#so i tried to be like oh ill just pluck at my eyebrows instead. hair grows out of place there so its fine :)

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 19 of 27: Cursed

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST CHOOSE ME INSTEAD PLAYLIST

A/N: Better late than never lol! Here it is! Thank you for being patient though! ilysm <3 This was a difficult one, I hope you like it! Btw, I recently found out that Dracos mum is called “Narcissa” and not “Narzissa” in the english version. She’s called “Narzissa” in the German Books. However, I’ll keep calling her Narzissa in this story (because I’m lazy and don’t want to change it). Enjoy!

Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: tw eating disorder (mentions of it) --> please be aware that the way eating disorders are approached by the purebloods in this story is not something i (the author) approves of. I just thought it’d be a more realistic way for them to act like this.

It felt wrong.

Draco only used the Room of Requirements to be with you. He never went here on his own. Not that he would ever admit it – but the room scared him. The last time he’d been here alone was at the beginning of this school year. He found out then that it didn’t change for him anymore. All he saw when he walked in were the dirty, cracked windows and the flies and spiders that died in front of them. Old furniture, forgotten books and dirt was scattered around, piling up and towering over him.

As he stood there, his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. Hiding behind the corners, buried under black linen, there it was. The vanishing cabinet. He felt its presence. Looming, waiting, calling for him. Alright, to be fair, the last part was probably only in his imagination. It didn’t change his feelings towards this particular room of Hogwarts though.

It was different when you were with him. It changed for you and turned the monster that it was for Draco into a purring housecat. With you, it felt like a vacation. As if he had travelled to a small cottage, far away from roaring cities or ancient castles.

However tonight, you were not here. Astoria Greengrass had taken your place. She sat on a couch across from Draco, back straight, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her black hair was tied up in a bun and not a single strand of hair was out of place. The spitting image of her mother, Draco thought. He had always wondered about how different the Greengrass sisters looked. Astoria inherited the sharp features, thin lips, and slim figure of her mother. Daphne resembled their father a lot more with her round face, long blonde hair, and the doe-like eyes. The both of them were like night and day. Yin and Yang.

Draco looked around the room which had turned into a smaller version of the Slytherin common room. All the important details where there – from the green colors to the Slytherin emblems on the pillows and carpet. Only the windows were out of place. They didn’t offer him a view inside of the lake but were the same cracked ones, he had seen one too many times in his life. It reminded him that he wasn’t here with you.

It felt wrong.

 ***

Draco leaned back against the chair. He crossed his leg and his fingertips tapped a non-recognizable rhythm on his right upper thigh. Astoria didn’t look up at him when she spoke. He could tell that the words had been carefully chosen in advance. Remembered and recited in front of a mirror. Yet she couldn’t meet his eyes. Draco noticed the way she plucked at the skin on her thumb.

When you’d ask him tomorrow for how long the conversation went on, he wouldn’t have an answer. Time seemed to stand still the moment Astoria opened her mouth for the first time.

“Say something,” she whispered when she finished, and the silence became unbearable.

Draco noticed that there wasn’t a fireplace. Another thing that the Room of Requirement had gotten wrong.

“Say something,” Astoria repeated herself, her voice shaking a little more this time.

Draco stopped the tapping. “Is that why?”, he finally asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

Astoria scoffed. “Me too.”

“I am,” he looked back at her.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Astoria lifted her head. When her eyes met his, he saw the anger in them. “I’m dying and all you have to say is ‘Sorry’?”, she spat out.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“That you’re dying.”

She looked at him as if he was a little slow in his head. “I … I just told you.”

“You told me about the family curse,” Draco corrected her. “No one can say if it will happen to you.”

She let out a huff, stunned by his reaction. Had he not listened to a word she said? “I told you about the clairvoyant at Knockturn Alley!”

“Seers say a lot of shit.” He shrugged and added: “Especially when you pay them.”

Astoria lost her posture – with wide eyes and a shake of her head, she let herself slump back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you’re not taking me seriously.”

Draco sighed and began tapping on his thigh again. The same rhythm from before. “I am, Astoria. I believe you.”

But I don’t want to, he added in his mind. He had heard rumors of the Greengrass curse before – only once, when he was maybe eight or nine years old and while he pretended to be asleep on an armchair, he listened to his mother and her friend.

“The poor woman,” Narzissa had said. “And those girls …”

“We don’t know if it will happen to them,” her friend replied softly.

“Why risk it though?”, he remembered his mother ask. “And decide to give birth to not only one but two girls?”

“Well, if one dies, she will still have the other.”

Looking back, the joke was tasteless and not the least bit funny. He didn’t remember how his mother responded to it. Back then, Draco didn’t understand what the women were talking about. So he had shoved the memory back and forgot – until tonight.

When Astoria came up to him at the Winter Dance, she was more … vague. Talking about how something had changed in her life, how decisions were made for her and that she was left with no option but to finally confine in him. Merlin, Draco had thought she was pregnant. This was worse – for obvious reasons.

“If you believe me, why are you like this?”, her voice ripped him from his thoughts. Draco hadn’t notice that he was staring out of the window again.

He cleared his throat and focused back on the Slytherin girl. “I believe you’re overexaggerating.” It was the truth. Or better – it was a truth. The one he was able to share with her.

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not!”, he replied with a sharp voice.

Astoria flinched.

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Look,” he continued, much softer now. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very scared of this – and honestly, who wouldn’t be after receiving such news.” He paused. “But didn’t you just say you never experienced any symptoms?”

She looked to the ground. “Yes.”

“See?”, a smile played around the corners of his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Astorias gaze stuck to the ground. His words didn’t ease her pain, he saw that. “I … Look at me, Draco,” she then mumbled.

Draco tilted his head. “I am.”

“No, truly look at me!” She lifted her head. “What do you see?”

He stared at her for a while. What do you want me to say? He refrained himself from asking that. Instead, for the first time in years, he truly looked at her. Her school uniform was in perfect condition, no spot or loose thread in sight. The diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light and around her neck hung a delicate golden necklace. Her outer appearance was perfect. As always. The only thing that was different were her eyes. He frowned when he saw it. The fire in them. Gone. The arrogant spark, challenging every Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. He wondered when it had left her.

“I resemble a corpse! I swear, my grandmother had a better complexion than me on the day she died!”, Astoria continued after another minute of silence.

Oh. Draco blinked. She meant that? He wouldn’t have noticed that in a hundred years.

“And I’m so thin and –”

“Because you’re starving yourself,” Draco interrupted her and immediately scolded himself for it.

Astoria, who was in the middle of shifting to a different position, stopped, and stared at him. “What?”

Draco pondered for a moment about his next words. Astoria and her fucked up relationship towards food wasn’t a secret. Well, not since fourth grade when rumors started spreading about the true reasons of why she was always so eager to get to the nearest bathroom after meals. And then her bones began to stick out underneath her school uniform. Everyone noticed it. Everyone looked the other way.  Problems like hers … they weren’t uncommon among their circles. Yet, they were problems to keep to behind closed doors. They were private. Nothing to talk about.

“Everyone needs an outlet for the stress that comes with living like we do,” his father had once said. “Women are just worse in finding the right one.”

Oh, how he hated his father.

Draco smiled sadly at Astoria. “Everybody knows, Astoria.”

“Knows what?”, she asked sharply.

“That you have issues with food.”

Astoria blinked. “I … you’re such an asshole,” she then exclaimed. “You’re an asshole, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and shifted positions. “Anyways,” he tried to change the subject. “You’re scared, I get it. But so far, you don’t have any symptoms. In fact, you started feeling ill once your mother went with you to see the seer, right? It frightened you and now you can’t stop focusing on that fear.”

Astoria scoffed. “Thanks, Mr. Therapist. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just guessing. It doesn’t make sense to care so much about something that might not even happen to you.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you, you mean”, Astoria corrected him.

Draco frowned.

“Because your problems are much more important.”

“My problems are real.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say in this situation. Even Draco realized that. The words had just slipped out. He hated to admit it but the egocentric, narcissistic part of himself believed them.

Astoria stood up abruptly. She smoothed over the fabric of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. She then looked at him, no expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet: “Fuck you.”

With long steps Astoria made her way towards the door.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled under his breath and got up as well. “Astoria!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Astoria, wait! Please!”

The last word made her stop, hand already reaching for the doorknob. As she turned around, there was a bitter smile playing around her dark red lips. “Why?”, she asked him. “I trusted you with something and all you’re giving me is shit.”

Draco looked down to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know how to respond to this.”

“With empathy, Draco,” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You might want to look that word up.”

Draco let out another deep sigh. A part of him secretly wished she would ignore him and just leave. It would be easier for him. Knowing this wasn’t an option for her, he finally walked towards Astoria. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. His words had failed him, they had made everything worse for her and he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this would ease her pain just a little. Astorias body went stiff at first – only after a few seconds did she let her body relax. She leaned into his embrace as if someone took a weight off her shoulders.

“You know I’m here for you,” Draco whispered. “And I will be there in case …”

“In case, I’m dying after all.”

When Draco breathed in, he could smell her lavender shampoo. “Yes.”

Suddenly, her petite body began to tremble. At first Draco mistook it for giggling, then he heard the soft whimpers against his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” He hugged her tighter.

“You can’t promise me that,” she sniffed.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. He put a hand to her cheek, making her look at him. “The curse hasn’t been around for decades. It might skip your generation again.”

Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy, silent tears running down them. “I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“Please marry me.”

Draco closed his eyes at her plea. His head suddenly hurt and he wished you were here. You’d know how to handle situations like this.

“Astoria …”

“I know you don’t love me,” she interrupted him, her voice still trembling. “You couldn’t.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You love her.”

Her. You. Draco blinked. “What? No, I –”

“I realized it on New Years Eve.” She wiped the tears from her cheek, still holding on to him with her other hand. Astoria cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe it in the beginning but … it’s so obvious. You love her so much, how could I ever expect you to look at me the same way you look at her?”

Draco shook her head. “Astoria –”

“But you know the relationship has no future. Neither of your families would ever agree to it. You know it. You know it in your heart.”

The piercing pain in his forehead grew stronger. When he’d remember this moment, Draco wouldn’t be able to describe his feelings. Her words barely managed to get through to him. You love her, he heard her say over and over again. You love her.

No. He didn’t love you.

He couldn’t.

“Marry me,” Astoria repeated herself and took a step closer again. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes. “My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.”

“I …”

You love her. You love her. You love her.

“What do you get out of it?”, he finally managed to get out and tried to focus back on her, feeling weirdly out of breath.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. No sobs this time. “Once people will be able to see the sickness …”, she hesitated. “I won’t be looked at as the second daughter who’s living in her sister’s shadows.”

You love her.

Draco furrowed his brows at her words, utterly irritated by them. “Nobody thinks that, Astoria.”

She laughed. “Yes, they do! Daphne has always been prettier, smarter, more desired. I can’t compete with her. I am the leftover Greengrass that no one wants and that’s now dying from a family curse. Because of fucking course it would hit me and not my picture perfect sister!”

Draco stared at Astoria.

“But with you,” she continued. “With you people would see that I’m more than that. That I’m worthy of attention and of love despite … being me.”

This is wrong on so many levels, he could hear your voice in his head, clear as day.

“Have you met with the therapist yet?”, Draco suddenly asked out of the blue.

“What?” The Slytherin was thrown off by his question. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to her about this?”

Hearing this made her drop his hands, taking a few steps back. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. “Oh, fuck you, Draco!”, Astoria muttered. “Stop trying to analyze me!”

“I’m not!”, he assured her. “But … Astoria, this is so fucked up what you just said to me.”

She looked back up at him. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

She chuckled. “You spent a few months with a Gryffindor and now you act like our values mean nothing to you when you are the one who used to scream ‘mudblood’ the loudest.”

Draco swallowed.

“Merlin, what is wrong with me,” Astoria sighed. “After everything I just confessed, you don’t find it in you to show me a little mercy and change your mind?” She smiled at him sadly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

You love her.

 ***

The talk with Astoria left him feeling uneasy.

It handed after she asked Draco to marry her a second time and he declined. She nodded when she heard his answer, sniffled, wiped the remaining tears away and left. Not without saying “You’ll change your mind sooner or later”. When she was gone, she didn’t take the anxiety with her. Draco had to deal with that on his own. Now, as he walked through the halls of the old castle, his steps were stiff, and he had deep lines between his eyebrows.

“Calm down, she has no symptoms,” he mumbled to himself as he turned another corner.

Yet.

What if he would be wrong after all? What if the curse wouldn’t skip another generation of Greengrass women and fall upon her? What if she would die and he made her last remaining years even more miserable in her eyes because he turned down the proposal?

What if, what if, what if.

He wanted to talk to you about all of it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to feel bad. He didn’t owe Astoria. He shouldn’t be put in this position in the first place. You would find the right words. To be honest, Draco knew all of this himself. He just wanted to hear you say it out loud. Hear the words from another person to ensure that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy or selfish for not sacrificing his life, his future, for a dying girl.

“She’s not dying,” he reminded himself. A Hufflepuff boy passed him and frowned.

“My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.” It was the argument his mother had used against him countless times. He was certain that he’d hear it a lot more often soon. He was aware of how strong the argument truly was. His family could return to their former glory with all the luxury that came along with it. Fancy parties, status, high-paying careers – something he had been promised his whole life and that was stripped away the moment he was forced to become a Death Eater. The promise of a good life. An easy life.

Maybe life shouldn’t be easy for them. At least not so fast. Maybe his father shouldn’t come home from Azkaban one day to live like nothing ever happened. No, Lucius Malfoy deserved to suffer longer than his time in prison. And ultimately, so did his mother and Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth at his thoughts. He couldn’t marry Astoria. Not for that reason. Not to make the life of his family easier. His parents needed to work and plea for their redemption. Just like he did.

“Watch it, Malfoy!”, Seamus Finnigan hissed when he bumped into him. He came out of the library, a stack of books in his arms.

Draco didn’t look at him. Until now, he hadn’t even noticed that he was walking towards the library. It made sense though. The bag that hung from his shoulder seemed to become heavier with every step. The black notebook. He needed to write.

 ***

You sat alone on a table, hunched over a book. More of them piled up next to you, accompanied by an overused quill and bottle of ink.

Exams, Draco remembered. How easy it was to forget those mundane things in the midst of all the sadness. Exams, followed by entrance tests to become an Auror. Draco smiled at the thought of you fighting evil. He was certain that you’d excel at it.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, not caring about the annoyed huffs and curses from students who almost ran into him. He watched you. The way you sometimes licked the tip of your finger before turning a page. How you sighed and frowned when you didn’t understand a passage.

You love her. The words shot through his mind.

It was different to the scenes he had read in books when he finally saw it. When he blinked and it was suddenly so clear to him. His heart didn’t stop, his knees didn’t become weak, he didn’t hear violins around him. No, a ray of sunlight that fell through the window and hit your face, caused you to lift your head. In that moment, your eyes found his. A smile played around your lips as you waved at him and pointed at the seat next to you. And it was so clear to him, that he wanted this all along: to be with you. To come home to you.

You love her, Astoria had said. 

And he knew she was right.

***

A/N: How did you like it?? I’m so excited to hear from you!! <33

CHAPTER 20

HP Masterlist General Masterlist

Tag List:  @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind,  @renaissance-confiance, @doitforthevine67, @ilovemollyweasley, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee,    @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @scoote-rankle, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia,  @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen ,  @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom , @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick,  @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, , @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything,  @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks,  @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta,  @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart,  @vminenthusiastt, @dracos-sluts, @mrmoonyy, @saucysuazo, @fuzzzwald, @matsuno-nadeshiko, @amber-arsenault ,  @loveableasshole,  @spideycures, @echpr, @shiningstar-byulxx,  @twinklebug2282, @bloodiedroses, @klthmef, @ostorian ,  @bi-chai-tea, @maddieisnotok, @amandaluvssupernatural, @makeoutwithstiles,    @i-am-addicted-to-tea, @tenclouds, @lovingdracomalfoy, @lannaax, @dr-bitch-bby,  @fallinallinmendes, @suckerforparker, @runninglownad, @piercinghorizons, @dosicas, @yanaaaaaaa,  @akzer300500 @hoseokslily, @dracofeltonmalfoy, @emilianamason, @tothemoonwithclifford, @gcldreinhart ,  @angelofthorr, @k-k0129, @musicalmuffindog1410, @andydre4m, @mxl-foyrecs, @seeinorange, @vlgsqd , @justmimithings, @allthevoicesinmyhead, @pipppaaaaalouisee, @yessirrz, @2think2twice2 @spencerreidisbootiful, @find-a-little-faith, @thatguppienamedbae, @emmamarie7708, @dontpanicitsdan @jordaangx, @ceeellewrites, @drxcomvlfx, @7minutes-tomidnight, @coldheartedslytherin, @wingardiumdepressionosa, @perfect-storm95, @danisaur1324, @unlikely-y-bliss, @trentdijklfc66, @saptediavoli, @treestarrrrrrrr, @aangsupremacy @yaanasluv, @megamihatake, @lavenderblossom12, @bimbelle, @beiahadid, @weasleytwinswheezes, @bogikrmn, @gublerslut, @prongsandprancer, @superkawaiicandyfloss , @instantllamaruins​

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know! <3

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco x reader #draco x you #draco imagine #draco imagines #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #Slytherin x Gryffindor #slytherin #gryffindor #slytherin imagines #slytherin imagine #gryffindor imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts #hogwarts imagines #choose me instead #astrids fics #draco #malfoy #malfoy imagines

[abovethesmokestacks]

Hidden Love

Title: Hidden Love

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: All audiences

Warnings: None. Or me, probably butchering the Victorian era. Also, you know, slight angst, because I can’t help myself

This story sparked from a moodboard I made a while back, of Victorian King!Bucky and maid!reader, and it kinda got away from me, as everything tends to do these days. And listen... I know. The term Victorian really only relates to the history of the United Kingdom during Queen Victoria’s reign, but please bear with me on this and suspend belief and step into a world where during this era, Bucky is king, and enjoy the stay.

The sounds of crystal clinking together should be like silver bells carrying over the din of hushed conversation, but to his ears, it's like nails on a chalkboard. The food before him is rich and each bite seems to swell in his mouth, forced down in thick swallows and gulps of wine. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and his feet itch to leave, to stand up and walk out. He could.

"More wine, your highness?"

He could, he is king.

The server's voice is low, bowed down appropriately to only be heard by him. He shouldn't have another glass, for the sake of his mental faculties. He should, to keep up appearances. He can already sense his mother's eyes on him, the calculating gaze he has known his entire life. The dowager queen, a mother only as it serves her image in the kingdom than anything else.

"Everything all right, James?" she asks, and oh, that tone is deceptive. Kind on the surface, but weighed just so with the barest hint of concern to draw the attention of the other guests.

He wants to grimace, his name sounding contrived and wrong in his ears, granted with the weight of legacy, set aside for a few blessed years of childhood and then thrust back upon him when illness took his father and forced him back into a mold he would much rather escape. The coronation had his stomach in knots, a chill persisting in his bones and a simmering dread as he was crowned - anointed by God, what god would place their faith in someone so flawed as man? - His Majesty James, by the Grace of God, King of the Nation, Defender of the Faith.

"Nothing, mother. Pondering my choice of drink."

He tries for amicable, jovial. It is the annual Christmas feast, why shouldn't he be happy? His mother quirks an eyebrow, holding his gaze just long enough for the hairs on the back of his head to stand on end before her eyes glide from him to take up the conversation she left.

Some defender of the faith he is, he doesn't even have faith in himself.

An eternity seems to pass as dishes pass before him, plate after plate until he feels nauseous. Around him, the atmosphere has relaxed, emboldened by wine and spirits, and even his mother is no longer sparing him a glance to keep track of him. Somehow, he would have thought being king would have meant finally being free of her shadow, but she is still there. No longer a shadow, but a presence right behind him, a metaphorical foot on his robe to remind him of his place, and hers. He wonders if anyone has noticed that his glass of wine has not been refilled in a long time, that he has been nursing it steadily and that his boisterous laughs have all been hollow.

He could leave, but not without drawing attention. Just a little while longer. He glances at the opulent grandfather clock, feels its ticking like a heartbeat. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Each tick of the clock is an endless journey. Through rigid traditions, glasses of brandy, sweet sugarplums and fragrant pines, all he can feel is the passing of time, one second after another without an end in sight. Gifts are exchanged, crackers pulled with cloying glee and he feels more like a fool than a king when one of the footmen is coaxed into slipping the thin paper crown on his head. His mother bows out with effortless grace, sparking hope that maybe, just maybe, he can make his escape.

"Let me accompany you, mother," he asks, begs, voice low as he stands up to offer his arm for her.

Take it. Please, for the love of all things good and holy, take it.

Her smile is not exactly smug, but it hides a kind of joy that he thinks must be sour.

"Nonsense, my dear. Don't leave on my account, stay, be merry."

It's loud enough to be heard, for plenty of people to hear her deny him his exit under the guise of a mother not wanting to spoil her son's fun. He tries not to let his gaze harden or his forced smile to weaken, instead kissing his mother's hand and bidding her good night. Propriety will keep him here another hour at least. The clock ticks, chipping away at the span of time before he can have his freedom.

He thinks he might finally be going out of his mind when the clock strikes midnight. His other guests are either half-asleep, lulled by brandy and the late hour, or eagerly playing cards for the trinkets they received in their crackers. Enough. He takes his leave, wanting to roll his eyes at the hasty displays of respect and deference. No matter. He is free. A quick trip to fill up a plate from the abandoned dinner table, something for the road, as he jests with his escort. The palace is quiet when they traverse the corridors to his private chambers, their footsteps echoing ominously with nothing but a candelabra to light their way.

"I think I'll manage myself tonight," he tells his escort when they're outside his door. "Go sleep, I won't tell on you."

They put up the token protest, but still leave, hastening down the dark hallway while he lets himself in. The world feels more manageable inside. It's still a constant reminder of his privilege, of the opulence of his station, but it's his. No one can enter without his permission, no one can disturb him without just cause. Sometimes he wishes this was his entire kingdom.

Setting down the plate on his bed, he loosens the ascot, glad to be rid of the strangle-like hold around his neck. Off with the tailcoat, unbutton the waistcoat. Breathe.

Thunk.

He whips around, gaze falling on the large armoire in the corner. The silence that follows is deafening, but he knows what he heard. With a smile curling his lips, he swipes a treat off the plate, hiding it behind his back while he closes the distance, pulling the doors open in a rush, only for his ears to ring with a piercing shriek.

"Hush! Good god, you'll wake the entire wing, calm down! It's just me!"

The girl cowering into the corner of the armoire claps her hands over her mouth, eyes that had only moments ago been wide with fear now glaring at him as she breathes  through her nose to calm down. It’s strange, how his heart beats quicker, how the heaviness of his mind lightens under her fierce gaze. Years ago, they met by accident, he was still prince, young and cocksure, and she was, as she is now, a maid in the vast household that served his father the king. It wasn’t prudent, but he enjoyed giving her his attention, little flirtatious exchanges that somehow grew into a tender love with stolen kisses in hidden nooks. She has never asked for anything, much as he has offered to help her. She has declined promotions, slapped him for trying to sneak a small pouch of coins into her apron, made him promise not to do anything that would change her status in or outside the court.

He extends his hand to her, helping her up and out, twirling her around the room, making the skirt of her black dress flare around her, and his soul soars at the way her face settles into a sweet smile. With an exaggerated bow, he holds out his hand with the hidden treat, a sugar plum. She plucks it from her hand, delight colouring her features as she takes a small bite. 

“I thought you were…” she begins, swallowing before dropping her gaze, slipping the rest of the sugarplum into her apron pocket. “I wasn’t sure you were alone. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

They come to a halt by the window of his room, and instinctively, he positions his back to the window, protecting her presence with the frame of his body. This may be his private quarters, but the palace has eager eyes and ears.

“My mother.” 

It’s answer enough. Their love lives in the shadows, in the small kingdom of his room, in the hidden passages of the palace and with notes tucked into cracks only they know about. His heart aches, because she deserves so much more, wishes the world knew about this generous soul that holds his heart in her palms, whose smile lights up his presence even during his darkest days, who will take nothing but the reassurances of his affections and the kisses he bestows freely.

“I came as quickly as I could,” he adds, bringing up her hands to kiss her knuckles. They’re cold, worn from hard work, but he loves them as dearly as the rest of her.

“She knows.”

It’s simple. A statement, not a question, and her hands slide from his grip as she takes a step back.

“We don’t know that. She enjoys tormenting me, we’ve known that for quite some time. And even if she knows…” He closes the space between them again, wraps her up in his embrace, and nudges her chin to make her look at him. “Even if she knows, she won’t do anything overt. She can’t.”

“She’s the-” his love starts, eyebrows knit together, mouth set in a way that he knows she won’t let this go.

“She thinks she owns me. She thinks she controls me. In her eyes, I am as much a servant to her as anyone on staff. And I’m happy to let her keep her delusion, if it means I get to be with you, if it gives me time to…”

“To what?” she asks, tilting her head. “If it gives you time to do what, Bucky?”

To fight for that, he wants to say. His nickname, falling sweet from her lips and making him feel like a person. It’s a treasure from those happy childhood years, when he’d only hear it from his string of governesses and teachers, a concession to play pretend at a normal life. It felt like stepping out of a pleasant dream when he had to leave it behind, had to step into the heavy legacy of James, into the title of king. He looks at her, the only one to call him Bucky these days, and feels courage rise with the beating of his heart.

“To figure out a way for us to be together,” he tells her resolutely, continuing on his next breath. “We’ll go away, I’ll make sure we’ll have means to live until we can settle down. We’ll go far away, we’ll cross the sea if we have to.”

He twirls them around in a dance, away from the window, away from vulnerability of unseen eyes. Away. Gone. Together.

“Bucky…”

“We’ll live in a cottage, you and I. I’ll… I’ll learn a trade. I can tend horses. I can hunt. We’ll have a life that’s… that’s ours.”

“Buc- Your highness!”

The title cuts him down, poleaxes him and pulls him out of the dreams like someone has poured a vat of cold water on him. She’s no longer in his arms, once again removed, three solid paces between them, and she looks so small, so despairing, hands folded in front of her. This time, she finds her voice before he can find his.

“I can’t ask you to do that. You’re king. You… You have responsibilities. You have a realm that depends on you for guidance and rule. You can’t just… I’m no one. I’m not important. I’m- You are king, and kings marry queens and live happily ever after. I don’t fit into that story, your highness.”

He takes a step forward, she takes another step backwards. Even so, it hurts more to hear the way she talks about herself, makes herself small while he grows to something fabled and grand, when truth be told, he feels like all this time, he’s been walking on stilts and wearing a costume to hide the person he really is.

“Neither do I,” he starts, winces inwardly at how trite it sounds. “I didn’t want this. To be king, I mean. It’s not for me. I don’t care for politics and mind games, I don’t care for frivolousness and rigid customs. This is a prison to me. It’s beautiful, and grand, but it’s a gilded cage nonetheless. Outside this room, away from you, I am not myself. I am weak. I am a pawn in a game. My desires don't matter. You…” He takes a careful step forward, hope springing when she stays where she stands, “are everything I want. Everything I need.” Another step. “And I will do anything to be with you, anything to make this my story. I’ll bide my time, I’ll weigh my options, I’ll make every preparation, but one day…”

Another step. He’s back in front of her, and though she avoids his eyes, she’s not running, not putting distance back between them.

"Your highness…"

“My love,” he interrupts, offering her the depth and width of his affection, his voice low and ardent as he kneels before her, prostrating before the only person worthy of him. “My sweet, my… my everything. One day, I’ll find a way for us to be together.”

