gave a nervous-looking smile and led Lian over to the table. “I have already briefly gone through designs with her imperial majesty’s seamstress,” she said. “If you have no objections, I have a base gown that I hope will be suitable here.”

“Of course,” Lian said. “I’m sure it’s… fine…”

They glanced at the designs that had been laid out, confused and rattled. They had expected to spend an awkward afternoon trying on uncomfortable, unfamiliar formal clothing like some kind of oversized doll. But this was worse! Why was Lian being dressed like this? Would the empress also wear the clothes of Lian’s culture? What was this supposed to mean?

“If you would…”

The seamstress was standing holding the gown, waiting. Lian hurriedly turned their back and started to take the outer layers of their clothes off. They had to lift their arms and pull part of their outfit over their head. They bundled the clothes against their chest for modesty.

When they turned back the seamstress was looking at them in alarm, her eyes wide and shocked over the armfuls of blue cloth.

Lian glanced around, wondering what had startled her. Was it the guard? No, the guard was still over by the door, not apparently paying much attention to either of them. The seamstress’ gaze flicked to Lian’s shoulder.

Oh. Of course.

Lian hadn’t been allowed to take any sort of punishment on behalf of their people for weeks now - It isn’t ‘appropriate’ for the empress to have her betrothed whipped, Lian thought bitterly.

So they didn’t have any fresh marks. But there were a couple of scars, new and pink across their shoulders, left from the early days of the occupation. Lian supposed the seamstress, having come from the city rather than the palace itself, hadn’t heard about it when Lian had got them.

“I’m – I’m so sorry,” she said, and Lian didn’t know if she meant, I’m sorry for staring, or I’m sorry you were hurt.

“It’s no concern,” Lian said calmly. They hesitated, one last glance towards the guard, but what did it matter? They put the hated imperial clothing aside, and held out their arms for the seamstress to put the half-finished robe on them. “Please.”

She bowed her head and set about quickly dressing Lian in the pieces she had brought. Blue and gold, as was traditional.

“There will be, um, swans embroidered along here,” the seamstress said, her eyes lowered. “And fireflowers, for luck.”

Swans were a common motif for wedding paraphernalia, so they should have been expecting it. There was no reason for their inclusion to make Lian’s heart sink into their shoes.

They ran their hands over the cloth draping their body, lost for words. It was already dyed in a subtle, graceful pattern.

“It’s – beautiful,” they managed to whisper. They tried to smile; the clothes were beautiful. Stunningly so. It wasn’t the seamstress’ fault that the sight of them sent Lian to the brink of collapsing on the floor in noisy, terrified tears.

The seamstress walked around Lian, all professional interest and courtesy, her hand gentle as she touched here, drew fabric in there.

They had daydreamed about this, occasionally. There had never been anybody that they were serious enough about to place beside them in the dream. But yes, they had thought that one day they might wear clothes like this and stand beside somebody, join their wrists with cloth bindings, and swear to share their life forever. In a few years. When they were ready. When they had found someone they trusted absolutely.

The seamstress knelt down beside them to pin the hem of the robe. Lian tipped their gaze back towards the high ceiling, and blinked hard in the hopes they could make the tears less noticeable. They knew they had failed when they had to draw in a shuddering breath and the seamstress glanced up, her hands falling still.

She was holding pins in her mouth to have both hands free. There was a question in her eyes, but Lian made a gesture that indicated she should keep going. They tried to find a reassuring smile for her – a smile to soothe someone else, yes, they could do that, that was a burden they could carry. “It’s fine,” Lian mumbled. “Just… keep going. The gown will be very impressive when it’s finished, I know.”

She nodded slowly.

She worked in silence for another few minutes. Lian tried unobtrusively to wipe their eyes and nose on the back of their hand so they wouldn’t drip on the fabric.

The seamstress stood up, holding a sash against Lian’s waist. “Is that too tight?”

“No.”

She bent in close, again, working to pin a seam in place. “Why don’t you run?” she murmured, past the pins held in her mouth.

Lian took a deep breath, glanced over at their guard nervously. He didn’t seem to have heard.

They gave a half shrug, and then winced apologetically as this dislodged a piece of fabric. “Sorry.” They tried to keep their voice very soft and unconcerned, as if they were only discussing the fit of the sash. “How could I? I mean – of course, I thought about it. But it isn’t possible.”

Of course they had thought about it. But they’d never gotten to the point of actually trying anything. If they had failed – or, maybe even worse, if they had succeeded - what would the empress have done?

The seamstress nodded, looking thoughtful. “Put your arm up, highness. No, higher – yes, like that. Hold there, please?” She changed position, worked in silence for another minute.

Lian thought that was an end to it. They stared out into the room with glassy eyes, trying to slow their breathing.

The wedding day loomed in their mind like a monolith. They couldn’t imagine a life after it – of course, logically they knew that things would carry on, that the palace would still need to run, that the empress and her people would continue to sink their grip tighter and tighter into Lian’s country. A lot of things would happen. Lian just struggled to imagine themselves taking any sort of active role in them.

Which was weakness, delusion, and self-pity their people could ill afford. They were doing their best to plan for it, even though deep down they couldn’t believe they’d still be around.

The seamstress shifted Lian’s arms again with a firm, professional grip, and leaned in close to make another adjustment. Her eyes were down. “Maybe it is possible,” she murmured. “My sibling is in the resistance… I could talk to them, see if there was some way…”

Lian stiffened, drawing in a shocked breath. They felt – a multitude of things – surprised, then elated that there was still such a thing as a resistance. They felt touched that the seamstress would take the risk of offering them help.

Mostly, though, what they felt was panic.

“Shhh,” they hissed. “Don’t – don’t tell me that.”

The seamstress pulled back, gave them a puzzled, hurt glance.

Lian tried to hold themselves still, their heart pounding underneath the fine cloth. They flicked their gaze over towards the guard.

He hadn’t looked up. They let their breath out, slowly, their shoulders lowering. They couldn’t say they were relaxed, though.

