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spikezonebby · 1 year ago

Note

Hi again, sorry i mess it i hope it is right now ^^, a request for song fics could you with tfp optimus prime with the song Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello - Señorita with a fem!human!reader, genre to Romance?

Senorita - TFP!Optimus Prime/Fem!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,672

Your first meeting had actually been entirely an accident. Optimus knew some humans had an affinity for vehicles, and you were one of them. Even a Prime can only take so much fawning over his grill, rims, or decals before he gets flustered and ends up blowing his cover.

That set the tone pretty well for how your entire relationship with Optimus was going to go. The other Autobots treated their leader with all the grace and dignity deserved of a Prime, but you never let the great title dictate how you treated Optimus. You weren’t ever afraid to speak your mind or ask questions. You questioned his commands, not to undermine him but to genuinely understand and clarify.

You seemed to find everything Optimus said fascinating, and when he’d watch you he could see the inner gears of your mind chugging along. Picking apart his words and always seeming to know exactly what was on his mind, even when he himself wasn’t entirely sure. You were the probing sort, someone Ratchet often found meddlesome and too-like Miko, but there was a grace to your inquiries.

Optimus was, perhaps, somewhat shy to admit that he liked it when you asked about his past. Especially when you would ask about the moments that weren’t so great or grave, like his walk home in the evenings from the Hall of Records or his favorite small pleasures. There was something warm, familiar, even humbling to the idea that your two lives weren’t too different.

You used to work at a bookstore and did its inventory, spending hours organizing piles upon piles of books. He would spend cycles listening and sorting through videos and audio files to archive them in their appropriate places. You’d stop on your way home and get a donut and coffee. He’d occasionally indulge and get himself a slice of chrome-alloy cake.

Optimus did not consider himself a poet, nor any other kind of lyrical savant, but he would describe the closeness he felt to you as… magnetic. He found his gaze drawn to you in the room, your laugh made his spark skip in his chassis, and even the persistent hum of the matrix seemed more at ease around you.

He wondered if, maybe, you knew what you did to him. It certainly seemed like you knew when you’d come close to him and lay on the lower portion of his chassis, just beneath his windshield. It seemed like you knee when you’d find a quiet moment to rest with him in his seldom-used quarters, your whole tiny body level with his face. For someone who could fit in the palm of his servo, you liked to make your physical presence known and tangible.

He couldn’t say he minded. In fact, that was a thing that brought quite a bit of distress to the poor Prime’s mind in the moments that should be peaceful. The longer he knew you, the more enthralling the pull became. He found himself wondering if you’d hate it if he curled his servo around you, cupping you between his digits like a treasure. He thinks about the scent of your skin and the warmth of your body, should you finally close the distance between them.

You were human. You were fragile. Leaders weren’t built to have fragile things, but protect them regardless.

But he still wanted you. Enough to forgo the logical sense he had to distance himself and instead, let you keep invading his space and his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to stop this.

Not when you invited yourself into his quarters, shimmied your way up to the space on his berth right beside his neck cables and jaw, and built your own little nest of blankets and pillows there. Not when you had so much faith in him, and talked to him about all of the soft things he thought they’d killed in this war.

“That’s Neocybex, right?” You ask, snuggled up beside his audial as he laid on his back, both of you looking on up at the data pad he had in his servos. He pauses in his scrolling through, balancing the stylus in his grip as he tilts the data pad further for you to read.

“Some of it is. Other parts, like here,” He scrolls down, “Are Primal Vernacular.”

“A different dialect or a different language wholly?”

“Neither. Primal Vernacular was the predecessor of the Neocybex all Cybertronians came to speak in modern times. When I was given the Matrix of Leadership and all of its knowledge, I was also gifted the ability to speak and read this ancient Cybertronian language. I find it easier, sometimes, to take notes in.”

You sit up a little, bracing yourself with a hand on his cheek vent. “So you’re the only one that knows how to speak it?”

“Most likely.” Optimus admits, somewhat sullen, “Even before the war, it was considered a dead language on Cybertron. Transcriptions existed of people speaking the language but as Neocybex became more common, it simply was lost to time.”

You hum, and leaning this close to them, he can feel the way the small sound rumbles up through your chest.

“Teach me. At least a word or two. Something I can remember.”

“You wish to learn Neocybex? I do not know if your organic vocalizer can reproduce the sound.”

“No, no! Primal Vernacular! The letters almost remind me of… Arabic. That’s a human language so, surely I can wrap my head around some of that.”

His spark warms at that, your enthusiasm contagious. It couldn’t hurt to attempt it, it would be a good excuse to brush up on his own pronunciation.

“Ṣdyq,” He begins. “It means ‘friend.’ And if you begin it with Rjl, it becomes ‘brother.’”

“Oh so it has different rules than Earth’s version of Arabic.”

“Yes. It is fascinating, is it not? That humans have taken such an old language and made it their own?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice in a way. Makes things feel less…” You fish around in your thoughts for the proper word, then hum. “Lonely. Yeah. So… Rjl… Ṣdyq… means ‘brother.’ How do you say ‘sister,’ then?”

Optimus’ lip plates quirk into the shallow shape of a smile, spark warmed by your botched attempt to match his pronunciation.

“The translations of the words are different based on their cultural meanings. Cybertronians are very rarely forged with siblings, so ‘brother’ means something closer to ‘ally.’ A feminine version of the word didn’t appear until very late, when femmes started to become more prominent. It was very rarely used though, mostly due to the… intimate implications of the word. I once listened to an interview with a linguist on the matter and he theorized that it was coined initially by Megatronus Prime of the Thirteen, as a term of endearment Solus Prime. It’s ‘Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq.’”

Now that has you fascinated. Optimus often chose his words carefully, using them as a tool for peace and command just as often as he used his own two servos. With you, conversation came easier. Optimus only had a select few people whom he knew and trusted to allow him to talk so easily.

You stood up, keeping one hand against his jaw as you walked around him. He could feel you use him to steady your steps as you hoisted yourself up onto his neck cables. You were so light he hardly felt the pressure at all. Instinctively his servo came down to gently cup behind your back, fearing you might fall off.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound irritated. Worried maybe, curious mostly.

“I want to see the way your mouth moves when you say those words.”

It’s an innocent goal, he insists it is. A request to turn on his first level of cooling fans pops up on his HUD view. He almost denies it, then worries that he might grow too warm for you to touch. In the end he does allow them to kick on and wholly misses the way it makes you smirk.

“Come on, boss. Say ‘em.” You coax, resting your folded arms against his chin, “Please?”

Optimus looks down past his nose, examining your face as his fans cycle a little faster. Right, it would be rude to refuse you whatever small teaching aid he could offer. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Ṣdyq.” He says. You lean forward a bit, watching the way his lips move with every sound. “‘Friend.’”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rjl Ṣdyq.” You reach out and trail your tiny fingers across his bottom lip. Optimus loses his train of thought.

“Which means?” You prompt him, feigning forgetfulness.

“Ah, ‘ally.’” He can see the way you bounce a little when he swallows the thick lump forming in the back of his intake.

“Cool, cool.” When had you gotten so close to him? And it didn’t seem like you minded at all as you even used his servo balancing you from behind to boost yourself up and lay across the flat plane of his chin.

He says your name softly. His data pad is forgotten in favor of clutching onto the tarp and padding on the berth beneath him.

“And what’s the last one?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” When had he started to feel so breathless? Like his fans weren’t cycling enough air.

“Mmmhm… I like that one. There’s something about the way you say it. Say it again, please?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” He says again, just so he can hear the joy on your voice when you giggle, “Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq. And it means– mhm?”

Before he can even finish his statement, your small, warm lips press to his bottom lip, silencing him quicker and easier than even the sound of blaster fire. His servo cups closer behind you and he knows he should stop this, he knows he doesn’t deserve this, but you make it so, so clear you want to give it to him.

And in the end… who was he to deny his Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq?

#transformers #request fill #transformers prime #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #thank you for requesting!!#song fic #tfp x reader #reader insert #yes the words are arabic i dont speak it but its an alien dialect in this case so plz believe me i mean no offense #WOO actually wrote a kiss this time #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 1 month ago

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Soul Traitor

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Status: In-progress (5/?)

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter: Chapter 4- Songs About Gold

It did not endear Thorin to their hired translator, and he spent most of their journey doing his best to ignore the halfling. He thought his company would take cues from him, but Frerin’s hatred was a bit harder to overcome. Frerin made it apparent that they weren’t to engage with the halfling, weren’t to treat him like an actual person. For some reason, it didn’t sit right with Thorin, but he didn’t do anything to stop it either. He could tell that he disappointed Ori.

His apprentice had a brilliant mind and a large heart. Ori didn’t understand why their race continued to punish another for the sake of one being. It was a source of contention between the two as Thorin had the memories of exactly what that one being had cost them. Still, he wasn’t too surprised when the company factioned to include the halfling and Ori was one of them. Kili surprised him, but not Ori.

Still the desire to know what was in that journal nagged at Thorin. Sure, he had Durin’s memories, but another firsthand account of what Khazad-dum had been like was almost too much to hope for. The historian in him fought hard against the prince, demanding that he engage with the halfling. He didn’t have to be nice. It was a business transaction after all. He just needed to know. Every day though, he pushed that voice away. He would not, could not, be the one to interact with the halfling. And then the halfling surprised him by speaking to him first. Well, more accurately, warning him.

Superstitious nonsense, and even if it wasn’t he couldn’t afford to look weak and bend to the commands of this halfling. Not with everything that was riding on this mission. His one chance to change his fate. No, he disregarded the halfling. Even as those determined, pleading eyes haunted him into the night.

Now, it may be too late to regret it.

Thorin weakly opened his eyes, unable to move his body as it was being draped in white cloth and golden baubles from the demons that stole him and his company. Their cold eyes shined brightly in the dark, and their screeches carried a certain cadence. Almost as if they were singing. They glided effortlessly around him, all except for the one at the end holding a long gleaming blade.

Thorin’s eyes drifted close, the energy fading from him fast. Durin, Thorin I, Dain, and now him. He’ll just be another voice in the head of the next dwarf.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's wips #the hobbit #bagginshield #soul traitor #reincarnated soulmates #the barrow wight chapter for spooky season

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ruiningsalads · 2 months ago

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Happy Friday! How about “Ha. Don’t think too highly of yourself. Just because I crave your company every now and then, doesn’t mean you’re my weakness. You’re not.” for Varric x Cassandra from the 'I'm weak for you' prompts?

ugh I'm obsessed with these two. this maybe wasn't exactly the prompt, but it's making me feel all the feels. a lovely little ficlet for @dadrunkwriting

Varric's head lolled forward, his chin resting against his chest despite the muscles in his shoulders screaming in agony. He was simply too tired to keep his head up, even though he would prefer to see what his captors were doing.

Their plan was the most hare-brained scheme he'd ever heard: capture the dwarf to lure his Inquisitor friend into a trap. He was touched that they thought he was important enough that Lavellan would rush in without thought just to save him; but he also wasn't in any hurry to remedy their misconception. After all, they might just kill him outright if they knew. So, he sat on the most uncomfortable chair ever made with his hands tied behind its back and imagined all the horrible things he would do to them once he had Bianca back in his grasp.

He also now knew better than to wander off alone to take a leak. Apparently, that was when people liked to sneak up on you and throw a sack over your head.

The sound of fighting outside his little room had his head snapping up. The meathead left to guard him drew a small, but wickedly sharp, knife as the door splintered open. There, her sword and shield at the ready, was Cassandra, and she was mad.

"Stop, or the dwarf gets it!" The idiot actually held the blade to Varric's neck. He felt the cold metal nick his skin, releasing a warm trickle of blood.

Cassandra's cold gaze flicked from the knife to the thug holding it. "Do you think that threat works on me?" she demanded.

