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theshelbyclan · 3 years

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Love Language

Summary: Tommy doesn’t say ‘I love you’.

(Gif by @nofckingfighting)

A/N: Sweet anon asked: Hello i love you're writing! Can i request a tommy one shot imagine where the reader (his girlfriend or wife) finds out in his office, one of the locked drawers has everytning shes ever given to him? Maybe like love letters or random flowers everything he keep 😍🤍 thank you so mych. This request was so amazing to me, because you it made me feel like you understand this character so well? Either way, it made me think, and this is the result. It’s kinda different but I hope you like it! Words: 1448

***

“Tommy?” “Hmm,” the preoccupied reply came. You sounded defeated, against your best efforts, “I love you.” “I know.”

***

There’s blood on his shirt. It’s the first thing you noticed when he walked in. Not the mud, not his eyes, not his energy, just the blood on his shirt.

“Who’s is it,” you asked as casually as you could. Tommy lit a cigarette in reply. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” he drew out the ‘s’ like he usually did when annoyed or tired. “Who was it?” you continued. “Y/N,” he held up a hand, “not tonight, eh? Not with the hundred fucking questions tonight, alright?” You remained silent for as long as you could bear, “Just need to know you’re safe.” “You knew who you married,” a low voice replied. “I did.” Tommy stood up again slowly started to walk away.

“Do not,” you hissed, “walk away from me.” “Y/N, what the fuck do you want from me, eh?” he raised his voice, “This is me. This is who I am. And I’m doing it all to give you everything you want. To keep you safe. Alright?” You leaned forward and tried to lock eyes with him, “What I want, Thomas Shelby, is you. In one piece, preferably.” “I know,” he lowered his voice again, “And I understand.” He waved a hand like he was about to say more, but didn’t. “It’s because I love you,” you emphasized. He nodded slowly, “And that’s why I’m doing all of this.”

***

You were sitting at your desk writing. Some people seemed to think that being married to Tommy Shelby was a fulltime job and it could be if you’d let it, but not for you. Even before Tommy you’d been a writer, a journalist and an author of short stories. Neatly you typed them out and send them to the publishers in question. It was the one thing in life that always offered you solace.

“You spelled ‘enthusiastic’ wrong,” you husband commented helpfully after having popped up suddenly behind you. You ripped the page irritably, “Says the man who never even went to school.” “Life taught me how to spell, Y/N,” he sort of joked. “Life taught youhow to spell ‘enthusiastic’? Can’t remember the last time you were ever enthusiastic about anything…” He raised one eyebrow slowly, “How about ‘sarcasm’, can you spell that? Or ‘devil’, how about that, eh?” You pouted theatrically, “Sometimes I’m not even sure you take me and my work seriously…” “Oh, I take it seriously,” Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, “I know it’s enough to keep my wife away from me.” You smiled back at him when he did, but still a pang of hurt went through you: you’d give up everything just to have him say ‘I’m so proud of you sweetheart’. Just once.

***

“Come on,” he whispered. You looked up. “Come on,” he repeated, cigarette hanging from his lips, “let’s go upstairs.” “Why?” you asked, as you already started to follow him. Once inside the bedroom, he started undressing you with surprising tenderness. “Tommy,” you breathed, “look at me. What is it you want?” As a reply without words he gazed at your body, like he was drinking in very detail and getting drunk at the mere sight of it. “You and me, Tommy,” you said in between kisses, “remember it’s you and me. Fuck the rest of them. Fuck your family. Fuck the whole world. I love you and you love me. It’s you and me and nothing can ever come between us, right?” As he took off his own shirt, he gently pushed you down onto the bed.

“You and me, right Tommy?” you repeated, a little breathless as his head disappeared between your legs. “No,” he finally spoke, “you.”

*** Thomas Shelby had a long day of dealing with renegade family and dangerous enemies, so when he got back home, all he wanted was his wife and some peace and quiet.

“I cooked,” you said as you lingered against the doorpost. Tommy looked tired, worn-out, dead almost, with his head in his hands, “even told the cook to take the evening off,” you commented while your voice sounded flat. It was funny, because your emotions were all over the place, but your exterior just didn’t show any of it.

He slowly lifted his head, “You did, eh?” “Thought you might like it…” you fidgeted in spite of yourself. “I pay that cook for her to actually fucking cook,” he grumbled. “Fine,” you snapped, “I’ll feed it to the dog,” and you started to walk away. “Wait…” “What?” You didn’t even really turn around. Tommy sighed again and for a moment it was like he noticed the disappointment in your eyes, “What did you cook?” “Mint leaves. Your favourite.” And then a minor miracle took place and Tommy Shelby actually smiled a little.

***

“You were late today. I waited.” “I’m sorry.” “Are you?” “I am.” “Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Tell me.” “I do. Every day.” “Not with words…” “No, not with words.” “Tommy, tell me again.” ***

You were still half-asleep in Tommy’s arms. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. Outside, the sun wasn’t up yet, but it wouldn’t take long now.

Next to you, there was a gun on the table. Tommy had just taught you how to shoot. He’d shown you over and over again, even though you’d protested. But he said you might need it one day. On the other side there were his cigarettes and whiskey. His medicine. His comfort. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. But for how long? How long would it be until he’d die by his own gun, or get killed in some fight? Or met some other girl, prettier and smarter than you? As if he could read your insecurities, he shifted in his sleep and hugged you even closer to him. Thomas Shelby might not be perfect or a gentleman or eloquent when it came to expressing his love, but he did hold you at night.

***

“Tommy?” you shouted out through the house, “THOMAS!” “Fucking hell, woman,” his head appeared around the corner, “What is it?” Slightly embarrassed by your own volume, you said, “I can’t find the scissors.” “They’re in my desk somewhere,” he put on his cap and added, “I need to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” You made your way to the desk that was always so tidy and neat. So you did as any sensible woman would do and turned over everything in search of a pair of scissors. Nothing. Angrily you threw down a pile of papers. And that’s when you noticed it. One drawer hadn’t been opened at all. When you tried it, you found it locked. But you were a girl from Small Heath and no locked drawer could stop you. In less than twenty seconds you had managed to force the lock en slid the secret hiding place open. Inside there were more papers, neatly stacked and tied together with pieces of string in different piles. Breathlessly you took them from the drawer and examined them one by one. “Still looking for those scissors, eh?” a low voice grumbled in your ear and you practically jumped from fear. “For fuck’s sake, Thomas,” you mumbled as you tried to hide the papers you’d just found. Tommy was eyeing them already, but didn’t say a word.

So you went back through them, “These are the letters I wrote to you, when you were in France. I thought you threw away everything. Your medals, everything…” He didn’t reply. Tears sprang into your eyes as you examined the second pile, “And these are all my short stories. Did you cut them from the papers? Did you really keep them all?” You quickly went through them and they were all there, from the very first one ever published, “And these, my articles…”

Tommy cleared his throat once and cast his eyes down when you looked at him. Lastly there was a small box. When you opened it, you found, “The rose I wore, when we were kids. The one my brother stole…” And now you couldn’t find the words, “I hardly… I didn’t even know you… back then. Why?” Tommy grabbed his case and started searching for a cigarette. “Tommy,” you insisted, “I had no idea. Why did you keep all of these?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked lightly. You stared at the content of the secret drawer and decided that nothing was ever obvious when it came to Thomas Shelby. “Well?” you questioned. “I love you.”

*** Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #the shelby clan #love language

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stylesberries · 4 years

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Rainbow Cardigan

Summary: Harry loses his favorite cardigan. You learn how to knit. (Based on the JW Anderson cardigan knitting trend.)

Genre(s): fluff, a sexual innuendo

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning(s): mentions of sexual intercourse.

Harry’s sense of style is one of the main things that make people around automatically drowns to him. High waisted flares, custom Gucci suits and newsboy caps - Harry in a nutshell.

His style is so distinctive, that even if his face and tattoos were covered, people around would still recognize him just by looking at his outfit.

You, of course, are one of the many fans of Harry’s style. Being his girlfriend had its benefits. Getting to steal his clothes was, obviously, on top of the list.

“Sweetheart!” Harry calls out for you from the bedroom.

You got up from your place in the living room, following your boyfriend’s voice. You knew that if he just wanted to tell you something, he would’ve texted. He clearly needs you to come up to him, so that’s exactly what you do.

Going up the stairs, you kept thinking about who could be the killer in the new detective series episode you’ve been watching.

When you reached your bedroom, your eyes trailed right to your worrying boyfriend, who was walking in circles around the room with his brows furrowed and in deep thought.

“Love, is everything okay? You seem upset.” You gently started.

He really looked frustrated, and you had no idea what was the reason behind it. He would always take every hardship light-heartedly, knowing that everything can be solved and everything can be fixed, and if that’s not the case, he would say, “Well, that’s what life’s about, isn’t it? It can’t always be easy. That’s the beauty of it.” Your mind started walking in circles just like your distraught boyfriend, thinking about anything that could’ve caused him to react this way.

“Y/N, I think I lost m’rainbow cardigan.”

Then it hit you. He really loved that cardigan. It wasn’t just adorable, warm and cozy. He wore it for your first date, and being someone who imbues everything with meaning and gets emotionally attached to things, his reaction wasn’t surprising to you.

“My dear, I’m sure we will find it. Come on. I’ll help you lo-”He cut you off full of sadness and frustration.

“I’ve already looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I’ve looked in every room, on every shelf. I looked under every couch, just in case. I even checked the stove. Like, come on, it could never be there, but I still looked! I don’t know what t’do. I always take it along wherever I go. If I am here and it’s not - I lost it. I fucking lost it. Y/N, what do I do? Where else could I look?” He was full-on bawling now. You couldn’t help but cut the distance separating you short and hug him.

“Don’t worry, Har. We will find it. I know how much it means to you. We’ll find it.” You kept repeating it. Although, your voice was muffled by his hair, he caught every word leaving your mouth.

“I cannot lose it. I can’t. What if it’s lost forever? How could I let it out of my sight?” The sight of him so genuinely saddened by the situation made you let out a sigh. You were full of compassion and understanding, trying to remember the last time you saw the poor cardigan. Failing to do so, you turned to your crushed boyfriend and tried to get information out of him.

“When did you last see it, baby? Do you remember?” You carefully asked, trying your best not to push him even more. Judging by his appearance, you knew that he could easily beat himself up for losing the cardigan to a point of having an anxiety attack, and that was the last thing you wanted right now.

You watched him slowly breathe air in and out, trying to slow his heart rate down.

“I haven’t seen it for over a week. The last time I’ve seen it was at the studio, I think. I put it on t’go there. It was cold that day.” He explained.

You remembered exactly what day he was talking about. He went to the studio early and you missed him a lot, so when he came back home you jumped on him, which later on led to a heated make out session. The thing was that you didn’t remember taking the cardigan off of him that day.

“Har.” You tried to be as gentle as you possibly could, but you knew that there wasn’t anything that could make him feel better about losing something so dear to him.

“Yeah?” He took a step back and looked at your saddened face.

“I’m afraid you came home without the cardigan.”

After having your crying-your-eyes-out-because-of-a-piece-of-clothing session, you were determined to find the cardigan. Knowing that Harry just went to the studio and back that day, you did the same. Harry asked everyone working at the studio if they’ve seen the cardigan, and with every new person your hope withered more and more. As you asked more people and tried to track the cardigan down, you realized that it was probably lost on a bench he sat on by the studio, to drink his morning coffee. That meant that you’ll never see it again. Understanding the hopelessness of the situation, Harry gave up looking.

Seeing your Harry walking around the house completely destroyed by the situation, you couldn’t help, but think about a way to make him feel better.

He would skip his morning runs to sulk in the bed, cuddled up in the blankets with his feet tangled with yours. Harry was never one to skip any part of his daily routine, so you understood how attached he was to the lost cardigan.

One night, after you both finished your dinner and went to watch some rom-com in the living room, your grandmother called. You apologized to Harry and answered the call.

As you gave her an update on your life these days, Harry cuddled closed into your side and let his eyes close.

Your grandmother asked you about everything, starting from what you had for breakfast to how your university project was going.

In couple of minutes Harry started lightly snoring into your ear. Next thing you know she’s telling you about the new blanket that she knitted.

Then an idea came to your mind. You’ll knit him a new cardigan.

Next day was spent shopping for yarn and needles and watching knitting tutorials. The fact that Harry was out in the studio made it even easier for you to bring your ideas to life.

In the beginning you found it a little hard, but with a little motivation you knitted a couple of colorful squares, just like the ones in Harry’s precious cardigan.

The image of the cardigan mostly came from your head, but whenever you needed a reference you could type “Harry Styles Rainbow Cardigan” into Google and freshen the memories.

It took you some time to get the cardigan together, knitting every little square with the other, making sure everything is as neat as possible.

You felt bad for lying to your sweetheart, but you had to admit - it was fun running around hiding your surprise from him.

When the cardigan was ready, you took a look at your creation.

Although, it wasn’t the same as the one you both had so many memories with, it was made with love, coming straight from your heart.

You finished the last touches at about 7 o’clock, and Harry was supposed to come home a bit later today due to a meeting with the management. You waited for him until late evening and found a box to put your little creation into.

After folding the wrapping paper around the box and tying a bow from the ends of the yellow ribbon, that was now wrapped around the sides of the box, you laid down in your bed and picked up an unread book to finally finish it.

In an hour or so your exhausted boyfriend stepped into the house. You could head his steps coming from outside of the bedroom. By the time he came back home, the book found its way back on the side table, as you wrapped the blanket around yourself to mimic the warmth of missing Harry.

Harry walked into the room slowly, making sure he doesn’t step on certain creaking planks in the floor, not to wake you up. He carefully undressed himself and folded the corner of the blanket to get under it. As he carefully positioned himself next to you, you turned around, making sure not to take him by surprise and scare the living shit out of him.

“You’re so late, love. Did something happen?” You asked, hoping that everything was okay with the upcoming tour. Your mind didn’t view anything else as a possibility because you trusted him completely. You knew you had nothing to worry about, as he proved his loyalty to you enough for you not to have any doubts about it.

“Jeff kept me a bit late, m’precious. We were going through the tour schedule. I’m sorry I made y’worry, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a kiss on your temple. You let him shower you with more and more kisses, before you remembered the box you hid in the closet. You eyes abruptly opened and Harry caught the look of realization on your face.

“What happened, bean? Not in the mood?” He made sure to ask you.

You got up from the bed, pushing his hands off of you, and walked right to the closet.

“Baby? Is everything alright?” Harry was confused over the way you were acting.

You left his questions unanswered and grabbed the box, after opening the doors of the closet looking for it. You walked back up to the bed, but now from Harry’s side. He seemed completely oblivious of what was coming next and, obviously, awaited for an explanation.

“It’s a present. For you.” You now let yourself smile at him, after putting on a show to freak him out. You let out a laugh after seeing Harry look insulted by the way you played with his feelings.

“You’re a meanie. That’s not cute. Was gonna make love to you just now, but I am no longer going to do so.” Harry ended the dramatically long sentence with a theatrical frown.

Despite the little show he put on for you, he couldn’t help but keep looking at the box, laying in front of him.

“What’s that?” He curiously asked.

“Open and see for yourself.” You moved closer to him, with only the box separating you.

Harry carefully unwrapped the bow, making sure he doesn’t rip the paper you carefully wrapped. Something so small, almost unnoticeable, but another thing you loved about this man. There was love in every little gesture and move of his. He could’ve just torn the paper and the ribbon off, acting on his curiosity, but he didn’t. He knew you took time to make it look pretty for him, and he wouldn’t ruin your creation, even if it’s just wrapping paper.

When Harry got to opening the box, he looked up at you, as if asking for your permission. You nodded, smile grazing your face.

As the lid came off the box and the bright colors of the carefully knitted cardigan started gleaming from the light, coming from the lamp on the bedside table, Harry’s facial expression turned from curiosity to utter shock. Noticing his surprise, you chose to speak up.

“I made it myself. I knew how heartbroken you were after losing that cardigan, so I thought - maybe I could knit it for you. I know it’s not perfect, but it would make me very happy if you kept it.” You nervously blabbered, thinking that he didn’t seem as happy as you thought he would be.

“You knitted it yourself?” He looked up at you in shock with tearful eyes, as his hands finally let themself touch the buttons of the item.

“I did. I watched tutorials on YouTube. Thanks to those, I learned how to knit.” You joked, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

“You learned how to knit to make this for me?” His voice turned raspy, as it always did when he got emotional and he looked like he desperately needed a hug.

So that’s what you gave him.

“Come here, my love. Please don’t cry. I didn’t knit it to make you sad. I wanted to make you happy.” You cooed into his ear.

Harry held onto you with such need and desperation, that you haven’t seen him show before. He squeezed you closer, his hands still keeping hold of the knitted piece.

“You made me so happy. You make me so fucking happy.”

#harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles masterlist #harry styles blurbs #calm #jw anderson #cardigan

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Old Friends, New Adventures

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic - this scene occurs post-Romantic epilogue. Approx. 2200 words of fluff and stuff.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: My Home is Your Home

Mitsuhide was expecting to see Sarutobi. Afterall, he had invited the ninja and arranged the trip to align with the . . . worm hole. Instead, it was Ranmaru waiting for them downstairs. His wide smile and bright gaze made the warlord suspicious. He watched through narrowed eyes as his fiance bounded down the stairs and threw her arms around Ranmaru in greeting.

“It’s good to see you! Is everything ok?” She let go to look him in the face.

Ranmaru laughed. “I was about to say the same thing!” He took her hands. “I just had to come say hi when I realized this was where -” his gaze shifted to Mitsuhide. “Akechi ran off with you to.”

“We didn’t run off!” She pulled her hands out of his grip, clearly remembering Mitsuhide’s advice. “Anyway, I thought you were staying in Azuchi. Did you come all the way here to visit me?”

“Yes, why are you here,” Mitsuhide added.

Ranmaru took them both in with his wide, guileless eyes. “Oh! I suppose you left before Nobunaga announced it! I am taking a message to Kyoto for him.” He leaned forward and whispered theatrically. “It’s top secret.”

Mitsuhide did not believe the page. There were countless messengers for most letters and for important correspondence, there was no way Nobunaga would entrust that to Ranmaru. He needed to see this letter. With his crescent moon smile in place, the kitsune replied. “In that case, I must offer you my hospitality tonight. I’ll have a guest room set up for you.”

He expected Ranmaru to argue, and had already prepared several potential counter-arguments. None of them were needed. The page bowed. “Thanks, Mitsuhide! That’s really nice of you!”

His reaction almost made the warlord second guess himself. Was this what Ranmaru wanted all along? And if so, why? But he couldn’t ask. He just smiled and nodded to his castle staff. They would know what room to put the page in. It had thick walls and no windows. A secure door that could slide into place from the outside, turning the room into a cell. Mitsuhide would have answers from the page one way or another.

“Would you like to join us, Ranmaru? We’re going to visit the town and then have dinner here at the castle.” The chatelaine glanced at Mitsuhide to make sure this was alright.

“No, no. I’ll just head up to my room for a nap. I ran all the way here and I’m pretty tired.” The page wrinkled his nose. “I know you two want some alone time, anyway. But maybe we can have dinner together before I leave. That would be nice.”

Mitsuhide’s smile widened. Miyake could keep tabs on Ranmaru and maybe that would reveal all he needed to know. They said their goodbyes and left the page in good hands.

Outside the castle, the wind picked up. On the horizon, grey storm clouds billowed and boiled. There was a charge in the afternoon air that set teeth on edge. Even grown men looked askance at the shadows under trees and the darkness between close-packed buildings. It felt like the town was waiting for something.

The chatelaine noticed the brewing storm and frowned. “Do you think we’ll get rained on?”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “If a storm blows through while we are out, we can stop in a shop until it passes. This isn’t the season for heavy rains.” Still, he felt the strange currents in the cool breeze. His hand settled on his sword hilt and for just a moment, he thought of bringing the tanegashima. But this was not a battlefield and he was confident he could handle whatever came.

Many of the town’s residents still remembered the battle at Enryaku-ji, and they regarded their new lord with a wary respect. It was obvious in the way their gaze skittered to the side. How they answered every question with care. His little mouse noticed.

Her smiles were gentle and her compliments many. Mitsuhide could not help but be impressed at the way she set people at ease in her presence. She would make an excellent partner, he thought. One that could balance his strength and weakness. He didn’t notice the proud smile that turned his lips up or the warmth in his eyes as he watched her.

It was early evening when the sullen sky began to loose fat, wet rain drops. They fell in a slow but steady patter, creating little streams down the sides of buildings. The street sellers packed up their wares and people ducked into homes and shops to wait out the storm. Mitsuhide and his little one tucked themselves under the eaves of a closed shop.

“Do you want to stop by the inn for some warm sake before we go home?” Mitsuhide had to lean close to be heard over the rain on the rooftop.

She smiled and nodded. “Just one for me though. I can’t drink like you do.”

Mitsuhide grinned, wondering what she would say if she knew he didn’t drink as much as he seemed to. A man needed to have some secrets though. He grasped her hand and together they ran out under the rain, across the street and down two doors to the building with bright lanterns and music.

The inn here was always busy. It was a waystation for merchants between Kyoto and Azuchi. A natural place to stop and rest. Today was no exception. With the storm outside, the inn’s benches were packed from one side to the other. Mostly with merchants and their guards. A few townspeople, and some of the evening ladies who walked between tables looking for the most advantageous company.