“Thank you for the offer,” they breathed after a moment. “It means… more than I can say. But it isn’t safe.” They swallowed, trying to speak quietly around the lump in their throat. “I can’t be involved with the resistance, I can’t even know about it. I’m too closely watched – she would find out. I’d only get people killed.”

“If we got you away from her –”

Lian shook their head, shot a glance over at the guard. “I don’t think anybody can.”

“You’re our ruler,” the seamstress said, quietly but very firmly. “We need you. Your place is with them.”

Lian gave up and raised a hand to their face. A real smile broke through their tears, the first in weeks, making their cheeks ache. “Thank you,” they said. “But it - it’s not worth the deaths. Please.” They made a little cutting-off motion with one hand. “Please. Be safe.”

She looked over her shoulder at the guard, and bowed her head. “Of course, your highness,” she murmured. “I… I think I am almost done here. Just hold on for a little longer in this position?”

“I can do that,” Lian said.

The seamstress completed the rest of her work rapidly, pinning things in place, holding swatches of cloth up to Lian’s hair, taking measurements. She and Lian didn’t speak again, except for short murmured instructions as she helped Lian lift the beautiful, horrible blue wedding gown off without sticking themselves with the pins.

Lian was dressing again when the door opened. Their mind was occupied, turning over the new pieces of information they had learned. There was still a resistance, even after what had happened to the last group. Lian was simultaneously glad of it, and proud of their subjects, and terribly afraid for them.

The empress swept in. Any fleeting warmth Lian had felt from the seamstress’ declaration vanished instantly.

“You majesty,” Lian said hurriedly, as they did up the last few fastenings with fingers that trembled. They bowed hurriedly. “I – I wasn’t expecting – ”

“Ah,” the empress said. “I see I’m too late to see you in the gown. A pity.”

Lian was irrationally, helplessly terrified that somehow she would just know. As if she could read Lian’s mind and know what they had been thinking about, as if Lian themselves looked suspicious, was broadcasting their guilt and the seamstress’ guilt from their face.

“Do you – want me to put it back on?” they asked reluctantly. They allowed thoughts of the hateful wedding clothes to push their fear for the seamstress aside, as if they could use how much the gown frightened them as a mask for more important concerns.

She waved a lazy hand. “No, no. I’m sure I’ll see enough of it later.”

The seamstress was hovering. Her eyes, when they met Lian’s, were full of sympathy. Lian cleared their throat. “Thank you,” they said to the seamstress. “You should – I mean, you can go. Thank you for your lovely work.”

The seamstress bobbed another bow, and left, the beautiful blue gown in her arms.

The empress watched Lian. Her eyes crinkled, and she tipped her head onto one side, her lips curving into a smile. Even if she hadn’t decided on the wedding clothes solely out of spite, Lian realised, she had certainly set it up to surprise them.

“Do you like it? I thought you would… appreciate a few nods to your traditions.”

Lian lowered their head. “It’s… beautiful,” they whispered.

She walked across the room in a rustle of skirts, and reached out towards Lian’s face. Lian cringed, but didn’t resist as she put one finger under their chin and used it to tip their face upwards.

They knew that they had tear tracks down their cheeks, that their eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Was that such a surprise? Wasn’t this the reaction she’d been trying to elicit? What did she want? Lian felt new tears pricking at their eyes as she critically examined their face.

“Crying?” she said lightly. “This really won’t do, you know.”

Lian couldn’t help it; they gave the slightest jerk of their chin, pulling away from her hand and turning their face away and down. Instantly they regretted it, and drew in a shaking breath. “Sorry,” they whispered, bringing their eyes back to her.

She made a chiding noise. “I’ll forgive you this time, since we’re in private,” she said. “But on the day itself, you’ll need to be a little more decorous.”

“Of c-course.”

“Perhaps what you need is incentive?”

Lian dragged in a horrified breath. “No,” they begged. “I don’t n-need that, please, I promise – ”

“Ah, of course!” she said, brightly. She stepped away, wandering over to look at the samples of material that the seamstress had left on the table. She ran her finger down a scrap of cloth.

Lian flinched.

“If you cry during the wedding ceremony,” the empress said, her voice matter-of-fact, “I will have the seamstress who is making our wedding robes, and all of her staff, thrown off the palace walls. After the reception is over and everyone’s gone home, of course.”

Had she picked the seamstress because of their earlier conversation? Did she somehow suspect? Lian didn’t see how that was possible. The seamstress was just… conveniently at hand.

Their breath caught in a sob. “You don’t have to –”

“I hope I won’t, no,” the empress said mildly. “But that is up to you. Do I make myself clear?”

Lian put a hand over their own mouth, squeezing their eyes shut, hating the tears that slid unchecked down their cheeks. They nodded wordlessly.

They could close their eyes, but they couldn’t block the empress’ voice out. They could hear the smile in her tone.

“I’m glad you like the wedding clothes, Lian.”

#ruler and empress #Lian #forced marriage #wedding stuff #reveal of scars #power dynamics #whump drabble #whump #chin tilt #I really appreciate all the nice comments on this series from everyone #<3

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daydreambts · 3 years ago

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I gasped a little as you pull me back in but not resisting or moving at all. “Thank you” I said as you spoke about me not being alone anymore. You would never understand how much I appreciated that, biting my lip , I smiled at you as you talked and laughed hitting your chest as you said that. But I couldn’t deny it , I felt like this was where I was meant to be. Right here in your arms. I didn’t think I could thank you enough you honestly had made my experience here so much better. I took the burger as you fed me it chuckling a little as I ate. I wasn’t going to lie but I felt disappointed when you let me go. I smiled and hummed a little as I chewed on my burger trying to think what else I would like to see. “Ok what would you recommend we do then?” I smiled my heart doing a little jump when you mentioned the matching tattoos again hoping you don’t feel pressured into getting them but at the same time I had gotten to know now that you didn’t really do things you didn’t want to do in the first place. - Amy rose anon 🌹