"You seem awfully eager to get him back," the man leered.

"Do not mistake my duty for eagerness," she retorted as she took a step closer.

Varric hissed as the knife cut a little deeper, and she hesitated. The man laughed, low and mean. "Duty, eh? I'd say the only duty you're doing is--" But before he could finish that thought, Cassandra swiftly pulled a small knife from her belt and threw it. Suddenly, the blade at Varric's throat was gone as something heavy fell to the floor behind him.

Cassandra moved to untie him, not paying any mind to the dying man.

"Duty, huh?" he rasped, pressing a newly freed hand to his neck wound.

With surprising gentleness, she pried his hand away and peered at the cut. "It's true. My duty is to the Inquisition and its agents." She tsked and pulled a small vial from her belt, poured some of its contents onto a handkerchief, and pressed it to his neck. Immediately, he felt a sting as the cut began to heal.

"And here I was thinking you actually cared," he grunted through the pain.

Her eyes locked with his. "Whatever my personal feelings are, they cannot interfere with my duty." Maker, he was starting to hate that word. But then she reached with her free hand to stroke his cheek. "That does not mean I will sit by and let someone harm you, not if I can stop it. Understand, Varric, that I cannot allow myself to have such a weakness, no matter how much I care about you."

He grimaced. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks for saving me anyway." When he moved to pull away, she gripped his shoulders to hold him in place. Reluctantly, he met her eyes.

"I love you, Varric. Never question that. I am only trying to say... I just mean..." She sighed in frustration. "You're far better with words than I could ever hope to be."

"Just say that first part again," he murmured.

Her smile was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. "I love you, you meddlesome dwarf."

#dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #da drunk writing circle #dadwc #tethraghast #cassarric #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 6 months ago

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The Fate Of A Fae - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: We see a little of Bucky's perspective.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of past historic abuse and blood.

Bucky Barnes was born with dragon's blood running through his veins. His mother and father both from the purest dragon stock that still survived.

His American father had met his American - Russian mother whilst serving in the military, and they had known the moment they set eyes on each other that they were a match. Days of the Cold War surrounded them and Bucky's father, George, was concerned as to how his family would react bringing home a wife and mate that was part Russian but once his family and friends had met Winnie, and discovered that she was also from a strong dragon bloodline, hers even with a smidge of Russian royalty, there was nothing to worry about. George and Winnie had let this acceptance of themselves set the tone for how they accepted their children's presentations and that of their soulmates.

Nearly two weeks ago when Bucky had rushed into their home, his phone in his hand saying he'd found his soulmate, there had been a flurry of excitement. His nieces had squealed when they'd heard him mention you were a fairy.

"How are you gonna play this son?"

"Natalia will arrange something to introduce us, hopefully in the next couple of days."

"Don't come on too strong." His sister Becca had interrupted.

"Nobody asked you Becca." He grunted.

"I'm just saying....."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!!!" He replied, raising his voice.

"This is exactly what I mean."

Bucky went towards her only to be stopped by Winnie's hand softly going to his chest.

"Sit down Yasha."

Bucky sat down with a huff and Becca pulled a face at him and stuck out her tongue.

"Rebecca Barnes-Smith may I remind you that you are not a child and you don't actually live here anymore, go home and make dinner for that very patient husband of yours." Winnie said, not even needing to turn to know her daughter was trying to provoke her eldest child.

"Now, as much as it pains me to say this, your sister does have a point." Winnie said, watching as Bucky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look son" George started "your mother and I know how much you want this. How much you want to get settled, be bonded, start a family, move upstate and all of that, but"

"But what?"

"But you're a dragon and we tend to be possessive of our things. Fairies are different to us. You come on too strong and she'll flit off, and I know how meddlesome sprites are. Don't let Natalia get too involved."

Bucky didn't listen and two days later he was walking into Natasha's Brownstone after you'd point blank refused to meet him or Steve.

Steve had taken your refusal a little too well for Bucky's liking, saying they should take this slow and let you come to them. Damn griffin, what did he know anyway? In Bucky's eyes, he'd given up way to easily as he'd left to go on an art finding trip for Tony and Pepper. But this also left Bucky almost unsupervised in his pursuit of you.

And it wasn't going well. You weren't talking to him or Nat. Steve on the other hand received a very short message that said you were fine and asking him to tell Bucky to back off.

Bucky hated being wrong and had a continued in his chasing but it wasn't working and he'd tried plenty. Gifts, that you sent back. Messages, that you ignored.

But today something was off and Bucky was going to come to your apartment, not just watch you from the rooftop across the street, whether you liked it or not.

Steve had tried to talk him out of it, even going as far to ask Tony to talk to you instead. You'd briefly worked as an office temp for Stark Industries and Tony and Pepper had grown to know and like you whilst you covered for Pepper's assistant whilst she took an extended honeymoon. They'd also sensed you'd be a match for their friends but decided to not play with the fates and let things take their course. Unlike a certain Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky had contemplated waiting for Tony to speak to you but before he'd even had a proper chance to, he felt a need to get to you. That something was wrong.

As he ran up the stairs of you apartment, the smell of blood wafted up his nose and his dragon knew immediately that it was yours, and Stark was with you.

What the fuck was going on? He slowly opened the door, leaning in to see you curled up on the floor with Tony. The latter making eye contact and signalling for him to wait.

“That the asshole family had something to do with your lacking of wings and pointy ears.”

Fuck. Bucky hadn't even noticed. So caught up in his pursuit of you, in his possessiveness to have you, he'd not even noticed your hair always covering your ears and that none of the photos he'd seen of you, hundreds across your social media hadn't shown your wings.

“They won’t want me Tony. They won’t want me when they know.”

Bucky was torn between comforting you and flying off to confront your family. It'd probably only take one call to Romanoff to find them. Right now though, his dragon made the decision, he wanted to hold you, to clean the cuts on your legs and feet. The possessiveness wanted you out of Tony's lap.

“Doll?”

#avengers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #fairy reader #fae reader #monster au

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bengiyo · 7 months ago

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At 25:00 in Akasaka Ep 2 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Shirasaki got his first big break as an actor to star as a main across from his former senior Hayama in a forthcoming BL. Shirasaki, struggling to find the emotional core of his character, decided to go to a local gay bar and try to hook up with a man. Hayama intercepted him there and suggested Shirasaki have sex with him instead. We all noticed some of the similarities with I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama, even down to the leads having similar hair and big ass ears and eyes. I’m having a good time.

Yes, it’s time to film the sexy promo pictures and reinforce the dangerous dynamic here.

Haha put this dick appointment on your calendar.

I’m definitely vibing with the anxiety gripping Shirasaki.

How does he have that cup perfectly level on his legs like that?

Girl, he just gonna close his eyes and let it happen?

Hayama, I want to understand you. How long have you yearned for this boy? What made you so determined for him to want you back?

I’m enjoying Hayama’s game plan. Make Shirasaki list all the dates you will go on and encourage closeness by making him use your given name.

I don’t trust this meddlesome supporting actor. He seems like a shit-stirrer. Why encourage the new lead actor to read goddamn fan comments if you’re not trying to damage his confidence?

GOOD NEWS, FELLAS! HAYAMA HAS A BIG ASS TV AND A SOUND SYSTEM. But that goddamn lamp from Love is Better is here again!!!

Shirasaki, don’t blow the movie night over fan comments!

Ah yes, the amusement park/aquarium, that great site of many successful BL dates.

Hey, that was some good eye work from Komagine Kiita as Hayama when Shirasaki said his name for the first time after accepting the encouragement.

Fellas, is it gay to let your costar hug you for an extended period in public while hiding from overeager fans?

I’m really excited about this as an original production from GagaOOlala. I really want this to be good and successful so they can grow their brand. I like the way Shirasaki is struggling with his own nervousness and ambition. I like that he isn’t exactly a sad sack, but he’s stiff. This is now one of my must watches.

#Ben watches #at 25:00 in akasaka #25 ji akasaka de #japanese bl #bl series

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archiveikemen · 4 months ago

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Xeno Main Story: Chapter 9

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

One night in Macau. Xeno-san snuck out of the hotel in disguise.

(This isn’t like him… where on earth is he going?)

I was too worried about him, so I decided to follow him in secret…

…

He went to the beach where there was no one at night.

(Why would he come somewhere like this?)

To avoid being seen, I watched him from a distance.

Xeno: …

Xeno-san gazed silently at the sea.

(He looks somewhat lonely…)

The image of the pained look in his eyes I saw that night resurfaced in my mind.

(Are his eyes carrying that same look now? What exactly happened?)

Come to think of it, I didn’t know him very well.

(All I know is that he’s more sincere in his work than anyone else.)

I knew about his experiences as a member of exe Creed through the research I did on them, but when it came to things such as his feelings, I knew nothing about.

(Maybe there’s some sort of burden Xeno-san is carrying in his heart.)

(Something I can’t imagine…)

Xeno: …

His figure standing alone on the empty beach looked as though it were detached from the scenery.

(I followed him here because I’m worried about him, but I don’t think I should call out to him…)

I decided to continue watching without bothering him. … Just as I was about to move, I accidentally stepped on a small tree branch and it made a soft cracking sound.

(Oh, shoot…!)

Xeno: !? You…

(He noticed me!)

Xeno-san walked towards me.

Xeno: What are you doing here?

Rina: Um, I saw you leaving the hotel, so…

Xeno: … You followed behind me?

Rina: I- I’m sorry. I was just really worried about you…

(He’s definitely going to call me a busybody again. … I’m always getting on Xeno-san’s nerves.)

Petrified, I lowered my head in remorse…

Xeno: … You seriously are such a big busybody.

Rina: I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t have done that.

Xeno: … Nevermind. I’m already used to this behaviour.

He let out an exasperated sigh.

(Oh? He’s not that angry…?)

I cautiously raised my head.

Xeno: You’ve been like this since the start. Whenever I’m working, you’d butt in and tell me to rest or sleep.

(Uhh…)

Xeno: … Same goes for what happened today.

Rina: Eh? What happened today…

Xeno-san lowered his gaze. … I instantly knew that he was looking at my knees.

Xeno: Why did you jump in front of the fans back then? You even got yourself hurt.

Xeno: Were you trying to gain my favour for the sake of your presentation’s success?

Rina: … That’s not true.

Xeno: Then, why? I… don’t understand you at all.

Xeno-san stared intently at me.

Xeno: I’ve met plenty of people who make use of others to achieve their goals, but you’re not one of them.

Xeno: No matter how harsh I am towards you, you never gave up.

Xeno: You also act beyond your boundaries as a housekeeper by showing concern for me, so much it’s almost meddlesome.

Rather than suspicious of me… he seemed perplexed.

Xeno: Your goal… I thought it was to make your presentation a success. And yet, you never once brought up this most important topic to me.

His strong, piercing gaze felt like he was digging into the innermost parts of my heart.

Xeno: Even now. Why do you bother about me? … Why did you follow me here?

Rina: That’s…

Rina: That’s because I couldn’t bring myself to leave you alone. I know that you’re an incredible person, Xeno-san, but…

Xeno: … So you’re just being a busybody.

It wasn’t unreasonable for Xeno-san to feel unconvinced.

(I find myself to be acting strange too. Why would I worry about him?)

(He’s said all sorts of harsh words to me since the very first time we met… there were many instances when I thought of him as cold and scary too.)

It’s just… after having a proper face to face conversation with him, I felt like I understood him a little bit better.

Rina: While it’s true that I seek your recognition, it’s not only for the sake of my presentation.

Xeno: What do you mean?

Rina: When I first moved into the condominium, all I thought of was how I could persuade you to accept my project plan.

Rina: But while working as a housekeeper, I saw how sincere you are in your work.

Rina: You’re harsh, but more towards yourself than towards others.

Rina: I’ve come to respect your stoicism.

