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hes-writer · 4 years ago

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All Too Well

Summary: right person, wrong time

Warning: sweet fluff and angst

Word Count: 4519 words

A/N: listen to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift first as there are some references throughout the fic. I also added time stamps as this occurs over the course of one year. I’m sorry if it’s confused—I tried my best to make it as coherent as possible ❤️

also, covid doesn’t exist in this au!

‘~~~’ = flashback, ‘—‘ = cut scene

November 2020

Y/N scrambled through the many articles of clothing sprawled in her drawer. The fabrics mingling with each other into a giant mess. It didn’t even include the pile of clothes sitting on the mattress and dripping on the floor.

That was the thing with Y/N. She had a habit of keeping things she didn’t need. She wasn’t a hoarder—although, Y/N did keep more things in favour of their sentimental value. It was her thing.

The fact that she could cradle a t-shirt in her palms and tell someone exactly what happened on a day that moulded the story of that specific shirt was her skill. Y/N liked to think that you could tell a lot about a person on what kind of clothes they wore—whether they were seeking affection or isolating, but not lonely.

In fact, her clothes didn’t just hold meaning for herself—it catered pieces of places she went to wearing the outfit. The things she thought of while adorning it, the emotions that she felt as it covered or—barely—shielded her skin. It was especially important to her to remember the people she spent it with.

Like that oversized, knee-length coat hung near the back of her closet. Y/N barely wore it now but seeing it beneath the splayed doors of the wardrobe, she could see flashes in her head about the last time she had worn it.

The way the pea coat flowed behind her as she twirled in a gentle circle, twisting the fabric slightly and catching tiny drops of littered snow. Y/N could picture the bulbous hat she wore on her head. A tiny pompom weighing every which way with the direction of her head. Her hands were in warm mittens that rendered her fingerless. The snow boots on her feet were crunching with every step of the crisp white snow beneath her feet.

It was truly a winter wonderland when the white weather sprinkled down on her—on them.

Y/N could just about feel the same large grin replicating her face when she snapped out her memory. The ghost of the hung overcoat literally hunted her as it rested in the shadows of her closet.

Y/N blinked twice, slouching her shoulders as she stayed frozen on her knees. The carpet wasn’t doing much to protect her taut skin, but she was in search of something and intended to find it. Except, she couldn’t find it anywhere.

She was sure that there was absolutely no way that she could lose it. It was a loud patterned scarf that frayed at the edges. It was, quite possibly, the ugliest design Y/N had laid her eyes upon. Though, a certain someone had reassured her that she looked beautiful regardless. Besides, the air was way too chilly to think about fashion choices that day.

~~~

December 2019

“Why don’t you pose for me, love?” Harry suggested, holding his phone tightly in one hand. That same hand was pulled free of the warm confines of his leather gloves as he insisted on capturing a few photos of his girl.

“You got it, mister,” Y/N replied, bending down to ball a glob of snow in her mitten-covered hand. She could just barely feel the iciness radiating off the protective layer. “Mind if I add some props?”

She lifted her hand, a raised brow quirking up her knit beanie.

Harry chuckles, “Go right ahead,”

He tilted his phone, ignoring the way his fingers lost feeling at the fingertips in favour of watching the woman of his dreams throw the patch of snow in the air. He captured the picture, admiring the way her back looked. Y/N really was beautiful from all angles. It was kind of counterintuitive, really, since it was snowing after all. But Harry was way too enamoured to question the questionable actions of his lover.

Besides, the gleaming smile on her face was enough to wipe his mind clean of anything other than her.

“Great! Why don’t you turn around?”

The woman looked over her shoulder was a subtle roll of her eyes, “No way,”

“C’mon, love. ‘S not even tha’ ugly,” Harry urged, commenting about the scarf wrapped around her neck.

She scoffed, “The fact that you have to reassure me is proof that it is ugly,”

Y/N played with the thin ends of the fabric, smiling to herself as she heard Harry groan loudly behind her. They were staying at Gemma’s house for the holidays and Y/N had purchased the first scarf she had seen at the store. She had nearly forgotten it if it weren’t for Harry calling her the night before to ensure that she would be warm during their stay. Not only was it cold, but the chilliness was just a tad too crisp to leave the cozy home without some sort of neck protection.

So, here she was dressed all cute from head-to-toe except her shoulders. It was a bit stupid to care so much about an ugly scarf design but Y/N guessed it had something to do with wanting everything to be perfect.

“I don’t think it’s ugly,” Harry quipped, sounding much closer than he had before. “‘Think it’s really nice. Especially the cutie who’s wearing it. Mind if I borrow it some time?”

Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of her love-struck eyes, smiling again when she felt his bundled arms snaked around her waist. Harry was warm, as usual, and he was sturdy as a rock both literally and metaphorically. Standing still in the snow gave her a bit of a shiver but having Harry’s body close was a breath of relief.

He cradled her between his arms, resting his own scarf-covered chin on her shoulder. Y/N knew that he must’ve been bending at the knees to reach that height. She clutched his naked hand between her mittens, directing it to a pocket in the confines of her coat to keep warm.

“Are you talking about me or the scarf?”

“How about both? Make it a two-for-one deal, yeah?” Harry’s voice was a bit hazy.

He felt as though he was captivated in a trance, watching the snowflakes rest gently on the slope of Y/N’s lashes. Her eyes glancing at their joined, mittened and gloved, hands.

She sighed, “Why not?”

Harry gave a silent cheer, leaning little ways into peck her cold cheek with his lips.

“Alright, now why don’t ya’ twirl for me, Y/N?” He instructed, taking cautious steps back in the snow.

“Like this?”

Harry nodded, thumbing the red button on his phone to press ‘record’. He watched as Y/N gracefully spun in a circle. Her pea coat flailed just at knee-level. Her boots squelched the starch white snow.

She did a full 360 before fully facing him with a bright grin. Harry couldn’t be sure how much his heart could take. He switched the setting to capture a photo.

“Exactly like that,”

He wanted to remember this.

~~~

Upon realization that Y/N would not get hold of that specific scarf—at least not for a while—because it was at Gemma’s home miles away from her, Y/N forced herself to clean up the mess she had made. Maybe it was the sudden strike of sensitivity coursing through her but Y/N felt much more emotional than she did before.

Perhaps it was the match-strike ignition of burning memories that flickered through her brain because once she started; she couldn’t stop.

It started with the frosty memory of twirling in the deep snow. Then, it was the flashback of driving from the grocery store to pick up ingredients before heading back to Gemma’s.

Y/N couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt playing that particular memory back because it was one of the moments that cemented a deep-rooted emotion in her.

The feeling of being beautiful—captivating, charming and alluring that Harry failed to notice the red traffic light switching to a reflective green. (‘Oi! Eyes on the road’)

She could still see the blush on his pale skin, realizing that he had been caught staring. And, by the way, the car behind them honked when Harry failed to move through the intersection. (‘Sorry, got distracted’).

And Y/N didn’t want to say anything but she could feel his tiny glances over her when Harry thought that she wasn’t paying attention.

———

November 2020

It has been nearly a year now.

Only a few more weeks until the dreaded date looped around to a full year passing. This time, Harry wasn’t around to celebrate the festivities with her and that ugly scarf was an article that Y/N had desperately missed. Ironically.

It would be just under a year when Harry had taken Y/N to his childhood home—now Gemma’s house as Anne had moved to a smaller place. It was where he excitedly showed her his room—the posters on his walls. The comics he used to read and the CD’s he used to listen to piled on his desk.

~~~

December 2019

“Quite an improvement,” Y/N commented, sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed. She was referring to his King-sized bed from when she had slept over a couple of times.

“I’d say,” Harry agreed. The wood creaked under his weight as he sat beside her.

They both stared at the wall in front of them, feeling a sense of intimacy as Harry shared the remnants of his life to her.

The day continued when Anne had called the both of them down for hot cocoa, paired with a striped red, green and white candy cane dipped in the mug.

This was the part that hurt Y/N the most. It was almost too painful to remember—to reminisce because it was proof that the couple were so close to making a future together.

It didn’t happen, though.

Despite Anne and Gemma’s stories about a once upon a time, dorky Harry in his glasses (‘He still is’)—his family couldn’t stop referencing Y/N as his future.

“Hope your kids don’t take after his naked habit”

“Maybe your garden will have wild roses”

“Reckon you guys will get a small home?”

It made Y/N’s cheeks heat up. His family already thought of her as part of their family. And one sneaky look at Harry ensured her that Anne and Gemma weren’t the only ones thinking of their future because Harry caught her gaze long enough to give her the answer she was subconsciously searching for.

And when salutations had to be said, Harry and Y/N said goodbye to Gemma and Anne as they were to return to their respective London homes.

It was also the day that Harry had asked Y/N to move in with him.

——

It was exciting, to say the least. Moving in with your significant other was a big step in any relationship. The fact that Harry was a world-renowned superstar almost disappeared from Y/N’s mind because even though his home was a million times larger than her tiny flat—it immediately felt like home.

Harry wasn’t one to dwell too much on changes. In fact, he often referred to it as a sign that things were moving forward. There was no use being stuck in the same place when the universe had so much to offer. So, he was quite glad when Y/N made herself comfortable in his—their—home.

She managed to make the large place feel cozy. The decorations and tiny trinkets she had placed all over the house were really just pieces of her heart sprinkled in a home in which they’d build a life together. He would look at a pastel-coloured tea kettle and question when he had gotten the appliance before realizing that it was Y/N’s. Harry would use the tea kettle to boil water instead of using his Keurig.

___

Their schedules wouldn’t always line up. But Harry and Y/N were too loved-up to care how little time they spent with each other. There was no use in complaining when they could use that time to appreciate each other—for sticking around. For being the same when things moved too fast. For being the rock that both of them needed when times get rough.

Harry’s late studio sessions ran through the early morning when Y/N would be cooped up in their shared bedroom. Fast asleep and hugging his scented pillow. Sometimes he would find her bundled with a blanket on the living room couch. The soft glow of the television highlighting Y/N’s beautiful features. One look at her was enough to release Harry of the tension he felt on his joints and shoulders.

Y/N’s night shifts were the same too. She would return to a quiet house because Harry had fallen asleep. Despite his attempts to stay awake, he was not a night owl at all. Not only to stay up past ten in the evening unless he was out to do work. She had reassured him countless times that she would be okay on the drive home and that he should sleep when his body grew tired.

Harry tried to stay awake. He really did. And Y/N could tell because as soon as she crawls to her side of the bed, Harry’s right arm immediately pats the cold sheets for her as if sensing that she was nearby. He would mumble a quiet murmur of her name, “Y/N? Tha’ you?”

He would receive no verbal response, nor would Harry be able to see his love in the dark of the night even because Y/N hadn’t bothered to switch her bedside lamp on. Y/N was aware of Harry’s sensitivity to light, especially if he was in the dark for a long period of time. Despite that, Harry would hum in satisfaction when Y/N’s body would etch perfectly against his in a silent greeting that yes it is her.

They would fall fast asleep cuddled into one another.

If they managed to stay awake or if sleep failed to come, Y/N and Harry would trudge down the stairs for a midnight snack, squealing loudly as one playfully chased the other down the staircase.

Sometimes it was Y/N walking in on Harry munching on a few biscuits (‘Not such a health nut anymore, huh?’). Sometimes it was Harry catching Y/N making a fruit salad—an array of fruits and vegetables laying on the counter (‘I take credit for this’, he would say.)

But it would always end the same.

With both of them dancing goofily with each other. The refrigerator light was the only source of illumination because neither would be bothered to turn on an actual light. Not when the fridge served as a light source and a container of a variety of edible choices.

One night would end with Y/N slow dancing in Harry’s arms. His hands-on her waist, grazing her skin when her pyjamas too lifted. Their bodies would rest against each other like a stacked jigsaw. Harry’s chin on her head, hers on his broad shoulder. A pair of their hands clasped tightly on one another while the other found purchase with their bodies.

Harry would hum a light tune or sing softly so that they can find their rhythm. They would sway across the kitchen—slowly—crying out in pain and laughter when one would bump their hip on the marble counter. Y/N would listen to his heartbeat thrumming beneath his chest and even though she could only see a bit of him—it was enough.

One night would end with Y/N and Harry goofily flailing their limbs every which way. Boisterous laughter filling the room as Harry practically wheezed at Y/N’s admittance of performing a mean Dougie.

And with the fridge light catching the bits of it, Harry would slap his palm on the counter to catch himself before his knees gave out below him (‘There’s jus’ no way you’re that good’). She proved him wrong.

Neither of them knew when it would be the last time these moments occurred. Until they stopped completely.

——

It was the small changes that brought them closer together. And what would inevitably drive them apart.

It was the fact that even though the couple didn’t see each other much, they still cherished the time they had together because that was enough.

The relationship was built off of mutual trust, respect and honesty. Time was essential but Harry and Y/N didn’t necessarily need a lot of it. They just needed the reassurance of ‘always’. That no matter what happens, however far away they were from each other physically, however, the time they spent apart—that Harry would always come back to her and Y/N would always run home to him.

——

It was late-August when they broke up.

Leading up to it, Y/N had been promoted at her workplace and Harry was no longer spending late nights at the studio. He was sleeping in the studio instead of coming home.

Y/N was understanding. He was on a time-crunch since his second album was due to be released at the end of that year. She wanted to be as supportive as she had always been—if not, more. Harry didn’t need more pressure from her—his partner—who was supposed to be his solid ground in a cracking centre.

It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

It was fine that they were spending less time than they normally would—not that it was a lot in the first place.

He was still trying. She was still trying. Messages, video calls—hell, even emails were there. The rare times when their schedule would actually coincide were spent peacefully sleeping on the bed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Then, Y/N got promoted. More responsibilities. Training her colleagues. Interviewing assistants. Typing detailed emails. Double-checking spreadsheets.

At the same time that Harry was being pulled left and right to make decision after decision. Finalizing next year’s tour dates. Promos. TV shows. Modelling campaigns. Photoshoots. Interviews.

And like any other, answering later turned into a message left on ‘read’. A missed call manifested into an unopened voicemail. A desperate-measures email was only one of the many in each others’ inbox.

Harry wanted Y/N to come with him on tour the following year but it was a stretch waiting to be snapped.

She couldn’t.

Y/N was starting to build her life, building her career and she wasn’t going to give that up for him just yet. He could go on tour and she could visit when time allows. They knew that. Harry would buy her a ticket and she would be off to see him—when she can.

~~~~

June 2020

“I can’t go. You know that,” Y/N sighed, rubbing a palm over her face.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I knew that. ‘Was worth a try though,”

They shared a comforting smile with each other. A hint of reassurance when uneasiness prevailed. There was something about the shift from spring to summer that simmered in their chests.

“Promise you’ll come to visit?”