•━»•»🌸«•«━━━━━━━━•••

Jungkook chuckled and tugged you over to the area with the merch artists, feeling almost like a teenager on an amusement park date. "Why don't we pick up some merch and then think about what tattoos we'll get?" He let you look at the stalls leisurely, while he too took the time to check the merch; there were all sorts of things from small items like postcards and phone cases, to one of a kind embroidered jackets. He caught sight of a delicate necklace of filigree flowers--he thought it would match your tattoos and secretly signaled the artist for it. To distract you, he pointed out a stall with souvenir shirts. "And of course, we /must/ get matching souvenir shirts, and it's on theme, as you said, why don't you pick out for us?" he suggested, practically shooing you off so he could buy the necklace. He paid for the shirts, carrying them in the shopping bag, and led you to the area with tattoo artists. "Now... What would be good for us?" he mused. "Another option for couples instead of matching tattoos are complementary tattoos... Like for example, a dragon-phoenix set, and the dragon will fit in your sleeve, and a phoenix would fit in nicely with your motifs," the artist said the last part to you. "We'll check other designs, I want Amy to love what we're getting," he said, though he couldn't help but grin, liking that whole dragon and phoenix symbolism. "What do you think? See anything you fancy?" Jungkook asked, nudging you slightly.

#singer!jungkook #rose anon #bts rp #bts-rp #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook rp #bts fic #bts roleplay #bts-roleplay

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randomhomosapiens · 7 years ago

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Wounds- part two

Pairing : MC (not the original one) × Masamune

A warning : This may be getting pretty violent in the next chapters. There will a priori be mention of death, suicide, torture and scarification.

@manunelle, there it is !

Read Part one

War counsel

The week that followed the incident was unbelievably tiring. Since the old ghosts had decided to come back from the dead, another war was profiling and they had to get ready. Masamune’s territory of Oshu was a direct neighbour of Uesugi Kenshin’s province of Echigo. Preparing his region for war was now an utmost priority. Piles of paper were piling on his desk, and war counsels kept being summoned at impossible hours, inventory of the stock of powder and of other resources had to be done without delay.

He had no idea what the Princess was doing meanwhile, and it was honestly not his priority to know. Or that was what he kept telling to himself. But part of Masamune's mind was constantly rehearsing the warmth of her skin, her shudder and violent trembling when she had shove him away.

The broken smile she had given him preoccupied him.

And that scared him.

He was the One-eyed dragon. He did not worry about his future ; that was just not in his nature. But he couldn't get her expression of his mind. There was also the issue of her gesture. He didn't really mind being molested by a woman, and he wasn't against acknowledging one's talent. So why did it matter to him so much ? She had thrown him three feet away with only one hand. But it wasn't like she had really hid her strength and fight skills ; he supposed she just hadn't had the occasion to show it. Masamune wanted to believe she was genuinely honest and oblivious, he wanted to believe in those carefree smiles and truthful eyes.

But as Oshu’s liege Lord and vassal to Lord Nobunaga, as an accomplished tactician and warrior, he couldn't just let it slip. And he kept telling himself that was what irked him. He liked her a lot and he didn't want to find out she was related to god-knew-what plot. He needed to find out if she was a spy. Then, perhaps, at last, he could worry about her smile.

Just as Masamune decided he wasn’t going to be able to work on those stupid letters in this conditions, another -another !- war counsel was called. Again. He hated those chores, he wanted to see the princess, and he missed his kitchen. Bah, they would have summoned him in advance to try to get him to attend it on time - the fools ! being late was an art in itself.

“Milord, this isn’t the way to the main hall” Kojuro grumbled as his Lord strolled off in the wrong direction.

“Nope, it isn’t. I’m just gonna grab something to eat and get there. I’ll try to be on time, as usual” he snickered.

“As usual, he says …”

He had lied, of course. Oh, he did intend to make his way towards the main hall, but not without making a small detour by the lass’s chambers first … a bowl of ramen in each hand, he pushed the door and entered the room.

It was utter chaos.

Book laid half opened and scattered on the floor, kimonos and stolen hakamas could be found thrown around the room in random piles, paper were strewn everywhere around the room, and a small flora had begun to grow on a pile of branches and other vegetable waste that she must have picked up during her escapades in the woods. The shouji* were wide open on the outside.

This had to be a nice room; when it wasn’t in such utter disarray.

Masamune immediately put down the food on the sole empty place of the floor and scrutinized the room to look for more concrete traces of struggles. Had she been kidnapped ? He wouldn’t be surprised. Nobunaga, Ieyasu and himself had already enough enemies on their own as daimyos, and now that war was profiling, a woman that was known to be in their favor would be a valuable hostage.

Just as he was preparing to tell the others, he heard a light ruffle coming from the open shouji. He drew his katana immediately.

“Who’s there ?” he called threateningly.

“Crap.”

A dark haired head briefly poked out from behind the doors.

He sighed and sheathed his sword.

“Kitten, I can see you through the shouji. It’s transparent.”

“Masa ! I thought it was Hideyoshi.”

“And why were you hiding ?” he asked, feeling the smile coming to his lips.

“Well. I’m forbidden to go out without telling him. And also, … I may or may not be late for this counsel thing.”

She came into view and he noted that she was in this strange dark fabric again.

“Oh, you have to come too ? That makes two latecomers", he commented. “So what happened ?”

“What happened ?”

He gestured to the whole of her room. “Either there was a storm and you left the door open, or you’re just very bad at tidying things.”

“Don’t. It’s an organized mess. I know exactly where everything is”, she boldly lied. “But never mind that, is that ramen ? Can I have some, please ?”

“Well, shouldn’t you be at the counsel ?” he teased. He did cook it for her.

“You’re one to talk”, she replied quickly. “Alright, first I’ll get prepared then I can have the food. Can you hand me a kimono ?”

And she started to get dressed in a rush. She had her weird black clothes on again, and she had hastily tied a hakama to her waist, not even bothering to put on a kimono. As much as he enjoyed the inconspicuous sight of the side of her thighs, Hideyoshi and the others wouldn’t.

