#I also had a hell of a time deciding on what colors Saint probably would be????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucytara · 3 years

Note

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt.

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

#Anonymous #bumbleby #rwby fic prompts #rwby fic

647 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

act natural

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: sometimes, you just have to share the bed.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fluff, sharing a bed, idiots in love, cheesy

a/n: this is really just an excuse for me to write a lot of self indulgent bants, but it’s also a part of @stargazingfangirl18’s soft!dark challenge, and i decided to write something soft and use the prompt of only having one bed! (p.s. i like did not edit this at all so if a few words are used a lot pls forgive me)

Dinner at the safehouse was finally wrapping up after a long day of getting your ass beat by an angry android and a few enhanced teenagers. You and everyone else around you seemed to be more than exhausted from the extensive day of revisiting deeply repressed traumas, and petty arguments between teammates over who was truly at fault for every predicament you found yourselves in.

You took a long and final swig from a beer bottle, glancing up to Bruce and Nat as they stood up and pushed in their chairs, retiring for the night.

“Thanks for hosting us, Laura,” Natasha offered, grabbing her plate from the dinner table, and dropping it off in the dishwasher.

“Of course, guys. Any time,” she gave a half smile to her friend, then looked back at the table, where everyone else had taken the memo, and found themselves somewhere in the process of leaving the table, or grabbing their dishes, “but before you all go, I wanted to warn you that someone else is gonna have to share a room tonight.”

You glanced over at Steve, who was on your left, and Tony, who was sat at the head of the table. You and Steve shared an awkward chuckle at the thought of being in the same bed, not even considering the similarly uncomfortable situation of sharing a bed with Tony.

“I think I’ll be rooming alone. These two lovebirds can share,” Tony chided before either of you even had a chance to think of a response. You looked back over at Steve, whose cheeks were currently dusted with a light shade of pink, and the bigger man quickly looked away from you.

“Tony, you know we are not- you know what, nevermind,” you huffed, deciding the argument was not worth it.

Tony shook his head as he dropped his dishes off in the dishwasher. “So no objections?” he asked teasingly, eyeing you both with a smirk on his way back from the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?” You could’ve sworn you heard Clint and Fury laughing to themselves before excusing themselves from the table, and dispursting though the house.

Besides the slight humiliation of being teased for your situation, you weren’t too concerned about the act of spending the night, or next few nights with Steve. You and Steve were friends, or something like that. Just a few pals with crushes that you refused to admit to each other (or yourselves).

Pushing this thought aside, you grabbed the neck of your empty beer bottle, along with a few pieces of silverware and marched off to the mechanical cleaner yourself. You dropped off the things that needed to be cleaned, tossed your bottle in the recycling bin, then went to turn away when Steve grabbed your arm, automatically catching your attention.

“Is this okay with you?” He asked, letting his vice grip on your arm go.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you upstairs,” you muttered before speeding off, and heading upstairs where you strolled into the only vacant room, with the door wide open, and both your own and Steve’s duffle bags on the floor.

You made a mental note to thank whoever brought them in (probably Laura), and dug through your bag to find something even slightly comfortable to sleep in, eventually settling on an oversized shirt and your favorite cotton shorts.

You had just barely finished changing in the tiny closet when you heard the soft click of the room door, notifying you of Steve’s arrival. You slid open the closet door, and made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto the left side, and reaching for your phone as a distraction.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Steve asked, searching through his own bag until he found the only clean comfortable pair of pants he had in there, that just happened to be a jokey Christmas gift donned with a red white and blue color scheme, and graphics of mini shields on it.

“What the hell, Steve. Of course not,” you set your phone down so that you could get a better look at him. “We probably have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” You could live with that excuse, especially considering that it would not be very becoming of you to tell your crush that missing an opportunity to sleep in the same bed as him feels like a federal crime.

He stood up from his squatting position, squeezing into the tight space of the closet so that he could change into the corny pants, and finally get out of his clothes from the day, “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Well, they won’t be as long as you stay on your side, okay?” You said petulantly, setting two pillows across the middle of the queen sized bed and attempting to ignore the excited butterflies in your stomach.

“I will,” Steve responded, exiting the closet slipping into the right side of the bed cautiously, and looking at the wall that was facing him.

You glanced over at Steve, and when you caught wind of his shirtless torso, you couldn’t help but to look away with a warm face,“this is so awkward now,” you said after a beat. “Why couldn’t you have roomed with Tony?”

“Tony is the worst bed mate ever. Total blanket and pillow hog,” Steve chuckled, attempting to ease up some of the tension.