Xeno-san’s eyes widened. It was an expression you’d rarely see on his face.

Rina: Right now, I’m hoping to gain even just the slightest bit of recognition from you.

Rina: Whether it is in terms of housekeeping or my work at the office; since I’ve decided to accept these roles, I want to do them well.

Xeno: …

Rina: That’s why, today too, my body reflexively moved when I thought everyone in exe Creed was in danger.

Rina: It wasn’t very helpful, everyone might’ve even thought I was being a nuisance, but I’m a staff member too.

Rina: All I wanted was to do something for everyone.

Xeno: … I see.

Xeno-san muttered under his breath.

Xeno: Weirdo.

His tone was no longer as sharp.

(I guess my feelings were effectively conveyed to him. It’d be nice if that’s the case…)

Xeno: One thing. I don’t find this a nuisance.

Rina: !

His words shocked me.

Xeno: I did feel annoyed at first. … But now, not so much.

Rina: I-is that so?

Xeno: Yeah. … Your housekeeping standards have become decent.

Xeno: You can be useful at times too, like that time at the party.

Xeno: The fact that you’re a busybody remains unchanged… but I no longer find you as big of a nuisance as compared to before.

Rina: …

Joy started gradually filling up my heart, starting from its core.

Rina: Thank you…

His response was curt, but considering the amount of harsh words he’s uttered at me before…

(I’m glad. I can’t believe he thinks this way…!)

My facial expression reflexively became less tense. Xeno-san stared at me in astonishment.

Xeno: What are you smiling about?

Rina: P-pardon me. I’m just so happy…

Rina: I realised that I’m no longer as afraid of you as before too, Xeno-san.

Xeno: You’re afraid of me?

Rina: That’s… because you’re really ruthless towards me.

Xeno: Let me get this straight… I only don’t find you a nuisance anymore, but this doesn’t mean that I fully recognise your capabilities.

Rina: I know. I’ll keep trying even harder from now on.

Rina: I’ll earn even more recognition from you, and only then will I let you hear my presentation!

I proudly declared with my fists clenched.

Xeno: I don’t know if it’ll be that easy for you. … Do as you wish.

Rina: Okay!

Xeno: … You really are a weirdo after all.

Xeno-san muttered in exasperation, but his demeanour was unusually gentle.

(Right. This might be a good time to tell him…)

Rina: Xeno-san, about what happened a few days ago…

I gathered my resolve and said the words I haven’t been able to.

Rina: I’m sorry for looking at your phone without permission. … I was too careless.

Xeno: It’s fine. I’m not bothered by it anymore.

Rina: But…

Xeno: It was my mistake for carelessly leaving out in the open something I didn’t want others seeing. My attitude towards you back then was also…

Xeno-san lowered his gaze gloomily.

Xeno: … Something difficult happened to me back then, and it put me in a bad mood. But I know that’s no excuse for my actions…

(Is he referring to the contents of that email…?)

Xeno: I also didn’t expect myself to fall asleep like that. I don’t usually make such mistakes. … It’s not like me at all.

Xeno: My rhythm has been a mess ever since then… but while looking at the view of this sea, I finally feel like my mind’s calmed down a little.

Rina: Times like this do happen. It’s natural because we’re human.

Xeno: … Because we’re human, huh…

He muttered in a small voice and turned his gaze to the sea.

Rina: Do you like the sea, Xeno-san?

Xeno: Not exactly. But this one is special… because I’ve been here before, a long time ago.

He stared into the distance with a mysterious look in his eyes.

(Does this place contain some sort of special memory? Although I’m glad that his feelings have calmed down…)

I was awfully curious.

What on earth happened that night and made him so disturbed?

(As much as I’m curious to know about it, I shouldn’t overstep his boundaries…)

That pained expression of his, and the lonely look in his eyes as he stared at the sea—

(What exactly is burdening Xeno-san?)

(I wonder if there’s anything I can do for him…)

Those were my thoughts as I felt the nighttime sea breeze.

…

… Afterwards, the rest of the MV filming went by without a hitch.

Fan 1: Oh, they’re here!

Fan 2: Kya—! Welcome back!

The moment they arrived back in Japan, fans were gathered along the members’ paths.

Rina: Impressive.

(Especially since they tried not to stand out…)

Sakura: The filming was meant to be a secret, but news of it spread all over SNS.

Sakura: But we have proper security with us this time, so what happened the last time won’t happen again.

It was like Sakura-san said, a safe distance was maintained in order to prevent fans from getting close to the members.

I watched from a distance while grouped with the rest of the staff members.

Finn: It’s so noisy. I can’t believe you all still came when it’s this late at night.

Ivy: Come on, don’t say such things to the fans.

Jace: Sorry, everyone~ we can’t entertain you right now, but thanks for coming to welcome us home.

Hugh: … Quickly get in the car… I want to sleep…

Xeno: We need to hurry up, our schedule after this is packed.

That was the cruel working life of exe Creed whose schedules were planned not by the hour, but by seconds.

The members didn’t look tired as they were already used to constantly being on the move between countries, and they walked boldly through the airport.

(Everyone has really good stamina. As expected of super idols…)

I inconspicuously followed behind while watching Xeno-san’s tall and slender back.

(Xeno-san’s acting like his usual self too.)

He was more at ease like he said and no longer seemed irritated since the day after our conversation at the beach.

His attitude towards me was back to normal, and he also didn’t look like he was constantly brooding over something anymore.

(Well, that also means he’s as harsh towards me as ever, but…)

(That’s fine. … I don’t want to see Xeno-san anxious and in pain.)

…

We stepped out of the airport, the sky was already dark.

(The filming was great. Although… the schedule was ridiculously rushed.)

Flying in planes and a helicopter, I accompanied them during their MV filming in various locations.

I also experienced getting in trouble with fans and staying in a luxurious hotel that an ordinary person like myself would never have the chance to in their lifetime. There was also the story from that night…

(Only after returning to Japan, I realise that everything I went through in Macau was so unreal.)

(Ever since meeting exe Creed, I’ve experienced many unbelievable things.)

(… But this isn’t the time to get all sentimental.)

(Just as I’ve declared to Xeno-san, I’m going to work even harder.)

That moment spent casually chatting with him on the beach at night was deeply carved into my heart.

(I hope I’ll have another chance to chat with Xeno-san like that…)

I looked up at the starry sky and made that wish.

… Then—

Some time after our return to Japan, there was an incident that changed the relationship between Xeno-san and I.

#morganatic idol #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #morudoru translations #otome #+one by ikemen series #morudoru main story #xeno main story #xeno #exe Creed

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ukepichu · 9 months ago

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centaur lbh x mermaid sqq fic idea

Having been recently exiled for being too 'violent and rough', Luo Binghe decides to go beyond the mountains he used to call home to explore the great beyond. No one liked him anyway, in fact they absolutely abhorred him, beating him up and calling him insults nearly every day, no, every other hour would be more accurate. A petty argument with a particularly meddlesome herd member was apparently the last straw for both parties. Well, good riddance! Luo Binghe's four hooves are enough to take him anywhere, is what he naively thought before he arrived at a large lake with seemingly no end in sight.

Great, just great. Of course, since when was luck on his side? Luo Binghe can't help but vent his frustration by trashing about and kicking up the earth, causing tremors and dust clouds. He was too occupied to notice the stagnant lake rippling, a mysterious figure steadily rising from its dark depths.

"...Hello?" the figure cautiously speaks. Luo Binghe almost misses the soft voice if it weren't for his sensitive hearing. He jerks up to survey his surroundings, his gaze caught by the head of a beauty peeking out of the water. How stunning. Lustrous, silky, ink-black hair stick to the face of the beauty as a result of the water's adhesive property, his sharp yet gentle eyes create an alluringly seductive sight, beckoning Luo Binghe to instinctively inch himself ever so closer to the lake's shore.

"Hello," Luo Binghe replies, "May I ask who you are?"

The beauty speaks. "You may call this one Shen Qingqiu. Mortals refer to me as the guardian of this lake. I sensed a disturbance on the land, hence prompting me to assess the issue. What troubles you, young centaur? What brings you to my lake?"

Luo Binghe bashfully apologizes, heat rising up on his face. "Apologies, lake guardian Shen, I was just in the middle of my travels when I came across your lake by total coincidence, please believe me on this. As for what troubled me, I just felt a bit of annoyance since I cannot swim to get to the other side."

Shen Qingqiu tries to cover his chuckle with his hand. His long, sharp nails capable of effortlessly cutting the thickest vines fascinate Luo Binghe. "Ah, of course, this one forgets centaurs aren't exactly the best swimmers, do forgive me, I haven't interacted with one of your kind in a very long while. I could help you cross the lake with my magic if you wish."

Surprised at the sudden kind gesture, Luo Binghe readily accepts the lake guardian's proposition. Shen Qingqiu slightly frowns, "Young one, you shouldn't accept help that quickly. For all you know, this one could be planning to lead you to your untimely death by pulling you down and drowning you."

This time, it's Luo Binghe's turn to laugh. "An evil person wouldn't say that, besides, I have not much left to lose, for I am a lone centaur with no place to call home." He then remembers he hasn't introduced himself yet, "Where are my manners? Guardian Shen may call me Luo Binghe."

Shen Qingqiu briefly remains silent as if in careful thought. After a few seconds, he says, "You must be weary from your travels. There is a cove down that way. It could serve as temporary shelter from the elements if you need a place to rest."

Luo Binghe can't help but be moved at how generous Shen Qingqiu has been for the past few minutes he's gotten to know the lake guardian. He tells Shen Qingqiu to lead the way, marveling at how his long, jade colored tail shimmers, its scales bewitchingly reflecting the moonlight. This is Luo Binghe's first, and immediately the most memorable, encounter with a mermaid. Shen Qingqiu glides through the water elegantly, it takes Luo Binghe's breath away. He feels he could spend all day watching Shen Qinqgiu swim gracefully.

Within a few minutes, the pair arrive at the cove. Luo Binghe settles down and swiftly makes a fire and a makeshift bed out of leaves.

Shen Qingqiu tells him, "If you ever need my assistance, you may touch the water and call my name and I shall be with you shortly." The mermaid softly smiles, Luo Binghe could feel his heart go straight to his throat. "May you have sweet dreams, Luo Binghe."

Too engaged in steadying his traitorous heart, he replies to Shen Qingqiu with a fervent nod. In an instant, Shen Qingqiu dives down, and Luo Binghe is alone once more. He longingly clenches his chest.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay here for a while.

#svsss #bingqiu #short fic #i barely know anything about centaurs #i am google searching as i go #but i do know mermaids a bit better #hmm wondering if i should continue this on ao3 #what do you guys think?#yes this is kinda like the first chapter to my fic shhhhhhh #it's 1AM now why am i like this

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foundtherightwords · 1 year ago

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Irresistibly Contagious

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC (Elsie from "The Road Forgotten")

Summary: Arthur discovers the joy of Christmas with some help from Elsie and two unexpected guests.

A/N: This was written for the JQ Holiday Ficathon. Since Dickensianis a Christmas show, I've wanted to write a Christmas fic for Arthur for a while, but as I was in the middle of my longer WIP, I thought I wouldn't be able to finish it in time, but I did! It's technically a sequel to "The Road Forgotten", though you can more or less read it as a standalone.

And of course, I had to have some references to Dickens in here. The title is a quote from "A Christmas Carol" ("There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.") The quote about family ("Not merely those with whom we share blood...") is a paraphrase from "Nicholas Nickleby".

Warnings: None! There are some very brief mentions of psychological trauma and infertility, but other than that, it's the fluffiest of fluff fics.