She had chosen an uchikake**. Weird choice. There was hardly anything more formal, and she didn’t strike him as a formal person. But as he looked over the rest of her kimono, he noticed most of it were uchikakes, and only one yukata*** and tomesode**** could be found. That was odd of the maids to choose such kimonos for her to wear, and he could now understand why she always ended in hakamas. It was a pain.

Masamune was going to ask her when she removed her hair clip. Her jet-black hair rolled in a dark cascade along her spine. He had never realized how long and deep they were, smooth like coal-colored silk. And yet so different from the straightness of the woman's in Azuchi. Her hair was a long wave that stretched from the top of her skull to the hollow of her waist. She obviously did not pay much attention to it, and leaves and twigs of all kinds were visible here and there. It curved and dove and folded in the most unexpected ways, yet it looked graceful and harmonious.

“No time to brush. Give me the food ?” she reached out to him.

“No powder ?” he dared ask with a smile.

He wanted to see her in a more sophisticated, less boyish style. She rolled her eyes.

“Powder ? With my skin tone ? I wouldn’t mind looking like a corpse, but I don’t think Hideyoshi’s heart could stand the shock”, she snickered.

“Ha ! Worth it”, he shrugged.

They made their way to the main hall, slurping their food on the way, competing for the place of the noisiest eater. Though she was extremely clumsy with chopsticks, and had to dive her face into the bowl to finish, she won.

“We’re here !”

“You’re late, both of you.”

They all rolled their eyes and Masamune barked a laugh while Hideyoshi was muttering under his breath about the man having a bad influence on her.

Mitsuhide made a side comment on her loose hair that was wavy and she shaped her fingers into pistols, pointing at Ieyasu and designating him as her "hair brother". That earned her a sharp “Quiet, madwoman”.

But most of the faces around them were grimm. That meant bad news.

She didn’t listen. She couldn’t. She was utterly bored and only attended the counsel because she needed to return in Hideyoshi’s good graces. She was half-sleeping and completely oblivious of the disapprovement of the other retainers. She didn’t hear when her name was called, and Masamune had to shake her awake.

“What ”, she yawned, obviously bothered.

“Don't sleep during counsel” Nobunaga ordered.

“I can't help it. I don't have any business being here. Why did I even had to come ?” she asked.

“Look around you, air-head” said Ieyasu.

All the other retainers were gone and they remained alone in the otherwise empty hall. The counsel was finished.

“Hideyoshi has requested you get another work at the castle. As you don't seem particularly eager to fulfill your role as Chatelaine” Mitsuhide stated. She didn't answer ; it was true. “As you showed a remarkable love for mobility-”

“Yeah, it's impossible to find you in the same place for more than ten minutes.”

“Don't interrupt me, Masamune. As I said, as you seem to like to be in constant movement, you're going to run some errands for the castle. Starting now.”

“Eh ? Pain” she dropped.

“Language !”

“Then it's settled, you'll find the maids to explain to you your daily chores” Nobunaga ordered. “Dismissed.”

“But I don't know the area, apart from the woods !”

“I volunteer to show the lass around and escort her”, Masamune said stepping in, before Hideyoshi could scold her for having been into the woods enough time to know it by heart. He had a grin pasted on his lips, but his eyes were more serious. He knew how she liked to get in impossible situations -much like him, in fact- but he was heartily worried for her safety. And … he wanted to investigate more on what happened between them the other day. It was his duty, after all, as an ally of Nobunaga, to the whole region of Owari, and to Oshu too. She didn't look like she minded, but he was curious. And- concerned.

*Shouji : In traditional Japanese architecture, a shōji (from the Chinese "bamboo fence") is a wall or door made of translucent rice paper (called in Japan, washi, literally "Japanese paper") mounted on a wooden frame. Shōji are generally referred to as sliding doors and retain space that would be needed for a hinged door.

**Uchikake : An extremely formal silk kimono with long sleeves and a train. It can be entirely white or predominantly red, gold and black. It is richly embroidered with many auspicious motifs such as phoenix, crane, turtle, bamboo, pine, plum blossoms. It is worn like a cloak over a generally white furisode (kakeshita) and is never closed by an obi.

***Yukata : The yukata is worn during summer festivals. It is known for its bright colors and simple design. It is an informal cotton kimono unlined worn by women and men regardless of their age. Compared to other types of kimonos, yukata is much easier to put on and stays much cheaper.

****Tomesode : The tomesode (literally "tied sleeves") is the most formal silk kimono for married women. He is struck with one, three or five blazon of the family and his motifs, which may be silver or gold, are concentrated in the lower part.

Note : in Japanese, words don’t have plurals, but for comprehension reasons, I had to put “s” at the end of some words.

Read Part three

#mc × masamune #ikesen masamune #date masamune #masamune date #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen sengoku : romance across time #one eyed dragon #oda forces #wounds #my writing

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ckyking · 8 years ago

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fire and ashes

alright! nyxnoctweek, here we go! we are starting with some hunter!au~ (please ignore the fact that this is nearly three hours late in my time zone, i’m using the time magic called extra six hours before midnight to my advantage, okay!?)

“Get. it .off.”

Hearing the growled order so close to his ear – and to his vulnerable neck – did nothing to diminish the glow of Noctis’ practiced smile, which was truly only half-feigned. If one looked closely enough, like Nyx did, they would have been able to see the glimmer of genuine laughter in Noctis’ eyes, blue depths distracting unwary observers from his tight grip on his escort’s arm.

A slight uplift of the hunter’s lips answered the shapeshifter, highlighting once again the delicate beauty of his features and oh, how Nyx loathed him in that moment. The defiant boy was in his element here, surrounded by beautiful things, party in full swing around them. How could he not be? After all, as the older being had so pointedly reminded him of the first day they had spent together, the Lucis heir had been groomed to survive his coming of age, and it showed : greetings in various dialects, some nearly lost to time itself, dropped from his lips like precious jewels; the shadow of a smile or a seemingly innocuous twist of his fingers charmed their fellow guests, leaving them to look hungrily after him; and even Nyx himself, not forgettable in the least, turned into an accessory between his talented hands.