One of the servers recognized Mitsuhide as they walked in, and hurried over. In moments, they were seated in a private room, hidden from the common area by deftly painted screens. Another server arrived with a tray of warm sake and onigiri.

“For you, my lord.” Both servers bowed low. It seemed they remembered his comment last time about preferring easy to eat foods.

“My betrothed would like -” Mitsuhide began, but she shook her head.

“No, this is fine. I’m not that hungry right now.”

Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow but nodded agreeably. “Thank you. You may go.”

Both men ducked out quickly, as if afraid the kitsune warlord might change his mind.

“They really seem afraid of you,” the chatelaine frowned after them. “I wish they knew how good and kind you really are.”

“Don’t go ruining my reputation, little mouse. I worked hard on it.” Mitsuhide laughed, but he was only half joking. “Let them see you as the kind and gentle Akechi, and continue to believe I am the monster.”

“But-”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “It is what must be. For now, at least.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue but after a moment, she smiled. “Alright. I know it is necessary, but I will look forward to the day I can introduce the Mitsuhide I know to all of them.”

He felt his cheeks heat at her sweet words and the look of adoration she wore. It never ceased to amaze him how precious she could be. To hide his unwieldy emotions, he turned his head to look at the screens. “Are you going to pour the sake or keep chattering away, little mouse?”

“Ooh that got to you,” she giggled. “I can see red in your cheeks!”

“You had best pour me a drink before I decide to return the favor,” he murmured. His tone had turned more husky than brusque. He hated the way she made him reveal his heart to her. It was impossible to hide from her.

“Alright, alright.”

Mitsuhide felt her move, heard the delicate clink of porcelain. He tried to focus on details to calm the fast beat of his heart and the warmth in his face. It wasn’t working very well. All he could think of was getting his love back to their room in the castle and peeling every stitch of fabric from her. With his teeth.

“You know, Nobunaga asked me once to serve him sake from my lips . . .”

Wide-eyed, Mitsuhide’s head snapped around to look at her. She was holding his sake cup in her hands. While he watched, she put it to her mouth and tipped it just enough to leave a trace of wine on her lips.

It was too much. First the sweetness and now this bold flirtation. Mitsuhide pulled her to him and kissed her. The rice wine blended with the taste of her, a heady alcohol to the drunkenness of his love.

She was vibrant and alive against him, her body warm, her hands caressing his back. Her lips moved against his, savoring the kiss. A breathy moan lost itself between them.

Mitsuhide might have done more, had they not been interrupted. Again. An embarrassed cough from a silhouette behind the painted screen. He broke their kiss reluctantly and turned his head to face the door. “Yes?”

Miyake poked his head in, cheeks stained red, eyes bright with held laughter. “Ehm. Sorry to interrupt your . . drink.”

“I assume this is an emergency?” The warlord’s tone was not amused.

“Maybe?” Miyake shrugged. “The page disappeared from his room. He is not in the castle and no one has seen him in the town. I have some men out looking for him. In fact, I’m on my way to join them. But I wanted to bring you this - in case it’s important.” He held out an envelope.

Mitushide took it. His expression remained one of calm annoyance, but inside he was a tumult of emotion. Worry for his little one, concern for the Oda forces, and even for Ranmaru. It was hard to play the traitor, harder still to be one. The envelope was sealed and on the front, it was addressed to the chatelaine.

She looked at it curiously. “Why do you suppose Ranmaru ran off? You think he’s in such a big hurry? And why did he leave me a letter? He could have just said goodbye in person.”

“I hope the letter will enlighten us.” Mitsuhide broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It held just three words.

I am sorry.

“What do you suppose that means?” The chatelaine looked anxious and confused.

Her naivete was endearing, but there were times Mitsuhide wished she was more suspicious.

Miyake snorted. “Pretty sure he’s not apologizing for missing dinner.” He turned around at the sound of a disturbance in the common room. Benches being pushed across the floor, shouts of alarm, and the stomp of running feet.

A ball of ice solidified in Mitsuhide’s belly. He hadn’t thought the ninja would act so soon - nor so precipitously. And now . . . he stood up. “Let’s see what is going on.”

The three of them pushed past the milling crowd and out into the rainy street. Across Lake Awaumi, red flames reflected against the steel grey sky. A fire big enough that even from this distance, they could smell the char of wood.

“Is that Azuchi,” his little mouse asked in a small voice.

“You can bet your best slippers, my lady.” Miyake’s face was set in a hard smile. One that promised violence to come.

“It appears, my little one, that our vacation has been cut short. We must return to Azuchi tonight.” Mitsuhide hugged her, taking comfort as much as giving it. The peace he’d hoped for was short lived, and now there was work to be done.

Above them, the storm rumbled and the rain began to fall in earnest. In moments, the fires across the lake were no more than a red glimmer barely seen through the wall of falling water. There was no sound but the rushing rain and the thunder.

Mitsuhide, Miyake, and the chatelaine fled back toward Sakamoto Castle to gather what they needed to return to Azuchi.

A figure collided with them in the street. Miyake stumbled and almost fell. Mitsuhide pushed his beloved behind him and set a hand on his sword.

“I - I’m sorry. I can’t see anything without my glasses. Please accept my deepest apologies!” The man had to shout to be heard, but even with his voice raised, Mitsuhide recognized the speaker.

“Sarutobi Sasuke.” It was an inopportune arrival, but then, neither of them could have planned for the events of this evening.

“Sasuke!” The chatelaine pushed past her fiancee to throw her arms around her old friend.

Mitsuhide pushed wet hair back from his face, squinting into the darkness. It looked like the ninja was alone, as agreed.

“Uh, my lady? Could we do this someplace dry?” Miyake’s strained voice cut through the storm sounds.

Sasuke nodded, wiping at his face. “Yes, that would be preferable. We don’t have much time though. I miscalculated the -”

A rush of wind silenced whatever else he’d been about to say. It came with a flash of lightning so bright, it blinded. And a roll of thunder that shook him to his bones. As suddenly as the wind came, it died. It left behind only empty silence and the sense of a vast space.

For a heartbeat, Mitsuhide panicked. This was a strange place, one without a sky or ground. Without familiar sounds or smells. He was alone. His little one, gone.

And then her hand found his.

He traced the small bones with his thumb, fingers entwined with hers. Though he wasn’t sure what was happening, he feared he understood.

Next: Adrift

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic

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chibimyumi · 4 years

Photo

Redesign Prompt RESULTS!

Alright, thank you everyone who has voted, the results are now in! Overwhelmingly our winner is Ranmao 🐈!

First of all, I need to insert a few caveats here. Unlike with Victorian fashion, I do not have years and years of studying of Qing dynasty-fashion behind me. So whatever results I show here are the product of a fortnight of reading up and meticulous studying of contemporary photographs. a.k.a. I am merely scraping the surface here. But! I do promise that everything shown here is done to the best of my ability to be responsible as a content provider.

Now without further ado, let us dive into Ranmao’s current design, the blatantly obvious inaccuracies, and how I propose to redes...ign... her outfit while keeping the original intact as much.... as possible???? Heck, this is not even worthy of being called a ‘redesign’, this is straight up designing from scratch!

Hair

Let us start with her bangs. Her bangs are in fact surprisingly accurate, as late Qing dynasty women would wear their bangs in a variety of Bettie bangs trimmed well above the eyebrows. Having sides of the bangs growing longer framing the face was usual too, though they would be cut slightly thicker than Ranmao’s. Though, we don’t know how much hair Ranmao has, so I see no reason to alter it.

Twin braids are very much associated with the “China doll look”, but they seem to have been branded into our image of the “Chinese Girl” because it was the go-to look for unmarried women in Republic China (which is many years later than Ranmao’s time, and also has more surviving images.)

In Ranmao’s time, unmarried girls would either wear the bottom part of their hair down, or have everything tied into a single braid behind them. Girls who preferred a more feminine look would often decorate the sides or the top with flowers or other ornaments depending on their wealth.

Yana’s notes say that the flower in Ranmao’s hair is a Chinese peony, which is also called the Empress of Flowers in Chinese as well as Japanese culture. I could find sources on how the peony was the symbol of the Empress of China, and how one better avoid wearing any type of peonies around the Empress herself for fear of being suspected of disrespect. But I could not find any evidence of such flowers being banned for other people, so presumably it was more an ‘unwritten code of politeness’ rather than fashion law.

Hence, I kept the pink peony design for Ranmao, and decorated them in the way Qing women would have.

Neckline

By far the most interesting thing I learned from this redesign attempt was that the “mandarin collar” - the thing that pops up first in most people’s minds when thinking about Chinese fashion - was in fact not at all common.

In this academic work on Chinese fashion history, Finnane writes that the ‘high collar’ was “not a common feature of costume before the twentieth century.” Instead, most costumes would have had a round neckline.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 93

The ‘high collar’ gained popularity in early 1900s in China after the Europeans brought with them the beauty standard for high collars, as well as slim-fitted silhouettes. The Chinese increasingly adopted this type of collar and the slim silhouette (the well known ‘china dress/qipao/cheongsam’), and the relatively many early photos that survived helped engrave this stereotype into our minds.

Sleeves

I do not think it requires any mention, but 19th century Chinese fashion did not include boleros... For many of the original designs of Ranmao I can sort of see where Yana got that image from, but this bolero-look truly beats me.

The sleeves worn in the late Qing period were relatively wide, though they were starting to slim down over time. Late Qing women enjoyed much more flexible clothing rules than earlier Qing women, and the width of the sleeves was in great part determined by personal preference, season, but mostly one’s wealth.

Needless to say, the larger the sleeves the more fabric and embroidery it would require, and thus more expensive. Also, the wider the more it would get into the wearer’s way.

I don’t know how much thought Yana put into Ranmao’s original design in relation to her function as elite bodyguard, but considering how the original has zero practicality and only serves to maximise Ranmao’s attractiveness, I have no qualms about giving Ranmao fairly large sleeves too. Besides, let us assume that Lau is responsible for providing Ranmao with clothes. Illegal money tends to fill the pockets quite deeply, I don’t think he can’t spare a few pounds for big sleeves.

Wider sleeves would expose much of ‘a lady’s precious skin’, as such a more fitted layer would have been worn underneath. (The sleeves under the wider sleeves obviously did not have to be orange-ish. This was merely coincidence that both my redesign and the visual source have this colour.)

Silhouette

The figure hugging silhouette x Chinese clothes was - as mentioned above - not at all a thing in Ranmao’s time. In fact, the accentuation of the “female curves” was considered very inappropriate if not downright ugly in the Qing dynasty.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 94

Yana’s notes mention that the thing Ranmao wears is just an European corset and that that is the only thing ‘English’ about her attire.

Well... I don’t know where the idea that Victorians wore corsets on the outside comes from, but I myself admittedly was fooled by this a few years ago too... I promise you all now however, Victorians decidedly did not wear their ‘bras’ on the outside. I think even now this look is considered rather ‘questionable’ by most people.

Instead, Qing dynasty clothes were mostly cut wide and straight, loosely dangling around their bodies offering maximum comfort and space. You feared Ranmao killing you in her corset? Now tremble before her now blessed with maximised agility.

Trousers

Well... I considered ‘translating’ Ranmao’s attire to 2020 standard like I did for O!Ciel, but that would not be Tumblr-filter approved. Skirts so short they could be mistaken for a belt are nothing too surprising today, but wearing one with a split that deep is probably a bit too revealing even by today’s standards.

By the late Qing dynasty, men and women, rich and poor alike predominantly wore trousers. Long robes (skirts) were definitely in fashion too, but they were reserved for those who could afford to not have much agility. If you were a farmer, robes would not have been your first option. Perhaps the way long skirts were viewed by the Qing Chinese was not unlike the way we see them now; ‘more classy’ ‘more feminine’ and ‘less convenient’, but not the only way to express femininity.

In these pictures below we can see relatively rich women, married and unmarried alike, all wearing trousers.

Ranmao is predominantly a fighter, and as trousers are plenty feminine in Chinese fashion culture, I don’t see why she would not choose to wear trousers instead of a restricting long skirt. Hence I gave her a pair of trousers.

Shoes

Like I said before, “the shoes are correct...” But the anklets definitely are not!

Golden or silver anklets are something that are worn by very, VERY young children in China. Even to this day it is customary among many Chinese people to gift newborn children at least one piece of pendant, bracelet or anklet, for it is believed to bring the child luck. More practically, this piece of jewellery will become the child’s first piece of property then, which can be sold later SHOULD they ever run into a financially difficult situation.

These anklets or bracelets would not be removed from the child unless they have outgrown them, which happens fairly quick. Ranmao who is probably full grown should have outgrown them at least ten years ago. Hence, seeing these things on Ranmao would probably make it look like she is still wearing diapers or bibs.

Chinese people would likewise not have worn shoes barefoot. Instead, they would have worn cotton socks which were mostly white.

DOUBLE HAMMERS

HERE COME THE WEAPONS! Luckily Yana wrote the following note or I would never have guessed what they are for my knowledge about Chinese weapons is next to nothing.

“These are【SUPER】heavy. They are weapons called 双錘 (double hammers) and they in fact exist. I heard these were used by power-type warriors.”

So, I googled 双錘 and it turns out that the type Ranmao is holding do indeed exist! But... only in fiction and theatre.

The hammers that were used in actual combat were either very thin and long, or short and plump. Such hammers were one of the most primitive metal weapons in China, and quickly fell out of favour among Chinese warriors when more practical weapons such as the metal spear, sword and bows were invented. The hammers mostly retained their value because of their weight in heroic tales and myths about legendary warriors and deities.

I don’t have the full details, but apparently according to some legends or myths, one of such big-ass hammers could deal a force of 200kg, and thus 400kg combined. Regardless of this being realistic or not, it sure does sound very cool! It is therefore no wonder this primitive weapon retains its popularity even today.

Nowadays when these hammers are used, they are either the blown up theatrical versions, or the smaller versions for the sake of preserving martial arts.

I had a bit of a dilemma as to which version to give Ranmao, but in the end I settled with the short and heavy ones because I wanted to keep the idea of this small and innocent looking girl wielding solid metal balls. Two cheer-leading sticks would simply not have the same weight, figuratively and literally.

Alright everyone! Did you enjoy my response to your votes? I hope you did ^^ Non-European fashion history really is not my strong suit, so my deepest apologies if I messed anything up.

Pray tell if I did, I am always happy to learn ^^

#Ran mao #ranmao #ran-mao #redesign #redesign prompt #art #my art #fan art #fanart #fan-art #Chinese clothes #UGGHGHHGHG non-European fashion REALLY is not my strong suit #BUT I learned a lot and I had fun!

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uglypastels · 3 years

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thought of this cute concept! Where you have to get a bridesmaid dress and Tom comes with you and the worker thinks you came to try on wedding dresses and toms like 👀👀👀 try some on. And you do and toms really acting like it’s a say yes to the dress episode and making up a whole fake scenario about you two getting married 😂

This is such a fucking cuute ideaaa. i love it. for real, like i don’t ever really see myself getting marries but whenever i flip the channel to TLC and say yes to the dress is on I get so emotional because yesss i also wanna be a pretty princessss _______________________________________

You had felt honoured when one of your friends has asked you to be one of the bridesmaids but with that came that you had to wear a bridesmaid dress at the ceremony. Your friend had always wanted a big traditional wedding, and you got that, but why she wanted to continue the tradition of disgusting bridesmaid dresses, you never understood. The dress design she had chosen was bright big and frilly, everything that you hated, basically. So, when you learned that you had to go to the store yourself to pick it up, something in you struck a cord of humiliation.

You could not go in there alone.

Fortunately, your best friend Tom sacrificed himself to tag along with you. That made it already slightly better, Tom always knew how to make a bad situation better. The two of you always had fun. It would be alright.

So you walked into the store. Tom had his arm around your shoulder. The second you walked in it was as if you had been punched in the face with chiffon and organza. And it was all so. white. You looked over at Tom but he just winked.

“Good morning,” a woman behind the counter said, “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a bridesmaid dress, should be under the name y/n?” You told her, still looking around at the racks of dresses. You had no idea where one started and the other ended. It was one big cloud of material and rhinestones.

“Let me take a look in the back, make yourself comfortable, this might take a while,” she smiled before leaving through the door. Not really sure what to do, Tom sat down in a chair and you looked through the dresses. You had never been a fan of them, but there was something about the wedding dress that made you melt a bit. Carefully, you pushed the hangers to the side, one by one. Each piece looked beautiful.

“Looking for one yourself?” The clerk had come back, and you startled your way around to look at her. She had come back and was holding a large black garment bag. At least you didn’t have to walk around the city with it being visible.

“Oh, huh-”

“Yes, she is!” Tom stood up. You looked over at him, confused. He made his way over to you. “She’s been putting it off forever. I’ve tried to tell her that she should do it before it’s too late. Of course, I think she’d look amazing in whatever she wore, but I want my girl to look and feel like a queen.” He ended his little theatrics with a kiss on your cheek. You kept looking like a deer in the headlights at him, having no idea what he was talking about, stunned at how he had called you his girl. The woman, however, was smiling and looked as if she was about to cry.

“Well then, would you like to try some on?” she asked hopefully.

“Don’t we need an appointment?” You asked.

“Usually yes, but today business has been a bit slow, as you can see.” The woman, who’s name tag you could now read to be saying “Layla”, pointed around the shopping space.

“I don’t think we got the money on us to-” you tried to stop this but Tom was having none of it.

“Pish posh, darling. I’ll pay.”

“Walk in’s only pay the cost of the champagne and cake if you’d like some,” Layla smiled. “and any damage to the dresses, if it happens.”

“Have people sat on the cake?” Tom asked curiously.

“It has happened. It would only be a dry-cleaning or repair fee, not the full price, of course, but anyway, shall we get started?” Layla looked at you excitedly. It was nice to know she was actually enthusiastic about her job. You nervously looked over at Tom, who was just nudging you to go with it.

“Alright then,” you gave in.

The next moment, Layla took out a very generous slice of red velvet cake for Tom and a glass of champagne, which he more than enjoyed while you got changed into a dress. You were taken to a little room in the back and waited for Layla to bring you a few dresses to choose from. Since you had no idea what you would like in a dress, you let her pick whatever and you’d go from there.

“Alright, so I picked out a bit of everything. We got an A-line, mermaid, ballgown.” Now, you had watched a few episodes of Say Yes to the Dress so you knew the basics of the terms, but it still felt very intimidating to have it in front of you.

“Let’s go with the mermaid?” you said a bit unsure. Layla nodded at your choice and helped you get dressed in it. There was no mirror in the room so you had to go out to the main space to see yourself. It was a bit of a hassle to walk in it, especially in the borrowed heels that the store provided, but you got there. When you walked in, Tom had looked up and the cake he was eating almost fell out of his mouth as he stared.

“Holy shit,” he choked out. He kept looking at you in this awe as you made your way to the pedestal in front of the mirrors. Now you could finally look at yourself. You gasped at what you saw.

The dress was gorgeous and elegant, with more lace than rhinestones covering it. The shape of it fitted your shape perfectly (with the help of some clippers in the back, of course, to adjust to your size). The straps were the off the shoulder kind, hanging on loosely on your arms. The train fell smoothly down and followed your every move and turn, like your own waves of organza sea at your feet. Layla walked up to you and pinned in a veiled tiara in your hair for the full effect.

You could see Tom in your reflection, and you saw how he was trying to hold in his tears. You turned to face him.

“What do we think?”

“It’s gorgeous.” He said, “You look fucking amazing- sorry,” he apologised to Layla for his language, but she didn’t seem to mind. He put the plate of cake down on the little table next to him and once again got up to make his way over to you. He took your hand and leaned in to kiss you. It was happening so suddenly that you forgot to panic and just let it happen, giving into it. His lips were so soft and tasted like cream cheese frosting, which made you giggle a bit.

Tom pulled away, now looking a bit sour. “I’m just not really sure about the veil, do you have another one maybe?” He asked. Layla said she’d go look in the back and disappeared, giving the two of you a moment of privacy.

“What the hell is going on,” you said in disbelief at what just happened. You had just kissed Tom!? Your childhood best friend Tom?! Or actually, he had kissed you?!

“Well, it feels a bit backward but I was hoping if I could take you out sometime? Like, on a date?”

“I’d love to,” you said. He pulled you in for another soft kiss. You pulled away right at the same time as Layla walked back into the room with another veil.

“So are you saying yes to dress, hun?” she asked. You looked over at Tom. His wink made you roll your eyes.

“Actually, I think we’ll have to wait a bit on that.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #fanfic #fanfiction #blurb #imagine #au #fluff #request

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nebraska-is-a-myth · 4 years

Text

Dream Team - crime AU

Bare with me okay:

I also have an idea to continue this if you want more

Imagine somewhere in the world, a city, so full of corruption and violence and death, riddled with dirt and grime and poverty. A city that's run by no one, full of chaos and crime. Where the rich con the poor into believing they are good people who want them to thrive and work amongst them, when in reality the poor stay poor and the rich stay rich.

The local police force are drowning trying to keep the criminals at bay, robberies and murders left and right, more and more young naïve police officers die on duty every year thinking they can be the one to save the city from the shambles it has become.