#Hidden Love #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Victorian king!Bucky #maid!reader

[thedevillionaire]

Illusionary

Cerberus, Kia, domestic bedroom snz scene with a little magic, little romance? Hmm, yeah, sounds like me. 😏 --- Wrapped in a full-length darkest burgundy dressing robe, feeling somewhat refreshed but still more than a little coldhazy, Cerberus emerges post-shower to the sight of Kia, changed from her earlier black velvet bodice and jeans into a burnished deep gold satin negligee, lying on her stomach across the bed, head resting on her hands, attention fixed on the Testing papers in front of her. He pauses at the threshold, leans against the door frame to simply look at her awhile, silently enraptured, a soft smile on his face.

:Just so you know, babe,: Mindsends Kia, keeping her eyes on the papers, :it’s not possible for you to enter a room and not be noticed.: She glances back over her shoulder at him and grins wickedly. “You’d be a terrible spy.”

Cerberus chuckles, walking over to settle beside her on the bed. “Hard to argue given the circumstances, I suppose.” He toys with her hair, looking down at the papers. “Which Level are you applying for?” A light sniffle, and he frowns slightly, rubs his nose against an irritation rising anew.

“6.” Kia sighs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get that, but…I don’t know, I’m not…evenly skilled across the options or something.” She rolls over to sit up, cross-legged. “There’s a bunch of stuff I can do really well, and some other stuff I’m…just not very good at, I guess.” She gives him a rueful smile. “But I think if I maybe…”

“What is it you’re not sure of?” Cerberus reaches across her and picks up the papers, flicking through them as he moves to sit leaning back against the bedhead, rearranging the array of pillows and cushions to suit. Another sniffle, more sharply this time and he recognises the battle as lost, his focus dissolving captive to undeniable need, and he turns from Kia in surrender to an adversary already his conqueror many times over today. “HHAHTSSCCHU! Damn it, I swear Healing deal in placebos. Comple…ehh-HH ..completely…hh… Ahh-HEHTSSCH-uu!” He sniffles again and fixes Kia with a look conveying irrefutable vindication, raises an eyebrow. “*snf!*Hm? As evidenced. Completely ineffectual,” he states with authority, and takes several tissues from the box on the bedside. “Excuse me a mome… hh-HH... Oh, for f… HHAHTSSCCHU! Ah, gods. *SNF!* Pardon me, love.” He blows his nose in an attempt to stop any further irritation, at least in the short term, though he holds very little faith in that regard, and incinerates the tissues in a flashblaze of aetherfire.

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Kia says, gently strokes his forearm. “I’m fairly sure the meds have helped a bit, though,” she suggests. “Compared to earlier, at least.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m sure I’ve had at least ten minutes respite here and there,” mutters Cerberus sardonically, though he concedes to his bonded’s wry smirk quickly enough, places a kiss on her forehead. “Ah, I’m sorry, darkling. It’s just that as a rule, I’m rather fond of breathing.” Resting back against the pillows once more, he sighs again, absently rubs his nose, and returns his attention to the papers, making a quiet hum of thought as he flicks through them, in consideration.

“Sweetheart?” Kia, curious, shuffles up along the bed a little more to kneel beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to read what he was reading. “What are you doing?”

Cerberus points to the skillset of Illusion, listed as a subcategory within Hypnotics, several thick and emphatic lines scrawled beneath it. “This is underlined because…?”

Kia scoffed. “Because I suck at it,” she says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I can do the basics, but…” She looks up at him, nestling into him, trailing absent patterns across his chest with her fingers. “It’s just…it’s like…you have to sort of direct what someone else sees, so it’s…putting your images into their eyes without actually seeingthrough their eyes, so you don’t know if it’s actually working, you just kind of have to hope for it, and I can’t figure out when it is working so then I get distracted and the whole thing pretty much falls apart.”

“It’s a skill Demonics covers as well.” Cerberus kisses the top of her head, draping an arm across her as he drops the papers in his lap.

Kia stares at him, taken aback. “You can do this?!”

“Well, I don’t use it widely, nor is it my forte, but…”

“Oh, oh, oh! Want to take my Test for me?” Kia gives him a playful entreating look. “Just, I don’t know, shapeshift or something. Is that a thing? You can do that, right? I’ll let you wear whatever you like. Oh my god, I bet you’d be super-hot as me.”

Cerberus collapses into laughter, and she laughs with him, her heart warming as it always does when he loses himself to delight, and particularly now, with him unwell. She repositions herself to settle beside him, kissing him tenderly as she does so, and picks up the papers in one hand, resting her other hand on his thigh. “Alright, alright, okay, I know. I’ll take my own stupid Test. It’s mostly Vampirism specific, anyway. But still…” A devilish grin darts across her face and she bats her eyelashes at him with exaggerated flirtation. :Super-hot.:

Smiling, Cerberus looks down and shakes his head in an ill-advised move that brings about yet another stark reminder of the throbbing sinus headache he’s only just managed to almost forget. He winces slightly and does his best to ignore it. Claiming the honeyed tea from the bedside tray, he reheats it with a touch, and takes a sip. “Well, darkling,” he says, “perhaps not quite that, um…absolute, but I certainly owe you any favours I can offer at this point, so if you’ll allow me—” He kisses her forehead. “—to revisit a request that you once asked of me… Drop your Protect.”

Kia’s eyes widen and she looks up at him, confused, curious. “Why? Do you even need me to?”

“No, love, technically I don’t. But I’d prefer to have your consent, if you’ll give it.”

“For what? I mean, sure, of course, babe, but…”

And then Kia loses her words, struck voiceless, astonished, and reaches her hand out to feel for a bed that is no longer there, finding instead only the soft moss and verdure of a rainforest glade, the gentle sensation of vivid greenery under her touch; lush, thick and rampant plantlife above her, beneath her, beside her, in sensory undeniability. She turns rapidly, looking everywhere around her, unable to comprehend what’s happening even as the very atmosphere changes, the dark, thick, wet scent of fernery, pines, rich soils, and peat surrounding her, immersive and entirely real, solid, incontrovertible. The sky darkens to gunmetal greyblue, stormclouded and windswept, and the crash of distant thunder seems to vibrate the air itself. Sky? But there can’t be sky. Where’s the…where’s the ceiling? What…

“Honey?” she asks, questioning, her own voice feeling like a foreignness, seeking her love who isn’t where he had been mere seconds ago, and she runs her hand along the bark of a nearby tree, one of several, the texture rough and actual, definite. She pushes it, pushes harder; it does not yield. The thunder echoes again, muted but resonant, a certainty, and the heavy cloudcover darkens with it, bringing further shadow to the dell. Shifting her position and reaching for familiarity does nothing to transform the verdant rolling hills back into the furniture she knows so well – oak and cast iron and ornate fabric lost to, consumed by, this wilderness she’s breathing. The landscape stretches out endless and impossibly vast; bedroom walls stay invisible, dissolved. There are no hard angles. No corners. Thunder once more but softer, as if moving away. Wisps of phosphorescence dartdance across thickets and brush, phantasmal. She curls her toes against some lichen at her feet.

:Know this, love,: Cerberus Mindsends almost as if in echo, in memory, to the bone, and Kia spins around to face him, seated beside her but on the opposite side to where she last saw him, dressed as if for a fog-covered moorside in a thick cable-knit sweater and fleecelined suede coat, which she knows is not possible this is not possible it cannot be possible how can he do this how can anyone oh my god definitely not reality but still the only tangible perception she can make, and she isn’t at all sure she can speak to him and she tries to see what she knows to be real, where she knows she must be sitting, but she simply can’t, and she plucks a honeysuckle flower off a nearby creeping vine that has to be fictitious and yet it somehow isn’t, marvelling as she turns it over in her hands, touching its petals, breathing its sweet perfume.

“You’re extraordinary,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

:Close your eyes a moment, darkling, and immerse. Remember this. Understand this.:

And feeling the reassuring touch of his hand on hers, she closes her eyes as requested, reopening them after just a brief time to see again the bedroom that she’d logically known she’d never left, only then consciously recognising that he could not have taken her hand in that way from where she’d thought she’d seen him last, and she gazes up at him, open-mouthed in astonishment, for the shortest of moments before reaching up to trace her fingers along the contours of his face, almost as if to confirm his existence. “How are you even…” she murmurs in wonder, before calling herself back to reality somewhat.

She takes a moment to rebalance, breathes deeply, recentering. “Okay.” She exhales slowly. “Alright. Okay, that was…wow, that was completely amazing and… I love you but that was… If that’s what I’m meant to do… I mean, I could feel it. I held a flower. Fuck, babe. I have enough trouble even getting an image to form. A single image. You…you made a world. There’s no way I can do that.”

“You most certainly can, love,” counters Cerberus, “and, in fact, will. Should bring you up to a Level 8 grading, I’d imagine.” He presses his index finger then the back of his hand against his nose, frowning a little at a building itch, sniffling. “Excuse me. You just, um…recall the memory, enter in and redirect, adjusting for context. You’ll only be working with mortal capacity for resistance, also, if I recall the Vampirism protocol for this sort of thing correctly, so it sh…should be…” His breath hitches, the returning urgency stealing his sentence; he excuses himself with haste and turns from Kia, succumbing desperate, heavy, absolute. “AhhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Bless you!”

He raises an index finger and gives the briefest shake of his head, brow creased, and frozen in thrall to the crescendo of oncoming need; he takes an imposed moment, expectant, and another, inhaling shallow scissored twice and over, then deep, deeper still.

And again.

“hh-HH… Hh-TSSCHhuu!”

And oh he does not want to concede, but again.

“HMPTch! HHKTchu!” His attempt at resistance proves no contest against the still insistent, overwhelming tickle, and he gives over completely this time, abandoning any further fight. “Hh-TSSCH-uu! ah-hh… AHHTSSCHUU! Ah, gods.”

Kia’s own breath comes a touch uncertain too as she purrs a honeytoned, “Bless you, sweetheart.”

Cerberus exhales tiredly, pushes silken ebony disorder back from his face with one hand while claiming several tissues with the other. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, adding a sotto voce curse or two about the entire situation. “Pardon me.” He blows his nose, a little more gingerly now, sniffles again and sighs, repeats the process. Ridiculous.

A thought suddenly occurs to Kia that piques her interest far too much to not to ask it. “So, um…what would have happened if you’d sneezed during that whole…you know, ‘the bedroom is a forest now’ performance?”

Cerberus wipes his nose a final time before vaporising the latest used tissue collection. He chuckles quietly, clears his throat. “You’d best tell me, I think.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though. I would have…” Kia breaks off, examines her beloved’s expression with wary sidelong glance, considering whether there was any chance of...

No. With a faint scoff, she rejects the possibility, positive, confident. “No, you did not. There’s no way I don’t hear that.”

“If you say so, love.”

She frowns. “You’re right here. I am next to you in the bed.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” He flashes her a candid, disarming smile. “My favourite thing.”

Laughing, Kia pushes him in play. “Well, mine too, sweetheart, but that’s not what I meant and you know it,” she says before returning to her point. “You did not sneeze during that, though. No way. It just isn’t… Nope. You’re teasing me.”

“Well.” Cerberus once again brings newly steaming heat to the cup of tea with a touch, the very slightest of smiles crossing his face. “I admit that thunder is rather a cliché, but I didn’t have a great deal of time to consider intricacy of plot.”

“You di… But…” Kia stares at him in complete bafflement. “How?!”

“Illusion, darkling.” He stretches an idle arm across her shoulders, presses a kiss to her temple. “This is how it works.”

“Are you serious?!” Kia shakes her head in amazement. “God, do I even know what reality is?!” She gives a half laugh of incredulity, simultaneously astounded and utterly unsurprised at the variety of skills her beloved seems able to just call to command at will. “Okay, okay, and…so now because you…set me up, is that right, I can just, what, do that now? Oh. Ohh, whoa now, wait a second. Hang on.” She gives him a sly look, comprehension dawning. “Did you just do my homework for me?”

Cerberus laughs softly, a little darkly. “Consider it a crash course. Anyway, I know that you are in fact highly skilled in…not unrelated areas. I certainly know you can direct events. Your truly…outstanding talent with Immerse and Possess proves it. I suspect you just weren’t sure where to begin in this case.” He gives her a gentle smile. “You have an advantage, love. You should use it.”

Kia smiles back. “Oh, I’ll use you alright. I mean, use it.” She winks, laughing again. “I liked your mountain man look, by the way. Do you even have a cable-knit sweater?"

Cerberus raises an eyebrow. "What? You dressed me in a sweater?"

“I dressed you? What?"

“My direction only goes so far, darkling. Illusion involves a great deal of obfuscation, but it’s not a complete taking over. Some parts of it are nothing more than guidance, suggestions. And certain aspects are – I assure you – entirely of your own creation." He looks at her in nonplussed bemusement. “Really? Cable knit?”

“Navy blue, with a tan suede jacket,” Kia specifies with haughty precision before dissolving into laughter anew and doubly at the expression on his face. "I guess that’s what you get for setting everything in a forest. Come on, I was thematically accurate, at least.” She wipes away tears of laughter before meeting his gaze with conviction, points at him as if delivering an unarguable truth. “You looked hot as fuck, incidentally."

“I feel I’ve learnt something entirely new about you tonight,” Cerberus remarks, smiling briefly at her before suddenly turning away again, a couplet of fierce, unstoppable sneezes almost catching him unprepared absolutely, and he apologises with haste. “Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Goddamn it. *snf!* I have had more than entirely enough of this.” He sharply pulls another pair of tissues from the box, blows his nose again, immolates them afterwards with a burst of flame rather more emphatic than required.

“Aw, bless you, hon.” Kia tuts softly, strokes his hair back from his eyes, moves to sit across his lap, facing him. She traces a finely manicured nail down his neck, across his shoulder. “You know,” she nearwhispers, her tone softly teasing, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a sweater once in a while.”

“I’m really not…”

Kia leans closer, purrs as if sharing the wickedest of secrets. “Denim jeans too.”

:Gods, love, who are you?: Cerberus Mindsends in shadowsnarl as he wraps a strong arm around his bonded and draws them together, claiming her mouth and kissing her with fire palpable.

:You know me, sweetheart.: With deft touch and feline grace, slightest shrug, Kia allows her negligee to smoothly fall away, returning her beloved’s kiss perfervid, wanting, infusing her reciprocal Mindsend with the same.

:Your favourite thing.:

----

#supernatural soap opera #cerberus #kia #cerbia #snzfic #sneeze fic #he will never wear denim jeans nope never not gonna happen #the sweater's not completely out of the question though #my writing #my OCs

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx and Tamlin’s daughter part 2

Again no one really read the first part, but I don’t care! I have been inspired to write again, so I am just going with the flow. Also, I read somewhere that instead of describing accents you should just write how the accent sounds when the character speaks, but idk. If you think it’s annoying comment and I might change it for the other parts I’ve written.

"I apologize for my parents. They mean well, but I think my mother secretly still harbors negative feelings for your father."

Nyx felt it was necessary to apologize for his parents behavior. They have been less than diplomatic tonight and it must have been because of their pasts with Tamlin. Nevertheless, they invited Tamlin here tonight for peace and instead, offered spiteful exchanges. He glanced at Isa from the corner of his eye as they strolled down the garden path. It was beautiful especially at night. His aunt Elain tended to it often which made the flowers more beautiful than any other garden he had seen. He liked looking at her. Not necessarily for her beauty, although he could say with confidence that she was beautiful. She was not beautiful in the way that Elain or Mor were, but in the way that someone obviously powerful was. It was more about her essence. Everything about her was enticingly unique.

"That is strange, is it not?" She quirked a single eyebrow at him with a smirk lifting the edge of her mouth. He placed his hands in his pockets to avoid awkwardly fidgeting in the way his mother often did.

"What is strange?"

"That your mother left him for another man who zhe iz happily married to with three children, yet zhe haz ill will for him? Zeemz a bit backward, no?"

Nyx gave her a strange look. She had been hiding how heavy her accent truly was at dinner. Perhaps she had dropped her guard now that they were alone or perhaps she was tired of hiding it. Either way Nyx liked listening to it.

"Tamlin was awful to my mother when they were together. She's allowed to feel angry at him."

"Zo the story goez."

Isa stopped to pluck a particularly beautiful rose. Nyx took it from her hands gently. Only to stick it behind her ear. She gave him a small smile before they continued on their walk.

"How have I never heard of you?" Nyx asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since Tamlin introduced her. "You must be Pyrinthian's best kept secret."

Again, she sent him a small secretive smile while twirling down the path. Her dress made large swooping motions around her body as she seemed to dance to a song only found in her head.

"It iz tradition that young witchez are raised in their coven, completely izolated from other fae. It iz dangerous for young witchlings when their powers are not yet controlled. 'Unnatural' magic as your kin like to call it, does not lizten to the influence of the witch when their mind iz not strong."

"What can happen?"

"There are stories of young children killing their peers on accident when trying to show off."

"Is that why Fae fear your kind? Because it is unpredictable?"

"All witch magic has a price. The spirits aid us when we call onto them and they seek a price. There iz a method to the price but it iz subject to change depending on the spirit that answers. Your father was not wrong when he said blood magic brings chaos. The reason blood magic iz so feared iz because it can attract all zorts of evil spirits and monsters, which can be part of the appeal." She chuckled as she said this and shook her head. "How many times have your parents required the azzistance from a monster?"

"More than I would like to admit."

"Despite that, not all witch magic iz blood magic. Your father's ignorance iz thinking they are one in the same." Isa took a seat at one of the benches and Nyx followed suit. He sat a bit closer than newly acquainted fae should, but he hardly cared.

"So you were raised amongst your kind? Did you get to see your father much?" Nyx was curious about this secretive female. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

"He caused havoc and mayhem in order to zee me. They refused until my first shape shift when I was two and they realized they did not know how to help that. My mother had been zecretly sneaking me to see him before then though."

"Fascinating."

"How do you know zo much about witches?" She asked while pushing her short hair behind her ear. Nyx reached out and clasped her hand in his. He started to trace a small tattoo on the outside of her pointer finger.

"Honestly? I do not know much. A few of them have given some information over idle pillow talk though." He admitted with a shrug.

"Charming. Speak of your past conquests to your new one." She said it with a wide smile, so Nyx was not concerned that he had actually upset her.

"I would not call you my new conquest." He gave her a cheeky smile that she shook her head to with a chuckle.

"No? Zo you escort me out here to win my heart or from the goodness of your own?"

"Perhaps I escort you out here as a gentleman."

"That iz not what your reputation would suggest." She lifted her eyebrows at him.

"I have a reputation?" Nyx was wholly unaware of any reputation that might precede him unless it had something to do with his parents. Isa pulled her hand back into her own lap.

"Nyx, prince of the night court, zon of Feyre 'cursebreaker' Archeron, high lady of the night court and Rhyzand high lord of the night court. Intelligent and agile. Mediocre combat training, excellent spy potential, enjoys the attention of any and all females, and zuccezzfully gains the attention with uave charm and dashing good looks."

"You definitely did your research." He leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest as she leaned in a bit more.

"Believe it or not, those words were straight from Lucien before we winnowed here." She mock whispered.

"That seems a bit unfair. He gave me no information on you. I'd also argue I am much better than mediocre at hand-to-hand combat." Nyx felt a bit miffed that he had been described as mediocre at anything, but begrudgingly he knew Lucien was right.

"Be careful, I might be tempted to challenge you." She gave a wickedly mischievous smile before turning her head up to look at the stars. She plucked the rose from behind her ear and began twirling it between her fingers.

"What would we be wagering for?"

"The title of best fighter. Might give our parents zomething to boast about." She continued to look at the sky instead of him.

"Hmm. Not appealing enough. Perhaps for a kiss though?" He jested. Although, he imagined a kiss from her would be amazing.

"I zuppose. If you think winning a kizz will be easier than charming one from me, then you have severely misjudged me."

"Oh I know," he sent a wide, goofy smile her way. "I would need you to kiss the pain away after you kick my ass."

"Relentlezz." A genuine smile finally lit her face up. It made her even more beautiful.

"You are a mind reader, right? Can you tell me what I am thinking of?" She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and rubbed her temples with her pointer and middle fingers. It was the epitome of concentration but it only caused him to laugh and shake his head.

"You mean my daemati powers?" He attempted to infiltrate her mind only to be met with steel mind barriers. He did not think his father would even be able to get past those.

"Daemati?" She drug out the word as if she was testing how it sounded on her lips. "How does it work?"

"For some people, I can slip into their mind and hear their thoughts and experience their memories. Your mind, however," he poked her forehead right between her eyebrows. "Is too guarded. I supposed I will have to get to know you the old fashioned way."

She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout.

"That iz not fun." He laughed loudly at her expression. She seemed truly gutted that he could not read her mind. It was such an opposite reaction to how most people felt of the ability. It seemed like the deepest of privacy invasions to most. It was why he tried to limit using it as much as possible.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Mediocre damn-ti can be added to your list." She stood up and placed the rose that was in her lap behind Nyx’s ear. He laughed but left it there anyhow. They started back towards the house.

"Daemati. And I would say my inability to infiltrate your mind speaks more to the strength of your power than a lack of mine."

She sent him a mischievous smile before grabbing his hand and twirling herself under his arm as she hummed a tune. She amused him with her peculiar behavior.

"Are you nervous to be High lady some day?" He figured she of all people would understand the anxiety he has been feeling lately to fill his parents footsteps. What if he messed up? What if he failed?

"Have not thought of it much."

"Truly?" She gave a simple nod before responding.

"I worry more about my father's death than the power I would have after it. He iz all I have left."

"I always imagined my parents voluntarily stepping down to give me the title. They seem so invincible. Perhaps that is the child in me." He did not like to imagine their deaths, but even so at least he would have a plethora of help. He had so many mentors that could show him the way. He felt bad that Isa only had Tamlin. Lucien too, probably.

"It iz sweet that you feel that way. I have zeen too much to believe that anyone is invincible."

"I just worry that I will fail. Or that I won't live up to their standards." Nyx had many a nightmares about this specific situation.

"That iz a lot of prezzure considering you are not yet High Lord." She bumped his shoulder with hers. He stumbled a step from surprise, but bumped her back.

"I will be one day though."

"What if one of you zisters get the throne instead of you? And then you wasted all dis time for nothing."

"Neither want it. Even if the power transfers to them, they have both said they will leave the title to me."

"You will probably fail and ruin your parents hard work." She said in a serious tone with a grave look on her face.

"Thanks." He deadpanned.

"But you will have me as an ally, no? And I will be ready dig you out of whatever hole you have dug. I am quite wise and known for my generosity." He could sense a hint of sarcasm with her last sentence, but felt honored that she was so freely giving her support anyways.

"Be careful, you might be underestimating how much trouble I could get us into."

#nyx acotar #acotar #tamlins daughter #tamlin #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand

[narrators-journal]

Months of tolerance

So, I was looking back at my ranpoe valentines story and I got an idea. Why not write a little collection? A little trio or so of Valentines-themed sort of ship stories?

And so, I wrote a second one for Shin-soukoku! Though, please be forgiving, I’m not a super big fan of Atsushi, so I don’t have a lot of ideas and experience on how he works and behaves, so I kinda took inspiration from the rp me and my friend did for BSD and their sort of rendition of Atsushi mixed with canon.

Atsushi had never really experienced Valentines day or White day, so when Dazai offered to take him out on one of his days off and introduce him to the basics of the event he accepted it. He was quick to find it to be a bit depressing.            “Dazai, I don't think I have any real...reason to be here," The tiger sighed, putting down one of the little Valentines bears he'd been looking at in the shop and looking over at the bandage-clad brunette that was to be his mentor in the ADA. The rail of a man just pouted at him,            "Nonsense, Atsushi! You're learning about romance," he assured, giving the white-haired man a sweet smile, which made Atsushi grimace,            "Yeah, but this holiday is obviously for couples, and I don't have any romantic partner of any sort," He pointed out, a stone of loneliness settling in the bottom of his stomach as he spoke, but his mentor simply snorted as if that point was moot.            "Sushi, you don't need a romantic partner to celebrate Valentines day, you can just as easily get gifts for friends. After all, I don't have a partner but I'm gonna get a gift for someone." He assured, and while the tiger was still a bit unsure, he just nodded.

After that, he just went back to milling around up and down the aisle as he poked at the little toys, knick knacks, or sweets scattered about until Dazai clapped his hands together in an idea,          "Atsushi! I have an idea for what you can do on Valentines day!" he chirped, bouncing on his feet in some childish, giddy high, "Why not get a gift for Ryuunosuke!" The tiger blinked and scowled at the idea,          "Why the hell would I do that? I don't have any sort of feelings for him," he about spat, almost feeling his lip curl in a snarl at the mere mention of the wheezing, gothic, Dazai fanboy. However, the brunette simply rolled his eyes at his venom,          "There is a very common phrase, 'kill your enemies with kindness', you ever hear it?" before the weretiger could answer, he continued, "Akutagawa doesn't like you. At all. Hates your guts. But! If you get him a gift, maybe be as friendly as you can be, you can get him to warm up to you!" the weretiger's scowl only deepened, which made his mentor huff and drop the excited, bubbly tone, "If you get him to like you, you won't have to spend quite as much on shirts every week." Atsushi ended up buying a cheap little gift for the goth. However, that now left him with a question. How was he to get the cheap plush cat to Akutagawa? He'd been pondering the question all through out the three days that led up to Valentines day, going back and forth on whether or not he should even bother with Dazai's stupid idea. Is it really worth risking getting stabbed again? Just to give this cheap little thing to a bastard like Akutagawa? He thought bitterly, though his cheeks burned a slight pink while he glared down at the floppy little beanie baby cat that was sprawled out on his meager little coffee table, staring up at the tiger with glassy amber eyes while he sat on his couch the evening before Valentines day. I'd sooner drink my own piss then give Akutagawa a Valentines gift. He told himself firmly, getting up from his couch and plucking the toy from the cheap table to get rid of it. To do this, he threw it out of his livingroom window into the darkness of the cold night and listened to it land in the dumpster across the street with a soft thud thanks to how hard he'd thrown it. And, with that, he shut his window with a decisive 'humph' and went to bed. Dazai was a smart man, but Atsushi was not going to have conflicting and confusing feelings plague him just to placate a violent asshole with a hateboner for him. An hour later, the tiger went out to the dumpster he'd heard the cat slam against and dug the poor thing out to be washed. Not that the weretiger had changed his mind or anything, he'd just spent money on the derpy little toy, he didn't want to waste it. Or, so he told himself. So, he instead returned it to his bedside table after washing it a few times, trying to see if he could somehow rub the new crack out of his amber eye while doing his best to get the dumpster stench out of its fur. If he really was going to 'kill Akutagawa with kindness' like Dazai said, the least he could do was make sure the gift didn't reek of three day old take out and dog vomit. When the next day came, he took the toy to work, then walked home with it draped over his arm after a day of dealing with petty couple squabbles that had turned nasty, or helping Ranpo to and from the smattering of robberies he'd been requested on. Y'know, this just proves why I should've kept this thing in the garbage, he fumed to himself, staring at the sidewalk ahead of him so he didn't see even more lovey-dovey couples for the day, If I gave this to Akutagawa somehow, all that would happen is I'd be a statistic. Nothing more. He hates me too much, it'd probably off- Atsushi's ill-tempered thoughts were cut short when he ran into someone else on the sidewalk, sending them both sprawling to the pavement.           "O-oh my god! I'm so sorry, are you hurt miss?!" The weretiger squeaked, hopping up to his feet at record speeds to offer a hand to the pretty lady in white. She had long black hair, and a familiar style of dress on, but it was her light, steel-colored eyes that finally got her face to click in the frazzled tiger's irrational mind.          "Oh!...Gin, right?" he asked as she took his hand and let him help her up while she nodded,          "Sorry, I didn't mean to run you over," she said, her voice as quiet as the first time he'd met her with Katai and Kunikida, but her words shot a nebulous sort of anxiety into his veins,         "Oh, no no no, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I-I was going," he stammered, trying desperately to comfort her as he reached to dust her off, but then changed his mind half way, doing that would be super weird, so he instead tried to think up another way to make up for running into her. He felt awful for knocking her over, but had no clue what to do, so he just ended up putting a hand over his anxious heart and staying quiet. Gin, meanwhile, had spotted the saggy stuffed toy on the sidewalk,           "Um, is that yours?" She asked, picking it up and dusting the little thing off gently, snapping Atsushi out of his thoughts,          "What? Oh! Yeah, that's...actually, I bought it for...Akutagawa." he admitted, not knowing what else to say to explain why he had a stuffed cat. Gin blinked at him, raising an eyebrow,           "No offense, but why did you buy my brother a toy? Is it for Valentines day?" Atsushi gaped for a moment, for some reason his brain struggling to give even the simplest answer for a moment,          "I...D-Dazai suggested getting him a gift..." he muttered, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he spoke, which Gin seemed to notice, but she said nothing,          "Well, how about I deliver it to him? He likes cats, I'm sure he'd enjoy this one," she offered sweetly instead, and for a moment Atsushi could only stare at her while his cheeks undoubtedly glowed a healthy pink until he cleared his throat, get yourself together Atsushi! This is a fine way to get the damned gift to Akutagawa, then Dazai can get off your ass, he told himself, pushing down the weird flustered feeling in his chest,         "Um, t-that would be helpful," She nodded, smiling a bit at the toy cat. With that, she wished him well as the sky darkened from the yellow-purple gradient of Atsushi's eyes, to a dark, star-speckled blue, leaving the tiger to walk home and contemplate his day. For the next few days, the weretiger was on edge, just waiting for the wheezing goth to pop out from behind every corner ready to stab him. However, it never happened. Atsushi was expecting it, always at the ready to defend himself, but for the entire month he didn't even see his nemesis on jobs, let alone when he was walking home or too work. So, he began to relax. Maybe he really did enjoy the stuffed toy, he thought a month or so later on his walk home from the ADA. The thought brought an odd warm feeling to his chest, but he was swift to stomp the detested feeling back down into that part of himself he refused to acknowledge. He could accept his tiger, but he was not ready to face anything like that emotion. Then, something slammed into the side of his head. In an instant, Atsushi was knocked onto the sidewalk with his world swimming for a moment or two. In those moments, he laid there in a daze, forced to wait for his senses to return and the throbbing ache in his skull to die before he could finally stumble to his feet. When the pain stopped and he could bare to stand once again, the white-haired man looked around for what might've hit him in the head, but the only thing he found was a can of soda. A soda that, upon closer inspection, he found to be one of his favorites, which was weird enough, since usually his favorite soft drink doesn't fly at people's heads, but, no one was currently around to explain why an unopened, very dented can of his preferred soda was rolling around at his feet after knocking him on his ass like it had. He'd tried to look around, taking advantage of his improved night vision to try and spot anyone trying to hide from the blame for throwing it at him, but the street was currently sparse in other people in the area. However, after a moment of thinking, and examining the near-bursting can, it slowly dawned on the tiger who might've thrown it. Then, the date set in, bringing a stronger wave of hot embarrassment to his cheeks.           "Um?? T-thanks I guess?" he called out into the swiftly growing darkness, and then swiftly continued home, before the hiding goth caught sight of the way his cheeks tinged a small shade of pink or decided to come out to maul him for acknowledging him.