It was enough to drive a man crazy.

The subtle tensing of Noctis’ fingers against his arm stopped him from trying to claw off the other reminder of how out of place he was in such an environment. He was more suited to wilderness; to the wide open plains and the forests of his homeland; to the moon’s gaze on his back; to the taste of exertion, sweet and pure on his tongue. Nothing like the lies and schemes he had so devoutly avoided all these years, preferring to leave the political maneuvering to either Néit or Selena.

Through unknown means, the hunter had learned of this and vetoed any and all of his suggestions concerning their plan of action, leaving Nyx floundering for the first time in decades as Noctis brought to bear contacts no members of the Council had ever suspected him to have. No one dared contradict a member of the Ulric Clan when they came out of their self-imposed isolation, and here was this slip of a boy, not even a tenth of his age, ignoring him and taking his obedience for granted after leaving him bound and helpless for fun – or as payback if he was honest with himself.

In short order, their shared hotel room had been filled with fabrics and jewels, precious metals and leathers, all of them spread out for Noctis to peruse, the hunter occasionally looking up to assess his escort’s stormy demeanour before dismissing some of his options. With flicks of his fingers, the unwanted items disappeared, taken away as mysteriously as they had been delivered and leaving only the sharp smell of a winter’s night behind.

The enigma behind the Lucian’s casual use of such powerful magic was enough to pull the tattooed man out of his “sulk” as Noctis had categorized it later. Leaving his perch on the windowsill, Nyx cautiously walked closer to the seemingly distracted man to get a better idea of the hauntingly familiar scent that floated around him. As he did so, he kept a wary eye on the darkness stretching on the floor and reaching for him, Pryna’s cold hold still heavy on his mind. The raised eyebrow directed his way drove home how ridiculous he must have looked, literally jumping at shadows, but he ignored both Noctis’ judgemental stare and the dull burn of embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck. Briefly baring his teeth in answer and fighting the urge to strangle the brat, he returned to observing their chosen outfits for the night, laid out side by side on one of the couches lining the wall of their suite. He made it a point to keep his side to the hunter and not his back, watching him spin a piece of silver in his hands consideringly, around and around.

The first one was a study in contrast with the main piece cut from royal purple silk edged with black and artfully embroidered with gold in sweeping patterns closely resembling a dragon’s scales. Laid over it and obviously meant to be worn underneath was a tight sleeveless shirt, black to match the silk and offset by the white sash carefully folded on top.

Compared to it, the other outfit appeared simpler; a white short-sleeved tunic open from sternum to neck, material barely kept together by the black cords lacing it up. However, just like the other, the craftsmanship was impeccable, purple thread standing out against its white backdrop and weaving runes of all origins together in a motif that hid them from sight but did not impede their function. One of them caught his eyes, the archaic design bringing to mind his childhood in the wilderness of Galahd for a second before its meaning caught up to him. As if the entire motif was a door and this very rune the key to it, the pattern unravelled before his eyes and revealed what had only been hinted at until then.

“Noctis,” He asked, forgetting his anger for a moment and turning his head toward the other, ”Why the hell is that thing drowning in ownership marks?”

“Why, Sir Ulric, because you belong to me, for tonight at least.”

Those words barely reached his ears before soft lips covered his and a heavy weight was slipped around his neck. A soft click broke the sudden silence like a gunshot, followed by Noctis’ amused hum against his mouth as coldness flooded his limbs before nestling behind the wide silver band seamlessly encircling his throat.

“You fucking— “

Another peck stole the breath – and strength – out of him before the hunter leaned back, tugging the shapeshifter with him with a finger slipped between silver and the hummingbird beat of Nyx’s pulse. Noctis returned his fierce glare with an even wider smile, enjoying the sight of him struggling against the binding inflicted by the collar.

“Now, now, pet, be nice. Many of your misconducts will be glossed over as long as our fellow guests find me worthy of respect, but if you struggle too much, I will have to discipline you to keep it. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He punctuated each sentence with a tap against Nyx’s collar, overpowering the enchantments pointedly.

“Oh, and you didn’t think to warn me!?”

A considering hum answered him before a simple “no” was thrown back negligently.

“I know you are not comfortable in such battlefields, so I will be taking over. I hope you don’t mind.” Nyx’s suddenly pointed teeth ground together, expressing his anger when the rest of his body could not, “We’re partners after all.”

And now, here they were, mingling as Noctis put it. The urge to snap and show the brat his place beat like a second heart in his chest, but the usual fire animating him was dulled down to embers by the omnipresent darkness weaving itself around him in intangible bonds of silk.

At least, Nyx thought, he had not been left alone even once. Noctis’ bare shoulder rubbing against his arm at each step had been the closest he had had to anchor since their arrival. He refused to admit it out loud, but they did look good together, a thought echoed by many of the beings laughing and drinking around them.

The hunter – not that anyone knew him as such with the geas temporarily strengthened to hide his identity – was grace and loveliness incarnate. No one could stop themselves from looking at the marked skin of Noctis’ upper arms without wanting to replace the hunter’s own protection runes with their own. With the way silk wrapped around his neck, flowed to his side and looped back up to wrap around his forearms where it was secured by heavy gold bangles, it was no easy feat to ignore him.

The shapeshifter, on the other hand, embodied strength and power. The white cotton molded his muscular body perfectly, turning each of his deadly graceful movements into a display of dominance aimed at every other shifter in the same room as him. His intricate tattoos did nothing to detract from this impression, running up and down both arms and winking briefly from between the laces of his tunic, deep black against his tanned skin. Added to this were the laced-up leather pants showcasing everything from the firmness of his calves to the tempting muscles of his thighs in one line of bared flesh going from the top of his knee-high boots to this waist, the only matching piece both him and Noctis shared.