“You’re no saint either. I’ve heard you’re a cuddler,” you bantered back, allowing yourself one more glance at the man. Steve seemed to be having the same thought as you at the same time as you, as your eyes briefly met.

It was uncomfortably silent in the room once more, and you reached over to your nightstand to turn off the bedside lamp, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Steve,” you turned your back to the border of pillows, fell into a fetal position, and squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you’d be able to find some sort of peace after such a bizarre day. You tried not to dwell so much on the horrors you’d been forced to face earlier, and instead relied on the rhythmic breathing coming from the man next to you to ground you.

----

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but a jolting of your bed, and a bit of a commotion coming from somewhere in your room pulled you away from your unsettling dreams.

Blinking yourself awake, you uncurled your body, and rolled over to look at Steve, whose legs were thrown over the edge of the bed while he panted heavily.

“Steve?” you slurred sleepily, “you ‘kay?”

“’m fine,” he yawned.

“Well you woke me up,” you mumbled, throwing your head back against a pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was having a shitty dream anyway.”

“Really? I was too,” Steve refused to look at you, staring blankly at the wall.

“So tell me about it,” you hummed.

“It’s just… I keep thinking about how I missed out on so many things from the past. I could’ve been happy, living out my days in a semi-peaceful and familiar world. Not anything like this.”

You sat up as you listened, pushing aside a pillow from the border you’d constructed to move closer to Steve and set a reassuring hand on his back.

“I guess I just wish that I was there. With everyone and everything I used to know.”

“But it’s not all bad, right?” you offered, and Steve shrugged before looking down.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I know that I’ll never truly understand that, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. You’re here now, and you have no other choice but to make the best of it. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if you spend all of your time in the present lamenting about what things could’ve been in the past, you’re just gonna be miserable forever,” you rambled sleepily, words slurring occasionally.

“Your experience is so unique, so I could be getting this all wrong, but there are plenty of good things here in the now. I mean, a world without the internet? I don’t know if that’s a world worth living in,” you chuckled softly, and were joined in your quiet laughter by the man on the other side of your bed.

“Seriously, though. I know you can’t control your dreams, but maybe your subconscious is letting you know that it’s okay to let go. Of like, the past. It might just be time for you to move on and be happy. I’m sure that Peggy and everyone else from your past would’ve wanted that for you too.” In the dark, you saw the silhouette of Steve’s head nodding.

“You always know what to say, huh?” he asked, kicking his legs back over onto the bed while you scooted back over into your previous space.

“I’m like half asleep right now, Steve. If you asked me to repeat half of what I just said, I would not know what to say,” you giggled.

“You wanna talk about your dream?” Steve asked in a concerned tone.

“Mmm, I actually just wanna go to sleep. As crazy as that may sound,”

“Is there anything that I can do to help you not have another bad one?”

“Hmmm,” you pondered, becoming a bit more lethargic by the moment. “Spoon me?”

“As you wish,” Steve happily obliged, grabbing one of the pillows from the middle of the bed and adding it to his stash of pillows.

You threw a pillow from the border between your knees, and received a strange look from Steve. “What? I heard it’s good for your back.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “Stop being so judgy and cuddle me already,” you murmured, turning your body so that you could lay on your side.

Steve scooted closer to you, and you pressed your back to the front of his chest. He tossed an arm over you and somehow managed to pull you even closer to him. You swore you hadn’t been this comfortable since you left the womb, and you nearly purred in response.

“Can I make a request?” he asked.

You simply nodded.

“Can we just… talk until we fall back asleep?”

“That’s really cute,” you mumbled into your pillow.

“You just have a relaxing voice!” he defended playfully.

“You are such a dork,” you giggled. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just tell me about… I dunno, anything.”

“That was so helpful, Steven.”

“My bad. Tell me about your favorite… mission?”

“Mm, probably that one time you and I had to go undercover for like a month to bust that arms dealer.”

“Which one?”

“Some dude in the Midwest. Can’t remember his name.”

“Oh yeah, yeah I know who you’re talking about.”

“It was fun being your life partner for a month. We were really good at being domestic.”

“Hmm, now that I think about it, we really were. Do you remember that cookout?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed at the memory. “Everyone else was getting so drunk, but you just… couldn’t. They were like Joseph, you’re such a beast, and shit. And who would’ve guessed that you, the old timer would be such a beast on the grill.”

“Well, who would’ve guessed that you were so good at cornhole?”