#Shin soukoku #bsd #Bungo stray dogs #Atsushi Nakajima #Akutagawa Ryunosuke #scenario #fluff #valentines day

[shih-coulda-had-it]

20/29 platonic nanahiko

20/29. [Platonic] Carrying while half-asleep and crawling into bed | Nana & Sorahiko | WC: 1,203

//

Sky High Agency’s spare cot had been outfitted for a single individual of average height.

If a person surpassing two hundred centimeters needed a nap, then they crammed themselves against the wall and hoped for sleep to take them before the crick in their neck did. Whoever did choose to doze off in the back room inevitably woke up within the hour, skin chilled (thin blanket) and bones creaky (hard mattress). The lack of comfort in this set-up originated from a youthful, well-intentioned mind fighting a lazy, cynical one.

If you couldn’t sleep on the bed, then you wouldn’t sleep on the bed!

A lose-lose situation all around for the towering pro-heroes of Sky High.

This was the first issue that came to Gran Torino’s mind when thinking about the agency.

Well, no. The real first issue was Shimura’s recent habit of working herself into an early grave. Her productivity had skyrocketed since the death of her husband, but all that busy work had a drawback. Instead of Sorahiko snoozing at his desk, it was Nana, head bent and pen held lax in her gloved fingers.

He didn’t have the heart to tease.

As quietly as he could, he left his desk and their secluded office space to check that all their civilian staffers had clocked out. Toshinori had been promptly bullied out by nine o’clock, so Sorahiko was confident that no bright-eyed, solemn-voiced teenager would be present to lecture his mentors’ approach to self-care. Still, sometimes the more soft-hearted civilians relayed their concerns to the agency’s single intern, forgetting that Toshinori was only sixteen and ill-equipped to save his mentors.

Sorahiko returned to Shimura’s side, bent a little, and jostled her elbow. He said, “Work is over.”

She mumbled something like, “I work for life.”

He restrained himself from snorting, but endeavored to at least get her sitting upright. Shimura was heavy, from her muscles to her hair to her head, and she groaned in protest over the movement. She butted her forehead into his ribs. Idly, Sorahiko plucked the pen from her grasp and set it on the table. Next week’s forms were next week’s problems.

“I don’t want to go home,” Shimura complained.

“I’m not hauling you to mine.”

“Pft. Stingy.” Shimura stood and leaned against Sorahiko, who expected the weight and received none, because Shimura used Float to hang off his cape.

“Hey,” he warned, watching her feet lift off the floor. Shimura tugged, inched higher, swung herself sideways and lifted her legs.

Noting her sly smile, Sorahiko immediately clued into her idea of a bridal carry.

He shifted her into a fireman’s lift just as her weight returned. Canceling Float so abruptly caused Sorahiko to stagger; Shimura yelped and kneed Sorahiko’s chest, one fist flying down to thump against the small of his back.

“Drag me back in public like this and I’ll beat you up!”

“Oh no,” Sorahiko deadpanned, turning for the door. He heard her furious yawn. “You and what burst of adrenaline?”

“Jet-head—!” The crack of another yawn. A sullen silence followed, no witty retort answering his question. Sorahiko managed to exit into the hallway when Shimura admitted, “The house is so empty, Sorahiko.”

He stilled.

“I had to clean up Kotarou’s crayons. He didn’t believe me about packing up what he loved because he wouldn’t be able to come back and get it,” she rambled. “And then I had to cook dinner, and as bad as I was a cook for my family, it really is worse cooking for myself. Kinda sucks having to rate my own cooking a six out of ten.”

He exhaled, sharp. The glass doors of the entrance reflected two underpaid, overworked pro-heroes, one in need of a serious recharge. Sorahiko decided to open the spare room and brought them both into the cramped area with its single shitty cot and multiple filing cabinets.

“Sorahiko?” Shimura questioned.

Sorahiko set her on her feet. Brusquely, he said, “Catch a few hours here. I’ll wait.”

“Huh?” She cast a wary look at the cot, no doubt regretting her brash decision to deprive her best friend of all that was good in the world.

Then she shrugged, and unclipped her cape. That, her boots and her gloves, were all discarded, deposited on top of those dusty filing cabinets. Shimura yanked her hair tie out, shook out those long tresses, and stared back at Sorahiko.

She lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Well?’

“I’ll finish up a few papers,” said Sorahiko. He pointed at the cot. “Try and get an hour.”

“Ha,” she said, because she knew even fifteen uninterrupted minutes on the cot was a miracle. But she obliged; Shimura perched on the edge of the mattress, still a giant in her diminished state. “See you in an hour.”

Sorahiko inclined his head and crossed back over the hallway, determined to tidy up something. A paper for his teaching credential program, a permit for next month’s investigation outside the prefecture, or even the permission slips Toshinori kept ferrying to their office. He assumed they were permission slips. Maybe the brat was getting them to sign away the agency to his inheritance.

In the span of one hour, Sorahiko went loopy.

He didn’t like being sleep-deprived. That was why he tried to overcorrect with too much sleeping, despite Recovery Girl’s emphatic advice to not do that.

Characters began to blur, and his handwriting grew sloppy, more chicken-scratch than typeset. When Sorahiko caught his pen trailing into the ‘Leave Unfilled/Marked for Administration’ box, he deemed the night over and levered himself out of his chair.

“Hell,” he muttered, blinking at the spinning room. How late was it? Hopefully Shimura already slipped out of the office, but the likelihood of her doing that without alerting him would be… well, it would be high. Sorahiko tended to get tunnel vision once he got in the groove.

He stumbled into the hallway. A short nap. That was all he needed.

Peeking inside the spare room revealed Shimura’s continued occupation of the cot, but at this point, Sorahiko was going to settle for sitting on the floor and using the mattress as neck support. He circled around, shedding his gloves and his mask, stashing them with Shimura’s.

“What time is it?” Shimura sleepily asked.

“Late.”

“Mm. Get in here,” she mumbled. Her hand grasped the edge of his cape. Sorahiko, dazed and too tired to argue for his right to the cot, agreeably crawled on top of her. His limbs went for whatever space was available, which wasn’t much. His head nestled face-down; he crammed it between her shoulder and head. Shimura yelped.

“Hush,” said Sorahiko into the mattress. Oh, he always forgot the lack of pillow. This cot sucked.

“You’re squishing me.”

“Ugh.” Grumpily, he slid sideways and wedged himself between her and the wall, shoving at her until she also went on her side. Before she could yell about betrayal and falling off the edge, Sorahiko hooked his arm over her stomach and held Shimura close. “Better?”

“Boots.”

“Deal with it.”

“Gross,” Shimura sighed, and obligingly reached back and pulled Sorahiko’s cape over their chests, kicking the thin blanket down to cover their lower halves.

#bnha #shimura nana #torino sorahiko #gran torino #asks #anon #shih.txt #sorry for the wait! last prompt will be coming... soon... #my visualization of sky high agency is lovingly boring #i should draft it out sometime

[inkribbon796]

Six [Ate] Ain’t Seven Ch. 2: Repairing the Seam

Summary: The Host and Patton go into the tear to save their future, and fight their past along the way.

Chapters: 1, 2

The two heroes were standing back outside the warehouses, but this time right in the parking lot to the east side of the warehouses. Logan and Virgil nowhere nearby. Patton was still in the suit, but the Host had changed.

He was in a pinstripe black shirt, a notebook in hand, but the thing that caught Patton were his eyes.

Namely that they weren’t just black sockets covered by bandages. They were there, his pupils the same color of brilliant gold that was normally streaked into the front of his hair.

“Ughhh!” The seer shielded his recently restored eyes from the sun. It had been a long time since light had hit his nerves like that. His visions and narrations had been his eyes but now having his old ones back were agony.

“Host!” Patton gasped, rushing to the Host’s side. “What can I do? Should I call Iplier?”

“He would not recognize the Host, and if the Host and Patton leave the warehouse parking lot without this reality’s anomaly they will have to re-enter and try again.”

“Yeah, but,” Patton began before the Host’s aura wrapped around his eyes to lessen the pain and disorientation. After a couple minutes he shakily got up, helped by Patton.

“I could go in alone,” Patton offered.

“Morality would not be able to find his way to the anomaly to retrieve it,” the Host denied. “Being alone would only increase the likelihood of failure.”

With that the Host began to lead Patton towards Dark’s main warehouse, with each step he gained strength, but also felt the Author trying to smother him out. People parted for them at even the sight of the Author. Dark was out dealing with a problem, the Host had made sure of it before even setting foot into this reality. So entering the office was easy.

The Host walked over to the huge family portrait and used his aura to tip it out of the way far enough to crack the safe open and extract a single black day planner. He then closed the safe and restored the portrait to its natural position.

“Is that what you were looking for?” Patton asked in confusion.

“Yes,” the Host answered. “Morality should not be fooled by the anomaly’s current appearance. This is a magical artifact that has the ability to destroy realities if used improperly.”

“Okay, so, we have it, then we can leave?” Patton looked around uneasily.

“Yes, and the Host and Morality should be quick,” the Host checked over the office to make sure everything was in order before starting to lead the Side out. But as they started leaving the warehouse the pull to return was only getting stronger.

Patton was mentally fading in and out of himself, like he was drowning at sea and barely able to keep his head about the frothy depths of his own mind. It felt like some part of him, some gaping, empty hole in his soul wanted to pull him back in. It was some cautious, hungry creature and Patton didn’t like him.

All it would take was the lightest shove to his attention, and he would be gone. He could see the parking lot in the distance. They were almost safe.

The Host was doing so well, the Author was trying to steal back control. But he was distracted when Illinois came stomping out of a portal with King following him. An errant squirrel scurrying off of him, and out into a random warehouse. King’s usual cape was gone, as was his child that typically clung to King. He was in his suit instead.

Illinois looked pissed, as if he’d kill the next person who spoke to him. As Illinois and the Host passed, the seer’s newly restored eyes tracked of their own volition and as he glanced at Illinois a sadistic sense of victory came over him. King was glancing between them in uncertainty.

“How’s it going lover boy,” the Author baited, the distraction giving him the push he needed. His feet stopped.

“Not now, shitbag,” Illinois grumbled, glaring at him as he kept walking.

“Not my fault you dug your grave with Mr. Right,” Author dared. “I mean, he gave you everything and you burned his base down. I’m a certified sadist, but at least I clean up after myself and don’t fucking get involved with my food.”

“Shut up,” Illinois seethed.

“I mean, did you see his face?” Author continued to goad, “I mean the one fucker you don’t kill and instead you fuck up so badly that he dumps your ass.”

“Shut up!” Illinois shouted, King and Patton looking between each other in unease. The two young men were attracting a crowd.

“I mean, you should have just fucked him and run, would have saved you both the trouble,” Arthur dared and Illinois screamed in a heartbroken fury before throwing himself at his brother and the two starting a fistfight.

Patton and King both called for Dark with their stars, not wanting the two to kill each other.

Dark immediately ripped open and portal and froze when he saw the fight. He saw the screaming and knew he’d been wrong to leave Illinois alone with his brothers while he was still so emotionally raw.

“Philly!” Dark shouted and yanked his adopted son through a portal. “A word!”

“He started it!” Illinois shouted in a rage before the portal closed.

Author had the good sense to wait until he was sure Dark was gone, reprimanding Illinois, to start cackling like a madman. The weight in his pocket was almost nonexistent.

“Did you see his fucking face?” Author laughed. “I think he was crying.”

“You’re a fucking dick, Art,” King glared at him. “You know that right?”

“Come on,” Author stood up and brushed himself off. “He deserved it. Besides it’s not like one slip up is going to kick Daddy’s favorite off his pedestal. I need to try much harder for that.”

“If you weren’t such a complete asshole, I might agree with you,” King glared at him. “Come on, that hero he was dating was the best partner yet.”

“And Phills chose his side,” Arthur reminded. “We all did. I don’t get why he’s so upset that his boyfriend didn’t like his choice.”

“Just once I’d like you to get a taste of your own medicine,” King sighed, before he turned to see a couple squirrels rush over and he let them climb up his leg and onto his shoulder while they chittered at him. “Gotta[1] go, one of the heroes is causing trouble over by warehouse six.”

“I’ll come with, it’s been a while since I had some fun,” Arthur grinned.

“Hey, maybe we should,” Patton began to suggest as the two other Lost Ones looked towards him, “go back inside, Author. I think you’ve had enough fun for now. We can fight them next time.”

Author was about to protest before Patton sent a calming wave towards him, and immediately there was this glazed look to Author’s eyes. He huffed out, already stomping away, “Yeah, whatever fun police. I hate that the Old Man stuck me with you.”

Patton rushed to catch up with his adopted brother, “I just don’t want you to get in trouble, or get hurt.”

“Too late for that Pat-attack,” Arthur reminded.

Patton smiled warmly, a smile that despite Author’s best efforts he couldn’t hate. The guy was sunshine personified. “Come on, I’m gonna[2] lose my touch if you keep smiling like that. I’m gonna[2] have to punch you in the gut or something.”

Still smiling, the two were about to head into Dark’s main warehouse, when someone walked over to them.

“Umm, Author?”

Author and Patton turned to see a young man standing not too far from them. He had an oversized purple hoodie with a green swirl on the front and back. He had a thick book held to his chest.

“You talking to me?” Author asked, pointing to himself.

“Yeah,” the young man nodded with a smile before pulling out a folded up note from his hoodie pocket. “Philly wanted me to pass this on. You know, to keep it off the record.”

“Oh,” Author smiled, suddenly overly smug and sure of himself. He plucked the note out of the young man’s hand and opened it.

Written in Illinois’s handwriting was:

“I want you outside 5th and Center St. We can settle this where Dark won’t see. I’m sick of your shit. Be there, or I WILL find you.”

Author chuckled, writing his bat back into his hands, “Well, well, if Daddy’s favorite wants his teeth kicked in, I’m more than happy to oblige. Hey buddy, you wanna watch a narcissistic asshole get his hopes and dreams crushed?”

The young man’s left eyebrow hitched up as he gave the Author a knowing look, “That’s certainly one way of putting it. Sure, I like watching a train wreck in motion.”

“Alright,” Author smiled. “I like you, I promise not to kill you immediately.”

“Thanks, I guess,” his tone clearly insulted. “You gonna[2] go, or should I go and jump off the roof of the closest warehouse? I got stuff to do.”

“Hmmm,” Author hummed. “You got a name?”

“Karl Jacobs,” Karl smiled again as he watched Author write down his name. “With a “K” and it’s not short for “Carlton” either.”

“Boy, aren’t you just dumb as shit?” Author chuckled to himself as he crossed out the first spelling and wrote the correct one.

At that Karl just glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Not my fault this is your first day on the job,” Author smiled.

“Hey, uh, maybe we shouldn’t,” Patton began but stopped when he saw the look in Author’s eyes.

“Not my fault Ills wants his teeth bashed in,” Author waggled his finger before he turned and started heading towards the parking lot again, moving quickly to get to where he thought Illinois was. “Come on, I’ve been dying for a rematch.”

“Yeah, but,” Patton tried to interject.

“So give me some motivation,” Author told Karl as they kept walking, ignoring Patton completely. “What makes you tick?”

“Well, one of your dads killed my dad,” Karl admitted.

“Well, Wil kills a lot of people so you’re going to have to be specific,” Arthur shrugged, slugging his bat over his head, causing Patton to quickly duck as he was racing to keep up.

“No, I meant Dark,” Karl corrected. “My dad was doing some dumb things, hoping to blackmail him. But he died and now I have to deal with the bridge.”

“Ohhh, that was your dad,” Author realized. “Man, he was an idiot.”

“So do have, like, a grudge against us then?” Patton asked as they were weaving around cars.

“Kinda,”[3] Karl admitted, “but only to Dark, and don’t worry it’s not enough to screw you guys over. You guys weren’t even adopted yet and Dark was just looking out for his kid.”

The suspicious part of Arthur’s brain lit up like a series of waved semaphores, how did this asshole know I’m adopted and not their actual kid‽

“How—” Arthur asked as his feet finally crossed the invisible barrier of the parking lot, and the Host woke back up. He had just enough time to pull Patton along with him as their exit ejected them out of the little pocket reality.

The three of them stepped into the white of the In-between. Patton suffered the most disorientation.

“You back to normal?” Karl asked.

“Yes,” the Host started coming back to himself more and more, fighting the vestiges of the Author still left inside of him. His eyes were gone again and covered with bandages, but blood was coming from the sockets. “The Host is in control.”

“Good,” Karl told him, before slapping him in the arm with his huge book. “That’s for being a jerk.”

“The Host deserves that,” the Host flinched away from the blow.

“Yeah, yah[4] did,” Karl agreed.

“Is everyone still okay?” Patton asked fearfully.

“Yes,” the Host answered, talking out the day planner. “There is still time for the Host to fix their mistakes. Thanks to Karl, the Host and Morality can still remember everything.”

The Host turned his attention towards where his aura was telling him Karl was, “The Host cannot thank Karl enough for intervening.”

Karl shrugged, “You’re the one who gave me the note, I’m just here to help.”

“So we’re going back home, right?” Patton asked. “I want to go home.”

“The Host has what they need,” Host promised. He turned to Karl. “Does Karl need assistance in returning back to the city?”

“I’m stuck here until I die again,” Karl sighed, looking at the castle in the distance, his breath stuttering a bit. He was not looking forward to the pain, nor the disorientation, that always followed moments like this. Usually dehydration or starvation got him.

“The Host can help with that,” the Host’s aura gripped the back of Karl’s head. “After all, Karl did save the Host, it’s only fair for the Host to return the favor.”

Karl felt the sensation of failing before his mind fell out of this reality, right into the white void of the In-between, and then he was yanked back upwards and into a hospital room where he was weak but alive. Hospital machines beeping and giving him life, and the dull chatter of a nurse talking with another doctor.

He stirred and the hospital room flew into action, the nurse immediately paging Quackity who would rush from a meeting to sit by his fiancé’s side as he started his recovery treatment.

Back in the In-Between, the Host used the anomalies to keep the hole he’d ripped open for Karl pried open so that they could easily step through.

“Morality should go first,” the Host ordered the Side. “The Host is hesitant to take the anomaly through before Morality. In case it strands him alone in the In-between.”

“Oh, thanks,” Patton said and stepped through, his suit changing back to his superhero outfit and his freckles fading behind his mask. He felt a hum of his magic surge back, and a connection with Thomas was restored as if he was waking back up from a terrible dream. Patton hadn’t even realized he’d been disconnected from it in the first place.

The Host stepped through after, two black day planners in his hand. The tear was still there but fragmenting by the second. Curling his aura around the day planners they began to turn into dust and swirl together until a single planner was held in the Host’s aura.

With that the tear that had been long since been a nuisance and a threat to the Host was fully disconnected. It became one of the hundreds of thousands of alternate worlds loosely ringed around theirs. No more a danger to him than the dark mirror world that the Host and his allies had found themselves in not so long ago.

“Morality!” Logan yelled as he and Virgil were running over.

With a couple narrations, the Host sent the Sides back to their home to rest, Virgil would be salty and upset at the Host. But the Sides would be together, and that was what was important.

The Host ripped a portal into Dark’s office and saw Illinois sitting and talking with Dark. The Entity was discussing some Network business and some details about Illinois’s upcoming wedding.

The seer stalled a bit, not expecting to see Illinois at this moment. He felt apprehension, his actions under the Author’s insidious influence came back to his mind.

“You okay?” Illinois asked, noticing the hesitant way the Host was holding himself.

“No,” the Host answered. “The Host does not deserve the adventurer’s kindness, nor his consideration. The Host is a terrible brother, he always continues to be so.”

“Hey, hey,” Illinois kicked his feet up and walked over to the Host. He signaled over to Dark, who summoned a portal and seamlessly sent them to the Manor. It was not ideal for the Host but the action had already been done. “What’s this about?”

The Host began explaining to Illinois, to the best of his physical abilities, what he had done. The situation of their missing brother. That Patton had been the price to keeping them safe, but also he told Illinois of his barbed words to Illinois. How at his core he was not any different than the Author.

“Host, Host,” Illinois cut in, curling his aura around the Host, instead of suddenly grabbing onto him, so he didn’t startle him. “Yeah it does concern me that you can just make one of us permanently disappear. I don’t know who this “Patton” was but I’m certain that if he helped you then he was one of the best brothers we ever had. But you’re not a terrible person, you’re doing your best. You were just trying to look out for us.”

“That does not excuse what the Author has done,” the Host cut him off. “Or what the Host has done.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Illinois agreed seriously. “Artie was a lot of things: a pain in my ass, desperate to reenact “Lord of the Flies” and kill me. But he was my brother, and besides Kay, he knew what it was kinda[3] like to be unwanted for a long time. I think both of us forgot that. But now you’re here, and you’re my brother too.”

A smile came back to Illinois’s face, “Besides, you being so worried about me proves that you don’t mean to hurt me. That we’re brothers.”

“The Host supposed that Illinois may have a point,” the seer reluctantly agreed.

“Of course I do,” the adventurer gave him a smug smile. “Trust me more, we’re both in this together. Although, I should admit, I do appreciate not being attacked or threatened with a bat on a regular basis. That, plus you helping me protect 아빠[5] makes you a much better brother than he ever was. If that makes you feel better?”

“The Host is somewhat eased by the adventurer’s words, yes,” the Host agreed.

“Alright, you want to spend the rest of the day with me, or should I take you to the heroes, your eyes are bleeding pretty badly.” Illinois was looking in concern at the seer’s face.

“The Host originally had important matters with the Entity, ones that he cannot put off,” the Host corrected. “The Host was not expecting to see Illinois in his office.”

Illinois lightly whistles, a huge smile splitting his face. “I threw you off your game? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“The Host was pressed for time, he couldn’t check before he opened the portal,” the Host snapped back.

“Sure, I got yah[4],” Illinois chuckled, taking off his hat and tapping on the bronze star hidden inside. “you’re still seeing your boyfriend after this though, your eyes need cleaning before they get infected.”

Dark came to them in an instant, a flurry of overprotective worry.

“Is everything alright?” Dark asked as he portaled in, he was looking Host over for any wounds or signs of a fight. The Host let him fret as he looked at him.

“Yes, the Host was merely discussing something with Illinois,” the Host reached into one of his pockets with his aura and pulled out a plain black day planner. “The Host merely wished to return this to the Entity.”

“Oh,” Dark patted himself down to find his planner was missing and quickly took it back. “Thank you, I didn’t realize it was gone.”

“Yes, the Host had to borrow it for a little while,” the Host told him. “He thanks the Entity for his assistance.”

Dark paused to think about that, confused and suspicious, but he chose not to comment on his thoughts. He turned and headed back to his office.

Host watched him go, aware of the presence watching them. Watching Dark’s every move. Carefully the Host spoke wards into being and they quietly curled around the Entity, protecting him from harm. The Host would have eliminated the threat completely, but such was not in his power. He wasn’t strong enough to disrupt the anomaly entirely, but he would protect what was his. He would protect his family from the Actor, or any other threat.

No matter the cost.

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

Post A/N: Information on Lost One Patton: his superpower was empathy manipulation. He was the emotional heart of his family and helped keep Author from getting too violent with his siblings. As such Patton and Author were close. His codename in the Network was: Pathos.  Also since he has a January birthday, and Author had a February one, that makes him the eldest Lost One, by barely a month.

Accessibility Translations:

1. Have to

2. going to

3. kind of

4. you

5. Dad; used informally. Phonetically reads as: Appa.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #footnotes #the Host #Patton Sanders #ahwm illinois #illinois the adventurer #king of the squirrels #karl jacobs #magically tampering with the bounds of reality #magic #angst #existential dread #existential dread hour #magically deleting your brother from your family #and then getting away with it #overprotective Host

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 22

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 22: Alfie copes with Ella being away with the Lees. Ella learns to cope with her loses. 

         Alfie was not a patient man. Of course, he would cross land and sea for his wife, didn’t mean it was easy to wait for her return. To keep his spirits up, he reminded himself that it was for the better. She was clearing her head after the months of trauma she endured while in Small Heath. He imagined the day they reunited. It couldn’t come soon enough.

           Alfie turned over and felt a warmth coming from Ella’s side of the bed. In his sleep-addled state, he furrowed his brow and blinked a few times. “El?”

           Cyril lurched forward and began licking his owner’s face. He had taken it upon himself to travel from the foot of the bed, where he usually slept, to take Ella’s empty spot.

           The man grumbled and shooed the mastiff away. “Oi, fuck off. Your breath smells like shit, mate.” He sighed and flopped back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

           There was a soft whimpering from the window. Alfie turned over onto his side and saw Anthea with her front paws resting on the window sill so she could look outside. Her brown eyes watching the street below.

           “Thea, what’re you doing?”

           The pit bull whined and dropped down to pace around Ella’s side of the bed.