Then a new type of chaos comes to town

At first the police think it's the return of the long dormant gang member techno

But then they spot a large spray painted smiley face on the wall in the warehouse of one of the largest drug trafficking rings in the city, every single worker slaughtered

The police think it's a one off when no trace of a new smiley face or even any indication that this mystery murderer exists until a new one is drawn on every single crime scene the police investigate for the next two weeks

Some thought he was a vigilante, a hero in disguise who came to the city to save them, to do what the police never could

That was, until a mysterious man walks into the local police station with a loaded gun ,wearing a white mask that is strangely similar to the ones that have been cropping up all over the city

Some officers actually lower their weapons with the belief that he’s here to turn in another wanted criminal

Oh how wrong they were

He fires without mercy and efficiently, every single shot hits its target

He waits, only for a moment, he stands in the middle of the room, corpses around him and footsteps approaching

He swiftly draws his pistol, taking out 3 of the 4 cameras in the room, and he turns to face the last, a smile drawn on his face

“We haven't formally met. My names Dream”

He talks to the camera like he's performing for it, for the viewers that aren't even watching. He talks with passion and emotion, like he's doing this whole thing to entertain. He continues without pausing, almost as if this whole thing was scripted to give the perfect performance.

“Although, most of you were delusional enough to call me a vigilante. Look, I get it, no hard feelings. But you have to understand, I can't just let this slide. I've got a reputation to uphold here, and I'm clearly not getting the recognition that I deserve!”

He seems like he's filled with genuine anger, he waves his loaded pistol around as he talks with his hands. Good thing everyone else was already dead, he could accidentally shoot someone with the way he aimed it around like it wasn't even there.

“You think these pigs could have taken down those vermin, I accomplished in a week what they haven't been able to do in almost a decade! I should be feared! Not praised for murder! But no, instead I get compared to these disgusting things! And I'm afraid I just can't stay silent anymore. So today I've prepared a little something for you all to enjoy, all with a little help from my pals.”

He knows that nobody's watching, not yet. It would have been easy enough to broadcast the event live, but there were too many risks that higher forms of law enforcement would get involved too quickly. Not that he wouldn't be able to get away from all the hassle, but being interrupted wasn't something the man was fond of. Despite the lack of a current audience, he knew he had to put on the theatrics, he needed a little something to liven up the 10 o'clock news.

He steps back from the overhead camera, and allows another masked man come into frame.

He's dressed in all black, a panda face mask covering the bottom half of his face, revealing his wide eyes, contrasting the covering of dreams mask. And an orange bandana around his hairline, keeping his brown locks out of his line of sight. He also wore a large gun strapped to his back and knife holsters scattered across his frame.

Dream introduces him to the camera as Sapnap, the man who has been killing corrupt businessmen all over the city, leaving a little card with a pandas face at the scene of every crime. He knows everyone knows who he is. He's the reason the rich are so afraid of one another.

Sapnap eyes the camera, twiddling a knife between his fingers. He doesn't say anything, his menacing glare says enough.

Dream laughs to the camera like it's a comedy show, before another man steps into frame, he's not as light footed as sapnap was, not quite as intimidating either. He's dressed in bright colours that don't quite seem to match. He waves at the camera with a big toothy grin and you can see the tiny ceiling camera in the reflection of what appears to be coloured sunglasses. You could most definitely identify him, even with the terrible quality of the camera his features would still stand out enough for officials to figure out who this guy was. But then again, it didn't really seem like these guys were going for stealth.

Dream then takes note of the device the other man was holding and holds it up for the camera to see like he was doing them a favor by letting them get a closer look.

“My good friend George here has made a little device that allows us to control which cameras are on, and which, are completely useless. It's like having our own personal studio isn't that right guys.”

Sapnap doesn't react, just stands there and continues playing with the knife in his hands. But you can see his face creased in ways that look like a smile beneath the mask. Maybe the cold faced killer act is really just that, an act.

George however smiles like dream had just given him a million dollars. He looks manic in the way it reaches his eyes with such pure joy. And he wines with a laugh trying to get the device out of the masked man's hand, telling him to be careful. Dream too smiles and carefully hands back the device to George as if this wasn't a crime scene at all.

Dream suddenly takes note of the furious banging at the metal doors just out of view of the camera and his eyes wander to them for just a moment, almost as if the noise had startled him, even though it had been there all along.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He reaches behind his back and lifts the larger gun from his shoulders, aiming it at the door on the left, while sapnap finally holsters the knife and aims his loaded gun at the right. Dream then looks back at the camera, a smile still ever present on his masked face. “It can also lock doors. I mean come on guys, it's what you get for building everything on something that can be hacked. Who really needs electric doors anyway, not these guys that's for sure. They're about to be dead in just a second. Come on let's count it down shall we. You ready George.”

George bounces excitedly as dream moves to stand in front of him, gun still aimed at the barricaded officers, he clutches the device in his hands and beams with an ecstatic tone “Ready dream!”

“Sapnap, you ready.”

Sapnap makes a sharp exhale of breath come out his nose, almost as if he was laughing at the statement. Dream takes the small snicker as an affirmative to continue and the masked man starts counting

Five untold secrets

Four already dead

Three fearless killers

Two rival gangs

One dream team

Part 2 , Masterlist

#dream team #dreamwastaken #dream #dreamteam #georgenotfound #sapnap #mcyters #mcyt #crime #let me know if you want more of this #skeppy #badboyhalo #sorry if its bad #tubbo #wilbur soot #dream team smp #dream smp war #youtube #tommyinnit

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agent-cupcake · 3 years

Text

Garreg Mach Café Episode Two: Lucky Seven (Yuri x Reader)

The first thing you learned about him —one of the very few things you knew about him— was that he liked sugar. A lot. You didn’t work the counter most of the time, you just made the drinks. So, you didn’t know who had ordered the heart attack inducing Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe, only that someone was looking for a cavity. Vanilla bean coffee, three pumps of vanilla syrup, and strawberry puree with ice blended and topped with whipped cream, hazelnut drizzle, strawberry drizzle, and red sprinkles.

The second thing you learned about him was his name. Or, more accurately, his lack thereof. People regularly used dumb names. It didn’t really bug you, there was no shame in entertaining someone who thought making a barista call out a drink for Phun E. Monki was the peak of modern entertainment. Not so surprisingly, you saw a lot of hipster and nerd traffic through the café so references and jokes weren’t at all unheard of. Really, this one wasn’t even that bad. Comparatively.

“Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe for Arsène Lupin,” you called, turning around.

“That’s mine,” the waiting customer responded. Shockingly, it was not the top-hat wearing gentleman thief who stood at the counter waiting for his drink. Neither was it the dweeb you expected. Your Arsène Lupin —that is, the man standing on the other side of the glistening lacquered wood countertop— certainly wasn’t normal, but not in the way you had initially assumed.

The third thing you learned about him was that he was disarmingly beautiful. He stood casually; his arms crossed with one of his hands resting lightly on his chin as he watched with a half-smile that you would have sworn had a mischievous glint. Waiting to see if the little joke got a reaction, you figured.

Well, who were you to deny him that? Pushing down the instinctual nerves of talking to someone who belonged more in the technicolor light of your two-past-midnight Instagram escapades rather than the academia chic café, you smiled back. “Here you go, Monsieur Lupin.”

That made his lips twitch in amusement, which shouldn’t have been as gratifying as it was. “Thanks,” Arsène said warmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. It wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to notice, but his fingers were long and thin, the nails neat and manicured. Pretty hands. Attractive hands. You wondered if they were soft, or as strong as they looked, or what they might feel like-

Nope. No. You needed God.

Or Tinder

“I hope you enjoy,” you said, trying to act like you hadn’t just committed some obscene thought crime. He was supposed to leave after that. People got their drinks and either sat down or left. But he didn’t, meeting your eyes with an even gaze. Their violet coloring was striking, drawn out by the purple eyeshadow smoked out over his pale eyelids. The makeup should have been off-putting, you were less than uninterested in the pierced hoard of e-boys that had saturated the modern alternative dating market, but it wasn’t. Not on him, at least.

“This is a cute place,” Arsène said. But he wasn’t looking around the cafe, he was staring directly at you. Which… you weren’t sure if you were to buy into your ego telling you he was flirting or your paranoia that he was laughing at you. “Is it usually this busy?”

Flirting was better, for your sanity’s sake if nothing else, so you smiled, doing a quick check to make sure you weren’t missing any customers. The guy working the register was looking at his phone under the counter.

“You know, you shouldn’t pick such an obvious pseudonym when you’re canvassing a business,” you said playfully. “Charm will only get you so far.”

That made him laugh, his appraising eyes sparkling with amusement as he stabbed a straw past the whipped cream of his drink. “In my experience, charm will get you anywhere.”

“For you, maybe,” you allowed, feeling a little more emboldened by that response. Lowering your voice slightly, you leaned in as if to conspire. “I guess the real question is what you’re stealing, Monsieur Lupin, hearts or jewels?”

“Jewels, usually,” Arsène told you without missing a beat. “I have no need to steal the hearts.” He shrugged one shoulder carelessly, casually. “I collect enough of them as it is.”

A corny, over-confident line like that should have made you laugh. Unfortunately, you kind of believed it. So you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That goes against the spirit of being a Phantom Thief, doesn’t it?”

“Why, do you want me to steal your heart?” Arsène asked. He didn’t sound serious, exactly, but neither was the question joking enough to keep a flush from crawling up your cheeks.

“Baristas don’t have hearts,” you told him theatrically, rejecting your silly reaction. “It’s a void of caffeine, student debt, and the disappointment of our parents.”

Arsène was about to respond when you heard the door jingle open. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the customers who had stepped up to the register. “It looks like you’re needed,” he said, following your eye line.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a strange stab of disappointment. Which was dumb. A little bit of banter with a handsome stranger was nice, but it shouldn’t have been anything else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Arsène said, smirking in a way that made you think he’d seen your dismayed reaction. “Thanks for the drink.”

He raised the cup like a toast goodbye, and you wished him a good day. It was completely ridiculous, but that quick and strange interaction played on loop in your head for the rest of the day. You went from embarrassed, to amused, to insecure, and back again dozens of times. By the next day, you weren’t sure what to think about it and you hated to think that you were watching for him, but-

Well, you were.

The fourth thing you learned about him was that he had a schedule, a specific time slot that seemed to be allocated to getting an overly sugary drink at your little cafe.

“Noa Fruit and Caramel Macchiato for Mr Pink,” you called, already expecting to see his smile based on the name alone. Not that the preparation did a whole lot in lessening the effects. Today Arsène, or Mr Pink, wore a dark striped button up tucked into black pants. The top buttons were undone, showing off the elegant column of his neck and the framing lines of his collarbones. His skin was so pale, like it had never seen the sun, the color perfectly even and milky.

“That’s mine,” he said. Redundantly. Of course it was his.

To think that you’d done your makeup with more care than usual today was embarrassing, but you were glad for it as you passed the drink to him. “Reservoir Dogs, right?” you asked, forcing yourself to not be flustered.

“Very good,” he said in a voice that was borderline condescending.

“You thought I wouldn’t know? I serve coffee in downtown, knowing Tarantino is practically a job requirement,” you said. Arsène laughed warmly, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and mocking, a sound that invited a mess of fluttery nerves to dance around in your stomach which you covered with a smile. “Mr Pink, though… he’s a long way off from being a gentleman thief.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve fallen from grace,” Arsène said, his smile an odd combination of mirth and mystery. “Lupin is... more of an ideal. Reality is hardly ever so romantic.”

“Cheers to that,” you said wryly.

“Although if I had to emulate one of them, I’d far prefer it to be the gentleman,” he said, dropping a few dollars in your tip jar. Cheeky. “Thanks for the treat.”

“Oh… Yeah,” you said, not even thinking to point out that it was your job. Unless he wasn’t talking about the coffee, which was even more baffling. “Have a nice day.”

After that came a lineup of sugary drink orders under the names of famous thieves. Some references you knew immediately, others you had to google later. And always, always, he just about made your heart stop with that smile.

It was… Maybe a week later? Your Arsène had become something like an expectation. Which was ridiculous. And stupid. But it was true, and he hadn’t been in the day before which affected you far more than you dared admit. Seeing the familiar purple head in the lineup of waiting customers was more relieving than it should have been.

A Vanilla Wyvern Wing Latte for Danny Ocean, this time. Unfortunately, there was a swath of customer’s orders that needed filling so you couldn’t give it to him personally, sliding it across the counter before rushing back to the blender. That kind of disappointed you, especially since you hadn’t seen him the day before, until you realized that he had taken a seat along the bar, writing something in a notebook and sipping on the creamy white latte.

Waiting for you? Pushing down the spark of excitement you felt about that, you finished up the orders. After that, you took a breath, grabbing a rag to at least seem productive as you inched towards him.

“You’re awfully far from Vegas, Mr Ocean,” you said. Although you called him that, you still thought of him as Arsène Lupin. Your Arsène.

He looked up from his notebook, the end of his pen pushed against his lip in a distracting way. They were so pink. And shapely, his top lip curved by a perfectly symmetrical cupids bow that no amount of lip kits could falsify. And… And you were staring. Again. He obviously noticed, what with the way he grinned when you forced your eyes up to his, but he gracefully didn’t point it out.

“Casinos are nothing more than a party trick,” he told you lightly, flipping his pen through his fingers before letting it drop to the paper. “I’ve got my eye on something far more valuable.” His eyes were burning into yours as he spoke.

That was the fifth thing you learned about him. Arsène could make anything sound like a double entendre. You thought of yourself as being somewhat difficult to ruffle, but even the most innocuous of comments from him could make your cheeks warm. It was the tone of his smooth, lovely voice. Always speaking under his breath, or low enough that you found yourself leaning in.

“Jewels, right?” you asked, playing it cool because you refused to fall prey to what you knew was a purposeful attempt to throw you off balance. “I heard there was an exhibit coming to town.”

“I’m not really interested in that sort of thing,” Arsène said with a little wave of his elegant hand. “You know the reprehensible means they use to get them, don’t you? So beautiful... but stained with blood. Not too dissimilar from myself, I suppose.”

That momentarily tripped you up. He sounded so genuine, even with the little quip of a joke. Most people couldn’t pull off saying something so nakedly edgy. Maybe it only worked because he was pretty, and you were a fool. So you just smiled. “You really ought to work on this whole subterfuge thing.”

Arsène’s eyes met yours. So intense. “And how would you recommend I do that?”

“Misdirection,” you told him, refocusing on wiping up the counter to avoid his gaze. “The names are bad enough. You’ve gotta at least pretend to be an upstanding member of society, right?”

“Do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly, his head falling to the side, hand braced against his cheek casually. “And here I thought I was perfectly amicable.”

“Oh,” you said. Did he sound offended? You quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t think you are, it’s just that what you said-”

“I’m kidding,” Arsène said, the slightly concerned expression slipping from his face like an easily discarded mask.

You winced, internally kicking yourself. “Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. That was cute,” Arsène said with that oddly infuriating unreadable grin and shutting his notebook to stand up.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, almost confused that he’d wait only to cut the conversation short.

“Haven’t you realized? I’m a wanted man. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Speaking of that, I hope you didn’t miss me too much yesterday. This project is more difficult than I anticipated.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I expect you to come by,” you said. You lied.

“No?” Arsène asked. He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious. “Fine, then. I’m not afraid to admit that I missed you. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait,” you said. And, despite the half-sarcastic affect you tried to put on, you meant it.

It only settled after he’d already left what he really had said. Missed you. Not for the first time, you toyed with the idea of giving him your number. Then again, maybe you were misreading the situation. After all, you didn’t even know his name.

Still, true to his word, he came around the same time the next day.

This time, it was a Cinnamon Dust Frappe for Garrett. Arsène, or Garrett, was wearing a sweater today in a nod to the rainy weather. Just like everything else he wore, it was entirely in service of his allure, a dark knit with leather elbow patches. White clips kept a section of his hair out of his face, which was curling at the ends. From the humidity? Or perhaps he usually straightened it?

“It took me a minute,” you admitted as you handed him his drink, “Garrett. That’s Thief, right? I have to be honest; you don’t really strike me as the gamer type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he responded. After a moment, he added, “I haven’t got much time for games these days, but I have some fond memories from when I was a kid.”

“Probably why you’re a criminal,” you said.

If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second in something like surprise before that was composed into something else, his laughter driving it away. “You might be on to something with that. Video games do make kids violent, after all.”

“So, tomorrow, will it be Ezio? Or Corvo… He’s got a bit of thievery under his belt.”

Arsène scoffed. “I’d never do the same trick twice.”

That made you smile. “I look forward to it.”

After he left, you realized that you’d learned the sixth thing about him. It was such a small and mundane detail, but there was something charming and oddly intimate to imagine Arsène as a kid playing video games.

The next day, you were working register while helping to train the newbie in making drinks. It was cold. Slushy snow half-heartedly sprinkled down outside, and the heater was desperately trying, and failing, to keep the cafe warm. The repairman wouldn’t come until the following morning. All in all, your mood was rather poor.

Until the door opened and a familiar face stepped up to the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up here,” Arsène said.

“Desperate times,” you said with a shrug. He smiled at that, looking up at the menu contemplatively.

“I’ll have…” he said, “a Mockingbird Mocha Hot Chocolate. Medium.”

“And who might you be today?” you asked professionally, the Sharpie point poised over the side of the cardboard hot drinks cup.

“Prometheus,” he said without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second as you tried to figure out the reference. That was… clever. The original thief. You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement as you scribbled that on the side of the cup. The newbie already knew how to make the drink, leaving you with nothing to do. The cafe was quiet today, a rarity. It was the poor weather. People dropped in to get hot drinks, but you didn’t blame them for not sticking around. Arsène was dressed for the cold, wearing a white cape coat that was either incredibly trendy or strangely fringe. Of course, it worked perfectly on him. He looked ready to hop into a new age fashion catalog for outerwear.

“From gentleman thief to a gangster to god… Moving up in the world, are we?” you asked to fill the silence.

“On the contrary,” Arsène told you “There’s no power in being a god nobody believes in.”

“I’d definitely believe in you if you could warm it up in here,” you told him. “I’ve been freezing all day.”

“I’m sure I could think of a few ways to warm you up,” Arsène said, smirking, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “After all, I’m the one who stole the first flame.”

A shaky exhale left your mouth, becoming something like an awkward laugh because he definitely had you going for a second and you knew it was on purpose but still. “That’s what you meant. Right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Here you go,” the newbie said with absolutely perfect timing, handing Arsène his drink. At least your blush was keeping you warm.

“Thank you,” Arsène said, meeting her eyes. You were pretty sure you saw her swoon, which made sense. That was the most practical response to him, after all. He looked back to you. “Try to keep warm, I’d hate for you to be calling in sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. He grinned, wishing the both of you a good day. And you did warm up. By thinking of all the ways he could keep you warm. At this point, even God Himself probably couldn’t do much about your sinful thoughts.

The next day was another cold one, meaning that it was slow. Because of that, your boss had decided that only one person was needed, and you didn’t mind if that was you. Paid hours were always welcome. More than that, and you hated yourself for it, you hoped to see your Arsène. You’d been scrolling on your phone under the register when the door opened. Winter rushed in like it had been chomping at the bit for the chance, called forth with the jingling of bells. Arsène had arrived right on time, wearing that white cloak coat and tall white heeled boots. Snowflakes shined in his hair, quick to melt in the warmth of the repaired heater. By now, you should have been immune. But you weren’t.

“Alone today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” you replied, gesturing to the empty cafe. “Not that I mind, now that the heater is fixed… What will you be having today?”

“A medium Caramel Leclair Latte,” he said.

“And your name…?”

“Yuri,” he said, which you scribbled onto the cardboard.

“All right… Just gimme a second,” you said. The drink was oddly tame for him, and a lot easier to make. You were pretty sure you could whip up a latte in your sleep. He waited without saying anything, but you could feel him watching. The music was too quiet to be a distraction and you were incredibly aware that it was just the two of you which was stupid because the counter practically put you in a different realm of reality, but-

You forced your thoughts to focus on something else, considering the name he’d given you. It was oddly unassuming, at least by the standards of other names he’d given you. You couldn’t recognize it as anything in particular, either. It was Russian. Or Japanese. It being the name of a Russian thief probably made the most sense contextually, but you were drawing a blank as to the specific reference.

“I can’t figure it out,” you admitted when you finished the drink and set it on the counter between you, “who are you impersonating today?”

Arsène blinked, a second of confusion passing before his lips quirked up just a bit. “Myself, actually. I figured it was time to give you my name. You can call me Yuri. Yuri Leclerc, to be precise.”

That was the seventh thing you learned about him. Your stomach clenched. Out of nerves or excitement or happiness, you couldn’t tell. You smiled, feeling something giddy fuzz in your head. “Well... It... It’s good to meet you, Yuri Leclerc.” Yes, you liked that name. It was better than all the others, even better than Arsène.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuri replied smoothly.

“So… Is there a reason for this momentous revelation?” you asked.

Some of the mirth drained from his eyes as he slid two of the little coffee straws into the lid. “I’m leaving town.”

The disappointment that struck you was beyond silly, it wasn’t like you had any claim to him. You’d only just learned his name for God’s sake. “Did the police finally catch up with you?” you asked with a smile, trying to be playful.

“Not yet,” Yuri said. “I prefer to leave before they catch wise.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not,” you told him, shaking your head. Sure, he was smiling, but, well, he smiled a lot. It was always unreadable. Amusement at something. Life itself, maybe.

“For your own sake,” Yuri said, his eyes fixing on yours, “you should always assume I am.”