“Was I really that good? Or were you just really bad? Like really bad, especially for someone whose skill set revolves around having good aim,” you teased.

Steve scoffed and laughed, shaking his head at you.

“How didn’t those people recognize us? I just don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised how much a beard and dyed hair can change your look.”

“I guess,” you sighed softly, and set a hand on top of Steve’s. “Does this feel counterproductive to you? We’re just sitting here giggling. We’re probably getting less tired.”

“I guess I am less tired. But I’m also not thinking about the impending robot apocalypse.”

“Well now that you brought it up, I’m thinking about the impending robot apocalypse. You better fix this, Rogers.” Emboldened by what must’ve been the butterflies in your stomach falling asleep, you began to roll a bit in his arms so you were facing each other, kicking away the pillow between your legs in the process.

“How can I make it up to you?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“You’re the man with a plan, right? Think of something,” your lip quirked slightly in a smirk.

Steve leaned in just the smallest amount, before a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. “I got it. We can do one of those one word stories until we fall asleep.”

Well, that’s not exactly how you thought this moment was going to go.

“Okay, I’ll start then,” you nodded, pressing your head down against a soft pillow, and looking up at Steve, “once.”

“There,” Steve added.

“Was.”

“A.”

“Death-bot,” you giggled.

“Okay, Y/N. No. No more stories. We can just listen to each other breathe now until we fall asleep like before since you wanna ruin the mood.”

“What mood? And you listened to me breathe?”

“What else was I gonna listen to?” he furrowed his brows, “it’s too late for this anyway. We can talk in the morning.”

“All you had to do was tell me that it’s way past your bedtime, and I would be understanding. But goodnight anyway, Stevie,” you cracked him one last smile, not budging from your position as you closed your eyes.

It was silent for a few minutes before Steve whispered up out of the blue, “you still awake?”

You slurred something into the pillow, much more asleep than awake.

“Well, I really like you a lot. Maybe one day I’ll get the guts to tell you that when you’re not completely out of it.”

You grunted as a response, and Steve couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face, not while he was falling asleep, and certainly not during his rather pleasant dreams.

——

You just couldn’t seem to catch a break with your wake up calls. While you and Steve seemed to sleep through the rapping against the door, and the door itself opening, you both seemed to become aware after the artificial shutter of an iPhone camera flooded through your ears.

“You guys just looked so cute, I wanted to archive this moment for the rest of time. And I’m sure the team will be glad to see that you got along well last night,” Nat teased as your eyes widened and you shot up. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, by the way.”

Well, you two were going to have a great time explaining this one.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #avengers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

438 notes · View notes

klbwriting · 3 years

Text

Walls - Chapter 4

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: Kaz finds out about something Rollins is planning and tries to stop it

Taglist: @itsemy01 @sagewrites111 @aysegust @moondustmarauder @marinettepotterandplagg @bi-disaster101 @thedelusionreaderbitch @maybe-potato @malfoy-wife15 @fornarniaandforthefandom @rika90 @spawn0fsatan @aelnpruz @carlalyz @a-disappointing-teen-author

Being 12 in the Dregs was the perfect time to learn. Kaz was young enough that Per Haskell and the older members thought he was still green, too young to really know how to listen and learn, so they let him sit in on meetings, let him carry messages around town, and let him organize and clean offices alone. He used all of this time to absorb all the information he could about everyone. Who was paying who and how much, who wasn’t sleeping with their wife that night, or who had just bought a boy from a slaver, everything he could learn to use at a later time. So when Haskell sent him to the Emerald Palace was a note for Pekka Rollins Kaz took it gladly, desperately wanting to learn some secrets. However, when he read the message, his heart jumped to his throat.

I’ll have some Dregs waiting for Mellar and that girl by the Crow Club after 10 bells, they’ll rough her up good, give her a lesson for you. Make sure Mellar knows and stays by the backdoor so she can’t get into the club. You owe me. – Haskell

He knew that the ‘her’ being referred to had to be Y/N. She was the only person that Mellar was in charge of overseeing. He wasn’t sure what lesson Rollins wanted to teach her this time or why but he knew he had to stop it. He delivered the message as promised but instead of returning to the Slat he looked around, figuring the way that Mellar would probably take her to get to the club. He waited on a street that wasn’t normally crowded, bordering the back of some taverns and the canal. He stood, biding his time, his knife already in his hand.