           “Yeah, I know, I miss her too.” Alfie rested a hand over his eyes. “I miss her too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella had forgotten how sharp the forest air was in the early morning. She nearly forgot the stinging cold of a river as she washed. Her teeth chattered as she worked quickly, scrubbing away the dirt under her fingernails. But she paused when she dragged the soap over her abdomen. The scar was ugly, ugliest she’d ever seen. Still slightly bruised and purple with what was left from the stitches that had been removed.      

           She frowned and passed the soap over the scar once, twice, three times. Hoping with every scrub that it would disappear.

           “Brought you some warmer clothes.”

           Ella jumped and turned, her eyes going to her gun which was concealed in the pile of clothes she’d left on the bank of the river.

           “Easy.” Isabel stopped a few feet from the bank so Ella wouldn’t spook more. “It’s just me.”

           Her shoulders fell in relief and she began to rinse the suds off her skin.

           “Mum was right, you Shelbys have gotten jumpy.” The young woman laughed softly. Isabel was a Traveler girl through and through. Her long ash-brown hair.

           “Sorry,” Ella mumbled and stepped out of the river, reaching for the towel that was hanging on a nearby tree.

           “No need to apologize.” Isabel smiled. She’d been partly made responsible for trying to help Ella through her withdrawal and see her through the grief. It had been a year since she’d lost her own daughter, who was only sixteen months old. There, of course, was a mystique around the Shelby family. But Isabel had known them growing up. It was strange to see how much Ella had changed but it was understandable.

           As Ella dried off, Isabel handed her the long skirt and jumper. “You must be freezing, you’re so thin.”

           “I lost weight in the hospital.” She mumbled and pulled on the warm clothes.

           “Well, I know we’ll get you back to a healthy weight.” Isabel smiled and sat down beside the river.

           Ella ran the towel through her hair. “Do you think people want me here?” She wondered.

           Her friend frowned. “Why wouldn’t they?”

           “It’s been a long time. I know Esme was on the road with you for a bit.” Ella couldn’t imagine that her former sister-in-law was gushing about how amazing the Shelbys were. Not after her beloved husband was gunned down.

           Isabel nodded and pulled her knees close to her chest. “Mhm, she’s with the Youngs now. Might see her in the spring or at the fair.”

           “Still.”

           “I think you’re forgetting that gypsy families take care of their own. Your brother made a deal with us and that’s that. There’s no ill blood between us.” She smiled.

           Ella sat down beside her. “I miss my husband already.” She sighed.

           “I can imagine. I saw the way you two were looking at each other. You must love him very much.”

           Tears stung her eyes. Coping through the withdrawal made her cry at the drop of a hat. Everything seemed to make her sad or angry. She tried her best to keep it under wraps. After all, she was a guest to the Lees and the last thing she wanted was to lash out at them. But it was gnawing at her insides like a parasite. “We’ve fallen so far apart. I didn’t want to fucking go to Birmingham but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wanted to protect me. Instead, my life ended.”

           Isabel wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “El, your life isn’t over.” She said softly.

           “Yes, it is.” She sniffled. “Alfie and I were meant to have a family together. Twins, a boy and a girl. And then Tommy’s fucking mess got me shot. Everything just came apart at the seams and I couldn’t do anything to fucking save it.”

           “But Alfie still loves you, you know that.”

           “There’s something in his eyes though, every time I look at him.” She hiccupped. “I know it’s bad. It’s like looking at me makes him sick.”

           “Oh Ella, that’s not true.” Isabel soothed. “You want him to be angry at you. You want him to hate you because you think you deserve it. But you don’t.” She began to trace spiraling designs in the wet sand of the riverbank. “When I lost Flora, I blamed myself. How could I let her die? She got sick so that made me a bad mother. But there are things in this world that we can’t control.”

           Ella wiped her eyes and felt a tremor go down her spine. She desperately wanted to numb the anguish inside.

           Isabel saw her friend start to tremble and twitch. “Here.” She took her hands and dipped them in the ice-cold water. Ella instinctually went to withdraw her hands but Isabel kept them submerged. “Just focus on the cold. Feel that?”

           Ella wanted to push her away but she forced herself to stay still. The chill in the water traveled up her arms leaving goosebumps. It was like a stinging injection right under her skin. A shock of the senses.

           “You’re alive, Ella.” Isabel urged. “That’s not a mistake. I know you don’t want to feel anything but you need to. It’s the only way you’re going to get through this.”

~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie scratched at his beard while he read through the numbers. “You double-check these?”

           Tommy nodded from his spot across the desk. “Polly did.”

           “Right, well, fucking trust her more than I trust you, mate.” He set the documents aside.

           “Most people do.” The Blinder didn’t seem insulted.

           “Good, right, it’s a deal then.” Alfie tipped his hat at the paper. It was funny how simpler business interactions went after he and Ella got married. Of course, he and Tommy could go down the usual course of negotiating until one of them pulled out a grenade or a gun. But both of them were well aware the other was flat out bluffing. Neither of them was willing to face Ella’s wrath. So, the trick lost its fun and purpose.

            “You hear from Ella?” Tommy asked once they signed documents and shook hands.

           “Yeah, got a letter yesterday,” Alfie answered. The handwritten pages were tucked inside his waistcoat. He’d pulled them out various times throughout the day to reread them. Reading his wife’s words made her feel closer to her despite the difference. “They’re in Wales. I suppose she’s having fun but there’s still…” He gestured with his hand as if trying to pluck the word out of the air.

           “Sadness.” Tommy nodded. “It’ll take time.”

           “Right, I know.” He grumbled and slipped off his glasses. How strange it was to have Tommy as sort of a confidante? Of course, the man wasn’t an expert on the relationship. But at least he was there and listening. Alfie wasn’t about to start monologuing with Anthea and Cyril. The day he did that was the day he committed himself to an asylum. “Just miss her.”

           “The whole family does.” Tommy nodded in agreement. “But I think we’re all hoping she finds some clarity. That’s the end goal, aye?”

           “Yeah and…” Alfie paused and held up a hand. His brow furrowed. “Hang on, did you just group me in with your family?”

           Tommy hadn’t realized what he said. After telling his sister Alfie would never be considered a part of the family, he’d been carefully walking the line. Sure he could consider the man his brother-in-law for legal purposes. But to see Alfie sitting in future family meetings made him want to both laugh and cringe in horror.

           “I think you’re reading into things.”

           Alfie raised an eyebrow. “Here’s the thing, Tommy, I’d rather be hung from me fucking thumbs than be considered a Shelby. So you don’t hafta worry ‘bout me going ‘round saying I’m a part of your fucking family. Just married your sister. We ain’t brothers.”

           “Touching, Alfie, truly.”

           “Oh, fuck off.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Roddy was possibly the largest dog Ella had ever seen. He very well could’ve been the largest dog on the planet. But Isabel treated him like he was her baby. A massive Irish wolfhound, Roddy hit well above Ella’s waist. He was taller than her standing on his hind legs. Despite his unthinkable size and wolfish appearance, he was just as gentle as Cyril. It was a good thing he was around too because Ella missed her dogs. Having the shaggy gray-haired dog was a good comfort.

           Isabel took Roddy along with them on their early morning walks. For the first few weeks, Ella got physically sick nearly every morning. But her friend still insisted they go out. Ella complied but didn’t make it very far. Less than half a mile and she was begging to go back to camp to lie down. As the weeks turned into months, they traveled further every morning. Often times bringing food along because they wouldn’t return to camp until after lunchtime.

           Ella went barefoot as she used to as a child. The cold earth beneath her feet was soothing. She kept her right hand out to the side, grazing across the rough bark of passing trees and the fragile leaves of bushes and flowers.

           Three months in, Isabel, Roddy, and Ella found a beautiful clearing. They were stopped near a town called Geufron on the River Severn. Ella had done her best to take no notice of the distance they’d traveled. She was afraid that if she knew how far away, she was from Alfie and her family, she would panic. Instead, she kept following them west, never calculating how long they traveled between each stop. She simply was wherever they landed.

           Roddy loped through the clearing, scaring away a few birds. He dropped to the ground and began to roll around in the long grass. Isabel laughed softly and found a spot to rest.

           Ella sat as well and watched the wolfhound traipse about. Despite having most of her withdrawal symptoms faded, she was still left in a dark space. Being out in nature helped somewhat, but the sadness felt almost permanent. How could she possibly ever get back to her past self? The woman she was before returning to Small Heath?

           “You were crying last night,” Isabel commented gently after a few minutes of silence between the two.

           Of course, her friend heard her. The two slept only feet away from each other. “I’m sorry, didn’t meant to wake you.” She mumbled and picked at her nails.

           “You always apologize for things that don’t need apologies, El.” Isabel pointed out with a frank smile. “Have you ever apologized to yourself for treating yourself so badly?”

           Ella gave her a funny look. “Apologized to myself? For what?”

           “Well, have you been very kind to yourself lately? Or have you been negative?”

           The question was a difficult one for Ella to really think about. What nice things could she possibly say to herself? Kudos for losing your children? Good job for getting hooked on drugs? Bravo for screaming at your husband more times than you could count? “Negative.” She finally admitted.

           “You’re still angry.” Isabel noticed.

           She shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve got a lot to be angry ‘bout.”

           “Scream.”

           “Huh?”

           Isabel gestured to the open, empty space around them. “Go on and scream. Get some of the anger out. It’s doing you no good just stirring up inside you.”                                          

           Ella scoffed and shook her head. “I’m not going to scream.”

           “So, you’re just going to keep it balled up inside of you?”  

           The question was hauntingly familiar. Hadn’t Ella said that to Tommy at one point? Gazing blankly at the blue sky above them, she realized how much she had turned into her brother. “Fuck.” She grumbled and stood up. For a moment, she felt stupid. But then something punched her in the gut. It was anger, anger at so many things and so many people. Raw hurt and pain that had been eating her from the inside out. Tears stung her eyes and she began to scream. She kept at it until her lungs began to burn and her voice went hoarse. When she finally lost the energy, or she was satisfied enough, she looked up. Roddy was staring at her, his tail and ears perked up in confusion. Isabel was smiling.

           “How was that, then?”

           Ella took a deep breath. Admittedly, she did feel a bit lighter. “Felt alright.”

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

           “Ab-.” Alfie frowned and peered at the name again. “Abers-Aberysh-fucking hell.” He scratched the back of his neck.

           Aberystwyth.

           That’s where Ella said they were headed towards. A town by the ocean in Wales. Their journey west would come to a stop and they’d head south before heading back east. Ella didn’t tell Alfie, but she had a choice. Isabel gave her the option of going back east with her family or meeting up with the Youngs to go further north, thus prolonging her time away.

           Still, Alfie didn’t question the date of her return. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her. But he couldn’t help but have a sickening worry for her all day and all night. To say he didn’t trust the Lees was an understatement. Despite being married into a family of Travelers, the Shelbys weren’t nomadic so Alfie could relate to them a little better. But the Lees were always on the road. It made him uneasy, not to mention he didn’t know any of the clan.

           Tommy had to reassure his brother-in-law that the Lees were allies. Had been ever since Esme married John. And despite John’s fatal fate, that alliance was still strong. The Shelbys had grown substantially stronger than they were over five years earlier. Tommy assured Alfie that the Lees were well aware of the consequences if something were to happen to Ella.

           However, many times he was told this, it didn’t completely sway Alfie’s opinion. Did he think Ella was in immediate danger? No. But he couldn’t imagine any good came from constantly being on the move. If she hadn’t been sending him letters the entire trip, he might’ve gone insane.

           She was brief, to her husband’s dismay. But Ella described some interesting things and people they came across. It was a much simpler way of living, as she wrote, and most of the day-to-day tasks went into keeping camp. Doing chores took much longer than they did in the city and filled up most of the day. But she seemed content with this. She gushed about how nice it was to be around horses again and to be submerged in the Welsh wilderness. It made Alfie smile when she spent an entire paragraph writing about the family of deer, they came across one day. She couldn’t get over the speckled fawn with its spindly legs and fidgety movements.

           Reading her write about the simpler things in life reminded Alfie of how they fell in love. When she admitted she wasn’t very worldly. Alfie could scoff at that statement looking back. Sure, maybe she hadn’t been to France or even have left the country. But she saw the world through lenses that some people could only dream of. Her gentle and thoughtful nature was beginning to blossom again. As well as her fiery spirit that had nearly been snuffed out by the coal filled air of Small Heath.

           So, while Alfie worried, he also gained some hope. It was just a matter of time before his Ella returned to him. He couldn’t wait to see the light in those blue eyes again.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @octaviareina​ @mylovelykelsifer​ @doubletriplepowerbomb​ @ramblingbaby​ @fuseburner​ @kaetastic​

Masterpost

Masterlist

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #tommy shelby #shelby sister #shelby ofc #polly gray #oc #tom hardy #tom hardy character #cillian murphy #cillian murphy character

[wordscorrupt]

chapter 1 of the sequel to the iron dad secret santa i wrote for 2019 here

~

They were only on the road for two hours before Tony was forced to stop.

Peter had passed out in the passenger seat since they left the gas station. The same place where Tony had procured enough energy drinks and coffee to take at least two years off his life as well as a handful of cold and flu medicine that could either put down a small elephant or one sick spider-kid. It was the latter, who now had his head pillowed against the window with Tony’s coat and a blanket securely tucked in around him.

From the moment he pulled out of his parking spot at the gas station, he had kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Peter. Whether it was pressing the back of his palm to his forehead, gauging his fever or smoothing the teen’s hair back.

The drive is quiet for the most part with the exception of the wheezing coming from Peter. It’s a strange, unnerving comfort - a reminder that his kid was by his side, alive and breathing after disappearing for more than a week. At the same time, it’s an indication that Peter required medical assistance. More so than what Tony could offer from a basic first aid kit and gas station medicine. But, even with hovering at least fifteen miles over the speed limit, they are still seven hours away from home.

He’s contemplating the logistics of flying in one of his private planes, and if Peter was even in the right capacity to fly, when the aforementioned teen wakes up with a jolt, starting to hack up a lung.

“Shit,” Tony murmurs, eyes wide as he glances over at Peter who is doubled over. He eases off the gas pedal, reaching over to rub circles on the kid’s back. Peter holds his chest, gasping for air in between his coughing and shoots a panicked look over to Tony.

“Breathe, kiddo,” Tony urges, quickly glancing over his shoulder into the other lanes and once safe, he starts drifting towards the right until the car runs into the gravel covering the shoulder of the road. He sets the car in park, slipping his seatbelt off before racing towards Peter’s side. He flings the door open and Peter practically falls out of his seat. He holds his arms out, bracing for the sudden weight in his arms.

He loses his balance slightly but regains it soon enough to ease Peter out of the car all while murmuring, “You’re okay, buddy. Deep breaths, now.”

He settles Peter on the ground, leaning him against the car, before kneeling down next to him, brushing his hair back. He rubs his hand over the kid’s chest as if he’s trying to physically get his cough to settle down and his airways to open fully. Peter starts sliding down towards the ground, but Tony scoops him back up, cradling him in his arms.  

After a minute the coughing seizes but Peter is still left struggling to breathe however the fresh air was starting to offer a reprieve, one small breath at a time.

Tony eventually repositions until he’s leaning against the car next to Peter and he’s cradling the kid’s head against his chest. Peter is no longer gasping for air but the entire ordeal has left him practically limp in Tony’s arms from exhaustion.

“You’re okay,” Tony reiterates for about the hundredth time. He holds the teen close, rocking him. Peter sits back a few minutes later, although Tony keeps a hold on him. He shivers, hugging himself as a gust of wind brushes against them both and Tony rubs his hands along the kid’s arms.

“How are you feeling, bud?” It was a dumb question in and of itself but Tony needed someway to gauge whether he was going to risk the drive back home with an ill teenager or head to the nearest hotel instead.

Peter frowns, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. A moment later he speaks, voice hoarse. “I’ll be fine.”

Tony sighs. He threads his fingers through the kid’s curls as Peter eases back closer to him, curling against his chest. “That’s in the future. I’m talking about now, bud. The present. The here and the now. The - “

Peter cuts him off. “I can handle it. We’re not too far away from,” Peter pauses, sniffling before continuing, “home.”

The word strikes a chord for the both of them. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his lips to the boy’s head. “You tell me once you can’t.”

“Okay.”

~

Peter wasn’t fine.

Tony had to stop for gas an hour after their episode. While the tank was filling up he grabbed the thermometer from the first aid kit and managed to take Peter’s temperature without waking him up. Coupled with the sweat across Peter’s forehead and high reading on the thermometer, it was evident that the kid’s fever wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. And it wasn’t for as long as Tony kept him cooped up in the passenger seat of this car.

Which lands them in the lobby of the nearest hotel. Well, the nearest one that didn’t seem to be able to cause Peter any more harm. Peter is tucked against Tony’s side, shivering, barely able to hold himself up while Tony checks out a room. Thankfully the front desk lady doesn’t ask too many questions before handing them their key cards.

Peter holds on long enough for them to reach their room on the third floor before falling onto the nearest bed with an exhausted sigh. Tony drops their duffel bag on the floor before reaching over to slip off Peter’s shoes and starts to tuck the blanket around the kid.

“Better?” He asks as he finishes tucking in the second blanket.

Peter’s face is pressed against the pillow but he nods his head.

“Good,” Tony murmurs, stroking the curls on the back of Peter’s head. “There was a grocery store that we passed on our way here. I’m going to go and get a few things. I’ll be gone - twenty minutes top.”

“Mhmm.”

“You’ll be on good behavior when I’m gone?”

“No p’omises.”

Tony smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “That’s my boy.”

~

Tony’s ransacking the soup aisle when Pepper calls him. He had talked to her last night, letting her know he had found Peter and to inform the others.

“Hey Pep,” He answers, balancing the phone on his shoulder while plucking a few more cans of chicken noodle soup off the shelf and into his cart, joining the bottles of Gatorade before he ventures off into the medicine aisle.

“Tony, where the hell are you? F.R.I.D.A.Y. is tracking you out in the middle of nowhere. Please tell me you didn’t get lost.”

“Negative,” He replies with a deep sigh, grabbing his phone and holding it firm against his ear. “He’s sick, Pep. Really sick. Practically collapsed on the side of the highway because he couldn’t stop coughing. I couldn’t keep him cooped up in the car anymore. We’re staying at a hotel for right now.”

Pepper sighs before stating, “I’m sending a jet. Right now.”

“Can’t, Pep. I checked. The closest airport is hundreds of miles from here.”

“The quinjet,” Pepper offers.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “We don’t have any in commission. Not since, well…”

He hears the sound of papers shuffling before Pepper speaks again. “You leave that up to me. I’ll update you in a few. Try to keep both of you in once piece until then, please.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

~

Tony arrives back at their room and upon seeing the bed, void of one sick, frail teenager, his heart stops.

“Peter!” Tony shouts, the bags in his hands dropping to the ground as his whole body basically practically goes rigid with fear. He focuses on the bed, rapidly blinking as if Peter was going to reappear any moment. In doing so, he doesn’t sense the curly-haired head poking out from the bathroom.

“Oh, yay, you got the blue Gatorade.”

Tony practically jumps from his spot and swivels around as Peter comes hobbling out of the bathroom, one arm curled around his stomach. He glances at Tony with a guilty expression, mumbling, “I threw up.”

“Oh, thank God,” Tony cries, before swooping Peter up in his arms, practically crushing him against his chest.

“T’ank G’d I f’ew up?” Peter’s muffled voice questions, slightly kicking his feet as Tony hovers him a few inches off the ground.

“Yeah, something like that,” Tony answers gruffly before carefully setting Peter back on the floor, keeping a steady hand on the teen at all times. Peter tries to reach for the Gatorade on the floor but Tony stops him, directing him towards the bed instead.

Peter sits on the edge of the bed as Tony rummages through his luggage before pulling out a pair of pajamas.

“Think you can put these on while I heat some soup up for you? Do that and I’ve got a Gatorade with your name on it,” Tony suggests, placing the pile of clothes in Peter’s lap. Peter dutifully nods his head.

Tony pours the soup into a bowl and sets into the microwave to heat up just in time to turn around and watch Peter nearly face plant as he attempts to put on his pajama pants.

“Jesus,” Tony murmurs, racing over and grabbing a hold of the teen, helping him sit down on the bed.

“Got dizzy,” Peter admits, rubbing at his eyes.

Tony grabs the kid’s bottoms and pulls them up. “I need you to stand up, kiddo but hold onto my shoulders, first,” Tony directs and as Peter stands up, he holds him close with one arm, the other pulling the kid’s pants all the way up and in place.

“Do I still get a Gatorade?” Peter ponders as Tony helps him settle back down on the bed.

Tony barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Kiddo, you'll have a million Gatorade bottles with your name on them.”

#iron dad #tony stark #peter parker #sick peter parker

[hawksmagnolia]

In times of sickness we all need a hero.

Darcy is sick so Clint, Nat and Sam send her a hero to save the day. 

A/N: Based on the prompt: “What do you mean you’re sick? You’re my partner in crime!”

Warning: Fluff, bathtime snuggles, sweet Bucky

“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime! Who else is going to encourage me to do dumb shit?”

Darcy sniffled through the phone. “Clint, you’re perfectly capable in doing dumb shit all on your own.”

Clint considered this. “Well, yeah. But it’s not as much fun without you. Plus who is going to warn me when Nat is coming? Wilson sucks at being the look out. He gets distracted.”

“Sam gets flirted with. You get distracted. You’re the walking, talking poster child for ADHD. You’re like one of those monkeys who ate all the cocaine at that drug lord’s house down in Miami. Although you’d probably be calmer on coke, pretty sure it’s just like super Adderall.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

She sniffed again. “I’m going back to laying on my couch in misery and watching Hallmark Christmas movies until I feel better. Stay out of Tony’s expensive espresso or you’ll die and we won’t know because you’ll be twitching for another 48 hours.”

“Spoilsport. Call me if you need anything.” Clint made kissy noises into the phone and hung up.

Clint looked over at Sam and Nat. Natasha looked bemused and Sam looked annoyed. Which was his normal state around Clint.

“I do NOT get distracted.” Sam grumbled.

“You do get flirted with a lot though.” Natasha pinched his cheek and he batted her hand away. 

“What about me?!” Cried Clint and Natasha kissed him on his pouting lips. “I threaten to kill people who flirt with you.” Clint smiled fondly at her.

“Now what?” Sam eyed Clint suspiciously. “I know you’re up to something but since we have Nat here I feel much safer.”

Clint cut his eyes at Sam. “You feel safer with her? She’s an assassin!”

Nat thumped Clint on the back of the head. “So are you. Give me your phone. He won’t expect you to be capable of this kind of manipulation.”

Clint looked hurt and Nat kissed him again as she took the phone from his hands. “We all know the stupid is an act.” She held the phone to his face to unlock it and then began to type on the screen. Clint leaned over to watch her and a smile blossomed on the archer’s face. 

“Oh Nat. When you’re good…you’re good.” He plucked the phone from her fingers and held the screen for Sam to read. 

“Damn girl. You almost sound like Clint in that text. Except it has proper spelling and grammar.”

“Not many schools in the carnival life.” Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t affect my aim. Find bad guy, shoot bad guy. The end.”

“Will you two idiots shut up? I’m setting the trap, let’s see if he takes the bait.” She pressed ‘send’ on the text and then spun around in her chair to watch the monitor screen of the gym where their mark, also known as James Buchanan Barnes, was working out.

Clint pulled out a box of caramel popcorn and kicked his feet up onto the desk where Natasha immediately shoved them off.

“Really Barton? Popcorn?”

He held out the box to Sam. “Want some?” 

“I’m not sure why I’m still surprised by anything you do.”

Natasha shushed them as she saw Bucky glance at his watch before re-stacking his weights and going to his bag to get his phone.

“Hook, line and sinker.”  Natasha smiled smugly as they watched Bucky pack up his bag and jog out of the gym.

——————————

Darcy laid on her couch in a pile of blankets as she wallowed in self pity. She felt awful, with a congested head and fever. Everything ached. Downfall of living with so many super people? None of them got sick but somehow they managed to bring home many, many germs to those of the non-super people variety. She coughed and considered calling Clint back so she could whine and then guilt him into bringing her food. She had food here but it was not food she wanted. 

She had just picked up her phone when there was a knock at her door. She looked back at it before pressing her phone screen to unlock the door. 

When the door opened Darcy desperately wished she had died and this was now heaven. Because that was preferable to the reality of the super hot super soldier actually seeing her looking like a hot mess. 

And, dear gods of thunder, he looked super hot. His hair was damp and loose around his face and he was dressed like he’d just left the gym. His tank top showed off every single defined muscle of his arms and was just clingy enough to give a hint of those abs while his shorts rode low on his hips. He was also looking at her oddly. Which is when she realized she was not only staring, but staring with her mouth wide open. She snapped her jaw shut and felt her face burn with something other than fever. 

“Darcy? You okay?”

“Um. Yeah. Peachy.” She tried to flash a smile but ended up coughing again. She heard a thump on her table and then a broad, warm hand was rubbing her back. 

“Jesus. You’re burning up.”

She waved a limp hand at him. “I’m not quite dead yet.”

“Clint said you were sick and asked me to check on you. So I brought that egg drop soup you like since you can’t get me sick.” He pointed to brown paper bag on her tiny kitchen table.

She peered up at him. “How do you know what soup I like?”

Bucky smiled at her. “You order it every single night we get Chinese.”

“Oh. Oh!” She yelped as Bucky reached over the back of the couch and scooped her into his arms. She hissed as his prosthetic pressed against her fevered skin. 

“We gotta get you cooled down Doll.” He carried her with ease into her bathroom. She was suddenly very, very grateful that she’d actually put her laundry down the chute earlier instead of leaving it in a pile on the floor. Keeping her cradled in his arms, he sat on the edge of the oversized tub and turned the tap on.

“What are you doing?” Darcy’s voice was a little muffled from being buried into his chest. She peeked up at his face.

“Told you. Getting you cooled down.” He kicked off his sneakers and reached down to peel off his socks. 

“But why are you getting…less clothing-ish?”

Bucky laughed as he checked the water. “I’m getting in with you. I can watch your temperature with my arm easier than any other way.”

Darcy squeaked. “In with me?!”

He laughed again and kissed the top of her head which sent little tingles all the way to her toes. “I promise your dignity is safe with me. I’ll keep my shorts on.”

“What if I don’t want my dignity to be safe?” Darcy mumbled and Bucky chuckled.

Bucky turned the water off and shifted her again as he yanked his tank top over his head. Darcy tried very hard not to stare but she was 1000% sure she failed. 

He stood, her still cradled in his arms and against that gloriously naked chest, and stepped into the tub. He sat, putting her between his legs with her back against his chest. She shivered a bit and he wrapped his arms around her.

“Sorry doll. But this-“ He plucked at her tank top. “has got to go.”

Darcy felt herself blush, she wore nothing under it, but Bucky leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re gorgeous and should know that.” His lips grazed her ear as he slid his prosthetic hand over her stomach and lifted her shirt with his other. Once the soaked fabric was tossed aside he settled her back against him. His thumb slowly traced a circle on her abdomen while he used the other to run through her hair. Darcy practically purred as his fingers slid across her scalp.

“How long have you been like this?” His voice rumbled against her back.

“Mmm…I don’t know. A couple days? What day is it?” 

“Have you been miserable the whole time? Why didn’t you call someone?”

“Clint and Nat have been checking on me. Steve came by too and dropped off some Gatorade and cold medicine. Sometimes you super people forget that not all of us have magic immune systems. Normally I’d have Thor bring me Asgardian medicine but he’s off in space doing space things.”

He pulled her a little closer and she snuggled into him. The water felt amazing on her skin and Bucky was warm enough to ward off the chill of the water and her fever finally breaking. 

“Next time call me. I’ll come stay with you.”

Darcy craned her neck to look up at him. “Don’t you have world saving to do though? I’m pretty sure that’s way more important than babysitting me.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll decide what’s important.”