Word count: 7k

The village of Oakley lay at the foot of the Surrey Hills, a handful of cottages clustered together, overlooked by a church at one end and a manor house at the other, with a little thoroughfare called the High Street by its inhabitants with a touching, if slightly inflated, sense of pride. As it is usually the case with an English village, especially one of this size, everybody tends to know everybody's business. They take great satisfaction in it. When Mr. Babcock made his first visit to the doctor in twenty years, his illness was known around the village by lunchtime. When Mrs. Shackleton bought marmalade at the village shop, it meant her mother-in-law was visiting and she couldn't bring out her homemade preserves for fear of the old woman's reproach. When young Stanley Milford went to the West Indies for five years and came back with a native wife in tow, the story of exactly where and how he'd acquired her was quickly discovered and whispered over teapots and shop counters for days.

This is not to say that the people of Oakley are a censorious, meddlesome lot, far from it. They care for their neighbors. Thanks to them, Mr. Babcock's son was able to come back from Scotland and saw his father one last time before the old man passed away. Mr. Sidwell, the grocer, knew to keep a pot of marmalade on the side for Mrs. Shackleton whenever he saw her going to meet the stagecoach. And despite their initial wariness, they eventually made Mrs. Milford feel welcomed. No, the people of Oakley are good and kind. They simply think that lending one's neighbor a cup of sugar is an excellent opportunity to find out what they are having for pudding, that's all.

So when some people moved into the old Avery cottage on the edge of the village, they caused quite a ripple in the still pond of Oakley. The newcomers were a young couple, though they didn't have the bright, eager look of the newly married about to build a life together. They looked rather world-weary, like those who had been through a lot and only wanted to settle down to a quiet existence. That contradiction was enough to pique the village's curiosity.

The husband, a pale, boyish young man, was called Arthur. The villagers couldn't seem to find out what his christened name was. The wife, handsome rather than pretty, was Elizabeth, or Elsie, as her husband could be heard calling her. So they became known as the Arthurs. Supposedly they used to live in London and came to Surrey for Mr. Arthur's health. When the villagers heard of this, they nodded sagely, for Mr. Sidwell, whose son worked as a clerk in London, never missed an opportunity to regal his customers with tales of the horrors of the big city. Anyone who moved away from that den of vice and pollution was bound to have a lot of good senses.

But some uneasiness remained. Truth be told, the couple did nothing to disrupt the quiet life of the village. They kept to themselves, worked hard to turn the old dilapidated cottage into a cozy, homey place, and were affectionate with each other and cordial to their neighbors. Their biggest fault, however, was something the people of Oakley could not overlook: they did not celebrate Christmas.

For a small village, Oakley took Christmas very seriously. Every year, as December rolled around, the village positively dripped with evergreens, pine boughs and ivy vines and holly branches adorned every door and window, Mr. Sidwell's shelves burst with chocolate and oranges and other good food, people talked of little else but the Christmas feast that the Squire gave every year at the Assembly Hall, and children could be seen gawking at the toys on display in the window of the village shop or racing after the fattened geese as they marched through the village on their way to the Christmas Market in London.

Through it all, the old cottage at the edge of the village stood quiet and closed off. No wreaths decorated its front door, no cheerful carols came through the window, no enticing smell of roast goose or plum pudding rose from the chimney. The Arthurs, who went to church as regularly as the rest of the village, made no appearance at the Christmas service, bought no Christmas present or provision, and although the Squire extended to them an invitation to the feast on the very first Christmas since they arrived, every year they politely declined. There were always excuses. They had just moved in and couldn't prepare in time. Mr. Arthur wasn't feeling well enough. They were away visiting families (Mrs. Shackleton, whose house was closest to the old Avery place, went by to check that year, and indeed, they seemed to be away during the day but were certainly back in time for the feast that evening.)

Since the Arthurs seemed in every other way pleasant and humble, the villagers agreed that this was not a snub to the Squire or the village itself. The only reason they could think of was that the young couple, inexplicably, objected to the very idea of Christmas itself.

But the young couple didn't object to the idea of Christmas, or at least, only one of them did.

"I ran into Mrs. Shackleton at the shop today," Elsie told Arthur as they walked down the path that led from the woods behind their cottage to the back gate of Langton Asylum. This was a shortcut they had discovered shortly after moving to Oakley. It was a rather pretty walk in the spring and summer, through dells and glades filled with bluebells and other wildflowers, and shaved off nearly half a mile from the main road, for which Arthur was grateful. It had been nearly four years, but his bullet wound still troubled him sometimes.

And more importantly, the shortcut shielded them and their weekly visit to Elsie's sister, Marianne, from the prying eyes of the likes of Mrs. Shackleton. Arthur knew Elsie had worked hard to keep Marianne's existence a secret, not because she was ashamed in any way, but because she knew how the villagers would talk if they found out she had a sister in a lunatic asylum, and talk was something both Arthur and Elsie wished to avoid.

"What did she say?" Arthur groaned. He was more sensitive to gossip than Elsie, having been subjected to it most of his life, and had had to avoid even going out into the garden for the past few days for fear of being accosted by Mrs. Shackleton. He had a very good guess as to what that good lady had to say.

"Oh, she asked what I was going to wear to the Christmas feast." Elsie glanced at him questioningly, and Arthur braced himself for the inevitable. "I told her I haven't decided yet," Elsie continued. "Are we going?"

Arthur sighed. "Elsie, you know I don't want to."

"I know." Elsie tucked her arm through his. "Only this would be the fourth year in a row, and I do believe Mrs. Shackleton would come to our door to personally drag us to the feast if we decline again. We may need a plan of escape."

Arthur smiled but felt no amusement. When they first came to Oakley, he had been recovering from his injury, and with the roof leaking everywhere and the rest of the cottage barely fit to be inhabited, Elsie had gone along with his decision to not join the Christmas feast. But when he had declined again the year after that and showed no wish to celebrate Christmas at home either, Elsie had been at first surprised, then indignant, and then, when Arthur had refused to explain it, she had dropped the question, but it became a sore subject for them ever since.

From her gentle teasing, Arthur knew Elsie was trying to make light of the matter. He also knew he was being selfish, and unfair to her.

"You can go, if you wish," he told her.

"I'm not going alone. How would that look?" Elsie replied, aghast. She peered at him, her green eyes slightly hurt but still full of sympathy, trying to understand. "What is it, Arthur? Why don't you like Christmas?"

"I have nothing against Christmas," Arthur said with a scowl. "I simply think it's silly to spend money on a tree that you're going to throw away and overpriced gifts!"

"What about love, compassion, good cheers, and all that?"

"Those are just pretty words, made up to sell chocolate and sugar biscuits."

Elsie stopped in her tracks, her arm slipping out of his. "You sound like a bitter old man. What about family?"

"Family?!" Arthur exploded. "What family? Our parents are gone, your sister is in an asylum, and mine has locked herself away in a crumbling old house. What sort of family do you call that?"

As soon as those words were out of his mouth, he realized how horrible and hateful they were. He could only watch helplessly as Elsie reared back, looking like he'd just struck her across the face.

"Elsie, I—I'm sorry—" he said, reaching for her hand.

Elsie stood still, not moving away from him, but not responding to his touch either. "Aren't we a family?" she said with a quietness that hurt him a thousand times more than her rage. "Or am I not enough for you?"

Arthur silently cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? When they had first become intimate, Elsie had told him of an accident during her years of working at a bawdyhouse, which had left her unable to bear a child. Although Arthur had reassured her again and again that it made no difference to him, he knew she still keenly felt the pain, the void. And here he was, reminding her of that void all over again.

"We are," he said, drawing her into an embrace. "And you are. More than enough." He kissed her to show her how much he meant it.

Elsie's stiff back slowly relaxed under his hands. Encouraged by her response, he took a deep breath and revealed the painful truth. "I know this doesn't excuse what I said, but the last Christmas I had with my sister—with Amelia—that was right after our father died. The beginning of the end. Compeyson had wormed his way into that party, tainting its memory. From then on, I could never celebrate Christmas without feeling like I was making a mockery out of everything."

Elsie's eyes softened. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Arthur shook his head miserably. "I didn't want you to think Compeyson still had any influence on our lives." Damn Compeyson. Damn him to Hell. Arthur could never utter that name without tasting bile in the back of his throat. It seemed they could never be rid of that fiend.

"But he's in prison," Elsie reminded him. She cradled his face between her palms, her touch both fierce and comforting. "If we avoid mentioning him, we will always have to live in fear of him. He is gone, Arthur. And we must continue with our lives."

Arthur nodded, wishing he had her conviction. They went on their way, Arthur slipping his arm around Elsie's waist to hold her close. From time to time, he caught her looking at him with a thoughtful expression, but she said nothing.

By the time they arrived at Langton and an orderly had brought Marianne out, Elsie seemed to have forgotten the fight, turning her focus on her sister. They gave Marianne a bag of oranges and some chocolate—though they didn't celebrate Christmas, they always brought little gifts for her. Marianne exclaimed over them with the delight of a child, which she was, still, mentally and emotionally. Elsie stood a little further back, watching, as was her habit—Marianne had improved a great deal over the years, but she was still in danger of a relapse if she was reminded of the past, and sadly, that included Elsie. The look on Elsie's face, half of love, half of fear, whenever she turned to her sister, put a twinge in Arthur's heart. A visit to Marianne was always bittersweet for Elsie, and he wanted to kick himself for piling on her pain with that pointless fight.

While they sat with Marianne outside—it was cold, but the snow was yet to arrive, and the garden gave them a reprise from the constant moans and screams of the asylum—Arthur saw, curiously, two children running around, a girl of about seven or eight and the boy of three or four. They didn't make a lot of noise, but their lively movements and quiet giggles struck an incongruous note amongst the sedate inmates of Langton. This was no workhouse, so where had these children come from? Were they with a visitor?

Arthur soon had his answer. A woman, dazed and frail-looking, was led into the garden by an orderly, and the children ran up to her—or rather, only the little boy ran to her, showing her all sorts of things he'd found, from a pretty pebble to a piece of string. Meanwhile, his older sister stood back, looking at the woman with the same exact expression that Elsie had whenever she looked at Marianne. It was painful to see such a grown-up look on a child's face. The woman didn't respond to the boy. She didn't even seem aware of either child.

Marianne gave the children some chocolate, which they took gratefully. The little boy clearly wanted more, and Marianne offered him the rest of the bag, but his older sister held his hand back. "That's enough, Simon," she said sternly. "Remember what Mama says. You mustn't be greedy. Save some for Marianne."

Elsie and Arthur smiled at her bossy tone, though Arthur felt an echo of guilt in his heart, faint but never faded, like an old scar. Those children reminded him of another girl and another little boy, running around Satis House a long, long time ago. He hadn't heard any news of Amelia in nearly two years, since their lawyer, Jaggers, informed them that Amelia had adopted a little girl, whom she named Estella. Arthur hoped that Estella could bring his sister, if not happiness, then at least some comfort.

Later, as they took their leave, little Simon ran up to Elsie and shyly presented her with a branch of holly, its red berries shining like rubies amongst the shiny green leaves.

"Why, thank you," Elsie said, sticking the holly to the brim of her bonnet. "Do I look ready for the Christmas pageant now?"

The boy only smiled at her. Arthur wondered if he could talk at all.

A voice called behind them, "Simon! Betsy! Stop bothering the visitors and go inside now, it's time for your tea." They turned around to find Mrs. Gordon, the matron, striding toward them. The children took off running.

"Is the asylum now taking on the children of patients as well, Mrs. Gordon?" Elsie asked, after they had exchanged greetings.

Mrs. Gordon shook her head with a sigh. "No, these are special circumstances." She dropped her voice. "Their father was killed in a mine collapse right after Simon was born. The shock was too much for their mother." She indicated the frail woman, who was still walking around the garden in short, jerky steps, leaning on the orderly's arms. "She can no longer take care of them. A benefactress has arranged for her to come here and the children to be put into an orphanage, but it is too close to Christmas, the orphanage cannot take them yet. I'm letting them stay with me in the meantime, but you both know that this is no place for children—"

As if to prove her words, a long, mournful wail sounded from somewhere in the depths of the building. A moment later, the children came running out again, their faces pale.

