#'how can you ship it' i have eyes and exquisite taste next question | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

Titanic || H.S

Part Three || “Harry”

“I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear...”

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

Mornings were as warm as freshly made bread and salted butter for Harry, inviting and comforting, with that perfect combination sitting on his tongue in absolute delight. He’d chow down happily as each morning customer ordered their regulars, his mother rushing from one side to the other as the orders came in. And once he swallowed his last piece, he rolled his sleeves up to pull yet another tray of bread that had been baking since the early morning hours.

The family bakery was located in a very crowded part of the city, where thousands walked by each day, good and bad, gossiping about anything and everything. And although Harry’s family bakery wasn’t the only one on the street, it was the one that received the most praise. With dough made with love and an end product that was easily pulled apart, Harry’s family bakery won first place in all good graces.

And with such precision in every bite and every cake decorated in such an exquisite manner that they were rated number one in The Times for attention to detail and amazing taste, the family bakery was ready to branch out. They had a plan to save as much money as they could - and although being loved by many and receiving great reviews - they had very little of that. Most of the money the family earned went to rent, new shoes, and ingredients. The plan involved the Styles Bakery becoming some sort of franchise, and since they had London’s attention, it was possible.

The Styles Bakery would extend through other parts of London, and ever since Harry’s grandparents moved to the states with his aunt and her children, America was added to the equation.

“Mum, could you get the bread out? My hands are full!” Harry called out, arms struggling to carry glass jars full of jelly. He carefully climbed the ladder on the wall and began stacking, looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother heard his request. She quickly came out from the back room, padding her hands against her apron, and proceeded to remove the bread. She placed it on the counter carefully, all the while watching her son as he balanced himself on the ladder.

“Quite busy, are we?” she asked, rushing over to hold the ladder under him. Harry placed the last of his jars on the shelves.

“We need to get this place ready for the photographer! We need those photos by tonight so I can bring them with me on the trip.”

“I know, honey. And thank you for doing this, but I don’t want you to fall and get hurt just because you were in a rush,” she said, helping Harry as he climbed down. “We have more than enough time.”

“Time?” Harry said with a tiny laugh, “Grandad said that if we don’t get these plans and photographs to the landlord in two weeks time, then we have to search outside of New York.”

She smiled at him, “I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear.”

Harry rolled his eyes, retreated back to the stockroom, and grabbed even more full jars. But as he returned, he continued the conversation. “But it’s where all the business and people are!”

But still, his mother laughed. “People exist outside urban areas as well.”

Harry saw how his mother would continue to innocently twist his words for the better, and no matter how negative he seemed to speak, his mother always could sprinkle the positives inside. For a while longer, they stacked jars, rearranged chairs, and cleaned the windows while waiting for the photographer. Once he arrived, he set up and did the bakery justice. From just the angles alone, Harry could see that the photographs would come out perfectly. They paid him extra for such an expedited order, promised to pick them up early tomorrow morning, and closed up the bakery a little after two in the afternoon.

Harry quickly ventured out to the still-empty pubs around town, a small pack of cigarettes he usually kept hidden behind the sacks of flour in the stockroom now hidden in his coat pocket, and joined as many small poker games he could find. With such deserted pubs at this time of the day, the men were less rowdy and more sober. This way Harry could collect as much pocket change he could in time for his voyage. The time flew by as he hopped from one pub to another, but he was still determined to make some more cash. But as his eyelids began to droop and his mind narrowly missed the ‘full house’ he was holding, Harry won, wrapped it all up, and started home.

He wasn’t a heavy gambler but he was known to succeed in a few tournaments when his family desperately needed to make rent. With such a dangerous alternative, Harry and his sister hid the fact that they would apply for odd jobs outside of the general area they lived, bringing in money under their mother’s nose - anything to keep the family afloat.

But after a few hours in the comfort of his home, he ventured out into the world once again. He traveled around his known parts of the city, a few blocks here and there, most alleyways, and greeted many people. Once his feet began feeling sore and the tips of his shoes stubbed his toes, he went into a pub for a quick drink. He enjoyed its taste, sort of salty and sweet at the same time. He ordered the same and decided to focus on his surroundings during each sip, watching every bartender and every customer walk to and from the bar. All he could think about while looking at everyone’s joyful faces was that tomorrow he would be waiting at the docks and boarding the grandest ship in the world. Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to taste the alcohol they were transporting and serving, but it was a long-shot thought. The third class most likely was not going to offer up the finest things, but it sure beat the streets of rat-infested London. But as Harry recalled his schooling and the little travelers who brought the plague, he settled for calling Titanic’s possible rats more upper-class than the ones below the bar he was currently lounging in. The simple third class ticket hidden safely away in his bedside drawer was a somewhat important telling, like it was something that represented a rise in Harry’s world.

He ordered his third drink, this time carefully watching a young couple across the room who shared the drink they just ordered. They laughed along with the piano player, hands intertwined, simultaneously tapping their thighs to the beat in unison. Such synchronization was therapeutic and Harry wondered how they met - if they knew they were right for each other, if they ever fought, how many children they had, or whether they were truly happy as their movements portrayed. All these unanswered questions did not need to have an answer for Harry to accept the wonder.

The sound of Harry’s sliding barstool startled the sleeping man next to him. Harry paid the bartender, gave the sleeping man a double pat on the shoulder, and left. He was only a few blocks away from home, but he decided to walk slower than usual. Tomorrow’s plan formulated itself and Harry didn’t have to think twice about it - he would wake up early, dress casual but clean, make sure his boots had their laces, and double-check his packing. And the one-way ticket would burn a hole in his pocket as he boarded, waving goodbye to his mother and sister who weren’t granted tickets themselves. They would wave sadly, tearing up slightly but just enough for Harry to see, and would come back home to run the bakery themselves for a few months.

It was worth the distance once Harry landed in America, for their entire lives would change. In America, Harry would buy that spot of land they had all been saving for over the last fifteen years. He would clean, build, anything he had to do as long as that spot of land showcased the first of a long chain of Styles Bakery’s. A bakery where Americans of all races, all religions, all everything and anything would get to savor the sweet taste of a busy London street.

Once he got home he wrapped himself up with three heavy blankets, drank a cup of tea, and rested his eyes for a moment. He was already giddy with joy, restless as to what awaited him tomorrow. The chance to step on American soil and the Titanic - all within a week - barely allowed Harry a wink of deep sleep.

The American dream wasn’t really what Harry strived for or wished to achieve, but he definitely thought it probable. He had the money, he had the determination, he had the contacts. But it was quite unsettling to think about the negative consequences of such a drastic move and not knowing if everything was going to fall into place.

Harry’s eyes began to feel heavier and heavier as his mind kept racing, but he knew one thing for sure. Whether his family’s dream was to be recognized and accomplished, it was luck and luck alone that would ultimately determine his new American fate. Harry breathed a heavy sigh and ducked his chin deeper into the blankets, neck slightly tilted and arms hugging his upper torso.

46 notes · View notes

merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Peck

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #41 Dove

Ship: Snowangelshipping | Asana/Chevelle

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! SEVENS

Word Count: 1,899

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Humour, Puberty Blues, Misunderstandings, Mild Innuendo

Asana had been thinking about it for a while now but it was probably time for her and Chevelle to have their first kiss.

She had come to this conclusion after much thought. It just seemed like the next milestone they ought to achieve. After all, they have been on a handful of dates already in the short time they had decided to officially court as it were and they had also spent many moments holding hands.

Though, it was in the sweetness of holding hands that Asana did predict a possible issue. Chevelle liked to go very slowly, it appeared. Asana did not mind but she still distinctly recalled the very first time they had held hands as a romantic act rather than a platonic one. It most certainly caught Chevelle up in a flurry, it made Asana laugh - both now and then - but she wondered if it was an omen that was going to set the tone for the rest of the relationship milestones that she envisioned for them both.

Chevelle had lovely hands. They were magician’s hands, long slender fingers with a soft palm. Although, none but Asana knew this privilege given that he wore white gloves all the time but Asana had her tricks.

She had invited Chevelle up to their private garden on the roof for a high tea. It was their favourite locale for a casual date; the sort of date that didn’t count towards Asana’s personal tally of all the dates that they had ever been on. Teatime and high teas were their private time to bond, not necessarily to date. There was a distinction though even Asana, ever eloquent, did often fail to explain it but Chevelle understood and agreed with her on that note. Though in this instance, high tea could absolutely be a date since Asana had big plans and she enacted them well before they got to the roof.

She slipped out her hand to Chevelle’s right arm and interlocked it. Asana moved in closer and soon enough, she had Chevelle entangled in her own arms, making him a blubbering, blushing mess. But Asana didn’t stop there, although Chevelle’s reaction was already both sweet and satisfying. She slid her hands down Chevelle’s arm and put her fingers under the fabric of his gloves.

He looked fit to protest her, even Trapigeon, ever loyal on his shoulder was making a loud fuss, but Asana came well prepared for any duel and love was absolutely the be all and end all duel. She nuzzled in even closer as she held onto his hand: both of hers locked over his, fingers entwining, toying with the glove, threatening to turn it loose, and then Asana gave Chevelle the look. It was utterly angelic. She batted her big, blue eyes at him and suddenly, her little dove was singing a very different tune to the embarrassed and rebuked one that he was trying to muster.

“You are a sly one, princess.” Chevelle swallowed his initial reaction as Asana held his hand, playful and tugging at him, slowly wriggling off his glove until they had skin to skin contact. It was utterly scandalous. Salacious, even.

But just once was enough to get Chevelle hooked on the idea of escorting Asana around like a true gentleman. Sometimes with gloves on, sometimes not. Now, Chevelle was comfortable walking around anywhere holding hands with Asana. On the school grounds, even in the corridors, and whilst on their dates around the scenic and romantic spots of Goha City, too.

However, that had been a while ago now and whilst it was a very special memory that Asana cherished, she thought it was high time to make some more like that. She loved the feeling of Chevelle’s hands - they were delicate yet made her feel safe to hold onto - and thus, she had no doubt in her mind that she would love the sensation of Chevelle’s lips as well. She had found herself observing him as he drank tea or ate sandwiches at their private tea parties. He carried himself exactly like a bird, behaving as though he were brittle and because of that, his demeanour was of grace and poise. Asana had never been kissed before but she was certain that if it was Chevelle, it would be entirely gentle and she couldn’t imagine a more wonderful thing.

So, it was time to strategise once more and once more, her old faithful prevailed. She would be direct and forthright, no trickery or traps. So, she chose a date from the calendar and per her expectations, it was going to be a splendid afternoon for a tea party. Just herself and Chevelle, separated only by a multi-tiered display for their exquisite cakes, sandwiches, and other treats the Goha Sixth Elementary School cafeteria could provide. After all, it wasn’t just going to be her first kiss, it was going to be Chevelle’s as well, so Asana planned accordingly and she thought nothing would appeal to him more than familiarity and comfort, underneath a blue sky. She was swooning now just thinking about it.

When the day came, Asana could not have been more pleased with the weather and had pep to her step all day. It surprised even Chevelle who had no idea that Asana intended to spring the possibility of their first kiss on him but was excited nonetheless for another of their tea parties.

The wind was mild and the day itself was pleasantly balmy. There had been a soft rain the prior night and as such, the garden still glistened with a tender rain, making everything bloom brighter and more vivid. Their table by the garden centrepiece was set already with white linen table cloths and a display laden with macarons, meringues, and cucumber sandwiches without the crusts. It could not have been more perfect.

Asana sighed happily as even though she had been the one to organise all this, it was Chevelle who was leading her through the garden bed paths that burgeoned with verdant flowers to their private spot. Hands entwined, of course.

“My lady.” Chevelle told her as he pulled out a chair for Asana.

“My gentleman.” Asana returned the chivalry and sat down, Chevelle tucking her in. He then joined her by sitting at the chair across from her, the only other chair, of course.

Chevelle smiled as he made an all but impossible selection from the goods in front of him and it was such a feather soft smile, it made Asana’s heart skip a beat. She watched, more eager than she meant to, as he gracefully poured out a warm cup of earl grey tea then took a sip. It only affirmed to Asana that she most definitely wanted to have their first kiss right here, right now and thus, threw all caution to the wind whilst Chevelle savoured that first taste of tea.

“Pardon me, Chevelle,” Asana interrupted him and his eyes flicked up to her.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” she asked, blurted out, really. She surprised even herself with just how uncouth she sounded.

Chevelle’s eyes widened, he went bright red, “I - I could never.” he sputtered. “That would be entirely indecent of me.”

“O-oh.” Asana murmured. She was uncertain as to how she ought to feel in the face of such a response.

“We are far too young to be deflowering ourselves like that.” Chevelle continued, rambling and embarrassed.

Asana blinked. It was just a kiss. Actually, it was just the mere proposition of a kiss. What was all this about being deflowered? Her eyebrow twitched as it just began to dawn on her but there may have been a misunderstanding between herself and Chevelle.

“A-And what would I say to Galient? To my parents? No, it is far too early for us to even think about introducing chicks into our relationship.” Chevelle asked and his poor face was just getting redder and redder.

“Chevelle!” Asana yelped. “Please, stop, I believe there is some confusion.”

“Confusion?” Chevelle echoed. “Whatever confusion could there be, you are clucky already and I am still barely out of the nest. I could never kiss you because the consequences could be dire, I’m not ready to be a father.”

Asana’s heart quaked and she wanted ever so badly to laugh at Chevelle but fortunately, she suppressed the impulse, “Chevelle, why are you under the impression that a kiss could, well, bear offspring?”

“My parents have given me the birds and bees talk, of course. A kiss is what leads to the insemination of the egg.” Chevelle explained, indignant and folding his arms to prove his indignation.

“I see.” Asana replied and she finally understood this situation. She nodded her head in deep though. “Chevelle,” she said, “I think you need someone else to give you the birds and the bees talk, because, er, when humans kiss… It does not turn out like that, not without a lot more… Machinations of the body, let’s say. However, I believe the kiss you were taught about was the cloacal kiss and I can assure you, I do not have one so no risk of chicks.”

Chevelle, who had finally returned to his usual pallor after huffing and puffing and rambling, turned bright red once more. He agonised in embarrassment and Asana finally permitted herself a polite giggle at Chevelle’s expense. He couldn’t blame her. That was quite a mishap to make and though he had his hands in his face, he took a breath and was able to give Asana a sane and proper answer to the question that had catalysed this incident.

“Asana, my princess,” he spoke very slowly, “I would be honoured to kiss you. Just once, though, just in case.”

“So a little peck then?” Asana clarified.

Chevelle slowly set down his hands and nodded, “That sounds perfect.” he replied.

So, even though they had just sat down, they already got up again for there was a far more enticing treat than those piled high on the displays. Asana was suave as she got up, Chevelle was far more nervous than her and his hands shook. It was cute, making Asana giggle a small giggle, a superfluous breath, really.

She stood close to Chevelle who appeared to want a bit more space. The compromise was awkward, not quite close enough but too far either and gave Chevelle the room to breathe that he apparently needed. His poor cheeks with their high cheekbones were slick with a nervous sweat and his pale skin was pink once more.

“Are you ready?” Asana politely asked.

“As I’ll ever be on such short notice.” Chevelle warbled back to her.

“Good.” Asana said and she was the one to swoop in.

The resulting kiss was anything but romantic, nothing at all that Asana had imagined but the fragrance of earl grey tea wafted through it so she couldn’t complain. Chevelle’s lips were soft but fleeting. The kiss lasted less than six or seven seconds, easily, but even after such brevity, Asana’s heart beat faster in her chest and she savoured the soft sensation. Her fingers brushing over her own mouth whilst she watched Chevelle retreat. He hid his face in the crook of his arm, clearly panicking that he had done something scandalous but it was just a kiss. Just a peck.

#100ships challenge #snowangelshipping #yugioh sevens #sevens #yugioh #asana mutsuba #mutsuba asana #kayama chevelle #chevelle kayama #asachevelle #writing tag #this fic's success hinges on ppl having the same humour as me oops

2 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Enchanted For a Moment: Reds fic

Chapter 2. Chapter One here

Pairing: Blossom x Brick

Royal Au

I hope you all are enjoying the story. I think this might be a three chapter story so stay tuned. I appreciate the love and support!!

Chapter 2: Stained glass eyes and the heartbreak of a rose

She was practically glowing when she walked through her door. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt this light and free, almost like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Bubbles eyes shot up as her sister hummed along as she waltzed upstairs, passing by the small kitchen.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her this happy since she finished those books last summer.” Buttercup said before drinking the rest of her rum.

Bubbles nose scrunched in disgust as she tasted the amber liquid. “That's so nasty BC, how are you married before me?” She complained to her twin sister. It was almost humorous how different they looked but with the older sister being a fiery red head, they couldn’t seem to mind.

Buttercup laughed and wiggled the bottle. “Because of this stuff. Now I gotta get ready for the next trip.”

“You said you were leaving next month.” Bubbles pouted. “Why are you going to ship at night time anyways?” She questioned.

Buttercup’s stone cold face broke out into a giant grin and winked before Bubbles made another gross face and started to run upstairs. “Blossom! Buttercup is talking about nasty stuff she's gonna do with her husband, save me!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Blossom could hear the smirk in her voice as Bubbles barged into their shared room.

“Oh calm down Bubs let her enjoy herself.” She waved her hand at her little sister.

Bubbles gasped, loud and romantically. “Blossom since when-who are you? What did you do with my snobby sister?” Bubbles giggled before leaping onto the bed while she watched Blossom braid her hair. “And why are you so happy?”

Blossom turned in her chair to face her wide eyed sister. “I just had the most magical evening.” She said with a bright smile. Her eyes lit up as she talked and Bubbles was listening intensely as Blossom went on and on about a picnic and how educated this man was.

“And he knows all the classics and never corrected me once. Bubbles, the man did not look down on me, it was just...nice.” She sighed happily. “And he wants me to come to the ball-”

“THE BALL!” Bubbles practically screamed. She jumped off the bed and took Blossom's hands in hers. “Oh my what are you going to wear? YOU NEED TO LOOK BETTER THAN THAT PRINCESS BITCH, OH BLOSSY YOU AND YOUR PRINCE CHARMING!” Blossom swore the neighbors could hear them as Bubbles bounced around the room.

“I was hoping you could make the dress?” Blossom asked and Bubbles froze.

She turned and blinked those baby blue eyes that adored her so well. Tears brimmed them as she hugged her sister tightly. “I am going to make you the most incredible gown you could ever hope for!” She gasped and pulled away. “The ball is on Friday, that gives me...THAT GIVES ME ONE DAY BLOSSOM, ONE DAY.”

“Please stop yelling honey.” But the blonde was running, actually running out the door.

“Move Buttercup I need fabric.” And she heard a thud. Did Bubbles run over Buttercup?

Blossom could hardly care as she flopped on the bed and covered her face with a pillow. She felt like a little girl right now or one of her students. How was she this flustered over a man she had just met. Every negative thing Princess had said to her slipped away as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall asleep. -- “Blossom move again and I will stab you with my pin on purpose.” Bubbles scolded her sister as she pulled the corset tighter until she could hardly breath.

Buttercup let out a low whistle as Blossom spun around. “Gotta say Bubbles, this is your best work.”

Blossom let out a gasp as she looked at herself. “Its stunning.” She touched the layers of fabric as it cascaded down to her feet. “And the color.” A beautiful baby pink.

Bubbles had become a fairy godmother in that moment. She stood smiling after pinning the last flower to the bottom. The giant pink ball gown had a silk ribbon around her waist and flower details that gathered at the bottom.

“And a final touch.” Blossom bent down as she placed the flower crown around her sister's bun. “And done! Oh Blossy you are a beautiful princess.” Bubbles cooed.

“Hot piece of ass.” Buttercup added. “Don’t give me that look Blossom.”

“Ahh look at the time! Go, go, go! Buttercup the carriage! She needs a royal entrance.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes as they made their way downstairs. “Oh if only dad could see you.” Bubbles whined.

“Too bad he's out collecting potions in the kingdom over.” Buttercup said as she opened the door to the carriage that her husband may or may not have stolen back from the palace grounds. “Alright let's go.” Buttercup grabbed the reins of the horse and for once Blossom actually felt like a royal. -- “Umm Brick?” Princess snapped her fingers at him. “What are you looking for?” She said as he spun her around and she stepped on his foot for the third time that dance, god she was the worst.

“Nothing.” he muttered as he looked over the crowd of guests. Why wasn’t he surprised that she hadn’t shown, maybe the fear of Princess got to her.

“Oh my look at her.” He heard a woman say and their eyes went to the new wave of people walking in. He assumed they were looking at the other rich people but his eyes landed on her.

He lost his breath in his throat. His eyes could hardly keep off her as she walked gracefully. If he didn’t know any better, he would have mistaken her for a princess, or a queen.

She hadn’t spotted him yet as she took in the ballroom. It was gorgeous. The giant crystal chandeliers and the violins playing. The golden decor and lights made her skin practically glow. He was awestruck as she walked over to one of the maids and slightly curious, of course she was kind to them.

Princess pouted again and he looked at her. He felt his frown deepen as she laid his head against his chest. “Imagine if we got married.” He wanted to vomit. Her finger glided on his chest and she looked up at his thoroughly heavy lashes. “Wouldn’t you enjoy that?” She asked innocently. No. He wouldn’t.

He could see it now. The high pitched shriek of her waking him up every morning. Her leaving him with every critical decision instead of her being a leader, not to mention she wasn’t that bright. Great. Just great. It would be an empty marriage, one that they couldn’t escape. And even if he could normally, his position as king would make him locked down, he couldn’t just leave. He was trapped.

“Yeah.” Wow he was a charmer. She sighed and rested her head against him again, her crown almost took out one of his eyes and he tried not to sound so uninterested.

To his left he saw one of the other suitors trying not to look creepy by watching him. Brick moved his shoulder so her head came up and he nodded the other guy over.

“Here dance with him.” He started before walking away and ignoring her protests.

“Mary is doing wonderful in class.” Blossom said to the maid holding a tray of drinks. The woman smiled.