“Of course,”

~~~

London may be Harry and Y/N’s home but LA was calling for him. Hence, why he spent the summer on the other side of the world. On another continent, across the pond, as some people might say.

It’s just a few months. He’ll be back before you know it, Y/N thought.

Harry will be home for the holidays and they would drive up north to spend it with Anne and Gemma as they did the previous year. The year when Y/N had met them for the first time and despite that, attained their approval to build a future with Harry.

Just a few months and then Harry will be back with her. The same Harry who will gently loop an ugly scarf around her neck. Teasing her about its hideousness before reassuring her that it was ‘as stunning as the woman wearing it’. . .or something. Harry always complimented her.

Yet, Harry never came home a few weeks shy before their scheduled road trip as they had planned. And Y/N did not visit him like she had promised to do.

Though, none of them blamed the other because they were too busy with their own lives to keep up with each other. What once was a loving and caring relationship was not a liability pushed to the back burner.

One might say that Harry and Y/N’s love was a case of wrong timing. They were perfect for each other—but just not now.

Because Y/N had a lot of things going for her and expanding her career. Harry was becoming more and more popular and successful by the minute. It wasn’t like they meant to ignore each other or be oblivious that they were still very much in a relationship with each other. Both Harry and Y/N just had a lot on their plate to even think twice about a relationship.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault—really. Even though their phone call says otherwise.

——-

August 2020

“Y-you what? Y/N, love,” Harry spoke through the phone.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sound of the beloved nickname. It had been a while since she had heard it.

“I want to break up,” She repeated.

“Why?”

The woman picked at her fingernails, distracting herself from going back to the spreadsheet in front of her. She was in the middle of a break up yet her body urged to continue working.

“What do you mean why?” Y/N sighed exasperatedly. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, Harry. You said you’ll be home before Christmas so we can see Anne and Gemma but—,”

“We don’t have to see them! Y’can fly out here and spend it with me,”

“You know, I can’t,”

Upon letting those slip past her lips, Y/N was starting to question if Harry had disconnected because of the eeriness over the phone.

And as he said that night months ago with the alteration of Y/N’s word, “‘Know y’cant. You promised, though.”

Harry’s voice cracked and Y/N wondered if he was gnawing on his lip like he usually would when tears overflowed the ducts of his eyes. In the distance, Y/N heard a door close shut and she wondered if he had been working—the same as her—before she had decided to call and he had decided to answer.

A knife pierced into Y/N’s chest, guilt seeping in her veins as she recalled the words she had uttered to him. A promise that she would visit if he gave her the ticket. But that was then and this is now.

She wasn’t the head of her department then. Y/N had a lot more responsibilities now and she couldn’t just up and leave whenever she wanted to.

“And you promised to come back. Did you?”

He didn’t.

“Look, can we talk about this later? ‘M in the middle of recording and—“

“When are you not?” Y/N cut him off absentmindedly, splitting her attention on the Excel sheet in front of her.

“Excuse me?” Harry quipped, faintly hearing the clacks of a keyboard. “I know I work a lot but y’do too. Barely even respond to my texts anymo’”

“Says the one who doesn’t answer my calls,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

And there it was again. The defeat of silence that proved no matter how much they retaliated against one another—neither of them would win because both of them were at fault.

“I was busy,”

“I am, too,”

“Y/N—“

“What?”

“I-I don’t want to lose you. . .”

The ache in Y/N’s chest grew tenfold. Her fingers momentarily paused over the keys of her laptop board. There was nothing to lose. Not when they’ve already thrown it away.

“I don’t want to either, H. But don’t you think breaking up is better than waiting for something that will never happen?”

“What won’t?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N pushed her chair back, staring at the view of the city from her office.

“Us. Our future. It won’t happen because you’re busy and I’m busy. There’s no right time for us to start, Harry.”

“Who says there has to be a right time, huh?”

“Says, everybody! How are we supposed to build our relationship further when there is no relationship to work on?”

The waves of emotion came crashing down. For months, Y/N had suppressed the feeling of loneliness inside of her. She missed Harry so badly that it hurt her to admit so she went with the temporary bliss of balling it up until it became too much.

“We just need time, Y/N. We don’t need to do it at the right time. Y’know that,” Harry whispered, wishing so badly that this conversation didn’t take place over the phone where he was currently locked in a bathroom stall.

He continued, “You were there, weren’t you? Barely saw you but y’were there. You know how I feel about you and I know you feel about me. We jus’ need time,”

Time.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N would slow dance in the kitchen at god-knows-hour of the morning.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N blissfully spent their time in the cold, watching her throw the bundle of snow in the air as if it was in slow-motion.

Because time is when Harry would look at Y/N and swear that it has stopped because nothing else mattered except her.

“You know it, you know it,” Harry gulped, breath hitching over the phone. Was he crying?

“All too well,” Y/N responded underneath her breath. She knew that he was right—that all they needed was a chance to reconnect and rekindle the flame put out by distance.

She hated how familiar every memory was to her. She hated how easily she was brought back to the moment it all happened with just the breath of his whisper.

There was no denying the emotion she felt wearing his hoodie and red and black plaid pyjamas at three in the morning. The affection she received wearing those pieces of clothing from the man who owned them. Her sock feet glided against the cold floor. Everything came flashing back to Y/N and it hurt because there was no way she could grant his wish.

“You’re asking for too much, Harry. I-I can’t give you that. You can’t give me—us—that,”

“W-what are you saying, love?” He whimpered, clutching the device in his hand as a last resort to hold onto something that was drifting away.

He knew that she was right. Y/N couldn’t give him that and he certainly couldn’t either.

“We can’t be together. At least, not now. We’re not the same anymore. We want the same things but we’re headed on different paths,”

“But we’ll meet again, won’t we?” Harry’s hoarse voice exemplified that he was—indeed—been crying. And Y/N’s wet cheeks were proof that she was as well.

“Always,”

_____

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing

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enterprisetrampstamp · 4 years ago

Note

General #42 t'pura plssss <3

I have written so many "bustling marketplaces" lately. I think it's projection; deep in my subconscious my ideal self is at a weird little booth on King St in Charleston poking through sterling silver jewelry and touching the pavement every thirty seconds to make sure the dogs' paws are okay.

(AO3 Link)

***

The market was bustling and vibrant, a cacophony of sounds and sights and scents as vendors hawked their wares and the savvy populace argued back. The streets were wider and less claustrophobic than Nyota was used to, the sky above lit brightly by pale binary suns instead of the singular pulse of Sol, but it still put her in mind of the market her family had frequented when she was younger. For their everyday needs, her parents had shopped at the usual grocery stores and department stores and corner markets among the glittering skyscrapers and bustling streets of Nairobi, but once a month her mother would pack Nyota and her sisters into the car and take them down to the open air market that sprawled across several city blocks on the outskirts of the city, where fresher produce and more unique items could be found.

Besides, it was fun.

Nyota and her sisters would buy fruity popsicles and play tag; as they grew older, they might haggle over jewelry and scarves and that perfect trinket for their father's birthday or a sister's graduation. Her fascination with language could be traced back to those afternoons in the market as much as anything else, listening to hundreds of voices arguing in nearly as many dialects-- Swahili, English, and Standard, of course, but Dholuo and Kamba and Somali and the voices of all of Kenya's other indigenous peoples, too. Hundreds of voices, loud and unapologetic and alive as they pushed and shoved their way through life. Nyota had had her first date at that market, with a boy who lived down the hall-- and, later, she'd shared her first kiss there... with his older sister.

Oops.

Nyota grinned at the memory, hitching her bag higher into the crook of her elbow, and trailed her hand through a selection of beautifully intricate scarves hanging from a delicate display made of thin, curving pieces of brass. Janice's birthday was coming up, she noted thoughtfully. The bright purple one was very much the yeoman's speed, embroidered with silver thread in a dizzying geometric pattern. She pulled it from the rack, running it thoughtfully between her fingers as the sun-- the suns, she corrected herself with a snort-- beat down on the back of her neck.

"This one will better highlight the undertones of your skin," a woman said, her voice light and warm and catching on the soft Standard consonants.

It was the accent that caught Nyota's attention; that unmistakable curl of a native Vulcan speaker in the way she pronounced the thorn at the start of "this." She looked up as the woman draped a scarf-- silky and deep red, decorated in a delicate swirl of tiny golden beads-- about Nyota's neck and trailed one end back over her shoulder, her long, gloved fingers carefully avoiding the brush of bare skin.

(Somehow, that half-centimeter's implication of a touch was more sensual than if she'd truly trailed her fingertips along the line of Nyota's shoulder.)

"It's beautiful," Nyota agreed honestly, because it was. She raked her gaze over her new friend, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. The Vulcan woman was tall, dressed in a romper with loose, flowing pants that tapered back to her ankles to tuck into simple leather (faux, presumably) boots and a stiff vest that shimmered subtly beneath the sunlight, reaching high up her throat but leaving her lightly freckled shoulders bare. All of it, from head to toe and including her gloves, was rendered in a deep, eyecatching purple. Her hair was braided simply and fell heavily over her right shoulder, thick and so darkly black that the sunlight turned it faintly blue. The leather tie at its end was that same, vibrant purple.

(A cosmopolitan Vulcan woman, Nyota supposed. It was a far cry from the robes and elaborate hairstyles Nyota was used to seeing, but then she usually saw the diplomats and the Council members-- women dressed formally and in pointed representation of their culture.)

"But," Nyota added, placing a delicate emphasis on the word as she unwound the scarf and returned it to its place on the rack, "I'm not shopping for myself."

"Pity," the woman said, her dark eyes likewise sweeping over Nyota. (She, for the record, was dressed comparatively simply in a blue dress and ankle boots.) "It did look good on you."

Nyota leaned towards her as if confessing a secret, a smile pulling teasingly at one corner of her lips. "Everything looks good on me." One slanted eyebrow twitched high on the Vulcan's forehead, and Nyota laughed, straightening, and lifted her hand in the ta'al. "Dif-tor heh smusma, my new friend."

"Peace and long life," the woman returned in Standard, flashing her own-- purple gloved-- ta'al and lifting her other eyebrow to join the first. "Your accent is very good."

"Well, if it wasn't I'd probably be out of a job," Nyota replied easily. She watched the Vulcan in her periphery as she decided against the purple scarf for Janice-- the yeoman could be finicky about clothing and would probably rather Nyota pick her up some tourist-y magnet that would be wildly embarrassing to have to purchase-- and debated an emerald green for Christine instead. (Her birthday wasn't coming up, but it never hurt to be thinking ahead.)

"You are employed as a translator?" the Vulcan guessed, picking at the scarves herself. The motion seemed less like she was interested in them, and more as if it was an excuse to keep talking to Nyota.

"Sometimes." Chris would love it, she decided. She half-turned towards the vendor, lifting the scarf, and had started to ask "How much--?" when she caught a glimpse of the scarf that had been hidden underneath it. With a laugh, she traded the green scarf for the new one and turned back to the Vulcan, holding it up consideringly.

"It's your favorite color," she said, too many teeth in her grin.

"Having a preference for a particular color would be illogical," the Vulcan returned archly, but there was something in her voice, some teasing irreverence hiding beneath the lack of inflection, as she plucked the scarf from Nyota's hand and held it against her chest to compare the shades of purple.

"Too red," she said, her gaze flicking up to meet Nyota's as she raised an eyebrow.

Nyota scoffed. "Oh, please."

A tiny, almost imperceptible corner of the woman's mouth twitched in a smirk. "Your disbelief will not change the fact that the scarf is too red."

"Those Vulcan eyes of yours must be missing some rods and cones. It's a perfect match," Nyota insisted, reaching out to drape the scarf about the woman's shoulders-- the motion pulled them close, each of her hands wrapped loosely in silky fabric, and she smirked up at the Vulcan as she took another, deliberate step forward.

"Are you flirting with me?" the Vulcan asked, amusement smoldering in her dark eyes. They stood so near that, had they each taken a deep breath in, Nyota's hands would be trapped between them.

"You started it," Nyota pointed out, teasing, as she unwound her hands from the scarf. "And I'm feeling nostalgic this morning," she declared, fondness curving her lips into a smile, "for a different dark haired beauty I flirted with in a market not so different from this one, once upon a time."

"Vulcans do not flirt."

Nyota's grin spread wider. "Now that I know from experience is a lie."

"Vulcans do not lie either," the woman said, and there was that self-aware edge of irony once again-- Nyota didn't even feel like she was insulting her when she tipped her head back and laughed.

"Oh, sure," she said, flashing a few credits at the vendor and receiving a word of confirmation as she plucked the green scarf back off of the rack. "Vulcans don't lie, as a generality." She handed the credits to the vendor, glancing over her shoulder to add, tartly, "That doesn't mean they can't, or that Vulcans in the individual won't."

There was that little twitch of a smirk again.

"A wise woman," the Vulcan observed, falling into step next to her as she tucked Christine's present into her bag and walked away from the booth. "I hope, when you are not engaged as a translator, that you make use of your skills as a counselor-- or perhaps a bartender."

Nyota barked another laugh, shooting her a grin. "I do mix a mean martini," she agreed.

"Metaphors," the Vulcan sighed. She spread her hands in a shrug, the movement loose and fluid. "I have never understood what qualifies a drink as 'mean.'"

"Usually it's because it insulted your mother," Nyota told her, straight-faced, and was rewarded with a rise and fall of the Vulcan's chest that she chose to interpret as a silent sigh of exasperation.

"So what do you do?" Nyota asked, as she paused to peer at a display of sterling silver jewelry, bedazzled with a variety of inexpensive-- but beautiful-- gemstones, most of them imported from the other side of the galaxy. Spock probably could have told her exactly where with a single glance, and the thought made a smile tug at the corner of her lips. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, falling in a soft brown wave, and she reached up to brush it back as she looked.

The Vulcan spun a rack of earrings, sharp enough to make it rattle, and the artisan behind the booth barked out a remonstration in her own native tongue. Then, she repeated it under her breath in Vulcan-- pointedly, loud enough for both Nyota and the Vulcan to hear it-- as she returned to her soldering.

With a slow blink, like a cat reaching out to shove a mug off of a coffee table, the Vulcan spun the rack a second time. "I am employed as a record keeper aboard a small civilian spacecraft," she said, staring down the scowling artisan.

Nyota looked up, her interest piqued. "You mean you live out here in the black?" she asked, surprise sharpening her tone. So few Vulcans lived or even worked away from New Vulcan for any extensive period these days, in deference to their ongoing efforts of cultural revival.

She hadn't realized quite how open the woman's expression was-- for a Vulcan-- until it shuttered. "I do," she said, neither her tone nor her body language inviting further questions.

Nyota thought of the way Spock still, all these years later, could not think of New Vulcan as anything more than a pale imitation of a home he would never replace, and she gently eased off. It had been an intrusive line of questioning, anyway.

"What do you think?" she asked instead, pointing to a necklace with a delicate silver charm with a soft pink stone at its center.

The Vulcan leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against Nyota's, warm and solidly muscled. Her hair smelled faintly of orange blossoms and incense, and there was a hint of that prior teasing tone in her voice as she observed, "I have been told that everything looks good on you."

Nyota smiled, turning to look at her. "And how," she agreed. "But I told you, I'm not shopping for me."

"Of course." The Vulcan looked over as well, her dark eyes studying her with a heady intensity and the strong curve of her nose nearly brushing Nyota's. "May I?" she asked, and the slight tilt of her head, the imperceptible lean forward indicated the meaning of the question.

The artisan made an inarticulate noise of fury, but they both ignored her.

"I don't even know your name," Nyota teased, even as she closed the distance between them to press a featherlight kiss to the other woman's lips.

(Oh, don't look at her like that; like you wouldn't kiss the mysterious, clever stranger who's been flirting with you all morning. There was something a little fun and a little daring about it, and in a few hours she'd say goodbye and head back to the ship. Maybe they'd exchange comm frequencies; maybe not. They call them whirlwind romances for a reason, you know.)

"T'Pring," the Vulcan murmured, their lips still brushing.

"Nyota." She returned to the array of jewelry, a crooked grin turning up one corner of her lips. "Dated humans before, have you? That was no first kiss, darling."

"Well, there are just so many of you," T'Pring returned, with that remarkable Vulcan ability to both maintain perfect stoicism and also come across dryly sarcastic. "And you have dated a Vulcan before, have you not? Your ability to maintain a mental shield against touch telepathy is impressive for a human." A beat. "'Darling.'"

Nyota barked a laugh. "Yes, I have." She patted T'Pring's cheek, winking. "Don't worry; you're prettier than he is."

T'Pring raised one slanted eyebrow, conveying amusement without ostensibly altering her expression. "I find myself much assured."

Nyota caught her wrist-- careful to stay below the edge of her glove, avoiding skin-to-skin contact so she wouldn't need to maintain that mental shield-- to tug her back into motion. "Lunch," she suggested.

T'Pring allowed herself to be pulled along in Nyota's wake without complaint. "One of my crewmates tells me there is a bakery with excellent savory pastries on the next street over."

"Mm, I heard about that place, too." Her smile was pleased as she looked over her shoulder at T'Pring. One of Hikaru's husband's friends had raved about it; the whole bridge crew had been looking forward to it for weeks.

"A satisfactory choice, then?" T'Pring asked, with a raised eyebrow, and Nyota laughed.

"Most satisfactory," she agreed, tone teasing.

Once their pastries were in hand-- a spicy, aromatic beef filling in Nyota's, and a potato and vegetable one in T'Pring's-- they ignored the tables arranged outside of the bakery in favor of tucking themselves into a semi-private alcove. Nyota hopped up onto the low stone wall separating an earthy, plant-filled garden space from the rest of the market, and T'Pring propped her hip against it. She removed one of her gloves, tucking it into a pocket of her pants, and picked thoughtfully at the pastry with dark-eyed curiosity.

"Reminds me of an empanada," Nyota said, inhaling the fragrant steam rising off of her choice, and T'Pring huffed, ever so slightly.

"'The closest you will get to decent food in this corner of the galaxy,'" she said, pitching her voice to a deeper octave in a way which implied it was an impression. "My crewmate hails from Chile," she added, as an explanation. "As the pilot of our ship, I do not believe he intended to allow us to skip this planet once our path turned us in this direction, regardless of our captain's acquiescence."

Nyota laughed, tipping her head back. She didn't miss T'Pring's thoughtful, appreciative glance. "A man after my own heart," she declared. "Food is a unifying experience. There's nothing quite like it--" she gestured, a piece of pastry in hand, between herself and T'Pring. "It says, 'I care about you,' and it says, 'I want you to survive,' and it says, 'I want you to enjoy it, too. Share this with me.'"

"The exchange of fruit is an inherently romantic gesture within Vulcan culture," T'Pring agreed. "And the act of sharing a meal has proven an invaluable ritual in building a rapport with my human crewmates."

"Is that what we're doing?" Nyota asked. She set one hand on the stone between them, leaning towards T'Pring as she is watched by dark eyes that glitter with the barest hint of amusement. "'Building a rapport?'"

"How would you describe it?" T'Pring challenged in turn.

A smile spread, slowly, across Nyota's face. "A date," she said.

"And how would you describe what happens between two people on a date?" T'Pring raised an eyebrow.

"Which part of the date are we talking about?" Nyota asked, her smile impish, and T'Pring's other eyebrow raised in turn.

"That was an innuendo," she observed.

"And not a subtle one." Nyota patted her cheek, forgoing any attempt at mental shielding in favor of letting T'Pring feel the full brunt of her amusement. She sensed more than felt the moment that T'Pring tensed, attempting to subjugate whatever emotional response-- laughter, lust-- she was experiencing, and she backed off politely, both physically and conversationally.

They lapsed into a companionable silence as they finished their meal. The spices were certainly alien, unfamiliar and sharp but not at all unpleasant, and there was a buttery quality to the bread itself that was-- in a word-- heavenly. Nyota crumpled the waxy paper her pastry had been wrapped in, sighing with satisfaction, and accepted the napkin that T'Pring passed her to wipe off her fingers.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, glancing up from the slick buttery feeling between her fingers, and promptly rolled her eyes at the tiny smirk T'Pring had turned in her direction. "Yes, I am aware I have just asked one. Spare me."

"As long as you are aware," T'Pring said.

"Spare me."

After a moment in which she somehow broadcast her amusement in just the slightest smirk and the tightness of the muscles at the corners of her eyes, T'Pring requested, "Make your inquiry, by all means." She pulled her glove back on, her own fingers wiped clean, and then turned to face Nyota more directly. Her expression was polite, inquisitive.

"Why did you approach me in the first place?" Nyota asked. She dropped her legs from their folded position, sliding down to stand beside T'Pring and brushing off the back of her skirt. This put her a head lower, once more, but she didn't mind the way she had to tip her head back to meet the Vulcan's heavy lidded eyes. "You don't need to tell me that it's unusual for one of your people to make such an overt overture."

T'Pring tipped her head lightly to the side in acknowledgement of the point. "I wanted to. You are beautiful," she said, and the simple, matter-of-fact manner of the statement was more flattering than any purple prose. Nyota ghosted her fingertips down the inside of T'Pring's forearm, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and T'Pring's dark eyes flicked, briefly down to her lips. "I saw no need to deprive myself of the opportunity to speak with you; it is not as if I seek a sustained liaison. My ship departs later this afternoon."

"Mine, too," Nyota agreed.

T'Pring blinked. She had probably assumed Nyota was employed on-planet, as few ships bothered to employ a living translator, when universal translation technology is so ubiquitous. Only diplomatic ships-- seeking to impress and flatter-- or Starfleet exploratory vessels-- likely to come across unknown species-- had enough need for a xenolinguist. But she evidently decided to file the information for later discussion, blinking again and then returning to their current topic.

"That I stayed to talk further is a factor of your intelligence and humor," she said. "You are... intriguing."

"Some have said, 'Fascinating,'" Nyota said, with no small hint of irony, and then she offered, "You are a distinctly interesting woman yourself, T'Pring of Vulcan."

T'Pring inclined her head in a nod. "High praise."

"For a deserving specimen," Nyota quipped, reaching out to tap her index finger against the tip of T'Pring's nose-- and promptly threw her head back, laughing, at the disgruntled expression of shock which the action earns her.

"Most illogical," T'Pring said, obviously fumbling for a response as she took a hasty step backwards, and Nyota gathered their trash to dump in a nearby wastebin as she hooked her bag up onto her shoulder.

"Well, I am a human, after all." She shot T'Pring a look over her shoulder, grinning. "Are you coming?"

"One moment--"

T'Pring caught her wrist, pulling her back into the relative privacy behind the corner of the building. When Nyota shifted to face her, T'Pring's fingertips-- the leather of her gloves supple and warm-- tipped her chin back and leaned down to kiss her again. This one was deeper, longer; Nyota hooked her elbow about T'Pring's neck for leverage and pushed herself onto her toes.

"Wow," she said, dazed, as T'Pring drew away.

"Mm." There was self-satisfied amusement in those dark eyes. One of T'Pring's hands had found its way to Nyota's hips, and it was warm and strong.

"You're a weird Vulcan," Nyota told her, still slightly breathless, and T'Pring shrugged. Somehow, that simple motion carried a great deal of the unspoken.

"I consider myself a singularly driven individual," she said, dry like desert sands.

"You see what you want; you go after it."

"It can be difficult not to gain a certain perspective." It wasn't a complete thought, though T'Pring voiced it as if it was.

Unfortunately, Nyota could fill in the rest. Trauma changed things; the trauma of losing nearly your entire people could change a lot of things. (Not to mention, she'd clearly spent much of the intervening years processing that trauma amongst humans.) She brushed a thumb over T'Pring's cheek, fighting down the sympathetic words that she could tell the Vulcan didn't want to hear, and settled down off of her toes. "Coming?" she asked, again.

T'Pring tucked her hands into her pockets, posture loose and casual as she fell into step next to her. "Where do you wish to go?"

"I-- Oh!" Nyota caught a glimpse of blonde through the crowd, taking a winding path towards the bakery, and quickly waved a hand. "Jim!" she called.

He spotted her, too, and his face broke out in a wide smile. He held up a finger, turning to smack the arm of a dark-haired man next to him, and Nyota may not have been able to hear Dr. McCoy's response, but she could guess at it by the scowl he turned towards their captain, gesturing to the stain of water down his jeans where Jim's attempt to get his attention had made him nearly drop his water bottle.

"Friends of mine," Nyota told T'Pring as she pushed through the crowd towards her crewmates and Jim led the way to meet her in the middle.

"Nyota!" Jim cried, throwing his arms wide.

"Oh," Leonard said, "finally, some sanity on this damn shore leave--"

"What, is Spock not enough for you?" Nyota demanded, as she let Jim sweep her up and spin her around in a hug-- thereby missing the way T'Pring snapped straight, her eyes widening.

"Spock?" she repeated, loudly, and the man in question looked up from a booth of antique astronomical devices which had previously held his attention.

"T'Pring," he said, with similar wide-eyed shock, nearly fumbling the astrolabe in his hands.

"You know each other?" Nyota asked, her eyebrows shooting high as she takes in the uncharacteristic uncertainty in Spock's movements, and she exchanges a look with Leonard.

The Vulcans both ignored her--or, perhaps more accurately, neither of them heard her.

T'Pring recovered first. "You look well," she said, somehow awkward with her impossibly straight posture.

"As do you," Spock said, something indefinable in his tone, "considering I was under the impression you were dead."