"Mrs. Gordon," said the girl, Betsy. "Daisy did it again. She called Simon her son and grabbed at him." Simon clung to the matron's skirt, his sleeve hiked up to reveal a reddened wrist.

Mrs. Gordon gave Elsie and Arthur a long-suffering look. "All right, dearies," she said, absently patting Simon's head. "You stay here and have tea with me."

"Which orphanage, do you know?" Arthur asked her in a low voice, so the children wouldn't hear.

"I don't know. I only know it's in London. It's been all arranged."

Arthur fell quiet. During his time in London, he'd seen enough of those orphanages and workhouses, like the one ran by the Bumbles, not far from where he used to live, to know what their conditions were like. He looked down and saw little Simon's brown eyes staring up at him. He tried to remember if he'd ever looked like that once, so trusting and full of hope. He must have.

"Arthur, can I have a word with you in private, please?" Elsie said, drawing him away.

Arthur knew what she had in mind even before she could open her mouth. He could see his own thoughts reflected on her face. "Elsie, no."

"I haven't said anything yet!"

"I know what you were going to say. We can't."

"It's only for Christmas!"

"Let Mrs. Gordon take care of them."

"She has her hands full with all the patients. And you see it yourself, it's not safe for them."

"We don't have the space."

"There's the spare room."

"They're children, not some stray dogs or cats we pick up from the street—"

"Exactly." Elsie looked straight at him. "They're children, Arthur. And they have no one. Just like us."

"We have each other."

"We found each other. And now they've found us."

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his. When she held his hand like that and looked at him with those green eyes, so bright and beseeching, he would've given her the world. He relented. "Well, if you can convince them—"

A quick smile lit up Elsie's face. "Mrs. Gordon," she said. "Would you trust the care of these children to us? They can stay with us during Christmas, and once the—once they are ready to leave, we shall deliver them back to you."

"Could you?" Mrs. Gordon said in relief. "That would be a great weight off my shoulders. We're always short-staffed around the holidays, I can't spare anyone to watch them too."

Elsie turned to the children and asked, "How would you like to stay with us for a few days? We live in a cottage not far from here."

Simon let go of Mrs. Gordon and tugged at Elsie's sleeve, pointing to her reticule, where she'd kept the chocolate. Elsie laughed. "No more chocolate for you, young sir," she said, "though you can have cake for tea if you want."

That seemed good enough for the boy, but his sister was more circumspect. Her eyes, of a darker brown than her brother's, regarded Arthur and Elsie with suspicion.

"You told us we can stay with Mama until after Christmas," she said to Mrs. Gordon, accusingly.

Mrs. Gordon cleared her throat, uncomfortable. Elsie crouched down until her face was level with the girl's. "You are Betsy, aren't you?" she said.

"My name is Elizabeth," the girl said, lifting her chin, "but Mama calls me Betsy."

"That's my name too, except I'm called Elsie. This is Arthur. And I believe you know my sister, Marianne." The girl nodded, still full of wariness. "Now, I promise you, Betsy, that you and your brother can come visit your mama any time you want. And if you don't like staying with us, we'll bring you back here to Mrs. Gordon right away. Do we have an agreement?"

She extended a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Betsy placed her own small hand in Elsie's, and they shook.

Soon, Arthur and Elsie were leading the children down the path back to Oakley, Arthur carrying the two small valises containing their things. Elise took Simon's hand, but Betsy stood at the start of the path with her arms crossed, refusing to move.

"Why are we going through the woods?" she asked.

"It's a shortcut," replied Elsie.

"A shortcut?" Doubt flitted across the girl's face. "I don't believe you. Is it some sort of trick?"

"It's not a trick, Betsy," Elsie said, her eyes twinkling. "We live in a cottage made out of gingerbread, and this is the only way to get to it."

Simon's jaw dropped. Betsy rolled her eyes with all the exasperation and contempt of a big sister, which Arthur instantly recognized from his childhood memories of Amelia. Elsie must have recognized it in herself as well, for she turned away to hide a grin.

"There is no such thing as a gingerbread cottage, Simon," Betsy said. "It's only a story."

Arthur was close to leaving the girl in the woods at this point, but Elsie's patience knew no bounds. She simply said, "Well, why don't you come along and find out then?" and went on her way.

Betsy scowled, but eventually, she followed them, running ahead to take Simon's other hand, not wanting Elsie to command his entire attention.

Back at the cottage, while Elsie busied herself making up the bed in the spare room, Arthur stirred up the fire in the kitchen and put the kettle on. He brought out the seed cake Elsie had baked the previous day, which went a long way toward lessening little Simon's disappointment that the cottage was not made out of gingerbread. The cake even managed to smooth out some of the furrow between Betsy's eyes as well.

"You don't have any Christmas decorations," the girl pointed out.

"Oh, we don't—" Arthur began, but he didn't have a chance to finish, for Elsie had appeared in the doorway and smoothly interjected.

"We don't have time to put them up yet," she said. "Do you want to help?"

The children's eyes both lit up eagerly.

"Then eat up and have a good night's sleep," Elsie continued, "and we'll start early tomorrow, shall we?"

As the children stuffed themselves on the cake and scones and preserves, Arthur went into the spare room on the pretext of helping Elsie. He grumbled, "I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying anything," she said evenly, spreading a quilt on the little bed. "I only see some poor, lost children, and I'm doing my best to give them a happy Christmas. You don't have to be such a grouch about it."

Arthur didn't ask if she was including him as one of those poor, lost children as well.

***

The next morning, Arthur was awakened by Simon's excited scream—the snow had finally arrived, and the cottage and the garden were covered in a white blanket, as though a giant baker had passed by during the night and given everything a dusting of icing sugar. Arthur grudgingly admitted to himself that it was the perfect Christmas scene.

After breakfast, Elsie took her old coat off the peg by the kitchen door and turned to the children. "Which one of you would like to go with me and pick out a tree?"

Simon jumped up, waving his arm.

"And where are you going to find this tree?" Arthur asked.

"In the woods," said Elsie. She went out the back door and picked up the axe lying by their wood pile.

The thought of her trampling through the cold and the snow while he sat at home with his feet by the fire was more than Arthur could bear. He snatched the axe out of her hands. "You'll do no such thing. I'll go."

"But—your wound—in this cold—"

"I was shot through the collarbone, not my lungs. I'll be fine."

A small smile played around Elsie's lips as she watched Arthur shrug on his coat, while she buttoned little Simon into his jacket. She then wrapped a scarf around Arthur's neck and tucked the ends into his coat.

"Find us a pretty tree, won't you, my dear?" she said, giving him a peck on the lips.

"You'll find that my taste in Christmas trees is impeccable. And don't call me 'my dear'," Arthur said, trying to scowl and failing utterly. "You sounded like that old crook Fagin."

They set out into that world of white, Arthur slowing his stride to match Simon's short one. The boy said nothing. The silence between them was peaceful, not uncomfortable, broken only by the crunch of the snow under their feet and Simon's occasional tuneless but contented humming. Arthur was thankful for that, for he had no idea what to say to Simon. He didn't have Elsie's easy way with children, and there was no one he could have looked to as a model. His father had been both harsh and distant; Arthur's only memories of him were of his many reproaches and punishments.

They managed to find a little fir tree of just the right size in the woods behind the cottage. "What do you think?" Arthur asked. "Is that pretty enough for Elsie?"

Simon nodded, his eyes shining.

They dragged the tree back to the cottage and set it up by the fireplace in the parlor. Bare as it was, it already gave the room a Christmassy look. Elsie was in the kitchen, rolling out gingerbread dough and cutting it with a knife under Betsy's critical eye.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, hanging up his and Simon's coats.

"Making gingerbread biscuits. We can hang them up on the trees, and eat them afterwards."

"What's that supposed to be?" He glanced at the shape Elsie was cutting.

"A bird," Elsie said, sounding peeved. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You don't say. I would think it's a mushroom."

Betsy hid her giggle behind her hand. Elsie glared at Arthur. "All right, so I might have skipped a drawing lesson or two in school. I'd like to see you try!"

Arthur was not artistic, but at least he'd had a few more drawing lessons than Elsie. While he cut the dough into birds, houses, stars, and men, Elsie taught the children to make garlands out of dried apple slices and stick cloves into fresh oranges to make pretty patterns. Soon, the gingerbread was in the oven, and the warm, spicy fragrance of ginger and cloves were added to the sweet smell of the fruits. Arthur shared the offcuts with the children, and when Elsie chided him for setting a bad example by eating raw dough, he only winked at them and popped another piece into his mouth.

Since that morning, Arthur had existed in a state of fearful anticipation. After Elsie had told him she was determined to have a Christmas celebration for the children whether he wanted to or not, he had been waiting for something to go wrong, for the old feeling of dread and guilt to come creeping back like a thief in the night. But it never came. It helped that Elsie kept him busy so he had no time to think about the past, and what they were doing was so different from what he was used to. He didn't remember much of his childhood Christmases, and after he came of age, Christmas had always been a day of gaming and whoring and drinking, until, inebriated, he would crawl back to Satis House in time to make an appearance at the Christmas ball and be reminded of what a disgrace he was to the Havisham name.

There was none of that in their little cottage. No scandalized whispers behind gloved hands, no cold looks of disapproval and disappointment, no harsh words of reprimand. There was only the soft swishing of Elsie's skirt as she moved from the table to the oven, the sound of her humming while she bent over a task, and the children's laughs. The sole note of discord was when Betsy told Simon he had put too many cloves into his orange and it looked like a hedgehog, and Simon stuck his tongue out at her, and even then, their argument felt tranquil, comforting in its triviality. The knot in Arthur's stomach slowly loosened, to be replaced by a little warmth. How much of that was due to Elsie's gingerbread and how much was due to her presence, he couldn't say.

After the gingerbread had finished baking and cooled, Elsie iced them with sugar, put a piece of red ribbon through each, and together, they hung the shapes on the tree—Arthur managing to sneak a few more bites—and wound the garland of dried apple slices around it. Arthur draped some ivy on the mantelpiece. Elsie placed the clove-studded oranges amongst the green leaves, and they all stepped back to admire the effect.

"Well, Betsy?" Elsie asked. "What do you think of our Christmas decorations?"

"'s nice," Betsy said, discerning as ever. "But the top of the tree is missing." She turned and ran into the spare room.

Arthur and Elsie exchanged puzzled looks, but they soon had their answer, for Betsy returned presently, bearing an angel with a wooden head and a skirt and wings made out of gold foil.

"How pretty!" Elsie cried. "Where did it come from?"

"Papa and I made it," Betsy said, cradling the angel in her hands like a precious treasure. "He painted the face and cut out her wings and I made her skirt. He said for Simon's first Christmas, he would let Simon put her on top of the tree, but..." She sniffed and wiped furiously at her nose. "He never got to. And we never had a tree again."

Elsie looked close to tears herself. She reached out a hesitant hand, and when Betsy didn't move away, gave the girl's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Oh, sweetheart..."

Betsy said nothing, just stood with her head bent over the angel, and kept sniffling.

"Well, we have a tree now," Arthur said, "and we can certainly have Simon put the angel on top of it, can't we?"

He held out a handkerchief to Betsy. She obediently blew her nose and gave him a tentative smile. Arthur couldn't help smiling back. "Where's Simon?" he asked.

"He's probably cleaning up the last of the gingerbread," Elsie said, stepping into the kitchen. "I'll bring him."

She returned a mere moment later, eyes wide. "I can't find him."

"He must be around here somewhere," said Arthur.

"I was just in the bedroom, he wasn't there," Betsy reminded them.