“She always tells me how wonderful you are and I can tell she's telling the truth.” Blossom thrived on the validation of her students' parents, it just meant that she was doing good in the world, changing little minds lives one class at a time.

“Pardon me for interrupting but may I steal Miss Blossom away?” Brick asked and they both looked his way as he extended his hand toward her gloved one.

She smiled before taking it. “You may.” She almost giggled like Mary did when she found a note in her desk.

Her arm wrapped around his as they made their way to the dance floor where a new song was starting. “You look exquisite.” He whispered to her as she spun her and pulled her waist to him.

“And you look very handsome.”

“I know.”

“I take it back.” She said as he lifted his arm and twirled her underneath before pulling him flush with his chest.

“You can’t. I won’t allow it.” He smirked as he led her into a formal dance, one that was much more entertaining than Princesses. Blossom followed along like an expert, matching all of his spins and moves. Plus she never stepped on his foot.

The room faded before them. It was just them and she became completely enchanted for a moment.

The soft look on his face as their eye contact never broke, she was now smiling brightly, her eyes shining bright and it reminded him of stained glass. Each small speck in her eyes was that of a different hue of pink. It almost nailed him that she didn’t realize how captivating she was.

“You are simply a natural Miss Blossom.” He condemned her.

“Not too bad yourself Sir Brick.” She giggled as the song came to an end and soon the sound of an applause came around them. Another song began to play as cellos and violins started in tune.

It was a ballad, one of her favorites. Even with no lyrics she had studied the song. It was about the thrill of love and wonders that came from it. She had met the composer before when he came to the castle and she had the chance to talk to him. He said he wanted to capture love in a song and when two people danced to it, you would know if that was your soulmate.

Brick guided her through the steps. “I love this song.” He whispered to her.

“It is quite the extensive piece.” She said as they spun. “The story line is very poetic too.”

“I think the man who designed it knew what he was doing.” He smiled at her. “And I think he was right.” He tried to say the last part quietly but she heard him and looked up at him through her lashes.

“I think so too.” The notes trickled out as the orchestra ended the song. They did their collective bow before she heard almost a displeased gruff.

She looked around and saw the fiery red face of the Princess and her grip on Brick tightened. “We-”

“Outside, she wouldn’t dare to leave.” He pulled her away from the crowds and to the back door where the balcony was and the steps to the garden.

“You know you are quite the dancer, where did you learn?” He asked as they leaned against the marble edge.

Blossom fiddled with her glove. “Oh my sisters loved coming to the galas that were open to the public. Bubbles talked non stop about wanting to waltz with a prince so I studied and read up and practiced. She was thrilled when I spun her around when we were little. I guess I never lost my knowledge and the small pubs have some small events from time to time but you have been the best dance partner no doubt.”

A sudden burst of pride fled through him. Of course he knew he was the best, he was classically trained after all but when it came from her, so sincere and meaningful, it actually meant something more.

“Well to be fair, you are the best dancer I’ve known.”

He watched the blush on her face. Pink suited her. “Oh well I'm sure Princess was wonderful.”

He snorted. “Yeah if you stepped on my feet seven times then you could be a master dancer like her.”

“She stepped on you! Oh that’s rich.” She laughed.

“I don’t know what's worse, her sharp heel digging into the top of my foot or the fact that she talked about marriage.” It was his turn to laugh but nothing came from Blossom's lips.

He looked at her but she was staring off towards the garden. Her brows drew together as her lips held a small frown. He didn’t like when she frowned he had decided.

“Well that's what you are here for.” She muttered and suddenly the mood shifted. He could sense that she was going to cry, as if she remembered something tragic, not it was this that was tragic.

There were a few seconds where he lost control of his body and took her hand. She gazed at him in a way that was unexpected and questioning but he brushed every warning and hesitation away as he placed his lips on hers. -- Princess’s grip on the suitor tight end as she watched her future husband leave with a random woman out the back doors. How dare he! She caught the sight of a red ribbon around her waist and grew angrier. The tutor, the peasant, blossom, that bitch, what was she doing here?

She pushed away the man before stomping up the stairs towards her father.

“Daddy.” She spat. “I want Brick to marry me and that is final.” She demanded.

Her father swirled his drink around before nodding. “Of course darling.”

She gave a sinister smile. She snapped her fingers at a butler. “Go retrieve that boy.” She sat on her throne and pouted. “I hate her.” She said to herself and waited for her charming prince to come back.

A simple village girl, a tutor to the princess, she was nothing but ordinary. She held no value to anyone even if she could read and write, even if she was intelligent and refined. Her tears blurred as he kissed her. It felt so wrong but she enjoyed it. She could only imagine what would happen to her if they were all to find out. A prince kissing a street rat, a village nobody. She wants to scream and tell him to stop, saying she isn’t worthy and that he's wasting his time but the warm feeling that swirled within her made all those thoughts slip away.

The way he held her and whispered her name when they danced and how he didn’t treat her like dirt but an equal. No one had come to her level of intelligence and yet he was reciting ancient poems that only the highest minds could know. In this moment of tender bliss she begged for it to last for an eternity, she wanted to keep him to herself and be by his side. She had read all those stories of love before, was this one of them? The prince and the tutor, a royal and a peasant. All of those thoughts were plausible in stories but this, this was real life.

He pulled away and gently rubbed his thumb over her tears. His eyes sparkled in the glow of the light, they were stunning. Like the rubies that adored the crowns of the royals, that deep rich red color soon became one of her favorites.

She felt breathless and flustered in the best way possible but deep down the sadness grew.

“Sir-”

“Brick is just fine.” he whispered.

“Brick.” She said hesitantly. “I am no princess or royal. I am just a simple woman who can read and write. I can not offer all that those fair maidens and the princess can, I’m sorry.” She took his hand away from her face and began to walk away.

He felt a jab in his heart and this sudden jolt went through him like a spark. He followed her and grabbed her hand. “Blossom, please.”

Those rosy eyes he became so fond of held tears. Her face grew slightly red and even with the warm tears dripping down her face ever so softly, she still looked radiate. “Don’t” She tried to protest but it was weak and strained.

“Well Blossom.” He pulled her waist softly toward him. “If she is a princess, then by all means, you are a goddess.” His kiss was slower than the first as if he was trying to show her that he meant every word. She could easily say yes, run away and live the life of what many dream of.

“Didn’t think you of a poet.” She murmured.

The small laugh he left out made her smile slightly as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Well Blossom, there are a lot of things that you don’t know, but I would be more than happy to show you.” ahh the cocky attitude is back but she didn’t really mind this time.

She felt the flames on her cheek as he kissed beneath her earlobe. She felt the hum of his lips as she let out an embarrassing moan, one that she hoped no one heard and she was thankful they were hidden away from the rest of the party.

Her fingers danced on the back of his neck as yet another noise escaped. She was getting lost in the moment, his lips finding hers again.

The instant she heard the slightest creak of the glass door, she pushed him away hastily and she was luckily because one of the butlers walked out.

“Sir Brick, the princess would like to see you on the ballroom floor.” He said and Brick nodded curtly.

“I have-” he turned to Blossom who was already smoothing out her skirt and the light in her eyes had faded.

Reality came back to her. Those few moments they shared were now being shunned and locked away. She watched him look towards the door, the sign of any future that has them together slipping away thread by thread. She felt her chest tense up and her throat tighten, she shouldn’t be surprised really. All she would ever amount to is the village woman who could read.

He stepped her way, wanting to say goodbye before going inside. “Blossom, what happened between us-” She placed her hands on his chest, fixing his royal emblem pin. Her voice barely above a whisper as she held her tears back and gave him a smile with empty eyes.

“You’ll make a great king.”

He tried to reach for her again but she was already hurrying towards the garden exit of the castle, away from all of this. He wanted to run to her, tell her that he would give up his crown and pride but he stopped himself and felt the weight of the world come crashing down. His stone cold facade returned as he went to the ballroom. He could hear the high pitch cries of the princess and he realized how Blossom’s voice rivaled hers.

There was nothing refined or elegant about her anyways. Just a spoiled brat born with a golden spoon and crown. He hid his scoff as he pushed past the guest and to her private seating area.

“Your majesty.” He said with a cold tone as he held his hand out to her. “Care for a dance?” --- It was times like this where Blossom wanted to scream and cry, not caring who hears her. Her breathing was coming out short and fast after she practically ran through the gardens. She knew these woods well and allowed herself to openly cry. What was the point anyways?

She had never even humored the idea of marriage let alone love but now that she could see herself falling for someone who made her feel important and smart and beautiful. No. She couldn’t encourage this behavior anymore, he was going to marry Princess and she would return to her home. Maybe open a school house, expand the little minds around her...yes that sounds good.

She couldn’t tell how long she ran until she found the familiar hidden pond deep within the forest. She slumped against a tree, not caring if her gown got ruined or had dirt caked into it. She let out a sob and let herself sink to the ground. If this were her sisters she would probably scold them and say that men didn’t matter, that they should focus on themselves but she understood now.

The amount of times Bubbles came home crying and breaking off another engagement, thinking it's been five so far, Blossom could only comfort her so much.

She could hardly breath. Is this what heartbreak was? She was like a candle. Standing tall and sturdy but he came towards her like a burning flame and with each passionate moment, her wick got smaller and smaller. The drips of the wax falling slowly and she barely noticed her candle getting lower and lower and now she was at the base of the pan. It was too late to rebuild herself, his flame burning her until she was a mere puddle and then he was a spark, blown out and gone, never to return. He was a spark that could bounce around until it was captured and put out, no matter where they were, there was always going to be a brutal and devastating ending to them.

“He’ll be a king.” She whimpered.

--- After what felt like hours of dancing and listening to Princess’s ungodly shrill voice, he excused himself and found himself on the balcony once again. He wished she was still her. That gorgeous pink gown that complemented her soft skin. She would probably yell at him for skipping his royal duties but accept that kiss.

“She's kinda annoying.” Of course Butch was out here with a cigar in his hand, smoke dancing in the wind.

“Princess? Yeah don’t have to tell me twice.” Brick scoffed and dreadfully accepted the cigar. He rarely smoked but after all this shit, he needed it.

“You know bro, I say you run away with that little honey.” Butch laughed. Of course he would say that. He was the one who ran away with that damn pirate queen and practically sold his soul over to the seas.

“Not all of us have that luxury, some of us have a reputation to uphold.”

Butch could only laugh. A real deep laugh that had tears pouring out of his eye. “I am so sorry your majesty!” He said in a mocking tone and slapped his knee. “You do realize you can do whatever you want right?”

“Does your wife let you do whatever you want?” He smirked. Butch rolled his eyes and took another lone inhale.

“Kinda as long as i beg for it.” He winked and was met with a punch to the shoulder. “Look dude all I'm saying is that you don’t have to be what our “father” wants you to be. Sure we were born for the soul purpose of marrying rich and being royalty but take a load off.``

Brick only huffed and slumped against the railing.

“I mean look at Boomer. That boy is dumber than anything and has been ready to marry six different girls and now as a new girl, but to be fair I’ve never seen him so attached to someone before. Apparently she's just a pub singer, nothing fancy and yet he's like a puppy chasing after her.”

“Yeah I know. He talked my ear off last night. Must be nice to be the youngest.”

“You’re no fun when you’re moping” butch complained. “I miss when you would break the rules and cause chaos, rebel against everything, guess I’ll the one who kept that flame.”

“You mean us being reckless children?” And he nodded. And yeah those were the good times. Running around the castle, scaring the maids and breaking everything in sight.

“Just imagine it. You get to rip off that ugly ass outfit and run towards your little gingersnap. No playing palace or having everyone’s life in your hands. They will find a replacement. I’m only gonna say this once. I care about you and just want you to be happy, no regrets.”

“No regrets. He repeated to himself. “Thanks Butch.” -- He was called into the king's private study later in the week. He was sitting before him, wondering what on earth could he possibly want, maybe to throw him out? He couldn’t care less.

“Sir Brick.” The king's gruff voice finally arrived. “My darling little Princess has been watching all of her suitors closely.”

“I assumed she would be.”

“And after much consideration.” Here it comes. “She has chosen you.”

What.

“Me?” He asked in disbelief. This was the last thing he wanted. He was rude and unpleasant, arrogant and snotty. He hated the princess and now she wanted to be wed to him. Why?

He thought back to the ball. Oh. Blossom. He remembers how angry she was, smoke practically coming from her ears as he danced with Blossom. The way her fists tightened over and over and she stepped on his foot, probably on purpose when they finally danced.

It was revenge. Princess had so many other men who were throwing themselves at her and she decided to make the worst choice.

“Of course you. She was crying at how happy you made her and how could I refuse my dumpling like that?” Damn it, the crybaby card.

“Your highness, while Princess is a lovely woman-”

“This doesn’t sound like a marriage proposal.” The king interrupted.

Brick cursed under his breath. “You know Brick, when someone like you is invited to a place like this, you would think they would show a little gratitude. After all the only reason you are here is to marry my daughter, don’t tell me that little wench of a peasant is worth more than my Princess.”

His eyes shot open. “I am not stupid Brick but if you make the wrong move, consider yourself dead.”

Did he just threaten me? Brick nodded and swallowed hard. “My apologies for your highness, I didn’t mean anything negative to my statement. I was just surprised that your daughter wanted me. I knew how much other suitors would love to have her hand and it was a bit overwhelming to be her first choice. As for the peasant.” He swallowed. “That was a bit of charity, nothing more.”

The king leaned back in his chair. He gave Brick a smile. “You’re a nice boy Brick, just imagine all the riches are yours.” He slipped a velvet box towards him, it contained a ring no doubt. “Be smart, people like us don’t have time for others. Stay in the role you were given.”

He gripped the box in his hand and stood.

“King Brick, has a nice ring to it.” The king smirked as Brick sneered and left with the door slamming behind him.

He was filled with a boiling rage. Blackmailed into marriage, Butch would get a kick out of this. Why did he even bother? Maybe the king was right, maybe he should just marry Princess and get it over with. He could have all the money he’s ever dreamed of and the luxury of ruling over people. The life he's always wanted.

He tried to think of the positives. It's not like he was in love with Blossom anyways. They had just met so he even claimed that idea was outrageous. She would understand, they came from two different worlds after all.

“What did you really expect him to fall in love with you? You of all people. A worthless no good peasant who thinks reading a sentence is actually something special. But guess what Blossom. You’re not. Those stupid stories you read are all lies. Someone at his level is far above someone who should be six feet under. You are the worms and we are the flowers. You deserve nothing and I’m not sure why daddy has kept you here all this time, you are pathetic!”

Tears began to form in Blossom's eyes as she stood with a frozen stance. “Princess you are a terrible person.”

“I’m mean? Big news as if i didn’t already know. See this crown. You can’t touch me. After our wedding, no one will ever bother testing me again. I’ll take away your school house, make you wish you weren’t born. To even think that you had a smallest chance with him. You are a poor fool Blossom. And this.” She pointed up and down at her and threw a book at her feet. “Is all you will ever be.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. “I’d rather be poor and kind than a bitter bitch like you. If anyone is a fool, it's you Princess, because who could ever love a heartless person like yourself?”

“You’re fired.” Princess spat.

The air grew cold as those words processed through her mind. Blossom took her bag and lifted her head high not letting her tears get in the way.

She slammed the door open and ran. Tears blurring her vision and she couldn’t care. Princess was right, they all were. Who could love someone at her level? She was nothing, dirt had more value than all of them.

Her sobs were loud as she practically flew through the castles corridors and towards the garden exit. Her mind was running wild until she collided with something hard. Her back hit the ground with a thud and she knew she probably bruised her elbow.

“Blossom?” She looked up to see a figure standing before her. Through her blurry tears she could barely make out who it was until his hand helped her up.

“Brick I-” She felt it, her heart breaking into a million pieces as she glared at the box. Every fiber of her being was now falling apart as she took a step back and tried to bite back her quivering lip. “She chose you.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes, it would be too painful.

“Yes well, her father left me no choice.”

“Typical, she did the same for me.” She finally regained her sense and wiped away those dreadful tears. “It was only a matter of time.”

“If it means anything-”

“Don’t.” She stopped him. “We both are smart enough to comprehend our situation.” She took a deep breath before meeting those red eyes she grew fond of. “But if it meant anything, I agree.”

“You’ll still be the tutor.” He was trying to make a horrible situation better. “I know in those books there's always the secret affair.” He tried to laugh but her face only darkened.

“I was fired just now.”

“I can re-”

“No. I do not want any part of this any more. It's not worth the trouble, I am.. I’m not worth the trouble.” She whispered the last part.

He took a step forward, his height overshadowing hers slightly. “Somehow I don’t believe that.” His lips were soft against hers and their kiss was slow like they were trying to saver the final moment. Her hands hesitantly reached up and caressed his cheek, pulling him closer and titling the angle to kiss him deeper.

In all those stories and all the tales, the ones meant to be together, always ended up like so. But she had a feeling that this small moment in time would only end in a tragedy.

They pulled away with silent pants.

“You could get in trouble.” She murmured as his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth.

“You’ll be married.” kiss.

“I could always leave.” He whispered.Kiss.

“We just met.” Kiss

“So did spoiled brat and i” Kiss

“Love at first sight isn’t real.” Kiss

“Never said I was in love.” Kiss

“Neither did I.” She kissed him back this time. The collar of his shirt was in her hands as she smashed their lips together with a burning passion. This was so wrong, so incredibly wrong. “I'm a peasant.” She said.

“I see you as nothing but an educated woman who is making me extremely tempted to run away with you.” There was a sparkle in his eyes. Like a flicker of a flame.

Her tears were long gone now as the blush spread upon her face. He could see it in her eyes. The flickering back and forth, she was thinking about it. Oh he tempted her. He knew she was running every possible scenario in her head, the cogs turning and he kissed her lips lightly and quick.

“Or I could get married to a woman who only wants me out of spite.” Blossom let go of his collar and took a step back. That small smile she wore so well came onto her face.

I hope you are liking this story

#blossom x brick #reds #ppg x rrb #blossom ppg #Powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfiction #thewritingstar

37 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Treasure- Part 2

M/ F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,257

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: “What would you have me do?” I snapped at the woman, tired of her unwelcome presence.

I shivered as she abruptly leaned in closer. “Some say, he’s the most notorious pirate of them all.”

Tag List: @ pastel-crystals @ purpleprincesslea @ x-lilyofthevalley-x @ baekxhwa @ bootysand @ suju-hit-me-like-a-wreckingball @ yunderfullthings @ dreamshopesforward @ kiara-reighns @ fivesecondsofsarang @ speedilyunadulteratedcandy @ sansugar @ xxhzxqhxx

Amphitrite considered the sea to be her oldest friend. A nostalgic place of refuge, a familiar presence to sate her vengeful nature, and a home she could love for herself. It was also her greatest source of freedom, a way to assert independence over everyone who tried to stand in her way...

To all the ones I left behind, the men I pleasured at the hostel and my mother at home, do you even really care? Because they certainly never gave any indication to prove the contrary or, in the case of my mother, had long since given up on the idea of showing anything akin to affection. I didn’t want to feel alone, but it was hard to pretend that I wasn’t hurt by all the people who passed through my life from one day to the next.

But I suppose being ignored would have been better than my current condition: locked away in the cold, damp prison cells beneath the hull of a pirate ship. It must be close to winter, where we were going, because the air had changed dramatically, frigid cold testing the cracks in the wood, sneaking beneath the outer edges of the window frame in my cell. Wearing only the skirts I had been dressed in at the hostel, I could barely feel the tips of my fingers and my heavy exhales evaporated in the unforgiving air like smoke rising from a fire.

I lost count of how many days I had been down here, only occasionally receiving a visit from one of the other pirates who felt generous enough to offer me food or stale rum. As for the captain himself, I was growing more and more certain that he had forgotten about the girl who stood up to him, refusing to lay down and give him what he wanted. If this is to be my punishment for protecting what was left of my pride, then I would gladly do it over again, even if my body was slowly starting to betray me to hunger and sickness.

Today began no differently than any other, my back against the unforgiving cell door while I made a game of counting the snowflakes that melted against the glass pane. It was enough to keep my mind steady while resisting the urge to scream at the top of my lungs because I was starting to suffer with nobody around as company. My thoughts were growing increasingly morbid until I was interrupted by loud footsteps on the stairs, creaking beneath the weight of the pirate who had decided to join me for a brief moment in my frozen prison.

“The Captain can’t keep you here forever,” a gentle voice spoke.

I turned around in my cell, discovering a familiar figure balancing a tray between his hands. It only took a moment for my brain to conjure an image of this boy from the hostel the night I was taken. His name was jostling itself around inside my head, and if I focused for long enough...“I suppose he can,” I offered as a reply, waiting until he was close enough to offer me the tray of food. “It must be fun to watch me die.”

He flinched at my brutal honesty. “I don’t think that’s his intention.”

I reached for a strawberry, tasting the delicate fruit on my tongue. “What does he plan to do?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure, but he hasn’t forgotten.”

“That would’ve been better,” I said. “But I’d still prefer it down here as opposed to going back to that island.”

A long pause. “Was the island that bad?”

“Just for me,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s always been that way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and it sounded genuine, though I couldn’t tell because I didn’t know him that well. The people I knew well could never hide their feelings, wearing them around like a heavy mask.

“And the other girls?” I asked him. On the one hand, I did care about their condition, because I couldn’t imagine the pain they were experiencing. But, on the other hand, it was difficult to sympathize with them when they had never shown any interest in me. I was just another co-worker who entertained the countless men who paid for a warm body.

“They’ll be gone soon,” he replied. “We’re landing soon. The Captain plans to let the survivors free.”

“The survivors,” I repeated with a shiver. “But I’m assuming that doesn’t include me.” His answering silence told me everything I needed to know. “I’m not surprised,” I sighed.

I could hear him inhale sharply from next to me, retreating further and further away from my cell. “I’m San by the way,” he said, edging closer to the stairs.

“I remember,” I said vacantly, turning around to resume my clever game with the pristine snow.

My dreams were nostalgic these days, recalling the moments in my life where I had once been happy. They primarily involved my mother, back when she still smiled and laughed, but they also recalled the old treehouse in my backyard or the books I would borrow from the community library. When I was younger, I was an optimist, and I miss the carefree innocence that marked my most treasured occasions.