Leonard choked on an ill-timed sip of water, and Nyota had a sudden, horrible thought about the childhood friend turned betrothed who Spock had broken his Bond with just prior to absconding to Starfleet. "Oh, god," she said, covering her eyes with one hand.

T'Pring considered Spock's statement for a moment. "My apologies," she said, finally, and Spock's stoic expression broke in favor of something murderous.

He took several stiff-legged steps towards her, catching her elbow and drawing her off to the side so that they could engage in a hushed, incredibly blank-faced argument. Jim watched with bright, delighted eyes, and Leonard squinted over towards Nyota.

"You know who she is?" he asked, gesturing towards them with the hand holding his water bottle.

"I have a guess," Nyota hedged. She folded one arm over her chest, tucking one hand into her elbow as she pressed her mouth against the knuckles of the other. "He never mentioned her name, so it's difficult to say."

"Exes," Jim said. He tilted his head towards them, clearly trying to catch what they were saying beneath the din of the marketplace. "Gotta be exes."

Leonard was still giving her that side-eye. "Nyota," he said, slowly, studying the expression on her face as she watched Spock say something that made T'Pring close her eyes and reach up to rest her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "Were you on a date with your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend?"

She breathed in. She breathed out. "Worse," she told him, grimly. "I'm pretty sure I'm on a date with my ex-boyfriend's ex-wife."

"Spock was married?!" Jim yelped, as Leonard did an actual, literal spit take.

Spock and T'Pring both snapped up to look over at them; Spock looked pained and T'Pring simply raised her eyebrows. She looked back at Spock. "You did not tell them?"

"I told Nyota," he said, voice tight.

"A name would have been great, though," Nyota muttered, and T'Pring looked back and forth between them.

"I see," she said, clearly making a swift, accurate leap of logic. "Your taste in women remains impeccable."

Nyota burst into hysterical laughter, for lack of anything better to say. She buried her face into her hands and felt Jim's shoulders shaking with his own sublimated laughter as he slung his arm over her shoulders. "Now, his taste in men," he said, joking, and Leonard snorted.

"Speak for yourself," he declared. He laid the Southern charm on thick as he stepped towards T'Pring, extending his hand for her to shake. "Leonard McCoy, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet an old friend of Spock's."

"Experience with humans tells me you're simply hoping for embarrassing stories from our youth," T'Pring observed, but she shook his hand with the slightest hint of a smile hiding in the corners of her eyes.

"Who wouldn't?" Leonard countered, grinning, as Spock looked at him, drawing an air of exasperation about himself with just a twitch of his mouth.

"Perhaps another time," T'Pring said, with impeccable grace. She glanced, briefly, towards Spock, but after a moment of hesitation she stepped away and turned her attention towards Jim. "And you are..."

"James Tiberius Kirk," he declared. He extended a hand, but when T'Pring reached out to shake it like she had Leonard's, he switched his grip and dipped into a bow to brush his lips against her gloved knuckles.

T'Pring looked at Spock, who shrugged.

"Ignore him," Leonard said, dryly.

"I intended to," T'Pring informed him, and Leonard barked a laugh as Jim staggered with faux insult.

"Why do Vulcans always dislike me when we first meet?" he complained, throwing himself against Spock's side and draping an arm over his eyes dramatically.

Spock clearly made the decision to let the theatrics break the tension of the moment the way Jim had calculated them to. "Your personality," he said, quite frankly.

"It's why most humans dislike you, too," Leonard added, and he caught both Jim and Spock by the elbow, jerking his head towards the bakery. "C'mon, morons; lunch. Let's let the ladies get on with things, shall we?" He winked at Nyota as he nudged his partners into motion.

T'Pring watched them, quiet with her hands folded tightly behind her back, and Nyota drifted back towards her. "I can give you the necessary information to contact him later," she offered softly. "I'm sure you didn't cover everything in just a couple of minutes."

"That would be..." T'Pring breathed out. "Appreciated."

"Sure," Nyota said. She cleared her throat, glancing aside. "I could also give you the necessary information to contact me."

T'Pring looked at her, her eyes dark and thoughtful. "That would also be appreciated," she said.

"Yeah?" Nyota asked, a smirk curving her lips as she tipped her chin back to meet those heavy-lidded eyes. "Intriguing enough to speak with again, am I?"

"Perhaps I am just hoping for more recent embarrassing stories of Spock."

Nyota laughed, ducking her head. "Well, I certainly have plenty of those," she said, dryly, and caught T'Pring's wrist once more. "Want to keep developing our rapport?" she asked, with a twitch of her lips.

T'Pring hummed. "I believe there is a booth nearby selling citrus fruit," she said thoughtfully.

"The inherent romanticism of sharing an orange," Nyota agreed, letting herself be drawn into motion, and T'Pring smirked but did not disagree.

#a tramp stamp original #nyota uhura #t'pring #t'pura #femslash #I wrote this #and less importantly:#spock #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #this is like. an au meeting for them from a longfic I'm working on #but I think I've done enough to make it accessible and explain my thoughts about AOS t'pring regardless #and I have. a lot of thoughts about t'pring in general and aos t'pring in specific.#I really really like the idea of her and spock having also been friends as kids #anyway she gets back to her ship and her captain is just like ''what trouble did you get into this time :/''#''made out with my ex-husband's ex-girlfriend.''#''..........well at least nobody almost died for once''#yes I couldn't resist throwing in some background mcspirk

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currantlee · 4 years ago

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Language: English Rating: General Audiences (G) / P6 Warnings: - Fandom: Kingdom Hearts Genre: Slice of Life Characters: Roxas, Kairi Relationships: Roxas & Kairi Words: 5,118 Chapter: 1/1 Beta: No beta, I’ll die like Ven (didn’t in KHUX) Notes: I apologize if there are any vocab / grammar errors as English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it regardless 😊

Roxas blocked the strike just in time. He had thought Kairi was aiming for his hands in order to knock the struggle bat out of his hand, but as it turned out, she had aimed for his legs instead.

He staggered backwards. Her strikes weren’t exactly powerful – she wasn’t the strongest fighter in general, neither on offense nor on defense. A single well-placed hit could render her incapable of going on in a serious fight. But Kairi was quick enough to avoid most if not all of these, and her impossibly high stamina was giving Roxas a hard time actually securing any kind of hit in their current sparring session. He knew he was running out of strength, and the hot, humid air of Destiny Islands wasn’t doing him any favor either. If he didn’t manage to land a hit soon…

Another strike followed swiftly, but this time, he didn’t manage to block it – she hit his arm full-force. Which, considering that it was Kairi, wasn’t much. But even with just a Struggle bat as a weapon, it was enough for Roxas to drop one of his bats.

She didn’t give him any chance to recover, let alone counter. At least Roxas was able to block the next strike this time, even though he already missed the bat he’d dropped. He really was better off dual-wielding.

Kairi aimed for his legs once more – no, wait, she was aiming for his flank! He managed to jump out of the way just on time, but still…

Roxas gritted his teeth. He needed to get back on the offense.

Another strike almost hit his other arm. She knew she had her chance, and she wasn’t going to miss out on it. knew that it was only a matter of time until she secured her victory in this match. He hadn’t been quick enough landing his hits on her – if she didn’t get cocky and gave him another opening, this was a loss.

Maybe he could…

Roxas smirked and took a small step forward, despite the fact that she was obviously going for another attack.

Kairi stopped her attack and withdrew immediately. She changed into a more defensive stance, obviously thinking that she had given him an opening, and prepared to block his incoming strike – one that would not come yet. Kairi lowered her bat in confusion.

There was his chance.

She let out a yelp of surprise as she staggered backwards. She obviously hadn’t taken the possibility of a bluff into account. Then again, Roxas didn’t use the tactic very often.

But Kairi wasn’t finished yet.

Just as Roxas wanted to take this opportunity and go for another strike, she dropped her bat and charged towards him, tackling him with her entire weight. He yelped as he dropped his other bat, both in surprise and an attempt to catch her, lost his balance and fell onto his back. Good thing the sand of the beach was so soft.

Kairi, who was slumped right across his upper body, rested her head on her hands and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Do I win?”

He might have lost both of his bats and Kairi had more stamina than him, but that didn’t mean Roxas wasn’t able to fight anymore. She let out a squeak when he suddenly flipped their positions. Now she had her back on the ground, and he was on top.

Roxas grinned. “Not so fast.”

“Aw, come on,” Kairi protested with a fake pout. “I had you!”

“Had,” he countered. “Because now I have you.”

She smirked. “You sure about that?”

Roxas could tell she was up to something. She always had that mischievous smirk on her face whenever she was about to make a rather dark-natured joke or planning something. She probably had another surprise move in stock… Should he put a little more of his weight onto her? He didn’t want to hu-…

Something started tickling on his flank.

“Hey, that’s unfair!”, he yelped. He couldn’t help but start giggling immediately afterwards though. He pressed his eyes shut out of a reflex. He had to laugh so hard that he could barely breathe, and it was hard to control the rest of his body.

“I thought the bad guys don’t care about honor and rules,” Kairi said, and Roxas could almost hear the smirk in her voice. “So why should I?”

“Stop!”, Roxas laughed instead.

“Only if you admit that I win.”

“Never!”

“Hm. That’s truly unfortunate.” Kairi managed to sit up somehow, even though she push him off her entirely. She smiled mischievously. “I guess I have to keep tickling you until you finally admit to your loss…”

In moments like these, Roxas wondered whether she truly was a Princess of Heart. Weren’t they supposed to be pure light and good? Well, Kairi surely had a devilish streak. “Fine! Let’s call it a draw,” he giggled. He knew that despite her claims, she wouldn’t keep this up forever, but he didn’t know whether he could hold out until then.

“… Okay.”

And finally, the tickling stopped. Roxas took a deep, relieved breath.

“A draw it is then,” Kairi smiled.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Suddenly, he could hear the chirping of the insects, the birds singing, the roaring of the sea and the waves crashing at the shore – all those things that had been there all the time, but he seemed to have forgotten or simply not perceived them.

Then, he realized he was laying right on Kairi’s lap.

If he could have, Roxas would have blushed now. He could almost feel his vascular liquid flowing into his cheeks, and the characteristic cackling of a slightly embarrassed Nobody escaped his throat.

“You know,” Kairi smiled, “it’s a real shame you can’t blush. I bet it would look cute on you.”

“I could put some rouge on if you want to see what it would look like on me,” Roxas offered. It wouldn’t be the first time he did this, although he had to admit that the thought of wearing it because Kairi wanted to see how a blush would look like on him was much more pleasant than wearing it in order to hide that he was a Nobody. Not all worlds were as accepting of them as Destiny Islands and Radiant Garden were.

“Aw, that’s sweet! You don’t have to though,” Kairi quickly dismissed the offer. Maybe she thought that he minded wearing makeup – which Roxas did, but it was more because he minded having to hide who he was than the makeup itself. Therefore he was glad that he didn’t have to do that in most worlds.

“You’d like it though,” Roxas pointed out.

The always-present peach flush on Kairi’s cheeks intensified – she was blushing. Heh. He had caught her. Roxas smirked. “Well, look who’s blushing now.” It made her look very cute.

Kairi giggled softly. “Okay, you win this round.”

It was like someone had wiped all of the mischief off of her. If Roxas hadn’t known her as well as he did, he wouldn’t have believed that the girl who had tickled him until he admitted that he hadn’t won their sparring match earlier and this girl who giggled while admitting that he got her were the same person. But they were one and the same person. It was incredible how Kairi could be impossibly cute in one second and incredibly mischievous in the other, and one of the many things he liked about her.

Kairi was just overall a very likable person, Roxas thought. She was a great friend who always looked out for others, even though she could be mischievous at times. She was always so patient and never got annoyed with his or Naminé’s incompetence when it came to everyday stuff, instead trying to understand their situation as best as she could. She was dedicated to whatever she set her mind on, something that Roxas found admirable, especially when it came to fighting. It clearly wasn’t her strongest suit, but despite that, she kept trying her best at over and over again.

“I gotta say though, you are improving,” Roxas smiled while sitting up. “When it comes to sparring I mean.” He didn’t think anyone could match her when it came to wits – or at least Roxas hadn’t met anyone yet.

“You think so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I really had a hard time against you today.”

She blushed again, and even turned away. “I got lucky,” she tried to brush it off.

Roxas shook his head. If she had just gotten lucky this once, he wouldn’t have struggled as much against her. “There’s always a little bit of luck involved in a fight,” he argued. “But I don’t think it’s just that, Kairi.” There was no reason for her to be humble about her growing skill, so he wouldn’t accept it.

“Are you sure about that?”

Roxas smiled and nodded. “You still aren’t the best fighter, that’s true.” He wanted to be honest with her. “But you don’t have to be. You have other qualities that are far more important than that.”

Kairi smiled. “Thank you for saying that, Roxas.” She was still averting her gaze. “You’re so sweet.”

Another cackle escaped him at that. He didn’t want to address it any further though, so he just shrugged while he stood up and patted the sand off his swimming trunks. They were at the beach, so he had figured it would be a good opportunity to finally wear them, even if he didn’t go into the water. “I’m just telling you how I see it, that’s all.” He held out his hand to her in order to help her up. “Wanna go for another round?”

“Maybe later,” Kairi answered as she gently took his hand and stood up as well. Roxas noticed that she was trying to do most of the work by herself. “I could really use some cooling off right now, and you look like you could too.”

She was right. He was still sweaty, and while the climate on Destiny Islands wasn’t searingly hot, it was fairly humid. Roxas didn’t hate it, in fact he even liked being on Destiny Islands, but he preferred Radiant Garden when it came to the climate, especially when it came to physically demanding activities like sparring.

“Would you mind if we go into the water for a bit?”, she asked.

Roxas gulped. Yes. Yes, he did. To be fair, he should have known that training on the beach would lead to that sooner or later, but…

The warm feeling of Kairi’s hand on his shoulder interrupted any more incoming thoughts. She looked at him with a concerned and slightly serious expression. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said. “I know even the thought of setting a foot into the water scares you. But the sea is quite calm today. It’s completely save.”

It didn’t look that way to him. The sea looked dark and deep – how deep, he had no idea. Maybe Kairi knew. Besides, the water was moving. Sure, the waves weren’t as strong as they were on most other days he had seen, but they were still there. Could the force of a single one be enough to knock him over?

Roxas sighed. He knew that he couldn’t avoid any water that wasn’t rain, from a shower, in the sink or for drinking forever. Besides, Kairi was here. She had saved him once already. If he was save near water with anyone, it was her. He had to start somewhere.

So he nodded. “I’ll try.” His voice came out a lot more quiet and squeaky than usually.

A wide smile spread across Kairi’s face. “Okay. Shall I go up ahead?”

“That would be fine with me,” he said. “Just… Don’t go too far away, please?” Roxas felt silly saying this, but he also didn’t want to be alone out there.

“Alright.”

She didn’t waste a single second. While Roxas still fiddled with his shirt, admittedly dawdling, she already made her way to the shore and walked into the waves. She was wearing one of those water shirts alongside her bikini panties, and had already discarded her shorts before they started sparring.

Roxas sighed again after he had finally pulled his t-shirt over his head, and bashfully scratched his arm. He felt so stupid… Like he was overreacting. Rationally, Roxas knew that back when he had almost drowned, it had been because he had been wearing a heavy, black coat and been thrown into the water by complete surprise, without even knowing that he would have to keep himself afloat. Rationally he knew that now, this wasn’t the case. But it didn’t feel that way. It still felt dangerous and like something he’d rather not do because he wanted to live a while longer. And while Roxas knew by now that emotions and rational thinking didn’t work in the same way, it still confused him whenever his heart and mind weren’t just slightly off-tune, but directly opposing each other.

Well, there was no way around this anymore – he had already agreed to going into the water with her. Roxas sighed once more and finally followed her slowly. He absolutely didn’t feel like running towards the shore, it was not like he was looking forward to this. Sure, he was sweating as well, but still…

He stopped. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all.

A rather large wave came and reached his feet. It wettened the sand underneath his soles, and washed around his feet. Roxas was surprised to find that it was cooler than the humid air around him, but not unpleasantly cold. Maybe he should go in, just a little bit? But then again, what if the water pulled him downwards again, under its surface? If he couldn’t breathe again? Then he would…

Roxas gritted his teeth and pressed his eyes shut. ‘Maybe as long as my feet stay on the ground, I should be safe.’ The last time, his feet hadn’t been on the ground… It had been too deep down for him to stand. But as long as he could, everything should be okay, right?

He took a few steps forward, until the water reached his ankles. The sand beneath his feet was surprisingly soft, and not hot like on the beach at all. Maybe it was the water since it was cooler. He took another step. This really wasn’t so bad…

Roxas opened his eyes, only to see Kairi floating in the water with her face up and her eyes closed.

No… No, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t good… This couldn’t be good! Was she unconscious? Had something happened to her? Why had this to happen now? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t swim!

“Kairi!”

She wasn’t too far away from him. Roxas remembered the promise they had made to each other, that if one of them were to come into a life-threatening situation, the other was not going to sacrifice themselves. But he had to try and do something! Maybe his feet would still reach the ground where she was now…

Disregarding the fact that he was in the water, Roxas walked over to her as fast as he could. It made every single step harder, and not just because he felt like he was risking his life. It slowed him down significantly, as if it was pushing against him. The waves didn’t help either.

He didn’t want another person who was important to him to die… He had lost too many of them already. Losing her too… He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Fortunately, Kairi was drifting not too far off.

Surprisingly, the water wasn’t too deep – it barely reached his hips when a wave rolled around, so it had to be shallow enough for her to be able to stand without problems as well. What had happened?

It didn’t matter now. He needed to get her out of the danger first… If he could. Roxas tried to remember how Kairi had done it back when she had rescued him from drowning, but the memory was foggy. He knew that she had pulled one of his arms onto his back, was he supposed to do that too? Wouldn’t that hurt her? He knew his arm, especially the wrist, had stung afterwards, although a simple healing spell had quickly fixed that.

He decided to go for the option that seemed like the most comfortable one to him: to simply grab her under the arms and try to pull her out of the water.

Kairi let out a tiny scream. With a movement that was a lot swifter than Roxas would have predicted, especially considering how much harder the water had made reaching her, she was back on her feet and turned around. Roxas almost expected her to summon her Keyblade as well – if she wasn’t who she was, she probably would have, judging by her expression. Fighting was usually Kairi’s last resort if everything else failed.

“Roxas? Sheesh, don’t give me a scare like that…”

He raised his hands in defense. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s just… You were drifting motionlessly and I thought…”

‘I thought I was going to lose you too.’ He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to even think about it. That meant thinking about the people whom he had lost already. Thinking about that time he almost lost his own life. Thinking about the possibility that it might happen again. Thinking about how he didn’t want to lose her in particular… And forgetting about the bliss that was not thinking too much.

“Oh.” Kairi bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I should have considered that…”

Roxas shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “You can’t take everything into account. Besides, you just gave me a scare, that’s all.” He was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen again. Next time, she’d probably warn him or something – that was just how Kairi was. Snarky and mischievous, yes, but also kind and considerate.

“Oh, okay. I guess we’re even then.” She sighed in relief and let herself fall onto her back again. Roxas was surprised to see that she stayed on the surface of the water – despite her feet not touching the ground.

There was a strange beauty to Kairi floating in the water like this, he thought. Her hair was open today, and right now, it flowed around her head like gravity wasn’t a thing anymore. Her entire being seemed to be weightless, but especially her hair. It was long, and floated around her head in three-dimensional waves and swirls, creating unique and fleeting patterns. It was actually darker than its usual maroon whenever it was wet – Roxas liked to compare the color to chili chocolate. But when the sun was shining on it, the red came out even more. But the water seemed to distort some of the light, and those distorted reflexes just added even more depth to those patterns.

She seemed to be completely in her element, and she made it look so easy… But he knew the dangers of the water. He had almost fallen victim to them himself before. Seeing Kairi float like this, even when he was right there and had already overreacted… It made him feel even more uneasy than he already was.

Roxas swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”

She opened her eyes a bit. “Because I find it relaxing,” she replied. “Trust me, the water isn’t as scary once you know how to move and to keep yourself afloat properly. It can even be your friend.”

That sounded like the complete opposite of Roxas’ experience with this element – the last time his feet hadn’t touched the ground of a stretch of water, he had felt like something was pulling him under the surface of the water constantly, and he hadn’t been able to breathe, let alone cry for help.

“I can show you what I mean if you want to.”

He had to admit, he was curious.

“Does it involve going into the water any deeper or… You know…” He took a deep breath. It was getting ridiculous at this point – he couldn’t even say one single word. Roxas gulped. “D-Diving?”

Kairi shook her head. “Nothing like that,” she said. “I just thought about carrying you around a bit.”

“You mean a piggyback ride?” They had done that before, although he had been the one carrying her. Roxas wondered how that was supposed to show him that water wasn’t scary.

“I mean bridal style.”

Oh. So she was talking about carrying him in front of her, in her arms. Roxas had to admit that he kinda liked the idea, but at the same time he couldn’t help but think about how she was going to manage that. The one time he had carried Kairi before had been extremely exhausting, and he was probably a bit heavier than her. Plus, even though Roxas admired her seemingly limitless stamina, she wasn’t exactly physically strong.

Besides, there was the issue with the water. It had pulled him down last time, why should this time be any different? Could she really withstand that pull downwards?

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kairi said. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“I might be too heavy for you,” Roxas pointed out. “No offense, Kairi, but… You aren’t exactly the strongest…”

“True,” she nodded. “The water will carry a lot of your weight for me though.”

That sounded like the opposite of Roxas’ previous experiences with water… But he also knew Kairi wouldn’t suggest this if she wasn’t absolutely sure. If he had to entrust his existence – his life – to somebody, it would be her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already saved him from drowning once, and Roxas had no doubt that she would do it again if she had to.

He didn’t want to bring her into the situation again, but the fact was just… She knew better than him with his fear of deeper stretches of water and little life experience. If she deemed it safe, then perhaps it was a lot safer than he thought.

Roxas slowly took a few more steps into the water, closing the distance between them. By the time he stood in front of her, he was deep enough for the waves to cover the scar on his abdomen.

Kairi waited for him patiently. Since she was smaller than him, the water reached up to her ribcage.

Roxas swallowed. “How do you suggest we do this?”

Kairi smiled, hearing that he really wanted to do this. “However you feel the most comfortable,” she said warmly, and that alone made Roxas feel a little bit more secure. “We can go a bit closer to the shore if you feel more comfortable with that, or…”

“Can I just hold on to you?”, he interrupted her. He didn’t know where that came from – he just felt a lot safer with her.

Kairi shrugged. “Whatever you feel most comfortable with.”

If she wanted to carry him bridal style, he couldn’t just hug her, Roxas realized. So he put his arms around her neck instead.

Kairi wrapped one of her arms around his torso. “Ready when you are.”

Roxas nodded. “Okay.”

He actually didn’t like the thought of his feet leaving the sandy ground of the ocean at all, even with Kairi holding him… Didn’t that mean he brought her into danger too? Since he couldn’t swim… What if he panicked in her arms? Would she be able to handle that?

Roxas didn’t remember that time when he almost drowned too well. He only remembered not being able to breathe and the feeling of being dragged down. The way Donald and Goofy had described it in their retelling of the events however, it sounded like he had been panicking back then too though. Kairi had been able to save him despite that. She knew what she was doing… But also, Roxas didn’t want to bring her into this situation again.

… Fine. He just had to not panic then.

Roxas lifted one of his feet up. He immediately felt the waves stronger than before, like they were trying to push him off balance – would he fall? Was this it? He pressed his eyes shut and gasped for air. Maybe he could…

“Easy,” Kairi said, and he felt her other arm in his kneecap, realizing that she kept him from sinking. “One step at a time.”

He opened his eyes again. Kairi looked completely calm – not scared in the slightest. Somehow, that made him feel a bit calmer as well.

Roxas knew from experience that fear rarely got better from waiting too long. If he left his other foot on the ground for too long, it would eventually take over once more, and they would get nowhere from there… And he had come this far. Roxas grit his teeth as he took another breath, then pushed himself off the ground.

There was the fear again.

He gasped for air once more.

‘Don’t panic.’

Now that both of his feet weren’t on the ground anymore, he just waited for the water to pull him downwards once more.

‘Don’t panic!’

Or a for a wave to wash both him and Kairi away. He just hoped she would be able to come out of this unharmed…

‘Don’t panic!!!’

This had definitely been a bad idea… A thousand things could go wrong…

But nothing happened.

Roxas opened his eyes again – he hadn’t even noticed that he has pressed them shut this time around.

The first thing he saw was Kairi’s face. She was smiling at him, with a sense of pride in her expression. “You did it.”