Because that really cleared it up. You decided not to worry about it too much. “But you are leaving, that’s not pretend?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart sank all over again. Stupid, stupid. At least you finally knew his name.

That made for seven things you knew about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? Lucky sevens and all that? Without thinking too hard about it, you grabbed one of the embossed café cards and a pen, scribbling your name and phone number on the back. “If you’re ever back in town or whatever, this is me,” you told him, handing it over. “Or I dunno, I get vacation time. Maybe it’d be fun to take a trip to Almyra or Albinea or wherever gentleman thieves go until the heat dies down.”

Yuri looked at the card for a long moment before tucking it into his wallet, smiling. You felt like you could read this smile, it was warm and friendly. More real than his others, the emotion catching in his eyes, too. “I wonder, do you mean that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I might.”

“Then I do,” you said with a shrug, like it was easy as that and unsure exactly how much of what you said was strictly playful. It didn’t really matter because it made Yuri smile all over again and the look was fond enough to make your heart seize.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Until then, do you by any chance watch the news?”

“The news?” you asked, confused by the shift in topic. “Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you should, at least for a few days.”

“Am I gonna turn it on and see your mugshot slapped all over some headline about a bank robbery or something?” you asked, mostly joking. Mostly.

“What would have ever given you the impression that I’d do something like that?” he asked, feigning a tone of offense.

“Steal something?” you asked.

“Get caught,” he corrected.

You laughed, thinking of something clever to respond with. Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a trio of bundled up students, killing the moment before you spoke.

“That’s my cue,” Yuri said, picking up his coffee. “Don’t miss me too much until we meet again, yeah?”

“Only as long as you promise not to forget me,” you told him.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Goodbye, Yuri.”

“Goodbye,” he echoed, his eyes meeting yours and voice gentle. Intimate, almost. Then he was gone, a flash of violet and white disappearing into the winter cold.

It was silly, but you kept an eye on the news like he told you, curious to know if anything would come of it or if you’d just fallen for a cute guy’s ruse. But, no, something did happen. A huge theft. The jewel exhibit that had been about to roll out downtown had been robbed. Such a feat was meant to be impossible, there was seemingly no way it could have been done. But it had and there were no suspects, no public leads. And, not surprisingly, no mugshots.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yuri leclerc #yuris leclair #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #yuris leclair x reader #fe yuri x reader #YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY #YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY #ive had this idea in my head for so long #admittedly i'm not sure it turned out the way i wanted but i can't tell why #iS thIs a pERsoNa rEFeRenCe? yes

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 3 years

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Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality (Part II)

Following on from Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality Part I, here is part II.

CLAIM #3: Arthur *constantly* denied that Merlin was his friend

This claim assumes that Arthur was 1)- serious when he did deny being friends with Merlin and 2)- unwilling to change that viewpoint.

Arthur had no need to either deny or admit to being friends with Merlin. Even when he said in episode 2x13 that, “I know I’m a Prince, so we can’t be friends,” the implication is that he does want to be friends. After all, he was insisting that Merlin confide in him. This pattern would repeat in many episodes to come.

Bear in mind that Arthur has described other people as friends, too. This includes people we never saw onscreen. A clear example comes from episode 5x05, when Arthur was so moved with grief by Sir Ranulf’s death that he personally led a collection of knights to bring the sorcerer Osgar to justice. He explained to Gwen that “...he was a friend. We knew each other as boys.”

So why would Arthur have trouble admitting that Merlin was his friend? The viewpoint that being more arrogant and prejudiced in the earlier seasons, Arthur would not admit to friendship with a servant, does not hold as much water as some think. As early as episode 2x05, Arthur called Merlin a “true friend”, because he (mistakenly) thought that Merlin was criticising Lady Catrina on his behalf.

Admittedly, the best examples of Arthur accepting Merlin as a friend come from Seasons 4 and 5.

In episode 4x01, Merlin said, “I always thought that if things hadn’t been different, we’d have been good friends.” Arthur’s response? “Yeah.” During the crucial episode 4x03, Merlin sat outside the throne room all right, facing a crossroads between the end of his dreams and remaining loyal to the king. Of course, Arthur had no idea about this, but he appreciated the gesture. “You are a loyal friend, Merlin.” In episode 4x05, Arthur called Merlin “old friend”, which is self-explanatory.

It’s also worth noting that even after claiming in episode 4x05 that he didn’t need friends, when Merlin later said, “I’m your friend!”, Arthur did not disagree.

Now, I could cite the example of episode 4x07, where Arthur said to Merlin, “I’ve had my heart broken once today. I don’t want to lose another friend.” Self-explanatory. But was this proof of their friendship? No. Arthur was essentially threatening to end his friendship with Merlin if the latter continued criticising Agravaine. Later, in episode 4x11, Arthur again threatened to banish Merlin for the second time (thus ending their friendship) if he accused Agravaine of treason again. This once again shows how Arthur associated loyalty with family first.

One of the best examples comes from episode 4x13: “I came back because you’re the only friend I have, and I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Is Merlin Arthur’s only friend? No. However, out of all Arthur’s friends, Merlin was his best friend, and losing almost everyone and everything else made him realise that yet again.

Then we have all the actions which prove Arthur considered Merlin as a friend.

For example relied on Merlin’s opinion, as Princess Mithian rightly observed in episode 4x11. “One thing I’ve learned since being here is that Arthur values your opinion above almost all others.”

He complained about Merlin’s periods of silence and broodiness, like in episode 3x05: “Come on: I’m missing your usual prattle!” In episode 3x09, after noting that Merlin was upset, he said, “For goodness’ sake, what is your problem?”

Another example comes from episode 5x01, where Arthur noted Merlin sitting outside the camp and took the time to find out why he was “so upset”.

The example from episode 5x05 is self-explanatory: “Seriously, I haven’t seen you smile these past three days.” Arthur relies on Merlin’s cheerfulness to remain optimistic, because he faces the constant threat of death. Notice that shortly after Merlin’s sombre mood, Arthur stopped dismissing Osgar’s warnings about The Disir.

As if this were not enough, look at Arthur spending downtime with Merlin. A great example comes from episode 3x04, where Arthur decides on “a nice, cold tankard of mead” after hunting. In episode 3x13, both were sitting on the courtyard steps discussing the future of the kingdom. Even despite his strenuous denials and ingratitude in episode 4x05, you can see Arthur gesture for Merlin to sit down the morning after they captured Caerleon.

What about all the hunting trips? Arthur knows that Merlin hates hunting (in fact, he takes pleasure in this fact), yet still brought him along, as episodes 1x13, 3x04, 4x11, 5x03, and 5x11 show.

By far my favourite example comes from episode 5x12, when Arthur and Merlin were playing dice at the tavern. (I don’t know iwhat this game was called.) In my view, this happened regularly. Why else would the common people watch and laugh while Merlin poked fun at their king? (Percival’s face was classic.) And why was Arthur playing against Merlin? When did Merlin learn how to play dice? Who taught him? When?

Obviously, I do not know, but it’s worth asking.

Despite being speechless after Merlin “won” the game, Arthur let Merlin “win” all of his money. (Clearly, Arthur was the better player: “Feel free to retire at any time.” The king only used theatrics to get the right dice roll, while Merlin cheated with magic each time. If Merlin hadn’t “coughed”, then Arthur would have rolled correctly a second time. Hence why Arthur said beforehand, “Enjoy this moment, Merlin… while it lasts.”)

Look at Arthur, who was dressed in a plain shirt, rather than his armour and cloak. When we put this scene in conjunction with episode 3x04, where Arthur again wore plain clothes, we can see that he enjoyed these moments of normality. “There’s no better place to measure the mood of your people than the local tavern… I’m just a simple peasant like everybody else.”

So where is this strenuous denial? Nowhere. Arthur never constantly denied that Merlin was his friend. Nor did he only admit this in secret, otherwise the great dice scene in episode 5x12 would never have happened. Sure, the people might have been astonished to see their great king playing against a servant, but they must also have known that if Arthur allowed himself to be “beaten” at a game by his servant, the latter must be his friend.

CLAIM #4: Merlin was usually/always (in the) right

Wrong. Being right most of the time does not mean being right all of the time. Merlin failed to realise this, and consequently made grievous errors throughout the series. The most grievous errors came when he tried to fight against death. Episode 3x05 shows this; all of the grief and pain suffered by Arthur, Gwen, and Uther stemmed from Merlin mortally injuring Morgana in a bid to prevent her from killing the king.

He effectively ignored the warning to “use what you see for good.”

Then we have the example to end all examples; Merlin’s recklessness, presumptuousness, bold-faced hypocrisy, coldness, prejudice, and most of all, jealousy towards Sir Mordred.

Even as early as episode 1x08, Merlin almost let the boy Mordred die on account of a prophecy. At least back then he questioned it before hiding in bed like a coward. Mordred also blamed Merlin for Uther’s carnage in episode 2x11, though in the case of that episode and episode 2x03, I think Merlin’s actions were no worse than presumptuous.

It gets far worse in episode 5x02, when Merlin yelled, “You should have killed him!”, to which Arthur rightly said, “What is wrong with you?” Mordred saw that he could not jump across the gorge, so he surrendered and walked away. (He probably knew that Arthur would arrive in Ismere soon, as his later conversation with Morgana demonstrates.)

Later on, Arthur gave Merlin another strange look after Merlin said, “I told you, you should have killed him when you had the chance.” How could someone usually so compassionate insist on executing a man who stopped threatening them?

Remember how Merlin reacted to Arthur killing Caerleon in episode 4x05, despite having plenty of evidence that Caerleon was a threat to Arthur’s life?

By the way, episodes 5x01 and 5x02 are my favourite examples of Merlin being horrendously wrong. Other episodes include 5x05, and the crucial errors he made in episode 5x11. (I watched most of episode 5x11 last Sunday, and I was floored. It shook me more than 5x12 and 5x13, which I had also been avoiding for years.)

Going back to episodes 5x01 and 5x02 (because episode 5x11 is too depressing): if Arthur had listened to Merlin’s “advice”, he would have abandoned his knights to a slow death in slavery. He would also have committed murder, simply on Merlin’s say-so. If you kill someone who is defenceless and has surrendered, that is murder-- regardless of whether, like Merlin, you are desperately scared of a prophecy and speaking without thinking.

Also, if Arthur had rushed back to Camelot on Merlin’s say-so, he might well have been assassinated by Ruadan.

Most of all, almost everything that Merlin “advised” violated Arthur’s core beliefs-- the very beliefs that made Merlin respect Arthur in the first place. It’s astonishing that Arthur had to explain no less than five times that he would never abandon any of his men, otherwise he would be abandoning his own values and the values that built Camelot.

So desperate is Merlin to fight against death that he either quietly ignores this advice, or claims he agrees, only to try dissuading Arthur later on.

Just to be clear: I perfectly understand that beneath all Merlin’s horrible advice and prevarication, he does not want to lose his friend.

However, just watch Merlin’s marvellous inconsistency throughout episode 5x01. First, he plays Devil’s Advocate by asking Arthur, “Do you really think Gwaine and Percival could still be alive?” Arthur says he has to find out, because they are knights of Camelot. Merlin says, “I understand.” Of course he did.

Bear in mind that this happened before Merlin learned of the prophecy. Some have therefore asked what made Merlin unwilling to look for the missing knights, who were his friends.

In Annis’ castle, Merlin said, “I’m not sure we should go to Ismere.” On the other hand, Arthur, acting on reliable information that Morgana had rounded up slaves, took this as a sign that his mission was right. Merlin tried arguing, then gave up. One might assume that after two rational explanations, Merlin would see reason, particularly since even Kilgharrah could not confirm that the fated battle would take place.

But no. After the knights left Annis’ lands, Merlin complained again that Morgana was “powerful… dangerous.” So, Arthur explained yet again that “no matter what lies ahead of me, I won’t abandon them.�� Merlin respected this answer, because he said, “I understand. I wish I didn’t-- but I do.” (Why does he wish he did not understand why Arthur would risk his life for all of his soldiers?)

But the very next day, after the ambush, Merlin turned to rage: “The two of us against Morgana, are you mad?” He tried stopping Arthur from going any further. So Arthur explained himself again. Consequently, Merlin continued following Arthur.

The very same night, he once again insisted that, “We have to turn back.” Arthur explained himself yet again, and Merlin promised to “protect you or die at your side.”

Which one is it? Not to mention that in episode 5x02, instead of apologising for his carelessness, Merlin said, “And I told you to go back to Camelot.” This is silly, given that Arthur had already refused to return on numerous occasions until he had rescued his men, assuming they were still alive.

The most hilarious example comes later, when Merlin says, “We can’t let them hand us over to Morgana: we need to get out of here, we need a plan.” But when Arthur comes up with that plan, what does Merlin say? “You’ve got to be joking!”, “You should have killed him!”, “Next time, we might not be so lucky.”, “We’ll never make it in there.”, and “How did you talk me into this?”

Again, which one is it?

I know why Merlin behaved this way, of course. However, there’s a difference between the noble goal of protecting your friend, and ignoring everything and everyone else in order to reach that goal-- particularly through controlling means. Throughout the series, Merlin’s biggest fault comes from his controlling tendencies, which always backfire. And he never learns.

In this way, Merlin shackled Arthur with unrealistic expectations about a Golden Age based on prophecies that he could not verify. Somehow, this Golden Age had now become evading Arthur’s death. He wanted Arthur to share that belief. Worse, even while his motives came from a noble goal, he treated other people as expendable.

Another example of Merlin’s absurd reasoning comes from the fateful episode 5x05. Putting aside the fact that Merlin tried claming that sentencing Mordred to die was an acceptable price to pay “for Camelot”, he also previously claimed that, “I do care. About who you are, Arthur. Who you are destined to become.”

This makes zero sense, given that Arthur had already taken the throne and “brought peace to the kingdom” (episode 5x03). What more did he have to achieve? It depends on who you ask: bringing back magic, uniting the five kingdoms, eternal peace, avoiding the prophecy about Mordred, bowing to the Triple Goddess, being the greatest king this land has ever known…

Can you see how unrealistic this is? Moreover, can you see how Merlin used Arthur as a vehicle of his own unrealistic ambitions? This is why the Golden Age never happened: it was a myth. It allowed the Druids, Gaius, Kilgharrah, etc. to live vicariously through the new king.

Bringing back magic was impossible while Morgana continued using it for great evil. (And the Triple Goddess, who complained about Arthur persecuting sorcery, allowed Morgana to continue that evil conduct.)

Arthur did take considerable steps to uniting the kingdoms, particularly when he signed a treaty with King Odin in episode 5x04. But eternal peace? Impossible, otherwise episodes 5x01 and 5x02 would not have happened.

The unbiquitous prophecy about Mordred was never backed by evidence, leaving Merlin in a state of constant paranoia, and causing him to make horrible errors. This despite the fact that, by his own admission, “I like him [Mordred] myself.” [1]

Bowing to the Triple Goddess was nothing but blackmail using Mordred’s life as a bargaining chip. This once again shows how many sorcerers had caused chaos and misery. Remember, this same Triple Goddess used torture techniques such as controlling people’s minds using the Fomorroh, as Morgana explained in episode 4x06.

While I believe that the persecution of peaceful sorcerers was wrong, Arthur had no quarrel with the Druids (episode 5x11), and he still had good reason for banning sorcery (also explained in episode 5x11). Nobody, not even Merlin, gave him a reason to change his mind. Kara definitely did not, for she wasn’t executed for being a Druid: she was executed for murder and attempted murder.

As for being the greatest king this land had ever known… Well, Arthur appreciated that statement in episode 4x12. However, when Merlin spoke of the greatest kingdom in the world in episode 4x13, Arthur said, “You’re making this up.”

In episode 5x01, Merlin claimed that, “Arthur, without you, Camelot is nothing.” Arthur disagreed, saying that abandoning his men was worse than surviving Morgana. Even in episode 5x04, Arthur accepted his death. “So be it. But understand this, Odin: you kill me, and you’ll have all of Camelot to answer to.” Odin was astonished that a king could have such confidence in the face of death.

The most important example comes from episode 5x13. Merlin said the same thing about Camelot being nothing without Arthur, to which the dying king said, “There was a time when that was true. Not now. There are many who can fill the crown.” And of course, he gave the royal seal to Gwen. Can anyone argue with this?

I guess you could say that Arthur didn’t believe his own hype.

Indeed, Arthur felt satisfied about what he had achieved in his life. “Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build.” (Episode 5x13). That was it. Arthur knew that he had changed Camelot for the better, that Merlin killing his half-sister had brought “peace at last”, and that he owed Merlin an unpayable debt for helping him to achieve all of these goals.

Why did Arthur accept the certainty of his death for so long? Because he believed his cause was right, and his death would help save the lives of thousands in Camelot. Dying in service to Camelot was his real destiny. It was inevitable, and to him, it was the most honourable act he would ever undertake.

You cannot know how great you will be until you die. “That’s the way things work, I’m afraid. You get the glory when you’re not around to appreciate it.” (Episode 4x06). At that point, you will never see your legacy. Merlin either did not know that, or he did not want to know it.

Arthur’s death ultimately serves as the greatest evidence that Merlin was wrong the whole time.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART III

FOOTNOTES

[1] I don’t doubt that Merlin liked Mordred. In fact, the scene in episode 5x05, where Merlin buried Osgar, shows how difficult it was for him to maintain his mistrust when the druid was so polite and perceptive. So why the contradiction? Why claim you like someone, yet insist that they would commit regicide? The answer is that Merlin used the prophecy as an excuse. In fact, his prejudice against Mordred had more to do with jealousy than the prophecy. After being involved in an attempt to trade Arthur and Merlin as slaves to Morgana, Arthur knighted the druid for one noble act. Did Merlin aspire to be a knight? I don’t know. He definitely wanted that same level of trust and respect given to Mordred, though, and knighthood created a bond that a servant could not have.

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Not Today XIV

A/N: I don't know why the chapters that are the hardest to start end up being the longest, but here we are again?? Last update before I'm out of town- but I have chapters for Wednesday and Saturday already drafted, and ready to be posted even while I'm away! So, enjoy the relationship development and Tension in this chapter, and update will be on schedule as always! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

In hindsight, Aethelind was beginning to wonder if promising her loyalty to Ivar was a horrible idea. He was about to hold a Þing, the concept of which Hvitserk had explained to Aethelind as something of a meeting of the whole town, where they discuss things what needed doing around the town. So, curious about this, she had agreed to attend with Hvitserk and his… lover? Thora wasn’t his wife, but their relationship was what Aethelind would have called marriage, had there just been a wedding. She’d only met the woman a few times, but she’d always rather liked her.

Aethelind now stood on Hvitserk’s other side, in the darkened Great Hall, as the Þing was about to start. There was a large curtain up, hiding where the thrones sat, and as the drums stopped beating, it was pulled back to reveal Ivar and Freydis.

“I didn’t realize he was one for such theatrics,” she commented, and Hvitserk let out something of a small chuckle.

“I didn’t either,” he answered.

A silence fell over the gathered people as the fires at the sides of the thrones were lit, and Ivar shifted in his seat. Aethelind recognized this as how he moved right before he spoke, and she was correct.

“My people,” he began. “You are all welcome to the Þing. It is important to us that everyone here feels involved in the life of our great town. Kattegat has grown. It is now a huge trading station, the greatest trading station in Scandinavia. Kattegat has changed since my father’s time.”

Hvitserk’s eyes narrowed a bit, and Aethelind noticed she could almost feel the concern and unease radiating off of him. He didn’t like where Ivar was going with this at all, and truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure of it either.

“In those days, he knew everyone,” Ivar continued. “And he was happy to share his power with those he knew, and trusted, of course.” Oh, no. The Princess shared a look with the Prince, the two of them now clearly unnerved. “My father gave me this responsibility.” As if to back up this claim of his, Ivar pulled off one of the two arm rings he wore- the one Aethelind had learned once belonged to Ragnar Lothbrok himself- and held it up. “And our father, Odin, gave me this responsibility. I have accepted it, and I ask you to trust me.”

Aethelind swallowed uncomfortably and shifted her weight a little, a subconscious movement toward Hvitserk. When Ivar continued again, a dread settled in her stomach.

“We cannot allow everyone to vote on everything which affects our Kingdom. We have a duty to protect it! I have a duty to protect it.” He waved a hand to signal the men on the sides, and they put out a few of the fires. “So… We have to change the rules. People I trust will vote on land issues, matrimonial matters, murder inquiries, things that you do not need to worry about. Because I will take care of you. I will lead you! No, what is truly important is to know who we are! And who is with us, and who is against us. And we know who we are, don’t we?”

There was a resounding cry of affirmation from the crowd, though Hvitserk, Aethelind, and Thora didn’t answer Ivar’s call. Maybe it wasn’t her place, but Aethelind already had some very choice words for him, once all this was through.

Ivar grinned at the reaction from the crowd, and agreed with them. “Yes, we do! So now, it is time to find out those who threaten us, who is against us. Maybe it is your neighbor.” A sick feeling settled in the pit of Aethelind’s stomach. Perhaps an argument could be made for a different form of government, due to Kattegat’s size, but this… this was something else entirely. And he didn’t even stop at that, continuing to suggest, “Perhaps it is someone you know. A family member. A brother.”

She didn’t miss the way he looked Hvitserk dead in the eyes. Her own gaze turned to Hvitserk, confusion and concern evident in it. Clearly, there was something going on between the two that she had been left out of. But it was bad, and likely played into what he had told her, wanting to send Hvitserk to speak with his new ally.