We must have anchored down at the dock because I could no longer feel the ship rocking against the waves. It was also louder, voicing intermingling together over the yells of the pirates thudding against the floor overhead. I groggily wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes, managing to collect myself together on two legs long enough to peer out the window.

It was indeed a port and a very popular one from the sheer amount of people running along carrying supplies from other ships. The day was already gorgeous and I took a moment to enjoy the sensation of the sun against the side of my face, rays amplified through the thin glass. I could hear a few feminine voices, trepid and cautious, and I saw them only a few moments later, battered and worn as the pirates escorted them down the narrow plank. Mingi was leading the disheveled group, urging them to hurry along even though it was obvious that many of them could barely follow his command.

I could also see San walking with a man of similar stature whose blonde hair was now a mess from the wind. San’s friend was talking animatedly to the man who had paid me an unexpected visit the other morning, hands moving through the air as he pointed out different things along their walk. A heavy sigh forced its way through my lips, a longing to join the others on the dock because I had almost forgotten what fresh air might feel like.

“You’re the only one to blame for this.”

The Captain’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. “I don’t believe I imprisoned myself, Captain.”

A low growl reverberated from behind me. “You could be with those other girls. I never keep whores around the ship.”

I bristled at the insult. “You’ll find me less than accepting of that title, Captain.”

“Is that so?” he questioned, and I could hear the sound of keys jostling into the lock of my cell. I turned around in surprise. “You can keep me company tonight,” the Captain said, opening the door wide. “Or you can stay down here and freeze.”

I considered his request. “Are you still trying to fuck me, Captain?”

“Of course,” he nodded with a smirk. “But I think tonight you can at least do me the honor of sharing your pretty face. I have a meeting with the other Pirate Lords and it does me good to have something nice for the rest of them to covet.”

“Just as an escort?” I said, trying a tentative step towards him.

“For now,” he nodded. “I still plan to have my way with you, love.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’ll have to force me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to put that threat to the test,” he snarled, reaching out to grab onto my arm. “I don’t quite think you understand your situation. You do exactly as I command.”

“Or what?” I returned, meeting his glare with one of my own. “You already know that I have no fear of death.”

“Then perhaps I’ll have to give you a reason to fear it,” he said. “Think carefully about this, love. I haven’t shown you everything I’m capable of.”

I wasn’t quite expecting something so exquisite, but I suppose even Pirates could desire the finer luxuries of life. The banquet room reminded me of those remarkable palaces from my storybooks, complete with a low-hanging chandelier and vaulted ceilings, intricate designs painting the walls and windows with a bright summoning of images. It was rather beautiful, a stark contradiction to the vile men walking the marble floors.

“Captain Hongjoong, it’s been a while.”

I startled as the Captain drew me closer upon the approach of an older man with a truly haggard appearance. It suddenly dawned on me that I had never learned the Captain’s name before. “Captain Meridian,” Hongjoong nodded, glancing at the delicate girl standing next to him. “I see you’ve brought someone new this time.”

“And you’ve actually brought someone for once,” the older gentleman chuckled, eyeing me with a look resembling a predator squaring up to a piece of prey.

“Just a whore,” Hongjoong dismissed and I dug my nails into his hand.

“Some of the other Captains were talking about you,” Meridian continued. “They say you did quite the number on a little island in the south sea.”

My home. “It meant nothing,” Hongjoong said, gaze briefly melting to mine for a brief moment. “Shall I inquire about the circumstances regarding this meeting?”

“You can,” Meridian nodded. “The British Army, I believe, sent a clear warning when they took down several pirate ships in neutral waters. It seems like they’re determined to wipe out our numbers.”

“I have no fear of them,” Hongjoong said. “And what good will gathering us all together do?”

“It’s just a fair warning,” Meridian replied. “But how could I ever assume that the great Captain Hongjoong would ever shy away from a potential enemy?”

“An enemy we share,” Hongjoong said carefully, searching the man in front of him with clear disdain.

“I understand,” Meridian nodded. “Enjoy the rest of the night with your new girl.”

Hongjoong grunted under his breath, disregarding Meridian as he started to usher me further into the room. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warned me. “These men are dangerous.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I asked him. “I’m perfectly aware.”

“I haven’t quite figured you out, love,” Hongjoong smirked. “Just keep that pretty mouth closed and we shouldn’t have a problem.”

I wanted to disobey, but I had enough sense to reluctantly acquiesce. In the meantime, Hongjoong had led the two of us into a larger area, clearly meant to accommodate the obscene amount of pirates slowly filing into the decorated space. Hongjoong stopped at the bottom of the cylindrical staircase, taking a seat near the end of the first row. It was as close to the front as one could manage and I briefly considered what that might mean for Hongjoong’s status amongst the Pirate Lords he served.

“Remember, love,” Hongjoong said in a low voice. “Perhaps your behavior tonight will force me to reconsider your status aboard my ship.”

“I want nothing to do with your ship, Captain,” I said.

He chuckled darkly. “You have a surprising amount of fight in you, love. It’s almost surprising to learn where you come from.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hongjoong considered me for a moment. “Most whores I meet don’t argue with the men they want to serve.”

“Maybe you’re right, Captain. Because I have no intention of serving you.”

Hongjoong looked ready to retaliate but seemed to pause as he considered something to his left. “Attention,” a tall figure announced from the main floor, gesticulating wildly at the rambunctious crowd. “To what do we owe our lives?”

“The pirate code,” a well-synchronized chorus of obedience resounded from the gathered men.

“And to what do we consider our most treasured conduct?”

“The pirate code!”

“Aye,” the man nodded, clearly pleased by the reaction. “Today, we have gathered to discuss a new threat from the British army. I’m sure most of you are aware of the increased attacks against our fellow brethren.

An accommodating series of nods. “Aye.”

Hongjoong remained stoically unmoved. “Are there any suggestions in regards to this situation?” The room was mostly silent as the gathered pirates spoke amongst one another in low voices. “Well?”

“Perhaps an attack of our own?” someone suggested and I realized it was Captain Mariner speaking from further up the aisle.

“And would you be brave enough to lead it?”

“Aye,” the Captain agreed. “I would be willing to wage war for the Pirate Lords.”

“Hongjoong should do it,” a new voice imposed and I was unable to discern where it had come from but it attracted far too many eyes in my direction. I knew subconsciously that they were looking at Hongjoong, but the attention was still unwanted.

Captain Mariner abruptly stood. “What makes you think I’m less capable?”

“Relax, Mariner,” Hongjoong finally said. “Of course he knows that to be true. When have you ever won a battle against the British?”

Mariner was silent, but his expression betrayed his anger. “I will have to prove myself.”

“That will be unnecessary,” Hongjoong said, reclining a bit too leisurely on his chair, legs crossed at his ankles. “Of course I shall handle this problem. When have I ever failed you?”

His arrogant declaration catalyzed an immediate reaction from the crowd, voices fighting to speak over one another as the poor gentleman on the main floor tried to restore order. “Come on, love,” Hongjoong said, reaching for my hand. “We’ve got work to do.”

I walked next to Hongjoong with a million questions on my mind. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I began to wonder just who exactly I was dealing with that could command such a reaction from Pirates. “Stay here, love,” he said, pausing outside a store. “There’s someone I must see.”

I reluctantly obeyed him, but only because I noticed Mingi and San watching me from a distance, discussing together in low voices. Shaking my head, I turned away to mind my own business until I heard a sharp, commanding whisper that trembled with desperation. I was suddenly aware of the presence of a beautiful woman watching me from the dark alley next to the store. “Is he your captain?”

I scoffed at the question. “Hardly.”

The woman rustled forward, skirts dragging against the street. “He came here with you.”

“I’m more of a reluctant prisoner,” I said, studying the woman closely. A messy display of vines tattooed their way around her throat, disappearing beneath the collar of her worn shirt. They surely meant something, but I did not possess the courage to inquire about the strange markings. Otherwise, everything about the woman was perhaps deceptively normal from her raven-black hair to the brilliant orbs of her green eyes.

“Hongjoong doesn’t lead around just anyone,” the woman said. “But that can either mean fortune or great detriment to such a pretty young thing.”

She grew closer in proximity and I wrinkled my nose at the obvious smell of smoke. “I don’t understand.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, girl,” the woman said, voice thick with fear.

“What do you mean?”

“Hongjoong is feared by the Pirate Lords,” she said. “What do you think that means?”

“They must respect him,” I said, growing uncomfortable with the strange, prodding questions.

“Or, they know what would happen if they crossed him.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you know?”

The woman nodded slowly. “Hongjoong’s father was one of the most savage pirates sailing the seven seas. He trained his son to be just as brutal from a very young age. The young lad’s father murdered his mother right in front of him.”

“That’s horrible!”

“But, yet, you still don’t run?”

I dared a look back at Mingi and San. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” the woman said, eyes widening. “Every minute with Hongjoong means a potential encounter with Death himself.”

“What would you have me do?” I snapped at the woman, tired of her intimidating presence.

I shivered as she abruptly leaned in closer. “Some say, he’s the most notorious pirate of them all.”

Hongjoong was eerily silent as we made our return to his ship. It was somehow more intimidating than hearing the daunting Captain raise his voice to me. But it might also have something to do with my new opinion of the Captain, inspired by the words of the tattooed woman who had hastily retreated the moment Hongjoong returned from the shop. “Let’s go,” he had practically snarled in my direction and I didn’t hesitate to obey his command.

It was dark outside, the moon at its peak in the night sky. I shivered against the cold, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as I continued to match Hongjoong’s expectant pace. In the distance, I could make out the sails of the various ships docked at the port. Hongjoong’s flag was easiest to make out, towering over the other ships with an unforgettable presence.

“Listen carefully,” Hongjoong spoke up at our rapid approach. “I’ve decided to reconsider your status.”

I perked up at this unexpected declaration. “Have you?”

“You were never a prisoner,” Hongjoon said through a sneer. “But you’ve repeatedly challenged my authority. Even my crew members cannot issue such insubordination without punishment.”

“And your punishments are quite cruel, Captain.”

“As they should be,” Hongjoong nodded. “But you won’t be returning to the brig tonight.”

“Really?” I asked, daring myself to hope that the Captain was not trying to trick me.

“You’ll stay with me in my quarters,” he continued. “And you’ll have free reign of the ship as long as you behave.” Hongjoong stopped at the entrance to the port and turned to me. He raised an expectant brow. “Well?”

“Captain,” I started, “I suppose this is your way of being generous.”

“It’s either that or return to your cell,” he said, eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want that again.”

“No,” I allowed with a shiver. “But what do you expect of me in your quarters?”

The Captain smirked. “Remember this, love. I won’t force you to do anything. You’re far too intriguing for such treatment.”

His words surprised me. “Isn’t that what you want, Captain?”

“I think you’ll still give me what I want,” he said. “I’ll wait until you willingly do so. And once I get what I deserve, then we can return you to your little island.”

I swallowed past a lump in my throat, a heavy reminder of what I knew to expect back home. “You may have to wait for a long time, Captain.”

“But I can be quite persuasive love,” he returned, reaching down to stroke his fingers down the side of my cheek. “I have no doubt of my abilities.”

“Then you underestimate me, Captain,” I said, resisting the urge to back away.

A sudden cacophony of sonorous yells ended our moment, and Hongjoong looked up in the direction of the ships. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that, love.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong fanfic

95 notes · View notes

fraink5-writes · 3 years

Text

From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 10

We’ve reached chapter 10 and the most iconic scene of the movie!! YAY!!

Thanks to @leio13 for enabling this!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

"Zhongli!" Ajax sprinted across the docks. Although he tried to run his errands in under 15 minutes, the sun was already halfway gone by the time he returned. "I'm back!" Ajax held out the spear he had bought. “This is for you.” Despite its hasty creation, the spear had an impressive aura with its stone shaft and its lozenge-shaped head embellished with gold. At the base of the spearhead, a golden diamond was encrusted. It was too heavy for Ajax’s tastes, but he was sure Zhongli could wield it with ease.

“Ah.” Ajax realized that Zhongli was still hanging onto the dragon kite, which he had bought him earlier. Even though it was just an impromptu gift, Zhongli’s attachment to it brought a smile to Ajax’s face. “Here, let me hold that for a moment.”

Ajax and Zhongli swapped items, and Zhongli examined the weapon in his hands. He maneuvered the polearm gracefully as though it were made of feathers. Then he fastened it against his back where the other spear used to be. “This shows impressive craftsmanship. Thank you.”

“I hardly did anything. I just thought you deserved a better polearm than that weathered old thing.” Ajax handed back the kite string. “We should get going—don’t want to miss the show.”

Zhongli tilted his head with a puzzled look, but he followed nonetheless.

Ajax lead Zhongli to a tiny rowboat amid the large ships. Atop one of the seats, two golden lanterns were waiting. “For such a momentous occasion, you deserve the best view.” He stepped into the boat and extended his arm with a small bow. Placing his hand in Ajax’s, Zhongli joined Ajax in the boat, and they set sail.

As Ajax steered the boat far away from the tall sails and bright lights of the harbor, Zhongli stared vacantly at the dark sea. His pursed lips curled downwards. Even as he sat on the same boat as Ajax, his mind had drifted somewhere distant.

“Zhongli?” Ajax asked. “What’s wrong? Are you seasick?”

“Seasick? No, I am in good physical condition; however, I can’t ignore my apprehension.”

“Apprehension? What for?”

Zhongli gazed at the tiny dragon soaring alone in the night sky. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve yearned to see the Lantern Rite. Now I’m here. What if it doesn’t meet my expectations?”

“It will.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Have you been disappointed by Liyue Harbor so far?”

“No. In fact, it has exceeded my expectations.”

“Then there’s no way this will disappoint either!” Ajax seized Zhongli’s hands. “I promise. And we Snezhnayans don’t take promises lightly.”

The smallest smile floated briefly on Zhongli’s face before disappearing. “Say the Rite is everything I dreamed it would be, what happens when it’s inevitably over?”

“When it’s over?” Ajax let out a laugh. “What’s the point in worrying about that now?” In reality, Ajax had pondered over that very question many times, but he dreaded the future’s imminent arrival.

The frown on Zhongli’s face grew deeper.

“Why, the answer is obvious!” Ajax frantically changed approaches. “You find a new dream!”

Zhongli held his chin and furrowed his eyebrows. Given the chance, he would try to discover his next dream on their isolated boat.

“But you don’t have to decide that right away! Or even after the lanterns!” Ajax interrupted. “In fact, life’s greatest pleasures can only be found without a plan. The thrills, the battles—it’s in these unexpected adventures that you find yourself—and then, before you know it, you’ve discovered your new dream! That’s what makes life worth living—isn’t it wonderful?” Ajax beamed, excitement bubbling with him.

“Is that the philosophy that brought you to my tower?”

“Exactly! That’s why you shouldn’t worry about the future just yet.”

“Thank you. But I think I’ve already found one.”

“Found what?”

Zhongli’s eyes smiled gently. “A new dream.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Isn’t it too early to be concerned with such matters?” Zhongli smirked victoriously.

Ajax pouted for all but a moment. He had succeeded in cheering up Zhongli, and, for that, he could smile.

When darkness had definitively settled over Liyue Harbor, the Rite began. Starting at Yujing Terrace, the flood of light poured across Feiyun Slope and into Chihu Rock before lifting into the night sky. Thousands of golden lanterns twinkled above the city and drifted slowly towards the sea like a parade of stars, their reflections dancing across the waves.

Ajax and Zhongli wordlessly released their lanterns into the air, but, at that moment, Zhongli’s kite escaped his grasp and flew away. To Ajax’s relief, Zhongli smiled watching the freed dragon join the vagrant lights.

As the wind currents slowed, Ajax and Zhongli were enveloped by a rain of glowing warmth. Ajax doubted he would get the chance to witness such a spectacle again. The image, which even the gentlest breeze or raindrop threatened to extinguish, printed itself in the depths of Ajax’s brain.

But the most exquisite beauty was Zhongli. The lanterns showered his dark hair in golden light, but each lantern was only a dull reflection of the dazzling amber in his eyes. The delighted curve of his lips enchanted Ajax’s perception. Even if the light of the lanterns disappeared within minutes, Ajax would willingly forget it all if it meant seeing that face for longer.

Slowly the lamps accumulated around the small boat like a blossoming field of glowing flowers. They waltzed together in sync with the waves. When the number of lanterns in the water outnumbered the ones lingering in the sky, Zhongli’s stoic face returned. “Ajax. Thank you for showing me the Lantern Rite.”

“No problem—it was my pleasure,” Ajax forced out. “Why the sudden formality?”

“It’s time for your remuneration.”

“Re...mune...ration?” Ajax refused to follow Zhongli’s line of thought.

“I will tell you everything I know about whatever you are seeking.”

Indeed, that was the payment they had agreed on a few days ago. And after Zhongli had shared all that he knew, there was one final condition: their parting. Ajax didn’t care about the repayment; he had already found the answer, and both that answer and the future tormented him. Ajax loathed the man he was a few days ago when he made that contract.

Then Ajax laughed, both hopeful and hopeless. The solution he came to was one he doubted Zhongli would accept, but even so, he would try. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Forget about the contract.”

Zhongli immediately frowned as Ajax expected he would. “That won’t do. Under that contract, we are bound—”

Ajax put a finger to Zhongli’s lips. “That contract was between you and Childe, remember?” His hand glided to cup Zhongli’s cheek.

“I stand corrected, Ajax.” Finally, Zhongli’s grin returned to his face. His fingers wrapped gently around Ajax’s hand. “Then, shall we create a new contract?”

“A new one?” Ajax airily laughed while brushing some of the hair from Zhongli’s face with his other hand. He tucked his hand behind his ear with a massage of his thumb. “What should it say?”

“Hmm…” In that brief pause, Zhongli’s steady amber eyes transfixed Ajax’s heart. “Will you stay by my side from now on?”

“I can agree to that.” Ajax tenderly lifted Zhongli’s face closer to his own. His lips glistened softly in the warm light. “How should we seal it?”

“Mmm.” Zhongli’s closed eyes and inviting face were his answer. His calm breaths tickled Ajax’s lips as he leaned in.

But then Ajax’s attention was yanked by a suspicious light from the coast accompanied by a masked person. Much as he wished to ignore it, he couldn’t deny its familiarity; he had worn a similar mask almost everyday until yesterday. Why now…?

“Ajax?” Zhongli’s eyes cracked open.

“I’m sorry. I…” Ajax let go of Zhongli. “Something came up that I have to take care of.”

“What happened?”

Ajax averted his eyes as he recommenced rowing. “It’ll be over soon, so please. Can you wait on the boat?”

“I understand.” Ajax had lost Zhongli’s smile; it had disappeared behind another distant frown.

After docking the boat in a hidden spot, Ajax hastily stood up. “I’ll be back soon, and then I won’t leave again.” I promise. He couldn’t bring those words to his lips as he turned and left.

When Ajax arrived at the source, he was confronted by the site of two easily recognizable agents in white and purple: Andrei and Ekaterina. “What are you two doing here?”

“It’s quite simple,” Andrei answered. “We used our diplomatic immunity to get out of prison, just as you told us.”

“About that day…” Ajax forced his cowardly eyes to regard their faces. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough of the pretexts, Master Childe,” Ekaterina interrupted. “We’re only interested in your partner.”

Ajax’s body tensed. “My partner?”

“We know all about it: the magic hair.”

Ajax seized Andrei’s collar, lifting him from the ground. “How did you find out about him?”

Andrei choked. “...The.. lady—”

“I was the one who informed them,” Yet another familiar, condescending voice chimed in, “Tartaglia.”

Ajax dropped Andrei and whipped around. “What are you doing here, bitch?!”

“How terribly rude… After I came all this way to salvage your mission. Surely, even a simpleton like you must have realized you were supposed to take him to Zapolyarny Palace—not Liyue Harbor.”

“How do you know about him?!”

“Hah! Who could know Zhongli better than his dear mother?”

#Genshin Impact #Chili #Childe #Zhongli

1 note · View note

barb610 · 4 years

Text

@earthquakeofideas asked - pls may my lonely ass have a ship 🥺 i’m a girl w brown hair + blue eyes, glasses, and im kinda thicc and short. i rly like all things horror even tho i’m a huge chicken. i love to draw, and i also love indie music, and fashion. i’m also a vegetarian :-) i love reptiles and dogs. also, i’m a very empathetic person uwu! thank u bro 💕💗🥺🥰

Of course you can! I am so sorry that this took so, so long! Remote learning had really messed up my schedule (not that I really had one to begin with).

I ship you with...

Horace Somnusson!

I know this might sound strange, and I know that he is one of the younger wards of the loop, but let’s just assume that he’s a few years older! I got a little carried away, so there’s a LOT of stuff under the cut

So you work at a small family owned boutique in a no-name town in Florida, it was one of those “My friend’s aunt who knows this lady, who’s sister-in-law owns this” kinda things

On one particular day, business was very slow, so you decided to listen to your own music through your earbuds instead of whatever trending pop music was playing over the intercom of the boutique today

You’re jamming out, folding some nice sweater, and hanging up dress on the “Sale! 10% Off” rack, so you don’t notice the bunch of people that walk in

You finally realize that they had walked into the store when you get a tap on your shoulder

You turn around to see a beautiful blond boy with impeccable fashion sense

I’d like to think that Horace gets quite a bit taller as he gets older so he’d kind of be staring down at you

Hi miss! Do you happen to have this dress shirt in a smaller size? Wonderful blouse you have on there, truly quality craftsmanship. Maybe a medium? Or do you have any slimmer styles?

You were in awe of the style he had and the fact he had an elegant British accent, something very unusual for no-name town in Florida

Most guys that came in here were sent in by their girlfriend or wife with a picture of what they needed

This guy wore beautiful leather oxfords, exquisitely tailored slacks, and a button up that was probably nicer than a lot of the shirts in here

You had to look up at him to see his face (and he had a pretty nice one)

Oh, yeah, we actually have a few slimmer ones, they’re behind that display over there.