For a short, weird moment, Roxas wanted to argue. He hadn’t really done anything, except successfully suppressing a panic attack, but before he could say that, he realized something way more important: he wasn’t sinking. Despite the fact that his feet didn’t touch the ground anymore, the water didn’t pull him under the surface. Sure, Kairi was there holding him too, but for some reason, Roxas didn’t get the feeling that she was fighting to keep him afloat. It was almost as if she didn’t have to carry the entirety of his weight – as if the water was helping her.

“How are you doing that?”, Roxas asked. “Are you using magic or…”

Kairi laughed. “Actually, I’m not doing much,” she confessed. “The water keeps you afloat on its own. It’s just what it does.”

“But…” The last time it hadn’t done that. “How?”

Kairi laughed. “I don’t know if I’m good at explaining this, but it’s basically because water is part of what your body is made of.”

That couldn’t be right. Ansem had explained Roxas how a body worked in detail when he had first nursed him back to health after…

“It’s made of cells,” he corrected her. “And I think those are made of various carbon compounds, not water.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Kairi shrugged. “Still, your body contains lots of water too, but a lot less salt than the sea does. Salty water is heavier than sweet water is, so you float on the surface.”

Huh. That sounded logical. Still… “The water was salty too last time though.”

“But you weren’t wearing swimming trunks back then,” Kairi pointed out. “Clothes tend to drag you down when they get wet.”

That made sense to him as well. “Fair point,” Roxas admitted. Maybe this was a lot safer than he had initially thought… He even relaxed a little.

Up until now, Roxas hadn’t realized how tense he had been – he had been clinging to Kairi’s neck like his life depended on it. To be honest, that was how he had felt. But after all, it didn’t feel all that dangerous. Even if Kairi wasn’t able to hold him anymore, he could simply put his feet back onto the floor of the ocean.

“Hey, would you mind if I go in a little deeper?”, Kairi asked. “I think that would make it a bit easier for me to carry you.”

Roxas didn’t know how he felt about that… Did deeper water mean greater danger?

Kairi smirked in that mischievous way she always did whenever she was up to something. “I promise I will never let you drown.”

Somehow, the joke did its job – it managed to get a small, albeit nervous laugh out of him. “Good one!”

Roxas knew that Kairi would never expose him to danger on purpose. He trusted her. Besides, if it was too much, he could always back out. She would never force him to face his fears, even though she sometimes gave him the motivation he desperately needed. Besides, he really wasn’t a good judge when it came to water.

So he nodded. “Alright.”

Kairi smiled. “Tell me when to stop, okay?”

“Okay.” He didn’t plan to though. He wanted to push his own limits a bit, and how to do this better than together with someone he trusted, who also knew the thing he was afraid of a lot better than he did?

It was still good to know that he had the option though – even if he didn’t plan on using it now.

Kairi walked deeper into the water slowly. To Roxas’ surprise, he barely noticed it. Either Kairi was lifting him up higher by herself, or the water was – most likely a bit of both though.

She stopped once the water reached her chest. “Is this okay?”

Roxas nodded. “It’s fine.”

He relaxed some more, this time his entire body. Now that he did, he suddenly felt how tired his muscles were, and not just from the training earlier. A general wave of sleepiness washed across him. Must be the adrenaline rush wearing off…

Roxas leaned back so the back of his head was against the water. For some reason, he didn’t mind the water flowing into his ears anymore, nor did he mind the muffling of all the sounds he had heard before. Instead, he could hear a light, quiet crackling. Kairi was right… He had done it. And he would do the rest that it took to learn how to swim as well… Maybe not today, but this was certainly a beginning. But he couldn’t have done this without her.

He lifted his head a bit and smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Kairi smiled back. “You’re welcome, I’m glad I could help a bit.”

Roxas sighed as he leaned back once more. “You know, Kairi… As long as you’re with me, I know I’m safe.”

#Fanwork #Fanfiction #Kingdom Hearts #KH Fanfiction #Roxiri #Roxiri Week #Roxiri Week 2021 #Roxas #Kairi #KH Fanwork #Currantlee writing #Currantlee completed Story #Currantlee completed KH-Fanwork #Currantlee completed KH-Fanfic

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fantastic-secrets · 4 years ago

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Butterfly Wings [1]

Fandom: Bleach

Summary: "Have you ever wondered what would happen if you tore off a butterfly's wings? Do you think it would crawl on the ground, struggling to survive? Or would it just die slowly, deprived of its freedom?"

When Gin joins the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13 to keep an eye on Aizen and carry out his revenge, the Vice-Captain welcomes him with open arms. Soon, they’re playing a game of cat-and-mouse, each trying to guess what the other knows and their motives. Aizen, in particular, seems to enjoy pushing Gin down into the mire, and for Gin, there’s no turning back.

Characters: Ichimaru Gin, Aizen Sousuke

Warnings: Murder, Innuendo

Word Count: 1.8k

He wasn't unfamiliar with death. But there was always something different about taking a life with his own hands. Despite the presence behind him, he didn't move as he gazed down at the lump of flesh, composing his feelings. This was just the first step in his plan, and his goal was much too important to ever make a misstep.

The events of the evening had been carefully choreographed from the moment he stepped onto the grounds this morning. During the tour, he'd carefully paid attention to his surroundings, fixing in mind where the seated officers' quarters were and the ideal location in which to call out his opponent. Then, with just the right balance of flattery and confidence, he'd asked for a private practice match, fully aware that his reputation preceded him. The other man's pride--and his fear of having that pride dragged into the mud before everyone else--sealed the deal. Really, the most difficult part was making sure that he was caught by just the right person; anyone else, and all his careful efforts would be rendered entirely useless. It couldn't appear to be anything but a coincidence, so as not to raise suspicion, and despite his calm facade, his heart had been racing the whole time, until he sensed someone stop to watch them. Watching, but not raising a hand… not even when his opponent had called out for help in desperation, finally relinquishing his foolish pride as he grasped for life. And that was when he was certain, and he had struck the final blow without hesitation and with a quieting heart.

So when his companion finally spoke, he was able to turn and greet him with a smile and a tone of calm indifference despite being half-covered in blood. But it really was strange, how easy it was to defeat the third seat. Even if his opponent had never seriously considered the possibility that a mere "kid" would really try to kill him, he had been way too soft. If this was the level of the Gotei 13, it really was no surprise that Soul Society couldn't even keep its affairs in order. So when the fukutaichou asked for his opinion, he answered truthfully, and not just because that was the answer Aizen expected.

"Completely useless. What a joke."

That slight smile told him everything: he had passed the first test. He had the resolve to kill another human and the skills to fulfill the task. Of course, Gin wasn't naive enough to think that Aizen trusted him at all with just that, but that would come in time. On the other hand, the fukutaichou was highly respected and renowned as a kind man; Rangiku had gushed about how lucky he was to have been accepted into the Fifth Company and the importance of making a good impression on his superiors. At the time, Gin had reassured her that that was exactly what he intended to do.

"Ichimaru-kun, I would like you to be my subordinate."

Still grinning, Gin tilted his head as though he was puzzled by the statement. "Ain't I already, though, Aizen-fukutaichou? I'm part'a the Fifth Company like ya, right? 'less you're saying ya think I wanna fight ya for yer seat, or the taichou's. I ain't that good."

"Not yet, but perhaps in the future," Aizen agreed, favoring him with another smile that said he saw right through Gin's innocent charade. "Now, wash up and go back to bed. I'll take care of the cleanup here."

It wasn't until much later that Gin learned just how the fukutaichou had managed to disguise the murder as a suicide. But in the end, nobody questioned the situation when the body was found the next day, or challenged his assignment to the third seat. There was certainly some resentment over the fact that a recruit fresh from the Academy would be given the position, but everyone recognized that the so-called genius was more than qualified to hold it.

So like a shadow, Gin was often found trailing behind Aizen, always smiling and eager to please his superior. "A creepy kid" seemed to be the general consensus about him, and many seemed relieved that he had attached himself so closely to the highly respected fukutaichou, as if they expected that Aizen would keep him in check. But really, it wasn't as though he had ever been caught doing something wrong. He was just too clever, too strong, and too young… combined with his polite indifference towards most, it scared people. Both of them recognized that truth, and so Gin did nothing that would challenge that perception, because that was what Aizen wanted.

The only person who truly trusted him was Rangiku, and only around his childhood friend could Gin relax. Between his company duties and her classes, he couldn't see her often, but the brief moments of relative peace that they shared together were worth it. Although Rukongai had practically been a living hell, if there was anything that he missed about it, it was the way they had created their own universe together with just the two of them. He didn't resent her or her new friends, though: she'd always been more sociable than him, and he was glad that her world was being filled with color and laughter. But sometimes, he felt like her complaints and teasing were the only thing keeping him sane as his own world sank into the shadows.

In retrospect, though, he'd still been too naive. He'd never actively tried to hide their relationship from his fukutaichou, knowing that it would be a futile effort. Aizen watched the third seat too closely, clearly still cautious despite their shared complicity. And even if he hadn't, he was clever enough to notice if Gin was hiding something from him and persistent enough to figure out what it was. So long as Rangiku didn't get in the way of his plans, she wasn't worth his notice… or so Gin believed.

Several years later, Gin stepped silently into Aizen's office, his usual smile affixed to his face as he greeted the other man.

"Ya called fer me, Aizen-fukutaichou?"

"Ah, Gin. I was hoping to get your opinion on something. Please, sit."

Obediently, Gin lowered himself onto the cushion that Aizen indicated, puzzled. In all the time that they'd worked together, Aizen had never sincerely asked for his opinion on anything, not since the night he'd killed the former third seat. Would it be another test, or was it a sign that he was beginning to earn Aizen's trust?

He accepted the document that the older man offered to him, opening it to reveal Rangiku's Academy report. Carefully, he read through it before looking back up, with his expression as noncommittal as ever.

"So whatcha wanna ask, then?"

"I was thinking about inviting her to join the Fifth Company. The taichou is rather ambivalent about her, but she's your friend, right? I wouldn't mind putting in a word for your sake, since you've been so helpful to us."

A chill crept into Gin's bones as he shrugged, acutely aware of the fukutaichou's steady gaze under the lightness of his words. He'd expected that Aizen would be aware of his friendship, but this possibility had never occurred to him. He didn't want Rangiku anywhere near Aizen, not only because of what had happened in the past, but also since it seemed just as likely that she'd end up as yet another casualty of the man's charisma. Even with the experiments, she'd be safer elsewhere. Carefully, he considered his words before he spoke.

"Nah, ya don't need t' do that. You saw her report, too. She ain't anything more than an average shinigami, so she wouldn't be able t' help ya much. I 'preciate ya thinkin' 'bout me, but she'd just get in the way here. It ain't like I can't see her if she's in a diff'rent company."

Aizen nodded, as kind and understanding as ever, though his eyes never left Gin's face.

"She's a fairly attractive woman, though, isn't she? Still a bit young, but she's got promise. Are you seeing her romantically?"

At that, Gin's smile widened slightly, making him even more inscrutable than usual, even as he shook his head.

"We ain't like that, Aizen-fukutaichou. We were just friends, growin' up in Rukongai. 'sides, her other friends don't seem t' like me much. She probably doesn't even really need me anymore."

"And that doesn't upset you?"

"Would ya like it to?" Though the words sounded like a challenge, Gin's tone was as casual as always. The contrast seemed to surprise a chuckle out of the other man, though he caught himself quickly, holding out a hand. Obediently, Gin moved to return the report, only to be startled himself when Aizen grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer so he was half-sprawled over the desk. The smile slipped from his face, and his eyes slitted open slightly, revealing a flash of blue in his otherwise pale complexion. Bemused, he watched with wary caution as Aizen's free hand moved deliberately toward his face, tucking under his chin to tilt his face up.

"Your eyes are quite beautiful, Gin. It's a pity that I don't get to see them more often." Though Gin had tensed, he didn't resist as those slender fingers drifted closer to his eyes, tugging his lids wider and applying a gentle, steady pressure. "But I also feel jealous when I think that others might also see them. I'd like to take them out and keep them locked away, just for myself. What do you think about that, Gin?"

Slowly, the smile returned to Gin's face as he relaxed despite Aizen's terrifying words. "If that's what ya think is best. Though I dunno if I could be as good as Tousen-san."

For a long moment, the threatening pressure remained, and then Aizen released Gin, allowing the younger man to return to his seat and smooth down his robes.

"It truly would be a pity to lose your skills," Aizen agreed. Then, as if the last few minutes hadn't happened at all, he continued, "You're certain, then, that you don't want me to invite Matsumoto-kun to our division?"

"Prob'ly best that way. But thanks fer lookin' out fer me," Gin answered with an empty smile. Aizen nodded a dismissal, so Gin got up and left, making his way back to his rooms. Only once he had closed the door behind him did he collapse in a flood of relief.

He wasn't sure how much of his words Aizen had believed, but Rangiku would be safe. At least from their superficial conversation, the fukutaichou wouldn't extend that proposed invitation. His hand trembled slightly as it reached up to touch his eye, as though making certain it was still there. If Aizen had tried to rip them out, Gin would have let him, but that didn't make the prospect of blindness any less terrifying. He also couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something, in those long moments. He hadn't failed the test… but he hadn't quite passed it, either.

#bleach #fanfic #fan fic #ichimaru gin #gin ichimaru #gin #aizen sousuke #aizen sōsuke #sosuke aizen #aizen #mine

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fizzingwizard · 5 years ago

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Alright, so, Digimon Adventure 2020 Episode 12: Castle in the Sky Laputa!

I mean, I, Guardromon...

... Bicentennialmon?

well, any of the three works :P

Right off the bat, I’ll say this ep gets a ‘meh’ from me, BUT I did love its aesthetic. I’m a big fan of robot stories, especially the Asimov variety. Scrap heap robots are my absolute favs. And I did like the Ghibli vibe going on too. The episode was pretty, and the robot characters were cool... it just wasn’t very fun. At the very least, I was expecting team Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi to be a bit more fun than Yamato/Sora/Jou, but I guess this ain’t 1999 anymore ;)

^The most amusing bit was finding out Koushirou’s laptop can fold like this... which, okay, shouldn’t surprise me, it just looks frigging weird...

me: DO YOU KNOW HOW TO USE A KEYBOARD???

koushirou: hush old lady, your first laptop was grayscale only and had Windows 3.1 installed.

Actual content relevant to the episode below...!

We had a promising start when last week’s episode ended on a cliffhanger... or a cliffdropper, I guess, because Mimi’s not hanging onto anything. She’s fallen down and landed on Palmon. Digimon can sure take a beating.

Palmon reaches to see if she can hoist them back up, but...

... it’s too high! Oh well, no choice but to travel on foot. Good thing Mimi landed on Palmon!

Meanwhile, above, Taichi and Koushirou turn to his computer for help. Unfortunately they have some technical difficulties.

Koushirou: Noooo, not the swirling of doom!! My immortal nemesis...

Even Taichi understands that buffering spells death. He’s a 21st century kid, so he’s a little more savvy about computers than 99 Taichi, whose trusty recourse in these situations was "treat the machine like a Bop-It.”

Mimi discovers they are in a Digimon scrap heap. ;_; Good heavens. Apparently robot Digimon are unlike organic (??) Digimon same as robots are different from humans, so the way they die is not quite the same either.

Mimi feels sorry for these trashed creatures. She’s no cold-hearted corporate goon who looks at these guys and just sees dollars. She notices the heart!

She also just wiped that rusty Guardromon’s helmet with her bare hand...

Mimi: Where’s Sora-san when I need a towel!!

Andromon makes his 2020 debut! And he’s just as much the pawn of evil as ever!

Boxing Cactus Go-go-go!!

Togemon gets her prickly hiney owned, but the Guardromon suddenly reanimates and protects her instead. His big strategy is “drop something heavy on Andromon and run away.” It’s super effective.

Who wants to translate the digicode, because I’m not gonna. Ten bucks says it’s something like “target human child exterminate” yadda yadda

When Koushirou’s computer fails, we must rely on our physical skills. Their big plan is “climb down the bottomless pit after Mimi.” There are a few things wrong with this picture:

1) Even if they know how deep the hole is, IT’S STILL QUITE A FALL. Make one wrong move and you’ll be useless to Mimi T_T And these idiots make plenty of wrong moves.

2) If there were handholds like these, why couldn’t Palmon have just grabbed them with her vines and carried Mimi up? Instead she was like, “Nah, can’t reach the top, let’s walk in a random direction and hope things work out!”

3) The Guardromon is taking Mimi to an elevator. Meaning there is a working elevator, meaning there is a way down that would significantly decrease their chances of DYING on the way. Koushirou’s computer can’t figure that out? Also I was expecting some hijinks there... like, they finally make it down only for Mimi to say “Why didn’t you just take the elevator like I did? Boys are weird.”

In his defense, Koushirou’s method of descent is worlds better than Taichi’s.

Hate to say I told you so...

Guardromon takes Mimi to some suspicious water which she uses to nurse Palmon... with a towel

Guardromon presents Sheeta Mimi with a flower to convey that he likes killing pretty delicate things :) run Mimi

The Laputa vibe... it is vibing.

We cut away to Yamato/Sora/Jou for thirty seconds just to point how much Better they’re doing than Taichi’s group. They’ve even realized how that basket was, who needs to put in all that work when we can all fit comfortably on a log! Sora and Yamato flirt. Jou’s going to be sick.

Taichi and Koushirou encounter some broken Solarmon who are being controlled by Soundbirdmon, so I guess it’s official now that we can’t believe any Digimon is truly evil if Soundbirdmon is around. Koushirou goes to help Mimi while Taichi stays behind to fend off these gears. Uh, is it just me or does this team seem very quick to split up.

I like the way Guardrmon cradles Mimi so all we can see is her shocked expression.

Guardromon tries his tried and true method of shooting down something heavy to crush Andromon...

... but Andromon’s like “hah! Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me!” and knocks it away. Not very effective...

Guardromon’s guarded his last mon... he starts to go... offline I guess...

In sweeps Kabuterimon to the rescue. In 99 Adventure, he’d have something witty to say, or at least a pun. 2020 Kabuterimon mostly likes to make weird noises. I understand why Agumon and Gabumon’s VA’s were calling him a “weirder uncle than ever” at Digifes...

Obligatory Best Boy cap

Hell Approacheth

Wow!!! Taichi finally got knocked off Greymon! He must have forgot to put on his suction cup shoes today!

So this entire episode, I was wondering what was to stop MetalGreymon from happening and stealing the show from Lillymon. I expected “Agumon just evolved recently and doesn’t have the juice to do it again so soon!” or some such. Nothing more than that. But, nah, we don’t even get that... MetalGreymon happens and he just... can’t... beat Andromon? For some reason? I’m going with “Because he’s Andromon.” Afterward, this very heavy structure falls down and MetalGreymon has lift it a la Atlas to keep Taichi from getting squished, so he can’t continue to beat on Andromon.

... Of course, Togemon gets stuck holding this thing up too... so there’s that...

The reason, of course, is so Guardromon can make one last action surge, grabbing Andromon’s leg, which works, randomly. At least for a moment.

Mimi spends most of this episode being Shocked.

Guardromon takes one final, grainy look at Mimi as he prepares for sweet death. The digicode says “Sheeta.” (kidding like I’d bother to translate it lol)

Andromon RUDELY stomps on his head. Like HELLO Andromon can you not see the dude is having a moment here? Show some respect!

Mimi sheds a Single Emo Tear

Which causes “Your sorrow made me evolve!” Lillymon. She immediately flies out to attack Andromon, leaving MetalGreymon alone holding the heavy metal structure, which promptly crushes him and our heroes. Game Over!

just kidding, the structure just vanishes I guess :/ It’s not very clear...

High kick attack!

It’s not very effective...

Lillymon does seem to have an ability that MetalGreymon doesn’t which cinches her victory over Andromon... her rain of petals interfere with his ability to lock on to a target. Too much organic matter everywhere I guess.

Lillymon covers Andromon in plants rendering him immobile...

... *cough*

Poor Mimi’s had a hard day of watching robots die.

Her affinity for marking graves returns as she leaves the flower Guardromon gave her on his corpse(?).

Taichi looks only sadly as Koushirou explains that Andromon and Guardromon were totes besties, until Soundbirdmon started mindcontrolling everyone. Gee that seems like something that could have been an interesting plot point had it been mentioned y’know earlier.

In sum... yeah, this ep just isn’t fun. There’s no friend moments, no getting to know each other, everything takes a backseat to this robot-protect-girl storyline. I really did like Guardromon, but the episode takes itself way too seriously in my opinion.

That aside... I was happy that Mimi’s episode didn’t involve stinky ugly Digimon falling in love and stalking her so she can passionately reject them. I can live without both of those things.

Mimi having the ability to project feelings onto supposedly nonfeeling things is a very Mimi-like character trait for her and one that I really truly love. It’ll definitely come in handy in the digital world where all is never how it seems. On the other hand, though, it’s not like it’s a trait we didn’t have already... it just belonged mainly to Hikari :P So... yeah.

Next week we’re going to get Garudamon, in a way that looks like it will pale compared to our first meeting with Garudamon in 99 Adventure, BUT that’s okay... because we’ve got plenty of time for the Big Important things to happen, both on a plot level and on a character development level. I am a little wtf??? about everyone getting not one but two evolutions within the same adventure - assuming the kids are going to go home at some point and finally put Tokyo out of its misery. I’d expected this show would be more like 02 with the kids jumping in and out, but tbh I’m not gonna be sad if they just stay in the digital world indefinitely. Also, it’s not like Taichi didn’t get both an evolution and a jogress the first time he came to the digital plane, so obviously things are just working differently in this show!

But as it’ll be a Sora episode, I just hope it’s an improvement on the last Sora episode. There’s plenty of potential following the mini tiff between her and Yamato last week, so i hope we see some follow up to that. Maybe a couple Sorato moments. We didn’t get anything for Taishiro this week :( But since it looks like probably next week the groups are still separated, perhaps the week after we’ll get MegaKabuterimon and see more interaction between Taichi and Koushirou then. *shrug* A girl can dream!

Anyway this ep gets 5.5/10 from me!

#digimon adventure 2020 #digimon adventure reboot #digimon psi #psi spoilers #fizz watches digimon 2020 #digimon

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junqkook · 6 years ago

Text

— LIONHEART; 01 (m.)

— notes; this is based on the bbc show merlin and arthurian legend, but isn’t the same world (aka not camelot, not england) and is instead its own fantasy world. also, a king’s ward is like an adopted son/daughter to the monarch. listen to the lionheart playlist.

pairing; jungkook/reader/taehyung genre; prince au, magic au, smut words; 11,104 rating; explicit

— synopsis; as a sorcerer, it is of the utmost importance that you keep your magic a secret from everyone. when you become prince jungkook’s servant, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep your identity hidden; especially when you fall in love with him.

contents; prince jungkook, knight taehyung, sorcerer reader, magic use, prejudice and discrimination, depictions of violence, pining, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, rough sex, unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, dirty talk, dom taehyung, clothed sex, he fingers you with a glove on, overstimulation, teasing, marking/biting.

— chapters; one. two. three. four. five.

You fell in love with Prince Jungkook when you accidentally saw a moment that you knew was never meant for your eyes.

As a maidservant, you were rushing to grab a candle and some fresh water for your master, the king’s ward. It had been late, the sun already beginning to set, and the day had been tense and rough. There had been an execution of a sorcerer in the square, and the screams as he’d burned seemed to fill the entire kingdom.

The door had been cracked open and you’d seen him as you passed, his head ducked and hand to his face. It was never easy to watch the executions, and there had always been word spread between the servants about the arguments that took place between Jungkook and his father. The staff whispered about how the man accused of witchcraft had been a friend to the prince, and he’d asked his father for clemency but had not received it.

You thought he must be crying.

Without meaning to, your feet had stalled by the crack and your eyes caught on his dark hair, on the shine of his armor that he’d still yet to take off, on the hunched slope of his back betraying his exhaustion. You still didn’t know if you’d made a sound while standing there watching him, but soon after Jungkook had lifted his head from the warmth of his palm and his eyes had briefly met yours.

You scurried away from the door, your heart beating a frenzy in your chest from the sudden contact. The water sloshed over the rim of the cup onto your hand and you made sure to slow your pace, keeping the burning candle away from it so as not to put out the light accidentally and waste another trip.

Jungkook had not been crying.

You mused about the discovery, wondering if he’d even really seen you when he’d looked up. You climbed the steps quickly as you thought, finding your master’s chambers on autopilot and the guards barely even acknowledging you as you walked past and into the room.

“My lord,” you greeted quietly, nodding your head briefly.

Hoseok sat up in his bed and reached out for the water, which you gave him gladly. You set the candle on the table beside his bed and waited patiently as he drank. “Thank you, dear,” he said after making a noise of refreshment. “You’re too good to me, as always.”

“I am honored to serve you, my lord,” you replied easily, not missing a beat. It was always like this after an execution, with the nobleman laying awake in his bed and calling for you to bring him water and sit with him a while. It was nice, really. It was almost as if you were friends.

He hummed and handed you the nearly empty goblet. You took it from his hand and set it down on the table in case he needed another drink later. The king’s ward’s eyes were a little red and you knew from experience that he must have been crying after being forced to stand beside the king and watch the execution in full.

The prince hadn’t cried. How strange, you thought to yourself.