Elsie ran to their own bedroom and quickly came back, shaking her head. Arthur's stomach dropped. The cottage was tiny—only the parlor, the kitchen, and the two bedrooms. There was nowhere to hide. And if Simon had gone outside, surely they would've seen him, wouldn't they? Unless he'd used the backdoor...

"Simon!" he called. "Where are you?"

"If you're hiding, it's not funny!" Betsy chimed in.

Elsie wasted no time. She went through all the rooms, opened every cupboard, and looked under every piece of furniture. When this yielded no sign of the boy, she threw on a coat and went outside. Arthur and Betsy followed her.

The snow, which had stopped while Arthur and Simon had been in the woods, was coming back, a spinning, churning curtain of white. Usually, such a scene would compel Arthur to stop whatever he was doing and marvel at the beauty of nature, but now, all he could think was how this fresh snow had covered up any footsteps Simon might have left. They spread out around the garden, calling for the boy, their voices sounding thin and reedy, muffled by the snow.

"Simon!"

"You don't—you don't think he's gone into the woods, do you?" Elsie said to Arthur, her lips trembling slightly.

"No," Arthur replied with a conviction he did not feel, trying to reassure her. "It's dark and frightening. Why would he go there?" All the while, he kept thinking that everything had gone wrong again. There may be no Compeyson darkening their doorstep, but this could be worse, much worse.

"Simon!"

They were in the back garden now. The woods, which had looked so lovely and inviting that morning when they went in to cut the tree, now stretched out cold and forbidding in the gathering gloom. If Simon had indeed wandered in there, how could they ever hope to find the boy with the snow coming down thicker and faster every minute? Arthur peered into the snow-covered grove, trying in vain to spot something that didn't belong. He realized he didn't even know what Simon was wearing. Why hadn't he kept a closer eye on the boy? How long had he been gone? How long could a little boy like that survive in the woods? Some guardian he was...

"Simon!"

"We can't go into the woods by ourselves," Elsie said, trembling either from the cold or fear. "We have to alert the neighbors, rouse a search party—"

"Miss-toe," said a voice from above, interrupting her.

They all looked up. The old apple tree was spreading its limbs over their heads, and there, perched on one of the topmost branches, was Simon. He was reaching for a clump of mistletoe at the very end of the branch, a defiant spot of bright green on the gray bare tree, the pearl-like berries gleaming here and there amongst the leaves.

"Miss-toe," Simon said again.

"Oh my goodness!" Elsie cried, arms outstretched even though Simon was far out of her reach. "Simon, sweetheart, don't move! Arthur, get the ladder!"

The ladder was already there, leaning against the tree—it must have been how Simon had managed to get on the tree in the first place. Arthur quickly climbed up and grabbed Simon, holding the boy tight to his chest for a moment, breathing in the warm gingerbread smell from his hair, feeling weak with relief. Then, carefully tucking the boy against him, he made his way down the ladder again.

The moment Arthur and Simon were back on the ground, Betsy was upon Simon, shaking him. "You idiot!" she screamed. "Didn't you hear us shouting for you?"

Elsie came to Simon's rescue, sweeping both him and Betsy into her arms in a tight hug. "Hush, Betsy," she said. "Everything's all right now."

Betsy buried her face in Elsie's shoulder, her rage quieting down into relieved sobs. Arthur knelt down and found himself enveloped in the hug as well.

Simon, oblivious to all the alarm and fear he'd caused, leaned out of Elsie's arm to point at the mistletoe again. "Now kiss," he commanded.

Elsie laughed. "You're a slyboots, aren't you?" She obliged anyway, and then, because they were all under the mistletoe, Betsy and Arthur each got a kiss as well. They sat there for a while, holding each other. The snow, big, ponderous flakes that did not so much fall as swirl majestically through the air, kept landing on their head, brushing their cheeks and their eyelashes with icy kisses, but Arthur hardly felt the cold. The warmth inside him grew, slowly but steadily, like the first spark of a fire.

***

Arthur put his gifts under the tree, a book of poetry and a little brooch for Elsie. Other gifts were already there, a silk cravat he'd seen Elsie working on for some time, a little hair bow, and a box of wooden blocks carefully sanded smooth and painted with colorful letters, things she must have made the previous night, after they'd decided to have the children stay with them. That was Elsie all over, always thinking of others, always taking care of everyone.

Looking over their parlor, he could hardly recognize it from the little room he was used to. It had always been cozy, if a little cluttered, but now, with the Christmas tree, completed with its gleaming candles and the angel on top—Arthur had lifted Simon up so he could put it in place—by the side of the fireplace, providing a spot of light and glitter, and the branches of holly and ivy draped on the mantelpiece and wound around the windows, it looked... festive. Cheerful. They hadn't discussed attending the village Christmas feast yet, but Arthur felt he could face it now, and perhaps even enjoy it as well.

In the spare room, Elsie was putting Betsy and Simon to bed. Arthur came to stand at the doorway and watched while she plumped their pillows and tucked the quilt more closely around them, murmuring some gentleness. Simon, tired after a day of excitement and his adventure with the mistletoe, fell asleep right away, but Betsy was still awake. She said, in a small voice, "Elsie?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Are we going to see Mama tomorrow?"

"Of course. You and Simon have to give her your presents, don't you?" That evening, Elsie had helped Betsy bake a little cake, and Arthur had managed to cut down some of the mistletoe after all, so Simon could wrap a bunch of it in a red ribbon as his present.

"And—and—are we—"

"What is it, Betsy?"

It came out in a rush. "Are we to stay with Mrs. Gordon until she takes us to the orphanage? Or can we stay with you?"

Elsie hesitated. "You can stay with us as long as you like," eventually she said.

"They're going to separate us in the orphanage, you know," Betsy said, as Elsie was getting to her feet.

Elsie froze. "Where did you hear that?" she asked.

Betsy shrugged. "Everybody knows they keep boys and girls separate there," she said with an air of resignation that seemed much older than her eight years. "But how'd Simon get on without me? He doesn't talk much. They'll think he's strange. And what if he wets the bed? He still does." She added, with loyalty, "Only sometimes though."

Elsie turned around and met Arthur's eyes. On her face, he saw reflected the agony in his heart. Then she turned back to Betsy and tried to put on a cheerful voice. "Come, let's don't worry about that tonight, shall we?" she said. "Now go to sleep, or you won't get your gifts in the morning."

Only after she'd closed the door to the spare room that Elsie fell into Arthur's arms and allowed her tears to flow. He held her close, rocking her against his shoulder. "Don't cry," he said softly. "You're doing a wonderful thing for those children."

"But is it enough?"

Arthur thought of how Simon had looked at him when Mrs. Gordon mentioned the orphanage, and how the boy's eyes had shone when they found the tree, when he found the mistletoe. He thought of how the four of them had held on to each other in the snow. They had felt like a family. He hadn't felt that sense of belonging in a long time, had never felt it until he met Elsie. Perhaps this is what family is. Not merely those with whom we share blood, but those for whom we would give our blood as well. The warmth inside him grew into a flame, bright and glowing, and with it, a decision formed in his mind.

"We could do more," he told Elsie. "We could keep them here, with us. We could take care of them, and have them close to their mother."

Elsie lifted her tear-stained face to look at him, understanding dawning, mingled with disbelief and trepidation.

"Could we?" she said.

"I'm sure it can be arranged. I shall ask Jaggers. He's arranged for Amelia to adopt Estella."

"No, I didn't mean the legality of it. I mean—could we take care of them?"

"We have been taking care of them."

"It's been only one day, and Simon almost broke his neck."

"He didn't, did he?"

Elsie still seemed unconvinced. "But could we do this for years and years and years?"

Arthur looked into her eyes and entwined their fingers together, finding his strength from their touches, their connection, as always.

"We can," he said simply, but that was enough for her.

"If you'd promise not to eat any more raw biscuit dough," she said.

"If it's as good as your gingerbread?" Arthur said in mock consternation. "I can't possibly stay away!"

They both laughed then, and Arthur leaned in to give Elsie a kiss, a long, lingering one that was an apology, an expression of gratitude, and a promise, all wrapped up into one. There was no mistletoe above them—they'd decided to leave the rest of it on the apple tree, for next year—but Arthur didn't need the mistletoe as an excuse to kiss Elsie.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Bradford," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Havisham," she said, kissing him back.

***

The next day, the villagers of Oakley got the shock of their lives when the Arthurs arrived in church just in time for Christmas service, bringing with them two little children, smiling shyly at their neighbors as they slipped into a pew. Gone was the weary, wary look on the young couple's faces, and as they looked at each other and at the children, whose hands they were holding, their eyes shone with such hope that the villagers felt this was a more eloquent picture of the Christmas spirit than all the decorations and gifts and feasts in the world.

Of course, Mrs. Shackleton took all the credit for herself, claiming she had finally convinced the couple down with her neighborly solicitude and persuasion. The rest of the villagers, on the other hand, simply chalked it up to a Christmas miracle.

THE END

#arthur havisham #dickensian #arthur havisham fic #arthur havisham x ofc #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn #12 days of joemas #holiday ficathon #its beginning to look a lot like quinnmas

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wildflower-otome · 1 year ago

Text

[Translation] Shuuen no Virche - Scien Brofiise Short Story

Writer: Satomi Nakayama Source: Shuuen no Virche Error Salvation Visual Fan Book

Sureau ~Zeal • Joy • Pity~

A few days after being commanded by Scien to become his “errand person.”

Today as well, I was worrying over how to refuse that order while continuing to help him out.

‘-Pardon me.’

I entered the private research room.

-There was no response. However, that did not necessarily mean no one was there---.

‘…………’

Today too, the owner of the room, Scien, hadn’t noticed my arrival, and was completely absorbed in his research.

I entered slowly, so as not to disturb him---. Moving so as not to topple the books and experiment equipment scattered around the room…..

I tried observing Scien, to see how he was.

He wasn’t shoving his hand into the basket looking for bread. To begin with, it was still too early for lunch. In other words, at the very least, he wasn’t hungry. …..However, instead, there were dark circles beneath his eyes.

(…..I think he said this was his seventh all-nighter in a row.)

The circles were dark enough to make me worry just looking at them.

All the same, it wasn’t likely he would listen to me even if I were to tell him to “Please rest”…..

(…..That’s it.)

Having come up with an idea, I left the room and went to boil water in the small kitchen that Dahut often used---. I tried making tea with “certain tea leaves” that I had brought in a basket.

Returning to the room with the pot, after I had judged it had steeped sufficiently, I tried pouring tea that had become a beautiful colour into the cup I had brought.

---In that instant. A pleasant fragrance spread out through the research room.

‘…..I thought I heard someone, so it was you. What do you plan on handing to me next after the sandwiches?’

As if responding to the fragrance, Scien’s gaze went in my direction.

‘Sorry for bothering you. Truth is, I received flower tea leaves from Yves yesterday, so I tried making some tea…..’

‘Throw that away, right now.’

‘I-I don’t think they’re leaves Yves gathered himself. Last night while I was practicing making tea, Mam and I tried drinking some.’

‘In that case it’s fine, but you sure like doing odd things. Even without going to the effort of practicing, all tea is the same.’

‘They were gifted to me, so I wanted to make good use of them. …..And also, according to Yves, this tea is effective for whenever you want to relax or sleep comfortably, so…..’

‘So?’

‘So, thinking they might be of help to you, to recover from your fatigue---I brought them with me.’

‘Huh. What a considerate little miss you are.’

Speaking as if he could care less, Scien glanced at the tea, seemingly without much interest.

‘As I thought, you’re not interested in things like these, Scien?’

‘I don’t deny the benefits contained in plants in and of themselves. If it’s in front of me, I’ll drink it.’

To begin with, just think about it, Scien continued.