Responding to him makes you realize the group of people he’s with

There’s another boy older than the one you just helped, and one other boy that looks around the same age, he had almost cartoon-like bags under his eyes

There were two girls, one practically had fire in here eyes and one wore a quite tomboy outfit

Thanks, love!

“Love?” You thought to yourself, who calls someone they just met “Love”? Is it a British thing?

You watched him walk over to the other side of the store and later helped him and his friends check out at the counter

You had an interesting conversation about cashmere versus alpaca wool while him and his friends payed for the clothes they picked out

The rest of the day, you kept the strange interaction in the back of your mind, wishing you had gotten his name

Once you had finished up closing the shop, you walked out, holding your sketchbook along with your other belongings and began locking the front door of the boutique

There was the sound of expensive shoes slapping against the pavement, but you didn’t think of it because there was always a bunch of rich kids running around this neighborhood

You turned around, only to see the boy from earlier running towards you and slam into you sending your sketchbook flying, papers floating in the air

They settled in the ground revealing your drawings of outfits and cute little reptiles

Oh my, oh dear, I am so sorry, so unbelievably sorry. Let me help you pick these up, love

“Love? again?” you thought

He bent down and started to gather the pages that were strewn out all over the sidewalk

As the boy helped you pick up your sketches, he began to admire your sketches

These are quite superb! I love this chameleon you have here!

You weren’t too sure on how to respond, you don’t even know why he ran into you in the first place! Let alone his name!

Oh, you must be confused a bit on why I ran into you like a madman. I truly am sorry, I was trying to get here before you closed the shop because, well, this must sound absurd, but I wanted to get your name. I’m Horace by the way. I just wanted to talk to you a bit more.

You were a little shocked, but you introduced yourself and the rest is history

You two started going out on the town as friends and it quickly evolved into something else

It wasn’t a surprise when he asked you to go on a real date with him

After a wonderfully planned date, he was walking you home when you both noticed that you were being followed

Millard, I know that you’re following us! Please come out of the bushes so I can introduce you to her. I figured this was going to happen sooner than later.

When nothing stepped out of the bushes even though you heard the sound of rustling leaves

Horace introduced you to Millard, briefly going over the fact that he was invisible, something that seemed a lot more important to you than Horace apparently

I suppose I should explain the rest to you now shouldn’t I?

He took you to a large expensive house on the other side of town, where you were introduced to the rest of the gang

He explained the peculiardom to you, and told you what he could do

You were a little skeptical at first, but quickly realized that he wasn’t joking around

You guys were hanging out at your place when he fell asleep on the couch

This was after a mutual agreement to stop a horror film you guys were watching because of the antagonists’ mutated animal that would have given you both nightmares if you continued

At first Horace was just squirming a bit

Then he started to whimper and cry out for someone that you didn’t know

But you really understood what he was talking about when he shot up from the couch, eyes wide open and glossed over, not really focusing on anything

Oceans will rise to claim what was stolen from them, ashes will fall from the skies to punish the destructive, cities will burn in the name of greed, after the fog lifts the only remnants will be of those who tried, we will be no longer, six-legged wings will devour us in the end

When he first started talking his voice sounded almost dreamy, but by the time he finished, he was shouting, his limbs flying everywhere, it was as if he was in physical pain, but it was only a dream

As soon as he stopped spewing out apocalyptic riddles, he slipped back into a restless sleep

You were so freaked out that you didn’t let him sleep for long, you woke him up and asked him what that whole thing was about

He told you that he didn’t remember anything he saw or said, and the ones he can’t remember barely every come true

You trusted Horace, so you relaxed and decided to put that horror film you stopped

It took a few scenes to remember why you had shut it off in the first place

Horace started taking a lot of naps at your place, he usually didn’t get a lot of sleep when he went to bed at night due to his visions

You weren’t aware how little sleep he was getting, oh the wonders of concealer

Sleeping somewhere else didn’t stop the visions of seeing people he didn’t even know get in car accidents, get shot in a back ally, and many other worse things

He wanted to sleep wherever you were because when he would wake up in a cold sweat, he didn’t want to have to explain what he saw to Miss P, or answer Millard’s endless questions, or have to endure Enoch’s rude comments

He wanted to be with you

You would be there for him, if he wanted to talk, you would listen, if he wanted to just sit and think, you would be right next to him

He’d absolutely love your glasses!

He’d love picking out new frames with you

He’d search the whole store to find the perfect pair

And Horace would love to go shopping with you because let’s be real here, Horace is the only peculiar with any fashion sense whatsoever

Do you know happy he would be to have a conversation about fashion with someone who knows what he’s talking about

He would totally buy you outfits at completely random times for absolutely no reason

I just saw this and I knew that you would look spectacular in it, even though you look spectacular in everything under the sky, love

Did I mention that he calls you “love” all the time?

Well, he does and refuses to call you anything else

He has you in his phone (assuming he gets one when he’s out of the loop) as Love

Just Love

When he finds out that you’re vegetarian, he goes on a vegetarian kick himself

He learns a bunch of vegetarian recipes to cook for you guys

And the dishes he cooks taste so g o o d

Horace totally revamps his own diet to match yours and is the most supportive boyfriend ever

Enoch makes fun of him a lot for it

Horace is would be an amazing boyfriend

I didn’t realize how long I made this!! I hope that you like them and I am so sorry that it took me so long to get to this! I hope that it was worth the wait!

#horace somnussion #horace somnussion x reader #horace somnussion headcanons #mphfpc #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #this is a miracle that im actually going through my inbox

14 notes · View notes

freezinginacozyfoxhole · 4 years

Text

Multifaceted

Female!Sniper reader X Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith

Synopsis: First time drinking can have serious consequences. You experience it on your skin when Hoosier has to put up with your shift of attitude.

Disclaimers: This story is based strictly on the actor portrayals of the characters. I respect the real people and their heroic deeds. Also, English is not my native language and my English level is somewhere around B2 so I’m sorry in advance for my poor language choice. Enjoy!

Melbourne during wartime was lovely, you thought as you downed another drink in the wild hollers of the boys. In fact, it was even better than home. You could have a proper hot bath in the house of a stranger who then pampered you like their own child. You could enter a shop and be assaulted with questions from young boys and discrete glances from their mothers. You could talk to your father after two months and found out that Lew's sister was having a baby boy and that she would have hoped to have you by her side at the christening. The number of things that were happening around you and to you was overwhelming.

You were living the time of your life; you told yourself, a broad smile spreading across your face. You had a bed with a proper mattress, the opportunity to eat out every evening, and to jog around the parks in the morning. It was not even at home that you felt so peaceful, so self-accomplished.

Although, there was still a war raging on and the fact that you were to be deployed back in the Pacific in two days was no sweet reminder. A bitter thought. But as you were waiting for a refill, you let your eyes wander around the crowded bar. Barely wincing at the heavy cigarette smoke which you've eventually grown accustomed to, you briefly saw Chuckler making out with some Australian girl, Runner trying to hit on one and then Sidney, sweet and reserved Sidney, in deep conversation with his Australian companion you knew as Gwen. She was exquisite, you stared at her, without realizing that you, in fact, were comparing yourself to her. A perfect little doll face with an elegant posture and a shiny blonde hair with curls that embraced her flower-patterned dress. Glancing down at your army-issued trousers, you couldn't help but shrug and remember how a dress used to feel from the time you used to wear them back home. As another pint of beer was passed by the barman, he flashed a smile at you and leaned closer:

'Ain't enjoying the night out, miss?'

You gave him a reluctant look, knowing that he was hitting on you. Everyone loved the uniform.

'I'm fine, thank you,' you smiled politely at him, declining the drink. 'Although some bourbon would be nice -do you happen to have some?'

He leaned even closer so that there were only a few inches between your face and his. Winking at you, he let out a low whistle:

'Missin' the American flavor, missie? 'Cause, you know, the Australian taste is also unforgettable -if you know what I mean!'

Feeling a warm blush creeping in your cheeks, you stood up and did what seemed perfectly rational at that moment: you slapped him right across his freshly shaven cheek. With a shocked but amused expression, he looked up at you with a mischievous sneer that scared you a little. No one but the two of you seemed to notice the sudden interaction, which made you aware of how drunk everyone in the room was. Including yourself.

'Guess the missie likes it the hard way!' he kept on with his shit-eating grin as he began to seize you with a hungry glance that made you feel literally naked. 'How about I show you my-'

With your breath fastening at each of his words, you got up on your legs and hurtled out of the room. Your father may have tried to prepare you for this kind of uncomfortable situations. Still, he failed to mention the cockiness or the sheer lust etched across their face -or your drunk mind was unable to remember everything with accuracy.

You stumbled to the door, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. That's how always things went -everything was great for a while, something unexpected happened, and everything fell apart. And you were right in the middle of it, a fool and innocent girl in a world of men. You fought to be a part of it, had to prove yourself to remain in it, and now all you wanted was to get the heck out of everything and cuddle with your blanket in your bed.

'Hey, Y/N! Was actually looking for ya!'

A joyous shout came from the other side of the street and you hastily turned your head in the sound's direction, trying to wipe the anxiety off your face. Hoosier stopped in his traces to wave at you, and you tried to wave back, but you unceremoniously broke down in tears. A rush of relief surged through your veins, and the next thing you knew was that you were clinging to Bill's body for dear life, with tears streaming down across your face.

'Slow down, slow down. What happened?' he asked with a worried voice, his hands slowly brushing the hair out of your face. 'Did someone do something to you?' his tone suddenly raised as you looked up to him.

'I want to get out of here' you blurted the words out, unaware of how drunk you were until you tried to take another step and ended up in Bill's arms. 'Some guy tried hitting on me, I asked him for some bourbon, and then he began saying something about the Australian flavor and -OH MY GOD, just get me out of here, please!' you pleaded as the words just kept coming out of your mouth.

'And just how much did you drink before asking for the bourbon?' he felt compelled to ask as he had also drunk a few shots beforehand.

'Just enough to end up like this,' you smiled bitterly contemplating your state. 'I'm miserable, Bill, that's what I am. And you know what?' you asked him as you felt a sudden pang of hope. 'I'm so miserable that I am going to embark on the ship right now and sleep until they force me to land on another God-forgotten island! Yes, that's it, no one is going to stop me from-'

'Yes, you drank enough.' he stated for himself as he was looking at you blabbering and making plans with that drunk determination on your face. 'Wait, is this your first time getting drunk?' he asked you on a slightly high-pitched tone that betrayed his sloppiness. 'You look rather cute, actually...'

'You think so?' You suddenly asked with a small smile on your face. 'You know Sid's girl, Gwen? I think she's gorgeous with her gleaming long hair and her flawless silhouette. You should go and find your Gwen too, Hoos!' you suddenly exclaimed, giving him a serious pat on the shoulder.

A corner of his mouth lifted while watching your forehead creasing from all the connections you wanted to make with your drunk mind. You were so innocent and unaware of the fact that he'd been looking for you so he could confess his feelings before being deployed once again. But considering the pretty shaken up state he'd found you into, he couldn't make any move on you -he cared too much for you to see you being overwhelmed by too many feelings.

'Go ahead, lover boy! I'll be waiting for you right here!' you promptly stated as you sat down on the ledge of the alley.

You looked at him with your tired and naïve eyes, your reserved smile revealing your actual condition: a first-time drunk girl who was just sick of being among strangers and wanted to go home. But for the fact that home was an ocean away. His brows furrowed at the distressing sight, and he lowered down on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours.

'How about I take you somewhere quiet and cozy?' he asked you gently, taking your cold hands in this. 'I think I know just the place.'

Blinking slightly confused at his way too gentle attitude, you shot him a suspicious look. Ever since you came here, he either spent his time sleeping or hanging around with you- you got closer during Guadalcanal, but you'd expected him to act like all the other guys did and find himself a nice Australian gal to waste his time with. Yet there he was, enduring your drunk self who kept saying things that made no sense in your head -what was holding him back?

'Come on. Up on your feet!' He slid a hand around your waist, trying to get you back up despite your quiet protests.

Eventually, you stood up and tried again to take a few steps by yourself until it proved a little too difficult, and you crashed ungraciously against a wall and let out a muffled pain sound as Bill hurried to catch you.

'Well, fuck.' You plainly stated, unaware that you just said a terrible word. 'I'm giving up!' You eventually shouted as you rested your head against Bill's body.

He had wrongly assessed your state until that point. Even then he did not understand what kind of drunk you were -because your actions seemed to be a mix-up between the sad drunk and the sleepy drunk, but then again you had moments when you were highly realistic-

A faint snore interrupted his train of thoughts, and he glanced down to realize that you had fallen asleep, clinging on to his shirt. He laughed to himself as he gently stroked your ponytail, enthralled by the vague smell of roses that it still bore.

The sudden sound of shattered glass came from across the street and made him rise his glance in that direction, deciding that it's time he took you to a quieter place. Moving as silent as he could, he managed to place you on his back so that your hands we're barely brushing his chest as your regular breath tickled his left cheek.

As the night moved around you two, he slowly carried you through the quiet streets of the Australian city, the stars and the moon quietly watching over you both.

He may not have been able to tell you what he was feeling like, but as you lazily wrapped your arms around his chest, leaving out a content moan, he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his last evening in Melbourne.

#the pacific #the pacific imagine #hoosier imagine #bill hoosier smith #the pacific hoosier #hoosier x reader

48 notes · View notes

thepeakyfckingblinders · 5 years

Text

Of Forbidden Kisses And Wrenching Promises || Ada Shelby x fem!reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “hey, could I request prompt 20 for Ada please? your writing is amazing btw! ” (Thank you love ♡)

Summary: n.20 from my prompt list: “As long as I am alive” Warnings: swearing, mentions of family abuse, references to homophobic harassment, maybe angst

Author’s notes:

I just reached 357 followers, yay! Thank you so much babes ♡

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

PLEASE, IF YOU’RE A VICTIM OF ANY SORT OF ABUSE, SEEK FOR HELP, YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS ALONE.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

I assumed this was a request for an Ada x female reader, if I misunderstood your message, I’m so so so sorry, contact me and I’ll do my best to make your wishes come true!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

When the first reticent knock hit the rugged surface of her door, Ada was still pacefully immersed in a deep slumber. She dreamt of an exquisite white dress made of voile and organza, soft and floaty in the late March bitter air, the nectarous parfume of uncountable orange blossoms garnishing the marble altar, a small church crowded with her loved ones, slightly anxious due to the endless wait. Actually, more than once, her subconscious had previously set up similar romantic scenarios thanks to her evergreen imagination. Truth was that, buried in her heart, laid a burning desire for that special day to come soon, only God knew how much she wanted to walk down the aisle on the arm of her beloved eldest brother, always keeping her fond eyes locked with her lover’s ones; and, no matter how fully aware she was that her fantasies never would have come true, at least nobody could deprive her of those tender imaginary moments.

But then, just as the opening notes of the wedding march resounded in the bright nave, a series of new blows, this time much heavier and more insistent, rabidly stole her from her sweet dreams, making her eyelids flinch with dismay. Barely a minute passed, as her drowsy brain struggled to retrieve enough lucidity, yet again a pair of apparently restless fists caught her attention. ”Someone better be dying, it’s fucking 3 a.m.!” With that angry groan, followed by a few abrupt movements, she rolled out of bed without even wearing her woolen housecoat, and, careless of the cold, she hastily reached for the door, ready to shout in Tommy’s cocky face all of her annoyance for that rude disruption of her serene sleep. Still, when she peeped into the corridor, Thomas was not there, and her breathe cracked as she found herself unexpectedly contemplating a horryfying sight, to say the least.

Your trembling figure was standing right in front of her, pure painc contaminating your martyred face, while your y/e/c eyes, as dire as stravation, disturbingly stared at Ada with blind terror swimming in them. The shock was overwhelming, to the point that one of her hands instinctively went to cover her open mouth, partially muffling her shaking voice which came out in an almost unaudible sigh. “Oh my God, y/n, what have they done to you?” She carefully led you inside the room before closing the door behind your shoulders, so many questions were torturing her mind as her fingers gently started to trace the limbs of the multiple bruises deturping your angelic features. Your swollen eyes were cordoned by several black and blue marks, greenish welts covered your cheekbones, multiple bad cuts defaced your brow, the bridge of your nose, your wonderful lips; for an endless moment, her heartbeat stopped, and a violent feeling of nausea forcefully climbed her throat, when the mere thought of the rest of your poor body ran through her groggy head. “M-my father… he saw us, I-I don’t know how… I don’t kn-now… He found out, he’s…” Your chest raised and lowered at an unbearable rate, clearly showing the destructive effects of a recent trauma on your frail self, you didn’t even seem able to formulate proper sentences, since they sporadically spilled out of your mouth in fleeble sobs, so you decided to pause that unquiet rambling for a brief moment, tightly shutting your eyes closed and desperately pressing your wet cheek against Ada’s left palm, despite the sharp pain, because you irremediably needed to feel her close in order to regain strength. However, by the time your blurry gaze returned on her, you saw large tears stream on her porcelain face too. A dull ache radiated through your sternum due to that excruciating view, and you forced yourself to hold back your crying, somehow managing to appear calmer; the two of you had to deal with that cruel reality, there was no way you could avoid it, moreover you were quickly running out of time as the clock kept dangerously ticking. “He’s sending me to an institute in French, Ada. A-a ship is leaving in a couple hours and-” Before you could pronounce your next word, she impetuosly got away from your half embrace, prey of her own rage and consternation, aghast to hear that terrible news. “No! He can’t do that, fucking hell, no!” Those hysteric shrieks erupted from her stinging craw while her hands ended up between her short curly hair in a gesture of silent vexation, her feet eluded the control of her mind, frenetically starting to drag her from one side of the bedroom to another, as if those irrational movements could help her figure out a solution. “We can’t let him-… w-we have to do something, there must be something we can do!”

Her agonizing loud cries tore your ears and soul apart, actual weeps were now leaving her pale lips, in part illuminated by the silver light of the moon radiating through the windows, then her bluish irises pierced yours, expressing all of her destructive sorrow and having a massive knot form in your throat, mercilessly obstaculating your already irregular ventilation. Carefully, you approached her, stretching out your arms in her direction, until your palms enfolded her gelid face; your thumbs began to warmly rub her skin, whiping some tears here and there, with such a care conceivable only thanks to the deepest love.

“Ada, my love, listen to me. I have to go, for our sake” your forehead slowly joined to hers, while you whispered those words to convince yourself as well that that was the right choice to make “my father… he-e threatened to report us to the police. And look at me, look what he’s done to me, he w-will kill us both, if I don’t leave today” Suddenly her fingers entangled yours, still laid on her soft cheeks, and you watched a spark of hope grow in her dilated pupils. “We can run away, Tommy will help us find a place, we can-” You slightly nodded your head no, painfully biting your lips because of your fervent frustration. You knew she was not thinking straight, your family had been in business with the Peaky Blinders for three years now, your father was a dangerous man, any sort of interference with that awful situation would’ve certainly disrupted the delicate balance between the two clans.

“Thomas can’t help us, he will always find me. I had to sneak out of the window to see you tonight, walking in the shadow like a filthy thief. Pol helped me, but God knows what will happen, if he finds out. I have to leave.” You brought your mouth to cover hers, temporarily dampening her desperate wailings, holding her body close, in attempt to make her perceive all of your affection, deliberately ignoring the soreness of your injuried ribs. For those few minutes all of your affliction disappeared, you passionately kissed your lover till you literally run out of breathe, but again, you didn’t care, and you just went on; until Polly entered the room with death floating in her dark irises. “Y/n, we need to go now, there is no much time left, darling" Her aunt’s subdued tone was evidently borne by melancholy, she looked at your entangled figures with the ken of a woman who had experienced the sour taste of separation, it felt like having your heart ripped out of your chest, she had felt so many kinds of pain, but none of them was nearly comparable to that tremendous grief. With a last peck on your lips, Ada took your hands and placed them at the height of her beating heart. “I’ll look for you, for as long as I am alive. And I’ll find you, no matter how long it takes, I will bring you back home, y/n, I promise.”

tag list: @namelesslosers; @shadow-of-wonder; @spidey-pal

170 notes · View notes

not-safeforsanders · 4 years

Text

Kinktober // 23

Prompt: Costumes or masks.

Ship: Rologicality (????) Patton/Logan/Roman

Notes: On this rare occasion...bottom!Patton, alcohol.

When Patton had agreed to go to this party, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all. His best friend, Roman, had begged him to come, said it would be so much fun and he knows how much Patton loves to dress up. He hadn’t been wrong, the astronomy student loves his makeup and fancy outfits just as much as his theatre nerd counterpart. So he’d dressed up, wearing a pastel blue and patterned waistcoat with a light blue shirt and leather pants, whilst Roman co-ordinated a similar outfit but in red and gold. Patton’s mask had been blue and black, his curls tumbling over it as Roman insisted for once he doesn’t try and straighten them out.

Then they’d gone to the party. Music pounding through the house, alcohol pouring every which way as every danced and drank and smoked something that smelled like herbal tea but not quite at the same time. Patton was swaying a little, a little drunk, and Roman had found a catch and was making out with him enthusiastically on the host’s couch (Patton wants to say that this is Remy’s house but he hasn’t actually seen Remy yet, although Remy rarely stays at his own parties because they’re always a ploy for him to get laid).

His best friend seems to notice Patton approaching as he grins up at him. “Hey!” He calls out “I made a friend,” The man in his lap looks up and offers a dazed grin whilst Patton tries to retain a snort because whatever they were doing didn’t look like ‘friends’ unless Roman makes a habit of making out with his friends, in which case Patton is certainly drawing the short straw because he hasn’t been made out with yet.

Patton could swear he recognises the dark blue eyes, concealed behind a mask, dark blue eyes that match the deep blue swirls of the ornate decoration that covers half of the man’s face. But Patton is suitably drunk and not very good with faces on a sober day, so instead he just smiles “Hi! I’m drunk, I mean gay, I mean...oh I don’t know anymore,” Roman laughs beside him, reaching up to grab the other’s hand and tugging him to sit beside him, Patton obeys and looks up at the exquisite creature in Roman’s lap, the lithe curves of his body hugged by the thin shirt he’s wearing, tucked into skin tight jeans.