You hadn’t realized it then, but it was at that moment when your heart had been truly captured by the prince, with little defense against him. You hadn’t realized it then, but you had only just begun a fate that the gods had imposed upon the two of you, your paths destined to intertwine from long before you had been born.

Your thoughts were filled with the not-crying prince the entire night, even after an hour of sitting with Hoseok and after you’d gone to bed.

No one knew you had magic. No one knew that you were magic; you hadn’t practiced it simply for fun, hadn’t practiced at all, really. You’d been born with it, could do things no other around you could from the moment you had taken your first breath. Your small village had proved too stifling, too dangerous, and your mother had sent you away, sent you here to this castle for safety, and you knew better than to ever use your magic in the heart of the kingdom.

You’d kept your head down and served your master, finding said job quickly as a way to belong somewhere and keep an eye on what you would need to look out for. You hadn’t used your magic at all in a few months and you could feel it thrumming under your skin, coiling tightly from underuse.

At the moment, you had helped the other servants prepare for the banquet for a Lady that was coming to visit the king. The temptation to use your magic to hurry the process was almost overwhelming. You’d never felt a sizzling in your limbs from your magic similar to this and you couldn’t begin to guess why it was acting up like this. You stood behind one of the noblewomen seated at the large dining table, the noise level reaching obnoxiously loud levels. You blinked your eyes and refilled the wine goblet of the woman in front of you, making sure to keep the tremble from your fingers too noticeable as your magic swirled at the tips of your fingers.

You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to wander, to find the dark hair atop the prince’s head, and watch him for but a moment. Even in a room full of nobles, he stood out like a beacon. Your fingers thrummed once more, twitching on the pottery in your hands. The prince did not look over to you, did not notice you, his smile firmly in place on his lips as he sipped from the goblet of wine in his hand.

Strange, you found yourself thinking again. Had you misread the situation in the room that you’d seen days before? You didn’t think so; as a servant and sorcerer, you’d honed your observation skills enough that you knew what you’d seen that day and you knew that you weren’t wrong.

You stepped forward to refill the goblets of the noblewomen once more, and something happened. Your magic seemed too restless under your skin, swirling through your organs as if to warn you of something. Time itself seemed to slow around you, no one noticing as their eyes began to droop and their limbs ceased to move. Before you knew it, everyone had fallen into a deep sleep, the noise abruptly disappearing.

Something sliced through the air and your magic exploded, eyes flashing gold as you stilled time itself, everything moving in slow increments in front of you. A dagger had been thrown from across the hall, at the end of the table. You saw it inching forward through the air and you followed its path with your eyes to the prince, seated with his eyes shut and head lolled to the side.

With a surge of panic you hadn’t known could take root inside of you, your magic burst from within you and undid whatever spell had blanketed the people in the banquet hall. They woke slowly as you moved, your magic already undoing itself as your limbs tired from keeping it held in place. By the time everyone had started to blink, time returning to its normal pace, your hands were fisting into the lapels of the prince and you were tugging him toward your own body.

“What—” he started to exclaim, but you yanked as hard as you could and he toppled half over the chair as you dropped down, the dagger missing him by only a few centimeters and lodging itself in the back of his chair.

All the noise faded away as what had just happened started to register with the nobles. Then, the king stood and pointed down the hall, his face twisting with rage. Your own eyes followed in the direction he gestured, finding the visiting Lady with her arm outstretched, her own face contorted from her failure.

“You!” the king roared.��“Filthy sorcerer! How dare you make an attempt on my son’s life? Guards, restrain her!”

The Lady in question struggled against the guards restraining her, shackles closing on her wrists. You knew they had been enchanted to hold any magic locked within them, to render magic-wielders helpless. “You took my son!” she cried out as they dragged her away. “It is only fair! I will take your son so you can feel the grief that I feel! One day you will know what it is to—”

The doors shut as they dragged her away, her voice cut off. You looked up into Jungkook’s face, which was only a breath away from yours. Your hands were still fisted in the fabric of his attire, and his eyes were wide and focused on you. Flushing, you released him and stood straight, fully prepared to return to the shadows and serve the nobles around you.

“You,” the king said before you could move any further away. Your head shot up and you met his eyes. “What is your name?”

“____, Sire,” you replied quietly, ducking your head.

“Well, ____, you have saved my son’s life,” he continued, loudly enough for the entire hall to hear. Your cheeks felt hot and you kept your head dipped to avoid the stares. “I shall reward you greatly for this.”

“Oh, no,” you said, startled. “There is no need, Sire—”

“Nonsense!” the king interrupted, waving his hand to quiet your protests. “You shall be Jungkook’s maidservant from now on.” Before you or the prince could say anything, the king turned to face his guests. “Let us continue our feast!” And the noise resumed, everyone cheerfully eating and talking with one another.

Prince Jungkook fixed his seating position and cleared his throat, not looking at you as he gestured toward his cup. You quickly stepped to his side, making sure to stay a bit behind him, and took the wine from the other servant behind him. You refilled his goblet and stepped back, barely noticing how the thrum of your magic had settled, as if satisfied with the recent events.

You continued to serve him for the rest of the evening, your feet long used to the time you had to stand during feasts and celebrations. You saw Hoseok stand from his seat on the other side of the king and you met his gaze briefly, almost stepping around to leave with him. His mouth was turned down into a frown and he left the hall quickly, telling the king he was retiring for the evening.

Jungkook did not leave until late into the night, and you found yourself increasingly struggling to stay awake, having been long used to leaving and going to bed. By the time Jungkook chose to retire for the evening, many of the guests had already left, as had his father.

You followed the prince quietly, staying a few paces behind him in the empty halls. He stumbled a few times, and you knew it was because of the wine he had consumed, impairing his abilities as he walked toward his rooms. While walking up the steps he nearly missed one, stepping right on the edge, and tumbled back a step. You reached out and steadied him from behind, hands on his warm back as he righted himself.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly.

You said nothing, the air feeling odd and your magic once more swirling at the tips of your fingers, as if it wanted to reach out and touch him. You clasped your hands together tightly to keep back the urge, not knowing what you were meant to do.

When you’d reached his room, you slipped inside after him when he kept the door open instead of shutting it. You idled awkwardly by the door after shutting it, not sure what he meant you to do. Were you to undress him and ready his sleeping clothes? You’d done so for Hoseok for years, but with Jungkook it was different.

Seeming to realize your inner plight, Jungkook met your eyes from where he plopped onto the side of his bed.

“You can go,” he told you kindly. “I’m sure I can manage to dress myself this evening.”

You ducked your head. “Sire.”

“Make sure you are here in the morning,” he continued. “My schedule is much different than Hoseok’s and I’ll have one of the other servants explain to you what your duties will be.”

You nodded your head again. “Yes, my lord.” You heard him sigh and you peeked at him as you turned to leave. “Goodnight,” you said quietly, not sure if he really heard you.

Jungkook did not respond as you left, shutting the door behind you and wishing a good night to the guards outside as well. You moved quickly, going back to your own room, which was in Hoseok’s antechamber. You wondered if the prince would request that you move closer to him tomorrow. As you reached your quarters, you realized he’d known you were Hoseok’s servant. The knowledge that he knew you and who you served startled you, as you’d never thought he would remember any of the servants, let alone you. He was the prince.

You shook your head to rid the thoughts of him, trying to ready yourself for bed without the worry of how much more vigilant you’d need to be in order to keep your magic hidden now.

Hurrying, your feet pounded on the floors of the hall as you rushed past other servants and guards, ducking into passageways to try to get up to the prince’s chambers faster. Your hair was a mess and you couldn’t care less, having realized you’d be late no matter what from the moment your eyes had opened and the memories of the previous night sinking in.

You nearly slammed into the wooden door while trying to open it, stepping inside and shutting it behind you quickly as you caught your breath as quietly as you could. Your eyes fell on the prince, who was already seated at his desk and eating his breakfast, his brow quirked up. You tried to give him a smile, though you weren’t sure that it came out right.

“Late on the first day?” he quipped, tearing off a piece of bread and putting it in his mouth.

“I—I’m sorry, Sire, I—”

He cut you off with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s fine, I realize it must have been confusing for you. I’m sure Hoseok doesn’t get up until much later.” You nodded slowly, not sure what you should be doing or saying. Jungkook cleared his throat as he finished his breakfast and stood from his desk. “For now, attend me. I need to go out onto the training field with the knights.”

He rounded the table and you rushed into action, walking over to him to help him dress in proper attire for the day. He had his chainmail on the side and you made note of it as you helped Jungkook slip his sleeping shirt off. Your eyes roamed the expanse of his torso quickly and your cheeks felt hot as you hurriedly grabbed a thicker shirt for him to wear. You held it out for him and he followed your lead quietly, his eyes watching you curiously. Taking note of his gaze, you made sure to stay as professional as you could lest you embarrass yourself in front of the prince.

Once he had his chainmail on, he lifted a hand to stop you when you reached for his sword and helmet. You paused and looked at him expectantly.

“Carry them with you,” Jungkook said. “You’re to come with me to the training session and attend our needs there.”

You nodded your head and it took all you had to keep from twisting your mouth down into a scowl. You hated going to the training sessions; it was always hot, the sun beating down on you, and it meant you had to run around the grass to give haughty knights-in-training whatever they wanted. Hoseok hated it as well, preferring to practice his swordplay on his own or one-on-one with Jungkook, so you typically didn’t have to deal with those chores.

Now, it seemed, you would have to find a way to adapt.

You carried his sword and helmet, along with the other pieces of his armor, in your arms awkwardly whilst following him down to the training field. The training knights, along with other noblemen come to be granted knighthood from the king, were already mulling about the grass with their dulled swords. Jungkook raised a hand in greeting to them and you made sure to stay only a few steps behind him so you could hand him his sword.

When he finally stopped and turned to you, you stretched out your arms to offer his sword and helmet. He took them from you without a word, gesturing over to the wooden tables and racks, other servants standing beside them.

“Take the armor over there,” he told you. “I won’t be needing it today, so you can just polish it and make sure to keep the water full.”

You nodded. “Of course, my lord.” At his quick dismissal, you hurried off the field and over to the other servants, one of whom gave you a short smile. You smiled back at her and set the armor down on the table, sighing as you got to work.

Not able to help yourself, you continuously found your eyes dragging across the field to watch the knights. Many of them were young and attractive, laughs echoing as Jungkook trained them first-hand. Your eyes were drawn especially to the prince himself, who just so happened to be pushing his dark hair away from his face, sweat dripping down his neck. You pursed your lips and grabbed the water, making your way across the field to him when the knights started to take a quick break.

“Sire,” you said, appearing at his side. He turned to you with a startled look, not having realized you’d made your way over. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook replied, taking it from you and placing the cup to his lips. He drank in large gulps, a few droplets escaping down the side of his mouth and to his chin. You followed it with your gaze, heat blossoming in your cheeks. He handed it back to you and you bowed briefly, beginning to move back.

“And who’s this?” a deep voice called, appearing beside Jungkook.

“My new servant,” the prince said easily, pursing his lips.

“She’s quite the beauty,” the knight replied, dark eyes focused on you. You shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do; you didn’t like having this attention, it made you anxious. Your magic swirled in your veins like a stark reminder of why you would rather keep your head down.

Jungkook nudged the knight. “Taehyung, stop. Anyway, I hadn’t really noticed. And neither should you, you idiot, get back to training!”

You hated that the words stung; you didn’t want his attention, anyway.

The knight, Taehyung, reached out and placed an ungloved hand on your cheek lightly. Your eyes widened and you snapped your gaze to him, shocked.

“Don’t mind him, he’s prickly,” Taehyung faux-whispered. His thumb trailed lightly across your cheek.

The prince shoved at his arm, dislodging his hand from your face. You stayed rooted in place, unused to this type of situation, and moved your gaze over to Jungkook. “Stop bothering my servant,” he snapped, dark brows furrowed in a way you hated to admit had heat pooling in your belly.

Taehyung chuckled and winked at you, turning and jogging back toward the others.

You and Jungkook met eyes and neither of you spoke for a few beats of tense silence. “Well?” he chided. “Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

That snapped you back into reality and you ducked your head. “O-Of course, Sire. I’ll get back to them immediately.”

“Yes,” he responded harshly. “Yes, you do that.”

You walked briskly back to where the other servants were, choosing to stay there for the rest of the training. Though this time your eyes were equally darting back and forth between the prince and the knight.

“The tournament is tomorrow,” Jungkook informed you, allowing you to help him shed his chainmail and replace it with a suitable jacket. “There will be knights and noblemen from all houses coming to participate.” You fixed his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles as he talked, barely listening. “You will need to take care of any of them who ask for help, as many of them don’t choose to bring their own servants along with them.”

“Understood, my lord,” you replied easily, satisfied with how the jacket looked now. “The king and ward are awaiting you at the banquet hall to dine.”

“Have some of the men already arrived?” he asked.

“Yes. Many of them are getting prepared to dine with the king as we speak.”

“Good, good,” Jungkook said distractedly. He looked you over once, furrowing his brows. “Change into something cleaner and come attend me at the table.” Your eyebrows shot up. Usually you did not attend any of them at the banquet hall unless Hoseok specifically requested you to. When you didn’t answer, Jungkook paused in his stroll toward his door and looked back at you. “Is there some reason you cannot?”

You cleared your throat and shook your head. “Of course not, Sire. I will be there shortly.”

The prince nodded. “Good. Don’t take too long.” He smiled at you oddly, as if the two of you were sharing some secret that only he knew. “We wouldn’t want my goblet to remain empty all night, now, would we?”

You had to hold back an eye roll. “No, my lord, that would be of the utmost offense.”

Jungkook snickered as he left the room, calling back loudly for you to hurry up. You didn’t have to be told twice, almost breaking out into a sprint back to your own chambers and changed into a cleaner dress that didn’t have mud and dirt all over the hem from the training fields.

Sir Yugyeom had been giving you the strangest feeling all evening. Every time you looked at him, something about the way he held himself while dining made the hair at the nape of your neck stand up on end. You tried not to think about him, focusing only on refilling Jungkook’s wine as he instructed you to.

Which he was now ordering you to do. Your eyes snapped away from Yugyeom at the other end of the table and you stepped forward to the table, pouring the wine into Jungkook’s goblet slowly.

Leaning down as far as you could without seeming inappropriate, you lowered your voice so only the prince could hear you. “Sire,” you started slowly. “I think you should watch out with Sir Yugyeom.”

Jungkook turned his face only slightly, to give you an indication that he’d heard you without alerting anyone else that either of you were speaking. “And why is that?” he asked lowly.

You stopped pouring right before the wine began to spill, not wanting to deal with having to clean it if it did. “He just... He seems off. Wrong.”

Jungkook could barely hide his snort, drawing the attention of another nobleman seated beside him. He smiled at the young man beside him and waited until he turned away to turn back towards you.

“And I’m supposed to be suspicious of a knight based on a servant’s feeling?” he asked mockingly. “Just try not to think about whatever silly feeling you have. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

You bit your tongue, tightening your grip on the pottery in your hands and nodding your head shortly. Stepping away from the table, you straightened your back and kept your mouth shut for the rest of the dinner, waiting alongside Jungkook to give him whatever he needed. But you didn’t take your eyes off of Yugyeom, his smile seeming too vicious for your nerves to rest.

After a while, Yugyeom excused himself from the table and bid the king and his family a good night and luck in the tournament tomorrow. You watched him carefully as he left and when he turned back briefly, your eyes met.

Something shot through you and it felt suspiciously like death.

You gnawed on your lip and tried to see where he went, but you could no longer follow him with your eyes as the doors shut. You glanced impatiently at Jungkook, but he seemed to be in no mood to leave just yet, laughing and joking with the people seated around him as he ate.

He gestured to you for more wine and you stepped forward, dipping low once more to speak to him.

“Haven’t you had enough wine, Sire?” you pressed. “It will do you no good to be incapacitated tomorrow morning.”

Jungkook whirled to look at you and you backed up only a few centimeters, not expecting him to be so close. He glared at you without malice. “Don’t dare to tell me what I can and cannot handle, ____. I will be perfectly fine for tomorrow.”

“Oh, be easy on her, Jungkook!” the man beside him said, surprising you as he got involved. “She’s just worried for her prince! It’s cute.”

Jungkook grumbled, but said nothing else to you. Glancing at the door, you decided now would be a good a time as any to ask for leave.

“Sire,” you said lightly. “May I retire for the night?”

“What?” he asked loudly, furrowing his brows as he turned to look at you again. “Are you—”

“I’ve much to do tomorrow to prepare, my lord,” you interrupted. “I’m sure the other servants will be more than happy to take over my duties here.”

The same man as before chuckled, patting Jungkook’s shoulder lightly. “Come on, Jungkook, let her go for the night. She is indeed a sight for sore eyes, but she’s probably been running after you all day.”

Jungkook sighed and waved his hand in your direction. “Fine, fine, you may leave. I expect to see you early for your duties tomorrow.”

You bowed briefly and tried to smile at them, not particularly enjoying the way the other man was watching you. “Thank you, Sire,” you said to Jungkook, handing the wine over to another servant and backing away from the table. You hurried over to the servants’ entrance and left the hall, walking as quickly as you could down the corridor.

Once you were out in the halls, it was as if you could sense it. Sense him. You walked slowly, following the tendrils of magic that you could feel in the air, knowing it would lead you where you needed to go. Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you found yourself at one of the chambers for the knights, the door cracked shut. You knew the guards would be making their rounds soon and you let your own magic seep out to the door, push it slightly ajar without making a sound, before wrapping it around yourself like a makeshift shield.

You squinted in the dark, shifting slightly to try to catch sight of him. Yugyeom walked over to the bed, tugging his shirt over his head. You held your breath as you watched him, eyes catching on a jewel hanging from his neck. It shone brightly in the dim light from the candle and drew your gaze, as if compelling you to focus on it.

Yugyeom reached over and put on his sleep shirt, hiding the jewel from your gaze. He tucked himself into the bed and reached his hand out toward the candle, snuffing it out from afar. His magic felt—different. You couldn’t explain it, but your own rejected it, as if it were a poison trying to infect you. Barely able to stand it any longer, you brought your hand up and curled your fingers into a fist slowly, shutting the door quietly again; as if you’d never been there.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Yugyeom was going to make an attempt on Jungkook’s life. But you had no proof, besides the bad feeling, and you kept your mouth shut as you made your way to your quarters, an uneasy churning in your gut.

You hadn’t slept well at all, nightmares plaguing you as you lay in your bed. Flashes of visions, of Jungkook being struck down helplessly by Yugyeom, slid into your unconscious and you woke with sweat dampening your face and nearly choking with your magic, stuck in your throat.

You went to wake Jungkook early, preparing his breakfast on the table and getting his attire ready as he trudged over to his desk and ate silently. You could feel his gaze burning into your back while you worked, tidying up his room as he finished his meal and stood.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Jungkook said as he shrugged his shirt off and you handed him another.

You shrugged when you moved to stand in front of him, biting at your lip anxiously. He watched you do so with barely contained annoyance, before sighing loudly while you put his chainmail on him.

“Oh, for the love of—what is it?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s just—” You sighed, not knowing how to phrase it so he would believe you. “I think Sir Yugyeom is going to use magic to kill you,” you finally settled on saying bluntly.

Jungkook blinked at you owlishly before chuckling. “You know he’s a knight, right?” he asked incredulously. “Why would he do that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But I had a dream last night, and I saw—”

“You had a dream?” Jungkook interrupted. “It’s very kind of you to be dreaming about me, you know, but—” You rolled your eyes and mumbled something about his ego while you fitted his armor on his limbs. “—but I highly doubt a knight would be stupid enough to be using magic in a tournament.”

“Can you please just be careful?” you sighed. “I saw him.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes. I saw him do magic last night, after I left the feast.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you and you handed him his gloves, which he put on slowly. “So you left to go spy on a knight?”

“Sire, please,” you complained, nearly at your limit. “I was getting a—a really bad feeling, so I followed him and I saw him put out a candle from across the room. And he had a jewel that had to have been magical with him.”

Jungkook watched you seriously for a few moments, and then his door opened and Hoseok peered inside. You smiled at the king’s ward, who smiled back at you easily. You inched away from Jungkook, realizing that your distance might not be exactly appropriate after you’d already finished helping him.

“Kook, it’s time to go,” Hoseok said.

“Right, right,” Jungkook replied. “I’ll be right there.” Hoseok nodded and stepped back out, shutting the door again. You faced Jungkook, who was already looking at you without a hint of his usual haughtiness—though, you had to admit that his haughtiness was charming sometimes. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

You shook your head. “I would never lie to you, Jungkook,” you said quietly. “I know I’m just a servant and Sir Yugyeom is a knight, but I swear I saw him using magic and I fear his intentions are not for your good health.”

Jungkook seemed to deliberate on what you’d told him and nodded his head, sighing deeply. “Alright. I believe you.” He took his dulled sword from you and placed it in its sheath at his hip. “I’ll be careful when I fight Yugyeom.”

You didn’t have to reply as the two of you left, meeting Hoseok in the hall and all three of you making your way down to the tournament. And you knew that you would be watching vigilantly for any sign of magic aimed at Jungkook.

You’d seen Yugyeom’s magic use as the tournament went on, focusing on the way his fingers curled lightly or how his eyes seemed to shine bright for a few seconds, his opponent falling at the most inopportune moment. He didn’t seem to use it at first and you’d started to seriously doubt what you’d seen the night before, but as he advanced in the arena and his opponents became stronger, he had to rely on the magic he was using.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a flurry of strength and striking beauty. When he was in the arena, you couldn’t help but trail your gaze to him and the way he moved, seeming to effortlessly best the other knights and nobles that fought against him. Before long, the prince had advanced to the final round and—to your dismay—so had Yugyeom. Their fight was scheduled to be held in an hour, giving the two men some time to rest and replenish themselves.

You darted around awkwardly until Jungkook came over to his tent, where you followed him inside quickly. He sat down with a thud onto the chair, the lighting of the tent cascading onto him like honey, and you grabbed one of the towels on the table. You handed him some water and started to lightly dab at the sweat on his face and neck while he drank. Your eyes dragged across the way his Adam’s apple was bobbing as he swallowed, but you quickly focused on drying his damp hair as best you could.

“Yugyeom’s an impressive fighter,” Jungkook said, breathing heavily.

You made a face. “I know he’s using magic.”

Jungkook turned to give you a look, sputtering very un-princely when you shoved the towel right into his face to dry him. He batted your hands away lightly and there was a small smile on his face. “And how, exactly, do you know this so matter-of-factly?”

You shrugged one shoulder and tried not to fidget. “I just do.”

Jungkook sighed and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head lightly to himself. “Alright, alright.”

When you asked him if he’d like you to get him something to eat, he refused, saying he’d rather feast after he won. You stood beside him as he relaxed, wiping the sweat from his brow and working on cleaning his armor to keep yourself busy. You peeked your head out of the tent and saw everyone returning to the stands of the arena, you turned back to Jungkook.

“It’s time, Sire,” you said.

Jungkook nodded and stood from his seat. You helped him place his helmet on his head and then handed him his sword, following close behind as he walked to the arena. You stopped by the spectators, giving him a hesitant smile when he pivoted as he walked, knowing he was looking at you.

Your eyes found Yugyeom’s form, his helmet off and standing at the middle waiting for Jungkook. They shook hands briefly and waited for the king to start the final round.

“It is time,” the king announced, standing from his wooden throne in the stands. “You may begin. May the best man win!”

Their swords were up immediately, and you heard the clash of metal before you saw it. They were both moving so quickly that you almost couldn’t see what was happening. You made sure to keep your gaze completely on Yugyeom, not wanting to miss a single moment of his actions, even if it meant you had to tear your eyes away from Jungkook.

Jungkook ducked from a hit, lifting his shield just as Yugyeom’s blade came down on him. The loud clang as Jungkook pushed him back and gained the upper hand had the crowds cheering for their prince. Yugyeom stumbled and fell to the ground and—

There.

You saw his eyes flash gold for a second and Jungkook’s foot caught on a rock on the field, dislodging his balance. Yugyeom brought his sword up faster than you could follow with your eyes, but Jungkook jerked his head back and the tip only knocked his helmet askew. The prince threw down his shield and grabbed his helmet, yanking it off and tossing it aside so that he could see.