As he continued, her heart was pounding, listening to the way he added, “A son. They talk about me. They whisper that I am the enemy. But, of course, they are the enemy. They want to destroy our Kingdom. They want to encourage our enemies to attack us and invade us! Is that what you want?” The crowd dissented vocally, cheering Ivar on, and a feeling almost like panic began to bubble up in Aethelind. “Do you want me to protect you?” Not like this. The crowd cheered him again. “Do you want me to destroy them?” Don’t destroy anyone, please, Ivar. Again, they cheered.

As he stood, the crowd descended into chants of his name, as well as that of Odin, and he looked Hvitserk in the eye with a dark smirk.

It wasn’t for a few hours after the Þing that Aethelind finally found Ivar, and was able to talk to him about what was done there. He grinned when he saw her, and greeted her happily, only to be stunned by her immediate demand of, “Are you out of your mind?!”

His eyes widened, and that startled duck look returned. “What are you talking about, hm?” he asked her.

“The Þing,” she answered sharply. “What are you thinking, Ivar?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “You’re turning your people against each other! Do you not realize how horrible of an idea that is? You turn them against each other, they’ll realize you’re the enemy in the end."

“How am I the enemy?” he questioned. “I ask for this information from my people to protect them. If there are those who wish to turn against me, then I need to know these things. The people need to know I will take any threats seriously, even those which come from the inside."

“There wouldn’t be threats, the sort you speak of, if you didn’t invite them in this way,” she argued. “Ivar, dissent is natural. People disagreeing with you is natural!”

“I did not say-”

“I saw you look at Hvitserk today,” she cut him off. His eyes hardened a little as he watched her. “He disagrees with you, but he has never once spoken of treason.”

“Not to you,” he said. “But he must think of it.”

“Why, because he disagrees? Can’t you see this is madness?” Her eyes were almost pleading as she looked up at him, and he found he couldn’t meet them when she stepped closer, and put her hand on his arm. “Ivar, dissent from a trusted voice is guidance, not betrayal. Only a foolish man would hear disagreement from someone he trusts, and call it treason. A foolish man, or a madman.”

“And who says I trust every voice which is disagreeing with me?” he finally said, looking down toward her.

“Surely you must understand that we have your best interest in mind. We want to see you succeed as King. We want to see you thrive, and do well for your people. But they are all your people, and they have minds to agree or disagree with you! You cannot erase their thoughts. And a King who divides his people will turn them against himself. If you’re worried about them turning against you already, ask yourself why.”

“I have heard the whispers,” he told her.

“And why do you think they’re talking?” she asked. “They’re afraid. You need to make them love you, not make them fear you.”

Ivar looked at her with a strange look, one she couldn’t quite read. “I don’t know if I want that,” he confessed to her.

“A King that is feared will inspire rebellion, but one who is loved will never give his people cause to rebel. You will have their loyalty. Just as you have mine.”

Finally, something in him snapped, and a rage she hadn’t seen in him yet filled his eyes. “Do I have your loyalty?” he asked. “Or does Lagertha?”

Time almost froze for Aethelind, and the shock in her eyes as she looked up at Ivar revealed one thing- he had hit a nerve. He had been right about her, about her connections with his brothers and Lagertha. But to what extent… That was what he needed to know.

“I swore my loyalty to you, Ivar,” she said. “This is why I disagree with you to your face, why I confront you with it. My loyalty to you means I wish to see you succeed, but I don’t feel I am serving you best if I just blindly agree with everything you say or do.”

Ivar laughed and stepped away from her a bit, shaking his head. “Do you know how badly I want to trust you?” he asked, and his eyes finally turned back to her. “I thought your arrival was a gift from the gods- my fellow gods.”

Aethelind gave a short huff of disbelief. “Ivar, you’re not a god,” she said. “I don’t know who told you that, but you aren’t.”

“You do not believe in our gods as it is,” he pointed out. “You are a Christian. You’re blinded by your bias toward your one God that you do not see the truth of ours.”

“I’d be willing to wager half this town doesn’t believe you’re a god,” she said. “And I’m not a betting woman.”

“Then why have they put up a statue to me? Hm?” He gestured in the vague direction of the large statue of him that stood in the center if the town, and Aethelind chuckled bitterly, shaking her head.

“Because they’re afraid of you!” she answered. “This is madness, can’t you see that? I’ve already told you the way to inspire loyalty in them is to be good to them, to earn their love first. Fear never creates loyalty, it destroys it.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and stood a little straighter- a clear sign he was very irritated. “You sound like Freydis, questioning and criticizing my judgment.”

“So two voices you trust agree, and you still believe we’re in the wrong?” she pointed out. “Surely you must see the fallacy in your logic.”

“No, the fallacy is in having trusted you,” he said. “Freydis and I disagree, or… Or have you turned her mind against what I know to be best for Kattegat?”

Aethelind gave a roll of her eyes and shook her head. “This is paranoia, Ivar,” she said. “This is fear beyond reason, that we want to turn against you and betray you.”

“Will you not? You came here from being with Lagertha!”

“Yes! Lagertha was in Wessex! Along with Björn, and Ubbe, and Torvi. Bishop Heahmund took them after you defeated them here, but he was killed in the battle against King Harald, the same one Lagertha disappeared in.”

That stopped Ivar in his tracks. “Lagertha has disappeared?” he questioned, and the Princess nodded.

“They searched for her, but they couldn’t find her after. Björn left for York when they couldn’t find her.”

She watched as the anger seemed to drain out of him, and his mind turned toward strategy. “What would he want with York?” he asked her.

“I can’t say for certain, but… Harald did come from the north,” she answered.

“He is stationed in York,” he clarified. “But why would my brother wish to go and visit him? Unless…”

Ivar’s eyes widened in a way that told Aethelind he was becoming angry again. She swallowed nervously and made her way toward him. It was easy to tell he was working himself up, and so she put her hands on his upper arms, and looked up into his face.

“We don’t know he’s plotting against you,” she said gently. “They just fought Harald, and Lagertha has disappeared. There’s a very good chance he’s gone to see if they took her prisoner.”

Ivar seemed to calm down a little, or at least begin to, and he nodded. “And Harald is loyal to me, Björn would have to turn him against me before anything could be done.”

“And you aren’t a man many want to betray, I don’t imagine.” She moved her hand to his chest, and gave it a small pat. “You are right, in thinking that fear can keep people in line, you know.” The look on his face as he looked down into her eyes was one of confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite read. Not with the way his eyes seemed to search hers, the way his brow drew together just so, and his mouth hung slightly open.

Aethelind suddenly became acutely aware of the lack of distance between herself and Ivar, and her eyes widened a little. Her own mouth opened slightly, suddenly feeling as if she were caught in some sort of trance. “But… fear isn’t the only reliable way,” she continued. She spoke slower now, her words more precise. “With fear, they will always want to be free from you. Eventually, they’ll find a way, and they’ll become brave enough to stand up. But if they love you… They’ll never have any reason to try and flee.”

Her words faded away into silence then, especially as his hand came up to cover hers that still rested over his heart. “Princess…” he said softly. The way he said her title, her heart began to beat faster and harder.

“Ivar..?” she whispered to him.

She noticed she could feel his heart beating beneath her hand, noticed how it was almost hammering in his chest- just as her own was- and her eyes dropped to their hands, clasped together.

“You have a heart,” she said, and rested her forehead against his chest, eyes slipping shut. “Please. Use it as well as your mind.”

In that moment, Ivar found he couldn’t help but trust her. If she was lying, if she meant to betray him, then she deserved to do so, because this would have been the best lie he’d ever seen told. There was something too vulnerable in the way she spoke, too gentle and too real in her actions. He found himself stabbing his crutch into the ground, and lifting his now free hand to cradle the back of her head.

Gods, if someone were to find him with her that way, Ivar knew it would look bad. He was outright embracing her, unashamedly, and it didn’t exactly look like a strictly platonic embrace. It didn’t feel like one, either. If he found another man holding Freydis this way, he’d kill him. Perhaps it was hypocritical of him not to let go of Aethelind, knowing this, but when had he ever claimed not to be a hypocrite?

“Aethelind,” he eventually whispered, and she tilted her head up to look at him. He needed something to stop this. He didn’t know if he could. “I need to know… Do you truly give me your loyalty? Freely, and entirely?”

She brought her other hand to his chest then, and nodded. “I do,” she confirmed. “You have my loyalty, Ivar. If you will listen to me. I swear to you, I will never try to steer you wrong. If you listen, and disagree, then you will still have my support. I only ask that you at least listen.”

He nodded in response to this. “I will listen to you,” he promised. “You have my word.”

Something formed between them that day, some kind of solidarity, as they looked into each other. It’s said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and just then, their souls were laid bare for the other. There was no lie, no pretence between them then. If anything, it was like a whispered promise between the two as people. He was not King Ivar the Boneless, nor yet Ivar the God, as he made this vow to her, as she was not Princess Aethelind of Wessex, sister of the King of All England as she made her vow to him. They were, simply, Ivar and Aethelind. In the days of their youth, they had been friends, but in their adult years, something deeper had formed.

Whatever it was, it drew Ivar to take a step closer to her, until no space remained between them. If he were anyone else, she would have backed away, but he was intoxicating. There was no way she could pull herself from his hold, even if she’d wanted to. But why should she? Why would she? She felt happy here.

Unfortunately, his legs had another thing in mind for him. He had abandoned his crutch in pursuit of her, and his prayers for a way to say no to this were answered when one of his legs began to buckle, breaking whatever trance they had seemingly entered as he started toward the ground. Aethelind managed to grab onto his arms and ease him down, but that didn’t stop the deep pain that pulled a growl from deep in his throat.

“Ivar, what is it?” she asked, and immediately knelt at his side.

Whatever he’d seen in her eyes before, it was immediately replaced with a deep concern for him, as she looked to his legs. It had been the left that gave out, not the one in the heavier bracings, and she reached across his body as if to touch him.

“It just hurts,” he said, and caught her hand in his. He didn’t want her to feel how broken he was. With the crutch and braces, he could move nearly as well as any man. But that didn’t mean he felt the same, to the touch. He didn’t want Aethelind to know that.

Her hand turned so that it was holding his, and she turned her eyes back to his face, silently pleading with him. When that didn’t work, she sighed. “Please, let me help you,” she said. “Do you think you’ve broken anything?”

He huffed. She was a very stubborn woman, he realized. Or, at least, he was perceiving this as stubbornness. In truth, she cared, cared for him, and wanted to ensure he was alright. She had learned during her escape with her family how to tend to many forms of injuries, and broken bones had been one of those. If this was irony, it was not lost on her.

“No,” he said. “Nothing is broken. It’s just pain.”

Ivar wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth, and he knew Aethelind could tell from the pointed look she gave him. “Then I’ll be done checking you quickly,” she said.

Finally, with another huff and a glare, he let go of her hand. Aethelind moved around to his other side so she could work more comfortably, and let her hands work slowly down the length of his leg. She kept her touch gentle, yet firm enough to really get a feel for him. Since she wasn’t looking at his face, she missed the way his cheeks turned red, and he turned to look anywhere but at her. As she finally got to his shin, he hissed, and she knew she’d found something.

“Does it hurt more there than anywhere else?” He nodded in confirmation. “I need to see if it’s swollen there, or if it feels too warm. Can I pull your pants up just a bit there?”

Ivar squirmed slightly from where he was sitting, but waved his hand in such a way he was clearly giving his permission. She undid the straps of his braces around the bottom half of his leg, and pulled his pants up toward his knee so she could see. “No swelling,” she commented, and when her fingers touched his skin, she thought it must have hurt horribly from the way he jumped. “Is it that bad?” Her eyes looked up at him, worried she had hurt him.

Ivar shook his head a little. “It doesn’t hurt worse than anything else,” he said. She offered him an encouraging smile, and nodded.

“Cold hands then,” she said, not intending to call him on the anxiety he clearly felt at this. “Sorry about that. They’re going to be cold again, but I need to check and be sure there’s no heat coming from your leg. One moment.”

He felt her pressing her hands against his skin again, and this time, he did sneak a look at her. There was no disgust on her face, he realized, as she touched him. And he knew how scarred his skin was, how twisted his bones were, from years of breaking them and not letting anyone fix them properly. Aside from a healer if it was bad enough, no one since Margrethe had seen his legs.

The only reason he could give that he’d let Aethelind do this was how caught off guard by this whole thing he was. The moment they’d shared followed by his fall had certainly been enough to scramble his judgement. That, and he’d promised to listen to her. In a way, that had been promising her his trust. So, if there was anyone he let do this…

He supposed it may as well be her.

“Good news,” she eventually said, pulling his pants back down around his leg and fixing the straps back over it. “No break that I can feel. If anything, you could have a small fracture, but we’ll know that based on if you can stand.”

Ivar nodded a little, and dragged himself over to his crutch. Using it, he managed to get to his feet, and stand. She could tell he felt some pain from bearing weight on it, but if it wasn’t enough to be debilitating entirely…

“Looks like you’re alright,” she said. “At least from what I can tell.” The curt nod he gave and the way he started off made her chuckle softly, and move to catch up to him. “Hey.” Her hand came up to gently touch his jaw, turning his face back toward her. “You did well. Thank you for trusting me.”

He gave her another curt nod, his eyes not quite meeting hers, and went on.

Aethelind sighed as she watched him go, and gave a small shake of her head. Ivar the Boneless was an enigma, and yet, she found he was one she rather looked forward to solving.

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#ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings history #history channel vikings #not today #chapter fourteen #ivar's heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc

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devendrasbeard · 3 years

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The Goat Is Part Of The Family

Prompt: Meet The Family Relationships: Ciri/Cahir Rating: T Content warnings: Just a slice of life, oh and Lambert being Lambert Summary: Ciri and Cahir are newly engaged, so it's time for the guy to meet her family. He quickly learns Ciri's family is unlike any other. And there's also a goat.

Also on ao3!

My final prompt! I DID IT FOLKS!

"Hey mom," Ciri put her phone on speaker as they drove through the interstate.

"Hey daughter, grandpa wants to know how far away you are - he and Eskel are too eager to start grilling but they don't want the food to grow cold before you arrive."

Ciri shot Cahir a questioning look and he quickly checked his watch. "Thirty minutes," he whispered.

"Yeah, we should arrive within half an hour," Ciri smiled at her phone, even though Yennefer couldn't see her. She listened for a moment to the background noises coming through the speaker. "Is there... Did you really invite the whole family over?" she huffed.

"You know that if it were for me, I wouldn't even invite your father," Ciri could exactly imagine that evil grin and raised eyebrow on her mom's face and she was damn sure she's heard Geralt's groan in the background. "Your family has invited themselves over, as soon as they've heard the big news. You better prepare your lover for the goat." With that she hung up.

Cahir gave Ciri a suspicious and only slightly scared look. "Is 'the goat' like your family's code for something?"

"No, unfortunately," Ciri laughed. "It's a literal goat. My uncle owns it."

"I'm both intrigued and scared," Cahir admitted. "I thought I was only going to meet your parents first... As in mom and dad."

"Yeah, I thought so too," Ciri looked out the window. "But alas! You're gonna meet everyone," she slapped her knees, her palms tightening around her thighs for just a second.

"Then walk me through it, is there anything I need to know about anybody before we arrive?"

Ciri looked out the window, worrying her lip between her teeth. A smirk was dancing at the corner of her lips and Cahir noticed that little spark in her eye that always showed up when she was deeply amused but didn't want to admit it. She turned to him after a while and exhaled.

"The only thing you really need to know is that my mom hates hugs and kisses, so don't try that with her. My uncles on the other hand are extremely huggable people, so expect to become a part of a hugging pile as soon as they feel comfortable around you."

Cahir hummed. "I think I can work with this," he smiled.

"Oh, and of course don't put any valuables on the floor or the goat will eat it," Ciri said with an absolutely serious expression. "Last time I was home and Eskel brought her over, she ate my brand new pair of Converse, and I've only put the box on the stairs for a moment to hug Dad!"

Cahir couldn't help but laugh, which earned him a smack on the shoulder. "Okay, It seems that we're here!"

They parked the car and got out, Ciri leading the way to the house. A white haired man, clearly Ciri's dad, leaned out of the kitchen window and waved at them with a slight smile on his lips. "Get in the backyard, everyone's waiting for you there!" he shouted at them.

"Ready?" Ciri asked, grabbing Cahir's hand reassuringly.

"I guess I never will be, so let's just do it."

Ciri opened the little gate to the backyard and they stepped into the garden.

"I swear to god, I'm gonna kill that fucking goat!" A red-haired man, equally red in the face was screaming at a taller, bulkier man.

"That goat is part of the family, so watch your tongue, you bastard!"

"I'm gonna kill it and I'm gonna cook it! Next week we're gonna eat goat shish-kebabs!"

"Don't you fucking dare!"

Ciri and Cahir stopped in their way and stood dumbfounded in the middle of the garden, watching the two men, Ciri's uncles, fight. The goat's bleating was heard above the men's raised voices. Cahir squeezed Ciri's hand just a little bit tighter.

A man materialised suddenly at Cahir's side, moving smoothly and quietly like a cat, and patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the family, boy. I hope you don't mind people being loud."

Ciri rolled her eyes and turned to the man, hugging him. Cahir watched him discreetly, noticing his tall muscular physique and the long dark hair and beard, and the tattoos.

"I was hoping that Mom and Dad would be the first ones to introduce themselves to you, but as you have probably noticed, my family is unlike any other," Ciri smiled and introduced the man to Cahir. "This is Aiden. He's married to my uncle - the shorter but definitely louder one."

Aiden shook Cahir's hand and raised a brow at Ciri. "Since I'm married to Lambert, your uncle, this makes me your uncle too, kiddo. Time to call me that too," he pointed finger guns at her and started walking backwards to the garden table. "C'mon kids, let's get you something to drink, you must be thirsty after the trip, and then we can introduce Cahir to the rest of the family."

As they took the first sips of their cider, a man, seemingly in his late twenties, came out of the house, carrying a big plate of various cakes. His jeans were ridiculously tight and he wore a flowery shirt that had already half of the buttons open.

"Ah kids, finally! I couldn't wait to meet you, Cahir!" the man stretched out his arms to hug both Ciri and Cahir and then he placed kisses on both their foreheads.

"That's uncle Jaskier - definitely the most affectionate one," Ciri winked at Cahir.

"Hey! I hear you call him 'uncle' and he's also only married to your dad's brother," Aiden shouted at them from the snacks table and frowned theatrically.

"Ugh, that's because uncle Jaskier has been around since I was a child," Ciri replied sheepishly. "And you're," she gestured towards Aiden. "Well, you're pretty fresh!"

"He's fresh meat!" The shorter of the quarrelling men shouted to their group, loudly. "As in his meat is-" he got cut off by the other man's big hand on his lips.

"Jaskier, can you please tell your idiot husband to stop fighting with my idiot husband while we're having guests over?" Aiden sighed.

"Excuse me, but in my marriage, I am the idiot husband," Jaskier flicked his hand. "And also, what is today's fight about?"

"Lambert wants to grill Lil' Bleater again," Aiden replied deadpan.

"Same shit different day," Jaskier sighed and turned to Cahir. "Okay, since you've already met the cutest members of the family, besides Ciri of course. Are we doing mom and dad, or dad's crazy brothers?"

Cahir looked even more dumbfounded than in the moment they'd arrived, so he gave Ciri a questioning look. Or maybe a desperate plea for help, since his pupils were unnaturally wide and his eyebrows were almost at his hairline.

Ciri grabbed his hand and moved her lips in a silent "I'm sorry" and then dragged him into the house.

They made their way straight into the kitchen, lured in by delicious smells and the sounds of quiet chatter. The first people Cahir noticed were the two completely different women, who were chopping vegetables for some salads. One of them had deep black hair and was wearing black skinny jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her only jewelry being a thin choker with a purple stone. The other woman had fiery red hair, freckled skin and was wearing a maxi dress with a flowery print and a lot of bracelets.

"Hi everyone!" Ciri shouted, pulling Cahir to her side.

The woman in black nodded at them with a delicate smile from her spot over the kitchen counter. The other one left her stuff immediately and approached them, pulling Cahir into another hug this afternoon. "Ciri has probably told you that her mom hates hugging, but luckily I'm quite the opposite," she laughed.

Ciri rubbed the back of her neck, sending her mom a faint smile and getting a nod of approval in return. "So, this is my mom, Yennefer, and her wife, Triss, and these two grumpy snowmen in the back, these are my Dad and Gramps."

"Hey, I might be old, but I can still hear ya," the older white-haired man pointed his fork at Ciri. "Hello, boy."

The younger of the men stepped closer to them, wiping his hands in a towel. "Hi, Cahir, I'm Geralt. Nice meeting you in person and not seeing you sneak out of Ciri's room while we Face Time," he laughed, stretching his hand out to shake Cahir's.

Ciri suppressed a groan. "For gods' sake, Dad, just once could you not embarrass me on the spot?"

"Not possible." Geralt replied with a grin and returned to his station at the kitchen counter. "Cahir, care to help me and Vesemir with the steaks?"

Cahir felt his cheeks turning redd and he smiled sheepishly at the men. "Guess it's not the right time to tell you I'm a vegetarian?" he said quietly.