“Mind if I share?” The man utters to Roman, voice dark and husky, the drama student waves a hand as though to say ‘be my guest’ and suddenly Patton’s lap is occupied by the pretty man and his tan skin, a hand cupping his jaw. “May I?” The stranger asks Patton, whose mouth is suddenly so very dry and his mind is so very fuzzy, he can only nod mutely and with a look of utter daze on his face, accepting the other’s mouth against his. The stranger’s lips move against his own, teeth nipping, tongue exploring as his warm body shifts in Patton’s lap.

“Maybe we should go upstairs,” Roman is suddenly closer than Patton remembers, his head resting on the elder’s shoulder before his teeth nip at the pale skin of his jaw. Patton feels a warmth travel up his spine in response, followed closely by a little shock both physically and mentally. it’s not that he’s never had sex it’s more that he’s never had sex with...well with Roman, his best friend, he hadn’t even been sure Roman was interested in him. He and Roman live very different lives when it comes to sex and...when it comes to most things actually.

“Are you...do you...?” Patton starts, flustered.

“Of course,” The other two reply in almost dead unison, and Roman’s smile could be felt against his neck whilst the stranger shifts a little and presses his hips forward so that Patton can feel the bulge in his jeans. His throat feels dry again but he can’t tell if it’s the nervousness of being offered a three way with his best friend or needing a glass of water or, perhaps, both.

“Okay,” What else can he say? When will he ever get a chance to have a three way with his best friend again? When will he ever get the chance to be offered a three way again? Some deals are simply too good to pass up on no matter how much his hands are shaking at the idea.

The next few minutes are sort of a blur, not because he’s drunk although that certainly would factor in it; they’re all a little drunk and giggling and tripping over each other amongst stray kisses. But also Patton is not very good at noting events as they happen, he prefers to go with the flow as he finds two hands in his and dragging him upstairs. “What’s your name?” He remembers to ask the stranger, as they’re pushing through the door to a guest bedroom that is way too fancy for one student to own, he isn’t sure how Remy manages being rich, gay and a student.

“Logan,” The name rings a bell at the back of Patton’s head but he doesn’t get to pursue that avenue of thought because he’s pushed back onto the bed and Roman’s lips are against his neck, sucking and biting and marking him incessantly. Logan’s hands help undress them both as they scramble through the stages of undressing and then everything else that follows that.

It is a blur, it’s a heavy mix of everything when Patton tries to recount it the next morning. He remembers Roman’s tongue and fingers working him over, choking on Logan’s cock in his mouth as this occurs. He remembers nails dragging over his skin and the drama student fucking into him so hard that all he could do was gasp and moan and writhe. He remembers the sheer euphoria of Roman’s nails digging into his hips and the sound Logan made as he came down Patton’s throat, hands fisting his hair. He remembers them stopping for a break and then watching Logan get pounded into the mattress until he couldn’t breathe. Patton remembers the sounds feeling familiar but now exhausted as he sobers up, he can’t tell what it is.

Now, the young astronomy student remembers those feelings and sits up, running a hand through his messy curls and wincing at the ache of his muscles. He looks curiously over at the man lying too his left, having finally taken his mask off and it dawns on him why Logan had sounded so familiar, why he had looked so familiar, why everything about him seemed to bring about a sense of deja vu. Then he clasps a hand over his own mouth to suppress a squeak of surprise because holy fuck he sucked off Logan Sanders.

He’s in his class.

More than that, Logan is somewhat of well...the way Patton is used to seeing him was not at all what he’d seen last night; used to a calm and collected nerd who spoke as though he swallowed the Oxford dictionary whole, not at all the man who had been gasping out his name then begging for more. “Logan Sanders is a cockslut,” Patton jumps at the intrusion to his thoughts “And you owe me ten bucks, morning by the way,”

Roman blinks up at him with a lazy grin as if this entire situation is just a usual Saturday morning to him. Patton can’t remember why he owes Roman ten bucks but nods anyway, but with a confused expression. “Are you...okay?” Roman asked, eyebrows furrowed with worry “You look a little out of it Pat,” He sits up beside his best friend and rests a careful hand on the elder’s back, studying him with curious eyes.

“I’m...mentally I’m fine just...a lot to unpack,” He chuckles shortly “Oh I owe you ten bucks because I bet you that Logan wouldn’t be interested in sex,” Patton cursed under his breath “My punishment for being presumptuous,” He smiles at Roman “And what about us?” He asked softly “Was that just...am I just another one night stand because to be honest that sounds a little awkward, it’s not like you can just up and leave and never see me again...right?” Roman’s expression softens at the worry written in Patton’s expression, he leans over to peck his lips softly.

“You’re never just anything to me Pat,” He smiles softly, bumping their noses together to make the elder smile, this works. “You always have been and always will be everything to me,” A soft groan interrupts them and finally sleeping beauty awakes, rubbing his head as he squints into the daylight.

“I regret the contacts,” Logan informs them “And the alcohol, I’m fairly certain I can taste colours currently,” Roman lets out a short laugh “Good morning Patton, you look tired, Roman, you look...ridiculously cheerful for this time of morning, it’s indecent,” And then he flops back on the bed “I had a nice night, but I am going back to sleep,” Patton giggles at the grumpy little nerd with a fluttery feeling in his chest, he looks up at Roman, who smiles back with an equal amount of mischief.

“We’ll see,” Patton speaks finally, answering an unspoken question as he lies back down and wraps his arms around Logan, Roman’s arms wrapping round Patton’s waist.

“We’ll see,” Roman agrees.

Ko-fi

#not safe for sanders

46 notes · View notes

singingunderthecurtain · 6 years

Text

Baby Fever: Suho

Author: @julietsoddeye AU: Canon Genre: Slight Angst | Implied Smut | More Fluff Pairing: Suho x Reader Trigger Warning: idk, none! But everything is triggering to somebody, so what do I know??? But really, this is just a light story. SO NONE! Word Count: 1,352

Plot: Being a stern grandma, your mother never allowed your kids to do any chaotic and careless activity. That's why you were surprised to see one mess of a living room with a blanket fort set up.

Part of the Baby Fever series

A/N: YOOOOOOO, just a few days before my bias’ birthday!!! RIGHT ON TIME, YEAH!!! Happy birthday to the love of my life, KIM JUNMYEON!!! ♡♡♡♡♡

EDIT: I was told the original picture I used was indeed NOT Junmyeon, but a completely different idol LMFAO!!! So I edited. HUHUHUHU SORRY!!!

Everything is not going well for you tonight.

You should’ve been home from your business trip this morning! But your flight got canceled the last minute due to a faulty engine. You were thankful you’re safe and that the rebooking of the flight was free of charge, shouldered by the airline, but the stress it caused you and all the other passengers was not cute. At all!

Not to mention, the moment you landed, you found out one of your two luggage was shipped on a totally different flight. You have to stay another hour for you to have it arranged and sent to your house.

And when you got out of the damn airport, the taxi bay line was too long, the uber app was malfunctioning for some reason and no one was available to pick you up. So you opted for renting a car just for you to get home asap.

When you arrived home, the elevator was out of order. The repair team of your exclusive apartment building won’t get it fixed until the next morning since it was already almost midnight. You have to yank your suitcase nine floors up, what a drag, literally and figuratively!

You sigh out a big and heavy breath, the moment you stepped in front of your apartment door. Finally, you will be able to rest and have a break. You can’t wait to see your children, even though it’s already their bedtime, you just needed to see them peacefully dreaming tonight. You also cannot wait to see your husband tomorrow when he gets home from his overseas schedule.

You also have to apologize to your mother, although it’s not your fault that the flight was canceled, you know she will still nag you for taking too long. She loves you and your children, of course, but she was too strict for your children’s liking. And for your own liking too when you were young. But you now know she was only like that to you in the past to make you of what you are today, a strong and empowered woman. Although she’s softening as the children get older, she was still a little firm.

“Mother, I’m hom—”

Your silent greeting was interrupted by what met you when you enter your humble abode…

The whole living room area was in shambles!

Throw pillows, blankets, toys and everything else was scattered everywhere. You set aside your luggage on the corner of your home’s entrance where the shoe cabinets are located and picked up pieces of toys and other stuff as you make way inside.

Some of the multiple couches were rearranged and there in the middle of the room, set up, was a blanket fort.

Fairy lights of different colors decorated around it.

Just a small opening of the fort was in front of you when you stepped in further from the doorway of your home.

“Mother, where are you…”

You call out, loudly this time. And then a sharp ‘ssshhh’ from the inside of the fort hushed and made you freeze on your spot, bent at the waist midway as you were attempting to pick up a pillow on the floor.

“The children are sleeping.”

You heard the same voice, whispered this time and you didn’t recognize it at all.

Your heart loudly thumped inside your chest. A terrible dread and alarm are starting to creep from the top of your head, down to your gut. You grab your stomach as you feel it lurch with panic and terror.

Who was that?

What is happening?

Where is your mother?

How about the children?

Are they all alright?

The many questions swim in your head as you grab an expensive but still very obviously useless vase decorated on your home’s bookshelf. It was a gift from Junmyeon’s many travels, you thought it was ugly at first but Junmyeon insisted that it will look pretty once you arrange the shelf and he was correct. Both your and his mother complimented his ‘exquisite’ taste.

You were ready to hit and let the vase shatter on whoever it was under the fort. You were sure it was not your mother and the voice didn’t sound like her.

Maybe it was one of the creepy fangirls that still follow your husband around even though he’s clearly married already. Maybe they got in, tied and gagged your mother on a chair somewhere in the multiple rooms you have in your house. They probably played with your three children, coaxed them and got their trust and made a blanket fort exactly how they want, to rebel against their strict grandmother.

You can see the silhouette of the person crawling to exit the blanket fort from the small opening right in front of you. You ready the vase you were holding, raise it up your head and prepared to swing it down and smash the porcelain vessel on whoever it was.

The building tension from your chest suddenly drops when you saw who exited the fort.

“J-Junmyeon?!”

You lower your arms, hugged the vase on your left hand and clutched your chest where your heart was with the other as you slide down on the floor. Your back knocking a few books off the shelf when you slowly dwindle down with a loud thud when your ass hit the wooden floor.

“Babe, why are you hugging the vase?”

Junmyeon asked with a complete puzzled look on his face. His voice was hoarse and different sounding. Probably really strained from singing three nights in a row.

“Holy fucking dick!”

You whispered loudly as you close your eyes tightly, your heart still pulsating in very, very crazy beats.

“Language! The children might hear you!”

You felt the vase left your hold and you look up just in time to see Junmyeon putting the stupid ugly thing back to where it (really doesn’t, ugh) belongs. (Although you have to admit that the color of it goes well with the theme of your whole house. It’s just really ugly, okay!)

“I’m sorry. I thought some creep got in the house because your voice is different. I’m sorry.”

“Did I scare you?”

Junmyeon frowns apologetically down at you with the signature pout of his pink lips.

You extend both of your arms up and make grabby motions with your hands, and he understood immediately that you wanted to be held. So he reached down his hands and grabs you by your armpits to stand you up. Junmyeon immediately encircled his arms around your body in a tight and needy embrace, his face nuzzled in your hair and neck and he inhales your scent as if he hasn’t seen you in years instead of just weeks.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Junmyeon finally spoke after a few moments of just hugging and breathing in each other.

“What happened to your voice?”

You asked when you both pull away from your much-needed embrace.

“I just unexpectedly strained my voice the last few minutes of the concert. Thankfully we are just about saying goodbye to the crowd then.”

He explains and he pulls you to the direction of your bedroom.

“Wait, where are the kids and my mother?”

You ask again as Junmyeon pushes the door closed and ticks the lock on.

“I requested to fly home early so I can surprise you. But you were not home yet. Mom’s home now. Has been since this afternoon.”

Junmyeon pulls you further into the room and sat you down on your shared bed.

“Oh,”

Was your only answer before he starts peeling his clothes off right in front of you.

“What are you doing?”

You screw your brows together in question.

“It has been weeks, love. I missed you so bad and so does my dick!”

“Junmyeon!!!”

You can’t help but giggle with how his cheeks were too red and his boxers tenting on the front, obviously very affected and untouched for weeks.

Aikie Masterlist | Michiko Masterlist | FIC RECS | FIC REC SIDEBLOG

136 notes · View notes

flipperbrain · 6 years

Text

The Deckhand and The Dagger

CHAPTER 11: TRUST

Summary: Hook struggles with these new changes and emotions, together with Jones they search for a solution.

[Ao3]

Jones opens his eyes, his nose buried in the hair at the nape of Hook’s neck. It smells faintly of Jasmine and exertion, and is indeed a strange contradiction; he snuggles closer to press a kiss on his lover’s shoulder to taste the salty flavor of his skin. His natural scent is like an aphrodisiac, a drug to Jones’ senses, earthy and masculine, it elicits an immediate response down below. He had fallen asleep on the plush rug by the fire, sated after their night of lovemaking, its fibers soft and luxurious drawing him to slumber after such strenuous activity. Hook had ravished him with passion and urgency, his desire seemingly unquenchable with a need to both give and receive several times over, he feels thoroughly plundered, but pleasantly so.

His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, still plump and sensitive, swollen by Hook’s vigorous use of them. He did not lie about kissing him until morning, his mouth was upon his until he finally drifted off to the dream world. How glorious it was to explore each other without the imminent threat of danger looming, to relax and be completely immersed in the moment. He closes his eyes to recall fragments of their interlude, the delicious stretch around Hook’s generous length and his tender and careful attention to his comfort; never pushing to move more quickly than his readiness would allow, though Jones does enjoy a stolen moment without preamble, the exquisite pain followed by hurried thrusts and a blissful release.

He thinks of one afternoon aboard the Jolly Roger when their love was so new and they both were constantly aroused by a mere glimpse of the other, Jones stood daydreaming at the helm, looking out over the vast expanse of ocean. Hook crept up from behind, trapping him against the ship’s wheel, his breath hot on his neck as he tugged his breeches down to pool around his ankles before freeing himself. His profane murmuring and long fingers gripping and stroking in front then rubbing behind before easing himself inside and pushing in deep.

Jones giggled trying to remain upright while clutching the handles on the wheel, the rough seas causing it to spin left and right along with his body; with his legs hopelessly tangled in fabric his balance was suspect but his lover steadied him with strong arms and feet firmly planted. Hook was tireless, rutting and driving relentlessly until Jones reached his zenith then falling himself. When it was finished the deckhand turned in his arms and Hook kissed him breathless, he was wobbly for the remainder of the day, but his heart was full. Being wanted and loved so fiercely was an outcome he certainly did not expect when their journey began.

——————

He gazes fondly at the back of the man lying next to him and runs his hand along Hook’s ribs and over his hip, his fingers detect a slight shiver, the fire has burned down and he wonders if perhaps his Captain is chilled. ‘My love, are you cold? Shall I stoke the fire?’ He asks softly. Hook stirs and waves his hand, the flames reignite but he says nothing and remains unmoving, still facing the hearth. Jones’ brows knit together at his silence, ’What is it? Are you not well?’ he entreats as Hook’s trembling becomes visibly pronounced. He tugs at his shoulder and his love rolls onto his back looking up at him piteously, his cheeks shiny and wet with tears.

The deckhand’s eyebrows arch and his mouth forms an O at the sight of his sorrowful expression, ’Please tell me what is wrong! Are you in pain?!’ Jones pleads, reaching for him and hugging him close. ‘I want so much to help you my love,’ he says rocking his partner back and forth in his arms. Hook, now shaking and unable or unwilling to speak, begins to cry in earnest, his face pressed against his lover’s neck. Jones makes no further inquiries, allowing him to vent his emotions while trying to quell his own distress. Whether this is sadness or something else he knows not, but this man needs his comfort nonetheless.

He coos in his ear and pets his hair, ‘I am here with you, let it out my love.’

A conversation must now occur, he would not normally press but these pent up feelings that burst forth when Hook perceives he is alone must be dealt with. He is taken aback of late by these uncharacteristic displays but heartened by them as well, his willingness to expose himself and appear vulnerable, albeit at his urging, is perhaps a portent that will lead to an important change in his mindset. To the position of accepting his assistance without reservation.

Gradually his choked sobs subside, the deckhand lifts his chin with his fingers and studies his tear-stained face distorted by worry and fear, a true blasphemy on such a beautiful visage. Jones wipes the tears away with his thumb and kisses his eyelids, still holding him and swaying side to side as he calms. When his hitching breaths grow further apart Jones stands and walks to the small cart in the corner of the room; several crystal decanters sit on its surface, he removes the stopper from the nearest and splashes a draught of brandy into a small snifter from the shelf below. It is still quite early for alcohol he supposes, but Hook’s nerves appear to be quite frayed.

He hands him the glass and watches as his love tosses back the amber liquid it contains, ’Stay here a moment?’ he says smiling sweetly, then fetches Hook’s clothing cast aside the night before, ‘Dress my love and let us talk.’ Jones pulls on his blouse and breeches then rejoins his companion by the fire and takes his hand, ’Now tell me what troubles you.’

Hook slumps at the the question but is resigned to answer, he would ask the same of Jones in a similar circumstance, ’It is not for the faint of heart, are you sure you wish to hear it?’ He asks looking into the deckhand’s eyes.

‘I have told you that I want to share your burden and I meant it. You can tell me anything, I will not judge… I love you.’ Jones replies quietly.

Hook shifts his gaze and stares into fire searching the flames for the right words to adequately express what he feels, ‘I do not know precisely what troubles me my sweet, it is so many conflicting thoughts converging at once,’ he haltingly begins, ‘I have never felt such happiness and semblance of peace as I have in the last months with you. I am terrified of losing it… and I fear the torment you would suffer if I should perish.’

Jones does not wish to hear of such things but he listens with sympathy regardless of his own concerns.

‘I have experienced devastating loss in my many lifetimes and know full well the agony it evokes.’ Hook looks down at their clasped hands as tears begin to leak anew and roll down his face. ’Amongst it all, the darkness that roils within me wraps its tentacles around these thoughts and twists them into images so dreadful I can hardly bear them. The loss of you in countless horrific ways whilst a voice throbs in my ear to abandon all hope, stop now and live. Continue and die. Its tendrils stab and pierce my heart, they probe my mind and wriggle through my flesh. Some moments I fear I will go insane, only you and your goodness sustains me.’

Jones pulls Hook against him and lays his head on his shoulder, his hand soothing the muscles along the curve of Hook’s back, ‘I am so sorry for your pain, though my words ring hollow in the face of such torture.’ Jones contemplates for a moment ‘Did the darkness attack you in this way before we became close? You did not appear to have such visions or painful trauma prior to our joining?’

——————

Hook has worried for some time that this question would be posed, but it is no time for dishonesty, ’No it did not, though I have always struggled to keep it at bay. To maintain some sanity and conscience in my deeds. To right wrongs though admittedly often with a larger wrong. I did not desire to slaughter and destroy indiscriminately, to loose the demon without cause; only inflict damage when it suited my purposes. The conflict has worsened considerably in the past months.’ He looks at the floor, ashamed of his past actions. This is also a new and unfamiliar development, feelings of regret.

’So I am the cause of it…’ Jones whispers

Hook cups the deckhand’s cheek with his hand, ’No! My love for you is the cause of it my sweet, chaos and love are not natural partners. Evil is threatened by light. And unless it is your desire to remove yourself from my company I will not give you up.’

‘But without me your pain would be lessened,’ Jones whimpers, his lips trembling on the verge of tears.

‘Perhaps my love, but I would have nothing to live for with an infinite lifespan ahead. Your loss would be my ruination. I do not say this to keep you here if you wish to leave, it is only the truth.’ Hook sighs and looks into the fire. ’Loving you has changed me forever, I cannot go back to what I once was… and I would die before I will allow any harm to befall you, you must understand,’ he states firmly

Jones leans back, his features resolute, ’You will not die because I will stand in the way of it, I will not leave your side.’ he retorts

Hook squeezes Jones fingers and swipes at his tears with the blunt end of his left arm ’It is not a subject for debate my sweet, I would bend to your every whim save this. I have come to realize that if our mission should fail my fate is sealed, I cannot continue to exist if I remain a threat to you, or others for that matter. I will not.’ He says finally

The deckhand while wishing to support his love in every possible way is exasperated by Hook’s words, ’But we will not fail! Why would you even consider defeat at so early a stage?’ he asks, ‘It is the blackness speaking and you must fight against it! We will not stop until we succeed, you cannot give up hope!,’ Jones beseeched, ‘We have come so far but have many miles left to travel. I will lift you up and carry you if I must,’ he says, his jaw set with conviction.

‘I am frightened that I would injure you if I should lose my way again,’ Hook answers, his face wracked by grief.

‘Then give the dagger to me,’ Jones says matter-of-factly, ‘I will keep it safe and stop you from acting rashly if the darkness overwhelms. You believe I can be trusted, do you not?’

——————

Hook angles away at Jones suggestion. Relinquishing control is not his strongest suit though he has considered this option before. He trusts the deckhand implicitly and while he knows Jones has taken custody of the dagger in the past, he still hesitates to give it up completely. Not only would it place a heavy burden upon his partner’s shoulders, it would mean laying himself bare and surrendering power over his own free will to another. It is a disquieting proposition to be sure, and one that cannot be taken lightly. And would Jones’ possession of the dagger make him a more desirable target by forces seeking to end their quest?

Jones tilts his head at Hook’s pause, seeing the wheels turn behind his eyes. He understands the weight of his question but the pang of his reluctance still bites. It is the reason he had not broached the subject before, fearing the answer; but he masks his disappointment and waits patiently for Hook’s response.

Hook breathes deeply and closes his eyes, if he is truly honest with himself there is a part of him that relishes the darkness despite its consequences, it makes him formidable, powerful and larger than life. Without it he is just a man, weak and… human. But is that not what the deckhand deserves? An equal with whom he can feel safe?

With an almost imperceptible nod he looks up at his companion from under his furrowed brows, ’I thought perhaps we should depart early,’ he says frowning, ‘but that will not solve this problem. I trust you as I have trusted no other… you shall take possession of it. You are right, it is the only way to assure your safety and the security of all.’ With a gesture he disappears in a cloud of red smoke, reappearing seconds later with the dagger in hand. ‘It makes little sense to wait now that the decision has been made,’ Hook says with a crooked grin.