Yugyeom got to his feet, swinging his sword down on Jungkook. The prince quickly held his own up, blocking the attack. The audience was cheering loudly, but you stood with baited breath, waiting for the crackling in the air to come full force. You knew it was coming, could sense the jewel on Yugyeom rolling magic out in slow waves, like blood.

Jungkook had gained the advantage again, shoving Yugyeom back and nearly knocking him off his feet a few times. You narrowed your eyes and saw it again, a flash of gold from the knight as he overpowered Jungkook. The prince’s hands seemed to betray him, weakening under Yugyeom’s magic.

You felt your magic build up at your throat, crawling its way up to your mouth. You blew out the air, magic sprinkled along the wind, and darting its way to Jungkook. It wrapped around him like a coiled snake, making its way up his legs and thighs to his torso, slithering to his arms and ending at his wrists. Your magic pushed back against Yugyeom’s, giving Jungkook the strength of ten men as he shoved forward and knocked his opponent to the ground. Jungkook kicked the fallen shield away from the knight and held the tip of his sword at Yugyeom’s neck.

Yugyeom’s hands stayed still on his sides, looking up murderously at the prince. You took in a deep breath, allowing your magic to dispel from Jungkook’s form and dissipate in the air around him.

The king and Hoseok stood from their seats, clapping loudly. “My son, Prince Jungkook, is the champion!” Cheers erupted around you and you smiled widely, catching Jungkook’s gaze as he looked back at you briefly. His smile was soft and intimate, like it was meant for you alone, and you thought you must look silly with the grin on your face. He turned back to the others in the crowds, lifting his sword up into the air to signal his victory. After a few turns to everyone, he turned back and offered a hand to Yugyeom, who took it reluctantly and allowed the prince to help him to his feet. Jungkook brought the knight in close and said something to him quietly, something no one could hear, and the knight jerked back in surprise, eyes wide.

Even after they both left the arena and Jungkook gestured for you to follow him back to his tent so you could attend him, you wondered what he’d said to Yugyeom.

“You were great out there,” you said, grabbing the water and handing it to him. He drank in large gulps as you unbuckled the clasps of his armor and slid them off his limbs. You set them aside and fluttered around him, grabbing a clean towel and cleaning the sweat as much as you could.

Jungkook handed the water back to you and raised an eyebrow as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Just ‘great?’” he asked teasingly. “I would’ve thought you’d say something much more suited for your prince.”

You rolled your eyes when you turned away from him to set the towel down. “I’m sure the cheering crowds inflated that ego of yours much more than I ever could, Sire,” you replied lightly. Jungkook laughed heartily and you turned back slightly in surprise, staring at his expression unabashedly. His face was so young, so open and happy, and you suddenly wanted to do something silly, like press kisses to every inch of skin you could reach.

Clasping your hands tightly together so you wouldn’t, you cleared your throat and grabbed the chainmail, tugging it off of him.

“What did you say to Sir Yugyeom?” you asked lightly, trying to be inconspicuous.

Jungkook sighed and pushed his hair back away from his face. “Nothing you need to worry about.” You took the dismissal at its value, knowing that there was a very slim chance he’d tell you what he’d said. “Now, will you go ahead and get me some clean clothes? I still have to speak to the people outside and I’d much rather do so without stinking of sweat.”

You grinned at him. “I think the stink adds character,” you told him, barely able to hold in your laugh. He made a sputtering sound and looked around for something light to grab, settling on one of his gloves, making you yelp and laugh as you hurried to leave. “Of course, Sire, I’ll get going!” you shrieked, the giggles still tumbling from your lips as you ducked out of the tent.

“Yes, you best do that!” he called after you, and you could still hear his grumbling as you jogged away from the tent to go get him some clean clothes to change into.

And as you went, you’d heard that Sir Yugyeom would not be joining the festivities after, having told the king that he was needed back at his home immediately.

Jungkook groaned as you helped him shed the chainmail and his thick jacket underneath that he’d slipped back on when he went to greet the crowds and speak to the other knights and nobles that had stayed. He had fought the men hard and pushed himself harder during the fight with Yugyeom, and you were sure that his muscles must be sore. You didn’t dare allow your hands to caress his skin where it was exposed at the neck of his shirt.

“Would you like me to get some ointment?” you asked quietly, setting his chainmail aside.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied, stretching out his arms and stepping away from you. “Has my father dined yet?”

“Yes, my lord,” you informed him. “The king chose to dine with Sir Hoseok early, as your duties ran later than usual.”

Jungkook sighed. “Bring me something from the kitchens, will you?” he asked, going to his desk to read through the papers on them.

You nodded. “Yes, of course.” You grabbed the chainmail and carried it with you as you left, dropping it off in the armory before you went to the kitchen. You snuck a piece of bread and an apple for yourself while the kitchen staff prepared the prince’s meal quickly. You thanked them before you left, used to carrying Hoseok’s meals—he often ate in his own chambers, since he had many disagreements with the king.

You reached Jungkook’s room quickly, setting the tray with his meal on it down in front of him, and away from the documents. He thanked you quietly and began to eat. You bit your bottom lip as you moved around to the other side, placing yourself directly behind him. Jungkook’s eyes stayed focused on the document in front of him while he ate, and you slipped the ointment you’d grabbed from the armory out of your pocket. Dipping half of the contents into your palm, you rubbed your hands together and then placed them on the prince’s shoulders.

“What are you—” he shouted, startled, attempting to shift to face you.

You pressed down harder, squeezing his shoulders and working your hands on his skin. “Let me help you relax, Sire.” He sputtered for a few more moments, but you continued to work your hands on his shoulders until he finally relaxed, no longer tense under your fingers. You allowed your hands to slip under the neckline of his shift, working down his back. Jungkook stilled under your ministrations, his breathing deepening and evening out as you moved.

When you couldn’t reach any farther and felt you had massaged enough, you slipped your hands out of his shirt and brought them back to your sides.

Jungkook turned to look at you, mouth open and eyes glazed over. He looked open and vulnerable, and you saw a flash of the man through the crack of the door, the man grieving for a friend who received no mercy from his father, the man who saw past sorcerer to friend.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you whispered. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Jungkook’s face betrayed his shock for only the briefest of moments before it pinched up and then remained carefully blank. The look was so brief, in fact, that you thought you must have imagined it.

“Get out,” he snarled at you.

Your mouth opened and you couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “But—have I offended you—”

Jungkook stood from his chair, scraping it across the floor. You stepped back to avoid being knocked by the chair’s edge, wide eyes trained on the furious prince. Your magic licked at your insides, as if reacting to the force of his anger.

“Do not dare to assume you know me,” he spit out at you. “That sorcerer was a traitor—he was not my friend.” You did not move, fingers trembling so badly that you had to clasp your hands together to quell the shaking. “I said get out.”

“Sire, I’m—I’m so sorry, I did not mean to—” you started shakily, heart beating hard in your chest.

“Get out!” he yelled, slamming his fist down on the table.

You lowered your head, too afraid to hold his gaze, and fled the room, not stopping your run until you were safely back in your own quarters. You shut the door as quietly as you could with quivering fingers, your breath coming out in shaky pants, and turned to press your back to the wood.

You met Taehyung’s eyes and yelped, nearly shooting up five feet into the air.

“What’s got you so startled?” the knight joked, standing from where he was seated on your bed. You blinked a few times, trying to understand both what had just happened and what he was doing in your room. “I asked around and found out you were staying here,” he said in way of explanation. “How did you manage to become Jungkook’s servant when you were already Hoseok’s?”

“I saved Prince Jungkook’s life at the banquet,” you said numbly.

Taehyung’s brows shot up. “A servant against a sorcerer out for revenge?” he asked. “How noble of you.”

You’d known. You’d known she was a sorcerer; having him say it out loud made you want to hurl what you’d eaten right back up. You were a traitor to your own kind, a traitor that would be condemned by both sides of this on-going war.

You were not noble.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung said gently, coming close enough to bring his hands up to your face. He held your gaze and your cheeks, not allowing you to look away from him and not allowing you a place to escape, your back against the door. “You look sick; are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as quietly. “I’m just not used to running around so much. Sir Hoseok is much less active than the prince.”

Taehyung chuckled and released you, stepping back. “I’m sure that’s perfectly true.” He watched you a few more moments, as if he didn’t quite believe you but thought better of pressing the issue.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him, when the silence became too much, reminding you of how you had condemned that sorcerer to death by stopping her, when she had only been grieving for her son—her son, who had been the prince’s friend, who had been a sorcerer himself and hidden it, betrayed—

“It’s quite embarrassing, actually,” the knight said, clearing his throat and looking away from you. “I came to—inquire if you would—well, if you would—”

“Warm your bed?” you interrupted, amused.

In the dim light, you could see his cheeks darken and he coughed into his gloved fist. “You put it so crudely!” he complained. “But, well, yes, if we’re going to be completely honest about it. I find you quite the beauty and would be honored to be intimate with you.”

“But you’re a knight, and I’m a servant,” you explained for him. “So it cannot be a courtship.”

“You misunderstand,” he said, holding out a hand to stop you. “I do not regard titles as a way to lift myself higher than others. I simply thought this the best option for any relationship between us at the moment.” He paused and looked at you shyly. “That does not mean it could not lead to a courtship later.”

You hummed. “And if I do not desire a courtship with you?”

Taehyung looked startled for only a quick moment, schooling his features back into a sly smile. “I highly doubt that to be the case, my lady, but I will never do anything you do not wish me to do.” His smile fell from his face and his eyes bore into yours, the atmosphere becoming much more serious than it had been just a few seconds ago. “That applies to sharing my bed, as well. If you do not want it, feel free to tell me so and I shall not hold it against you.”

You bit your bottom lip and then stepped forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He watched you hungrily, his hands firmly at his sides as you retracted. “And if I wish to share your bed?” you whispered, keeping your gaze on his dark eyes.

“Then I shall ravish you completely and leave you wanting no other but me,” he whispered back, leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours, biting down on your bottom lip harshly. His hands came to grope at your hips, turning you how he desired and nudging you back until you were at the foot of your bed, dropping you back onto the mattress and following suit.

Taehyung straddled your thighs and dipped down to kiss you again, his tongue swiping at your lip. You parted your lips readily, allowing him to greedily lick into your mouth like a man starved. His hands moved to grab at your skirts, shifting himself to place his knees between your legs while you spread them for him, aiding him in lifting your dress.

The knight moved down your body, lifting his hands to undo your flimsy corset as he went, ripping it open and pressing his open mouth to the swell of your breasts. You threw your head back and let out a shaky breath, bringing your hands up to cradle his head and tangle your fingers in his hair. You couldn’t help the rocking of your hips up into his when he sucked harshly on your skin, biting down gently and continuing.

One of his hands lowered between your thighs, his gloved fingers finding your undergarments easily. Your breath hitched when he pressed two of his fingers against you, rubbing them up and down. The fabric clung to your folds, already soaked and ruined.

“Wet already?” Taehyung purred. “I haven’t even begun.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him as coyly as you could with your harsh breaths and heaving chest. “Then begin,” you commanded.

“As my lady wishes,” he growled, leaning close to your lips and nipping at your bottom one. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your lips, a squeal tearing out from your throat when he dipped two gloved fingers into your undergarments and pressed the pads to your folds. He rubbed them over your slit deliciously, the rough exterior of the glove making you shudder, more arousal pooling onto them. He simply raised a brow and then slid one of them inside all the way, curling it when it was in to the knuckle.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan, your back arching. You clenched around the finger, the unfamiliar texture only adding to the pleasure starting to spike at your abdomen. He pressed a second finger inside and rubbed them along your walls, as if searching for something. You tightened your grasp on his hair and grit your teeth to stay quiet, allowing your hips to rock slowly into his hand. Taehyung’s thumb found your clit and he rubbed it roughly, still working his fingers inside of you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your movements erratic. “Please, I need more—”

“You need more?” he cooed, tone mocking as he moved his fingers inside of you, thumb still rubbing rough circles against your clit and making sweat bead at your temples. “What more do you need, sweetheart?” he whispered, shifting his head down toward your belly.

“Your mouth,” you panted. “Please, I need your mouth—”

“Oh, you need my mouth?” he interrupted, smiling wickedly at you. “I’m sure you could get off with just my fingers, my lady,” he continued.

You whined and he shoved his fingers in harder, your noise straining at the movement. Your back arched off the bed and you felt too hot, your dress almost completely constricting around your body. His fingers found the rough patch of nerves inside you and your moan came out loud and broken, and you clenched around his fingers. Noticing, he pressed up as hard as he could on that spot, not letting up any pressure, and his thumb pressed harder onto your clit until the pleasure was almost too much for you to handle.

Your release snapped over you, the pressure unleashing and you gasped for air at the intensity of it. You rode out your high on his fingers, moving your hips slowly as you started to come down.

Taehyung pulled his fingers out of you and dragged your undergarment halfway down your thighs. You were clenching sporadically around nothing, the sudden emptiness jarring, and he brought his mouth down onto you, pressing his tongue to your folds and swiping up your slit.

One of your hands found his hair again and gripped tightly, squeezing around nothing. The knight moved his lips on your folds, tongue darting out to lick up your arousal and the lewd slurping noises paired with his groans had another bout of heat pooling in your belly. You moaned and pushed yourself closer to his face, wanting nothing but his tongue.

Your hips rolled erratically and Taehyung brought his hands up to your thighs, gripping them tightly and shoving them open farther. He held them down to the bed while he pressed the flat of his tongue to your clit and allowed you to move as you pleased. One of his hands was sticky and wet where it touched your bare skin and you shuddered, your movements gaining in speed.

A second orgasm rushed over you, pleasure spiking through your veins like static. It was so close to the first that a tendril of pain rushed in with the ecstasy. You could feel your magic build up within you and your throat clogged up, your breaths strained and broken with your attempt to hold it in place. You knew your eyes must be giving your struggle away and you shut them, riding out your release with Taehyung’s tongue pressed to your folds, and attempting to focus on containing the excited burst of magic trying to escape you.

When the pleasure faded and you were still choked up, eyes clenched tightly, Taehyung licked lightly at the mess you must have made, the obscene noises traveling to your ears. Your magic was burning inside you, making everything feel too intense and every brush of the knight’s tongue on you had you shivering and wanting to pull away but simultaneously push against him harder.

With a last shuddering breath, you allowed yourself to open your eyes and the magic inside you quelled, swirling inside your limbs unhappily. You blinked blearily at Taehyung, who was bringing his head up from between your thighs with a messy smile on his face.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you asked breathlessly, giving him your own wicked smile.

He chuckled and crawled up your body, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth before sitting up. Taehyung undid his belt, shoving his pants down his thighs along with his undergarments. Your eyes trailed down to his cock, hard and erect and much larger than you thought it would be. You licked your lips and couldn’t help but allow your thighs to spread wider, as if beckoning him to come closer.

Taehyung groaned and knocked his knuckles lightly into your knee. “Don’t do that,” he chided. “You’re going to make me lose my mind, you know that?”

“I’d rather you be losing something else, and preferably inside me,” you purred, pushing yourself up to help him take his shirt off, greedily wanting your hands all over his toned chest.

“You’re a dirty girl, for a royal maidservant,” he joked lightly, leaning down once his shirt was completely off. You grabbed his gloves and tugged them both off, tossing them over the side of your bed to the floor. One of his now-bare hands came to brush your cheek lightly while the other moved down to pump himself a few times. He looked down between your bodies and brought the head to press against your slit, rubbing it tantalizingly slowly up and down. Pulling back after a few times, he used your slick to spread up and down his cock and you bit the inside of your cheek when you could feel arousal dripping down yourself and surely ruining your sheets.

Taehyung finally took mercy on you and brought the head back to your folds, pressing harder than before and sliding into you slowly. You shuddered and clenched around his cock as he pushed deeper inside. The burn from the stretch of his cock was sending small tendrils of pleasure through you, tangling with your magic in the most pleasant way.

When he was completely buried inside of you, you let out a low moan, clenching around his cock tightly. Taehyung groaned from above you and lowered himself to his elbows, which were right beside your head. The action brought his face closer to yours and he gave you a charming smile while he panted, holding himself still inside you while you adjusted. You leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, pecking it lightly and then laying back down.

“You really are a beauty,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “The prince is lucky to have the privilege to look upon you so often.”

The thought of Jungkook had different feelings coming up inside of your chest. The memory of how defeated he’d looked, the memory of his skin under your hands, the memory of him shouting at you—

“Fuck me,” you pleaded. “Fuck me until I can’t breathe, Taehyung.”

He peered into your face questioningly for but a moment before he tilted his head to the side with a sly smile, as if he’d realized something. “I am at your disposal, my lady,” he purred, pulling his cock almost all the way out of you.

Then he shoved back in and started a brutal pace, knocking his hips into yours punishingly. You wrapped your arms around his back, digging your nails into his skin and met every thrust with your own. Taehyung lowered his mouth to your neck and bit hard, sucking at the flesh until it hurt and you squeezed around his cock like a vice.

Your eyes fluttered open as he rolled his hips into you harder, his mouth working up and down your neck and his hands fisted in the sheets beside your head. The ceiling looked back at you and your magic swirled at your fingertips, begging to be released. You tried to hold it back, but a candle by the door flickered to life and you moaned, the trickle of magic seeping down to your abdomen as Taehyung’s cock dragged against your walls.

His heavy grunts filled your ears along with the slapping of his skin against yours and you rocked into him harder, faster, selfishly chasing your release. His fingers dragged roughly down your dress until he reached your hip, and then he pressed them into your bare skin hard enough that you were sure he’d leave bruises. Gasping, you arched your back and threw your head back, pleasure swimming through your veins and making you almost careless.

Taehyung’s fingers finally moved to your clit and he rubbed it a few times before sliding his hand down to your folds, dragging up and down them around his cock which was pistoning in and out of you harshly. You keened and he brought his fingers back to your clit, now slippery with your arousal. He was relentless in his movements, and then he shifted his hips slightly upward and the head dragged against your sweet spot.

“Oh, fuck—right there, Taehyung, right—”

“Yeah?” he groaned, chuckling as he aimed for the same spot, rubbing the head of his cock against it repeatedly. “You like that?” You nodded your head, but he slammed in harder and held himself still. You swore you could see stars with his cock pressed into you like that. “Is your cunt hungry for my cock?”

“Yes, yes—gods, please, I—”

Taehyung was grinding his hips against yours, keeping himself buried completely inside your walls. You clenched once and then shut your eyes as your release washed over you again, spikes of pleasure and tingles running through your abdomen to the rest of you. You tried to hide your face as best you could, unable to hold back from your magic lashing out of you this time.

You grabbed Taehyung quickly and brought his face down to yours, kissing him hungrily. He made a noise of surprise and then kissed you back, starting to move once more. You gasped into his mouth as the overstimulation took hold, but the pleasure soon started to build once more as his cock moved in and out of you. You allowed your eyes to open and your magic darted from your fingertips immediately, shaking you to your core. You could see all the candles lighting up around you, basking Taehyung’s tan skin in a dim golden light that somehow made him more beautiful. You were just thankful that the kiss had distracted him enough to close his own dark eyes, unable to see the gold swirling in yours as your magic released around the two of you.

After another few dozen strokes, Taehyung slowed his pace and pulled away from your mouth to breathe heavily, his cock twitching inside you. He shoved his cock as deep as he could into you and then emptied himself inside, spurts of his come filling you. You shut your eyes at the feeling of his release warming your walls, another weaker orgasm hitting you like a wave.

Groaning, you brought his face down to your neck, shuddering from his kisses as he rocked gently inside of you while you both rode out your highs. You kept your eyes open and swallowed as you tried to tame back the magic running freely, the fire from the candles growing higher and higher as Taehyung panted against your skin. He started to lift himself up and you held him tighter, wrapping your legs around his hips to keep him inside. As quickly as you could, you let your magic reign freely once more, snuffing out the candles in the room except for the one by the door, and then dragged it back inside. Once you were sure there would be no more golden hue to your eyes, you relaxed your grip on the knight and allowed him to sit up.

He pulled his softening cock out of you, his seed mixed with your arousal and release dripping out of your spent pussy. You were breathing as heavily as he was and he simply looked at you, smiling gently.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

Something tugged at your insides and you allowed yourself to smile back, though you weren’t sure how it appeared to him. “You’re just saying that because I’m fucked full of you,” you teased.

Taehyung grunted and brought a hand closer to your forehead, flicking you lightly and laughing at your offended yelp. “Don’t say that, you’ll get me rearing and ready to go again.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And who ever said that wasn’t what I was hoping for?”

The knight laughed heartily and dropped beside you on the bed, laying down completely. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you snugly to his chest. “Let’s sleep a bit, first, and then we can see about another go at it. What do you think of that?”

You made no mention of how he had invited himself to your bed for the night and simply allowed him to keep hold of you. “Goodnight, then, Sir Knight,” you joked, though a bit of something genuine slipped through your words.

There was a huff of breath against the back of your neck and you assumed it was a light chuckle from his end. “Goodnight, my lady,” he murmured, and somehow you knew he had heard you perfectly.

You woke to a banging on your door and then it was being thrown open. You sat up in your bed, surprised at the sudden intrusion. Taehyung’s arm slipped away from your waist and he was sitting up beside you, already half off the bed.

You met Hoseok’s wide eyes, the light from the hall brightening your room and leaving nothing to hide from his view.

“The knights,” Hoseok said, eyes darting between you and Taehyung, who was busying himself getting dressed. “The knights have fallen ill.”

You fixed your dress as much as you could and stood from your bed, running a hand down the cloth. Taehyung, having finished getting dressed, grabbed his sword and belt and walked over to Hoseok quickly.

“The cause?” he asked, fixing his belt and looking completely unbothered while you stood nervously fidgeting, heat blossoming in your cheeks at being caught by Hoseok.

“Magic,” Hoseok said solemnly. “It’s magic, and we don’t know how it’s spreading.”

Your heart dropped and you watched the two of them leave, fixing your dress as best you could before running after them, realizing the king would be holding an audience to discuss what had happened.

A feeling of dread slipped into your belly and wrapped its claws around your heart, trying to drag it down.

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herald-of-dirthamen · 5 years ago

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@liliumsunshine said: May I ask why?

Honestly... where do I start.

I suppose, if I were to put it in a very brief way, it’s because the natural instinct is to fear magic and hide it away, unless they can find a way to use it.

I was lucky to be born among the Dalish, where we see magic as a gift, and treat it as a part of everyday life instead of something to be locked away and feared. We’re taught how to control our magic without it being surrounded by fear and disdain, treated not as if we’re ticking timebombs that are doomed to inevitably become a demon abomination and therefore to be watched under lock and key 24/7, forbidden to venture into the outside world unless you either have money or you have extremely special circumstances that require your skill, such as the potential of the end of the world, but instead treated as though we’re people like anyone else who can make their own decisions and will not make a deal with a demon at any chance they get, which we won’t, if we’re treated with basic respect and dignity instead of mistreated at almost every step.

Like... no one is denying that magic is dangerous and requires respect. Magic can be dangerous, precisely like how fire can be dangerous, or even a basic tool can be dangerous, if used the wrong way. I’ve heard people argue that mages think our magic cannot be dangerous, and it’s like-- who are you talking to that even says that? I use magic casually and trust me, I know that it takes a great deal of focus and control, which does get easier with practice, but that’s because you learn precisely how much focus you need to shape Fade energy to do what you want it to do.

Er... I should probably... cut this post. It’s very long, I’m very sorry.

But I guess I’m going a little off-topic there. It’s just. Frustrating because some of these people act like we don’t know we’re dangerous, and it’s like... how can we forget that, when we’re constantly reminded of that every step of the way?