“Does this mean I’m important?”

“I don’t go climbing in bathtubs with just anyone.”

She sighed dramatically. “Of course you pick now to do it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “You sayin’ you want to do it again?” His Brooklyn drawl crept into his voice.

“Only if you want to. But, I’d be either dead or a complete idiot to say no. Please know if I am asked about this later I will blame fever.”

“Then we will make a habit of this…especially when you’re better.” He flashed a wicked grin at her that made the heat she felt throughout her body have nothing to do with her illness. “But until then, out we go. I don’t want you gettin’ too cold.” He slipped from behind her and out of the tub, reaching to grab a towel. Darcy swallowed hard at the sight of his ass in water soaked clingy shorts. She crossed her arms over her chest self consciously.

“You done lookin’?”

“Um…no? I mean, I can lie and say yes but no. I’m not.” 

Bucky smiled and held out his hand and Darcy slowly stood on unsteady legs as she attempted to keep her chest covered. Gently he wrapped her in a towel and sat her on the side of the tub before wrapping one around his waist. Grabbing the wet fabric of his shorts, he pulled them down his legs and tossed them aside.

Darcy gaped at him. Her brain shorted out and the only noise to escape her mouth was a wheezy gasp. 

Bucky pretended not to notice as he grabbed another towel and tenderly began to dry the ends of her hair that had fallen into the water. She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her tangled curls until was able to braid it out of her face. 

“Where did you learn to braid?” 

Bucky was pulling a hair tie from around his wrist and he paused. “My sister. She was constantly running around with wild hair but she’d let me brush and braid it at night after her bath.” He secured her braid and stood. “Out of your wet stuff. I’ll be back in a minute, going to try and find you dry clothes.” He disappeared into her bedroom. 

She heard him moving around in her bedroom. The idea of James Buchanan Barnes going into her underwear drawer was enough to make her yelp. He stuck his head back into the bathroom. 

“You okay?”

“I..I can find dry clothes.”

He searched her face for a moment and then slowly nodded. “I’ll clean up in here.”

Darcy wobbled her way into her bedroom and stopped in surprise. Her bed had been carefully spread up with the quit and sheets pulled back so she could climb in. A bottle of Gatorade sat on her bedside- it wasn’t her normal flavor so she wondered if it was from him. She pulled on another tank top (this one with a built in bra) and dry boy shorts, kicking her wet ones aside. She was sitting on the edge of her bed attempting to get a pair of shorts up her legs when he came in still just wearing a towel around his waist. Without being asked, he knelt at her feet and slid them up for her. His fingers grazed over her bare flesh and it broke out into chill bumps.

“Into bed with you.” He gestured and she crawled up towards her pillows. He sat on the edge and pulled the blankets up. 

“Are you leaving?” She whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

She shook her head. 

“I’m going to put your soup up and grab dry stuff for me. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her forehead again and padded barefoot out of her room.

Darcy closed her eyes for just a second, she wasn’t asleep, just resting her eyes. She opened them again when her bed shifted. Bucky sat there in another tank top and shorts. His hair was scraped back from his face and the light from the bathroom cast shadows across his face. 

“Hey. You good?”

Darcy nodded sleepily and he went to stand up but she grabbed his hand. “Stay.”

“I ain’t leavin’ doll. Just going to lay on the couch.”

She shook her head. “No. Stay here.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “In bed? With you?”

She nodded.

“You sure?”

She nodded again. He carefully went to the other side and slid under the covers behind her. Darcy sighed when she felt his body pressed against hers, her legs tangling with his. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Not exactly how I expected our first time in bed to go.”

“What?!” 

Bucky laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted to do this for months.”

“I’m sorry. I must be delirious. I could have sworn you said you’ve been wanting to get into my bed for months.”

“Well, me into yours or you into mine. I ain’t picky.”

Darcy shifted and then rolled to face him. Her eyes roved over his face and she traced the angle of his jaw with her fingertips. “So, why the hell haven’t you done something before now?”

Bucky shrugged a little. “Figured you weren’t interested.”

“Are you high? How would I not be interested in you? Have you seen yourself?”

“I’ve got…baggage.”

“So does everyone. But you also have lots of muscles, pretty eyes and a great smile. And you’re a good person. You’re here, in my bed, making sure I don’t die.”

“You’re not going to die from a cold.”

“I might. This is why you have to stay. To protect my life. It’s very important to my health that you stay.”

“Well, if it’s that important then I’ll stay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and left them there. His warm breath slid over her skin and she pressed a little closer. “You keep that up and I’m makin’ no promises about your dignity being safe with me.”

Darcy picked up his arm and draped it over her side where he curled his fingers against her skin.

“What if I say I’m feeling much better? Like I’m almost cured?”

“I’ll still be here when you’re actually well.”

“But..!”

Bucky cut her off by pressing his lips to hers and when she gasped and opened her mouth, his tongue slid over her lips deepening the kiss.

When he broke off from her, she looked a little dazed. “You’re really good at that.”

He gently kissed her again. “I’m really good at a lot of things. But for now, you need to rest.”

“Promise you’ll show me?”

“Hell yes.”

——————

“Told you it would work.” Clint tiled the box of popcorn to dump the crumbs into his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting him to go wandering the halls in a towel though.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I have to admit Barton, I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Natasha tapped her fingernail against her lips. “I think this is exactly the push they needed. Bravo Clint.”

Clint shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a genius sometimes. Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

“You just killed an entire box of Cracker Jacks. How the hell are you still hungry?”

“It takes a lot of food to power my big brain.”

“Come on Sam, let’s go feed him before he starts drinking coffee again on top of pre sugar. I don’t want to have to get him out of a tree again.”

“That was ONE TIME. And I could have gotten out. Eventually. I was almost out of my belt when Wanda got to me.”

“You were almost out of your pants and you damn near scandalized the poor girl.”

“Shut up Wilson. Food time. FEED ME SEYMOUR.”

Natasha, who had stood up, leaned over and kissed Clint. “If you shut up, I’ll buy a pizza just for you.”

“Deal.”

@the-ss-horniest-book-club @eurynome827 @cchellacat @daughterofsteven @sevans-is-my-weakness @sallycanwait68 @nano--raptor @buckys-broody-muffin @godofplumsandthunder​ @book-dragon-13​ @fuckyeahdarcylewis​ @fuckyeahwintershock​

#HBC #Wintershock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis

[silverfootstepswrites]

Amaryllis | Chapter 11

< Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12>

+++

Sakura was already down by the docks seeing to final preparations for their journey by the time Sasuke and Itachi were having breakfast together.

It had been awkward at first. But the brothers tried to have at least their morning meal together each day. Sakura had been the one to inspire it, of course. After seeing her suffer through obviously painful and irritating meals with Naruto, Itachi, overwhelmed with curiosity, had once asked her about it after a dinner of roasted seafood and the usual bounty of fruits and vegetables. Sasuke was off with Kankuro and Sasori at the beach to watch the night fisherman diving into the water to catch fish with their bare hands.

They were sitting in one of the pavilions with a knitted spread on the floor beneath them. Her white uniform jacket was draped over her shoulders and the golden tassels glittered in the low light. Feet bare, she crossed her legs and then reached over to pluck a fruit from one of the bowls arranged around them. The two bangles on her left wrist clinked against each other.

Itachi watched as she split a fig open with her thumbs. The dark purple outside gave way to an orange-red inside filled with seeds and edged by white. The strange appearance had initially been somewhat intimidating to him. But he quickly grew to love the fruit almost as much as Sakura did. It was sweet and mildly tart.

"I have a feeling you're going to ask me a question," she suddenly remarked without looking up at him.

"What makes you say that?" he inquired. Hearing the note of humor in his voice, she popped half of the fig into her mouth and lifted her head as she chewed.

"Your eyes. You're not a very good liar," she responded. Lips pressing together, Itachi didn't say anything for a while. Sakura finished off the rest of the fig before she reached for another one. Tucking her hand under her chin, she paused to look Itachi over for a moment.

"You don't seem to tan very well. Well, then again, neither do I. It's more tragic for me than for you," Sakura sighed.

"What do you mean?" asked Itachi. He held out his arm closer to the nearest candle. His skin glowed orange in the flickering light. She reached over to observe her own skin. Sakura's hand seemed to take on the same warmed tone. In this light, she seemed neither tanned nor white.

"I'm too dark to be a mainlander. But too pale to blend in with my own people," she pointed out.

It was true that Sakura was certainly lighter-skinned than her cousins. Even Sasori was a mellow shade of caramel, which Itachi had always assumed was from all his time out on the open sea. Although, with all their varyingly bright shades of hair, the people of the Haruno family hardly blended in with the citizens.

"Do they treat you differently?" Itachi queried.

"Who? The mainlanders or the islanders?" Sakura answered with a question of her own. Itachi's eyebrows rose. The bitterness drifted to the surface.

"You're beloved," he slowly said. He had seen it in the eyes of the people. He heard it in their voices and in their meager gifts of whatever wares they sold that was offered up to her instead.

"I am. But I am very much foreign. I was born on this island. My very blood and my roots are steeped into the sands here. But for them, I am as much a mainlander as you are," she explained.

Sakura had grown up celebrating the same holidays as them, painting her arms with red clay and sprinkling flower petals on the beach. She had watched them offer food and flowers to the mother goddess of the island that she didn't believe in but respected all the same. The traditional sounds of their songs with their flutes and pounding drums were as much her anthem as it was theirs. She had grown up listening to the servant girls laughing in a mixture of their native language and the common tongue as they bathed and dressed her.

"Does it ever bother you that you're not considered one of them?"

Itachi's words drew Sakura from her thoughts. He had a nice voice- masculine and clear. It was slightly lower than his brother's and his tone was always somewhat softer, lacking the subtle arrogance of aristocracy that Sasuke wore so proudly on his sleeve. When she heard Sasuke's voice, she thought of wind brushing through tree branches and the sound of footsteps crunching over leaves and moss. Itachi's voice was all the muted colors of the coral reefs at night. The whisper of palm fronds against each other on a quiet day.

"Does it bother me? Itachi, would we be talking about this if it didn't?" she asked before taking a bite into the sweet fig.

"Ah, but this was not what you wished to ask me," she then added.

"Oh. Just… about Prince Naruto," Itachi began with a glance in her direction. He gauged her expression. Sakura was generally open to most subjects but the stony face of silence sometimes descended on her when it came to sensitive matters of family. This time, however, Itachi didn't see anything to warn him away from the subject.

"Why do you bother dining with him if he drives you mad?" questioned Itachi.

Sakura placed the other half of the fig in her mouth. Then she gave an easy shrug.

"Why do we teach grammar? Why do we light candles at night? Because we must," Sakura sighed. She tossed a fig at Itachi and he just barely managed to catch it. They each split one of the fruits open and ate. As she chewed, Sakura frowned.

"I'm sure you've gathered by now that I have a rather… complicated situation with Prince Naruto and his parents. Part of having meals with him is to force myself to remember that he is, in fact, my blood. If not, I'd be so filled with seething rage that I would be inclined to strike him with my fists every time he opened his mouth," she then added. The violence of her words and the serenity of her tone clashed so much that Itachi didn't process it for a solid minute.

And then, folding his hands in his lap, he shot her a sideways glance.

"…He's not a prince…technically," he quietly corrected her.

"Indeed. He would be the noble Young Lord Namikaze if not for his father and his sniveling sycophants," Sakura added with obvious approval in her tone. Mouth twisting into a scowl, Sakura glared down at the fig in her palm before she flung it. It landed in the waves with a plop. They both sat watching the abandoned fruit bobbing on the current. It was just a dark blob on the surface, drifting aimlessly in the night.

"That was uncharacteristically wasteful of you," Itachi observed. It would have been a reproach if not for his subdued smile.

"The very idea of aristocracy is founded on wastefulness. Why stop now?" she answered. As she leaned back on her hands, she let out a deep sigh.

“What is the point of all this power and money?” she then wondered out loud. Her smile told Itachi that she didn’t expect an answer.

"Did you ever have a wish growing up? A secret one that you wouldn't tell anyone else?" she suddenly questioned. Itachi blinked a few times as he thought about it.

"Well…as a young boy, I sometimes wished for a younger brother. And when I was a little older, when my illness started to grow worse, I often wished to grow wings. So that I could fly off the mountain like one of the messenger birds," Itachi slowly admitted.

"To fly?" Sakura repeated.

"I thought you said that you'd had lifetimes of travel through your books," she then added. There was no teasing in her tone.

"To only allow the soul to wander while depriving the body of adventure is a frustrating combination. It took me several years to settle with what my body could endure," Itachi agreed. Sakura's expression softened as she saw his shoulders slump. There was often an odd sort of resignation in Itachi's voice whenever he talked about his health. Though the salt air and the herbal treatments seemed to help his condition immensely, there was still a unique sort of fragility to the prince. The compassionate servants always made sure to fill up his plate a little more than the others, with a pointed smile in Sakura's direction as they worked.

Just looking at him with his dark hair tangling in the breeze and his delicate fingers moving up to brush his bangs from his eyes stirred something in Sakura's chest. His fine purple tunic with the subtle gold threading on the sleeves and bottom hem had been a gift from some of the island's master weavers. There was a light rosy glow on his cheeks from the ocean wind. His forearm felt warm when she bumped it as she scooted in closer to him until their arms were pressed together.

They leaned in toward one another. Her eyes sparkled like they always did- half-laughing and half-sad. When their lips met, she tilted her head and a few locks of her soft, damp hair fell across his forehead. She smelled like the clean ocean breeze and the fragrant sprays of flowers that seemed to grow everywhere.

When they drew apart, he could feel the lingering warmth of her skin on his lips and his cheeks. Wordlessly, she leaned in to touch her forehead to his. He slowly reached out to place his hand over hers. She smiled in a way that made his heart beat uncomfortably hard against his ribs.

"What about you?" Itachi whispered.

"Hm?" she hummed.

It was such an intimate sound. It was the comforting noise of a mother responding to her child's tearful request to chase away monsters. It was the sound of happiness after a particularly restful nap, the sort accompanied by stretching and a cat-like yawn. It was the sound of raindrops gathering in the rounded hollows of leaves resting on the forest floor. It was all of those things and yet it was none of them.

On some wild impulse, he reached out, hands cupping her cheeks, and he kissed her deeply. Counting the thudding of his heartbeats and drawing in a long breath, Itachi felt Sakura's shoulders tighten before they slowly relaxed. Her hands moved to rest on his waist, pulling him in a little closer. He listened to her quickening breaths, to her murmuring chuckle against his mouth as they pulled away to catch their breath.

Itachi blinked. Swallowing thickly, he slowly released her face. A smile began to curl up at Sakura's mouth as she struggled not to laugh at the look of absolute chagrin widening his eyes. His hands clenched into fists in his lap as he cleared his throat loudly and needlessly. But then Sakura reached out to casually put her hand in his.

Blushing, he stole a glance at her out of the corners of his eyes. And he did a double take. Because, even though it was dim and even though it was hard to tell with the flickering candlelight, Itachi swore that there was pink dusting her cheeks. 

So rather than fumble his way to another topic, he tightened his hold on her hand, squeezing her fingers between his. Laughing, Sakura leaned her head against his shoulder. She pressed another kiss to his jaw just to watch his cheeks flare up even brighter.

"A boy," she suddenly said after a long while of comfortable silence.

"Pardon?"

"I wanted to be a boy. My father's son that he would proudly train to wield a sword and carry on his legacy. You asked what my dream once was," Sakura elaborated.

There was pain in her expression as she stared out at the water. She thought back to the days of learning to fight with wooden swords and listening to her father recount stories of his military conquests. He had once been the General of the Mountain Kingdom's armies. There was no shortage of glorious tales to tell. Sakura only listened, seated on his wide, generous lap and giggling when he leaned in to speak in booming voices as he imitated his foes.

She had never had the heart to tell him of the stories her mother poured into her head. They were tales of conquests won not with a sword but with words. She was educated about the generations of marriage alliances and spies that brought the Haruno family to where it was now. There were exciting stories of carrier birds holding secrets and acts of intelligence from women that brought entire nations to their knees without a single knight lifting his blade.

She sat, both a legacy of wit and action, suspended in a painful balance between the guidance of both subtlety and military prowess.

Her mother would have understood. Queen Tsunade had always been the image of beauty and intelligence to Sakura. It was only as she grew up listening to her aunt, Lady Kurenai's stories that Sakura understood that her mother sometimes drank too much and liked to make jokes that embarrassed her husband in their inner circle. Still, as she remembered her mother seated proudly on the throne with her serious face in place. With her fuzzy, fleeting memories, Sakura hoped that her mother wouldn't have taken offense that her daughter had climbed the ranks not as a princess but as a military officer.

"Your mother would be unimaginably, overwhelmingly proud of you, love," Kurenai always assured her. When she smiled, the lines around her eyes and mouth crinkled into existence. Her lipstick was the color of fresh berry juice and her curling hair the color of the night sky. Kurenai was as dark-haired as her older sister had been fair-haired. But Sakura heard the echo of her mother in her aunt's voice.

+++

The night before she sailed for Leaves, Sakura sat in Kurenai's apartment. Kurenai was at her desk, a quill in her hand as she thought carefully before she wrote. Every so often she would pause to read over her words in the candlelight. Sakura folded her legs underneath her. She was seated on the thick rug set out on the floor. Shizune had left a platter piled high with her favorite fruits but Sakura didn't have much of an appetite at the moment.

"Aunt Kurenai," Sakura suddenly called out.

"Yes, my dear?" said Kurenai in response.

"You always tell me that mother would be proud of me, right?"

"Absolutely," Kurenai responded as she looked up from her writing. She twisted around in her seat to regard Sakura with curiosity.

"But I've been thinking lately. And there are things that I've done- unspeakable, deplorable things that makes my own skin crawl at the very thought," mused Sakura. She then lifted her head to meet Kurenai's gaze.

"Do you think she would still love me if she knew what I'd become?"

The question hung in the air-uncomfortable and stifling. But Kurenai, the diplomat, the mother who always seemed to have a thousand different smiles and wise words to make situations seem better, then tilted her head to one side.

"My dearest niece, I do not love you for what you've done. I love you very much for who you are. Incorruptible and proud- that is the sort of woman your mother was as well," Kurenai responded.

Sakura smiled to hide the sudden tightness in her chest at those words.

+++

Kankuro saw his father board the ship that night. Temari had refused to accompany him. And he hadn’t asked Gaara.

Rasa stared past him. Up at the palace.

“That spiteful wench,” he growled.

Kankuro sighed. “Father, someone will hear,” he warned.

“Sending me back to the Arids. She has no idea what kind of trouble she’s starting for herself,” Rasa went on. And then, eyes narrowing, her actually looked at Kankuro.

“You really won’t come with me?” he asked.

Kankuro grimaced. He shook his head. “No, Father. I need to look out for Temari and Gaara.”

When Rasa scowled, Kankuro added, “I will take on your role, Father. I’m sure that in time, Her Grace will see the error of her ways.”

Rasa examined Kankuro’s expression.

“Do not embarrass me, boy,” was all he said. He clapped a hand on Kankuro’s shoulder. And then he strode onto the ship,

Kankuro ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. He felt a little sick as he put on a smile for his father when he glanced over his shoulder at him. Firm, but just a little sad. Rasa gave a nod of approval. 

He could imagine would Temari would say when he talked to her later. About how he almost missed their father. Her face would contort with disgust as she scoffed: “Easy for you to say. You’ve always been his favorite.”

In the morning,  Kankuro closed the ledger.

“Her Grace assures you that you are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like.”

They sat in the chamberlain’s office- a quiet room located in the eastern end of the palace. Kankuro pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He had spent a better part of the night working through his father's unfinished paperwork. Squinting at the words on the papers and stamping the seal under flickering candlelight was always hard on the eyes. Still, blinking against the discomfort, he then turned to his guests with a smile.

Not long after breakfast, the two Uchiha princes had visited and Kankuro had been expecting them. With Sakura out dealing with last-minute details with Gaara, only he and his sister remained. Temari lingered, under orders to watch over Kankuro and the guests. As he waited for the response, Kankuro moved on to the next piece of work and began signing the necessary forms.

"Of course I'll go with her. How could I leave her to wander through treacherous country without a friend?" retorted Sasuke with a hint of disbelief.

At this, Temari, who had been quietly standing in one of the archways and staring out at the water, blinked very rapidly. Kankuro's tapping pen stopped. And then, they turned their heads to look at one another. A short huff of laughter escaped Kankuro’s mouth. Temari smiled before she mashed her lips together.

“Prince… you… seem to be under the impression that Her Grace is…” Kankuro fumbled for the right word, giggling a little now. He turned to his sister, who was doing a better job of fighting off the laughter.

“She is a force to be reckoned with. I would not want stand at the opposite end of a battlefield from her,” Temari supplied instead.

“But you hardly leave her side,” protested Sasuke.

“She doesn’t really need me. I choose to be there,” Temari answered.

Itachi frowned. He leaned forward in his seat a little. Sasuke turned his gaze to him. So did everyone else.

"I must say, your lack of concern for her is a little unexpected," Itachi finally confessed. Temari leaned against her tall spear as she let out another chuckle.

"Well, know this, Prince. Her Grace’s diadem is heavy. She has been wearing it and carrying a sword since she was eight. You will do absolutely nothing to impress her until you acknowledge that as part of her," Temari informed him.

This exchange lingered with Sasuke later as he watched the workers load the last of the supplies onto the ship waiting in the harbor. His own bag had been packed the night before and was already inside one of the private cabins aboard the vessel. Sakura stood on the docks, hands crossed behind her back and her expression intense as she watched the comings and goings.

"No need to have such a scary expression, love. I'm in charge of the ship, remember? All you need to worry about is what happens once we leave this ship in about…” Sasori trailed off, checking his logbook, “…two week’s time.” He sat atop one of the thick wooden posts on the edge of the dock. The admiral was already dressed in his crisp white uniform complete with the light blue sash of the navy. His boots were polished and not a hair on his head stood out of place.

Sakura was in her uniform as well. Her hair, which Sasuke had grown so used to seeing loose and tousled with seawater and wind, was bound in a tight ponytail. Nothing about her appearance hinted at the person who wore silk dresses and danced barefoot in the sand at night with her cousins.

Feeling Sasuke's gaze on the side of her face, Sakura looked his way with a half-smile.

"Is something the matter?" she questioned.

"Not really. I was just thinking," he answered vaguely. But that response seemed to satisfy her enough. She turned her attention back to the men carrying large boxes and barrels onto the ship.

A few minutes later, Sasuke squinted as he noticed one odd silhouette running past the others up the dock.

Panting and struggling to hold his carpetbag in both his arms, Haku begged to join. Sasori raised an eyebrow. Sasuke's forehead wrinkled as he sized the thin boy up. Shaking his head, Sasuke looked over at Sakura to see how she would turn him down. But instead the duchess looked over the boy with a critical eye.

“What will be your role on this trip, Haku?” she demanded.

“Your personal valet and steward,” he answered without hesitation.

Her gaze them skimmed over the bag he held. “Is that all? You packed light,” she commented.

“Miss Shizune recommended what to bring,” Haku informed her.

Sakura sighed, shaking her head. “Of course Shizu did.” And then she smiled. “Stay light on your feet. This won’t be an easy journey.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Haku bowed several times to her and to Sasori and Sasuke before he ran onto the ship.

"Are you certain? This will be dangerous enough without the boy," Sasori asked in a tone that managed to convey absolutely no challenge.

"I don't see the harm in bringing him. And if he proves to be a burden on the way, I will leave him with Countess Inuzuka until we return home," answered Sakura with a blasé wave of her hand.

Sasuke and Sasori exchanged looks behind her back. Sasori simply shrugged. He was used to losing to Sakura's whims. It was the easiest way to win against her in the long run.

Once all of the supplies had been loaded, Sakura returned back to the palace to tie up the final loose ends. She stopped by the apartment where Itachi was staying. It surprised her that he wasn't down at the docks already. Itachi had always struck her as a punctual person.

“His Highness?” Sakura asked the guards on duty. They parted to make way for her.

“Within, Your Grace,” they reported.

She knocked. No one answered.

After a long moment, she twisted the doorknob and entered the building anyway.

Her footsteps tapped on the wood floors, echoing off the high ceiling. The walls were draped in thick tapestries imported from the Mountain Kingdom. The cool shades of blue mingled with gold thread, telling glittering stories of brave knights and their adventures. Gaara had had them ordered specially when he had learned that Sakura would be bringing guests. Sakura admired the quality for a moment before making a mental note to thank her younger cousin. His attention to detail was often a blessing to her.

"Hello?" she called out as she stepped away from the tapestry, further into the building. The door to the main bedroom was ajar.

"Ah, I'm very sorry. I didn't hear you before. Please, come in," Itachi's voice floated out to greet her. Hands linked behind her back, Sakura slowly stepped toward the room. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, coming to a stop just in the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, she folded her arms over her chest.

Itachi's bag sat on his bed. He stood folding one of the many shirts he had received as gifts. The soft lilac silk seemed out of place now that he was garbed in his clothes from home. Heavy button-down shirts and black trousers made him seem paler, somehow. After he placed the shirt in his suitcase, Itachi lifted his head to regard her with a soft smile.

"Are you alright? We depart rather soon," Sakura said.

"Yes, my apologies. I didn't realize I'd acquired so much during our short time here," replied Itachi.

Sakura measured her next words carefully. Because looking at this man with his delicate figure and his sweet smile that she doubted he ever showed to anyone but her, she began to worry.

"I don't want to sound unwelcoming… but you don't need to accompany me," she finally managed to say out loud.

Itachi didn't look offended. He regarded her thoughtfully. And then he resumed folding his clothes and placing them in his suitcase.

"Yes, but I would like to accompany you. And I would hope that that would matter to you," he answered.

"Will your body be alright?" she went on.

He smiled this time.

"I promise to continue the regimen your physician prescribed."

She nodded with just a little reluctance. They chatted as he finished packing before Sakura went around the Sami doing last-minute checks with the staff. They then made their way down to the docks together.

Itachi caught a glimpse of Sakura's profile as she glanced back at the retreating form of the palace. The longing in her gaze broke his heart just the tiniest bit.

The ship left port to the sounds of people calling out loudly. They wished her a safe journey. Others were praying to the mother goddess for her protection as they sprinkled flower petals into the water. Fishermen in their little boats followed the large vessel on its way out of the protection of the bay as far as they could go without being caught in rougher currents. Sakura stood at the back of the ship, staring at the distant shapes of people waving farewell. As the fishing boats stopped to watch her departure, Sakura raised her right hand to wave back.

The journey back to the mainland seemed much shorter than it actually was. Perhaps the excitement of returning home after months abroad had colored Sakura's outlook on the way to Plumeria. She had been the same- full of dry wit and sarcasm, trading stories with the crew of the ship. Laughter followed her as she moved and she had almost seemed to shine. But now Sakura's expression was grim as she stood on the port-side of the ship. At the sound of footsteps, she barely spared a glance back.

"You should come inside. It's rather cold at night," Sasori said even as he joined her.

"The others?" she asked.

"In their cabins. Sleeping, I'd imagine. An example to follow," stated Sasori with a pointed look. Sakura let out a sigh. She crossed her arms behind her back.

"Why do I even bother, Sasori? Why am I even doing this?" questioned Sakura as she turned to face him.

Sasori's eyebrows rose.

"Because the idiot on your throne thinks that things are fine. And because his supporters are many. We bide our time, darling. We gather information, we strategize. And when the time is right…" Sasori suddenly trailed off. In that pause he reached out to push a stray lock of hair out of Sakura's face. Resting his palm on her cheek, Sasori smiled.

"When the time is right," he continued in a soft voice, "We dig our claws into those that would destroy us and we devour them from the inside out."

Sakura regarded her cousin for a long moment.

“I wonder if insanity runs in the family," she remarked.

“It must,” answered Sasori with a chuckle.