It had made it much easier to pull information from them. Noctis’ deft maneuvering and charm paired with Nyx’s wild allure and easy grin were a devastating combination, which the latter would have enjoyed more if not for the collar . As if sensing the spike of emotion, Noctis altered their course, aiming for one of the many balconies looking over the forest encircling the mansion, leaning his cheek against Nyx’s strong arm all the while in comfort.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” He asked as they reached the railing, the sweet-scented wind sending his robes and sash billowing in Nyx’s direction. The sound of both materials whispering against each other paired with Noctis’ sharp scent of snow and myrrh cut through the overwhelming smell of roses hanging in the air and leached tension from his frame against his will

“So you care now?” The white and black-clad man bit back, though not as sharply as he wanted to.

“I do. We only have each other here, and we can’t afford to let anything separate us.”

There was no hint of teasing as Nyx had expected, only utmost seriousness and the barest spark of apprehension in his blue eyes. When Noctis reached for his neck this time, he did not fight back and let him do so. Lithe fingers pressed against the metal at this throat and reinforced its enchantments, chasing away the fire coursing through his veins. The cold felt so good after all the heat that his eyes started closing off their own accord, until he was nosing sleepily into the crook of his owner’s neck.

“Nyx,” The hunter mouthed softly against his stubbled cheek, “Summer is heavy here, and they like to…play with people, much more so than Winter. As long as you belong to me, they cannot touch you, so please, play along.”

Just as he was about to answer, the bell which they had gotten a glimpse of as they crossed the manor’s grounds echoed, its loud tolls cutting off their conversation and forcing Nyx’s eyes open when his heart seemingly burst aflame.

“Nyx, Nyx!” Noctis whispered urgently, tightening his hold on the shifter and activating the ownership marks woven through his clothing and collar, “You have to strengthen your protections, now. We cannot afford to join their revelry!”

“What…spells..?”

“Are you— Are you serious!? The collar and clothes were insurance, but I thought that your tattoos were permanent spells! They look and feel like it!”

“Not…Summer.”

Clenching his teeth to resist the urge to shake and berate Nyx for his stupidity, he propped the bigger man up with his shoulder and pulled both of them against the flow of party-goers heeding the bell’s call and exiting the manor. Between maintaining the geas, Nyx’s claim and shielding him partially from Summer’s enchantments, his reserves were depleting, and fast. But he couldn’t give up, not now. Nyx was heavy and unresponsive against his slighter frame, eyes hazy and lost in the distance; much better than the alternative in Noctis’ opinion. As the thought crossed his mind, large hands tangled in the material of his sash while the until-then unresponsive man started mouthing at his shoulder and neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Turning his head away from the tantalizing touches, Noctis whispered a single sentence, lost in the earth-shattering noise echoing through the premises. The shadows surrounding them shuddered before the ones the hunter had named and called himself answered him, uncoiling from their resting place behind Nyx’s collar and slid down his body along the lines of his tattoos.

Each consecutive toll struck harder against the hastily erected web of shadows dampening its effects, stoking the heat roaring higher and higher. Even he who was born immune to such powers could feel the strength of it flowing over him like the sea, only to part when its will broke apart against the hundreds of Lucii who had lived and die to continue their line. But Nyx, he could not protect, not without bringing down Summer’s full might on them in their own territory.

“Look at me, Nyx. Don’t think about anything but me.”

The order, sharp and cutting, broke through the haze covering Nyx’s vision, lending strength back to his legs and allowing Noctis to take a break from supporting his weight to better survey where exactly they were heading. The wandering hands stilled around his waist even as the shifter plastered himself against his back, seeking the relief Noctis and his shadows provided him from the terrible heat.

They were lucky that most of the guests came fully expecting to be swept away by the flood of fire and paid no attention to them, willingly and temporarily enthralled as they were.

Closing his eyes to better shut out distractions and his own body’s reactions to Nyx, Noctis dove down into the dark and vibrant place inside of him that Luna had helped build, piece by piece. It was there that his spells were born, there that he was closest to Umbra and Pryna, there that the source of his power sang in ancient tongues and painted him in white and gold. And it was there that Nyx reached out to him, immersing himself in the coldness of his claim to escape the inferno trying to consume him.

It was unconceivable for him – who had felt Summer’s attempted re-claimings of his line most of his life – to not fear its touch, to not use every means at his disposal to keep it at bay. But Nyx— Nyx who was an Ulric, feared and revered; Nyx who prefered the heat of battle to pacts forged in sacrifices; Nyx whom the Fae avoided out of respect for the treaty the first Ulric bled for millennia ago. He had never known this, and in spite of their age difference, Noctis felt a little closer to him; felt and saw flashes of memories running through their fledgling bond, meant to last only for a night.

Luna, Dad, you never warned me about this.

You never told me they could be this genuine. You never told me they could be so human.

I could kill him. I could fuck him. But how am I supposed to do that when he is reaching for me so?

“To protect yourself, you may have to kill your heart” You told me. But I can’t do it. I’ve tried, but it’s hard sometimes.

“I’m going to regret this.” The youngest whispered to himself as he commanded the shadows to bind his partner. Nyx’s whole body tensed in answer, struggling against the now corporeal shadows crawling all over him. With a push, he was sent sprawling down on one of the many cushions decorating the floor, now unused because of the revelry going on outside.

His cut-off whine went straight through the ice Noctis had encased his own heart in – modelled after the Fae and Lunafreya’s own mask – since his father’s disappearance and the beginning of his mission.

Untying his trailing sash with sharp movements, he moved to straddle the taller male’s hips, not leaving himself one second to consider the consequences of his actions. Even now, the enchantment was still not done with its target, and Noctis felt the result of it against his ass, his erection straining against the leather of his pants, the little hitches of his hips even the shadows could not completely stop. The call of revelry was either to be completely embraced or destroyed immediately; fucking until the sun set and Winter’s power took hold was not a thing to do lightly, and he refused to ever go through such a thing, or use anybody in such a way.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he bent down and pressed his forehead to Nyx’s, looked into hazy blue eyes and called light and shadow to his hands.