It’s just... everyone acts like only mages, or only this race, or only this country can commit atrocities when the fact of the matter is that everyone is capable of committing atrocities, and it feels like they forget that because they think they’re in the right, that they’re doing it for the greater good, that what they’re doing is protecting people at the cost of so many other lives.

Like... gods. There are humans who waged war with my ancestors because my people didn’t help enough. Were worshipping our own gods instead of Andraste. None of them remember the people they’ve killed and most of them don’t care because it was a religious war, an Exalted March, and because we didn’t want to give up our culture and give up our gods, what little of them we remembered, they came and they slaughtered us and they put up statues and memorials dedicated to their prophet in what used to be our homeland and they said it was Good.

...I keep going off topic. I just... there’s a lot and I don’t know what isn’t important and what is so I’m giving as much context as possible, I guess.

It’s just, so much of their fear of magic is rooted in how their prophetess was killed, but she was killed because she was leading a slave rebellion, not because... it’s just... yes, I know Tevinter, ruled by mages, is also a horrible place. I know slaves are still allowed there. I know many of them practice blood magic even if it’s technically “illegal” because they view that as the most powerful school of magic, I know so many magisters there are awful and sacrifice thousands, I know, I know, I know, but there’s a BALANCE that has to be struck, and clearly they’re just as imbalanced as the non-magical countries.

And I know now that... apparently my ancestors, back in Arlathan, were just like Tevinter.

But that doesn’t mean that treating mages like potential abominations, murderers, slave-owners, and so on and so forth is okay. You learn that history. You take that history to heart. And you try your hardest not to repeat it. And you can only do that by knowing the history and the ideas borne in it.

It’s just. Hard for me to not be afraid. People act like it’s such an unthinkable idea that we should be treated like anybody else. “What will you do when they commit crimes? Who should judge them?” I don’t know, gosh, maybe a jury of their peers? Magic and non-magic?

This fear of magic is so prevalent that people have even written books about how to prevent magic from manifesting in your children. Superstition that encourages you to do things like place leeches all over your infant’s limbs, before burning said leeches without breathing in the smoke, and wrapping your child’s limbs in cloth specially blessed by a Chantry sister. Superstitions that encourage you to nearly drown your child showing signs of magic, holding them underwater until they almost lose their breath, saying that if their magic is weak, that the magic will die before your child does. Families are so ashamed of having mages in their family that instead of sending them to Circles, they’ll simply lock them away in their homes and ignore them, refusing to let them even learn how to control their abilities until it’s too late.

It’s so hard not to be afraid when those tasked with protecting the common people from mages - and even if they say they protect mages from the rest of the world too, it can’t help but feel like a lie - do horrific things. Abusing us, blackmailing us, even going so far as to cut our connection to the Fade and rendering us as people who can no longer feel or have desires and barely any self-preservation instinct and can’t effectively say no to anyone and being abandoned and left to die. They kill us for not passing Harrowings where they deliberately summon demons to tempt these mages, and some people are so afraid of being unable to pass that they’d rather just be killed then and there.

In fact, if a Circle is deemed too out of control, too beyond saving, they’re allowed to pass a Rite of Annulment, where they just kill every single last mage, every man, woman, and child, and just... start anew. Because most Circles think it’s better to do that than do anything else.

And templars would raid my clan to drag mages to their Circles, their prisons, or would kill us if we proved to be too hostile, too resistant. I’ve lost family to these raids.

And then everybody wonders why so many mages turn to making deals with demons, turning to blood magic... they’re scared and they’re desperate. They’ve decided that if the world is going to treat them like monsters, if the world is going to always treat them like this, then what hope do they have? What else do they have to lose? They decide things can’t possibly get that much worse. That no matter what happens, even if they were good, that they’d never get to be treated like a person because someone will always find a reason to hate us.

Even if all mages are free of Circles now... how long is that going to last? With the war, even though I resolved it... people aren’t going to just forget four years of templars and mages killing each other, killing innocent people, ruining so many lives because it was inevitable that eventually things would come to a head and explode and now there’s even less of a reason to treat us like people.

It’s. It’s just. I don’t know. People have every reason to be afraid of us but by treating us the way they do, they’re only just... causing a vicious cycle, one that I fear has been going on for so long that it might be impossible to break, no matter how hopeful and optimistic I want to be.

It’s just. It’s funny. I’m one of the lucky ones who was treated like a person worthy of respect when I was growing up, my family celebrated when I developed magic, I know I didn’t experience the worst of things for a mage. I know I was born lucky to not grow up in fear of myself and my own abilities.

But I’ve had to learn how to act in the world outside of my clan, and... so many people want me dead for the abilities I have. So many people act like I’ll go out of control. And it’s... how can I not be afraid? Truly?

I’m sorry, I know this meandered a lot and went to a lot of places. I’m not... much of a professional when it comes to writing. Or talking. And there was a lot that I felt was important to share.

I just think that... at least here, for your average person... they may be afraid of us, they might hate us, they have valid reasons to, but I don’t think they’re ever going to quite understand the terror we feel knowing that they’re never really going to want to see us as people who are just as scared as they are.

#liliumsunshine #revas blogs #slavery m ///#abuse m ///#{dear god i do not know how to tag this}#{ALSO GOOGLE DOCS SAYS THIS IS OVER TWO PAGES LONG.}#revas never getting to the fucking point m ///

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spork-guitar · 5 years ago

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Lucky Lady Chapter 2 (Bodyguard!Mari)

Based off of a prompt by @gale-of-the-nomads

@sapphicsovereign @gingerdaile

Before we begin, I wanted to apologize for how long this chapter took. My sister gave me the flu last week, and I basically did nothing but sleep, then I just procrastinated for a few days (as usual). I’m still going to try my best to crank out a chapter every couple days, but that won’t always be the case. To make up for it, here’s a longer chapter (oops).

Chapter 1 here

Ladybug was struggling. It was her first day on the job, and she was already failing miserably. So what if Adrien Agreste just happened to be super hot? She could keep it professional. Besides, he was engaged, and it didn’t matter how plainly uncomfortable he was around his fiancée, she was going to hold her tongue and let him run his own life. She wasn’t going to be the next in a long line of overprotective, sheltering people he had to put up with.

Still, there was a chance he could be shallow and self-absorbed. His sunny disposition and gorgeous smile could just be a façade, covering up how he truly was when the public wasn’t looking at his picture on a magazine cover. Ladybug had known him for a few measly hours. She had no right to make judgments yet or ever, and she knew it.

Running on a couple restless hours of sleep and pure adrenaline, she focused the little attention she had on getting the seemingly happy couple to the park. Under strict instructions from Nathalie to stay until the end of the photo shoot, she allowed Adrien to introduce her to the photographer while Lila got ready.

“Ah! You’re much more photogenic than the last one.” Vincent held up his hands and closed one eye as if studying her through the lens of a camera. “Have you ever considered becoming a model?”

“Oh, I don’t think I would be very good at that.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, perhaps if things don’t work out with Mlle. Lila.” She felt a rush of blood heat her cheeks and struggled to come up with a suitable response, but fortunately (unfortunately?) for her, a certain model stepped in.

Adrien smiled at her and winked, engaging the cameraman in conversation and leading him away from her, and Ladybug let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

She briefly considered waiting in the car - or running away, which had also crossed her mind - instead of watching Lila hang all over Adrien as an overly charismatic photographer communicated using metaphors about Italian food, but she ultimately decided to stay. She was Adrien’s bodyguard, after all, and if protecting him meant staying close by him at all times, that was a sacrifice she would have to make.

Ladybug found herself entranced by the way Adrien immediately understood the photographer’s obscurities, the way he furrowed his brow when he was confused, how graceful his movements were. A small voice in the back of her head whispered what she was afraid of, that he could be as egotistical as the woman posing beside him, and once she got to know him she would see his true colors.

A cry pierced the air, snapping her out of her stupor, and her head instinctively turned to see what was happening. A little girl stood at the trunk of a tree, yelling to a woman - her mother, perhaps - who was blatantly ignoring her, and gesturing frantically to the tree. Ladybug squinted, barely able to make out what she thought might have been a cat. It was resting on a low branch, only a couple meters off the ground, but way too high for the young girl to reach. It was fine, though, someone would call the fire department and-

“Adrien! Where are you going?” Lila whined as she was forcefully pried off her fiancé, who had broken into a dead sprint towards the girl.

He arrived in seconds, squatting down as the girl tearfully explained the situation. Ladybug had half a mind to go after him and chastise him for running away, but she was admittedly curious.

“What are you waiting for?” Lila shrieked, arms folded across her chest. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Do your job!”

Ladybug rolled her eyes internally and started walking towards Adrien, who stood on his toes and stretched one arm up, the other braced on the tree trunk as he cooed at the little kitten. It inched closer skeptically, batting a curious paw before crawling into his waiting hand. He lowered his arm, gently cradling the kitten to his chest and petting it, and Ladybug stopped dead in her tracks.

There was something so sweet and tender, almost domestic, about the scene before her that rendered her completely speechless. A rush of indescribable… something hit her like a freight train, and it was only when he looked back at her and she realized she had been staring at him that it clicked.

She was in love - with her client, no less, and to make matters worse, he was engaged. Maybe, the logical part of her whispered, maybe that’s not what this is. Honestly, there’s no way she could have fallen for someone after knowing them for all of a day. No matter what, keeping things strictly professional between them was the most important thing. She was there to do her job, and nothing else.

“Ladybug?” The sound of her cover name instantly derailed her train of thought. “Are you alright?”

“Ha, yeah,” she assured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I guess I get in my head sometimes.”

Adrien chuckled. “I can understand that. You looked a little out of it.”

“My apologies, M. Agreste. I’m afraid I’m not much of a morning person.”

“Well, we certainly have that in common. When my mother was around, she always told me I would get used to waking up early, and I never believed her.”

Ladybug nodded, unsure what else to say. The short conversation came to a dead stop, and Ladybug focused on not staring at Adrien. It didn’t matter that he may as well have been literally chiseled out of stone and extremely handsome in every sense of the word, she was still his bodyguard, and he was engaged. That was that.

The Agrestes were full of mysteries. It was something that intrigued her about the family, and one of the reasons she had volunteered so eagerly for the job, but especially the disappearance of Emilie Agreste, formerly Graham de Vanily. She had vanished under mysterious circumstances when Adrien was barely a teenager, and nothing but false leads were found in the ten years the case had been open.

And then there was perhaps the greatest mystery of all, why Adrien would ever marry Lila Rossi.

“Adrien!” A singsong voice called out from behind them. Ladybug inwardly cringed as a mane of hair and expensive perfume brushed by her, planting a loud kiss on Adrien’s lips and snaking her arms around his neck. “It’s time to go, chouchou.”

“So soon?” He freed an arm from her grasp to check his phone. “It’s only been a little over an hour.”

“Philippe decided to end early today.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Vincent, you mean?”

She waved a hand, dismissing his correction. “Whatever. At least we have some extra time to… do something fun before you have a piano lesson.”

“Piano’s tomorrow. I have fencing today.”

“Of course. Silly me!” Lila giggled as if her blunder was the funniest mistake she ever made.

Ladybug cleared her throat. “I’ll let Nathalie know we’ll be arriving ahead of schedule, if that’s alright with you.”

Lila sneered at her and rolled her eyes. “I much prefer the one that didn’t talk.”

Determined not to let her words have too much meaning, Ladybug quickly put them out of her head, walking in short, quick strides back to the sedan. The drive home was silent and awkward, save for Lila’s occasional critique of Ladybug’s driving skills. Her first day on the job ended worse than it began, with a newfound love for the handsome Adrien Agreste, and a blossoming rivalry with his unbearable fiancée.

#gale-of-the-nomads #miraculous ladybug #bodyguard!mari #ml fic #ml au

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idealisticrealism · 5 years ago

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Hello! I hope you are doing fine. So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after (1)

Oh, ReviewerAnon. I freakin love getting to hear your thoughts on this story. And funnily enough, I literally thought of you the very day before you sent these Asks, wondering if you were still reading along, and I was so excited to see the notifications show up less than 24hrs later. Given the length of your messages-- not to mention the undoubtedly very long responses I will be giving to your questions/comments about IF-- I’m going to put the rest under a Read More so people don’t have to scroll past a huge block of text. But to any of my followers that are reading IF, feel free to read this and even add any thoughts you might have, bc there might be some interesting (and spoiler-free) things for you to discover if you want to look below the cut :)

So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after a two sentence discussion with Weller. Determined to get an answer Weller hadn't gotten, in a way he never dared to. It made me uncomfortable. So I gave it a couple of weeks and thought about it. And in some way it made sense. Because she loves him and she realized that he could never be a whole person again until he got an answer that would allow him to put the past behind him. And he would never get an answer because he could never put a knife in that man's throat and demand it. And the past and that man would continue to hunt him. The same past and man that had pushed him to almost take his own life. So she does what he can't do and he accepts it because he understands it comes from a place of love and more importantly because he feels it in his bones that he would never have an answer in any other way. Or at least that's how I saw it.

Oh man. I have so much to say about this and I hope it’s going to make sense. Firstly, my immediate response to you not liking Remi’s actions was “Nooooooooo” because I’m always sad when someone doesn’t enjoy something in my writing. But I’m so delighted that you actually gave it the benefit of the doubt and thought about it from different angles rather than just dismissing it as a poor writing choice, and honestly the conclusion you came to is pretty much exactly what I was going for! But to say a bit more about it, because I can’t help myself lol: firstly, though we haven’t had much opportunity to see it in either fic, Remi is fiercely protective of kids (even while having very little idea of how to interact with them), given her history with the orphanage and Shepherd’s parenting etc. Literally from the moment she heard his story about Taylor in the cave, she knew that she would have gotten the truth out of Bill by any means necessary if she had been in Weller’s shoes, and would also have made Bill pay dearly for it. When she discovers at the safehouse that Bill is practically within reach, there is no question for her that she has to do this for Weller. Not only does she love him and want him to have closure, but she feels that she owes it to him to do what he can’t-- to her, Weller saved her, showed her that she wasn’t just the irredeemable monster that Shepherd had created; but she also knows that her darker side is exactly what is needed for this, because only someone who was a little bit monstrous could do what was necessary to get the truth from someone like Bill. By doing it herself, she ensures Weller will get the answer he so desperately wants and needs, all without ever tainting his soul or his conscience. Did a part of her also almost hope (even as the thought terrified her) that doing this terrible thing would make him turn his back on her once he learned of it? Honestly, I think so, even if just a little bit. Because yes, she loves him, but she is still half-convinced that she is the very thing he needs protecting from, not to mention that she is insecure as hell, and if he left her now because of this, that would be easier to bear than him leaving her later bc he just ‘lost interest’ or fell for someone else or whatever.

As for Weller’s reaction-- despite their grim nature, he sees her actions for the gift of love that they are, sees her taking the burden of doing ‘evil’ onto her own shoulders in order to both heal his old wounds and prevent him gaining new ones. And honestly, when he learns of it, I don’t think her going into the apartment with Sarah and Sawyer gives him even a moment’s concern-- firstly, he knows she would have used as little force as possible with Bill, because he knows her and knows that she’s not needlessly cruel, and also that she cares what he thinks of her, so there would have been no doubt in his mind hat she would have been very restrained in her approach. He knows, too, that with her level of skill, Sarah and Sawyer were bound to never even know she was there. And if by some unlucky chance they did discover her, it would probably all be fine-- Sarah knows and trusts her and so would listen to what she had to say, and Sawyer was little enough that he would believe pretty much anything that this gentle and pretty lady said, especially if his mom was also awake to say she was Uncle Kurt’s girlfriend. (Btw let’s not forget Bill would be rendered unconscious the moment he made a peep, so it’s not like either of them would walk in on him squealing like a stuck pig with her standing over him covered in blood and holding a knife).

But aaaanyway TL/DR; Remi Briggs would do anything to protect Kurt Weller from literally any form of harm, regardless of the cost to herself, and Weller recognises this and would never turn on her for doing so, even if she did it in a way that others might condemn. He just accepts her and finds his own ways to protect her in return, because that’s what you do for the people you love.

A question here: why do you think he never threatened his father for an answer when he was sure about what he had done? Why didn't he put a gun to his head? He must have thought about it. Perhaps, when it came to that man Weller would always feel like a 10-year old boy with no power over his paternal figure? Helpless and hopeless?

Oooh boy, time for a fun fact: my first idea for Weller’s ‘dark secret’ wasn’t that he tried to kill himself. It was actually much like what you said; sometime when he had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered teenager who almost physically rivalled his father for size and was no longer paralysed by his fear of him, he was going to finally snap, attack his father and threaten him with a gun to get him to tell him the truth about Taylor. Then, either he would have the sudden realization that he had also become a violent monster just like his father and immediately back off, or Sarah would unexpectedly appear and interrupt the confrontation, following which Weller would run off and enlist and basically banish himself to the other side of the world in shame/to protect her and others from himself. When I thought about it, though, I decided that him actually going through with something like that didn’t really fit with the image of Weller I had in my head (even a traumatised and angsty and hormonal teenaged Weller) so I changed the plot to have him nearly kill himself instead. The subtext of that moment, which I never actually explicitly wrote but was definitely there in my mind, was that the reason he nearly killed himself and then later ran away to the Army was because he wanted to kill his father, wanted to attack him just like I described above, and was so horrified by that urge-- and by the belief that it meant that he truly was his father’s son, just another violent monster like Bill-- that he ran as far and fast as he could and then focused his entire life around helping people (as much as one can while in the Army... though that’s a political debate for another time), trying to stamp out or at least outrun that part of himself. Obviously that’s a level of complexity that you guys never really received bc I never actually told you-- but actually as I write this, I actually now know exactly where and when I will include it in the future. So I guess you did just get a teeny spoiler there haha :P

Anyway... Chapter 5 was AMAZING. I love how much she loves Weller and I'm so glad that she just went ahead and said it. I love that it is important to her that he knows that she feels the same. What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person... Remi has come a long way. I also LOVED the interaction between Emma and Remi but I kind of also wanted a glimpse of Remi's thoughts on the necklace and what Emma's gesture meant to her.

“What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person”-- Yes!! You have literally captured the entire theme of FTA and IF. I started writing FTA purely because I wondered what kind of person Remi would have become if she’d met Weller earlier. The assassination attempt by Orion was a turning point in her life, one that (in canon) drove her back to Shepherd and to the ‘dark side’. But if it had led her to Weller instead, and to the side of good... what else would change, not only for her, but for all of them? Exploring that in IF has been awesome, partly because I get to right a lot of wrongs, but also because I get to take two traumatised people who have suffered a lot in their lives and let them start to heal together, and just be happy and stupidly in love?? The whole thing is pure bliss, both for them and for me lol

Also I get what you mean about wanting to know Remi’s reaction to Emma and the necklace, given that we never got to really see it bc that scene was all from Weller’s POV. I will do my best to address it someday, and I think I even have an idea of where it could happen....

The tattoos in chapter 6 were indeed EXTRA but they are drunk in love so go ahead with all the grand dramatic gestures...

Dude, you have no idea how hard I fought with myself on that one. The sensible side was all “Laura, no, it’s so lame and over-the-top! Don’t do it! Everyone will roll their eyes and be unable to take you seriously ever again!” while the fluff-loving little fangirl in me just repeatedly cried “But I wanna!!” Which was clearly enough argument to convince me, given the sappy romantic that I am lol. (A decision that was helped along by a little encouragement from the ever-awesome @chibinoyume). And as it turns out, people seemed to enjoy the whole tattoo thing, thankfully! I think the fact that these two are clearly very much in the ‘Honeymoon Phase’ helped out there, as did the fact that the tattoos could technically be viewed as a reminder of their journey/survival rather than just specifically of each other. But man, I wish I could have gotten to write Remi’s indecision as she paced around the spare bedroom for a couple of hours trying to decide whether to tattoo herself or not lol. Because (much like my own little internal debate haha) she wanted to do it, but felt that she shouldn’t want to do it, and was also nervous about the reaction if she did. But anyway, I may very well end up writing a oneshot of that moment someday. We’ll see.

Chapter 7 was so much fun! Thank god for shared bathrooms and extra doors and kudos to Remi for claiming what obviously belongs to her. She loves him and he loves her and good for them for not holding anything back. Life is too short and they wasted a lot of years already without love in their life.

I agree completely!! These two have both lived so much of their lives in emotional isolation-- I mean, yes, Weller had Sarah and Sawyer and Emma, but like I said earlier, he had deliberately kept his distance out of fear and shame, and then by the time he started to realise that he wasn’t his father, he was so used to being far away that I think it just made sense to stay that way. So when he and Remi found each other and experienced that deep sense of connection for the first time, they might have shied away from it at first, but once they accepted it, no one was ever going to be able to make them let go. They are each others’ person, and always will be, even if they both get afflicted by insecurity at times!

Also hell yes about the shared bathrooms!!! I know I could have written it that way regardless, bc I’m the author and I can do what I want, but having reality actually back me up on it was amazing lol. I’m pretty sure you asked several weeks ago what the bedroom/roommate situation was like at Quantico and I couldn’t tell you back then, so I’m glad I finally got to share the answer with you haha!

And although I am sure other readers are ready for team bonding and first friendships (at least for Remi), I am here for Mayfair. Mayfair is an absolute queen and has shown more caring and love for these two than their parental figures ever did. I am now gonna go ahead and selfishly say what I would like to see: I'm here for both of them (together and separately) having a heart-to-heart with Mayfair. I'm here for Remi sincerely saying how much she appreciates everything Mayfair has done for them, although she owed her nothing. I'm honestly here for them to send Mayfair flowers and chocolates and maybe a new scarf. I want grand gestures! One of the greatest failures of the show, in my opinion, was the lack of healthy relationships between people of different generations. It's pathetic that almost every person over 40 turned out to be a villain and every single parental figure (except Emma who we saw for like 2 seconds and Bill Nye) failed miserably their children (I am not even going to talk about killing Mayfair). Our relationships are not just with people of our age, our friends or siblings. We have important relationships with our parents, our aunts, our older colleagues or friends and we often turn to them for love and advice and encouragement and maybe to get yelled at for doing stupid things. Why on earth could we not have that on Blindspot? The team is great and everything but Mayfair's relationship with Weller was amazing (and I guess her relationship with Patterson and the others, if they cared to elaborate on time and not after death). So please please more Mayfair in the story... (They will have weekends off at some point, right? And they will need protection. A safehouse, right? I am sure Mayfair can have a beachhouse or a lakehouse or a house on the top of a mountain where they can go spend the weekend safely because Mayfair is the head of the NYO and she has to have extra security, right? I will pay money for a Remi-Mayfair talk about her relationship with Weller and how it has changed her but also confiding to her about what kind of future she sees with Weller after Orion is defeated.)

This is a really interesting point, and I honestly hadn’t noticed until now just how many of the older characters turned out to be absolutely awful, or if they weren’t, got quickly killed off. I will forever be bitter about Mayfair’s end (I held onto denial about her death for so damn long, sigh) and that was one of the things I wanted to rectify in this story. Mayfair is an amazing part of the team and an incredible character in her own right. Though with that said, I honestly hadn’t planned for her to be in the Quantico-based chapters much at all, purely bc she’s a busy lady and NYC is several hours away, but after getting your asks I had an idea for a very Mayfair-focused chapter and I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot. Well, I hope so, anyway!