‘When you hold this you may call me to your side and I cannot resist, I must do as you command,’ he clenches his jaw and hands the dagger to Jones, ’Now place it where you will, my sweet. It must remain on your person should its use be required, I have faith that it will only be employed if there is no other alternative.’

Jones looks at the oddly shaped knife in his hand, it’s wavy edge gleaming in the firelight, ‘Of course dearest, I have no wish to force you against your will, I shall put it away right now. Excuse me for a moment?’ Hook nods in agreement and the deckhand leaps up and trots down the hall to the library. He stands in the large room filled with leather-bound books tapping the dagger against his thigh as he considers where to hide it, he moves to the shelf lined with volumes of poetry scanning their titles, his lips curl into a wry grin and he slides the blade between Shelley and Byron. From the doorway its grip is impossible to perceive but easy to access.

He returns to the living room and plops down next to his love, throwing his arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly, ‘I am so proud of you for taking this step, and so honored by your trust in me. I promise I will not fail you,’ he says brightly. ‘I am blessed by your love, that you would go to such lengths and risk so much that we could have a future together.’

He leans back and tucks lock of hair behind Hook’s ear, ’Now smile and kiss me! I would have breakfast and perhaps a stroll to the lake we passed on our way here? I know some fresh air will lighten your mood,’ He moves forward to press his lips against his lover’s mouth, his fingers carding through his thick mane, ‘Sofia baked blueberry muffins!’ He grins, waggling his eyebrows.

Hook laughs and shakes his head at the deckhand’s infectious good nature, finding such pleasure in the smallest of joys.

'I am yours to command, my sweet.’

Tagging some lovelies, as always if you’d rather not be tagged just let me know.

@spartanguard @laschatzi @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @suwya @artistic-writer @ashley-knightingale @therooksshiningknight

#HookxHook #HookxHook smut #hookxhook ff #Dark!Hook #Deckhand Hook #The Deckhand and the Dagger Ch11 #slash #angst #O'queuetie

29 notes · View notes

blu-b · 6 years

Note

Gross Poldeggan for the ship meme :)

Thanks for that :D

Imma do this for a modern AU if you don’t mind, because the actual period setting seems a bit difficult. Also, this is after they have overcome (most of) their differences and established a somewhat stable relationship….probably. ^^

Give me a ship and I’ll tell you …..

for Ross Poldark/George Warleggan

Who cooks: They’re both not bad at it, but usually they go out. Ross is not what you’d call a fancy food enthusiast. He’ll shovel down whatever is placed before him most of the time, not caring what it is or what it tastes like. It grates on George’s nerves, this indifference, because where George comes from, meals are not just about the ingestion of nourishments - they’re celebrated feasts of exquisite taste. Ross used to laugh at it until one day George took him out to a restaurant where one of the Warleggans’ former chefs was now Maître de Cuisine. Ross said nothing, but the way his eyes popped at the taste of the gold-dusted mousse noisette encased in white chocolate spoke volumes. The next day, Ross made enquiries into professional cooking lessons because he wants to learn how to spoil his posh boy properly.

Who does the laundry and other chores: At first, George insisted they hire staff for that. A maid, at least, and a decent butler. He was even willing to pay for their salaries. But when the butler walked in on them at an inopportune moment, and the maid had a scare when she surprised them in the broom chamber, George began to see the point. He still doesn’t like certain chores. For example, he hates doing the dishes and cleaning hair out of the siphons, so Ross does that while George has no problem vacuuming or steaming Ross’ ever-crumpled clothes. They do the laundry together, but sometimes it ends with George being bent over the washing machine.

How many children do they have: George is really good with kids, Ross thinks as he watches him handle Demelza’s three brats with ultimate grace and care. The smallest, but a babe, relaxes instantly and stops crying at once when George picks her up and rocks her gently; and the middle one is glued to his lips when George reads to him in that meticulous voice of his. Ross himself likes kids, although he hasn’t thought about having some of his own - not yet, not with George because, well, it’s going to be difficult, the adoption process and everything, and who knows if they’re ready to raise kids at all. But then he sees George look longingly at all the smiling kids at the playground, and out of a whim he puts his arm around George’s waist and whispers in his ear: “How many do you want?” And George just smiles and whispers back, “A whole barn full for a start.”

Who’s more dominate: Everyone assumes it’s Ross who has the last word in their relationship, but little do they know what happens behind closed doors in the Poldark/Warleggan household once the lights are out. George has a possessive streak that he hides well in public, but every now and then it comes through, especially when he catches Ross working his charm on some of the ladies. As CEO of one of the most promising financial ventures in recent years George is used to having his orders obeyed, and boy does Ross love it when George’s voice drops low once they’re in the bedroo. It takes on that particular tone that makes Ross shiver in anticipation when he’s ordered onto the bed and told to keep still no matter what. And Ross obeys every time because he loves George being in charge; he loves giving up control and having his temper tamed by the only one who can.

Favorite nonsexual activity & Their favorite place to be together:

It’s long walks at the clifftops after dinner, watching the sun set over the rolling waves at Hendrawna Beach. Sometimes they’re holding hands as they climb up the steep path, but most of the time they just walk in silence next to each other because this is still too new, too strange, this whole relationship thing they’ve skidded into, and it will yet take them yet a while to get used to the thought that they’d rather lie down together in the soft sands instead of pushing each other over the cliff’s edge.

Any traditions: Their entire relationship was built on a tradition of mutual hatred that reached back into the times of their fathers. Why exactly there had been such animosity between their families was lost to history, but George and Ross had both grown up profoundly disliking each other just for the sake of it. They’d worked through a lot of bullshit; threats and insults and spoiled business deals; mutual broken noses and bruises in places that were far too intimate even when they were still enemies. Then came that day that changed everything; the day that had Ross question all he believed in as he sat staring at a pale figure in a white hospital bed, wondering if he was going to lose the one person that had always understood him better than anyone else, even if neither of them liked to admit that. But that, too, passed with time and George struggled back to life and Ross held his hand, each of them finally realising they didn’t find each other quite as bad, and every year since then Ross buys a single white rose on what’s the closest to an anniversary they’ll ever have.

Their “song”: One day George comes home earlier than usual due to unforeseen but pleasant circumstances at the bank that grant him one of his rare afternoons off. He tosses his scarf and jacket over the wardrobe and climbs the carpeted stairs on a quest to find his absent boyfriend. He finds Ross in the bedroom, and the sight confuses the hell out of him. Ross has his headphones on, the heavy, old-fashioned ones, and swaying his hips he sings loudly (and wrong) to “Love is a battlefield” and George has to stifle a laugh because really, Ross, but on the other hand it’s oh so true he can’t help it. And from then on, every time when that song is on the radio, George just shoots Ross this look that says I know it all.

What they do for each other on holidays: Whenever George has one of his rare days off (running his little financial empire is hard work, especially since he’s ventured into real estate recently and opened another entire branch of business), he likes to sleep in. Like, really sleep in, way past midday, waking up to soft afternoon light and a gentle breeze, and preferably Ross next to him, stark naked (George still blushes at such thoughts). And Ross is just grateful for this, although he’d never admit that he doesn’t really like waking up alone most mornings when George has long since left work work and only the faint warmth of him remains on his side of the bed. So when there’s a day off, Ross just likes to stay in bed with him and it’s all long and lazy making out and maybe, maybe Ross can be persuaded to fetch some of those strawberries from the kitchen….

Where did they go for their honeymoon: Everyone assumes they’re married, maybe because they’re really good at bitching at each other like an old couple, but no, there’s actually no certificate and no ring on their fingers and no ‘til-death-do-us-part between them. Why, they don’t exactly know. It’s just never come up, sort of. Ross says he doesn’t need a paper anyway, and George just shrugs it off; it’s something that he’s not to partial about (although he was brought up to hope for a proper, decent, reputable marriage one day, he can’t quite shake that). So he’s caught a bit off-guard when Ross one day walks in carrying holiday catalogues and just outright asks him, “Where’d you want to go for a honeymoon?” And George says he doesn’t know, has never really thought about it, and he’s a bit nervous and then there’s Ross pulling out an envelope, smiling kind of lopsided and scratching his unruly curls. “Hope you’ll like it,” Ross says somewhat sheepishly and oh god, of course George’ll like it, he’ll like it anywhere with Ross, but…“Wait, doesn’t the proposal come before the honeymoon?”

“I was just getting to that, baby.”

Where did they first meet: They’ve kind of been around each other for like, forever? Certainly since Ross can think consciously, because he tends to forget that George is actually two years older than he although he doesn’t look the part. So, it was some time before school, he thinks, maybe in Truro, or at the fair over in Sawle, that he first took sight of George? He doesn’t remember, memories blurring into one, and then there’s other faces…Elizabeth, with whom it hadn’t worked out, and then Demelza, with whom it had worked out, just not long enough, and Margaret, who made things work out no matter what, but then, again, always, George. And Ross kind of likes the thought; likes to think that they’ve been around each other for, like, maybe, forever?

Any pets: George wanted a cat and Ross wanted….no pet at all, if he was honest. He had nothing against either cat or dog, but actually having one around the house…well, he certainly wasn’t encouraging the idea. George on the other hand insisted a kitty was a wonderful addition to their household “if we can’t have kids, we should at least have a cat”, and “do you know cats are known to calm hot tempers, Ross? Maybe you should try,” to which Ross only replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll think about it - if you behave tonight.”

“You bet I will,” George purred and licked his lips.

What do they fight over: Sometimes they fight over the smallest, silliest things, like who placed the banana on the counter or who left the bathroom door ajar. Sometimes it’s more than that; it’s about George’s borderline hostile family or about how Ross’ newest investment isn’t going to pay off. And yet some other times, it gets nasty and mean and one of them ends up storming off (Ross) or hiding themselves to cry (George), and they curse each other and make up their mind that that was it, they’re going to leave. And then they remember that this was what drew them together in the first place, their constant fighting, and that they’re like fire and water, constantly setting each other off. But they have worked through this in the past and they have orvercome worse, and so Ross always comes back and George always comes out of hiding, and they’ll take each other’s hands and look into each other’s eyes, and it’s as good as a “I’m sorry” from their lips.

Do they go on vacations, if so where: Sometimes, they went to London together, and sometimes to St. Ives, but always on business, always when either Ross had something to do at the art gallery or George was wanted at the bank. They never went there for leisure. Elizabeth and Verity weren’t even sure either of them was aware of that, but the girls unanimously agreed that their boys - one’s ex and the other one’s cousin - definitely were in for a time away from home, at a place that had nothing to do with either’s work. And so they worked on a plan. They roped Demelza in, a childhood friend of Ross’ who owned a travel agency, and the tomboyish redhead declared she knew “just the place” for the loverboys. So some weeks later, on occasion of a family dinner hosted by Elizabeth (which just by chance happened on the boy’s anniversary), she presented them with a hand-drawn paper-voucher wrapped in garish pink paper. It had a lovely picture of a cabin in France, amidst lavender fields and surrounded by mountains, and below was written in Demelza’s scraggly handwriting: “You’ll like it there! Very picturesque. Lots of solitude. No one will see when you do it in the pool.”

Yes, wohoooo, I’m sorry this took me so long. I don’t know what possessed me to answer this with little tiny ficlet-bits, but it was definitely fun, so thank you for sending this ask! :)

@creepywarleggan

#creepywarleggan #poldeggan #gross poldeggan #ross poldark #george warleggan #headcanon #send me a ship and I'll tell you....#ask #reply

5 notes · View notes

quillyfied · 7 years

Text

Cheeseburgers

a TAZ idea that wouldn’t leave me alone. To the person who requested the roadtrip fic, I’m still working on it, it’s grown enormous, but I had to get this out of my system.

Cycle 76 spat them out by a planet of storms, raining shards of ice down from a lightning-filled sky into a boiling sea, the chemical and arcane makeup of which made no sense to Barry or Lup. It was a small planet, alone and floating around its little star. Davenport circled it three times, but the cloud layer coated it pretty thickly. Approaching it further than the upper atmosphere proved impossible when a huge arc of lightning nearly knocked the Starblaster out of the sky.

“Well, gang,” Davenport said, rubbing his eyes, “looks like we’re shipbound this year.”

Quiet groans answered him, but this wasn’t the first time they’d had to stay on board the ship for a cycle. Davenport put the Starblaster in orbit around the stormy little world, and their year began. By sheer luck, the Light crashed directly into Magnus as he jogged around the deck a few days later; forty-five seconds after that, the Hunger’s eyes lit up the void of space around them.

“Another tough getaway ahead,” Davenport muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on a table on the deck and watching as Barry helped Magnus up, the latter laughing so hard it made the former’s job difficult.

“Mm-hmm,” Merle nodded, shuffling a deck of cards. “We’ve got a while before we have to worry about it. Ever play Yooker with tarot cards, Skip?”

“No, can’t say that I have,” Davenport grinned, settling back into his chair. “Tarot cards?”

“Figure it’ll spice things up between us,” Merle said, and winked when Davenport chuckled.

“Gross,” Taako hollered across the ship, carrying a tray of sandwiches. “Lunchtime, idiots.”

Food wasn’t a problem when several party members could summon it at will. The same went for water, though coordinating bathing habits was a constant struggle. What couldn’t be magicked up, even with Davenport’s increasingly exquisite eye for detail in his illusions, was physical space. Cabin fever crept into the edges of the ship with each passing week. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped, and even with over seventy-five years of growing into the closest family unit in all the realities, fights and hurt feelings could last a long time.

It had been four months of orbit, according to Barry’s calendar. The whole crew was lounging in the rec room, which was really Lup’s old room stuffed with all the books, games, movies, and serialized video programs they’d collected during their journey, along with the appropriate consoles and a wealth of beanbag chairs. It was Lucretia’s turn to pick the entertainment. She’d been quiet and withdrawn this year, more so than usual and certainly more so than she’d been for about a decade.

“Anything but that gentleman detective tripe,” Taako deadpanned as Lucretia reached for that exact film. He was splayed across a bemused Magnus’ lap with his feet on Barry’s shoulder, crossing his arms behind his head and rolling his eyes like he was being paid to do it.

“It’s my turn,” Lucretia said, pulling the movie out. “When it’s your turn, we can watch something else.”

“Or you can pick something less stupid,” Taako retorted. Lucretia sighed, but didn’t put the movie back. Taako cast Mage Hand and snatched it from her hands, holding it over her head.

“Taako, come on,” Magnus said, dumping Taako onto the nearest beanbag chair, but Mage Hand stayed put, wagging the movie in the air a little. Lucretia took a swipe at it, color building in her cheeks.

“Honestly, why we even still have this is beyond me,” Taako said.

“Taako, give it back,” Davenport said with a warning note in his voice.

“Literally the worst thing in our inventory,” Taako yawned, shifting Mage Hand so it hovered over the garbage can.

“Taako, don’t—”

Mage Hand dropped the movie in the trash. It wasn’t much, just a shallow bin with a plastic liner, but the sentiment was enough. Lucretia yanked the movie from the trash and stomped towards the door.

“Lucretia, he didn’t mean it, he’s just being a jerk,” Lup said, sitting up as Lucretia flung the sliding door out of her way.

“I absolutely did mean it,” Taako sniffed. “If she’s gonna pout because of a little honesty—”

The door slamming shut in its port cut off the rest of Taako’s sentence, as did the weight of five different glares.

“You know what, no,” Taako said, straightening his legs and standing. “Every time Lucretia can’t take a joke, Taako’s the jerkwad. Poor Lucretia, poor fragile little Lucretia—”

“Her mother gave her that movie,” Barry said quietly. “She’s had it since she was sixteen.”

Taako floundered for a minute, then stomped his foot. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“If you paid attention for once in your life to other people—” Magnus started, and Taako whipped around, thunder building in his eyes (and possibly also in his fingertips, the static in the air was getting very active).

“Everyone calm down,” Merle said, also getting to his feet. “We’re all a little testy. Let’s bring it back down, chill out. I’ll go talk to Lucretia, Taako can take a walk around the deck, we’ll meet back here and watch her movie and eat so much popcorn we’ll all get sick. How about that?”

“Go hang out with your buddy John, Merle, he’s the only one actually interested in listening to your hippie cleric garbage,” Taako snapped, and Davenport slammed both his feet onto the ground before standing. His full height wasn’t so imposing, but his demeanor was.

“You’re out of line,” Davenport said, in the soft tone of voice his entire crew knew to obey without question. Taako’s mouth quivered, his hands clenched at his sides and spine at rigid attention. “No movie night. Everyone is excused to their quarters. I’ll be at the helm.”

After a tense moment, Taako stalked out of the room. After another, Lup, Barry, and Magnus followed. Merle, last to leave as always, looked around at the abandoned beanbag chairs and sighed.

“He has a point,” Merle shrugged. “Not like any of you are really gonna need me this cycle, and I know I can get something else out of John, I almost had him last time.”

“Not yet,” Davenport said sharply, and blinked at his own tone. “Not…not yet. It’s been…a while…since you’ve stuck around this long.”

“If Lup and Barry have sex in the shower when I’m waiting my turn outside again, I can’t make any promises,” Merle said, and Davenport doubled over laughing. Merle grinned. “I can wait. Time’s weird in the Parley Parlor.”

“Thank you,” Davenport said quietly. Merle put his hand on Davenport’s shoulder and smiled.

“Am I dismissed now, Cap?”

“Can’t show favoritism, so yes, yes you are,” Davenport said, and smiled when Merle shrugged. “One ship fire at a time. Let’s wait for this one to blow over, and we can work on the next one.”

“Take it easy, Dav,” Merle said, and left. Davenport took several deep breaths before following suit.

Taako stood outside of Lucretia’s door, where he could clearly hear sniffling, and gritted his teeth through the overwhelming wave of nope that coursed through him at the thought of going through with this. But…yeah, he wasn’t too proud to admit he’d crossed a line, it’d been way too many years of getting to know these space losers like the back of his hands. Besides, if he didn’t at least try to apologize, Lup and Magnus would keep shooting him disappointed looks and he couldn’t abide that. They were stuck on this metal tub for another eight months. Time to put on your big boy pants, Taako.

He knocked.

“Come in,” Lucretia’s watery voice answered. She probably thought it was Magnus or somebody, he was everybody’s go-to snugglebuddy. Taako slouched into the room, his eyes downcast and defensive, and didn’t look up until he was sitting backwards in her desk chair. She didn’t immediately tell him to leave, which was probably a good sign. When he got up the strength to meet her eyes, she did look surprised, and supremely unhappy.

“Nobody forced me in here,” he said. “Cap’nport grounded everybody pretty soon after you left.”

“Oh,” Lucretia said, scrubbing at her face. Taako crossed his arms on the back of the chair and rested his chin on them.

“Cha’boy got a little carried away,” he muttered. “And I’m sorry for chucking your movie, I didn’t know where it was from.”

Lucretia’s mouth quirked in a faint smile that didn’t reach her tired eyes. “I know it’s not the best movie of all time, but…”

“Doesn’t excuse me from acting like a jerk,” Taako shrugged. “Need to apologize to Merle at some point too, but I can do that later, Merle doesn’t hold grudges.” He sighed and sat up. “Anyway. One free meal, on the house. Anything you want.”

“Anything I want,” Lucretia repeated, and her eyes started filling up with tears. Taako felt a stab of alarm.

“Don’t do that, it’s—look, I know my cooking is the literal best, but—” Taako sputtered, his eyes wide with horror. Lucretia laughed, wiping her eyes, but it wasn’t a happy one.

“That’s just it,” she sniffed. “Taako, what I want more than anything is—is a lousy, greasy cheeseburger from that Fantasy McDonald’s in the IPRE food court.”

“That’s it?” Taako grimaced. “’Cretia, darling, I thought by now I’d beaten some taste into your head.”

“I know,” Lucretia nodded, her mouth buckling against a fresh wave of tears, “but—but—”

Taako let Lucretia cry for ten seconds before growling to himself and crossing the room, wrapping her up and pulling her against his chest, resting his cheek on her head. “Shh, bubelah, shh, it’s okay. I’ll make you the nastiest burger you’ve ever had, sshhh.”

Lucretia hiccuped a giggle against his shirt, her fingers curled into the fabric and her entire body trembling. Taako kept rubbing circles into her back, hoping to Pan, probably, that he was doing this right. He made soothing shushing sounds on-tempo with his ministrations, mimicking every time Magnus had done the same for a crew member that he’d been present for. After a few minutes, Lucretia’s sobs petered into sniffles again.

“I miss home,” Lucretia whispered, almost too quietly to hear. Taako’s heart wrenched violently in his chest.

“I do, too,” Taako murmured back. He gave her one last squeeze and let go, making his way to his feet. “Bad food has some artistry to it, I guess. I’ll see what I can whip up.”

“Thank you,” Lucretia said, and smiled, this time a true smile that lit up her whole face. Taako stored that away as a victory point in his favor and smiled back.

Long ago Davenport had mastered the art of keeping an eye on the various screens playing a feed of the common areas of the Starblaster while doing something else in the helm, checking up on his baby. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Taako sauntering into the galley a mere hour after banishing him to his room, but the kitchen was like a second room to the twins, so he paid it no mind.

It was the smell that caught his full attention.

He couldn’t tell on the screen exactly what Taako was doing, but he could smell hot oil and grilling meat. It was familiar enough that Davenport left the helm to see what he was doing. He found Taako with his hair pulled up, a manic expression on his face as he shaped meat patties in his hands. In the background, the stove was taken up by a huge griddle filled with patties, and a deep fryer Davenport didn’t remember them having bubbled away with something inside.

“This is a secret best lost to the void,” Taako muttered as Davenport floated himself up to the counter to sit and observe. “Capn’port, if anyone outside of this ship sees me doing this, it’s your job to kill me instantly and bury the evidence.”

“What exactly are you doing?” Davenport asked. Taako snapped his fingers and two baskets of fries lifted out of the grease of the deep fryer.

“Apologizing,” Taako muttered. “Whoever founded Fantasy McDonald’s should’ve been shot first.”