"There's room for everyone in the family," he heard a low, rumbling voice coming from the back door. One of the men who were quarreling earlier entered the kitchen, taking up almost all the free space. He was tall, bulky and would've looked threatening if it wasn't for the soft eyes and the baby goat cradled in his arms. "I hope you like goat cheese, though, 'cause we have a lot of that," he laughed.

Ciri gave up on trying to pretend that any of her family members were normal, letting her arms drop to the sides. She motioned towards the man with a smile and he approached her and hugged her awkwardly while also trying not to drop the goat. "Yes, this is my uncle Eskel and his baby goat, Lil' Bleater. He, obviously, owns a goat farm and is married to Jaskier."

"Hi," Cahir waved at him, laughing at the way the goat stayed cradled in Eskel's arms like a baby, but also silently admiring the man's strength and posture. "I love the goat," he added.

"Great, you're already one of my favourite family members." Eskel smiled.

"Okay, get that dirty baby out of the kitchen," Yennefer let out an annoyed huff and ushered them all out into the backyard. "I don't want her eating up all the apple pie again."

"Yeah, bring her back here, you fucking coward!" the red-haired man shouted at Eskel, clicking theatrically with the grilling pliers. "Asshole ate up all my bacon and broke half a dozen of my beer bottles," he complained while approaching Ciri and Cahir. "And this bastard still keeps defending her, can you believe?"

Ciri threw her head back in laughter and turned to Cahir with a theatrical whisper, "Final family member to introduce - uncle Lambert. He taught me all the cuss words I know," she added with a grin.

"And did a fucking good job while at it," Lambert laughed, shaking Cahir's hand firmly. "Alright, let's start eating, before the fucking omnivore wreaks even more havoc. C'mon, kids!"

Later that evening, with their bellies full of delicious food and eyes still prickling from tears of mirth, Ciri and Cahir snuck out to her room upstairs. They sat on her bed - or rather Cahir did, while Ciri plopped on her back with a resigned huff.

"Okay, so this is my crazy family. You sure you still wanna marry me?" she asked with a cocky smile. She tried to play it cool, but a flicker of doubt was seen in her eyes.

Cahir cradled her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "Of course, stupid. What you have is so different from what I had, being just me and my mom for the most of our lives... So this is totally new but so exciting. I can see your family loves you and they all have each other's backs. Even the uncles that have different views on the goat issue."

Ciri laughed and sat up. "So we're doing this?"

"We're definitely doing this. But I will have to think of a way to keep the goat out of our house. Don't tell Eskel."

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#final prompt!#witcher rarepair summer bingo #ciri x cahir #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #ciri / cahir #the witcher fic #slice of life

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supernatural-jackles · 4 years

Text

The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 7

Title: The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 7

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 6,184

Warnings: Angst, Semi Graphic Mentions of Self Harm, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempt, Anxiety, Depression, Desire to Relapse, Mentions of Pain Killers, Self Hate, Self Blame, Fluff, Dean being the best.

Summary: Driving down the road, going well over the speed limit. You come across a man walking in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His head cast down as he walked. Your gut instinct is telling you to check on this man, no matter what your parents told you growing up. Little did you know just how much this would change your life.

The Man on the Side of the Road - Masterlist

Square Filled: Falling in love ( @spndeanbingo)

A/N: The contents of this fic are not suitable for all audiences. This is your warning. That being said, I hope you enjoy this part! Feedback is greatly appreciated.

You lay in the middle of your bed, your books scattered everywhere and your laptop in front of you. You hated midterms. You hated that you didn’t have the week before off to study. You were stressed out to the max, and you were trying to bury yourself in your homework. You didn’t want to deal with everything else.

Ever since everyone found out that Jo was pregnant with your ex-fiance's baby, you had just shut down. You didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. Even more so when people asked you about it. Ketch had tried to talk to you a couple of times, about it specifically. It was now clear to you that he had been cheating and he knew it as well as you did. It was hard for you to see him after what you knew. Jo hadn’t even glanced in your direction. Ruby tried her best to keep the topic light for your sake. You knew deep down that she was still talking to her, even if she told you that she wasn’t friends with her anymore. Your trust had been betrayed more than once by so many people you considered to be close to you. It was really hard for you to wrap your mind around everything.

Your mom blamed you for making Ketch look elsewhere. If you would have catered to his needs you wouldn’t be in the situation you were in. Clearly he wanted a baby and you withheld it from him, so he found someone better than you. You did this to yourself. That was the conversation you had with your mom earlier on in the day. The conversation that brought you to tears. After all, he’d been with Jo for two years. You clearly hadn’t been good enough for him for a long time.

You were never going to be good enough for anyone.

Your eyes glossed over with tears as your mother’s words rang through your head over and over again. You read over the same sentence eight times before realizing you had. Studying was no use. Midterms felt irrelevant at this point. You had so much more going on that you just didn’t care about studying, or your grades. You didn’t care about anything else. You just wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“Hey you,” Dean’s voice cut you from your trance. “You got time for a study break? I’ll make you a snack.”

“Uh no thanks,” you shook your head. “Not hungry.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Can I help you study for anything?”

“I think I’m going to pack it away for the night. I can’t retain anything,” you admitted. You prayed he couldn’t hear the defeat in your voice.

“Understandable,” he smiled. “You want to do something tonight? Watch a movie? Take a drive in Baby?”

“You finished?” your head perked up with a smile on your face for the first time all day.

“I finished and drove her home today,” he beamed widely. “You wanna go for a drive with me?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

“Good,” he smirked. “I could use some quality time with my best friend. You look like you could use a break too.”

“You got it,” you nodded. “Just give me a few to clean myself up.”

“Okay,” he smiled, shutting the door behind him. You packed up your books, and placed them on your bedside table. You shut your laptop and rolled off the bed. Your legs felt heavier than usual from sitting cross-legged for so long on your bed. You walked straight into your bathroom. Your hair was a mess, and your eyes looked tired. You were tired. Tired of studying. Tired of crying. Tired of it all. You needed a good week of sleep to begin to feel better.

You opened the bottom drawer, your eyes falling on the plastic case that was once meant for dental floss at one point. You knew exactly what was in that case, and the fact that you were staring at it right now was a big problem. It was a bigger problem than a lot of the ones you were already facing. You were at the point mentally that you felt like this was an option. That this was okay again when it was the farthest thing from okay.

You slammed the drawer shut. A single tear slipped down your cheek. You were better than this. You didn’t have to resort to this. You were stronger than that. You were going to get out of this bathroom, and head out to Dean. You were going to ride in his baby, and try to take your mind off of everything. He wanted to spend time with you. You were going to pull yourself together and be the person he knew you to be. He didn’t need the extra theatrics.

You didn’t bother changing out of your sweatpants. You’d much rather be comfortable in the car and be able to jump right back into studying. You grabbed your bigger sweater, pulling it over your shoulders. You could hear Dean twirling the keys in his hands as you stepped out of your room. Going out with him was probably going to be the best part of your day.

He was waiting by the front door, keys in his hand. He had put on a blue, red and white flannel, making him look all the more comfortable. God, did he look good in flannel. He looked good in anything he wore the more you thought about. Dean was handsome, and there was no denying that. You thought that the second you laid eyes on him. Bloodshot eyes and all.

He motioned for you to head out the front door first. He locked up the house with his key while you headed to the beautiful ‘67 impala that sat on your driveway. You were in awe. She looked brand new. Dean had done an amazing job with her. You had no idea he was this good with cars. You were damn sure she was a write off when you saw her. You were sure your jaw was on the ground.

“Here, let me get the door for you, m’ lady,” he grinned, reaching for the passenger door handle. He opened it up for you, allowing you to slide in before shutting it for you. He circled around the car, hopping in the driver's seat. He put the key in the ignition and started her up. It had to be one of the most beautiful sounds you had ever heard. The car was a thing of beauty. Inside and out. You could see yourself going on roadtrips in this car.

“You did an amazing job, Dean!” you complimented him. “You are really freakin’ talented. This took you no time at all.”

“Thanks,” he smiled. “It feels good to have her fixed. My dad would have been proud, I think. This was his. He loved this car. I’m just happy that I have her back. Makes me miss him a little more.”

“I’m proud of you. This car deserves to be driven again,” you told him. “You can park her in the garage if you’d like. Keep her safe and untouched.”

“You sure?”

“Hell yeah! She’s worth so much more,” you assured him. “So where are we headed anyways. You never mentioned a destination.”

“Somewhere special. Somewhere we’ve never been together. I think you’re going to like it. I just need some time there. It’s a happy place.”

“Then I look forward to it,” you breathed out. “Everything okay today?”

“For the most part, yeah” he mentioned. “I feel a little off today, not going to lie to you. I just wanted to drive my baby, and show you her. Driving helps me clear my head.”

“I understand that. Something else to focus on. Just the open road,” you smiled sincerely. “I am really proud of you, Dean. Not just for fixing up the car. You look better and better everyday.”

“Thanks Y/N,” he nodded. “Means a lot to me coming from you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So I needed to talk to you about something. You said I could talk to you about anything right?” He questioned.

“Of course,” you said, turning your head to look at him, giving him your full attention.

“There’s this girl,” he began, taking a deep breath. A small smile playing on his lips. “I see her pretty often. Out and about, you know? She’s nice to me, I think she flirts with me. She’s beautiful, and she’s smart. I’ve been thinking that I want to ask her out, but I’m not sure how to do it in a way that doesn’t come off as too strong.”

“Do you know her well?” You asked. Deep down, you were a little upset that he was asking a girl out. A part of you knew that if he did, and the girl said yes, Dean would be spending very little time with you. It was selfish as hell, but you knew how much you needed him. Even if he didn’t know you nearly as well and that was on you for that. You were the one who couldn’t quite break the wall down. You weren’t going to make him choose you over someone he could have an amazing relationship with. After all, he deserved to be happy. You had dealt with your issues on your own most of your life anyways. You could survive without him if it came down to it.

“I’d say I know her a fair bit, but not too extensively,” he shrugged. “You’re a girl, how would you like a guy to ask you out?”

“Honestly, it’s really just about how confident you come across rather than how. I’d like to know he’s paying attention to me if he does, and that he sounds like he really wants to go out with me. I’ve only ever been asked out once so I really won’t be helpful.”

“Nah, you’re plenty helpful. You’re my best friend. I just hope she says yes,” he chuckled. “I don’t think any of what you said is going to be a problem. Now if she says yes, is dinner and a movie okay?”

“For the first day, yeah! That’s a great first date,” you breathed out.

“What would be your ideal first date? I gotta know for the next guy who asks you out,” he winked.

“Dean, no guy is going to ask me out,” you scoffed playfully. “Dinner and a movie is good. Mini golfing is also another good one, especially if it's someone you kind of know. Honestly, I’m up for anything that he thinks I’d like. I’m not picky. It’s all about who you spend time with over what you do.”

“All fair points,” he let out a laugh. “Mini golfing is definitely a good first date idea.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you let out a chuckle. “When are you going to ask her out?”

“Not sure yet. I might just wait to see if she shows anymore interest in me before I take a leap. I just don’t want to do it and then have her say no.”

“She’d be stupid to say no to a guy like you. You’re a catch. You’re smart as hell. You’re cute. You’re the most amazing cook I’ve ever met,” you told him. “Not to mention, you’re clearly good with your hands.”

“I hope you’re right,” he smirked.

“I know I’m right,” you nodded. “It’s the one thing I’m certain about.”

Dean drove through the streets of Lawrence, heading towards the edge of town by the looks of it. You figured he just wanted to drive her for awhile. You really didn’t mind. You didn’t care where you were going, or when you’d be home. The open road was going to give you some time to relax, and not think about how messed up everything was. Just you and Dean on the road. That was exactly how you wanted things.

Dean was pretty quiet as he drove, and you wondered what exactly was on his mind. If he was solely focused on driving or if his mind was elsewhere. No matter how much you watched the road ahead of you, your mind resorted back to that little plastic container at home. The thought had barely left your mind. You knew you weren’t going to stop thinking about it. Not until you did something drastic about it. And after that, you’d hate yourself more than you already did.

“I feel like it’s time I ask are we there yet?” you giggled.

“Yes we are almost there,” he chuckled. “I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up.” You nodded your head, taking a deep breath. You could enjoy the sound of that. Learning a little more about him.

After about five more minutes of driving, Dean made a right turn off the main road. The street was quiet. Not too many people in sight for just after six. It was a nicer day out. All you needed was a sweater to keep you warm. The sun would be more than enough. It was surprising for fall, but you weren’t complaining. It was only a matter of time before things got cold.

Dean pulled into an empty parking lot. In front of the car was a small forest by the looks of it. Behind you was what looked like an elementary school. Did he go to this school growing up? You were probably going to find out at some point throughout the evening.

You got out of the car at the same time. You glanced over to Dean to see where exactly you were going. He motioned for you to follow him. You were headed towards the forest. Dean clearly knew where he was going and you were going to have to trust him. You could take it all in and hopefully that cleared your head. Something else to focus on, Y/N.

You and Dean kept a safe distance between the two of you. Your eyes were everywhere, taking it all in the best you could. It was beautiful to see it all. You had never really been around forests, and paths to walk in. Nothing was as beautiful as this. Growing up, it was always big houses, and parties. You didn’t get to explore like this. Not like you wanted to.

Eventually the path led to a narrow road with a rapidly decreasing hill. It was pretty steep when you started walking down it, but there was something in the adventure that you looked forward to. There was something that you found relief in. The openness of the wilderness was almost comforting. It was almost like no one could find you here. A safe space from people like your mother and Ketch specifically.

At the bottom of the hill was an old ruins building that caught your interest. There wasn’t a single person in sight. You headed straight over to the entrance, Dean following closely behind you. You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering. You wanted to take it all in. Remember it when you got home and were left in the silence of your room.

Dean lead the two of you across the wooden bridge to get across the rocks beneath it. There was a ledge big enough for the two of you to sit on comfortably. Below the ledge was a small body of water, and some trees that grew tall, covering above you. It was enough to keep you distracted. It was absolutely beautiful. You could see why this place was special to him.

“We’ve been friends for a little while now,” he pointed out, breaking the comfortable silence. His eyes took in the trees above.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Best friend.”

“You want to talk to me about what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he swallowed hard. His lips formed a line as you looked at him. He wasn’t joking this time around. You knew there was no pressure for you to talk to him. He’d never pressure you to. But you could see the concern in his eyes. It damn near broke you. You couldn’t. You knew if you did, there was no going back for either of you. You didn’t want to add that extra weight on his shoulders. “Okay.”

You adjusted yourself, resting your back against the wall of the ledge. You brought your legs up to your chest, breathing in the fresh air. His words were ringing in your head. He offered to let you talk to him. He was your best friend. If anyone would understand what you were going through, it would be Dean. He knew the little things you did because he lived with you. He knew something was wrong. He knew that you were struggling immensely. As much as you didn’t want to burden him with it, you knew you weren’t going to be able to hold it all in for much longer. You were trying your hardest to make it through each day. You couldn’t do it much longer. You already wanted to open up the plastic container in your drawer. It was only a matter of time before you did and caused more damage than you already had.

“I’m not okay,” you breathed out. “I’m the farthest thing from okay right now, Dean.”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he nodded. “Talk to me.”

“I need you to promise me something,” you almost mouthed. A lump forming in your throat..

“Anything,” he smiled, his voice a little higher than usual.

“Promise me that you’re okay right now. Promise me that if I talk to you that it’s not going to ruin all the progress you’ve made. That you’re not going to see me any differently.”

“I promise you,” he stated, holding out his pinky for you to take. “I’m more than okay, Y/N. I promise you that I am. Is that the reason why you haven’t talked to me yet? You’re afraid of being too much for me? You’re afraid I’d see you differently?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You’re already going through so much. I don’t want to be too much for you. I’m the one that’s supposed to have it together.”

“You don’t have to all the time,” he smiled weakly at you. “Why do you think I brought you out here? I can see you aren’t doing okay. You never have to worry about it being too much for me. You talked me out of killing myself, Y/N. If you think that I wouldn’t be there to do the same for you every single time.”

“I don’t want to kill myself,” you assured him. “I know how much that would hurt you, and I can’t do that to you. But I have to tell you that it’s really hard for my head to not think that way. Everything that has happened with Ketch, and Jo. The way I feel about myself. The way I feel like I’m going to end up. I spent the last three years of my life with a man that would rather fuck my best friend than me. My mom thinks that it’s my fault he got Jo pregnant. I should have given him exactly what he wanted, and I didn’t. It’s my fault why it happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t push him towards her,” he shook his head. “Cheating is a choice. Don’t believe for a second what your mom said to you. None of his actions are your fault. You are not responsible for what he does.”

“Two years, Dean. Two years he had been cheating on me for. What does that say about me and the person I am?”

“It says you’re loyal. Even if the guy is a piece of shit,” he stated. “You have a big heart, Y/N. That’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Sometimes I feel like it is. All I have ever wanted was for someone to love me the way I love them. You know how pathetic that is? How pathetic I am for staying with him for as long as I did?” you sighed.

“You had your reasons, sweetheart. It’s not pathetic to want to be loved, especially when your mom never showed you what it felt like. Every relationship is great in the beginning. You can’t recognize signs of abuse as easily when you are in a relationship,” he mentioned. “It’s so fucking hard to see them when they aren’t physical.”

“I know you’re right, but there were so many clear signs, Dean. Physical signs! And I am still stuck around. I stuck with it, thinking that he was going to get better. That I’m a good person and I could make him a good person too. I stuck around after he hit me. After all the things he did that weren’t okay. I can’t help but think that I’m in this position because I chose to stay. Because I said yes to marrying him. I didn’t want to be alone. It didn’t matter how well he treated me at what time. There are so many things that I should have done differently. That I could have done instead. This should have happened two years ago and not two months ago.”

“Is that why you can’t move past this? You’ve been bottling it all up for that long?” he asked. “You’re not alone, you know? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You got out and that’s the most important thing. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t right away. You are a good person, Y/N. Regardless. Now, I’m pissed that he laid a hand on you. But sweetheart, he’s not going to hurt you anymore and I’ll make sure of that. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here now.”

“Yeah, now,” you breathed out, he reached his hand over to your calf.

“And from now on,” he added in. “I’m not checking out on you. I’m not leaving you. Believe it or not, I actually love living with you. You’re the best roommate I could ever ask for, and an even better friend. Ketch threw away a rare diamond for a stone he found in a swamp. He’s not good enough for someone like you. He never was and he’s never going to be. I don’t ever want you to doubt yourself because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. He’ll get bored of Jo and the baby, and he’ll try to come back. You are worth more than that. You are worth more than most people can give you.”

“Dean,” you cocked your head to the side, wiping away one of your tears.

“Y/N, you are beautiful, and smart. You have a gorgeous smile, and the biggest heart of anyone I know. In fact, you remind me a lot of my mom. What I can remember anyways. You deserve so much better, and one day you’re going to find it. You don’t deserve to be sad like this.”

“I don’t want to be sad like this,” you admitted. “I haven’t felt like this in a really long time. I just want it all to go away. I want to be able to look at Ketch and not have my heart drop into my stomach. I want to be able to laugh at Jo when she’s nine months pregnant with a guy who is going to do the same thing he did to me to her. He’s going to leave her when she needs him the most. By then, I want to be over this. I want to move on from this.”

“You will be, sweetheart,” his lip curled upward. “I didn’t think I’d ever get better after that day and I did.”

“You’re strong, Dean” you told him.

“So are you,” he half smiled. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t feel that way right now,” you confessed. “Before you asked me to go out with you tonight, I went to the bathroom and opened up my drawer. In the bottom of it, I have this little plastic container that used to be for dental floss. I have a razor blade in it, and I so desperately wanted to cut myself, Dean. So bad.” That was the very first time you had said those words out loud to someone else. It was the hardest thing you ever had to say to someone you were close with. You didn’t want to scare him away by saying it. You didn’t want him to feel like he had to watch you. You just wanted to tell him before you got home and retired back to your room and something happened. If something happened.

“You- do you? I don’t remember seeing any the day we went swimming together,” he pointed out.

“I haven’t in two years,” you stated. “Remember how I said I’ve been there?”

“You -”

“It was the scariest moment of my life and I remember every detail until I passed out. I had gotten to a fight with my mom earlier on in the day about my sex life of all things. She made some comments that stuck and kept going on and on the whole day. When I got home, Ketch was on me about going out to the bar with his buddies. I said no, and he told me I was boring now that he and I were together. The sex had gone out the window. He said I could stay home and sulk, he was going out regardless. I just wanted to take the edge off. Cutting was how I did it. Made me feel better when everything was so chaotic. I was on the bathroom floor when I did it. It made me feel better for awhile. But I was in that headspace where I thought the world was against me. I got sloppy. Before I knew it, I had gone too far. For a split second, I thought about just leaving it. I got lightheaded quickly and called 911. I told everyone it was an accident. But no one believed me that it was. My mom wanted me in a mental institute, and didn’t want anyone finding out that Ketch’s girlfriend tried to kill herself. My dad - he was there for me when I needed him. He’s not around much if you couldn’t tell already. He works all over the place. But he stopped and took three weeks off to stay with me in the hospital while I got help. He was what got through to me. That was the last time I cut. Before that I felt like I deserved pain, other times I just had an itch. When Ketch saw them for the first time, he told me that crying for attention wasn’t attractive. He didn’t realize how bad it was until the day I almost died.”

“I know it’s not. Believe me, I know it’s not,” He nodded. There wasn’t a single hint of judgement in his voice. “And you want to do it now?”