It was dark and the street in front of the Emerald Palace was filling up just as Mellar walked out, Y/N following behind him. He glanced around, not a care in the world, he was Pekka Rollins’s enforcer, no one would touch him. Y/N was the daughter of the most powerful slum lord in the Barrel, she was safe outside of her home. At least, that’s what Mellar thought as he started down the side street near the canal, wanting to get this business over and done with. Y/N had been lippy with him all day and he couldn’t wait to see her get what was coming to her, harden her up some. He past in front of Kaz without noticing. Y/N stopped. She would find Kaz no matter where he was, she looked at him and he sent her a smirk before he jumped out of the shadows and onto Mellar’s back. He put his arm around to the man’s front and started stabbing, not caring where he hit or if he got cut in the process. Mellar let out a cry and fell to the ground, struggling to get away.

“They heard him…one of the barkers is coming, give me the knife,” she said, snatching it away from him. Kaz looked at her as she started stabbing herself. “Hide!” Kaz dove into an alcove between the taverns, holding his breath as a barker ran past him and to Y/N.

“Just wait until your father…” he started. She growled and held up the knife.

“What in the hell are you doing stupid girl?” came Rollins’s voice. Kaz could see him walking up to her. He looked between Mellar’s dead body and her, shaking his head. “Well, guess there’s a little bit of fight in you isn’t there?” He reached out, grabbing her by the hair to drag her back to his club, but she slashed the knife out, cutting his arm pretty bad. He growled and she instantly cowered back, knife falling to the cobbles. He had her hair still, so he bent down and picked up the knife. Kaz almost revealed himself then, wanting to save her, but he knew he couldn’t. They were outnumbered by 3 fully grown men, the odds were against them and he wasn’t foolish enough to try to play hero.

“Maybe you should get a taste of what Mellar felt,” Rollins said, stabbing the knife into her shoulder, pushing it in up to the hilt before pulling it out again. Y/N was panicking, her breath coming in short pants. “Here, a night in the canal should do you good.” He pushed her back and Kaz watched with horror as she fell back into the water, starting to sink. Rollins told the others to clean up Mellar’s mess before heading back. While they were distracted Kaz slid out and dove into the water. It took him a few seconds to find her floating just under the surface. He didn’t want to do this, it was too much like Jordie, but he couldn’t let her die in there. With all the will he could muster he slid one arm under her arms and swam towards the nearest set of stairs. He pulled her up, taking his shirt off and tearing off his sleeve. He wrapped it around her wound, tying it as tight as he could hoping that would be enough until he could get her somewhere a little safer.

Once the barkers had finished with Mellar’s body Kaz picked Y/N up, trying to be gentle while also ignoring the bile in his throat. He swallowed down the sick and climbed the stairs, keeping to alleys and side streets that were less crowded until he found the old burned out pleasure house near the Slat. There was a door that only swung open enough for a child or maybe small adult could fit through. Kaz set Y/N’s unconscious body against the wall and slid inside before pulling her in after him. He carried her to an old bed on the wall and laid her down. She was still breathing so he left to find something to use as a better bandage. He found an old cotton dress, something worn by one of the girls probably, and tore off a piece. He set about dressing her wound properly and once that was done and he knew he wouldn’t need to touch her again he vomited in a corner, his body shaking as he came to terms with what had happened. He had been able to keep the images and feelings at bay while he helped her, his need to save her had overridden his sickness. That was something to keep in mind for later, this could be overcome, but only when a stronger feeling came around.

“Kaz?” he heard her whisper. He moved over to the bed and sat down on it. She was awake, face still lacking color due to blood loss.

“You’re alive, we’re in that Dove’s Nest pleasure house that burnt down,” he said. She nodded slowly, eyes starting to focus.

“He stabbed me, threw me in the canal,” she said.

“And yet somehow you don’t have gangrene,” Kaz said, trying to take her mind off of the betrayal she had suffered. She laughed a little, but he knew his ploy hadn’t worked. Her life was a betrayal, from her father’s abuse, to those around her laughing at his actions, to the saints and gods that did nothing to save her. Kaz was the only person who hadn’t betrayed her, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he did. He would have to if he wanted to destroy Rollins’s life, he just hoped she would understand. “Where is your mother? Why isn’t she helping you?”

“My mother died having me,” she said. “I think that’s when my father decided I was a demon incarnate, come to bring him shame and suffering.” She tried to move her arm but just whimpered. Kaz tried to help her sit up but she waved him away. “Don’t force yourself, I don’t want to make you feel more uncomfortable than you already do.” Was he that transparent to her?

“Is that why he does this to you?” he asked, motioning to her shoulder. She nodded.