Davenport watched in muted amazement as Taako produced, with lots of wincing and swearing, a basic burger and fries. He thrust the plate at Davenport. “Try this and tell me if it’s close enough.”

Davenport gingerly lifted the top bun of the burger. Limpid lettuce, an indiscriminate glop of ketchup and mustard, two sad pickles, a slice of cheese from the bottom of the fridge, enough pepper on the patty to feel a sneeze coming on…it certainly looked similar. He took a bite. Taako watched him closely. Davenport chewed with his eyes closed, swallowed, and opened his eyes.

“Disgusting,” he said, and smiled. “It’s spot-on.”

“Of course it is,” Taako said, flipping patties onto a plate and putting raw meat on the griddle. “Call the dork patrol, would you? I made enough gross fatburgers for everyone.”

The reception of the mockup Fantasy McDonald’s cheeseburgers was mixed. Lup ate one and disowned him, then had some fries and took him back. Barry and Magnus, between them, ate twelve total and praised the likeness, though Barry took time to scrape everything off of his but the patty and Taako yelled at him a lot. Merle ate a bite and left the room to, in his own words, “evacuate my bowels before your nasty meat does.” (Later, Taako would yell his apology through the bathroom door and Merle would yell back his acceptance and everything would be cool there, because Merle, according to Taako, was a good person who wouldn’t guilt him into making disgusting food.)

Lucretia ate hers and grinned. When she was done, she hugged Taako tightly. “Thank you.”

“I am never making this again, so I hope you savored it,” Taako replied. Lucretia laughed. Davenport sat back with his plate of fries and drank in the bickering companionship that folded the Starblaster in.

It would be a long few months before they could get out of this plane. Davenport wasn’t particularly worried about it. He trusted his family to see themselves through it.

Even if they were a bunch of dumb babies sometimes.

#taz #quilly writing #ipre #stolen century

21 notes · View notes

remapped-soul · 6 years

Text

when i tried

fandom: marvel cinematic universe / post CA: CW

pairing: hint at tony stark/ steve rogers

rating: T (alcohol, broken hearts and poor decisions)

summary: Tony drinks bottles of expensive scotch and buys expensive cars and does not think about the things that went wrong.

or: a series of non-linear stories that cover the life and relationship of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers

part: 1/?

Steve Rogers disappeared along with his group of ragtag superheroes went rogue and the only thing Tony Stark got left from him was a scratched shield and a flip phone that wasn’t in trend anymore unless you were a hipster mulling over lost decades of drugs, sex and rock’n roll. So Tony Stark did what he did best. He poured himself a tumbler of scotch, careful not to fill it up to the brim because he was a classy man who had style even when he got drunk. He sat his ass down on his very expensive couch imported from Milano, and told FRIDAY to make a list for him of online stores she thought he’d like.

Carefully sipping his scotch, Tony idly swapped from one tab to another, waving his finger in the air like an orchestra conductor, humming occasionally when something interesting caught his eye. At some point, he switched to holding the bottle in the favour of the glass. Less moving off the couch to get it refilled, more drinking and spending money on useless stuff. He had a reputation to maintain and he could not get out in the world after half of the Avengers got labelled as criminals sporting old things. He had a press conference in two days and that was enough time for him to buy a new, sleek car and waltz down in it (or behind the wheel) whilst paparazzi took photos of him and wrote stories about the only responsible hero left in the world. Or the only one that mattered.

“Hm, I could definitely go with Veneno but then again, it feels too big, even for me. The suit is not big. It’s elegant. Classy. Oh, but this one, this one, this one might just-”

“If I can step in, boss,” FRIDAY started and Tony stopped with the bottle close to his lips, ready to roll his eyes.

“Go on, sweetheart.”

“That car is not going to be out on the market until next year. It would be best if you would look into purchasing another car that is available.”

Sometimes, Tony expected to hear JARVIS’s voice around him, the thick, smooth accent always somehow reassuring him that he could do whatever he was doing, but it wasn’t best in his interest. He expected the same disapproval coming from FRIDAY, but she, as a matter of fact, sounded dead when it came to expressing any sort of human emotions. Tony feared it was due to some error in programming her, but he did not do mistakes. He came to the conclusion it was just how FRIDAY’s personality was and coming to his personal problems, she was more reserved than JARVIS. He had Pepper for nagging.

“Well then,” he said as licked his lips, head rolling on the backseat of the couch. “I’ll be the first one to introduce the marvellous vehicle to the world. Imagine, Tony Stark, sporting the new model from McLaren on Manhattan Streets. They’re gonna swarm in to buy it. I mean, you don’t need better reassurance than my ass driving a car, right? I’m the last respectable hero. They can count on me and my taste in cars. They are exquisite. I am exquisite.”

He was babbling by now, but apparently, he did not care enough to stop himself from venturing into one field he forbid himself to think about. That’s why he had a bottle of the finest scotch in the house in hand, halfway to being completely empty.

“As you say, boss. Should I contact Mister Dean Lanzante?”

Tony blinked. “Who’s that?”

“The owner of the company who produced the car,” FRIDAY deadpanned and Tony could swear he felt a bit of sarcasm dripping down her circuits. Now, this is what he wanted her to sound like.

“Ah yes, of course. Tell them Tony Stark wants the new car in...two days. Is that possible?” He paused to take another swig from the bottle. “You know what? Transfer the money as well. So they know I’m not joking. I am really serious. Pinky swear.” He hiccuped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When FRIDAY gave him an affirmative answer, he pushed himself upright and figured that he should buy the next thing.

He came across a beautiful set of knives. Vintage, the seller said. Tony stopped and zoomed in on the details. Carved in silver, around the 19th century, Germany. It was fancy, fancy enough for a super killer like Natha-

And he stopped his train of his thoughts right there. He recognized an unhealthy behaviour when he saw it, and this, right there, what he was doing, that was asking for troubles. He drank for a long second out of his bottle.

“I think I’m done here, FRIDAY. Turn everything off.”

The lights went out around his suite like a flame. It was a smooth action, letting his eyes adjust to the dark before they went completely out. Tony put the bottle to his mouth only to find it empty.

“Damn,” he said to himself, to the dark, to the silence. There was no sound of the city. His windows were soundproofed and the only evidence he had on the town thriving and pulsing at the feet of his tower were the lights. Millions of lights and souls in those New York high rises, and somehow, Tony felt responsible for each and one of them. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

The lock on his door beeped and somebody walked in.

“FRIDAY, what did I tell you-”

“I’m above anyone, Tony, and you know it.”

Tony opened his eyes and angled his head to look at Pepper. It was not comfortable, considering the door was behind the couch and Pepper stopped only a good few feets in front of it.

“Why is the couch moved from its place?”

“Redecorating,” Tony answered simply, without blinking.

“In the middle of the night.”

“Mhm. You may never know when trends in interior design change and it’s better to be ahead-”

Pepper gave him a look. The look. It was pretty amazing how he could spot it, even in the darkness. “Why did you just spend more than three million dollars on a car?”

Tony did a double take. “Why do you have access to my bank account?”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is, in fact, not an answer. It’s a question. And a question, when stated, requires an-”

Pepper raised up her hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Let’s do this like in grade school. You answer a question, I answer one. Fairtrade. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do a lot of things for you. There. One question answered. Now my turn.”

“Tony.”

“Mrs Potts. What are you doing here?” He yawned and didn’t even bother to cover his mouth.

“Checking on your self-destructing behaviour.”

He tapped his chest. “No bomb in here, anymore. I’m pretty safe you know. And besides, how can you expect me to go in front of the people in an outdated car? They trust me to be on top of my game.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “The car is not out until next year.”

“Boss, if I may interrupt, you have an affirmative answer. The car will be shipped as soon as possible and will be at your doorsteps.”

Tony’s smug smile turned to the ceiling. “Thank you, FRIDAY.” Then, he turned to Pepper once more, swinging the empty bottle in her direction. “This is how you do business.”

“No one can say you no to money, Mr Stark.”

“Money is not a thing you say no to. You just...can’t. But tell me this, Pep-”

“My turn. Did you just drink a bottle of scotch by yourself?”

Tony shrugged and gave her a look that screamed what are you, my mother?” You know what Mark Twain said. Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whisky is barely enough.”

“You had FRIDAY whisper that to you.”

Tony gasped, putting a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “Who do you think I am, Mrs Potts?”

“Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, self-destructive idiot who should call his friends and fix things instead of drowning his sorrows in alcohol.”

“That hurt, Pepper.”

“It’s supposed to hurt, Tony. You do have a phone number, you know?”

And of course, he knew. That phone had been sitting on his nightstand ever since he got it. He liked to believe that one day he would wake up and find his opinions and beliefs changed and he would give that one call. It was all it would take. A press of a button. A call. An answer. Everything would be fixed. But as Tony came to find out, nothing in life was easy, especially not the things that mattered.

“Pepper,” he said and his voice sounded resigned. He put down the bottle and massaged his neck, turning his attention back to the shimmering city. A chill ran down his spine. When the alcohol effects would wear off, all that was left behind was cold and void. Tony did not like that, but he was used to it.

Pepper moved in front of him and her ginger hair glowed like a halo from the city lights. “Tony.”

“Stay here tonight.”

Pepper paused, whatever retort she had prepared dying on her tongue. They stopped doing stuff like that, a long time ago. For the world, for his friends (or what remained of them) they were still Tony and Pepper, indestructible team. Inside these four walls, they were Tony Stark. Pepper Pots. No conjunctions to tie them together. He made that change years ago when he decided he’d let another phone call change his life.

“Just for tonight.”

Pepper sighed, and Tony asked himself for a millionth time just how much Pepper breathed in that way that let him know that she only did it for him, not because she wanted to. “Just for tonight, Tony,” she replied and moved to take a seat next to him.

#mcu #marvel universe fanfic #stony fanfic #stony angst #tony stark #steve rogers #pepper pots is a darling as always #there is this prompt list that s supposed to be fluff but fluff usually means angst in my vocab ahahah #fanfic #marvel fanfic #captain america #iron man #post civil war #luna's fics

1 note · View note

docholligay · 7 years

Text

One of my commissions from the Patreon! Thank you so much @yamadara for all of your support, and also for the amazing prompt!

I write about 15k words a month! Interested in sponsoring my work and keeping the train rolling? Look here!

Sometimes, Michiru reflected on herself and her life, and what she found was something lacking.

The fates of their lives were like ships on the sea, and the storms waxed and waned, and now they were laying in a cool and quiet period for which Michiru was grateful, even with the never knowing of when it might turn and twist and change.

Saltwater offered no succor, they said, and did not nourish the things of the earth, but then again, Michiru was never overly interested in what the world wrought large had to say, and there was life in those brackish waters too, wasn’t there?

And so, in a soft and gentle moment of her own internal tide, she called up her parents.

Or, more rightly, her parents’ assistants. Michiru did not find that her own parents often wished to talk to her if there was not a point or purpose to the conversation, a sentiment Michiru felt deeply in her heart of hearts. And so she called up a young girl who very likely had a wider knowledge of her parents’ own holdings, and what the space might look like, and how reasonably Michiru’s ends might be achieved.

Michiru found herself, she was nearly horrified to notice, rather excited at the entire prospect. She wondered how best to reveal her master plan--it was not that it was particularly difficult to gather the girls (as she thought of them collectively in her fonder moments) into one room, but one did want a sense of occasion for such things.

And, of course, she would have to mollify Haruka with the assurance that they were taking their own trip.

“Haruka?” She called to the bathroom, lying in bed and paging through the various pictures the assistant had sent, “What are your larger feelings on the notion of all-inclusives? You know, I’ve always resisted them myself, but I have heard that they’ve improved dramatically in recent years, and it does remove a quibble on the prices of things.”

Haruka poked her head in the door, wiping moisturizer on her face. “We going somewhere?”

“Eventually, yes, but this is not a question meant for our leisure, no. I have that firmly in hand.” She smiled slyly. She had great things planned for them, too, indeed. Initially she had thought of a luxury sailboat cruise, and then, remembering Haruka’s nervousness around the water, had decided to take her to Australia for the Bathurst.

“So what’s it for?” Haruka jumped onto the bed and grinned, flopping onto her stomach towards Michiru, chin under her hands.

“I’m going to send the girls on a vacation. It is turning fall, you know, and it has been unseasonably cool, and I thought they might rather enjoy it.” She continued to peruse photos as Haruka looked at her, confused.

“The girls?”

Michiru looked up, her eyebrow raised. “Yes. Makoto. Usagi. Rei. Ami.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Minako Aino, god help me? We’ve known them for several years?”

“You want to send them on a trip?”

“Yes, and I was hoping you might help me choose a locale.” She glanced back at her photos. “Rei is so appallingly cheap that a pre-paid experience might remove much of the battle, for you know Usagi cannot bear to argue with her, and Mina will simply goad her until she breaks.”

“Babe, are you feeling okay?”

Michiru pursed her lips, her eyebrows knitted in irritation. “Honestly, Haruka, what you must think of me!”

“No, it’s not that!” Haruka backed up, hands raised, “it’s just you’re not really…” she gestured vaguely, “you know…”

Michiru’s eyes continued to narrow.

“I’m sorry. I Have no clue what I’m talking about. I’m an asshole.” She laid down next to Michiru. “I think that’s really nice.” She looked at the pictures on the screen and pointed to a cool blue pool surrounded by iridescent tile. “That’s pretty.”

“Yes, it is the Royal Hideaway in Playa Del Carmen, and though I have never been myself, it seems quite nice. My parents thought it would be an excellent investment, and it seems to have been.” She switched to another picture. “I chose it for the availability of a casita, in which they could all stay together, and if nothing else, Usagi might quite like that.”

“It’ll be tough for Mina to get laid that way.”

Michiru smiled. “See? And you thought this held no benefit for me.”

“It is an all-inclusive, so there needn’t be any concern over costs, though they do recommend you bring money for tips. I have put you up in the casita, which is rather like a two bedroom house, so that you may stay together. I am told the place is lovely, though I confess I will be trusting on your report.” Michiru passed around brochures she had her parents’ assistant draw up, detailing the place with bright photos and bullet points of the amenities. She slipped into quick English, looking straight at Mina. “You’re going to have to stay a bit sober, you realize, unless you wish to try the dubious command of high school English the other girls have.”

“I was gonna break out the Spanish, actually.”

“If you do, please, by all means, record the attempt, I would love to be a witness.”

“Hey!” Haruka waved her hand. “What?”

“A minor matter, excuse the brief parlay.” She looked back across the room.“I will, of course, provide my access to our private plane for both the departure and return journey, and of course, Usagi, I did advise them to have a more than ample supply of snacks better suited to Haruka’s tastes then my own.”

“You’re just giving us a trip?” Rei narrowed her eyes, and Michiru could not read whether it was anger on confusion, or perhaps a mix of both, in the particular cocktail that only Rei could create.

“That was my general idea, yes.”

She continued her interrogation. “For nothing.”

“I suppose.”

Mina looked up at her, a confused half-sneer on her face. “So you’re dying or something, right?”

Rei’s eyes widened. “Oh god, you have been pale.”

Michiru gave a long sigh. “Honestly…”

Usagi jumped out of her chair and ran toward Michiru, dramatically throwing her arms around her and sobbing. “Oh Michiru! It’s okay! We’ll take care of you! Don’t die! We love you!”

Michiru stiffened, her eyes wide, and Haruka, her eyes were still warm with love, tried to keep from laughing at her princess in distress from her other princess.

“Usagi, I am not dying,” She gently tried to pry her from her body, “I assure you.”

Rei, in a moment of exquisite mercy, took Usagi from Michiru’s side, guiding her back to the couch where they gathered.

Michiru smoothed her cream skirt and navy silk blouse. “Now then. I merely thought, while things have a certain air of tranquility, it might be well for you to enjoy yourselves. Neither Rei nor I has sensed anything on the horizon, so now is as good a time as any.”

“So you’re just giving us a trip that costs like...a year’s salary?” If Rei railed against Michiru’s wealth, it was nothing compared to Mako’s visible discomfort with it, as if it were a suit that was two sizes too small, and she reminded her of Haruka in these moments, and it made her run tender.

“It is hardly a sacrifice,” she placed a hand to her chest, “the properties are lying fallow, and it is better they be used at all. And beside all that,” she nodded sagely, her mind sparking with an idea, “I was not being glib when I said I would trust your report. My family has never been to the property but for a tour, and so your review of the experience will be a sort of fact-finding mission. Really, it is a favor to us.”

There was a beat, and then Usagi, leading the way, cheered with excitement, practically exploding with the idea of a week spent at a luxury resort in Mexico with her best friends. It was catching, and the girls began to chat amongst themselves about their plans, Ami about the books she would read, lounged poolside; Mako about trying every single restaurant on the property, unaware Michiru had already booked her a night at the chef’s table; Mina about her collection of skimpy and sexy swimsuits, teasing Rei about having to compete for her affection; and Rei, in spite of herself, thinking about the long days of leisure.

“But Michiru,” Usagi looked up at her, “Aren’t you and Haruka coming?”

Michiru smiled over at Haruka, her final stroke of genius moments from being laid bare to the world. . “We are going to Australia, I’m afraid, for a supercar race.”

Haruka gasped audibly. “We’re going to Bathurst!?”

Michiru offered an open palm to Haruka. “See? I can hardly deny her, though I trust you will enjoy yourselves without us.”

“We’re going to Bathurst???”

___

Michiru sat in the willow chair, looking out on the city and quietly sipping a rose cocktail she had drawn up from the bar. She felt cautiously good about what she had done. The girls, after their initial shock, had seemed excited, treated to a trip they never could have managed on their own. She had her money, and her money could bring happiness, and for this, if nothing she was grateful. It was her small contribution to the larger health of the group, in the way the others brought their more personal gifts.

Rei sat down next to her. “So why’d you really do it?”

“I believe I explained that, Rei, were you not listening?” She inclined her head to Rei, offering the smallest concession.

Rei scowled in her particular and charming way. “Your family doesn’t need a review from us, Michiru, how stupid do you think I am?”

“I have always enjoyed you refreshing quality of bluntness.” She tossed her hair. “Oh, it isn’t anything but supplying what I was born to, it costs me nothing and so should be not taken too terribly seriously, Rei. She looked over at her. “Consider it a thanks for enduring me and everything else I was born to. We know that I am a selfish creature, and this is my way of buying your continued allegiance, I suppose.

“That isn’t true, Michiru.” Rei shook her head. “You’re not selfish.”

Michiru scoffed. “Rei, I have already set everything in motion, there’s no need to flatter me at this point.”

“I’m not!” Rei barked at her. “You’re just wrong. I mean, you’re a snob and you have no idea about the struggle of the lower classes and your brain has been warped by your perpetual existence in the 1%,” she gestured and continued, “but you’re a lot of other things too. You’re interesting, and intelligent, and elegant. And you are generous, Michiru, when you stop being afraid someone will use it against you.”

Her hands were on her hips--it had not been a compliment so much as a diatribe, but it had been a bit too correct in that last sentence, and so Michiru conceded her defeat before it could go any further.

Michiru smoothed a bit of her hair. “Well then, we shall leave it at that, I suppose. I hope you enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah well,” Rei, not finished being annoyed, cocked her head, “I hope someday you let someone besides Haruka love you.”

Michiru rolled her eyes. “You know I believe there may be something to Mina’s assertion of lesbian dramatics, and I have only thought her false because I am an outlier.”

“I��m not--listen!” She pushed herself into Michiru’s face.

“Dramatic, or a lesbian? For either I am fascinated to hear the rebuttal.”

“MICHIRU.”

Michiru went to stand up, but before she did, she drew her arm around Rei and squeezed gently, then quickly rose to her feet and went into the house.

Rei sat for a moment, considering, and then called inside.

“Well, at least you see I’m right about SOMETHING.”

13 notes · View notes

thaliaarche · 7 years

Text

"The Eyes Are Windows to the Soul”

For @queenofsebaciel‘s Sebaciel week– day 6, “the Midfords.”

Ships: Sebeth and Sebaciel Rating: T Warnings: Homophobia, canon-typical violence, relationship abuse Word count: ~4.5K

Summary: Disenchanted with her marriage, Elizabeth turns her attentions from Ciel to his butler. Thus the three begin a dangerous game . . .

(This works as a stand-alone fic, but the immediate prequel is here on AO3 in case you’re interested. Please check the warnings, as they’re quite different from this fic’s.)

The day came when Sebastian was not there to stay Ciel’s hand, and the slap reverberated throughout the manor’s halls.

Elizabeth ran from their bedchamber— her bedchamber, as Ciel had coolly reminded her just then— stumbling down dark hallways, tripping on the grand, blood-red carpet of the main stairs. To the new bride, the mansion seemed grotesquely large, swathed with shadows she had somehow never noticed as a child.

As a child, she would have responded to Ciel’s darkness with ribbons, with toys and music and her own, soaring giggles. But she had learned over the past few years that no amount of shimmering clothes would lighten Ciel’s mood. And no matter how many glittering, fairy-tale balls she arranged, he would not play her prince, would not even try.

She was Elizabeth Midford Phantomhive, a woman of the two strongest families in Britain, so she didn't cry. Instead, she did what she had seen so many adults who didn’t cry do. She made her way to the dining room, with its well-stocked liquor cabinet.

“My lady.”

Startled, she let the glass slip, yet that butler, inexplicably appearing next to her as if out of thin air, caught it inches from the ground. He glanced up at her, her slight frame now shaking with fright as well as rage. She stared back for a moment and then began to speak, to beg that he wouldn’t tell Ciel and give him more reasons to dismiss her as a foolish wisp of a girl . . .

He cut her off. “Would you care for some tea?”

She studied him over the cup of steaming tea— a gentle, calming oolong he had received just that day. She praised its delicate flavors, and he smiled in return, sitting down across from her without taking any tea himself.

It was unusual, of course, for a lady of her status to ask a butler to sit at the table with her. Elizabeth, however, had never mistaken Sebastian for a normal servant. Though she noticed a slight crease in his youthful brow and traces of weariness in his rich, red-brown eyes, she felt— as she had the first day she saw him, standing by her miraculously alive cousin— that he was somehow supernatural.