“If I’m being honest, it’s been in my mind all damn day. But I know that if I do, then all of the progress I made will be erased, and I’ll have to start from scratch. I know it’s going to make it all worse, and not better. But I can’t think of anything else,” you shared. “Everything feels so fucked up that I don’t know which way is up. I didn’t want to bother you, and I don’t want to call my dad and worry him. I miss my dad, if I’m being honest here.”

“Here. Look at me,” he said softly. “I’m up. I’m your best friend, Y/N. There is no one in the world that looks out for you the way I do. I’m the one who protects you. I brought you out here, remember? I care and I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay to miss your dad, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid to call him if you need him.”

“What if I can’t get past this, Dean?”

“I promise you, you will,” he nodded. “I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Now, I need you to pinky promise me that you are not going to cut yourself. Can you do that?”

“I hope so,” you sniffled, holding your pinky up for him to link his with yours. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t. You never have,” he furrowed his brows.

“You’re the only person I haven’t.”

“You won’t ever,” he stated. “Ketch is a no one. You said it yourself, not everyone is like him. He’s going to regret it, and you can invite him to your wedding and have him watch you walk down the aisle in a dress that’s a million times prettier than the one you sold. He’s going to watch you and think about how that could have been him if he would have treated you better, and cared about you the way any human being should care.”

“I like that idea,” you nodded your head. Your lip curling up at the thought.

“Me too. I’m so fucking proud of you,” he reminded you. “I think you and I have a lot of learning to do about ourselves. I think we should take that road trip next week. Go see my brother. Spend some time away from this town. Just you, me and baby. Let go of all the toxicity here and come back refreshed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you nodded.

“Feel a little better?”

“A little,” you whispered. “Thank you for listening.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he shook his head. “I care. You can talk to me anytime.”

“I care about you too.” Dean shifted closer to you so that he was sitting directly in front of you. You could see it in his gorgeous fanfiction green eyes that he wasn’t judging you. He genuinely cared about you and how you were doing. He wanted you to get better so you’d get back to that ball of fire he met that day on the road. He opened up his arms for you to crawl into, and you graciously accepted this time.

It felt so damn good to be hugged by him. You weren’t sure whether it was his affection that he showed you, or the fact that he was just showing you affection in the first place that really struck a chord with you. His hugs were always warm and welcoming, and you embraced it every time you got one.

You also knew now more than ever that you were really starting to fall for Dean, and there was no stopping it now. It really should have scared you, with the whole thing with Ketch. But it wasn’t that problem. The problem was that he was too good for you, and he was into another girl. He couldn’t see a girl like you as someone he wanted to be with. You were the best friend. The wing woman. The one he came home to after a long day. You weren’t going to be his girlfriend or future wife. You weren’t going to be the perfect girlfriend for him. You didn’t know how, and quite frankly, you were too broken for his love. He deserved happiness. He deserved everything you couldn’t give him.

“You wanna head home? You’ve gotta be hungry by now,” he asked you.

“Yeah okay. Can you make some of that tomato soup for me? My stomach is still uneasy,” you said, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“On one condition.”

“Okay?”

“I want your blades gone. I don’t want you to open up your drawer and be reminded that they are there,” he stated. “And in return, I’ll throw out the painkillers in my bag that you didn’t know about and we’ll start fresh.”

“You -you still have-“

“Extra in case I wasn’t successful. I haven’t touched them, I promise. I actually forgot about them until I found them yesterday. I wouldn’t do that to you. I swear.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Dean helped you off the ledge, making sure you were safely on the ground before you started walking. You had to admit that you did feel a lot better after talking to him about everything that was going on in your head. You knew what was going to happen if you didn’t. Dean was the one who was keeping you grounded. He had proven to you time and time again that he truly cared about you. He was the only real friend you had ever had the more you thought about it. He was the kind of man you wished you had in your life all those years ago.

Dean threw his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you walked up the big hill. You smiled softly, snaking your arm around his waist to hold him back. It was comfortable for you to be so close to him. That was where you wanted to be. Right next to him. He made you feel completely safe. He protected you. You wanted to be able to protect him.

He opened up the car door for you, allowing you to get in before he circled around to the drivers side. You were looking forward to going home and relaxing, You weren’t going to study anymore than you already had. You were going to see if you could convince Dean to watch a couple of episodes of Dr Sexy with you so you could start catching up. You just wanted a night with him.

“I’ll get started on that soup for you,” he smiled. “Can you go grab the tiny case for me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“The pills are in my room. My duffle bag in the side pocket. They are in a plastic bag,” he told you.

You headed down the hall, stopping at Dean’s door first. You twisted the door handle, opening up the door. He had his bed made, and on the end of the bed was his pyjama pants. He had a t-shirt folded right on top of it. On the nightstand, he had a bottle of water and a picture of his family. The duffle bag was sitting in front of the closet. It was empty for the most part, which meant he had moved his stuff in completely. You took that as a sign that he felt like he was at home. He really did love living here with you.

You opened up the side pocket of his duffle, reaching in to find the bag of pills. There had to be at least fifty painkillers in the bag. It all came rushing back to you again. If you hadn't found Dean that day, he wouldn’t have been standing in your kitchen right now. You wouldn’t have met your best friend. You wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for him and everything he had done for you. That’s what was making it so easy for you to hand Dean the blade. You didn’t want him to have that same fear you felt the night he moved in with you.

You were quick in heading out of his room, and going into yours. You only had the one left that you kept in your drawer. This time when you looked at the plastic case, you didn’t have the urge to open it and use it. You didn’t want to disappoint Dean. You wanted him to stay proud of you. To never doubt the trust he had in you.

You headed back to the kitchen, finding Dean standing at the stove, stirring away at the soup. You placed the plastic case on the counter, and the pills right next to it. He turned around with a sad smile as he looked at the two things together.

“Fresh start,” he nodded.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Thank you for being an amazing friend to me, Dean.”

“Always will be, sweetheart. We gotta look out for each other.”

“Dean, I’ve never told people a lot of the stuff I’ve told you. You know, the stuff about my mom and dad, Ketch, and the way I feel. No one else really knows about it, except you. I trust you, Dean. I trust you more than I have trusted anyone. I’ve always needed someone like you in my life, and I never thought I would have someone. I really hope that you know just how big of a spot I have for you. You are my favourite person, Dean.”

“You’re my favourite person too,” he smiled softly. “And for the record, I’m really proud of you for talking to me today.”

“Made me feel better,” you admitted. “What are the chances of me convincing you to watch some older Dr Sexy with me tonight, and maybe sleeping over?”

“High, very high.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 8 coming Sunday!

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me going!

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thesweetestkimberry · 3 years

Text

Hairspray

pairings: hanta sero x reader

summary: set on the theatrical stage, you and sero become an item during your production of Hairspray.

warnings: theatre stuff,, like two curses, bakugou as stage manager, i think that’s it

notes: i’d had this idea for a bit, only because my high school did hairspray and i wanted to do something with sero,, however this is literal trash, i might rewrite.

『° 。✰˚⋆☾⋆。✰°』

today was opening night for UA high’s production of hairspray.

principal nezu felt as through the students would appreciate an entertaining activity, especially after all the hardships their students had been through.

“alright extras, mic check, sound off,” bakugou’s voice rang out through the hall over the speakers, everyone tuning in for their turn, “mic 1.” he said with an edge in his voice.

you all tuned in for kaminari to do his check, laughing as he recited some lines as corny collins, the tv show host.

“you dumbasses need to be loud. if you’re not loud here and decide to get louder in the show, we’re gonna get fucking feedback, ya hear?” he explained, everyone nodding.

Once all that was done, you all did final checks of your costumes, made sure props were in their correct spots,made sure you had enough cord for your mics, etc.

“you excited?” uraraka asked you, her blonde wig styled in pigtails high on her head bounced. you were excited when you both found out you’d be playing best friends, her as Penny Pingleton and you as Tracy Turnblad

“im terrified!” you say freaking yourself out.

‘what if i forget a line?’ ‘what if i trip?’ ‘what if my mic goes out?’ ‘what if-‘

“hey little darlin, what's eatin ya?” a voiced pulled you out of your thoughts, snapping your head over to see sero, hair slicked and sweater vest on point.

you blushed at his words, even after going over lines together these past three months, you never got used to hearing those words come out of his mouth.

“oh! sero, hey. im fine, just a little nervous is all.” you say playing with the hem of the pleated skirt you wore. he stood next to you in the dressing room, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a side hug.

“you got this! i cant say im not nervous.. especially when i get to perform next to you.” he says rubbing the back of his neck.

the two of you were close with one another, with lingering touches, fleeting eye contact and light blushes whenever the other was near was a sign for everyone except you two.

“hanta what do you-“ “alright everyone! five till curtains! let’s get into place!” shoji announced, moving his headset to the side after receiving the order from the sound booth.

before you could ask sero another question, he was whisked away by amber von tussle, graciously played my yaomomo.

you hurried onto stage, the large curtains being the only thing separating you from the audience. the feel of the wood beneath your feet, and the whispered silence backstage made your hearing almost sound muffled.

you could see people still shuffling to prepare for their cues, and as quick as them, you hopped into the “bed” closing your eyes and taking deep breaths.

the music began, and the curtains opened.

and soon came the end of act two.

with your mind buzzing from the now natural feeling of your lines and choreography, you also couldn’t help but become flustered every time sero channeled his inner link larkin.

“tracy,” he began, “if i don’t kiss you right now, i might bust a gut.” he finished, the urge to laugh still there since the first time you heard that line,

“well we wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now would we?” you responded, feeling his arm slither around your waist.

you’d raised your hands to cup his face and prepare for the false kiss, but before you could reach his face, he planted his lips onto yours.

your eyes widened in response, as did half the cast. eyes fluttered shit after a few seconds and kissed him back, hands going to his neck.

your castmates couldn’t contain their cheers, and began to cheer and twitter amongst themselves.

pulling away, you both reveled in one another as the other characters delivered their final lines before the last song.

and once the curtains closed you threw yourself into sero’s arms, smashing your lips onto his again.

the kiss was emotional and sweet, the wig on your head nearly falling off and sero’s hair was disheveled.

pulling away, the two of you gazed at one another, “be my doll?” he asked, using the pet name he notice, made you flustered.

“of course!”

“alright, alright you two, bows!” bakugou shouted, signaling for tokoyami on curtains to open them.

you and sero stood side by side, fingers interlocked as the two of you smiled and bowed. applause from the audience faded into a full roar because all you and sero could think about was how great this relationship would be.

#sero hanta #hanta sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #sero hanta imagine #mha x reader #bnha x reader #seroxreader #hanta sero imagine #mha hanta sero

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dramaqueeenamby · 4 years

Text

A Day with the Udakus'

A/N: I know we’re all hurting, but I just wanted to maybe try to lighten the mood. I don’t really expect most of you to read this, or anyone, but for me, writing was therapeutic. I love you all, and we will get through this.

Words: 3K

Warnings: NO ANGST. Just shenanigans

Summary: Reader is granted an exclusive interview with the Udaku family, but Y/N quickly realizes there’s more to the Wakandans than she could have ever realized.

You clicked the pen three times.

Once to ensure that it was unsheathed, another to close it again, and the last time for purposeful use. It was a habit you’d developed way back in middle school. You were always the irksome “pen clicker” who elevated everyone’s anxiety while taking an exam. However, for you, it was calming.

And to a certain extent, it still was.

You turned your head to the window only to remember that the coverings were unmovable, an intentional move, you were sure, to keep you from seeing too much.

You didn’t take it personal, though. You were just thankful to have this assignment, an assignment that could make or break your career depending on the outcome.

No one, in the history of your country, had been welcomed to Wakanda. The borders were solid as cement. No outsiders.

Yet, here you were, and to spend a day interviewing the royal family.

You began your pen clicking process all over again.

You meant to document how long the flight was, but nerves ate at your ability to keep time. If you had to guess, though, at least twelve hours transpired prior to your arrival.

And what an arrival it was. As soon as you stepped off the plane, you were immediately in awe. Flying machines similar to cars but much smaller than 747’s flew over, the monolithic buildings seemed to eclipse the clouds themselves, and the design of everything, the specific details, it all seemed too ethereal to be real.

But it was.

This was Wakanda.

You frowned.

Where in the hell did everyone get the notion that this country was among the poorest in Africa? From what she could see, it was easily the richest in the continent.

If not the world.

“You’re here!”

You directed your attention to a beaming girl who made a beeline in your direction. She looked no older than 18 and wore her hair in small box braids. Her attire was unlike any you’d seen. You made a mental note of that, as well as the exterior of the nation.

“Welcome….” You supplied your name, allowing her to include it in her greeting before she started bobbing on the back of her heels. “I’m so excited to meet you. I’ve never actually done a real interview before.”

You smiled and pushed a passion twist behind your ear. During one of your naps on the plane, your bun must have loosened. “It’s an honor to be here…..”

Her eyes widened. “Shuri. You can call me Shuri.”

Your eyes too widened. Shuri? “As in Princess Shuri?”

The teenager scowled. “Please, Shuri will do fine.” She moved closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Come. I will show you to your room.”

All you could do was awkwardly nod. This was the freaking princess of this majestic place, and she was enthusiastic as a kid at Disney. For you.

Your own parents weren’t even that excited when you told them you’d landed your dream job.

As Shuri walked you from the hangar bay to the inside of the palace, you took note of everything around you, the people you passed. The strong women who wore red, the men who wore shades of blue, black, and gray. They all exuded strength and power. Shuri explained the women were called the Dora Milaje, Wakanda’s all-female sect of the military. However, their first and foremost priority? Protecting the king and royal family.

The uniforms, the staffs, the power. Hell, you were damn near about to start spazzing.

“Ahh, Erik!” Shuri stopped and gestured to a couple walking in your direction. “Come meet-”

“Goddamnit, woman, I told you I wasn’t looking at her!”

“Don’t call me a woman!”

“You a female, ain’t you? You got a pussy, don’t you?”

“You make me sick!”

“Naw, I make you gag, remember?” The man with short locs cursed as the woman he was arguing with grabbed at his hair, giving a good yank. “The fuck!”

“I want you to admit you were looking at her!”

“She was our waitress! Of course, I was looking at her! You asked me to order, damnit!”

“Nigga, don’t play with me, you know what I mean!” The woman paused. “You think she’s prettier than me, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know the bitch!”

“Don’t use that word around me!”

“Fuck this. You are really crazy, you know that?”

She suddenly started to whimper as the man’s shoulders dropped.

“You don’t love me anymore.”

As the woman began to sob, loudly and theatrically, he placed his arms around her and pulled her into his chest.

All you could do was stare in awe at the scene before you.

Shuri must have noticed your surprise. She waved her hand. “That is my cousin, Erik, and his wife--”

“Wife?” You interrupted, looking back and forth between the teen and the couple. “They’re married?”

Shuri nodded happily. “They’ve been together since primary.”

And they fight like that?

You also made a mental note to discuss the interesting dynamic of marriages in Wakanda in your writeup.

“You said it wasn’t big!” Erik’s wife was still crying and now punching on his chest as she angrily jabbed her finger in his shoulder. “You—you liar!”

Before Shuri could introduce you, the upset woman sauntered past and between you two, knocking you to the side.

“It isn’t, baby! You just got a lot on your mind!” Erik called after her, hands up in defeat. “A lot of thoughts!” He sighed and jogged toward you two, grabbing Shuri by the back of her neck and kissing her forehead. “I’ll catch you later, cuz.” He then looked your way, and you prayed he could not see the nervous swallow that coursed down your throat. He was so tall and handsome.

And married.

“Stranger.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already gone.

You sighed. It was better than being ignored.

Shuri shook her head and motioned for you two to continue walking. “We’ll try again at dinner. Come, let me finish showing you around.”

All you could do was quietly agree as she pointed things out, things you probably should have paid more attention to, but you were stuck not only on the volatile argument but just the wonders that surrounded you.

You expected poverty, dire conditions, solemn conversations. You were experiencing the complete opposite.

“Now this is—”

“Die, traitor! Die!”

“Wakanda Forever!”

“Surrender!”

“Never!

Multiple voices filled your ears as you turned the corner of a hallway, only to be knocked flat on your ass seconds later, your purse emptying, the recently purchased bottle of hand sanitizer rolling away from your body.

“Asha!” Shuri shouted with her arms crossed. “You come back here and apologize!”

The little girl with white locs that cascaded down her back, turned her head to look back. You caught her bright blue eyes and gasped. You’d never seen such a beautiful contrast of color. Her milky chocolate complexion, those ocean eyes, the icy white hair. She was easily the most beautiful little girl you’d ever seen.

“I cannot, Aunt Shuri! I must escape!”

“Asha...” Shuri’s voice transitioned into one of unequivocal sternness as she helped you stand up. “Now.”

Asha groaned and stomped over, pouting, she muttered a quiet sorry.

“You know better—”

“Now, Azari and N’Yami are going to win without me.”

“Another game of capture, eh?” Shuri chuckled and pulled the child into her, kissing the top of her head. “Y/N, this is my niece, Princess Asha.”

This time, you were able to watch your facial expressions. The only thing you did was curtsy. “Your highness.”

When you looked up, you saw Asha and Shuri sharing confused expressions. You faltered with your next statement, only for Asha to interrupt.

“What are you doing?”

“We don’t do that here,” Shuri explained with a small smile.

You were thankful for your deep complexion. Had you been caucasian, your embarrassment would have given you away.

You awkwardly looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re weird.”

“Asha!”

Shuri pinched her arm. The little princess scowled and grabbed the assaulted area. “Sorry.”

“Come, little one! We are off for another round.”

A new voice announced as three heads turned to the end of the hall where a group of kids stood amongst a giant. Wide, tall, and with muscles wrapping around bands of muscles, you swallowed again. You didn’t have to be close to see how attractive this man was.

Was every man in Wakanda sinfully handsome?

“Coming, Uncle M’Baku!” She looked up. “May I go now, Aunt Shuri?”

Shuri playfully sighed and motioned toward the other kids. “Go on.”

Without another word, she sprinted off, joining her friends before the group disappeared.

“Everyone is so busy today,” Shuri spoke with disappointment and crossed arms. “I planned to introduce you to the rest of the kids.”

You couldn’t help your interruption. “How many kids does the king have?”

“Four. Asha, N’Yami, and Azari, and Azzuri. Asha is the oldest. The other three are triplets.”

“My God,” you mumbled, then remembering that there were certainly more than three kids at the end of the hall. “And the others?”

“M’Baku’s kids. He was the tall man with them. He’s the leader of the Jabari tribe here. He and his wife Hawla have twelve children.”

Every segment of that sentence sent your eyebrows up in surprise. Yet, you retained more questions, especially after Shuri further explained how the tribes worked. She also mentioned introducing you to the leaders of this Jabari tribe.

It was a lot considering you hadn’t even been there for a whole hour.

“Come on, brother and sister should be in the training room.”

It wasn’t hard to figure that by brother, she meant King T’Challa, and by sister, Queen Ororo.

Where was that damn pen when you needed it?

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to disturb them.”

“Nonsense, they’re probably just training.”

“Training?”

“You’ll see.”

Shuri’s coyness didn’t help your nerves. While she seemed to enjoy the madness of the palace, it spiked your discomfort. You’d mentally prepared for almost everything except the madhouse that you were being introduced to.

“Do not let brother intimidate you. His bark is much worse than his bite.”

You found that very hard to believe. King T’Challa, also the Black Panther, had single handedly defeated every member of the Avengers on their own turf, yet you were supposed to believe that he was amenable?

“Really?”

Shuri snorted. “No, he’s an ass.” You gulped. “Sister has helped calm him down, though, that much, I can’t deny.”

You said nothing else as she brought you to double doors that opened without her moving. That’d happened more than a couple of times, yet you could never detect any sign of motion sensors. Another note was made.

You walked into a room where a wall of windows exposed a large area that resembled a training type arena.

“There they—”

“My wife controls the weather itself, while I am just a man.” You weren’t even paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. All you could focus on was him. He was in the suit, muscles stretching against the fabric. He walked while he spoke, his gait that of a predator, a hunter, a king. “A man who has studied every fighting style in the world.”

Across the room, she rose into the sky, floating high above the ground. The winds whipped around her, her arms raised. Her eyes were completely white, her matching white hair floating from the mass of winds.

Storm

“If I have learned anything, it is that every punch can be blocked.” Seconds later, the queen flew toward him, aiming for a punch, but falling short as he easily moved to the side. “Every weapon can be countered.”

You saw his lips move, but whatever was said was not audible.

His next statement, however, was not.

“Right this moment, above our head, an unmanned drone sprays the cloud with a super-absorbent powdered polymer.” As he spoke, large bolts of lightning were directed toward him. Some hit his suit, but he dodged most of them. “Out on the Indian Ocean, a swarm of nanotech phytoplankton eat the heat from a burgeoning storm.” You noticed how the winds started to lessen in intensity and depth. “Microwaves shoot down from Wakandan satellites, reducing an onrushing snowstorm to a slightly cooling breeze.”

Storm’s brows furrowed as she looked at her hands. The white hues of her eyes were returning to normal, revealing the same blue eyes you’d seen in Asha.

“The winds? What just—”

“I’m sorry, my love,” King T’Challa interrupted. She looked over at him, lowering to the ground. “I just blocked your punch.”

“You….” Her jaw drop and speech faltered. “All this time, you’ve had a plan for how to defeat your own wife.”