‘If it’s just to slake my thirst, I only drink nutritional tonics and water that happen to be around. The reason I bother to drink the tea leaves that Dahut brings when he’s being meddlesome is because I accept its effectiveness to a certain extent. ---Tea has the effect of increasing one’s concentration, after all.’

‘That’s true….. If you really thought they were useless, there’s no doubt you’d think even the time taken to boil the water was a waste.’

‘Exactly right. Well, even if I don’t sleep for long, my cognitive ability rarely deteriorates. I haven’t often really felt its effect in truth.’

‘…..In that case, perhaps this tea was unnecessary as well?’

‘I told you just now, didn’t I? If it’s there, I’ll drink it.’

Scien stretched out his hand towards the white tea cup, and took a single sip of tea.

‘How is it?’

‘It doesn’t have the taste of something that could kill a person.’

It appeared he was still wary.

As Scien continued to drink the tea, I quietly went on with my remaining duties.

…..Truth be told.

I wanted to talk much, much more to Scien about the deliciousness of the tea, but held back as I’d end up being a bother.

From then it took about an hour. As he poured another cup of tea, while I spent my time gathering up the jig-saw puzzle pieces scattered about the room---

‘…..For now, how about this. I’ll take a 20 minute nap.’

Having come to a pause, Scien looked up. Instantaneously, I moved the mountain of books that had been placed on the sofa.

‘Please come this way. I’ll wake you up in 18 minutes.’

‘Very well. …..Hm?’

Having taken off his white lab coat, the moment Scien looked at the sofa he frowned.

‘What happened to the pillow I had here?’

‘Ah, the truth is….. Some chemicals had gotten on it, so I consulted Dahut on how to wash it….. and he took it away saying, “Please leave it to me…..”’

‘…..That Dahut, doing something so unnecessary-‘

As he sighed, saying it couldn’t be helped-

‘Sit.’

‘…..Huh?’

‘I’m telling you to sit at the end there.’

‘U-Um…..’

Unable to ascertain what Scien meant by saying this, once I had gingerly sat down on the sofa---

‘…………’

Scien had lain down in the empty space right after and placed his head on my lap.

---I was being used as a so-called lap pillow.

‘…..!?’

I let out a wordless sound at this sudden turn of events.

‘S-Scien…..!?’

‘Starting now, for 20 minutes…..no, for 18 minutes, you’ll be my pillow. No objections allowed.’

‘N-No way…..Won’t my lap be more uncomfortable---'

‘It’ll be better than having nothing.’

After speaking plainly, Scien closed his eyelids. …..His surprisingly long eyelashes quivered with drowsiness.

‘You’re the one who made the tea and put me into “sleep mode.” Take responsibility and be my obedient pillow.’

Just like that, not giving me the time to refuse---

‘…………’

In the space of a few seconds, Scien had completely fallen asleep.

(Wh-What should I do…..)

My whole body was stiff with nervousness. Rather, right now for my own sake…..

(I want to drink some tea to relax…..)

Fervently continuing to make that wish, I waited for the 18 minutes to pass with my whole heart.

#virche evermore #scien brofiise #shuuen no virche #otomate #translation

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phdmama · 1 year ago

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Ooh, I love the idea of the kiss meme you posted! I'd like to suggest #11, in joy, if that sparks anything creative for you! 🩷

Okay, this is literally pretty much SOOC (straight out of the camera, entirely unedited) and I even wrote it in the tumblr window?? I don't it's sort of a coffee shop-esque thing (in my head Draco is on an International Curse Breaking Team). Hopefully, it captures something for you! xox

It's an ordinary day at work. Slow, like it always is in the afternoons. Harry's already wiped down all the tables, refilled all the creamers and sugars. There's really nothing more to do and he's had more coffee than he probably should have, but in his defence, he works in a coffee shop. And he was up late writing to Draco. So now he's just kind of leaning against the counter, pushing his broom desultorily back and forth.

These deployments were hard enough when they were just friends; now that they're... this, whatever it is that this is, well. They're kind of agonizing, if Harry's being honest. And he can't even tell anyone because they'd agreed to keep it quiet until Draco gets back, and they can figure it out.

"Harry," says a voice from the doorway and Harry looks up with a grin.

"Ron," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"Closed up early," Ron says with an easy smile. "Thought I'd come see how you were doing."

Harry blinks at him. "I'm... fine?" he says finally.

"You sure about that?" Ron asks, and hums a few bars of Cursebreaking Man.

Harry drops the broom and covers his face with his hand as he groans. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Ron says happily and drops into a chair.

"How did you know?"

Ron shrugs. "You're not exactly subtle, mate," he points out. "And that last night before Draco headed out, well. Let's just say, it was pretty clear you weren't off to do some grocery shopping."

Harry drops his hands, his cheeks warm. "That was months ago, though. Why haven't you said anything?"

Ron suddenly looks a little shifty but is saved by the bell, literally, as the doorbell jingles as Hermione and Luna walk in.

"Harry," Hermione says with exaggerated surprise. "How are you?"

"Okay," Harry says. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Oh nothing," Hermione says.

Luna opens her mouth to speak but Hermione throws an elbow and Luna closes her mouth so quickly, Harry can hear the click.

"Are there any more of those gingerbread cookies?" Hermione asks and Harry frowns at her.

"In the back," he says and then sighs, because whatever else is going on, Mrs Albertson will murder him if he doesn't actually perform his job duties and fulfil a customer's request, even if that customer happens to be his oldest and most meddlesome friend.

So he walks into the kitchen, opens the tin of gingerbread cookies that just happens to still be out on the counter from when Harry had been snacking earlier, carefully plates three cookies and heads back out into the cafe proper.

"You're pretty lucky I..."

His voice trails off because standing there in the doorway is...

"Draco?" Harry whispers. "Are you... what are you... You're here?"

His heart is racing and his hands start to shake, so Harry hastily thrusts the plate out and someone grabs it.

"What are you doing here? I thought you..."

Draco's not supposed to be back for another month is the thing.

Draco smiles. He looks tired, Harry notes and then takes a second look. Draco's hair is longer, and he looks far too thin, with circles under his eyes and his arm in a sling.

"Figured I'd stop by since I'm going to be back in town for a while."

Harry takes a step and Draco takes a step and then suddenly, they're both moving fast to meet in the middle. Harry brings his hands up to frame Draco's face, runs his thumb over the sharp cheekbones.

"Are you okay?" he whispers and Draco smiles, ragged, but so real and here and something like Harry up like a firework.

"I am," Draco says, and reaches out with his good arm to pull Harry closer. "I'm home."

"That," Harry says as he leans in, "is the best news I've ever heard," and then his mouth is on Draco's and nothing else matters but this.

#my writing #drarry vignette #kiss meme #now I really do have to go to the grocery store!!

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albatmobile · 2 years ago

Text

The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 20

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for their child.

𓅪 Rated: M | 3.3k includes: skipping school w jayroy, shopping w steph

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter 20: Junk of the Heart | ao3 - wattpad

THEN

This time, you guys ditched your usual stomping grounds at the diner to meander around Gotham’s botanical gardens. Perfect timing- not. There was apparently a field trip going on. Every few seconds, you were forced to dodge gaggles of little kids left and right who zoomed around the foliage-filled room at alarming paces.

Jason and Roy had hardly spoken much past grunts and terse head nods the entire ride in Roy’s beat-up 1998 Mustang coupe. Both did, however, laugh when you were forced to sit in Jason’s lap the entire ride.

It started out with Jason and Roy splitting up in the expansive room, forcing you to choose between the two.

Shit.

You groaned, figuring Roy would be the easiest to persuade to meet Jason halfway.

“Soo,” you drawled once you caught up to the redhead. He was staring at a butterfly as it swooped down from the roof and floated down onto the petals of the pink dahlia in front of him.

“I’m surprised you followed me,” he admitted, light green eyes flickering over to you.

“Yeah, well,” you trailed off, unsure of where exactly this was going, “here I am.”

Just what had happened after you’d left?

Apparently, you’d managed to voice your question aloud because Roy began to visibly panic as he searched for words.

“I mean, princess,” he said your nickname with a fake charm you’d only ever seen him use on the girls he brought around. “Yeah, I mean, obviously something happened,” he laughed cheekily with a cringe-worthy faux nonchalance, “but, uh, nothing like else.” He then played way too naive for you to actually believe any of the shit that spewed from his chapped lips. Your squinted eyes proved this and he began to backtrack, “Yeah, no. Nothing else happened after you left.”

“Sick,” your monotonous response spurred a panicked look across his freckled face. You knew Jason would start getting pouty if the three of you didn’t reconvene soon, so you tilted you needed to hurry this shit up. You tilted your head sharply in Jason’s direction, leaving no room for negotiation. “Now, come on.”

Roy mumbled something about you being a ‘meddlesome kid’ before begrudgingly following behind you.

Jason remained silent as the two of you bounded up beside him at the koi fish pond. All around him, little kids were scattered around, listening to the tour guide. The man was explaining their usual habitat and feeding habits before allowing some of them to feed the spotted fish small food pellets.

“Leave it to us to come here on the one day kids are running all over the fucking place,” Roy muttered to you behind his hand. You snickered, having just been thinking the same thing.

Jason, however, was busy helping a little boy safely lean over the side so that he could throw the treats in.

It was cute.

A quick glance out of the corner of your eyes proved Roy must’ve been sharing your thoughts again.

His eyes were absolutely entranced with Jason’s soft complexion, highlighted by the sun’s rays that broke through the greenhouse roof. His mouth, normally tense or forced downward, was relaxed into an easy smile as the boy turned around to thank him gleefully.

Upon remembering your and Roy’s presence, Jason cleared his throat and awkwardly patted the kid on the back in response. The group of kids moved on to the adjacent field outside, leaving the three of you alone with the butterflies, koi and a shit ton of unresolved tension.

“You guys decide to ditch me?” Jason deposited the rest of the treats into your hand and you blushed as each pellet hit your palm. “What kind of shit is that?” he said with his voice overly cool and controlled, just as it had been since meeting up earlier with Roy in the school’s parking lot.

“We’re all ditching technically,” you warned him to drop it. “You know we would never ditch you. Never.”

Varying shades of green glared back at each other as Jason and Roy sized each other up.

Nope, no.

No, they weren’t doing this. Not today, not ever.

Especially when the three of you had just made up. Like, come on.

The last thing you needed was these two sexually repressed teens going at it, no, not that going at it, in the botanical gardens, especially with schoolchildren outside on the playground not even forty feet away.

“Cool,” he said, spinning around without another word.

You smacked Roy in the arm when he rolled his eyes at the dramatic action before following after your other friend.

“Very cool, Jay.”

You and Jason turned around, shocked to find that it was Roy who’d completed your inside joke.

“Whatever, man,” Jason shooed him off like an insistent fly. “You making fun of me now, too?”

“Never,” Roy sighed, sounding actually genuine for the first time since you’d arrived. “I promise.”

From there, the rest of the day went on as it normally would’ve to the point you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier tension between them.

Well, mostly.

Ever since the kiss, yes, they’d been awkward at first, but eventually, it’d been hard not to notice oddities. There were more accidental brushes, more pinkies bumping pinkies and more shared glances that lingered just a bit too long as the day went on.

For the most part, you just let them do their thing while silently observing. It was only when Jason brushed a piece of Roy’s hair from his face that you finally gave in and questioned them. You asked where they went after the… er, occurrence in Jason’s room and they blushed in response.

The distance between them grew as they stumbled to address you.

“What?” You couldn’t help but eye them skeptically, not quite believing what you were seeing. “Are you guys dating now or something?” you asked half curious, half being an asshole.

“Hell no,” they answered in unison. At this, they backed away from each other at the same time, but you merely shook your head.

These two needed to fuck and get it over with. And maybe let you watch…

Never mind.