Sebastian watched her as well. These months of marriage, filled with empty days as Ciel roamed abroad for his missions and punctuated by tempestuous arguments whenever he did return, had been unkind to the young lady. Left alone with only the other servants and too many snakes for company, she wore dark frocks everyday, the sober hues accompanied by shadows under her eyes and hollows in her cheeks. Sebastian wondered whether her prior gayness hadn't been more aesthetically pleasing.

"Tell me, Sebastian," Elizabeth broke their thoughtful silence, "Was he always like this?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"How can you not? You have been far closer to Ciel than anyone, these past few years. If anyone knows whence his cruelty comes, it's you."

Sebastian gazed at her green eyes— more perceptive, perhaps, than he had suspected. "I do know what you mean, then. And yet I can't answer."

Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, considering. "He told me once, without thinking much of it, that you couldn't lie even if lives depended on it."

"That was a rather foolish admission on his part."

"It's true, then? You can't lie to me?"

"Indeed."

"Though you can still play with my words," Elizabeth mused. Setting her jaw, she fixed her eyes on Sebastian and asked outright, "What's the most evil thing he's done as the Watchdog?"

"'Evil' is hard to define, but perhaps burning down a building full of kidnapped children would qualify."

She gasped and clenched her eyes shut, but she reopened them a moment later, shaking her head. "Is he tortured, then, by guilt over that act or some other?"

"I do not think he feels guilt for any act."

"Because he is fighting for good?"

"Because he fights for the queen," Sebastian replied. Elizabeth detected a note of sarcasm.

"He may yet be guilty in thought, though," she murmured. Then, her eyes grew wide at a new thought. "Sebastian, is he . . . Is he like a character out of that Oscar Wilde novel?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her stammering. "I once again don't know what you mean. That is a frightfully ambiguous question."

She grimaced. "It's difficult to put this delicately."

"You need not worry about protecting my innocence, Lady Elizabeth."

Now Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "To the best of your knowledge, has he ever asked a man to be his lover?"

Sebastian stared at the woman before him, crimson irises flickering. "No," he finally said, his voice soft and low. "He has never asked, to my knowledge."

"I hoped he might have someone he cared for," Elizabeth looked down, speaking to her empty cup.

"You would have him be happy, even in someone else's arms?"

"If it would save him from his own bitterness, yes," she replied curtly. "I mourned him once, Sebastian. I didn't intend to ever do so again."

"And what of your own bitterness?" Sebastian questioned, standing to refill her tea.

"A proper lady is never bitter."

"Your grief, then. What can save you from being consumed yourself?"

Elizabeth pondered for a moment, as the only sound came from the tea trickling into her cup. Finally, she shrugged. "You can."

"I can?"

"Of course," she tossed her golden curls, wearing her first true smile in days. "Fence with me."

Sebastian and Elizabeth did battle, their blades clashing as Ciel shut himself in his study. The very first day, Elizabeth won handily, slipping the sword past Sebastian's defense to stab him where his heart would be.

Her eyes immediately narrowed. “You let me win. Why?”

“I will admit I held myself back. It is your first time fencing in many months, after all . . .”

“Keep in mind that I am cut from the same cloth as Ciel.”

“Oh?”

“I love nothing more than a strong opponent. Their skill makes their ultimate defeat so much more thrilling.”

Sebastian smirked at her teasing arrogance, and he easily beat her in each match afterwards. Yet he saw determination unfurling in her, his every victory sparking life back into those dead green eyes. He had to leave the next week, summoned by Ciel to a new adventure, and, even as he slaughtered thugs by the hundred, he found he rather missed those elegant matches with the young lady.

Upon their return, the lady herself greeted the travelers at the front door, a fresh ruddiness in her cheeks. After replying to Ciel’s stern nod with an unsmiling greeting of her own, she turned to Sebastian with a barely concealed grin on her lips, indicating with a tilt of her head that the matches would resume immediately.

Early on the morning of his and Elizabeth’s anniversary, Ciel was out of town, and marriage was far from his mind. He and Sebastian were stranded in a swiftly sinking dinghy, bobbing somewhere on the ice-cold Channel.

At the same time, Elizabeth stood before her bedroom mirror, her nightgown’s hem swirling at her ankles as she lunged forward, lashed out with the imagined sword in her hand, and then sprang back again. She had not forgotten the date, but she pushed Ciel’s absence from her thoughts, instead focusing solely on her footwork.

The earl’s carriage rolled up to the manor in the afternoon, and Sebastian helped his master from the coach. Uninjured and implausibly dry, Ciel strode straight-backed to the door where his wife waited, laced into a nut-brown dress.

“Happy anniversary, Lizzie,” he said, bowing stiffly.

“I wish you the same--” she smiled sweetly-- “and I am glad to see you in good health. You seemed worried in your last letter . . .”

“This case is presenting me with only the slightest trouble,” he replied. “You need not concern yourself with it.”

Elizabeth smiled once more, though Sebastian now noticed the irony mixed with the sweetness.

They progressed inside, where Elizabeth presented Ciel with his gift— a tome freshly arrived from America, describing the various monopolists currently thriving there. He thanked her, obviously taken aback by her thoughtfulness, and then nodded to Sebastian, who produced a large box seemingly from midair and placed it before Elizabeth. Opening it, she pulled out a new dress of luscious, shining green, its billowing skirt tucked and pinned and cascading down in troves of ruffles.

“It’s so cute,” Elizabeth squealed. “Oh, I have to try it on right now! Paula! Help me into this, Paula . . .”

As she scampered upstairs, Sebastian found himself smiling at the echo of a young girl whom he thought gone forever.

Once dressed, Elizabeth swept back down the stairs, her slender silhouette shimmering in apple-green, her gold curls artfully loosed about her face. Sebastian stopped still at the sight.

“Shall I assume I look lovely?” she said, laughing at his awestruck expression.

“You . . .” Sebastian trailed off, shaking his head. “Few things render me speechless, Lady Elizabeth . . .”

“So I should congratulate myself for managing it,” she finished, giggling. “Is Ciel in the study now? I wanted to show him. Did he choose this himself?”

“Not himself, my lady,” Sebastian corrected.

Her face fell. “Nina Hopkins, then?” she muttered. “She always had superb taste . . .”

“No,” Sebastian cut her off. “I chose it. It matched your eyes exquisitely.”

Still standing on the steps, Elizabeth stared at him, their eyes perfectly level, their bodies perfectly still. “And here I thought you liked my fencing uniform best,” she finally murmured, feeling a hot blush in her cheeks.

“Second best, young mistress.”

"No, I am not going to wear a dress again!" With that, Ciel ordered Sebastian from the study.

Thinking over the latest disaster, Sebastian sighed as he poured Lady Elizabeth another cup of tea. She glanced up upon hearing it.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Elizabeth . . ."

"He's still worried over that case, isn't he? The one he insists is causing no problems at all."

The butler nodded.

"Can you tell me what the trouble is?"

“I cannot speak in specifics, my lady, but the gist of the matter is this— I did some reconnaissance work alone and obtained an invitation to a ball tomorrow night, hosted in the home of our primary suspect."

"Is that not cause for celebration?"

"It would be, except the invitation is for both Professor Michaels— my alias, you understand— and his honorable new wife. I’ve already aroused some suspicions, and, should I attend without said "wife," certain parties will ask untoward questions that could set the investigation back months."

"Surely there is some actress in Ciel’s network who may take on the role?"

"None who can both convincingly play a young gentlewoman and also treat this matter with the discretion it requires."

"Someone who's not an actress, then?" she asked, suddenly smiling.

"Mey-rin is a possibility, I suppose," Sebastian mused, "But even I would be hard-pressed to remedy her accent in time . . ." He noticed Elizabeth's impish expression. “No, my lady, we could not ask that of you!”

“Whyever not? I’m ready, able, and more than willing to be of assistance.”

He stared at her for a moment more, a devilish grin spreading across his own face.

“Your refreshments, Mrs. Michaels.”

Sebastian held out a plate of biscuits— tastefully rearranged according to his butler sensibilities— to Elizabeth, and she thanked him, pitching her voice lower, drawing the words out. To avoid being accidentally recognized, she had donned both a new way of speaking and a rather unusual costume— Paula had pinned her blonde curls tight to her head and placed a wig on top, rolling its black tresses into an intricate bun. She wore a pale pink dress that, despite being simpler in design than she was used to, still showed off her figure splendidly.

Various interested parties around the room watched the couple carefully. Ciel, smuggled in as the Michaels’ footman, noticed their distraction and slipped out the door, seeking more private rooms.

“How will we know if Ciel is discovered?” Elizabeth said. Both she and Sebastian wore perfectly polite smiles as they planned to rob their host's home, thus appearing indistinguishable from the conversationalists around them.

"He and I have developed a system of communication precisely to rescue him from captivity,” he replied. “Lemonade?”

“No, I’m quite refreshed,” she assured him, raising her voice slightly as she saw one of the criminals walk by. “But please,” she returned to a quieter tone, “Do let me know if he finds himself in trouble.”

“Have you a sabre strapped under your dress with which to rescue him?”

“Not at all, dear,” Elizabeth cooed. “Simply two handguns. My mother taught me to shoot almost as well as I fence.”

"And wherever did you get the firearms?”

“From our maid, naturally. She brought me quite a selection with the petticoats today.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re one hell of a wife?”

She shook her head, suddenly giggling.

For hours, they danced with others, merely glancing at each other over their partners’ shoulders. Late in the night, Sebastian found his way back to Elizabeth. “A dance, my lady?”

She paused, considering. “I’d be delighted, Seb— Mr. Michaels.”

Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth placed one hand on his shoulder, fingers ghosting against his sharply sculpted neck. He raised his hand first to her face, touching a wayward black curl, coiling the silken lock around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. That gloved hand slipped downwards then, settling at her waist, and she gasped, quite by accident, as his other hand took hers and interlaced their fingers.

Tall, impossibly graceful, he led her in the waltz, and she instinctively trusted his every motion and let herself spin blindly. With the subtlest of presses, he guided her flawlessly among the crowd of couples in the ballroom, her skirt never so much as grazing another lady’s, even though his eyes were fixed on hers the whole while through.

“We will leave the ball after this,” he breathed into her ear.

Ciel had crept back, fist clenched around a most fascinating paper— a list of Latin incantations compiled by the criminals, all explicitly designed to destroy devils— and he had just slipped into the ballroom, only to see Elizabeth and Sebastian together. They were dancing, both impossibly graceful as they stepped and turned in rhythm, in harmony. Ciel shook his head, reminding himself that they were both merely playing their parts as a newlywed couple, that they served him alone.

Even after the triumph at the ball, the case dragged on, but why Elizabeth couldn’t tell. When she asked questions, Ciel snapped at her or waved her away, while Sebastian simply shook his head, explicitly forbidden from answering.

The two of them had left to finish the case off a few months ago. They were supposed to return last week. Now, the servants paced the halls, whispering anxiously. Finny tore up all the flowerbeds out of nervous energy, Bard was setting fire to the kitchen twice each day, and Mey-rin entirely gave up cleaning, instead waiting on the manor’s rooftop and aiming her rifle at every bird in sight.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and checked herself in the mirror, adjusting her posture before repeating a footwork drill. All the while, she considered the situation. Sebastian would keep Ciel safe, would preserve the dear, human husband she had sworn as a child to protect. Sebastian would keep himself safe, too, for he had clearly been engineered— tortured?— to be inhumanly strong.

And yet she worried for them both, and in equal amounts.

When the carriage finally clattered to the front door, a hired coachman was driving. Ciel climbed out, healthy but muttering irritatedly. “Damn convulsions . . .”

As Ciel strode into the manor, Bard and Finny clambered in and carried out the butler, a silent, jerking wreck. His eyes were closed, apparently unconscious. His body, otherwise unharmed, shuddered and spasmed in unceasing rhythm.

Elizabeth blanched at the sight, but she swiftly stepped forward, sending Bard off for the doctor, showing Finny how to lay Sebastian down on the sofa, instructing Mey-rin to fetch water and Paula to get medicine.

As the servants bustled about, she whipped around to face Ciel, who still stood at the foot of the stairs. “Why did you let this happen?”

“I didn’t know he was so weak,” he spat.

“Do you think him invulnerable?”

He barked out a laugh.

“Tell me, Ciel! How do I heal him?” she asked, words tinged with pleading. “We can’t let him die.”

“What,” Ciel mocked. “Would you miss him?”

She opened her mouth in passionate response, for she would indeed miss him— the incisive, impossibly perceptive gaze of his cherrywood eyes, the magnificent wit tightly reined in by that servile facade, the kindness he had revealed to her beneath the hardened edges of his cynicism . . .

Then she saw Ciel pressing his sole eye shut, face twisted with feeling. “He won’t die,” he muttered, voice suddenly hoarse. “I feel as if I’ve seen this before . . .”

“Where?”

Ciel turned his face away and strode up the stairs. “Don’t worry, Lizzie,” he declared without looking back at her, “I’d bet my life that Sebastian will be serving us tea tomorrow morning.”

As Ciel predicted, Sebastian served the tea the next morning, well-kempt and neatly dressed, but Elizabeth still watched him suspiciously. The convulsions had subsided, only to be replaced by a subtle, rapid shaking. His red irises in particular vibrated back and forth with frenzied speed, blurred like a string suddenly pulled too taut.

He approached her later. “Would you please fence with me?”

“Are you well, Sebastian?” she asked. When he opened his mouth to reply, she reminded him, “Remember that you can’t lie.”

“Do you remember . . .” Sebastian’s words were tumbling out too fast, and the whole world flickered as if lit by candlelight— damn those exorcists! “Do you remember how you knew the fencing would save you? From Ciel, from this house, from your grief?”

“How could I forget?”

“We have that in common, you and I, we are most ourselves when we are fighting. Please, my lady. Fence with me.”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. “If you falter for a single second, we stop.”

Sebastian would not falter. He won the first match, though the victory came with surprising difficulty.

As they began again, he could feel his composure slipping— though his human body remained steady, he felt his demonic essence seeping forth and tainting his brain. And so his blows came more forcefully, and he danced around Elizabeth, flying, spinning inhumanly fast, like a child’s top.

He could hear her breathing hard, yet she stood firm and blocked each blow. He channeled a further reserve of fiendish strength into his movements, somehow unworried for her safety.

It seemed to Sebastian that everything slowed, as if the two of them were suspended underwater— he saw the curves of light traced by ripples on the walls. Then the world around them blended together, and he saw her alone. Behind her girlishness, he discovered strength— immense, if slightly chipped. Her every movement flowed with pure, ambrosial grace. Her limbs were endowed with a radiant divinity, rather as his own had once been . . .

The redhead reaper surfaced in his mind, slapping him back to reality, and he batted away the memory. There could be no comparison between Grell Sutcliff and Elizabeth Phantomhive.

Could there?

Sifting through the false perceptions, he found two facts. First, a death goddess— or part-death-goddess, at least— stood before him. Second, that goddess had just stabbed him in the chest.

He stumbled back, the breath jerked from his lungs, and she caught him before setting him softly on the ground and kneeling beside him. “I knew we shouldn’t have tried this so soon . . .”

“Do not fret,” he murmured, removing his mask. “I am unharmed.” He removed her mask, too, and gazed at those sparkling green eyes as if for the first time. “And I discovered an interesting truth in our combat.”

“What truth?”

Sebastian placed a gentle hand behind Elizabeth’s neck, pulled her close, and kissed her.

“Damn hallucinations.”

Now fully recovered, Sebastian muttered to himself as he cleaned the silverware that night, taking special pleasure in licking off spots of the exorcists’ blood. “Damn it all.”

His thoughts whirred inhumanly fast. Why did those meddling priests have to pick, of all rituals, that one? Why had his mind reacted by seeing things that weren’t there— or things that were? Why did those last visions have to center on Elizabeth? Why hadn’t the hallucinations bothered to say whether Ciel was part-reaper, too? And what, in the name of Hell, possessed him to kiss his young mistress?

He had answers for that last question, a surfeit of excellent answers. Elizabeth clearly required affection as much as food or water, and how could he be a Phantomhive butler if he did not fulfill that need? If neither Ciel nor he provided her with kindness, who would? A bottle of scotch? Elizabeth nearly turned to one, just months back.

What if she found comfort in the arms of another man? Ciel would not enjoy wasting his time with the scandal of that scenario. And if Elizabeth’s chosen lover was an enemy of the Watchdog, then Ciel would be at risk for more, far more, than mere public scandal.

Or what if Elizabeth’s hunger for love turned into a overnourished, glutted hatred? What if this sharp, swift daughter of reapers turned against the husband she had once sworn to love? Could Ciel truly order his demon to kill her?

To hell with the what-ifs. As things stood in the present, would Ciel order his demon to kill her?

After all, Ciel was rather . . . impulsive where Sebastian was concerned, and the servant knew too well that his lord's cruelty ran deep. He wouldn’t be shocked, no, would even admire it in a twisted fashion, if his young master demanded Elizabeth’s death at a demon’s hands.

Sebastian could feel himself starting to shudder again, just imagining the potential irony. The irony that part of him wouldn’t want to murder her. The irony that nothing but his own demon self had possessed him to kiss her.

The solution, of course, was blissfully simple. He would never tell Ciel about his relationship with Elizabeth. He would restrain himself around his young mistress, giving no more than she needed. Perhaps he could even bring himself, eventually, to sidestep his orders and give of himself to Ciel as well, assuaging any latent jealousy the young lord might feel towards his wife. It would be the strangest household arrangement he had come across, but the demon was almost looking forward to it . . .

It was then that his keen demon ears heard Elizabeth’s words drifting from Ciel’s study, voice clearly straining with emotion. “Yes, Ciel. I kissed Sebastian.”

“What the hell?”

“Please, young master . . .”

“What, in the name of Hell?”

"I had many clear reasons, young master . . .”

"You stopped her from drinking, from philandering outside the house, et cetera, et cetera,” Ciel fumed. “I’m fully aware of all your excuses. But what . . .” The earl stopped himself, clenching the cushion of the massive chair in his study, digging his nails into the cloth. “Fine. Tell me, did Lizzie tell the truth? One kiss, tinted with delusions on your part, and that’s all?”

“Indeed.”

“And what do you intend to do now?” Ciel asked, his tone suddenly clinical, as if he was simply interrogating Sebastian about one of the Watchdog’s cases.

The butler’s eyes widened with surprise. “I don’t know what you mean . . .”

“What have you planned for her? Don’t tell me, demon, that you think of her only as a potential lover . . .”

“I think of her as a demon’s potential lover, which is actually a rare distinction . . .”

Ciel recoiled. “You’ll break her heart, Sebastian.”

“Why would I bother, when you break it so effectively yourself?”

“Oh, stop evading,” the young lord spat, enunciating each word with brutal clarity. “What tortures have you in mind for her?”

“Young master, you forget that I am a connoisseur of souls,” Sebastian shot back. “As such, I have no interest in shattering a magnificent spirit— except by my devouring it, but that is not the matter at hand. And her spirit is magnificent, young master, much as yours is. You are both scarred by the grief of that month. You are both more capable and far more bloodthirsty than your innocent faces suggest. You are both dedicated to lofty but hopeless goals . . .”

“Hopeless?”

"You are seeking to restore the honor of your dead parents, and she seeks to restore you.”

Ciel watched Sebastian silently, a flash of jealousy— longing— flickering across his face. “So you intend to be unambiguously good to her.”

“Provided I am permitted to, yes.”

“I suppose it’s impossible for you to ever be so straightforwardly kind to a soul you’ve contracted with.”

“You suppose correctly,” Sebastian murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. “The irony of the ending would overshadow our every interaction.”

Ciel stared down at his desk for a moment, before lifting his eyes back up and forcing himself to speak conversationally. "Did you know she called you an angel?"

"She means it rhetorically, no doubt."

"I am not so sure. Don’t you dare hurt her, Sebastian.”

“I have no intention of . . .”

“This is an order, demon,” Ciel slipped off the eyepatch, and a quiver that only a fiend could discern twitched at his chin. “Don’t hurt her, even after I am gone. Treat her better than you’d treat me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A new enemy had attacked Phantomhive Manor, and all forces had been deployed in its defence. The butler loomed tall in front of the main door, black talons slashing, silver forks glinting as he hurled them into the night. A smaller figure stood behind him, two swords slick with blood. Ciel looked on from an upstairs window.

As he watched Elizabeth and Sebastian battle back-to-back, his own face flushed with double-edged jealousy. As always, he cursed his sick mind that never took an interest in feminine charms, even though Lizzie was attractive and lovely by all others’ accounts. Yet he also cursed the love he had— the utterly grey love for a black-and-white creature, currently laying low armies with a silverware set. So often, Ciel had imagined the feel of that soft, gloved hand on his own softer face, tracing the hollow of his cheek. He imagined Sebastian leaning forward to bestow a kiss, gentle, laced with only the slightest trace of mocking . . .

Mocking. As always, the image of Sebastian’s mocking smirk shook Ciel from his folly. No, he could never entrust his pathetic, human heart to his taunting, hellish mercenary.

And so the young earl had buried his raging affection and pretended disinterest, merely observing his butler from afar. When Sebastian looked at him, Ciel seized the opportunity to stare back, studying his butler’s expressions, at times discovering amusement, irritation, pity, resentment or— inexplicably— fear.

Yet Sebastian regarded Elizabeth with pure respect.

Ciel had commanded his demon to stay with Elizabeth through her life, praying that Sebastian might for once make a show of disobedience; after all, there was no obligation to take orders that could outlast the contract. Yet Sebastian had immediately, eagerly accepted. A good man would have taken pleasure in that success, would have been glad to arrange the happiness of the one he should have loved and the one he did. But Ciel Phantomhive was not a good man.

Blinking the tears from his two-toned eyes, the Earl of Phantomhive watched from the window and pretended his wife and butler were mere pawns. For the rest of his short, short life, he pretended they lived and fought only for him.

Yet Sebastian and Elizabeth stepped and turned in timeless rhythm, concordant in their mismatched harmony.

#sebacielweek #my fic

7 notes · View notes