And this resigned sort of contentment seemed to last throughout the rest of the journey. The only times when Sakura truly seemed unhappy were during the meals that everyone was forced to eat together. To Naruto, who still found sailing a novel and exciting experience, every aspect of the journey was amazing. He went on and on about everything which in itself didn't seem to bother Sakura.

But then Sasuke made the mistake of politely asking Naruto about Whiteriver Keep.

And just a sidelong glance at Sakura told him that that was the wrong question to have asked.

Sakura's expression darkened each time her cousin recalled the glory of the castle. He found the damp stone and gloomy interiors exciting. He gushed about the hidden passages and the empty dungeons, ignorant to the fact that Sakura had once had to cower in those narrow corridors.

Upon her parents’ death, Sakura had been spirited out of the capitol, hidden away in a small village half a day's journey away until the King Consort's brother had been called to hold the throne. It was the day that word arrived that the monarchs had died in an accident on their travels. Suddenly all of the smiling faces that sat in court were dangerous. And so Sakura was hidden. The King Consort's brother was not a Haruno and therefore had no real claim to the crown. Instead he was a paperweight, keeping everything from blowing into chaos at the slightest breeze. And with stability restored in the capitol, Sakura was allowed to return once more.

She still remembered the rats that skittered over her as she fled through the dungeons. She could smell the damp as they sloshed through the sewers, into the secret hiding places where someone would come to take her to the next leg of the journey.

"I don't know if you'll remember us, my dear. I am your aunt, Kushina, and this is your uncle, Minato. We'll take care of you from now on. You don't have anything to worry about."

The warmth of that first embrace had intoxicated her after weeks of fear and cold.

But now, as Naruto obtusely babbled on and on about the wonders of home, Sakura's hands clenched into fists. Disgusted, she shoved her plate away from her and got to her feet. She straightened the collar of her spotless white jacket before she walked away from her meal. The conversation at the table cut off as everyone stopped to watch her sudden departure. Sasori fixed Naruto with a sullen glower for the rest of dinner. And even Sasuke's expression was cooler each time he glanced the blond's way.

Sakura made her way to the bow of the ship. One of the passing soldiers did a double-take. When he returned a moment later, he draped a cloak over her shoulders. Sakura smiled a little at the gesture. He bowed deeply before returning to his duties.

It didn't take long for Itachi to find her. And somehow he managed to bring her a cup of tea that was still warm, despite the cool, salty winds.

"What was your father like?" Itachi asked, as if picking up from the middle of a conversation. At her startled look, he added, “I’m struggling to understand how your fathers could be related but have such different children.”

Sakura couldn't help but smile into her tea. Setting her teacup down on the deck, she crossed her arms over her chest. She stared out at the black waves sloshing around ahead of them.

"My father was a giant," she simply told him.

"Was he a tall man?" queried Itachi.

"From what everyone tells me, not particularly. But my father, to me, was a million miles tall. His head touched the skies and his arms reached around the world," replied Sakura with a soft shake of her head.

They were hidden there, behind stacks of barrels and crates secured to the deck of the ship. With that knowledge, Sakura leaned in toward Itachi, letting her side brush against his. She felt Itachi's eyes on the side of her face.

"The servants tell me that he began to teach me to handle a sword from the moment I could carry one. Mother would scold us both when I came back to her covered in scrapes and bruises. He taught me to ride a horse. And then he taught me the names of all the places where he fought great battles."

After some thought, Sakura then added, "My father was a good man."

Itachi seemed to weigh her words.

"And your mother?" he prompted.

Sakura turned her head to look at him. Her mouth curled up in a smile.

"My mother was a million miles tall as well. And she could name the stars in the sky and the plants in the soil."

"And she wanted the crown to pass along to you, correct?" Itachi inquired. Sakura had to think for a moment before she could nod.

"Though," Sakura said before she paused. She stooped to pick up her tea again. It had cooled, but she sipped at it anyway as she considered. All the while, Itachi’s eyes were trained on her face.

"Somehow, I think that because she didn't expect to die so early, she planned to pass the diadem of the Tea Isle to me first before that. In the end, I was only able to seize that one for myself.”

The gold, jeweled headpiece that represented the Lady of the Southern Tea Isle was a beautiful piece of work. It had been passed down through generations of Haruno women. On the occasions when a Duke, rather than a Duchess, had been in power, the diadem had still been worn with pride. It was delicate gold chains with glimmering pearls harvested from the bay. The glittering crimson and white jewels represented the generations of history that stretched back to the time long ago when the Haruno clan had crossed the saltwater. Even now, it sat in a ceremonial box in the treasury of Sami.

Itachi took this in silently. And when Sakura tilted her head again to look at him, he leaned in toward her. Her lips had been half-parted as she thought to say something else. But his lips found hers instead and stole her words. Holding her cooled tea in her hands, Sakura closed her eyes and listened to the pounding of the ocean waves match her own heart.

And after a week, they reached port and the horses, who had been stuck below deck for that time, jovially rode west, toward Whiteriver Keep. For the sake of the less experienced members of the group, they stayed on the main road and slept at inns rather than in the forest. The soldiers who accompanied them broke into two groups- one that scouted ahead, and one that stayed behind to watch their tail.

They reported in several times a day. About the state of the road or the towns they didn’t always have time to pass through.

Sasuke and Sasori did their best to fill the journey with light-hearted banter. And sometimes even Naruto's comments succeeded in raising a few chuckles from everyone.

Still, Sakura's expression was flat as she stared ahead. Even as they ate, her gaze was elsewhere, reaching in front of them.

"What is Leaves like?" Itachi asked one night as he settled in beside her by the fire.

Sakura's upper lip curled.

"A nest of vipers. Watch your ankles," she retorted. Then she shook her head.

“No. I’ll watch your ankles,” Sakura amended. Her eyes widened when Itachi put his hand over hers.

“Then I’ll watch yours,” he answered.

+++

The party's arrival in Whiteriver Keep three weeks later was greeted by the Queen herself. Long crimson hair flowing out behind her, she walked up to first embrace her son as he dismounted from his horse. He was vaguely dirty and smelled of horse but Kushina kissed his face and hugged him close. Sasori glanced over in time to see Sakura feeding Kaze a bit of sugar, pretending not to see any of this happening.

And it was only then that Kushina looked up to see Sakura.

"Welcome back, Sakura," Kushina uttered in such a kind voice that Sasori had to turn around to hide the way his eyes rolled.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," responded Sakura, fist over her heart. She didn’t bow her head, however. Her eyes didn’t meet Kushina’s.

"Please, Sakura," said Kushina with a hint of exasperation in her voice. Kaze nudged Sakura’s back with an impatient snort. After weeks of travel, he was obviously eager for a good bath and a good nap. Reaching out to pat his muzzle, Sakura gestured for one of the stablehands to come forward.

"The usual care for him, Konohamaru. Scrub him down well. He's had a long journey," she ordered as she flipped a gold coin into the boy's hand. With a grin, he eagerly took the horse's reins and led him off toward the stables. With deliberate ease, Sakura then looked back to her aunt. Kushina smiled at her, obviously trying to figure out what to say next.

"May I present my dear friends, Prince Itachi and Prince Sasuke of the Mountain Kingdom. And of course you already know my cousin, Admiral Haruno," Sakura introduced her companions. She saw Kushina's face flush slightly. She should have been first to greet her guests but obviously this had slipped her mind in her excitement to see her son. Even Naruto seemed embarrassed for her.

Sakura’s eyes fell on what glittered when Kushina moved. Her stomach clenched.

"We've been traveling for many weeks and I'm sure we could all use a rest. If His Grace, the Regent is free, I would speak with him before retiring," Sakura then went on, already taking steps toward the castle. The message was clear to her companions. They murmured polite words and bowed to the Queen Regent before following her. Even Naruto, after lingering in his mother's embrace, quickly excused himself.

As they entered the castle, a stone fortress of flickering torches and stained glass windows, Sakura's arms were stiff at her sides as she walked. Sasori caught up to her first. He saw the back of her neck was red as he grabbed her wrist. And though her feet stopped, her eyes glared off elsewhere. She drew in shaky breaths through her nose, teeth gritting together.

Sasori pulled her into an alcove, in the shadows. Where he could murmur, “Talk to me” as he clasped her hands between his.

There was a long pause, during which Sasuke and Itachi caught up with them. Haku was Sakura's usual shadow, nearby and distant all at once with his back up against the nearest wall.

Naruto lingered a little further away, casting awkward glances in their direction. Like he couldn’t decide where to stand. He was, however, close enough to hear what Sakura whispered.

"She was wearing my mother's jewels.”

"What?" Sasori spat.

"My mother's… her earrings… and her pearl necklace… those aren't for her to wear…" sighed Sakura as she closed her eyes. She suddenly felt so tired.

"Are you positive? Perhaps they just look similar?" ventured Sasuke.

A low hiss rose from Sasori as he exhaled slowly between his teeth. His hands tightened over hers.

“I’m…going to raze this dung heap to the ground. I will break their bones between my fingers and grind them to dust between my molars. Every single one of these rats, I will destroy them so that the cries of their widows shatter the glass in their precious mansions," he whispered in a voice so sharp that it almost hurt to hear. Lifting his head, Sasori opened eyes that burned the color of raw copper.

He regarded Sakura for a long time in the dim light. Then he reached out to grasp her chin. Sasori tilted her face up.

“Good. No tears. Keep your head high.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “I need to have a talk with whoever’s in charge of the royal treasury. Go get some rest.” Seeing the look in Sakura’s eyes, Sasori kissed her again in the same spot. And then he cast a glance around at the group. He nodded before he strode off into the darkened hallway.

Sakura didn't realize that she was trembling with anger until Haku crept under her arms to hug her around the middle. Naruto slunk deeper into the shadows. Guilty, somehow, for something that he hadn’t done.

But by the time they made it to the throne room, Sakura greeted her uncle in the most polite yet cold way. She spouted some backhanded compliments, they thanked the King Regent for his hospitality, and then Sakura showed them to their chambers. Compared to their luxurious private apartments back in Plumeria, the simple bedchambers with one attached bathroom seemed incredibly shabby. But of course, no one was impolite enough to say anything of the sort out loud.

They retired to their separate rooms. There was a large feast held to welcome them, courtesy of the generous King Regent. Sakura was noticeably absent, as was Prince Itachi and Admiral Sasori. Sasuke was in attendance, bored out of his mind and wondering why his brother, of all people, had chosen to skip. And while Sasori's whereabouts were a mystery to everyone, including her, Sakura was up on the castle wall, staring down at the moat.

Itachi was with her, a thick blanket wrapped around them to protect them from the night's chill. It was from Plumeria, woven with brilliant colors and still filled with the fragrance of salt and flowers. Sakura inhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in days.

"I'm very sorry… about your mother's jewels," Itachi suddenly said. His arms were around her and her back pressed to his chest. He felt rather than heard her sigh.

"I suppose I should stop being shocked and hurt whenever things like this happen to me," replied Sakura. There was a contemplative pause. And then Itachi spoke again.

"Will you confront her? What are you going to do?"

Sakura's head fell back to rest on his collarbones. Her eyes were wildly bright, glittering like the viridian waters in the bay of Plumeria.

"I will do what I've always done, my prince. I will save my tears for the day that I can tear from their hands all the things that they've stolen from me. My pride, my titles, my legacy. And then, when all that is done, I think that is when I shall cry," she murmured.

The next morning, after a quiet meal between friends, Sakura sent for someone to meet with her in the gardens behind the castle. The court musician arrived several minutes later to find a table set up near the fountains.

Chestnut hair tied up in buns on either side of her head, the musician set her lute case down with a huff. The high collar of her pink dress was held in place by a series of silver buckles. And the hem of the garment was short, only offset by the fact that she wore black leggings underneath. There was long pink fringe hanging from the bottom, swishing around with her movements.

“General. Admiral,” Tenten greeted them with two perfect curtsies. “Would you prefer a ballad today?”

“Yes. Something a bit sad, if you would. I’m feeling rather melancholic as of late,” Sakura requested.

Tenten snapped her lute case open. And she began a beautiful song about a man whose greed was his downfall. Sakura leaned back in her seat as she listened. Sasori closed his eyes. Sasuke and Itachi sat enjoying the music as well. She had a beautiful voice, although the lyrics were truly sad.

“That’s a new one,” commented Sasori as the musician finished her song.

“Yes. That was wonderful. Thank you,” Sakura said. And then she gestured for Tenten to approach. Sakura touched the hem of her clothing, admiring the quality of the soft cloth.

“Such fine work. It truly is marvelous when someone is skilled at their craft. What would we do without such masters?” Sakura then remarked. She slipped a small pouch into the pocket of Tenten’s dress. Tenten’s eyes didn’t even flicker downwards at the click of coins. Instead, she took a step back, curtseying again.

“Of course. It’s an honor to perform for you as always, General,” she replied. And with that, Tenten stepped back, melding into the shadows of a trellis covered in ivy.

Musicians, at least for the Haruno family, had always been welcomed with open arms. Their appreciation of art and music was one factor. But the other was that sometimes, the most skilled musicians were often skilled in other areas that made them ideal for slipping into hostile courts.

Sakura had run into Tenten during her years at the military academy. A little coin had turned the wandering singer into her second set of eyes and ears. To everyone’s knowledge, the girl had been selected on a whim by the King Regent. No one had reason to suspect ties to any family in particular.

“She’s quite talented,” commented Sasuke. He had caught something strange about the conversation between the women. When he looked over at his brother, Itachi nodded, as if to confirm that there had indeed been something off.

“Yes. But I only wish I could have heard her better. These fountains are quite noisy,” he commented, looking over at Sakura now. She smiled at him.

“They are, aren’t they?” she agreed. And then she turned her attention back to Sasori, who tilted his head a little as he thought.

“The two-faced serpent is prowling,” Sasori sang, repeating the lyrics from the song.

“The Shimura family’s sigil is a two-headed dragon,” Sakura mused.

“He’s also a two-faced snake,” Sasori added.

Sakura laughed. “Very true. And if he’s on the prowl, I would prefer not to stay at Whiteriver Keep longer than necessary.”

As Sasori nodded, he turned his gaze to the hedges. Thinking. “She sang something about broken scales and broken trust,” he added.

Sakura touched her hand to her chin as she considered this. “Well… broken…He’s been covered in bandages for as long as I can remember. Scales on a snake?” murmured Sakura.

“Broken scales, like for weighing gold? And broken trust like a credit system?” Itachi wondered.

Everyone turned toward him.

Sakura’s mouth hung open as she thought. Sasori’s face suddenly lit up as he snapped his fingers.

“Taxes,” was all he whispered, excitement lighting up his eyes.

It took a second for that to sink in. And then Sakura’s face lit up too. She clasped her hands together. “Oh! Broken scales,” she laughed. “Oh, Prince, you’re so clever.” And then she turned to Sasori, hand grasping his forearm. “Isn’t he so clever?”

Sasori smiled. “Yes. We’re so fortunate to have His Highness and his superior insight,” he agreed.

Two days after their arrival in Whiteriver Keep, Sakura already seemed anxious to leave. While Naruto took Sasuke and Itachi around the city to see the marketplace and the other sights the place had to offer, Sakura and Sasori spent most of their time at the military academy located at the heart of the city. Sakura's arrival was a surprise to all and she was greeted with salutes and looks of wonder.

Colonel Hyuuga found her quickly and matched her brisk strides as he filled her in on all the things she had missed during her months away.

"Where are my three?" she questioned as he paused to check his notes. Neji rolled his eyes.

"Running drills, terrifying new recruits, and napping," Neji said as he pushed the door open to reveal Shikamaru lolling back in his chair with his feet up on his desk and a book over his face.

"Welcome back, General," Shikamaru drawled without moving.

"Look alive, Nara. We've got things to discuss," Sakura said as Sasori and Neji closed and locked the doors behind them.

A few hours later, everyone regrouped for supper. Shikamaru joined them after a yawning introduction to the two foreign princes. As they headed into the castle, Sakura suddenly stopped walking.

"SAKURA!"

Eyes widening, swords flew from their scabbards and shoulders tensed. Even Sasori flinched at the sudden noise. Only Sakura remained completely relaxed as a blur of flowing blonde hair and purple skirts barreled into her. Clinging tightly to Sakura with her arms wrapped around her neck, Ino squealed with delight until Sakura softly cleared her throat.

"Ino… I have guests," Sakura quietly said.

Ino released her and took a step back. That didn't stop the bright smile lighting up her face. Cheeks flushed with excitement, Ino reached out to take both of Sakura's hands.

"It is just wonderful to see you! You look well! How have you been? Why haven't you written?" she gushed, shaking Sakura's hands in all her enthusiasm. Sasori politely muffled his chuckle as a cough into his fist. But the noise still drew Ino's attention.

"Oh, Admiral. How do you do? I trust you have had a safe voyage," Ino flatly recited before the sparkle returned to her gaze again when she turned her attention back to Sakura.

"Anyway, you barely responded to my letters! I assume you've been too busy gallivanting around and having fun," she sniffed. Sakura raised an eyebrow.

"When have you ever known me to gallivant?" demanded Sakura with a faint smile.

"Well you're obviously gallivanting now! With all these handsome- wait," Ino trailed off as she realized that there were other people staring at her. After a long moment, Ino turned back to Sakura, her eyes shining almost menacingly in all their enthusiasm. With a drawn-out sigh, Sakura patted Ino's hand.

"Join us. I'll fill you in on what you've missed," she said.

"Marvelous!" Ino sang. She pecked Sakura's cheek before she danced off ahead of them.

"Um…" Sasuke began in a low voice as he turned to Sasori.

"Sakura's best friend in the capital city, Lady Ino of the Yamanaka family. Her father is Count Yamanaka, in charge of trade in and out of Spring Port. Fabulously wealthy and firm supporters of the Regent," Sasori promptly summarized. Sasuke's eyes narrowed.

"But their daughter supports Sakura?" he repeated.

"Yes, it seems that that hyperactive ball of sunshine is the only one with sense in that family," muttered Sasori before he headed into the castle.

+++

Three days after arriving in the capitol, Sakura announced that it was time to move on. There wasn't much to pack. No one had expected to stay and Sakura's obvious distaste for the castle and the people in it was a clear signal for no one to unpack too thoroughly.

Late in the morning, the Konohamaru brought out their steeds. Some of the stablehands followed, their expressions significantly less eager.

“Where to next, General?” asked Konohamaru.

“South. To the border,” she replied as she crossed the courtyard, Haku on her heels. Sakura just finished fixing the cuffs of her shirt as she stopped in front of Kaze. Haku held out her jacket. Sakura slipped her arms inside and shrugged it into place with ease.

As Naruto ran out to join them, his bag thrown over his shoulder, he searched for the horse he had ridden all the way from Whitewave. Sakura watched as the excitement faded to confusion when he didn't see it.

"…Sakura? Where's my horse?" he questioned, finally turning to her. The Queen Regent joined them, her hands resting protectively on her son's arm.

"In the stable. There is no horse for you," Sakura informed him, with an exasperated look in Kushina’s direction. Of course she hadn’t told her son. Leaving the bad news for someone else to handle.

Itachi was already in Kaze's saddle. When the prince tentatively reached forward to pat Kaze, the horse gave a puzzled snuffle before he happily leaned into the touch. Sakura's lips twitched upwards at the exchange. Kaze didn't easily trust strangers. Sakura grasped the pommel of the saddle, foot fitting into one of the stirrups.

"Then what will I ride?" Naruto went on to ask.

"You'll stay here," Sakura simply said as she swung her leg over Kaze's back and settled into the saddle. Itachi scooted backwards in the saddle to make room for her. Haku waited, holding up a canteen filled with water. And then a rucksack. Sakura took her time attaching these things so that they wouldn't slide off the saddle before she turned back to Naruto still gaping up at her.

"I'm certain Her Majesty the Queen Regent will agree. This is no place for a prince to be without a protector. Since Sir Sai is currently on leave, by the time you find a suitable replacement, it will be too late. Stay home," Sakura commanded. The edges of steel in her voice made Naruto's complaints freeze on the back of his tongue.

Naruto twisted around to look at his mother imploringly. But Kushina shook her head.

"Sakura is right. His Majesty wanted you to go only because Marquess Shimura mentioned that he believes it is good for a young prince to travel and to see the country. But even with Sakura with you, I fear for your safety," she insisted.

Sakura's eyes narrowed. She glanced over her shoulder at Sasori on his golden horse. Her gaze then moved over to Haku sitting in the saddle of a dark brown horse. Despite his tiny stature, his posture was good and his grip on the reins secure. After a moment, Sakura jerked her head slightly at Sasori, who then trotted off down the path without so much as a farewell to anyone. Sasuke held Sakura's gaze unsurely for a moment before he dipped his head silently at the Queen Regent and followed.

"A word of advice to you. Marquess Shimura is a marquess. Not the king,” Sakura then said to Kushina before she clicked her tongue and Kaze broke off in a brisk trot down the dusty road after the others. Haku followed not too far behind them.

Itachi's arms tightened around her waist as they moved forward. The tight lines of her shoulders and the sharpness in her gaze as she glanced back at him made him hesitate to speak. Just when he began to wonder if they would travel this way in black anger for the rest of the journey, Kaze slowed his pace. Itachi lifted his gaze to find his brother and Sasori waiting just off the side of the road under the shade of the trees.

“You should have brought him,” Sasori chastised.

“For what reason?” Sakura spat. Enunciating each syllable.

“To drop in a ravine on the way,” Itachi muttered. So quietly that he thought she wouldn’t hear over the clop of hooves on the road. But she did. And she burst into startled laughter.

“Did you hear that?” she chuckled to Sasori. Then she looked over her shoulder at him.

“I believe that’s the most unkind thing I’ve heard you say, Your Highness,” she teased.

“You’re a poor influence,” Sasuke sighed with a shake of his head.

As they continued south, no one mentioned the terse final conversation with the Queen Regent. Everyone seemed to agree that, as Sakura often did, it was best to pretend that such people didn’t exist for the moment.

+++

< Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12>

#itasaku #writing #fanfiction #courtly intrigue! au #amaryllis

[nocturnallullaby]

Sleepy Mornings

okay so I wrote this fanfic like a year ago and completely forgot about it, so here it is rip.

Julian x Reader

Words: 1699

He looked so gorgeous in the morning. The way his auburn hair glowed in the light peeking through the curtains. How he would huff a little just before he would shuffle his position in his sleep. His shirt wrinkled as he lay, displaying the pale expanse of his chest and the rise and fall that moved it. 

 You found it kind of funny, whenever Julian did wear just a shirt he never really did any of the buttons, so although the view was not new it was still breath-taking. 

 Your favourite part had to be the look of peace on his face. His eyepatch placed on the bedside table, allowing you to admire his face entirely. The flush in his cheeks and his slim jaw. His thick brows and bowed lips. You loved those lips. The things they said, how they twitched into a smile. The way Julian would bite them. The kisses he gave with those wonderful lips.

 You adored this man to death and the fact that he was here laying in your bed with you was a blessing. 

 Well… it was kind of your bed. The one in the shop was slept in by both you and Asra after all, but that didn't detract from the pure domestic bliss of the moment.

 After what seemed like hours of lovingly gazing at Julian, you decided it was time to move and make something to eat. You got up gingerly, glancing one last time at Julian and made your way to the door, only to be stopped by a hand. 

 Julian's hand to be precise. 

 “Stay.” The morning croak was evident in his voice, and as much as you loved it you were really starting to get hungry. You leaned down close enough to brush your nose against his, noting the way his eyes crinkled as you did so despite being shut. 

 “Meet me in the kitchen. Breakfast will be waiting.” And that was all you needed to say for him to let go of your arm and start to wake up. 

 You made your way to the cramped(ish) kitchen, taking a moment to bask in the warmth of the morning light. Shaking your head and letting loose a yawn you started to gather the ingredients to make breakfast. You were craving an omelette and some tea and you'd be damned if anyone tried to stop you. Pulling a bowl from the precariously stacked dishes you got to work cracking eggs and cutting up fresh veggies. It wasn't until you set some water to boil and plucked a pan from the cupboard that you realised Julian was up. 

 His footsteps weren't exactly light after all.  

 You were whisking the ingredients of your omelette in a bowl when you felt Julian's arms wrap around your waist, his face buried in your hair. You craned your neck to look at him. He still wasn't wearing his eye patch, so the red sclera of his eyes was clearly visible despite his eyes being half-closed. You giggled before placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose. 

 You always thought he looked handsome regardless of the survival scar. 

 “Morning. It's been a while since I've seen both of your eyes.” Julian hummed in response, the vibrations tickling your neck. 

 “Good morning, my love.” Julian's chin was suddenly on your shoulder as he stared at your hands which were busy pouring the mixture into the hot pan. “How are you so active so early in the morning?”

 “I thought you were a morning person!” 

 “Not this morning, no. I would have rather you stayed in bed with me, but it seems your love for me pales in comparison to your hunger. I'm so - wait, where are you going?” Julian whined as you disentangled yourself from him, shuffling towards the boiling kettle. “Is this about what I just said? I'm sorry dear, please come back into my arms.”

 The laugh that wracked your body almost made you drop the water. “So you don't want tea?” You asked teasingly. 

 “No, wait, I want tea.” 

 “That's what I thought.” You smiled as you dropped a little ball of herbs into the bubbling water - a gift from Asra you had saved for many months. You turned back to face Julian, only to see he had stretched across the cluttered counter like a languid cat, the light shining through the coloured glass window making him look like a masterpiece. You strode over to him and ran a hand through his hair to brush it out of his lovely eyes, the sound you got in response could only be described as a purr. 

 “Well, hello Pepi, it's been a while hasn't it? How's Portia?” You couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips when he went red in the face. 

 “Was, uh… did I…? Was that sound really that loud?” 

 “Yes, Ilya. It was.” His blush seemed to deepen at your teasing tone.

 “Ah, well,” he plastered his usual debonair smile on his face and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you closer, “I can't really help myself around you, you know? Something about you just makes me entirely weak.”

 “At the knees? Or just in general? Because if you are ill, Doctor Devorak, you can walk your fine ass back to bed.”

 “Oh my…” Julian's eyebrows shot up as he tilted his head, his smile still as strong as ever, “Is it really that fine?” You giggled and trailed your hands down his chest, over his hips to rest on his bum. 

 “‘Tis a very fine ass.” You couldn't contain your glee as his face became an even darker shade of red. Julian’s face was still as flushed as ever when he let out a nervous chuckle.

 “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asks, his face still in seriousness. You knew that look. 

 And you didn’t like it one bit. 

 It was the face he made when he was contemplating his worth, when he thought he wasn’t good enough. And even though you knew and told him millions of times that he was worth all the stars in the universe, had a heart bigger than any ocean he could have sailed across, he still found ways to pick and criticise himself. It made your heart clench painfully. You placed a hand under his chin and gently met his stormy grey eyes.

 “Julian… what have I said about this? About you feeling the need to put yourself down all the time?”

 “I have no idea what you are talking about.” He made it a point to look everywhere in the kitchen but at you.

 “Ilya.” Your voice was stern, and despite being quite it was enough to make Julian meet your stare. 

 “Yes, my love?”

 “Please don't. I know you can't stop your thoughts and as much as I want to I can't either. But please, at the very least, don't believe them. Not for Portia’s sake, not for Asra’s sake, not even for your own damn sake - but for mine. Please.” Your tone had slipped from assertive to pleading without you realising. “Ilya, I love you so much. I don't think you understand how much you mean to me and how much it physically hurts me to see you put yourself down. You're an astounding doctor, a wonderful brother, an amazing friend and the best lover anyone could ever ask for. I love you. And I know it's going to be hard, but I hope one day you'll learn to love yourself as much as I do. Because I do. I love you so, so much.” Tears had welled in your eyes at this point and you had to squeeze them shut and hold onto his shirt to stop them from falling. 

 Julian stood there a little dumbfounded for a few moments before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. Close enough that you could hear his heartbeat. He brought his mouth close to your ear and spoke softly, as if being too loud would absolutely shatter you. 