“For better or for worse, you’ll be mine. I hope we can both live with it.”

Their first kiss tasted of fire and ashes, destruction and renewal.

#nyxnoctocalypse #nyxnoctweek #nyxnoct #nyx/noctis #noctis lucis caelum #nyx ulric #final fantasy 15 #my fic #hunter!au

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twenty6magazine · 8 years ago

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LFW AW17 - Day 4

Antonio Berardi

Antonio Berardi opened up day four of London Fashion Week with a mixture of sharp tailoring, gothic glamour and sports luxe. The Italian designer, who was once John Galliano’s second hand, has become illustrious for his evening wear and exquisite side-skimming gowns. His AW17 excelled this reputation by treating us to a delicately remarkable array of sweeping embroidered lace gowns and high voltage power dressing. Berardi’s collection was clearly a cut above the rest, with him covering a variation of silhouettes, from peplum jackets, and oversized collars to straight-cut trousers.

This season Berardi proved he is just as gifted at designing daywear as the evening wear he has become so distinguished by. His tailoring skills proudly shone all throughout the collection, featuring a redefinition of his signature trouser suit, and an ivory gown, cut to appear as if it was a full length skirt suit. Calling on ribbed knitwear and flannel parkers to provide us with a variety of pieces to wear during the day, Berardi's show was a reminder that London Fashion Week's richness is entirely dependent on its ability to offer variety.

Joseph

Joseph is another brand who ignored the periphery between what is considered menswear and womenswear this season. It seems that line is becoming increasingly faded and progressively overlooked in the fashion industry. This meant the collection contained a combination of loose, relaxed tailoring; and outerwear with girlish hues of hot pink and typically feminine fabrics — lace overlays, sateen, and sheer, which were embellished with coloured flowers. Other colours were fairly subdued with a lot of beige being seen as well as white and black.

Oversized and sculptural were the initial two words that came to mind when we first saw this collection. Expect lots of volume in the way of oversized shoulder pads, puffy sleeves, and chunky knits with sharp, enlarged collars and angular silhouettes. Other key looks included a delicate white dress overlaid with a scarlet cape like layer on one side, a silky and floaty black and white printed dress, and an oversized knit jumper with extra-long, unravelling sleeves. A variety of jackets in PVC, military inspired jumpsuits, outerwear staples, and roll neck jumpers were also on display.

Ashish

Absolutely everything in the Ashish show, was symbolic of something in the world’s current affairs. So much so that it was impossible to pick up on everything. If we watched the show again, we are sure we would pick up on something that completely escaped our notice the first time, because we were busy being too captivated by something else.

Mainly answering to politics, and communicating to Trump in particular, Ashish sent messages of resistance and solidarity in his designs. Motifs of 'keep the faith,' 'unity in adversity' and 'never give up' were emblazoned across t-shirts and sweaters. All designs were covered entirely in glitter and came in a magnitude of bright colours. Jumpers spoke to Trump directly with quotes yelling ‘more glitter, less twitter’ (fitting), and ‘love sees no colour’. Models faces were painted with Mexican fighting masks to show solidarity to Mexico - firing yet another dig towards Trump.

It wasn’t just the pieces in the collection that shone bright with glitter. The set also did. A replica of the yellow brick road, and a broken-heart back, drop the Indian-born designer told Vogue: “I was reading about how Oz was representative of Washington and how the hurricane of Dorothy was the political turmoil that happened at the time. It was so symbolic. According to Ashish, “We need to be united in a message of love and unity and stand up together against all the f***ed-up mess that is going on.”

Osman

One of the qualities which has helped to establish Osman as one of London’s most exciting talents, alongside his respect and appreciation towards all womankind, is his ability to cut shapes that flatter all dress sizes and body types.

His AW17 collection brings us colour, opulence, texture, and tailoring. Osman describes his ideal client as ‘a modern woman who isn’t scared to stand out and have fun to embrace the beauty and difference around her’. Nonetheless, his collection’s purpose is to celebrate the many women in his life – of all ages, religion, and styles. This season, he has enlisted friends including Tiphaine de Lussy, the textile designer, and the artists Celia Hempton and Rachel Jones among others to build on this message, the same one he has promoted throughout his career. The collection offers some clever tailoring options designed to accentuate a woman’s natural curves, along with some more glamorous night time options. Something that called out to us was his black satin cape embroidered with beaded flowers. Its elegance and beauty was complimented buy a white shirt worn underneath. A similar corset was included in the collection, which has now become so popular that Osman has included it in his Perfect Five capsule.

TWENTY6X

Words by Alice Lamaison

#ashish #antonioberardi #joseph #lfw #londonfashionweek #aw17 #lfwaw17 #twenty6magazine #osman

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hauteculturefashion · 5 years ago

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San Juan La Laguna is a charming town on Lake Atitlan and just a short ride away by water taxi from the buzzing little port town of Panajachel. It was the first town we visited whilst scouting workshops for our Guatemala: Weaving, Embroidery and Community Tour. San Juan has a wonderful communal spirit thanks to the multitude of cooperatives focusing on coffee production, traditional textiles and organic produce. Natural dyeing is incredibly popular in Guatemalan textiles today and San Juan has more than it’s fair share of interesting and insightful places to learn local techniques, in August 2019 we visited the natural dye garden of the Flor Juanera Cooperative in San Juan with our partners from Maya Traditions to find out more about sustainable natural dyeing processors in the community and for the heritage textiles market in general.

A mural of a local Tz’utujil weaver preparing the warp for the back-strap loom. She is wearing a traditional huipil of her community which has a special meaning behind the embroidery and colours.