“He thinks it will harden me, make me more like him if I suffer enough I will want to make others suffer. It just does the opposite, I never want anyone to feel like I do ever again,” she said. So noble, Kaz wished he could be more like that sometimes. Imagine being able to take all the bad around you and try to make it good. She was trying to rise out of the swamp she was born while Kaz was nesting deep in it, building a nice summer home for him to spend his days.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, wanting this conversation to be over. This was too draining for him. She didn’t fight him, just laid her head down and closed her eyes. He could hear her breathing even out so he snuck out, finding food and water for when she woke up. He set himself up next to the bed and leaned his head back on the drooping mattress, watching her sleep. His eyes closed and he dreamed about killing Mellar again, only this time he finished the job, and in the dream she kissed him and he didn’t feel sick, he felt like flying.

In the morning she woke up after him, seeing just a note left nearby telling her to eat and drink and then get home. She smiled softly and ate the crackers he had left. She looked around the room and smiled a little. This could be a nice place to stay. As she walked back to the Emerald Palace she started planning how she could make that old brothel a little home for her. However, that dream ended the moment Rollins told her to come to his office.

“Its time you start taking responsibility around here, I’ve coddled you too long,” he said. “Seeing that killer instinct last night made me realize, you’re almost grown now, time for you to be a lieutenant in my gang, time for your first real job.”

“And what job is that?” she asked. He smiled.

“You are going to rob the Black Tips safe house past West Stave, take your new guard with you, gather some lions and get it done by tomorrow night,” Rollins said, motioning for a young man a of couple years older than her to follow. She glanced at him and he smiled at her, it was kind and she almost fell for it. Her father knew she was starting to get feelings for someone, she was at that age that things like that happened, so he was pushing someone from his crew for her to fall for. And since Kaz was unreachable, someone she couldn’t ever actually be with, maybe she would let it happen. She would keep Kaz in her heart, locked away in that place only soulmates get to stay. Maybe someday she could take him out and let those feelings really grow, but not now, not until the Dime Lions were dead and Kaz was sitting on their ashes.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz #walls series

57 notes · View notes

poodlejoonas · 3 years

Text

Dad!BC AU - the moms

So wow-ihateithere and I (because for some reason Tumblr won’t let me directly @ you) have been tossing out so many amazing ideas for the BC dad AU lately that we’ve thought of pretty much every scenario under the sun. One idea I’d like to throw in here is the group that is the moms who make up their own personal wolfpack. Since they’ll be brought in as stand-alone characters soon, it would be better to have a basic introduction for each and how they know/interact with each other.

(Under the read-more for length)

Joel - Emilia (”Millie”) Hokka - The absolute baddest bitch you will meet on this planet. She's a 5′1″ sweetheart, but if you lay a single finger on her kid, her husband, her BC brothers and sisters, or any of her nieces and nephews, she will become the human embodiment of that one line from “Wolfpack.” You know the one. She’s gone viral before for Joel needing to hold her back from fighting the mom of a kid who’s bullying Enkka at school, and literally watching this tiny woman become a human hurricane at the drop of a hat was enough for this kid to immediately leave him alone. From then on, kids at school know not to come after Viktor Hokka because his mom doesn’t play around. Why would she? After all, she dedicated 18 months of her life to trying to become a mom, and anyone who dares to come after her baby needs a running start to get away from her.

Sometimes even Joel has to hold her back from doing something she probably should regret but wouldn’t if it involved her family. He knows better than to cross a line with her. Then there are other times when they work together to be the shadiest power couple on earth, like when Aleksi’s ex-girlfriend Laila slanders him in the media for talking about taking custody of their son from her. If Joel comes home pissed about something, she’s the first one to jump on board with whatever plan he has to get his point across. She would totally have a stan account on Instagram dedicated to her called “milliehokkasupremacy”. And Joel loves his wife so much that he would eat every bit of this shit up. When she tells someone off, he writes down what she says and turns it into the lyrics of Blind Channel’s next single.

In short, Millie Hokka is 100 percent That Bitch™.

Bonus bit because this idea made me laugh: (in the comments section of a post slandering BC) @milliehokka: Bitch you better take this shit down before I puncture your fucking tires @joelhokka: She's my better half ❤️

Joonas - Kirsten Porko - Kirsten’s one of the quiet BC moms, and a hell of a lot more tame than Millie. But she has her shining moments every now and then, like when she was wondering why Millie took Joel with her knowing that she could’ve easily beaten that bully’s mom’s ass without him. She has the patience of a saint, being married to Joonas and raising two (soon to be three) kids with him. But she adores every minute of their chaotic little family. Since Sohvi was the first of the BC kids, the guys were quick to show up in support of her and Joonas. She was also pretty lonely until the others started dating their wives, and she was more than happy to have more friends to bond with.