The king spoke in a bored voice. “Please remember, my dear, I did not start this fight.”

“Neither will you finish it, my dear!”

Before he could reply, Storm struck him, sending him flying and landing on his ass. What started as a battle of abilities was now reduced to hand to hand combat. You watched in awe as these two incomparably powerful human beings battled each other. The fact that they were husband and wife, king and queen, mattered not even in the slightest.

They looked like two gladiators dueling to the death.

“Do—do they do this often?”

“Train?” Shuri looked at you. “All the time.”

You almost fainted. “This is how they train?”

“You bastard!” The strength of the thunder that emanated from Storm caused the entire building to shake while the lightning causes the lights to flicker.

Shuri sighed and shook her head. “I suppose you’ll have to meet them at dinner.”

“Dinner?” You coughed. “I couldn’t—I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense. We’d love to have you.” Shuri’s smile widened. “Then you can meet the whole family at once.”

You suddenly wondered how hard it was to get a flight out of Wakanda.

xXx

The room you’d been given, so beautiful and magnanimous, was now a disaster. Clothes were thrown about while shoes clustered the floor. Underneath your makeup, your face was red and patchy from the two looks you tried, hated, and scrubbed before settling on a simple smoky eye and blood red lip.

Every outfit you tried on seemed either too fancy or too casual. Then again, you’d never had dinner with a royal family, let alone a family of heroes.

You so badly wanted to find a way out of it, but Shuri, the seemingly only normal member of this family was hellbent on introducing you. You also had to factor in that you’d have to communicate with them at some point. You were there to interview them for god’s sake.

Two guards knocked on your door to escort you to the dining hall. You were a bit saddened at the fact that Shuri hadn’t come to bring you. You felt comfortable with her.

Imagine that. I need a teenager to walk me. What is this place doing to me?

As you walked down the hall, you sent up a quick prayer. The voices that were initially faint grew into loud and lucid. The double doors opened and revealed you to the room full of royals. You stood still as a statue.

“Y/N!” Shuri jumped from the table and jogged over. This dining room envied that of one on a college campus. “Welcome.” She smiled while standing in front of you. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” You wanted to compliment her, but you could only focus on the pairs of eyes on you. Almost everyone was staring, but that wasn’t even what stood out the most. It was how they were looking.

Welcoming

“Y/N.” The queen was the first to speak, her smile wide and warm. You’d never seen such a beautiful person. Her white dress had a long split up the right side of her leg and the neckline dipped low, revealing her full breast. It was almost strange to think this was the same woman who viciously attacked her husband just a few hours ago. “It is a pleasure to have you here. We welcome you.”

“T-t-t-thank you, your highness.”

“Man, if you don’t call her RoRo,” Erik interjected. His wife, who stood next to him, slapped his arm.

“Ignore him. I’m Nareema.”

“My woman.” Erik’s hand sunk down to her ass, where he gave a soft slap.

“We welcome you to our home.” The tallest man stood, but not before helping the woman who sat next to him up. She rubbed her round stomach. “I am M’Baku, and this is my wife, Hawla.”

Ororo’s beauty was undeniable, but so were Hawla and Nareema. And the men…..

I wonder if everyone in Wakanda is as—

“Y/N.”

When he spoke, heads turned and ears tuned. He just commanded authority. Hands together and behind his back, he stared directly at you. His gaze nor tone of voice was as friendly as his wife, but you didn’t expect him to be welcoming you with open arms. You could only imagine what it took to even allow him to be willing to have you in his home. Around his family.

“I hope you are finding your visit well.”

“I-I am.” She quickly answered and then added, “your highness.”

“Oh please, don’t call him that,” Shuri corrected. “Brother’s ego is already big enough.”

“That is true,” Ororo chimed with a sly smile, looking at him out the corner of her eye. King T’Challa moved his hand to his wife’s and gave a soft squeeze and wink.

You retained a smile as they welcomed you to the table. When you asked about the kids, a chorus of groans erupted.

“They eat by themselves. We need our time away from those demons.”

“My children are warriors.”

“Your kids are bad as hell.”

“Erik!”

“I don’t know you talking, sis. Your kids even badder.”

“Mind your tongue, N’Jadaka.”

“Spark Jr. Sparky the Third, Sparky Spark, and Sparkle are all savages. I said what I said.” You brought the napkin to your mouth to hide your amused smile. “How the hell all four of they asses end up inheriting both ya’ll’s powers anyway? What kind of fucking ya’ll be doing?”

“Erik, must you be so vulgar?” Hawla complained.

“Aye, the little man speaks truth. How rare it is for all four to inherit such power.”

“Who the hell you calling little man, Mark Henry? This little man will beat the ruff ruff’s right out ya atomic dog ass.”

“N’Jadaka, please!”

“I told you he needed a muzzle.”

“That’s funny, cause I told cuz not to marry you.”

“Speak that way to my wife, again, N’Jadaka, and we shall see how well you can speak with your larynx severed.”

The calm delivery of King T’Challa’s threat sent chills down your spine, but they didn’t last.

“You wasn’t saying that when you was chillin at my crib last week talking about you were sick of her mood swings.”

If looks could kill, Erik and T’Challa would be on life support.

“You said what?”

“What was Ororo doing at our house? Where was I? Why did you not tell me this?”

“We will discuss this later.”

“No, we will discuss it now.”

“I do not answer to you, Ororo.”

“Oh, really?” She tilted her head to the side, staring at him, T’Challa kept their stare for a few more seconds when he grabbed at his throat. His fist banged on the table, causing the dishes to tremble from the intensity. You gasped. She was choking him.

“Here we go again,” Shuri mumbled, stabbing her fork into the plate. You looked around, Erik and Nareema were still arguing. She looked ready to cry. M’Baku and Hawla spoke quietly amongst themselves. You were flabbergasted. No one seemed the least bit concerned that the queen was trying to kill the king.

Again

“Damnit, Ororo!” King T’Challa finally spoke after quick, hearty coughs. “Damn you!”

“Would you like to tell me again you don’t answer to me?”

“This is what I am referring to. You are always so quick to anger!”

“Perhaps if my husband would not do things to make me angry, I would not be angry. Did that ever cross your miserable, self-centered brain?”

“You do hate me! I knew it!”

“Nareema, I don’t hate you!”

“Could we get another round of bread, please?”

“So, what is your family like?” Shuri suddenly asked in a bored tone. All you could do was look around. So much arguing, so many strange interactions, yet you were the only one who seemed bothered. And perhaps that was for a reason.

A good reason.

This was their norm, and despite how dysfunctional it appeared on the outside, it worked for them. And that was more than enough for you.

You’d just have to accept that this was just another day with the Udakus.’

#t'challa x reader #t'challa x oc #black panther imagine #black panther #black panther fanfiction #t'challa udaku #t'challa

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kumeko · 3 years

Text

A/N: For the @afterschoolzine! Sabito and Shinobu would probably get along with tormenting bullying helping Giyu, but only after they got to know each other.

…

There were many times when Sabito didn’t know what to do with the supposed human being known as Giyu Tomioka. Sure, they’d been friends since they were kids, with all the embarrassing stories that entailed. Sabito had watched as his best friend learned to ride a bike, accidentally asked out a girl (and got rejected in the same breath), and got more injuries from stray balls than was statistically probable. They’d gone through school together, even university, and by now he could confidently say he knew Giyu inside and out. Hell, he might even know Giyu better than his parents did.

Yet, despite that, Giyu somehow found a way to shock him every couple of months. Like today. Sitting in the middle of the staff room of the high school where they both taught, Sabito looked down at his half-filled coffee mug. Considering it was his second cup in the morning, he had to be awake. He glanced up once more at the nervous man in front of him. Not that most people would be able to tell. Giyu’s expressions ranged from rock to blank sheet for those who didn’t know him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Run that by me again?”

“The students are asking me for advice,” Giyu repeated slowly.

That was exactly what he thought he’d heard. Sabito sipped his coffee, the bitter liquid jolting his senses. “They’re coming to you for advice?”

“Every morning.” Giyu’s shoulders sank at the memory. “I can’t give them advice.”

“That right there is the reason why,” Sabito muttered dryly, raking his hair as he took in his friend. To anyone else, Giyu’s words would have sounded callous, but Sabito recognized them for what they were: an admission of his abilities. An admission he agreed with utterly—sure, at that age, he’d also thought most adults were put together and knew everything about anything. Yet even just looking at him should have clued in the students that Giyu wasn’t the best choice. He was wearing a tracksuit, for crying out loud, while everyone else wore some level of professional clothing.

And no, being a gym teacher did not excuse Giyu’s lack of common sense.

Giyu nodded, taking his response far more seriously than he’d intended. “Could you do it instead?”

“Me?” Sabito frowned, not interested. He had his hands full with his class, let alone whatever kid thought that Giyu of all people was the best person to hear his worries. “You’re a teacher, too. You have to be able to handle this yourself.”

“Right.” Crestfallen, Giyu’s shoulders sank even further and he hung his head. It was like kicking a puppy.

Biting back a groan, Sabito gave in. As pathetic as his friend was sometimes, he could never let him flounder for long. “Alright, alright. I’ll help. But only if it looks like you can’t handle it.”

Giyu’s eyes almost sparkled and Sabito wondered just how long it’d be before he regretted his words.

-x-

There were many tasks Sabito had to finish before class started in the morning. Making sure his lesson plan was set, homework was marked, his supplies were ready—mornings were a busy time for him in general.

They were even busier now that he had to watch over Giyu. Even worse, he couldn’t just do it from a safe distance like a normal person. No, Sabito had to hide behind a row of bushes lining the school entryway, just centimeters away from his friend and the students as they slowly trickled in. He felt like a stalker from a cliché shoujo manga.

Peeking through the bushes, he watched as student after student was inspected by Giyu. At least it made sense now. It was hard to find a teacher alone in the morning, with all the pre-class prep. The only one consistently available and easy to find was Giyu. If Sabito were a teen and really needed the advice, he’d do it too. But only if he couldn’t wait till afterschool.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that thought. Sabito had been lurking in the bushes for a good half hour and students hadn’t so much as smiled Giyu’s way, let alone asked for his help. Maybe Giyu had imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d misunderstood someone’s intentions. He’d been infamous—

“Yes?” Giyu asked, his voice unnaturally loud as it cut through Sabito’s thoughts.

Sabito jerked his attention back to Giyu. Next to him stood a shorter boy, his expression animated as he talked. The burn mark on his forehead marked him as one of the kids from Shinobu’s classes—Tanjirou, if Sabito remembered correctly. Giyu kept looking back at the bushes panickily, not that Tanjirou noticed.

Shoot. Sabito silently apologized before leaning forward as he strained to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“—so we ended up deciding on a school play,” Tanjirou rattled off, his eyes bright as his voice increased in pitch. “And Nezuko’s going to be the princess!”

Giyu was sweating buckets, glancing from Tanjirou, to the bushes, and then back again. He didn’t say anything as Tanjirou rambled on and Sabito had to resist the urge to laugh. No wonder the kid had flocked to Giyu. To an outsider, Giyu was a great listener. He kept quiet, didn’t interject more than necessary, and always paid attention.

However, anyone who knew him longer than a few hours would realize that wasn’t the case at all. The only reason he kept quiet was because he couldn’t figure out what to reply with and by the time he did, it was always too late to respond. It was a cycle of sorts.

“She’s so cute in her dress,” Tanjirou gushed, almost vibrating from excitement. “Though she also looks really handsome in the knight’s suit.”

Giyu opened his mouth to say something before closing it.

“It was really hard, actually, picking a position—” The bell rang, cutting off Tanjirou before he could ramble for yet another twenty minutes. Jumping in surprise, he waved as he dashed toward the school. “Sorry, I’ll explain later!”

By the time Tanjirou reached the school doors, Giyu managed a weak, “…bye.”

Sabito snickered as he stood up, dusting the leaves off his suit. Stepping out of the bushes, he approached his friend. “What was that?”

Shooting him a baleful look, Giyu closed the school gates. It creaked as it moved, almost drowning out his response. “I…couldn’t help him.”

“I don’t think he needed any help,” Sabito replied wryly, rubbing his neck. There was not a single part of the conversation that looked like Tanjirou had expected a response, let alone wanted one. When Giyu still looked downcast, he squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Seriously, I think he just wanted someone to listen.”

“But—”

Sabito interrupted firmly, “Sometimes that’s all there is.”

“…if you say so…” Looking utterly unconvinced, Giyu slowly trudged toward the school looking like a dog on his last walk.

There were times when Sabito was certain Giyu should have tried his hand at acting, he had the theatrics for it. “Fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll come again tomorrow, alright?”

-x-

Sabito sighed as he crouched behind the bushes once more. He certainly hadn’t expected to do this again, yet here he was, skulking in the shadows. Unlike yesterday, though, he was prepared this time with a coffee in hand.

Once more, students trickled in slowly, their arrival coinciding with club activities and class duties. Tanjirou didn’t appear this time. Yesterday’s chat must have cleared his system and Sabito resisted the urge to laugh as he remembered Giyu’s expression. This time, he’d take a photo of it. There were endless uses for it.

All he needed was a student pestering Giyu. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long as yet another one of Shinobu’s students just appeared in front of Giyu like lightning. Even if the blonde hair hadn’t given away who it was, the sobbing would have. Zenitsu bawled like a baby, water escaping his eyes like a waterfall.

“She didn’t want to date me!” Zenitsu wailed, his voice oddly clear despite his tearful state. “I bought her flowers, got her candy, and she didn’t want to date me!”

His voice increased in pitch with each complaint and maybe he should join the choir with range like that.

Giyu raised his hands helplessly, like he didn’t know what to do with them. This was perhaps the worst topic to ask him for advice. Sabito could count how many dates Giyu had been on with one hand. “Uhhh….”

“I’m going to die alone!” Sobbing, Zenitsu grabbed Giyu’s jacket and blew his nose on it.

It was almost enough to break Giyu’s stoic expression. He looked ready to die at any moment and it was a miracle he hadn’t recoiled after that.

Not taking any notice, Zenitsu pressed closer, still crying up a storm. “No one loves me!!!”

A small puddle started forming at their feet and Giyu looked down at Zenitsu frantically before turning to the bushes. There was no mistaking it this time, that wide-eyed panic was a clear call for help.

Automatically, Sabito started to rise before realizing he didn’t have a clue on how to react either. Were all the kids in Shinobu’s class weirdos? This wasn’t a normal level of heartbreak that any teen faced, no this was some existential crisis and it would take a therapist or two to fix.

All of a sudden, the tears stopped, and Sabito jerked his head up to catch Zenitsu’s smile as he pulled away. He wiped his eyes. “Thanks, I feel better now.”

Do you? Sabito almost asked, before remembering that he was hiding in the bushes like some sort of creep.

Aside from his red-rimmed eyes and runny nose, Zenitsu didn’t look like his heart had just been broken at all. Instead, he appeared practically cheerful as he skipped onward to the school. He even made a call me gesture as he passed by a girl.

Immediately, Giyu turned to Sabito’s bush, his expression identical to a kicked puppy’s.

Well, it wasn’t like Sabito had known what to do then either. Silently, he resigned himself to yet another morning in the bushes.

-x-

Wednesday was utterly absent of heartbroken boys or overly enthusiastic brothers. In fact, as Sabito sat behind a bush for the third day in a row, he had to keep pinching his wrist to keep awake. There hadn’t been a single student who’d bothered Giyu and secretly Sabito hoped that this would be the last of it. He did not like the fact that his footprints were now embedded in the mud here, or that he was seriously considering setting up a stool.

Five minutes before the bell rang, Sabito stretched his arms behind his back. Well, that was it. The only students left were the chronically late ones and considering that Tanjirou hadn’t passed yet, he was probably dashing up the street now. Resting his jaw on a hand, he waited impatiently for the kid to show.

He didn’t have to wait long. It only took fifteen seconds for a mop of brown hair to appear. A blur hurtling down the school path, Sabito could just make out a waving hand and a rush of apologies before Tanjirou disappeared through the school gate.

Turning back to Giyu, Sabito’s jaw dropped as the other infamous sibling ran in. Every part of her was a school violation, from the tips of her pink hair to her wrinkled socks to the pink contacts in her eyes. The biggest issue, however, was the loaf of bread in her mouth, making it impossible for her to talk.

There was something physically impossible about it, yet he couldn’t deny what was in front of his eyes. Looking just as shocked as he was, Giyu stepped forward to block her path. “That…”

She stopped in front of him, cocking her head expectantly. The bread remained in her mouth, the size somehow staying the same despite how much she chewed.

“That bread.” Giyu gestured at her mouth. “You will choke.”

Nezuko stared up at him for a good long second before nodding. Then she was gone again, bread still in her mouth, and Sabito wasn’t sure if she had even understood the question.

-x-

It was amazing how quickly a person could get used to something. Sabito had been sitting in the bushes four days in a row now and it felt like part of his morning routine to grab a stool, drag it to the bushes, and drink his morning coffee as he watched students and teachers arrive.

He was absolutely certain that another student would appear today, and the only question was if it would be someone who had already come or if it would be someone new. While he would never admit it aloud, this was starting to become the highlight of his day. If they made a betting pool out of it, he’d have raked in a fortune.

Well, as long as it wasn’t about guessing who’d come next, because oddities of oddities, Kanao was nervously tugging on Giyu’s sleeve today. Red-faced, she stuttered as she asked, “C-could you h-help me with something?”

Sabito rubbed his eyes, but the sight before him didn’t change. He would have thought that for any problems she had, she’d have gone to her sister. Maybe it was about Shinobu? Sensing something juicy, he leaned forward eagerly.

“I wonder how he’ll deal with this.”

Sabito froze at the slightly musical voice above him. There was no mistaking Shinobu’s voice, they verbally sparred several times a week now, and he tried to remember to breathe as she set her own stool next to him. Maybe he’d summoned her by thinking of her. That was supposed to only work with devils, but then again, she was close enough.

Not noticing his condition, Shinobu sipped her expresso as she watched the comical scene before her. “I can’t believe he actually went to you for help.”

“What?” Sabito broke out of his state to turn to her. “You did this?”

“Not exactly,” she corrected, utterly amused. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I just let my students know Giyu was very good at listening.”

“You sly fox.” Shaking his head, Sabito sighed. It made a lot more sense now, the strange students that Giyu kept seeing and how most of them were from Shinobu’s class. This had to be some sort of stress relief. “You have nothing better to do than to tease him?”

“It’s not like you’re much better,” Shinobu pointed out, rolling her eyes.

He couldn’t deny it. There were plenty of times he’d done something just to see how Giyu would react. In front of them, a red-faced Kanao kept looking at the bushes nervously as she talked and Sabito asked, “And Kanao?”

“Okay, I might have sent her.” Shinobu shrugged easily. “But he needs to get better at this. He’s a teacher, after all.”

He couldn’t deny that either. Sometimes, he wondered if Shinobu actually liked Giyu, if this was her way of showing her friendship. A bigger part of him knew better than to ask.

-x-

There was only one problem student on Saturday, and for once Sabito was certain that this wasn’t Shinobu’s doing, even if the kid was in her class. For one thing, Inosuke wasn’t asking for advice or rattling off about some personal event. For the other, he was climbing over the massive ten-foot-tall wall that surrounded the school.

Giyu stood on the other side, his hands up nervously in front of him as he got ready to catch the student.

“I! Got! This!” Inosuke grunted, straining to keep a grip on the wall as he slowly lowered himself.

“You can’t do this,” Giyu replied back worriedly, and it was at times like this that Sabito had to begrudgingly agree to Shinobu’s point. At some point, Giyu had to learn how to talk to his students.

“WHAT?” Inosuke roared, his muscles tensing as he hurriedly lowered himself. Alas, just as they predicted, his grip wasn’t strong enough and he slipped down the wall instead.

Giyu ran under him, catching him in his arms before bumping into the wall from the rush. Eyes wide, he stared at the shocked bundle of boy in his arms. “You’re okay.”

It wasn’t a question, just a statement, and it was all Inosuke needed before he tumbled out of Giyu’s hands and onto the ground. Staring up at the wall, then at Giyu, Inosuke growled, “I could have handled that!”

“You couldn’t,” Giyu replied honestly and Sabito face-palmed. Honesty had its place, but Giyu had never figured out what that was.

Instead, he had said the worst words Inosuke could have heard, riling him up. “I CAN! AND I WILL!”

As he ran to the school like a rampaging boar, Sabito sighed. This wouldn’t be the last time Inosuke climbed over the school wall, not by a longshot.

-x-

“So?” Giyu asked, looking just as nervous as he had last week when he’d first brought up the issue. There was something expectant in his eyes, something that wanted more than just empty compliments.

Sabito scratched his cheek. Despite Shinobu’s meddling and aside from Kanao, the other students had genuinely come for Giyu’s help. And luckily, none of that stuff required actual help. If anything, they seemed content with just someone listening. Luckily, listening was Giyu’s strength. “You’re doing fine.”

“I am?” Surprised, Giyu stared at him as though he’d grown two heads.

“Really, you have!” Sabito clapped his friend’s back. “Just keep doing what you always do, and it’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Giyu nodded. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Sabito smiled. This was all for his friend’s sake, he reminded himself. So Giyu could become a better teacher.

This was not in the least because Shinobu had promised a more exciting problem next week.

#kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #sabito #shinobu kochou #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashiriba #nezuko kamado #fanfic

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