The artistic spirit of San Juan La Laguna is reflected in the gorgeous murals that welcome you to the village with a creative embrace. These depict scenes from Tz’utujil heritage, including women weaving and men playing musical instruments. The textile community in San Juan is solid, with women in control of most of the dyeing and weaving cottage industry. There are plenty of boutiques selling handmade ikat woven cushions, throws, bags, scarves and shawls and there is a distinct whiff of bohemianism in the air as many travellers decide to stay on in San Juan, immersing themselves in the creative vibes and chill cafe culture.

The native women of the region are creative, entrepreneurial and strong. The mostly Tz’utujil community in this beautiful town still wear traditional cultural garments in their day-to-day lives, the most notable feature being the decorative necklines of their huipils which are embroidered with 24 squares that represent the town’s patron saint, Saint John the Baptist. Their textiles are mostly dyed in red to represent the purity of their ancestral blood, blue for the sky and the lake that envelops the town from above and below, and green for the lush volcanic flora surrounding Lake Atitlan valley. Often, all these colours are combined into a deep purple.

San Juan, Lake Atitlan

Boutiques selling beautiful ikat weaving.

Street art adds to the bohemian vibe.

Our first stop on arrival was the house of one of the artisans, Celeste, who collaborates with Maya Traditions. She was working on the most incredible piece of multi-coloured ikat fabric that included intricate designs of insects, centipedes, love hearts, flowers and butterflies.

So far, she had been working on the fabric for two days, carefully creating the vivid motifs by binding bundles of yarn used for the warp threads of the loom into the desired patterns before dyeing and then over-dyeing the exposed threads. She told us she still had two days’ worth of weaving ahead of her before it was finished.

The piece was part of a big commission that requested she uses synthetic dyes in order to achieve the level of vibrancy desired for the design. Although we were in San Juan to work with natural dyes, the natural ancestral knowledge required was a well-guarded secret for many years which meant that most artisans in the region were actually more familiar with synthetic dyes. It’s only as foreign demand for naturally dyed fabrics has risen over the past twenty-five years that more artisans have reverted back to the traditional techniques for exported goods and souvenirs.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW OUR ANNUAL GUATEMALA: WEAVING, EMBROIDERY & COMMUNITY TOUR

Celeste explains to us about the time-consuming steps involved to create an ikat resist dye woven masterpiece. The piece she is weaving uses multiple over-dying to highlight and differentiate the motifs in each vertical stripe such as butterflies, centipedes, flowers, trees and hearts.

Six days to finish this masterpiece!

The vivid colours used for the intricate ikat motifs came from synthetic dyes.

After saying goodbye to Celeste we walked up the steep hill to meet the artisans of Flor Juanera Cooperative, or Xe’ Kuku’ Aab’aj in Tz’utujil, and visited their organic, natural dyeing and medicine garden. The garden looks different depending on the season and we got to know the women from the cooperative – Cecilia, María Clara, Elena, Eufemia – whilst we looked through a sample of natural dyes that would be available for our textile tour in March and August. The dyes are mostly made from tree bark, plant leaves, vegetables and coconut shells. The plants give different colours depending on whether they are fresh or dried.

Environmental concerns about synthetic dyes have also caused an increase in demand for naturally dyed textiles. Many chemical-based dyes can enter irrigation systems and have hugely detrimental effects on local communities. However: this doesn’t mean that all products made using natural dyes are always holistic. The demand for natural dyes has left many eco-systems ravished and some plants used for natural dyeing were/are even becoming extinct as most of the raw materials required are taken directly from the local environment rather than purpose-driven farms, therefore resources are rarely re-planted. It’s very important to have sustainability in mind when buying naturally dyed goods. One of the best ways you can ensure you are shopping (or dyeing) sustainably is to visit a co-operative that has its own natural dye garden.

Chilling in the gorgeous natural dye and medicine garden.

Perusing the menu of organic dyes on offer!

Celia prepares to blow our minds with the hot vs cold dye technique.

Eco dyeing with tree bark: learning from the best.

For our workshop that day, we decided to work with Campeche tree. It is really quite a remarkable resource: the dye it produces when cold turns fabric a vivid blue, but when hot the dye turns into a regal purple. This was very exciting to experiment with and something we’d never seen before. Whilst natural dyeing in Mexico we learnt how altering the PH level will affect the colour a dye turns, but the temperature alone was a whole new method to explore with!

We left the fabric we’d bought with us in the dye vat for about 30 minutes and that was long enough to turn it a deep, rich purple. Then all the women helped us to pull a skein in order to wrap the bundles around the threads which create the ikat resist dyeing technique. You need to have a very firm grip and it took four of us to wrap everything together correctly. Spaces are created in the yarn to ensure that the dye doesn’t enter the hidden areas of the yarn when you submerge it in the dye. This means you can create different patterns and re-dye the same fabric with new colours later. We created basic striped patterns but as you can see from the images of Celeste above you can create very sophisticated motifs. The technique we used worked really well (thanks to the expertise of Cecilia, María Clara, Elena and Eufemia) and we were very pleased with the final outcome and colours.

How many artisans does it take to create a resist dye pattern?

The women were so lovely, welcoming us into their homes to share their expertise with us.

We used the fabric and yarn from this workshop again in our bird embroidery workshop taster in Santiago and in the Randa and Ixcaco workshop with the Waqxaqi’ Kan Cooperative. The idea with all the workshops from around Lake Atitlan is that each cooperative teaches us new techniques that are unique to the heritage of that community. This means that throughout the tour, participants can add new layers and skills to a particular garment as they learn new methods from the artisans. We shared this concept with Cecilia, María Clara, Elena, Eufemia and they loved the idea of creating a multi-collaborative piece with the communities working around the Lake. After the workshop, we headed to one of the cafes for some local coffee and cake before taxi the water taxi back to our hotel.

Left to right: Cecilia, María Clara, Elena, Eufemia

Dina, Celia and I after a fascinating day of textiles

Dina from Maye Traditions leading the way home

Taking a water taxi across Lake Atitlan

Ikat natural dyeing is one of the many highlights on our Guatemala: Weaving, Embroidery and Community Tour.

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