 “I'm sorry, it's just… hard… it's something I've known for so long.” It was now his turn to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, “But I'll try - I'll try for you. I'll do anything for you.”

 You smiled, hands caressing his hair and neck, bodies pressed together. 

 “I know you will.” And with those words Julian lifted you onto the counter and kissed you softly, sweetly, slowly. As if his words would ring true as long as his lips were on you and you loved him. Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his, enjoying the warmth of his body near you. 

 “Um… (y/n) dearest, does it smell like something’s burning to you?”

 Furrowing your brows you sniffed the air, there was definitely something burning. “That's strange. I've not put any milk in the tea, and it doesn't boil that fast so it shouldn't be burn- OH NO JULIAN THE OMELETTE!!!” You ended your sentence in a panicked yell and unceremoniously shoved Julian away to scramble to the pan and practically throw it in the sink. Julian leaned over your figure to open a window, letting the smoke out and steam that formed as you poured cold water onto it. 

 “Well, that's breakfast gone. And I thought I was the bad cook in this relationship.”

 “You're not a bad cook,” you giggled, bumping hips with him, “just compared to me you are.” 

 “This is bullying, I refuse to stand and watch this happen.” With a dramatic huff he pulled out a chair and slumped in it, giving you a grin. “So, I'll sit and watch it instead.”

 “I don't even know how you can be so melodramatic and stupidly funny at the same time. Talent, truly.” You threw a tea towel at him and moved to lean on the kitchen door frame. “Well, Julian seeing as you're so good at cooking, I'm going to head back to bed. You can make breakfast. I wish you all the best.”

 “Hold on a moment-” he started as he stood up. 

 But you had already vanished.

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #reader insert #julian devorak #julian x reader #rip me this is old #IT WAS ON MY DEVIANT ART IF THAT IS AY INDICATION #like deviant art is not a place to be posting fics #but i still like it so here

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

Please, keep me. (Good Omens)

And I’m back (finally). Had a meltdown or two, got ill, went on holiday, got snowed in with Christmas prep and finally made time to getting writing again. I clearly failed the whole NaNoWriMo but fuck it, the point is to write, right? Right. 

Anyway here’s Part 8. 

Part 1 here! 

Crowley didn’t try to apply logic to his time in the library with Aziraphale. It didn’t seem to have much purpose there, in a place where light operated in such a strange sentient fashion and the books seemed to sigh back at Aziraphale as he traced their spines. Given everything Crowley had seen from existence in the many years he had been in Her service, it didn’t seem a far stretch that of course there were songbirds nesting in the upper reaches of the bookshelves, and quite naturally there would be an orchard hidden behind a rusty gate between the books on Jam Preserves and Table Etiquette for Vikings.

Reuniting with his Keeper the next day, he found Aziraphale in even more of a delighted mood than usual. 

“Hello little thing! What a splendid morning it is, don’t you think?”

The mornings were always splendid, being Paradise and all, but Crowley inclined his head in agreement.

“I’m all sixes and sevens today,” Aziraphale told him, shaking his head lightly. His eyes, whilst warm, were a little unfocused and bright with feeling, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop moving his hands, fidgeting and fussing, and a slight sway to his feet hidden under his robes. “I’m simply unable to process - I - I mean, yesterday, what wonder! And, oh! But of course-”

Aziraphale continued to witter on in this fashion for a little while, talking in a steady stream of thoughts and exclamations and disbelief about their encounter in the library, the plants and the birds! Oh, little thing, the birds! And the singing!

The content of these sentences didn’t interest Crowley as much as the general haphazard frenzy of emotion contained in the angel’s form. The Keeper’s eyes were lightly ringed with shadows from what appeared as sleeplessness - if, indeed, Aziraphale ever slept - and his hair was disordered and practically fluffy. Seeing the aura of excitement glow from the angel Crowley’s heart seemed to swell against his serpentine ribcage and he shivered in happiness as Aziraphale finally turned his attention fully back to him. 

“You are the cleverest little thing I ever did meet, you found the garden! Thank you, you wonderful little creature,” beamed Aziraphale, finally coming to a form of rest in front of the shelf Crowley was arranged on, and for a second bringing his face close to level with him with a bend of the knee. 

“I can’t think how many years I’ve been caring from this library and never in my time have I seen anything like that! What wonders could be tucked away, not just in the pages, but within the very walls. And you, my dear little thing, you unlocked them for me,” 

Hearing the wistful tone, Crowley wondered for a second if Aziraphale was going to touch him again, and silently hoped so. The love shining in the Keeper’s eyes faltered for a flicker and the angel sighed. 

“Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t be running off with you to look for more treasures, there’s work to be done after all. There always is,” 

Crowley didn’t want to work, but he didn’t mind if Aziraphale had to. He didn’t mind what they did, as long as he could come along. Worse comes to worst he could always coil up and have a quick nap, close by but unbothered by the admittedly dull administrative duties of a Keeper. 

He needn’t have worried. 

Aziraphale’s face was a delightful thing to watch, as if seeing the various thoughts tangle themselves together and play out like some sort of silent play on his features - a disappointed tug of the eyebrows, followed by a slight pout of the lower lip, a crumple of the brow and a darting of his eyes, before a secretive little smile eventually won out and Aziraphale took on an expression that Crowley had already learnt meant something along the lines of ‘oh, but one more couldn’t hurt’. 

They followed the same path as before, with a silently agreed plan to rediscover the garden and maybe take one of the many branching out corridors from it, to see where their feet (or tails) would lead them. The process of retracing their path had seemed like a simple task, but they quickly realised this was not the case. Whatever unusual laws the physical forms of the library obeyed clearly didn’t include a rule about the need for consistency, whether in the form of straight logical lines or in the concept of revisitation. Following the angel lazily, Crowley didn’t pay attention the shelves, focusing instead of the amusing sway of the robes that gave him peeks of the Keeper’s dusty feet, a soft ankle glimpsed in flashes, and even once a light dusting of golden leg hair. He almost bumped into the afore-mentioned feet when the Keeper stopped abruptly. 

“I think we’ve been led in a circle,” he told Crowley, a slight irritation in his voice. He consulted the bookcases, reading the titles with a furrowed brow. 

“Yes, see here? I’m sure we’ve passed by this row of books before, I remembered them because they’re not even really books, they’re sort of pamphlets I suppose,” he muttered, half to Crowley and half to himself. He pulled out free, a soft paper booklet with a black line diagram on the front and an odd word that Crowley didn’t recognise. Aziraphale clearly was at a loss too, as he tried to enunciate the title and gave up halfway through. 

“I don’t know how to pronounce an o with two dots above it,” he told Crowley as if confessing to something scandalous. “I will have to make time to learn,”

Crowley looked around at the books and saw they were all instruction manuals and catalogues, haphazardly arranged in a loosely alphabetical format. The dust confirmed his suspicion that not many of the Keepers found their way here. It also confirmed Aziraphale’s hypothesis that they had been led in a circuit by the odd nature of the library, as he could clearly see the serpentine trail of his body curving through the dust ahead of them, following the tracks of the angel. 

Aziraphale was talking out loud to himself, muttering about reality and the flexibility of perception, but having missed the beginning of it, Crowley ignored the remainder. Instead he followed his own trail onwards, before finding himself at a distinct fork in the path that he surely would have noticed previously. 

Very literally, in fact, as there was a silver fork sticking up out of the floor with its prongs aimed upwards at the dim obscured ceiling. Stuck into the prongs was a paper note, neatly pierced on it’s end. Reading it Crowley raised a metaphorical eyebrow, before going to fetch his Keeper. 

Not all those who wander are lost, but those who are lost may wonder. 

“How peculiar,” murmured Aziraphale, plucking the note from the fork and giving the fork a cautious prod. The thing was resolutely stuck in the ground, with no visible sign of how it has arrived that way, and the new path that branched out to their left seemed to glow a little bright, casting a dim series of shadows of the fork onto the floor. 

“Very peculiar. I suppose it’s for us, but as for its meaning… are we lost? I guess not, we know where we are going, but we do not know how we can get there,”

Crowley wound himself around the angel’s feet as he crouched down, an idea coming to his mind but unsure how to communicate it without revealing more of his nature than he intended to. Instead he tried to beguile his angel down the alternate path, or possibly inspire the same idea, or maybe possibly just to brush his body against those lovely ankles. 

“Wonder… what are we wondering about? What are we thinking about? Not the books, but the destination?” 

Crowley could have whined, wanting to shout his answer gleefully like a young angel still in the classroom. Aziraphale looked away from the note and finally looked at Crowley, his blue eyes puzzled. 

“Little thing, do you suppose we got the intention the wrong way around?” 

Crowley blinked slowly, his body curving in a luxurious coil in the Keeper’s robes, the stillness of his head betrayed by his excitement. 

“We have to think of the books we want, rather than the gift the books offer. Whatever magic this is, it starts with the books,” offered Aziraphale, brow still a little furrowed. “When we were together yesterday you wanted to see the books on plants, and then we found the garden. Maybe that’s the key?” 

Crowley inclined his head, and was rewarded with Aziraphale’s bright smile. 

“You clever thing, you got that much faster than me, didn’t you?” 

Crowley tilted his head, as if to say “Well…” and Aziraphale’s breath puffed over his face as he chuckled. 

“If that’s the case, then let me test it. Yesterday you wanted the horticulture. Today… today I think I want blackberries,” 

Crowley had no idea where Aziraphale had plucked this certainty from, but he was happy for the decisiveness. Mind made up, Aziraphale straightened, pocketed the mysterious note (leaving the fork) and turned around on one heel before marching off with a speed Crowley hadn’t expected. 

“Come along, little one. Let’s look out for a hedgerow or two!” 

They retraced their steps back into the Life Sciences. Aziraphale knew these bookcases well, and even Crowley recognised a turn or two, but Aziraphale didn’t stop and they passed through the biological tomes of classification, and then through the shelves that were more to do with the husbandry of the plants, the care and cultivation of gardens. This time Aziraphale picked his route without too much deliberation, mirroring Crowley’s swift choices the day before. Working their way deeper, Crowley tried to read the titles to ascertain where they were but he also didn’t want to fall behind his angel. He couldn’t hear Aziraphale’s muttered commentary on his choices as they went and disgruntled but amused, he increased the speed of his slithering to match with the Keeper. 

“I know what book we need, little thing, I think it’s just… ah!” the angel turned once more and the path ahead of them met them with a warm glow of gold light instead of the stark white glow of the previous shelves. “That’s more like it,” 

Aziraphale stopped to run his finger along the colourful spines lining the shelves, one hand resting absentmindedly on the wood now painted with a charming pale pink. Crowley did one lazy loop around the angel’s legs before going to read the titles. 

Cake Pops! 100 designs for circular fun!

Jam, Jam and more Jam! Hot Sexy Buns

Mystified, Crowley turned his attention back to the angel, climbing up to see what Aziraphale had pulled free. The angel had stopped talking, and was engrossed in a colourful book with a lot of pictures. Crowley nosed his way out of the shelf to twist and read along. 

How To Make the Perfect Victoria Sponge

What in Paradise was a Victoria Sponge? Aziraphale turned the page, sighing a little as he saw the next offering: something called a Lemon Meringue Pie. And then the next page: Blackberry and Apple Crumble. 

“Oh!” sighed the angel, sounding like his heart was breaking over the explanation of how to properly hand pinch together a perfect crumble. “It sounds divine, doesn’t it little thing? And such a wonderful colour,” 

Crowley had no idea what to make of it. Aziraphale sighed again heavily, wistfully, practically lustifully, as he sank down to the floor with the book. Crowley followed him, curling around his back and resting his body up against the angel to slot his head on the shoulder and read along with him. 

Very soon another book was pulled down to join them on the floor, and then another. Before Crowley could count them, there were dozens of recipe books laid out on the floor, spines cracked out to reveal sumptuous pictures of what Crowley came to understand would be humanity’s, or maybe Aziraphale’s, favourite food invention: baking. 

Aziraphale’s love of his books was apparently rivalled by his love of what they contained. He had covered the floor in a semi circle around them, and was pointing things out to Crowley and explaining how they achieved the deep rich colour of the mince pie, dusted with sugar, or the sculptural peaks of the meringue created by stiffly beaten eggs and sugar. Aziraphale ran a finger across the edge of a cupcake with a tall swirl of frosting and a sprinkle of colourful dots, as if he could dip his finger straight through the paper and steal a taste for himself. 

“Have you ever seen anything so lovely? So… scrumptious!” sighed Aziraphale, with such a warm dreamy tone Crowley looked at him just to see the happy glaze in his eyes and the moony smile.

Yes. Yes I have, he thought softly. 

Aziraphale pulled one of the books closer to him, bringing it up onto his lap before starting to tell Crowley everything in it. It didn’t take long for Crowley to realise that Aziraphale wasn’t reading from the book, but explaining it’s contents from memory. 

“This one is a gooseberry, it’s a little sharp but apparently it makes a splendid jam to go with something creamy or even with ice cream. Oh, and look at these, these are raspberries! They look so soft with those tiny little hairs, but what a smashing colour. Oh - and here! These are the blackberries!” 

The small fruits were pictured in a cluster clinging to a spindly branch surrounded by jagged leaves. The colour was different to the other fruits Aziraphale had flicked past, they gleamed in the sun with a dark purple glint from within their black tiny circles. 

“They almost match you, don’t you think?” Aziraphale said, tracing a finger over the black flesh before lifting his hand to trace his fingertip under Crowley’s jaw. The motion caused Crowley to freeze, a shiver overtaking him as Aziraphale unknowingly tickled his skin and he squirmed a little, overtaken by both the sensation and the casual affection. He closed his eyes as he schooled himself to calm, and slid down from Aziraphale’s arm. He carefully navigated the books on the floor, careful not to bend back pages but something traced his underbelly where he wasn’t paying attention and he almost yelped, twitching away from what turned out to be a thorn on the floor. 

He regarded it with suspicion, before looking up and peering down the corridor ahead of them. The light was still warm, and there seemed to be a shape up ahead that he knew belonged to neither book nor shelf. He moved onwards, peering into the shelves before finding a curved arm of a bramble poking through into the corridor. Sharp leaves spread outwards, demanding of the sun, and thorns lined up along the vine like a regiment of soldiers. The vine was tangled in itself, with more vines moving upwards and along the shelf. He continued, and saw that the brambles had ignored the order of the shelves to completely take over and create quite a heavy thicket. Minding his long form, Crowley continued on into it, searching for what he hoped to find, and before long he found it: a handful of bright, ripe blackberries. He flicked his tongue at them, smelling the sharp tang of them and wondered what they would be like to taste. Better than that, he wondered what it would be like to watch his angel eat them. If he made such lovely sounds at the mere page of them, surely the taste of them would be a treasure unlike any other. 

Gleefully Crowley returned to the angel, winding himself around his crossed legs and giving a tug which served to interrupt the angel’s engrossment in the page on the proper whisking method for custard. 

“What is it, little thing?” Aziraphale asked, looking up. Crowley tugged again and wound his way towards the blackberries, hoping this would be enough to drag the angel away from his beloved books. It was, and soon Crowley was once again being praised for being the cleverest little thing She ever did create. Aziraphale’s initial disregard for the brambles was completely forgotten upon the discovery of the berries. Watching the angel pluck the fruit from the branch and bring them to his mouth, Crowley was delighted to see the tips of his fingers grow stained with dark red juices. He watched the greed at which Aziraphale tugged one free, then another, then another, desperate for more of the sharp delicious flavour. His eyes were sparkling with life, documenting every aspect of the experience as his lips smacked around the fruit. 

“Oh, how marvellous! How absolutely - oh, little thing!” 

Sighing heavily, Aziraphale sat back on his heels and gave a loud moan of happiness. Crowley watched with his own form of hunger as Aziraphale began to lick his stained fingers clean with an equally stained tongue, sucking them in to chase more of the flavour. This was a sight Crowley never wanted to be without, watching Aziraphale in this state of ecstasy.

“Oh!” cried Aziraphale, his eyes going wide. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry! I didn’t share them at all, oh my, oh what a silly, selfish angel I am - oh little thing, I am sorry,” 

Crowley would have laughed had a snake been able to. Instead he wound himself closer to his angel and nudged his head against Aziraphale’s wringing hands. 

“Oh, you are so good, little thing, such a wonderful little thing to bring me to them, I only wish-,” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s continued centure to flick his tongue against Aziraphale’s thumb where the tacky juice of the fruit still remained. The smell of the split fruit was much stronger, almost bitter in its sharpness and so vibrant with its sweetness. Crowley had never tasted anything like it. Under the juice his tongue brushed Aziraphale’s skin, and the warm full-bodied scent of the angel complimented the blackberries very well. 

He took one last indulgent taste of the fruit, and descended to the floor again. They had made one tremendous discovery already and, looking ahead into the winding path of the thicket, they were well on their way to making another. 

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #good omens au #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #angels #library au #enchanted library #serpent #nanowrimo #serpent crowley #librarian aziraphale #ineffable lovers #baking #world building #my writing #please keep me #please keep me part 8 #storybooks

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 3)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Director Thomas Falken, Priya Davies, Diego Serrano Word Count: 2,813

A drunk and jealous Noah makes an attempt to recapture Gabriel’s attention, but everything goes to hell in a hand basket when the Inquisition shows up to interrupt his heartfelt serenade.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15​)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 10:35 PM

Noah’s fingertips traced over the lapels of his jacket and absently brushed across the sigil pin as he ascended the short flight of stairs at the front of the room. It was fortunate he had made sure to bring spending change besides the few thousand waiting to be deposited into the Zion Founders’ coffers, courtesy of Javier. Between the valet, the bartender and the musicians, he would be out a couple hundred regardless of how this foolish stunt went; but if the outcome turned out in his favor, the reward would be worth any price. Noah made his approach with perfect timing as the last chords of Silent Night faded out. The interruption wasn’t half as jarring as it could have been, but the pianist still stumbled over her last few keystrokes when she noticed the newcomer climb up onto the stage. Both her airbrushed eyebrows shot up to her hairline in alarm, and eyes went wide next to the spinning yellow LED on her temple. The rest of her human colleagues spared them both a collectively bemused stare, lowered their bows, and politely kept their disbelief in check a few precious seconds as Noah smirked and held up a card flush of folded fifty dollar bills. “Evening, all. Lovely job so far, but do you mind if we change things up a tad for oh, say, five minutes?”

“S-sir, you- t-this isn’t part of the program,” the cellist needlessly pointed out, as he turned to the conductor to make his request. Even with his reluctant agreement, their hesitation in accepting a little extra Christmas tip didn’t prove strong enough to keep their hands at their strings. “There’s more where it came from if you’ll humor me for one measly request,” Noah promised as he put on the most innocent face he knew. “It’s nothing that isn’t already on the roster, anyway. Last Christmas is a true classic by now, isn’t it?” Already the band’s delay in proceeding to the next song was drawing a few curious stares from the crowd. Drinks were put down, feet shuffled closer. The conversations droning on just beyond the stage’s edge stalled, interrupted with mutters of ‘who is that’, ‘why did they stop’ and ‘it’s not last call for donations for another thirty minutes’. None of which sounded particularly hostile, so- so far, so good. The pianist -an AX400 wearing a long green gown, with bronze eyes and matching shoulder-length hair parted and pinned in place by a holly-leaf hair clip- was the only one who side-eyed him with open suspicion. She didn’t lift her hands from the keys as he offered a bill for inspection. Instead of asking aloud, she pinged a question over the commlink.

You’re a friend of Mr. Sharp? What gave it away? ‘Yvonne’ teased back. He made a quick show of folding the bill up into a neatly-rolled stick before brushing her hair back to stash it behind her ear (since her hands were presently occupied), and made quick work of scanning the information gleaned from brief contact. Trust me, Miss O’Rourke, this is on the level- I’ve only a few words to say beforehand, no harm, no foul. Vince will understand. I’m just helping him break in a sense of humor. Best gift he could get this holiday, don’t you think? The wink did the trick. ‘Sally’ scoffed and failed to hide half a smirk at his reasoning, reached over and swiped a few pages ahead in the holographic sheet music. The gesture was entirely for show, but a visual confirmation she was game for the idea was more fun than a simple ‘sure, why not?’ He patted her shoulder in thanks. “Much obliged. Rest of you, skip ahead. This’ll only take a minute.” With a loose gestured wave to indicate her colleagues should do the same, Noah wheeled the mic stand out of his way and plucked the mic off the cradle. The device whined almost forlornly at being removed from its nest, and Noah cringed at the high pitched whine as it projected throughout the room. “Test-testing,” he dribbled with a few taps to the head of the device, “One, two- oh, for- is this thing on? Where’s the-“ After a few fumbled attempts, his fingers found the slider switch and dialed it up to full volume. The dual set of speakers situated at either end of the stage boomed, followed by a few scratchy puffs of static. “There it is- signal is good, yeah? Okay!”

This was worse than worse. Ill-timed didn’t even begin to cover it. Not even a minute prior, Director Falken had passed on some disturbing news that had left every Agent on the premises reeling. If Noah couldn’t already tell which of the staff members around the room were part of the undercover team, the sudden halt in their planned routes and turning of heads all around at each other gave them away. Gabriel made eye-contact with at least three of those Agents before he looked back at a man fast approaching the bar from behind the east side of the stage while Noah made his introductory greeting.

“Hello, folks. Good evening. Everyone hearing this okay? Yes? Can I get a few nods? Oh, come on, don’t look so confused. We’re all friends here, right?” If they weren’t, they soon would be. Nothing livened a party up like an impromptu bit of karaoke. Even politicians could agree interruptions were welcome if they were amusing enough and, more importantly, harmless; although, not everyone was on board with the change of pace. Gabe’s boss was every bit the grizzled mood-killing type he looked, he needn’t even identify himself- it was painfully apparent in the way he shouldered his way through the crowd with a shoulder-check type swagger that sent bystanders shuffling aside or knocked over like bowling pins. Like a scratched-up fuzzy bowling ball. Noah couldn’t help but grin with a few barely-contained chuckles as he drew the comparison in his head. Almost as if he‘d heard him, Director Falken tossed Noah a stern ‘I’ll deal with you later’ glare as he passed, and made a beeline for Gabe at the bar, who looked like he was about ready to implode. The burly Android’s face had flushed red right to the tips of his ears. His alias hadn’t even been called out by name, but the inference was clear enough- who else was possibly to blame for taking their eyes him for a minute too long? Despite their clear disdain for the situation, Noah grinned and shrugged with an exaggerated hike of one shoulder. “Well, I should rephrase,” he corrected with a small gesture to the grumpy Director, and redirected his amplified words to the rest of the room. “We aren’t friends yet, are we? Hello there! Name’s Erwin Yvonne, nice to meet you, everyone.”

If there was one thing he had going for him that none of the other undercover agents did, it was that even half-drunk and less than on top of his game, he still knew how to command a room. All the stage lacked was an overhead spotlight to really help sell it. “Our dear Vincent was going to get around to introducing us sometime next week, at the rate he moves, but I doubt you all planned on camping out here that long, right? Sleepover in the auditorium isn’t how I’d want to spend the holidays, either. That’d get expensive pretty quick, if I’m doing the math right.” More bemused murmurs and a few uneasy chuckles met his introduction not quite halfway, none of which resulted from ‘Vinnie and company’, who were too wrapped up in whatever it was he hadn’t bothered to tell him about to offer so much as an annoyed glance.

Still leaving me out of the loop...? I see how it is, he huffed indignantly back at his would-be partner. Don’t worry, I’ll keep them distracted for you. Noah, this is really not the time, Gabriel tried to warn with a silent shake of his head, as Serrano greeted their new guest. Falken met his kindness with a curt nod, then turned his attention to the disguised Gabriel, leaned in, grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. Sharp’s jaw flexed as he grit his teeth and nodded in understanding, then turned back to his mark and passed along the information. A moment later, Falken escorted Serrano and his men out a door to the left of the room- an odd play indeed, but he didn’t make much of it in his current state. Instead, Noah rolled his eyes, shifted his weight onto one foot, and draped his free hand over the empty microphone stand to tilt it away from himself. He was far from being in a falling-down-drunk state, but having something to lean on just in case wasn’t completely unadvisable. There were more tasteless crutches to rely on.

With a frustrated shrug and a sigh, he brought the mic up again. The last ramble hadn’t been all that funny anyway, better to dismiss the joke as a flop and keep going, regardless of the new secrets Gabe wasn’t sharing. “Anyway, my point is- all this finery, good drinks and food and better company, and he couldn’t even be bothered to find us some lyrical accompaniment? Does he find the classics so torturous?” Please, Gabe insisted in a worried tone that went right over the inebriated Android’s head. Come down from there, we need to get you out of here. Yvonne only scoffed in response and wagged a finger back at him as he pushed his way through the crowd toward the stage. “Tsk tsk, I see now why you even put my name on the list at all, Vinnie dearest. If that’s how it’s gonna be, I hope you don’t mind the first pick on my list. I think we can all agree it’s an old favorite, with or without context.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the violinists tightening a loose string; a few random chord plucks from behind him indicated the quartet had finished tuning for the next number. All drew their bows across the necks of their instruments and cast him a mute look of uncertainty that received a thumbs up in return, just in time for Vincent to grab at his ankle and shake him to get his attention. “Erwin… you’re drunk, don’t do anything you’ll regret-“ “No, no, don’t try and stop me now, this is happening,” Yvonne insisted with a shake of his leg as he pulled it away, tossed his hair aside, and took a couple of steps back from him. “Sally, boys- whenever you’re ready. ”  

Whatever their doubts, confidence counted for something, and Yvonne wasn’t a guy to shy away from challenges, much less those of his own making. The conductor tapped his baton against the edge of the music stand a few times, then gestured with a large sweeping wave- the band started right up as if they had practiced the song a hundred times before. Gabriel attempted to shoot him one final warning as the instrumental introduction finished its first round without lyrics, but Noah met it with a snarky brow pop and set his gaze on the man’s deep brown eyes so there was no mistaking what this was about.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

The stage didn’t offer much front lawn space to strut around on. Even if it did, the song was more catchy than a number to dance to. Substituting the keyboard with a concert piano hadn’t turned out terrible, thankfully, and the cello plucked to mimic the percussive beat complimented the higher-pitched violinists. By the second repeat of the first chorus, he could see the crowd was sold. A few faces lit up in new interest, the nervous chatter died down. One man, phone held to his ear, ended whatever call he was on to turn the video camera on him. Most important, though, was that the flustered look he’d been dying to see again had resurfaced on Gabe’s face, even if it was tainted with latent anxiety.

Once bitten, and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye. Tell me, baby, do you recognize me? Well, it’s been a year so- it doesn’t surprise me.

It wasn’t as though there was a real crowd to play to, but past the first few verses, Gabriel’s transfixed gaze and reddening cheeks were all the motivation he needed to dial the performance up to eleven. Noah found himself so lost in relating the lyrics to his current problem, a few extra words slipped in seamlessly without having to put much thought at all into keeping the tempo.

Merry Christmas! I wrapped it up and sent it With a note saying, "I love you," I meant it Now, I know what a fool I've been, oh- But if you kissed me now, I know you'd fool me again!

One hand reached to claw at the layers over his chest as his eyelids fluttered, and Vincent took a backward stagger away from the stage as ‘Yvonne’ repeated the chorus twice more. He didn’t have time to deal with this frivolousness at the moment, not with (what was most likely) the Inquisition on the Mellon’s doorstep, set to raid the fundraiser any moment. The strength returned to his eyes as the morbid pre-constructions of Noah’s death reminded him of his objective. He had to get him off that stage, lest he became a target. Vincent reached for Yvonne’s leg again as he moved a little too close to the stage’s edge, then reached up to pull him down to his level, demanding he get-down-from-there; rather than convincing him to oblige, however, it backfired. The gesture nearly yanked him off balance, but Noah took a knee instead to smoothly cover the stumble and delivered the next chorus directly at him. If he had been trying to keep this from turning into a real embarrassment, nothing would be worse to him than having a song dedicated to him.