Roy noogied the top of your head, pulling away before you could retaliate. “You’ve got a dirty mind there, kid,” he accused jokingly.

If only he knew.

“How is it dirty to ask if you’re dating?” You quirked a questioning brow at his flushed, freckled cheeks. “Seems like you’re the dirty-minded one here then, huh?” you teased, flicking his nose and laughing when it scrunched in protest.

Definitely payback for the noogie.

He muttered something before smacking at your hand without any actual malice. Meanwhile, Jason’s eyes remained curiously fixed on your own as if searching for something.

•

You had lots of shit to make up for the classes you’d missed while skipping, so an impromptu library session was a must.

You’d never been to the library alone, aside from your first week at the academy and you’d definitely never been here after school, so seeing the crazy influx of students coming in and out was shocking.

Every single seat at every table was taken.

You inwardly sighed. You were never skipping again.

“Hey,” a boy’s voice called out your name.

You spun around to see Tim with headphones in at a small table in the middle of the packed room. You waved and awkwardly shifted from foot to foot until he motioned you over.

He removed his bag from the seat next to him and patted for you to sit, pulling out the chair for you in the process.

“Thanks,” you sighed in relief. You gratefully slid into the seat and wasted no time pulling out your trig homework. “Didn’t realize I’d need a reservation for the library an hour after school let out.”

Tim snorted, “Gotta come during last period and place a towel over your seat just like the pool, rookie.” He turned around to tug at his green hoodie that hung off the back of his seat. “This works too, though.”

You added his library hack to your repertoire as you peeked over his shoulder. It didn’t seem like he was doing much studying at all, considering the majority of his notebook page was covered in little chibis. He blushed and attempted to flip the page back to where he’d previously been working on… magnets? There was a class for magnets at GA? Regardless of the magnets, or lack thereof, you’d seen Tim’s superhero chibi’s and you were determined to get a closer look.

“No way,” you squealed down at the sketch as you reached into your bag to produce your phone. “This looks just like this new suit idea I made for Red Robin.” You quickly pulled up your Tumblr, shamelessly showing him new content on your fanblog filled with all types of provocative illustrations of the bat boys, including some of your own embarrassing fan art. Finally, you reached the post you were talking about. “See?”

Tim seemed way too interested in the other content on your blog, but his eyes lit up when your finger stopped scrolling.

“Oh, wow. That is pretty similar,” he trailed off, pulling the phone from your hand to get a closer look, only to recoil at the next photo you’d drawn of a bloodied, half-naked Red Robin.

“You don’t like that one?”

He cleared his throat and handed you back your phone, “No, I do. They’re both really… detailed.”

“Tim!” The two of your heads popped up to see Bernard swoop in. He came to a swift halt directly in front of Tim. “We’re going to be late. Let’s go,” the blond demanded impatiently.

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” Tim said as he set about collecting his things. Once he’d finished, he stood up, bidding you a quick goodbye with a kind smile, “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks for showing me your sketches!”

Bernard hustled him away from you without looking back or acknowledging you in any way. Before they were completely out of earshot, you heard the blond ask, “What is she talking about?”

Ever since Tim and Bernard had been hanging out recently, you felt like chopped liver to him. Even at your lockers, he was always too preoccupied with Bernard to even acknowledge you.

You hadn’t seen Stephanie around recently and even though you’d gotten off to the rough start you had, you still missed her presence. You’d take Steph’s sparkly sass to Bernard’s persnickety ass any day.

It was by chance you saw her in between periods the next day whilst taking a new route Roy had shown you the previous week. Supposedly, it cut 30 seconds off your commute, but you honestly figured it was because he played basketball in between these periods and the route conveniently passed by the gym.

Sure enough, Roy was there and caught you looking. You chortled at his wink and continued on your trek toward the blonde.

“Hey!” You gave a small wave.

Stephanie ignored the action. “You’re still talkin’ to me?” she asked monotonously.

"Uh," you quirked your head questioningly, “should I not be?”

She gave you an unimpressed once over. “You trying to get with Tim?” You shook your head no, completely and utterly confused. When had you ever been trying to get with Tim? Your face must have accurately portrayed this because she simply shrugged and said, “Cool. Guess you’re tagging along with me tonight then, yeah?”

She started walking and you trailed slightly behind her fast pace.

“Is Tim going?”

Her weird questioning, along with Roy’s question to Tim the other day, left you feeling like you were missing a large piece of the puzzle. He had just said they were going on a date- had he not? Did Stephanie really think you were trying to take Tim away from her when you had your hands preoccupied with two other Waynes and Roy?

“Fuck no,” she spat. “It’s a college party, so I doubt his dorky-ass will show.” She turned to you, slowing down finally. “Well, actually, I don’t know, nor do I care.”

“Aren’t you guys a thing?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” she said with an air of distaste before crossing her muscular arms. You took the hint, dropping the topic altogether. It seemed to be some fucked up form of fate that caused the two of you to pass by Tim, who waved in your direction. He noticeably hesitated when Stephanie’s fiery gaze shot his way. “I’m so over these little Gotham boys. It’s time we hung around the men.”

“I severely doubt the Gotham Academy students qualify as men,” you pointed out, shooting Tim a tiny wave back once Stephanie became distracted with pulling up details from Dick about his party.

“You’re literally a titted version of Damian, you know that? Swear, it’s scary sometimes.”

You snorted, jokingly shouldering her, “Fuck off.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she shouldered you right back with a cackle. You were instantly sent sprawling clear across the hallway and directly into the angry oncoming foot traffic. Once you rejoined her at her side, she continued on as if she hadn’t just bruised your entire arm and ego. “We’re going to the mall after school. I need something to make my tits look perkier.” She floofed at her boobs with a slight pout. “‘Sides, your wardrobes a bit all over the place. Screams ‘jailbait’ and we don’t want that.”

“Hey! All you've ever seen me in is the uniform or Jason’s clothes. Besides,” you tried to flick her on the nose as some form of payback, but she dodged you with a practiced ease, “I am jailbait and people should know that.”

She raised a dubious brow. “Just not Jason and Roy?”

“Fuck you,” you joked with a roll of your eyes as you came to a halt in front of your next class. “So, your locker?”

“My locker,” she confirmed with a nod.

•

It was your first time at the mall with a friend and you were absolutely buzzing with excitement. You matched Stephanie’s upbeat nature easily, creating a positively chaotic vibe you loved.

That was, at least, until the actual shopping commenced.

Stephanie unloaded a barrage of options into your arms, all of which you turned down in seconds.

Everyone was self-conscious about something; you knew this. However, it wasn’t always obvious until you were in a Nordstrom Rack, freaking out because every god-damned piece of clothing showed off the one thing you couldn’t stand to bare: your scar. Sure, Jason had tried to point out you’d only been wearing turtlenecks and, yeah, you probably should’ve realized that you’d been hiding your scar by avoiding certain styles of clothes too, but it hadn’t truly clicked until just then.

Stephanie pouted at the options you steadily stacked back into her arms, only to return with another armful of options that you also turned down.

“What are you so self-conscious about? It’s not like your tits haven’t been out before,” she said, shooting you a pointed stare, obviously mistaking your insecurity as distaste for low-cut clothes. “Trust me, I saw the photo of you and everyone at the gala.” She wore a teasing smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes or her tone. If you were being honest, she sounded… upset?

You unwittingly gulped and tugged at the collar of your turtleneck, “Yeah, well, I haven’t worn that shit since then.” Luckily, she suddenly seemed to understand.

Not speaking about the incident at the Gala became some sort of unspoken rule that the Wayne Family seemed content to uphold. It worked in your favor, regardless. The less you had to talk about that night, the better.

“Oh,” she trailed off. “Turtleneck then? I already have a few in mind that I saw earlier.”

You shot her a genuine smile, glad that she hadn’t pressed any further.

Her being accommodating of your insecurities meant more than she’d ever know.

You wandered about the clearance section while her blonde hair bobbed in and out of isles with Flash-like speed. Soon enough, you were making your way to the dressing room with bundles of clothes piled high in each arm.

There was no attendant at the desk when you walked back, so you and Stephanie hightailed it for one of the bigger rooms and set down your spoils before getting to work.

She undressed quickly in front of you and you blushed, not being in the right state of mind to notice her watching you taking in her nearly nude body.

“Do you always match your,” you cleared your throat, “bra and undies?”

“Only when I know I’m going to be sharing a dressing room,” she said with a wink, picking up a tube top and ripping off her neon pink bra without hesitation. “Now, strip.”

You gulped, nodding distractedly.

The first few shirts you tried on, you could manage with a bra, but the remaining options required you to strip yours as well, allowing Stephanie to see the extent of your scar. She couldn’t contain her shock, though you pretended not to notice her silent horror. She schooled her reaction quickly enough that most wouldn’t have caught, but you did. She turned around to offer you some privacy as you continued to reject hanger after hanger of clothing.

Nothing was fitting right and, on the off chance it did, it exposed your scar. Your ‘no’ pile was growing faster than Stephanie could keep up with. She’d only been on her second shirt while you were already down to your last hanger.

It was a red turtleneck dress with low-cut arm holes that exposed the top part of your ribcage. Stephanie wobbled over to you with black jeans half-pulled up around her mid-thighs to finish styling you. She turned you away from the mirror to give the outfit a fair shot as she accessorized you with a cute belt and thin, strappy heels.

When she finally allowed you to view yourself in the mirror, you knew you’d found your outfit (X).

You waited until Stephanie was busy pulling on a pair of pants to rip off your bra, wishing you shared Stephanie’s same mindset about matching lingerie or, at the very least, her same confidence around nudity.

She turned around just as you were tugging the fabric over your nipples and gave you a once-over. “Honestly, I kind of dig it,” she said as she motioned for you to do a spin, then rolled her eyes as you came back around to face her. “Okay, titties.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, covering your tits nervously as she took in your exposed skin.

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” she sighed. “You’re fucking perfect. It’s annoying.”

You blushed, allowing your hands to drop and expose your hardened nipples that tented against the lightweight cotton. “Still jailbait?”

She scoffed, “Definitely not. Your side boob situation is making my dick go up.”

You choked. You definitely hadn’t expected her to say that.

The obnoxious howl that filled the dressing room following was not your proudest moment. Once you caught your breath, she shot you a stupid look that left you cackling all over again right alongside her. It was only a matter of time before your buffoonery forced an attendant to come by, knocking on the door to ask if you were alright.

This only led to more giggling and reassurances that, yes, you were still just looking.

“You’re going to get us kicked out of a fucking Nordstrom Rack, Stephanie,” you swore, shaking your head in thinly veiled amusement.

“It would be an honor to get thrown out of this Nordstrom Rack with you,” she said your name, then did a double take. “Oh, your underwear line is showing.” Without warning, Stephanie squatted so her face was directly in front of your backside. She wasted no time in snaking her hands over the globes of your ass and snapping at the edges of your underwear with a resounding smack to smooth out the lines. “There.”

You managed a pathetic ‘thanks,’ deciding that you had to buy the dress that had Stephanie’s straight-ass eyeing you up and down.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She blushed more, if it was even possible.

You checked out after Stephanie decided on a flowy, white chiffon button-up top and a dark purple skirt. You, personally, didn’t see the vision, but you seriously doubted Stephanie could look bad in anything. She claimed the lace plum bra she was going to wear underneath would bring it all together, so you’d just have to wait and see.

“Be ready at eleven,” she said when Babs, the only person you and Stephanie knew with a car, dropped you off at the library as you'd requested.

Fuck, no. You couldn’t have her seeing the shithole you lived at.

At the last second, you called out Stephanie’s name just as Barbara made to peel off into traffic, “Meet me here.”

She shot you a confused glance but nodded anyway before disappearing off into Gotham’s rush hour.

A/N: I <3 steph- who's ur fave character so far?

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