Finally, with the way these two are behaving I'm half expecting a marriage proposal and a yes before the question gets fully asked and I will be like "I mean yeah... it makes total sense after 6 weeks together..."

Hahahaha I love that you would be on board with a Reller engagement already! I get what you mean; they’ve been A Lot lately, especially bc of all the uncertainty of their changing situation, but I think once they settle into Quantico life they’ll tone it down a notch lol. Plus, it definitely is still early days, and there’s a lot that these guys have to figure out before they could get to that point! I can neither confirm nor deny that a proposal will happen by the end of the fic (mostly because I legitimately don’t know yet lol-- I have about 20 chapters to write before we even get near to the end, so I’ve got lots of other things to be focusing on for now haha). But with that said, if I do include one, I hope it’ll be done in such a way that it makes you go “Yes. This is right. This is exactly how it should be.” And if I don’t include one, I promise I’ll make it very clear that they’re committed to each other regardless ;)

My friend, you are crazy talented. Insanely talented. And I can tell how much you enjoy writing this story. So kudos to you and here's to many more chapters of Remi and Weller (and Mayfair...) This message is waaaay too long but I wanted to write for a few weeks now and finally I had some time to write down my thoughts. I hope this is okay. Stay healthy and safe! ReviewerAnon

Oh man. Honestly, the fact that you have so many thoughts and feelings about this story is one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever received (although you saying I’m insanely talented is definitely another huge one!!!). Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read my work, but to think about it, to analyse what you feel about it and why, and for coming here to tell me your findings! You’re right, I do absolutely love writing this story and inhabiting this world with these characters, just as I love sharing that world with you guys! I truly hope that you continue to enjoy the journey, and that you will feel comfortable to continue sharing your thoughts about it. And of course, I hope that you are happy and well in whatever corner of the world you inhabit, just as I am in mine!

Until next time x

#Blindspot #Blindspot fanfic #Into Flames #Reller #reviewerAnon #ask #this was amazing aaaaaaaaaaahh #sorry for the word vomit lol #as you can see I can discuss this story and this pairing endlessly haha

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dragon-kazansky · 6 years ago

Text

A rose in London - Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 3 - A last request

The next morning John had invited you to breakfast to apologise for the dinner the night before. Though you told him it was of not fault of his, he insisted and explained that that was the reason he never wanted you to meet Sherlock. Holmes was completely strange and quite possibly not human. He doesn't think like others do and it's a problem. You insisted that was it fine and you were more concerned about Mary than yourself. John assured you she was fine, but there would be no more dinner parties with Sherlock. You agreed.

When that was over, John excused himself. He had to find Sherlock and talk to him. An important request had been made and it was vital John find Sherlock. You offered to help, but he refused. You asked to tag along and not see Sherlock, you mentioned what happened after John had left last night. John agreed and apologised once again. he felt truly awful for what had happened, and felt like a rather bad friend. You told him you could wait outside for him and then asked him what this important thing was. He was rather reluctant to tell you, so you didn't badger him about it.

You had taken a guess that it was about Blackwood, however. You wanted to go for the sake of having something to do, you had no plans for the day, but with the assumption it was about that case they did, you wanted to go with him to hear more.

John checked the flat, but he was defiantly not there. John led you to the boxing ring. Sometimes Sherlock came here to fight. You waited outside in the carriage, still not wanting to deal with Sherlock despite knowing he would have to come down and join you to get to wherever they were going. you would choose to ignore him for a while.

John went upstairs, after leaving you outside with a promise he would be quick, and found Sherlock plucking his violin at a jar of trapped flies. This still wasn't the weirdest thing he had ever walked in on when it came to his dear friend.

"Watson."

"Right, let's go."

"What started as merely an experiment, as brought me on the threshold of monumental of discovery." Sherlock rambled on about how playing different scales and notes, the flies behaved differently. John went on to look around the shabby room. He wasn't sure what was worse, this place or his actual flat. it appeared that no matter where Sherlock went, a mess was sure to follow.

John picked up a small bottle and read the label, he turned his friend with frown.

"You do know what you're drinking is for eye surgery."

Sherlock chose to ignore that statement and continued on discussing his discovery. John was not impressed in the slightest and put the bottle down, there was concern for his friend. John decided to get closer to the focus of Sherlock's attention and began to question things.

"I, using musical theory, have created order out of chaos." Sherlock said proudly.

"How did you lure them in?" John asked, more curious about that than anything else.

"Excellent question, individually. I've been at it for six hours."

John stared at Sherlock with a blank look. He wondered often how this man survived in the world. He was once again convinced the detective wasn't human. He just couldn't be.

"What happens if I do this?" John reached for the top of the vile and removed the magnifying glass that was keeping the flies in. He tapped the side with his cane and watched the flies find their escape, rendering the experiment useless now. "Clean yourself up. You are Blackwood's last request."

Sherlock let that sink in. He turned on his heel slowly and grabbed his coat. "Is she with you?" He asked, making sure it was on properly.

"No, Mary is at home. She wasn't too eager to see you again so soon." John was waiting by the door.

"I wasn't talking about Mary."

John glanced over at Sherlock who was gathering the few things he had with him here.

"Y/N is outside. She was bored and needed something to do." John sighed. "She also isn't too eager to see you, but she needed something to do."

"You should have brought her up with you." Sherlock walked past John and began to descend the stairs. John followed him quietly, not wanting to argue with Sherlock about his behaviour.

When Sherlock saw you sitting in the carriage, he became more excited to go and deal with request. For whatever reason, you made Sherlock want to do things just by being in those places he needed to be. John had noticed this.

"Lovely as always, Y/N."

You, not wanting to be rude, gave a small quick smile and a thank you, hoping this wouldn't turn into a conversation. You wouldn't know what to say to him, though you had to admit it was kind of nice to see him again, even in his rough state.

John climbed in and sat beside Sherlock. You turned your gaze to outside the window.

"Shall I have you dropped off at home?" John asked you kindly.

"No it's OK. I'll only grow further bored there. I'll take a walk when we get there." You gave John a comforting smile.

"If you're sure."

"You could come with us." Sherlock offered, his deep gaze piercing you.

Your lips parted slightly as you hesitated, staring right back at him. That was a strange offer considering you had nothing to do with Blackwood. After all, today he would hang for his crimes. You didn't really want to see that.

"Sherlock." John scolded him.

"You don't have to do anything, but if you want to, you can accompany us." Sherlock ignored the other man beside him and kept his attention focused on you.

"I don't think so." You muttered. "I don't like the idea of watching a man face his death sentence. I also have no reason to be there, this was your case after all."

Sherlock didn't turn his gaze away when you did. John could see him staring at you into the corner of his eye and gave him a nudge with his elbow. Sherlock was unfazed by that. The detective was very much interested in you. He knew everything about you, but at the same knew nothing. If only you would talk to him.

There was time for that later.

Along the way Sherlock had tried to make conversation, just to talk to you at least a little bit. He brought up to construction of what would become Tower Bridge. The carriage passed right past it, so you got a good view of it's progress. You couldn't help but wonder it would look when it was finally complete. Sherlock was hoping he was impressing you with the information he knew of the construction, but your face gave away no sign of being impressed. Though he could tell you were interested by the look in your eyes. He felt like he had at least learnt something else about you within that moment.

He teased John about collecting his winnings from the match that night, despite him not being there. Sherlock had put a bet on, knowing he would win using his skills to beat the opponent. That defiantly wasn't impressing you, but you were mildly amused that Sherlock put a bet on for John. knowing John was trying to get over his gambling faze.

Sherlock then brought up the opera. He said he could get tickets, but John wasn't interested. You, however, perked up a little bit. Very rarely you got to go and see the opera, so if Sherlock was at all able, you would have liked to go.

Sherlock noticed your interest.

"You have a gran gift of silence, Watson. Y/N, however, looks rather interested." His deep gaze met yours.

"Oh, well... I can't lie. The opera does sound interesting, but I wouldn't have anyone to go with." You gave a small smile.

Sherlock was going to say something, but John put and end to it.

The ride wasn't long and soon the carriage had reached it's destination. John was the one to help you out, pushing Sherlock to the side slightly as to keep distance between the pair of you. Sherlock side glanced John, unimpressed with that attitude, but he kept his mouth shut, smiling at you when his eyes met yours once more.

"Will you be alright?" John asked, concern evident on his face. There was crowds of people outside the prison, all yelling things you couldn't quite make out.

"Yes. I don't really want to see it. Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine. I'm a doctor." He gave a chuckle.

You smiled, "just because you're a doctor doesn't mean you're OK with watching people die. Even evil people."

Sherlock found that amusing and chuckled from beside Watson. John ignored him and put on a smile, a brave face.

"I would feel much better if you came with us." Sherlock spoke up. "I fear I won't be able to concentrate knowing we left you out here on your own."

"Are you worried about my safety, Mr. Holmes?"

"Preciously." The expression on his face was gentle, but there was no sign of a smile. He looked, as far as you could tell, actually concerned about you. It appeared the thought of leaving you on your own worried him.

"I don't have to watch the hanging, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to, but I'll be happier knowing you're inside with us." Sherlock offered you his arm.

"You can come with me." John offered. "I have no purpose with him alive, I'll only be examining his body."

"Alright. That sounds better." You ignored the arm Sherlock had offered you and went with John. Sherlock was escorted inside. He did glance over his shoulder as you went in the opposite direction with Watson.

"Is Sherlock always like that?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you ever had to meet him."

"Don't apologise. I find him intriguing, but I find him so odd. He's so strange and seems so interested in me." You sighed softly. "I can't see why. I'm not very interesting at all."

"I wouldn't say that. I think you're interesting. Sherlock has known about for quite some time, but I refused him the chance to ever meet you in person. He was always interested in your few visits to the flat, or when I mentioned meeting up with you every so often. I think he rather fancies you, if I'm being honest."

"Fancies me?" You looked at John shocked. "What have you told him about me?"

"Only the truth." John smiled. "Don't worry, if he says anything just let me know. I can deal with him." He chuckled rather fondly.

You weren't sure what to do with the information of the detective seeing in such a light. You didn't know him very well, only what you read about him or what John told you. You decided right then that you would at least make an effort to talk to him. You had a feeling that you were going to be seeing him a lot now you've met him.

When the time came for the hanging, John had requested you wait in an office nearby. You had an officer for company, who you talked to until the event was over. The policeman understood you not wanting to be there to witness such an act, even if the criminal in question deserved it. John promised to come and collect you once he had officiated the death.

As promised, he came with Sherlock.

"Were you alright?" John asked.

"Yes, this gentleman kept me company. Is it over?"

"It is. He's dead."

You were glad.

Sherlock offered you his arm again, this time you took it. He said nothing as the three of you left the building. Sherlock didn't talk about what Blackwood wanted him for, and you didn't ask either. He was being oddly quiet, much like last night after Mary had left. It felt strange to see him so silent.

You didn't question him.

They took you home. Sherlock made sure to see you to the door, telling John he could do it without issue and insisting John remain inside the carriage. He was being a gentleman to you.

"Enough excitement for one day, don't you think?" He asked, smiling.

"Yes, very much so. Are... are you alright, Mr. Holmes?"

"Call me Sherlock, please." He insisted.

"Sherlock." You smiled.

"Nothing sleep won't fix." He put on a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You must come over for tea sometime soon."

"I would like that very much." You smiled, yours making your whole face light up.

"Until then." He lifted your hand and placed a kiss to it, leaving you at your door and returning back to John, who had been watching everything.

You waved them off and went inside.

Tags:

@awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum @sigynbandraoi-blog @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @phantomofhogwarts

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #a rose in london #chapter 3 #robert downey jr

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blooms-of-ice · 5 years ago

Text

RP Log: Wyda welcomes Cyrus to the company

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn lingers by the company entrance, and every so often she checks a note she’s written on her hand. Whenever someone passes by, she gives them a good, long stare...clearly waiting for someone in particular.

Cyrus Leafwalker Shuffling the paperwork in his hand he checked each number as he passed the estates, the subdued hiss and clank of his armor announcing his arrival before the lanky elezen actually appeared on the doorstep. Adjusting his glasses he looked up, confirmed the number and then the large woman standing out front.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah ha..was my arrival expected..or is this coincidence?

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks at Cyrus, then at the smudged writing on her hand. An...an elezen, with blonde hair. Yup, it all checks out! With arms wide open, she approaches him as if he’s an old friend. “Ah! Yes, and no. Heard there were new recruits, so I’ve been keeping an eye open! I’m Wyda, nice to meet you.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He beamed a genuine smile at the woman greeting him and gave a half bow in the way of greeting. "Cyrus, I've recently been hired on to your company and decided to make my way here" His glasses slipped down his beaky nose a bit to be pushed back into place.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You’ll find us a friendly bunch! No better crew to kick ass and, well...get your ass saved by.” She sheepishly grins, having been on both ends of that story. “Are you from around here?”

Cyrus Leafwalker motions to himself.

Cyrus Leafwalker the smile turned into a frown for only a brief second before he spoke. "Ah..now that's a complicated question. To be honest I have no idea where I'm from..nor do I possess any memory at beyond a scant handful of months."

Cyrus Leafwalker: I was found wounded and near dead in the forest, Apparently I had taken quite a hit to the head. It's rendered me an amnesiac.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn’s eyes light up, and she regards Cyrus with a growing curiosity. “Oh, really? That’s weird...I’m glad you’re mostly in one piece though?”

Cyrus Leafwalker: After a bit of nursing and mending I was indeed made whole again. At least so far as my body goes. The mind...well..My memories may return or they may be ever lost to me. Only time will tell.

Cyrus Leafwalker shrugged. If he was bothered by it he hid it well. "I was found with only this armor and sword in my possession, and naught a thread more. No emblem of house or any indication where I might have hailed from"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks as if she’s about to say something, and then gasps. It was rude of her to let Cyrus sit out here in the open. “Oh! Shall we continue this conversation inside? Warm fires and good drinks await.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: Aha. Yes please..my journey was long and I am *famished*

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Right this way! Mind the pillar, and stairs.” She hurries downward.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah...this is quite welcoming.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You think so too?! Very cozy, right?” Wyda is clearly very excited about this, and dives behind the counter. She starts pulling out random snacks and drinks from the area. Just sort of creates a mountain of foodstuff on the bar. “This is my favorite spot.”

Cyrus Leafwalker looks around, Growing wide eyed. The homey nature of it stirred a feeling of warmth in him he could not explain, but the smile that graced his lips said what words did not. His gaze fell back to her and that smile widened further. "I can't recall ever feeling so welcomed anywhere. Truly...I think I'm going to enjoy my time here"

Cyrus Leafwalker reached out to pluck a small bit of pastry from the tray, munching it thoughtfully. "Oh this is..heavenly"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - With expert-like speed, she opens a bottle of rum and pours herself a glass. It’s a motion she’s practiced at least a thousand times. Afterwards, she raises it to Cyrus, offering him a glass without words. “So, you don’t remember a thing, huh? Do you...want to remember?”

Cyrus Leafwalker took the offered drink with a nod of thanks as he pondered her question. "I..don't know to be honest. I am curious how I came to be in such a state..surely I have a family somewhere?" He threw back the drink and set the glass on the table, grimacing at the burn. "But no ones come looking...or recognized me. So mayhaps there is naught to remember.."

Cyrus Leafwalker: Cyrus is most likely not even my name..but the one I was given by the one who tended my wounds and nursed me back to health.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn sips on her own drink, pondering his words. “A name, your own or given later, is still important. And even if you don’t remember anything of your past, the memories you’ve made since are still precious.” Wyda shakes her head, unsure of where she’s going with this. “I guess I’m trying to say, take your time. And we’ll be here to support you, whatever you choose.”

Cyrus Leafwalker nodded and gave a reassuring smile. "I am not overly burdened by my lack of memories. The ones I currently have are good ones, and I'd not trade them for anything in all the world" He snagged another bit of pastry. "I *am* Cyrus, Who I was cannot..must not be a shackle to who I will be. It is much the same for those in full accounting of their lives, is it not?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn cheers to that! It’s refreshing to see someone in a similar situation as herself push forward with such optimism. “You said you were bonked on the head earlier? We’ve got medical services for that, if it’s still bothering you. Though I’m no help for matters like that...the only thing I’m good for is punching baddies, pretty much.”

Cyrus Leafwalker shook his head, tapping his temple with a finger. "I am of sound body if not mind" He said with a soft laugh. "Now it is simple a roll of the dice, For now I am content to be as I am."

Cyrus Leafwalker: Though perhaps I'd like my coin purse to be a bit heftier. Thus why I'm here.

Cyrus Leafwalker laughed.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods in agreement. “Hah, yeah! Plenty of jobs and coin to go around. It’s not without risks, so...” She glances at Cyrus’s armor and weapon. “Are you some sort of defender? Like a knight?”

Cyrus Leafwalker pondered for a moment before placing a hand over the magitek armor. "So it seems...I can fight though I know naught where I learned the art. I've made what little coin I have by selling my sword"

Cyrus Leafwalker: My armor was in a sorry state when it was returned to me. Apparently the battle that took my memories was a fierce one. I've spent almost all the coin I've earned repairing it.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Like your body remembers...” She nibbled on her bottom lip, thoughtful. “Well, you’ll find we’re dealing with much of the same at the company. Monsters to hunt, bandits to bring to justice. Every so often, something really risky pops up...Pays good though.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Once your pockets are full of coin though, you start to wonder whether it's worth it. For me, it’s more about doing the right thing now.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He nodded. "My first memory was an act of kindness...I want to repay that kindness to any who might need it. I am also blessed with steel and skill, these things I would like to use well, In defense of those who have it not."

Cyrus Leafwalker: But alas...I cannot protect anyone if I am wasting away homeless in the gutters.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “It’s hard to balance, huh? Those who can’t pay often need our help the most.” She finishes her glass, and refills it until it’s precariously full. “Just gotta do our best.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: We charge the ones that *can* afford it so we can help the ones who cannot.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Balanced upon a swords edge..as it seems that most of life tends to be.

Cyrus Leafwalker rather he liked this state of things was impossible to tell.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods, though as of late she hadn’t been able to do much herowork. All the more reason to get back into shape! She raises the glass and takes a sip, drink spilling all over her hand as she does so.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You and I....we’ve only just met, but I feel like we share quite a few similarities. I look forward to working together.” The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile.

Cyrus Leafwalker that smiled returned, it seemed to fit his features well. "I feel the same. I look forward to working together and getting to know *your* story, For certainly it must be more interesting than mine" With that he laughed that soft musical laugh.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn shakes her head with a laugh. “Things were simpler when I /didn’t/ know my own story! And I can scarce believe anything that’s happening.” She gives Cyrus a hard look. “If I said it involved ‘evil twins,’ would you believe me?”

Cyrus Leafwalker looked a little stunned but shrugged. "It's hardly any more odd than a bereft knight awakening in the wood with not a memory to his name. Though I admit "

Cyrus Leafwalker "Evil twins" was not quite what I was expecting"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn chuckles. “I know right? It’s straight out of a thriller novel...and a bad one at that. Would much rather read about something else, something with a happy ending and more slapstick humor.”

Cyrus Leafwalker smiled at her and met her gaze. "I dare say you've not even neared your end. There is plenty of time for you to find happiness before the finale, And humor too beside"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn gives Cyrus a tired, half-smile. “There is, isn’t there? It’s easy to forget sometimes. But I digress, this is all too depressing to chat about! Come, why don’t I show you around the house a bit more?”

Cyrus Leafwalker He pushed his glasses back into place and nodded. "Please my lady, lead the way"

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah ha..this is lovely.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn is thankful that the subject has been changed, and leads him to the upper floor. “Yeah! A bit of an indoor garden, and our library to boot. If you’re the scholarly type, we’ve got a wide selection of books, from ten-gil paperbacks to encyclopedias.”

Cyrus Leafwalker frowned a bit, had he inadvertently trampled on her feelings? "Ah..yes I do enjoy a good read, a guilty pleasure"

Cyrus Leafwalker runs a finger along the spines of the books, quickly perusing the titles.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn pulls out a book, whose cover is mostly taken by a swooning maiden and a beefy sailor, set to a backdrop of roses. “I’ve read this one a few times, if you want recommendations. Very...steamy..”

Cyrus Leafwalker a slight flush touched his fair cheeks and brought forth a laugh, the frown vanishing. "And all semblance of my being an honorable knight would vanish" He teased with a wink.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Embrace it!” She pushes the trashy romance novel into Cyrus’s hands with a laugh. “I won’t judge.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He took it with a smile, Seeing her laugh put him at ease. "I will give it a read, but let this stay between us" He said with a chuckle.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn places a hand over her chest. “I solemnly swear, won’t tell a soul. Unless said information is key to saving your life.” She gives him a sly grin.

Cyrus Leafwalker took a moment to ponder how a romance novel might save his life, but considering the oddity of his last few months..he didn't dismiss it out of hand. "What a story that would be, saved by a romance novel"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Never underestimate the power of love!!” She raises and clenches both of her fists passionately. “...Ahem. Anyway, let me show you to the other rooms.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Please, Lead the way.

Cyrus Leafwalker was finding he really enjoyed her company.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn walks back down the stairs. “This is our...is the word foyer? Uhh. This is the entrance hall!” She nods to herself. “And over here, our reception desk, and rooms for company members. You can get one too, if you want.”

Cyrus Leafwalker I may have to do that. I've been staying at Inns and whatnot according to the needs of my jobs.

Cyrus Leafwalker looked around, taking in the foyer, admiring the decorations.

Cyrus Leafwalker seems lost in thought.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I definitely recommend it. Nothing like decorating your own room, sleeping on your own bed. It’s the responsible thing to do.” She crosses her arms and nods along to her own words.

Cyrus Leafwalker: A place to call home..

Cyrus Leafwalker seemed to look far away for a moment, a light smile curving those thin lips.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Home is a nice thing to have. No?

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - It’s heartwarming for Wyda, to watch Cyrus. She can’t help but grin widely. “Nice is an understatement, if you ask me.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: I suppose I'm getting to experience a lot of new "Firsts"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods happily. “It’s honestly a privilege to be here, to witness all your firsts! Have you...ever had cake?! Ever been to a hotspring? Or... or go stargazing in the Shroud?” Her eyes may as well be full of stars at this point, as she starts a mental list of frivolous but fun things for Cyrus to try.

Cyrus Leafwalker: I admit to having a soft spot for sweets..but no. I've never really been stargazing. Most of the last few months has been recovering from my wounds..repairing my armor and trying to earn enough coin to live.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn lets out an audible gasp. “You...well, when you’re up for it, I can show you. How to really, and truly, /live/!”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn corrects herself a beat later. “How I like to, anyway.”

Cyrus Leafwalker smiled brightly. "Let me get settled in, and I'll gladly let you show me your path. It sounds wonderful"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods, beaming all the while. “Great! Well, I gotta head off, but it’s been a pleasure Cyrus. Hope to see you round, you know where to find me.” She motions towards the ground, in the general direction of the bar.

Cyrus Leafwalker He nodded, and gave a small wave. "IT's been an absolute pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again"

#ff14 rp logs #Aiswyda Nuthalwyn #Cyrus Leafwalker #my dumb ass forgot to take a screenshot

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