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes, I'm hi-ding from you, and your soul of ice. My god, I thought you were someone to rely on. Me? Heh, I guess I was a shoulder to cry on. A face on a lover with a fire in his heart. A man undercover, but you tore - me - apart. Oh, hoo. Now-

LISTEN TO ME! Gabe growled angrily, finally letting the snarl show through his cover, as the band played on and Yvonne fell behind. I’m serious, something is very wrong. All of our other teams on site have gone silent- three of the four missed their quarterly check-ins, and Falken found the fourth dead in the nest a few minutes ago-

The gravity in his words sunk like lead in his gut as a gunshot echoed through the auditorium from the entrance of the ballroom and silenced the band, replaced with a wave of simultaneous screams. Two more shots fired off and injured a couple of guests as a small group of ten to fifteen armed androids, dressed to the teeth in riot gear, fanned out through the hall and trained their automatic weapons on guests trying to escape. Noah -instead of dropping to the floor like any sensible person had by that point- crossed the stage a few steps to look around the tree, just in time to get a front-row seat as the body of one of the guards who had let him in was flung down the stairs like a carelessly delivered package. A lump rose in his throat as the corpse landed beside one-armed thug, who spared it only a kick further into the room, and all thought of singing died off. He couldn’t look away, not even to glimpse the face of the Android who had entered the room dressed in a skintight black dress, the train of which slithered down the steps behind them like the tail of a viper. But the voice was familiar- cool and calm, flowing like a river of milk and honey. It was a voice he only remembered from Purgatory’s recovered audio logs. Priya Davies -better known by the general public as the Horseman, Pestilence- raised one gently folded hand to silence the startled gasps that swept the room.

“Good, evening, ladies and gentlemen. My, don’t you all just look pretty as a picture…”

#detroit: become human #dbh #rk900 #rk1800 #dbhilluminate #dbhiequilibrium #detroit become human fanfiction #detroitbecomehuman #detroibecomehumanfanfiction #detroit become human fanfic #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction

[narrators-journal]

The most dangerous game

I know I’ve been hella dead, but I return with my usual! Stano smut! I dunno why I adore writing these two so much, but I guess I’m attached, so yeah. Ya’ll get content.

CW: Predator/prey vibes, Xeno gets chased but there’s no real big acknowledgement of it.

It was likely because Xeno had developed a persistently wonky sleep schedule that he got so many night time jobs. That, he supposed, was why he was once again out at night hunting another Vampire, despite having told his boss of his run-in with a particularly pretty vampire. However, at the moment, Xeno somewhat wished he was dealing with Stan instead. At least with him he could rely on his need to flirt and toy with him to give him away. But no, the scientist wasn't hunting Stanley, but instead a completely different vampire who was proving his dislike for hunting the blood sucking monsters. Taking advantage of how dark the night was, the human's weaker vision, and whatever ninja techniques he had learned from the internet, the young vampire had hidden annoyingly well in the thick blanket of shadows and clutter on the streets. So, the white-haired college graduate was poking around at every rock and thicket of grass or bushes along the sidewalk before the boiling irritation in his veins got to be too much and he let out a mix of a groan and a scream like a tea pot. Stomping over to one of the few flickering street lights on the road, the hunter stood in the light and dug out his knife, then used it to slash at his stomach to fill the air with the alluring scent of fresh blood. With a pained hiss and the new wet feeling of blood dripping sluggishly down his pale skin, the trap was set, and all the hunter had to do was wait for the shallow cut to work its magic. Which, didn't take long. All Xeno had time to do was get one of his metal stakes from his pocket and extend it, then he was set upon by the vampiric ninja-wannabe. However, despite his skill at stealth, the vampire was young in both a human and vampire sense. Freshly turned at a young age, he'd become a problem because he had yet to grow out of his pubescent hormones quite yet, and giving him a predatory draw and increased strength had only encouraged him to turn hard into the bad boy persona. Sadly, being a new vampire wasn't all improvements. It also meant an increased hunger and little control of your newfound strength. Which is what had led the young man to be targetted by the monster hunter association, and swiftly wiped out by a stake through the throat via Xeno Wingfield. With a grunt, the monster hunter threw the freshly dead young man to the sidewalk, wincing at the burning and itching sting bending down to yank the stake from his throat brought to his stomach. For a moment or so, he felt bad for the creature. He'd been young, and he'd let his newfound powers obviously go to his head after a lifetime diet of anime and movies, the silver haired hunter could understand his over excitement, but he also had little to no patience for dumbasses who couldn't register that they weren't in Naruto. So, his sympathy was brief, and he was soon just dragging the young creature's corpse into some bushes and calling the cleaning crew to come collect him. Then. He spoke.           "God damn, Doll. You're quite attractive when you're being lethal." Stan hummed, hopping down from his hiding spot in a nearby tree and giving the hunter a charming smile that he refused to admit brought a little heat to his face.         "Oh, so you're just gonna become a full blown stalker now? Did you follow me from my house, or was this another 'coincidental' run-in." Xeno's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but the vampire simply rolled his glacial blue eyes,          "Actually, I'm here because I smelled fresh blood," At the mention of fresh blood, the scientist glanced down at his work shirt, spotting the tiny stain of blood his cut had left,          "Oh." He inwardly winced at how disappointed he sounded, but tried to recover with a sniff, "I had trouble luring the bastard out. It was quite the shock for me to find out that not every vampire would want to chase me down and prowl around my house for the entire fucking night." Stan simply snorted, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one before he spoke again,          "Nah, that's just my thing, doll,"         "Quit calling me doll! You have my name now, fucking quit." The vampire put his hands up in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't falter under the scientist's withering glare. For a moment, they simply stood in the cool night's darkness, the hunter with his arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed, and the vampire returning his malicious look with his own nonchalant, half-lidded one while he breathed whispy smoke from his dark mouth. Both men seemed to dare the other to say something or do anything, each looking for an excuse to make some sort of contact until the smaller male spoke again,           "Are you expecting me to run away? Because I told you the first time we met, I'm not likely to do that," He huffed, but Stan simply shrugged,           "I'm just messing with ya, doesn't matter to me if you run or not." He grinned more at the lightning fast moment of irritation on Xeno's face, but the hunter schooled his facial features back into their usual disdain-filled glare, only broiling with frustration on the inside. He hated this man's relaxed demeanor. He was a monster hunter, the tall, hypnotically pretty predator should be avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, needling at him as if he couldn't end him just as quickly as he had the younger blood sucker. Okay, well, not as quickly. Stanley had a good four inches on the monster hunter at least, and had a body that had been frozen at the prime of his life, toned and pruned like an artfully shaped shrub through the years into a gorgeous, powerful example of why humans were the apex predators of the world. Or, well, they were, but with his change into the more monstrous his status as the perfect predator had only increased. Stan was perfectly built to hunt humans. Not only did he have a supernatural magnetic beauty to him, but he'd been human, so he knew how humans behave first hand. He was a nightmarish wet dream. Xeno gave his head a good shake to banish those thoughts from his mind when he realized he was looking the vampire over with the hunger of a sugar baby sizing up their next piggy bank.           "Hey, Xeno," Stan hummed, but the hunter refused to look back at the man, which he simply took as a greenlight to continue, "you wanna play our little game tonight?" The hunter snorted in response, staring off into the darkness while his cheeks cooled,           "I thought you were only here to bother me, not play a game of fucked up tag," He said calmly, only looked back at the man when he heard him walking closer, only stopping when he was about two feet away, maybe within reach, a grin on his pretty face,           "Well, I thought it'd be a bit more polite to offer that rather than just asking if I could drink your blood outright." he reasoned, amused at the edge of poutiness that he seemed to sniff out through the veil of aloof indifference the hunter spoke with.            "No thanks to either offer, I don't want to be chased tonight." Xeno sniffed in response, simply adding a thicker layer of ill temper to cover how excited he was at the thought of being pursued a second time. The first time had, admittedly, given him a thrill, but he wasn't ready to voice such to the annoying vampire in front of him. However, Stan seemed to have picked up on his kryptonite from that first round,              "But aren't you curious to see what happens when you add the scent of blood to the mix?" The purr in the man's voice annoyed Xeno immensely, but the thought of maybe learning just how sensitive vampire instincts were, and how quickly one would succumb to them. Obviously young vampires are more prone to being controlled by their need to feed, but Stanley isn't a new vampire, that curious voice mused, already setting Xeno on a very likely stupid and dangerous path, It'd be immensely helpful to know just how easy it is to bring out those base urges in him. If he's going to follow you around it's best to know what to avoid so he doesn't go feral. It further encouraged, stoking the flames of the scientist's natural curiosity until he hummed,              "I suppose it would be useful for the association to know exactly what triggers a vampire to go into a frenzy of some sort. Fine." The vampire grinned at that,             "You do know that I can't promise my feeding instinct is the only one that'll come to the surface," he pointed out, making Xeno blink and raise an eyebrow at him,             "What? Why would any other instinct come into play?" turning red as Stan laughed,               "Well, in simple terms, I find you too attractive to promise that when I catch you I'd only want to drink your blood~" Xeno's face warmed up more at that, getting huffy and tripping over his words in his rush to snap at him.               "You can have a five minute head start, just like last time," he simply assured, "Just need a bit of blood, because your original scratch has closed," He laughed more when Xeno pulled up his shirt to see that his shallow cut from earlier had in fact begun to heal, no longer bleeding and instead beginning to scab over. The hunter only responded with a glare at that point as he plucked his knife from the sidewalk where he'd dropped it and wiped it off before leaving another cut along his stomach, this one a bit deeper than the first, but not enough to linger for more than a day or two. With that, Stan gave him a charming smile that showed his extending fangs, his blue eyes already getting a hungry gleam to them. So, without further conversation, Xeno took off down the street. The cuts on his stomach stung and itched more from his running, but he pressed on. His main concern was regulating his breathing and energy so that he could get as far away from the vampire as he could in his small window of time. Naturally, his plan wasn't to just run in a straight line and wait to be caught, not only would that likely be dangerous, as a vampire in a feeding frenzy was much more violent, but was less likely to fulfill the goal of bringing those deadly instincts to the surface at all. So, instead, he sought out other people, a crowded area, maybe a shop, that way it wasn't as easy for the predator to catch up to him. This is insanely stupid, that voice of reason finally spoke up, not only am I playing with fire by instigating an instinctual reaction, but I am woefully under prepared to run from Stan. He realized, filling his veins with icy terror when the weight of his situation fully sunk in, The first time we did this I barely survive on pure panic and him toying with me. If he really loses his shit and goes into a frenzy, I can't outrun him. The reality of the thought hurt, but it was sorely true. Despite all of his training as a monster hunter, Xeno had never been one for good cardio, namely in the stamina category. He relied on his wits and pure speed, not his ability to maintain those speedy response times or pace for long periods. but it's too late now, he reminded himself, thinking back to the way the vampire's fangs had extended so soon after he'd given him a fresh source of scent. Nope, he couldn't chicken out now. He had no choice but to stick to his plan and push the panic and fear aside. Instead, he simply focused on the route ahead of him and locked onto the light of a store further down the street, which he headed for instantly. The bright, artificial light blinded the pale scientist for a moment when he stumbled into the store, but he was swift to regain his barrings and dash down the aisles and through the crowds of night owls and whatnot that were still up at this hour. He knew that his five minutes had ended a minute or so before. Meaning he didn't have long before the vampire would be on his ass. So, thinking quickly, he swiped his hand over his wounds, then smeared the blood on his palm onto the tile flooring in an aisle. Once he had that down, Xeno ran off deeper into the store. He had very few places to hide. The bathroom was basically a dead end with no windows and only one door, he couldn't climb up the shelves or to the rafters in a timely manner, so he forwent that plan. Instead, he did the next best thing. leaving as distracting a trail as possible before bolting out one of the fire exits.            "Shit," he wheezed when the fire exit triggered a screaming alarm through out the store. If Stan was in there, he'd definitely know he got out now, but that only meant the scientist had less time to think of such things. He had to focus on running. So, Xeno ignored the way his legs throbbed, and his lungs ached from gulping down the cold night air. He focused entirely on getting home, or at least to a more residential area. He could feel his limbs getting heavier, threatening more and more to give out with each step, but his grit his teeth and bared it until the threat became reality and the asphalt bit into his skin. And there he laid for a few seconds, gasping for air and scraping up as much energy as he could to push himself to his feet. As he did, he glanced back down the street, and sure enough. Stanley was coming out of the alley Xeno'd run out of, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the scientist in an instant. With another curse spat out through gritted teeth, Xeno took off again. His legs still screamed from exhaustion, and now his hands stung viciously from the fall, but he kept going. He could hear Stan closing in on him, which gave him a final burst of frantic energy that carried him to at least the park near his home before the vampire finally tackled him to the grass. The scientist could only wheeze in response, letting the vampire crush against him and push his face into his pale neck with a growl. That seemed to snap him out of the exhaustion cloud, and in an instant, Xeno was squirming and forcing himself up once again. The only way he managed it was because the vampire was taken by surprise, so he was able to slip from his grasp and scramble up, but he only got a few more steps before he had to lean against a tree for support so that his legs didn't crumble a third time. Then, just as quickly as he'd gotten away, Xeno was back in Stan's luke-warm arms, trapped against his needlessly heaving chest with his fangs hovering over his jugular once more. However, he didn't bite down. To the contrary, the feral vampire seemed to hesitate for a moment, seemingly weighing his options of what to do with the hunter before settling on a choice and swiftly switching to almost slamming him against the nearest tree.           "S-Stanley!" The hunter wheezed, more surprised then anything, pushing back so that his face at least wasn't forced into the course bark and he could look back to try and see the blonde behind him. Said blonde was keeping him in place with a hand on one of his shoulders, looking Xeno in the eye and almost relishing the dawning realization that painted his pale cheeks before he used his free hand to hook into his pants and tug them down pretty roughly. Then, he was back at the man's neck, but this time he bit with his blunter teeth, sucking at the skin until Xeno's mewls and hums were pulled out and he was satisfied with the hickey he'd left. The scientist, meanwhile was a bit ashamed of how quickly he accepted the turn of events. He tried to save some face by muffling the noises bubbling in his throat, but Stan's mouth at his neck, paired with the way he ground his groin into his now-bear rear drug a few noises out. Though, it also bat back the fog of hormones and lust long enough for the hunter to realize that he was very likely to get hurt if he didn't intervene. So, he whined and reached up to tangle his fingers in Stan's messy hair, tugging at it until he finally relinquished his throat from the second hickey he was dedicated on leaving. Carefully, Xeno turned himself around with what little room he was permitted between the vampire's muscular chest and the much-less-forgiving tree. Once they were face to face though, the college graduate's brain no longer seemed to work, so, the two simply stood there, panting a bit from the chase, before he finally gave up on using words and instead simply sunk down to his knees. Keeping his eyes glued to the glowing blue pair above him as he went. Luckily enough for him, his actions at least intrigued the vampire, because he was allowed to tug his bottoms down just enough for his member to spring free, which earned him a noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. With Stan's pants down and his member now standing erect in front of him, Xeno hesitated. Should it matter if I'm any good at this sort of shit? I just need some sort of lubrication, and he shouldn't really care about anything beyond...mating, so surely he won't give a shit, right? He asked himself, puzzling over the predicament before Stan reached down to grab onto his shirt, reminding the scientist of his lack of patience. So, Xeno threw his insecurities to the wind and grabbed onto the base of the shaft so he could slip Stan's impatient member into his mouth. The vampire moaned in response, and Xeno took that as a sign that he'd bought a bit more time for himself. So, he slowed down, bobbing his head at a medium sort of pace to work himself up to taking as much of the length as he could, which, thankfully for him, was almost all of it thanks to years of speed-drinking coffee and energy drinks and eating at record speeds in college. He also found that once he actually got to moving, the embarrassment of his lack of skills faded away, and part of him simply enjoyed the groans he got out of Stan while he moved his lips up and down him at a steady pace. He simply continued to work him as much as he could until the vampire let out a little hiss and gripped onto the scientist's shirt until he pulled away and let his throbbing member go with a coy 'pop'. Suddenly, Xeno was yanked back to his feet and whirled around again to be slammed back into the tree. His pants were tugged down once more and his feet were kicked apart in rapid succession so the monster hunter only got a moment's break before Stan pushed into him. And while it hurt still, the white-haired man found that he didn't mind as much. As the vampire began thrusting into him, one hand clawing into his hip, the other on his shoulder, Xeno moaned out curses and did his best to grab onto the tree or Stan's neck to keep steady under the merciless thrusts of the blonde. It was shameful how hot his body got, but with how Stan was hitting that sweetspot within Xeno, his face back to being buried in his neck for more marks, Xeno couldn't care less.        "Mmmm, fuck! ah, r-right there, please!" he plead, tangling his fingers back into Stan's hair as he moaned, giving another lewd noise when his pursuer did as he asked, swiftly learning that doing so got more needy noises from the hormone-addled hunter. With that, Xeno lost all coherency as euphoria further fogged his mind, and soon brought him to his peak with a whine of the vampire's name. Though, Stan didn't stop when Xeno came, he just kept thrusting into him, still flooding his pale body with more and more pleasure while his hot puffs of breath tickled his hickey-littered neck. The continued rough treatment was beginning to sting, but the edge of pain only seemed to bolster Xeno's pleasure back to its peak, pushing a second orgasm from him before Stan finally grew sloppy with his thrusts and soon gave one final movement before emptying himself into the hunter. After that, the monster hunter let himself melt against the tree, relying on Stanley to hold him up because he was on the verge of passing out after that night's activities. The last thing Xeno remembered was giving a thumbs up to what he assumed was the question 'are you okay'. Then, he let his exhaustion take him into dreamland.

#dr stone #drst #stanXeno #Stan x Xeno #monster au #scenario #vampire!Stan #Monster hunter!Xeno #not sfw

[pendulum-sonata]

Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Serena/Yuri (Yu-Gi-Oh) Characters: Serena (Yu-Gi-Oh), Yuri (Yu-Gi-Oh) Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Forbidden Love, Tanabata, One Shot, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Predatorshipping Week 2019, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belligerent Sexual Tension, First Meetings, Predator/Prey, Fairy Tale Elements, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Marriage Proposal, Language of Flowers Summary:

I decided to join these two prompts, because the plot bunnies visited me :P

(there's a mild violence in this chapter, but it only implied, still, don't like it, don't read)

There was once a queen who wished to be a mother so desperately that she took ill advice and made a deal with the good neighbors of the forest…

“For half a year, at night you shall fill a bowl of milk to bath under the moonlight and a drop of your and your husband’s blood from the wound of a rose thorn, on the following spring I shall grant you a child.”

.

.

.

“EVERYONE REJOICE!!! FOR THE QUEEN HAS FINALLY BORNE A HEIR!!!”

There was commotion in the castle, the rulers had opened the doors and allowed the townsfolk to join the festivities, everyone was served generous amounts of food and an equal amount of mead, and it looked like the cheers would last well into the night.

How fortunate it was that the prince had been born on the same day as Spring started?

.

.

.

“No…no… no… no… no…”  The queen dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face; how could this be? After the happiest month of her life, where she had nurtured and loved her child, where the child had been blessed by every person in the kingdom, where the King had showered them both of love.

The was gurgle coming from the crib, and slowly, very slowly the queen peaked into it, hoping that maybe the moonlight was playing tricks on her.

Purple eyes, with slit pupils fixated on her presence again, with sharpness that no baby ought to have, and with features more delicate and beautiful than any human she had seen… his skin was so pale that it almost glittered when bathed under the moon.

As if realizing her horror, the baby laughed.

This was not her child.

.

.

.

It is always a sad day when a queen dies, specially leaving behind such a young child behind.

The bad tongues say that she jumped from the balcony of her chambers.

Before long, the king remarries and the child wins a stepmother.

.

.

.

"Yuri, your tea is ready."

He turned from his place on the balcony to face the inevitable. The king was not in the castle, there was no falling star to wish upon, he had nothing now, nothing.

"Come here, my dear. Have some tea with me," said the queen. He simply stared at her, his stepmother. His eyes shifted to the small table in front of her, upon which a teapot and a cup sat innocently. "Do come and sit down. It is a special blend of mine. I made it especially for you."

He had been afraid of that. A ghost of a smile graced his lips. "How kind of you, mother."

"Good boy," the Queen cooed with false sweetness. He sat down before it. Boiled water and dried plant matter. It looked like any other tea.

It smelled like death.

"Now,” she said in a whisper. "Drink up, before it gets cold."

His finger passed slowly through the border of the cup and to the handle, he raised it to his lips and then stopped, he set his eyes on her, and If his stepmother had cared the slightest, she might have noted the sadness pouring from them, birthed from the pit of his stomach. She did not, of course. The queen just flinched when those eyes set on her.

"Is something wrong?"

"Why do you do this, mother?" He barely raised his voice.

"What are you saying, my boy?"

His eyes prickled and trembled, sometimes he looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see what everyone else feared so much about them.

"Is it my eyes, my hair, my skin? Or is it something else? There must be something I have done wrong, something I have done to make you all wish the worst for me. I can see it. You, father, my deceased mother, the nobles, the servants —all of you, when I have been naught but living—tell me, what did I do?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew those words were too articulated, too wise for a child his age.

"Whatever are you talking about, my dear? I merely want to serve you tea."

That was it, his final act of desperation. Yuri felt his breath leave him. So this was it, then...

It was not as if he had any other choice, he raised the cup to his lips.

And slowly, drank the poison to the last drop.

.

.

.

“Why didn’t he die?!”

Yuri awoke to find himself laying into cold grass, covered in snow, somehow around the snow tiny buds of flowers where growing and rather than feeling cold, his skin felt warm, almost boiling.

The queen kept berating the servant, who was holding a shovel in his hand, hung his head in shame.

Shame for killing a child, ha.

Yuri felt something coil in his body when he remembered: the queen, his mother tried to poison him and then she was going to bury him in the gardens?

Both of them had their backs turned, and the snow helped to muffle the sounds of his steps…

He was going to return the favor to them…

His tongue licked his lips at the thought, and from that day onwards, something changed forever in his eyes.

.Ah, he understood now. He understood perfectly. Yes, that was how they had seen him all this time...very well! A monster they wanted, a monster he would be.

And as his laughter continued to ring out, as his would-be murderers torn to pieces at his feet, he did not realize that maybe, just maybe, it sounded like a child's sob.

 .

.

.

Years passed.

Seasons came and went.

He was fourteen years old now. A beautiful boy, but it was a terrible beauty. Like that one of a sleeping dragon with its luscious scales that might be beautiful before it opened its eyes. He had those awful, enticing and hungry eyes. They gleamed as if he was a predator cornering his prey. One could not meet them without recoiling.

When he smiled, his lips curled as though he was allowing a brief indulgence before smiting whatever was unlucky enough to cross his path.

Yuri cut a rose.

He was tending to his rose garden. It was located in a secluded area behind the castle near the woods, filled with large, luxuriant flowers.  And none could explain the strange ominous feeling that came over even as one was lured by their beauty. People would feel that the great sharp thorns elongated to cling to their sleeves, or that the flowers had a sinister resemblance to a throbbing heart.

Alluring yet repelling, much like him, actually.

"You will soon be of age," his father had said. "And it will be time for you to take a wife." Then the man had suggested that he start to court some of the noblewomen.

Yuri had barely resisted plunging his fork into the king's hand, and he might have imagined himself doing so, when he plucked another rose.

They were beyond help, especially in this cold winter and wouldn’t survive it, it was better to cut them now than let them wither in its stems.

He imagined presenting this rose to the average female in court.

"For you, my lady." The besotted female would take it with a blush, a giggle or two, maybe bat her eyelashes—to drop it immediately afterwards, perhaps in shock at the icy, blackened edges of the bulbous blossom, its decaying scent.

Ah, but his chosen lady, the woman that fulfilled his requirements, she would not, would she? She would lay it in her hand, unflinching, even as its petals spilled out between her fingers like the remnants of a dead heart or the seeds of a plush pomegranate.

Such magnificence, if it existed at all, did not belong beside him. It belonged in dreams, places he could not reach, and bitterly Yuri tossed the flower away, knowing that there was no happily ever after for a wicked child like him.

He must be very bored, for his thoughts to stray like that…

He stilled

Something moved at the edge of his vision. Yuri turned toward the woods, eyes narrowed.

A figure on horseback made its way the hidden road through the woods and by his garden. The courtiers knew not to intrude on his personal space. They usually stayed away from this direction, unless they were stupid, lost, or suicidal. Friend or foe, this visitor would have to have a good excuse or meet the business end of his shears.

He came out from behind his rosebush, and prepared to surprise the unwanted visitor.

"Good evening," said the visitor, and Yuri almost stumbled in his voice when he realized it was a woman, Yuri lowered his shears, intrigued.

"Good evening," he said back, biting on his tongue, no it was not just a woman, it was a girl, around his age most likely, she was wearing all leather and a thick cape made for winter, a long braid of hair rested on her shoulder.

"Can you tell me how to get to the front gate?" said the mysterious girl. "I'm not familiar with these grounds." She had gotten down from the horse and Yuri confirmed that she could not be much taller than himself either.

"You must have come from afar," Yuri said. ‘To not recognize who I am.’

"Well, me and my family have been traveling for some time. It's been long since I've been here."

The girl did not elaborate. Instead she appeared to look around her surroundings, which, other than the small rose garden, consisted of only the wild and unkempt shrubberies that typically marked the abandoned recesses of a land. She pointed to the roses. "Little weird to have a garden here, isn't it? Are you the gardener?"

He raised an eyebrow at the change of topic but said, "Yes."

"Why are you cutting them? Seems a waste." Her head tilted as she asked this, looking down on the roses, for a couple seconds Yuri saw a mist passing through her eyes, falling on the flower’s spell, but she shook her head and kept staring at him, waiting for an answer.

He twirled a rose between his fingers, to show her how much frost accumulated in the petals.

“They will die soon,” He was just sparing them of longer suffering.

“They could be saved if you put them in a vase with water though.” She said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you want them?” He asked incredulous, and she simply shrugged not really looking all that enthusiastic about it.

“You are a weird girl.” He said, feeling his mouth form a pout.

“I’m not the one doing gardening in the middle of winter.” She said and leaned towards him in an almost challenging pose.

In that moment, Yuri decided that he would make her realize why that was a bad idea and closed the distance between him and got far more into what was acceptable on personal space.

“Do you really not know who I am-” He whispered, but before he could even finish to his question when he felt something hard smash against his face, he heard – and she too probably – a crack on his nose, and he felt the blood coming out in gushes from his nose.

"You...dared...to hit me...!"

"YOU jumped me!”

"You're going to die,"he snarled, pressing his palm into his nosebleed and getting up. He was going to absolutely murder this girl! No one had managed to lay a hand on him for years—no one had dared—and—and—

He was not impressed, damn it!

 The worse thing is that he knew that the effect was ruined by the slight slurring of his words and the girl just watched him warily.

"Don't make me punch you again." She said, her eyes narrowing.

She picked the roses that he had dropped on the snow and held them in her hand, perusing over them as if they were a weird specimen.

In a way he supped they were.

When he finally felt the blood dry and he wiped himself clean as best as he could, he took the rose from her hand.

Only to place it on her hair.

“May I ask your name?”

“Serena.” No title or family name was granted, which was obvious considering what just happened.

He took a few steps back and he was marveled by how stunning she looked with his roses, almost as if they were made for her, to weave a crown of roses only for her.

In what was the most humiliating day of Yuri's life, he had been taken by surprise, punched, and threatened. A little slip of a girl had done more to him in less than an hour than most hired assassins could do in a whole night.

It was the most fascinating day he had ever had.

#arc v #yugioh arc v #predatorshipping #predatorshipping week #my fics #yay another long piece... sort of #long post