She does the most to mother the rest of the kids when they need it. They love to come to their house because Kirsten will have a fresh pan of cookies ready for them. They also like hanging out with Joonas, but Kirsten is a fun aunt on her own. She’s typically the first to show up when one of the other moms tosses out a cry for help in taking care of their kids, especially when they’re newborns and the guys are away on tour. Kirsten’s total aesthetic is the absolute opposite of Joonas’s: she’s bubbly and wears nothing but pastel dresses and soft fabrics. A lot of people wonder what a “nice girl” like her is doing with a punk rocker like Joonas, until you see them interact and know that they’re crazy in love with each other and their kids. She’s the unassuming type, but she loves pranks as much as her husband and kids; she’ll play along whenever there’s a really good one and sometimes she can totally outdo them.

Niko - Jenna Moilanen - Jenna is Millie’s co-conspirator and partner-in-crime. If Millie needs someone to back her up and Joel’s trying to talk her out of whatever she’s thinking about doing, Jenna is the first to show up on the scene. She’s very much Niko’s type - she has just as many tattoos as him, several piercings, and hair that changes color depending on her mood. She’s naturally a blonde but you almost never see her as one. A lot of people tend to pass judgement on her abilities as a mom based on her appearance, but both of her and Niko’s kids adore her (especially their daughter Lahja) and they grow up happy with their loving parents. She’s a fantastic cook and works as a head chef at a five-star steakhouse, and she’s always willing to come home and cook for her family as well. She and Millie are the two shortest of the group, and it’s hilarious because they are both absolute spitfires.

Jenna has the best intuition when it comes to deciding who is trustworthy and who isn’t. There’s no “leader” in the group, but most of the others trust Jenna when someone gives her a bad feeling. She would be the one to raise the alarm on Laila years before she and Aleksi ever break up, and Laila would find the absolute worst way to end up on Jenna’s shit list. In her time with the group, Laila does nothing to help take care of the rest of the kids or try to fit in with the group. One day, when Leevi cries because he needs something, Jenna spots an annoyed expression out of the corner of her eye coming from Laila. It takes an intervention from God to stop Jenna from ripping her apart on the scene. The most important thing to note about Jenna: she calls her closest friends “bitch” affectionately. The moment it stops being affectionate, there’s no turning back.

Olli - Kaarina Matela - The quietest and calmest of the BC moms. She perfectly matches her husband’s energies, which is why they parent their daughters so well. She was definitely more calm than him on the day they learned they were having twins, and still is to this day. When he was panicking about their pregnancy scare, she was still managing to stay collected somehow (but just as relieved as he was). She’s very much like a suburban soccer mom type, but far from being a Karen because she’s aggressively kind to everyone around her, including hardworking people. And Olli just adores her so much, sometimes he doubts if he even deserves her. She’s always the first to remind him that there’s no one else she would rather be with.

Kaarina is the arts and crafts kind of aunt. During the summer, she likes to have the kids come over for day camp style hangout sessions where they mix in time outside with craft activities. She’s the reason why Olli’s stage outfits have been so cool lately, because she’s got a perfect eye for colors and is super skilled at hand-stitching patches. If the kids need anything repaired, they’ll know to go to Aunt Rina first because she’ll either make it as good as new, or turn it into some sick artwork. All the moms get along but she and Kirsten vibe together the best. They get together and plan the summer activities for the kids, which involve Rina planning the crafts and Kirsten baking for, and with, them.

Tommi - Marja Lalli - Marja is unique in her position as a BC mom because she joined the group when her son Miikka from a previous relationship was already almost 4. For a brief time, she was worried about herself and Miikka feeling left out of the group dynamic that was already there, but they were so quick to invite her in as one of them. A lot of it had to do with her being friends with Jenna since elementary school, and Jenna knew that the sisterhood would be more than happy to accept her. She and Niko help set her up with Tommi because they both know he would love her and accept Miikka as his own. She’s chill and reserved, but she’s still a ton of fun to be around. Along with Kaarina and Kirsten, she’s one of the level-headed moms and is typically the voice of reason for a lot of things (especially when it comes to trying to contain Millie and Jenna’s tempers).

The rest of the moms were thrilled when she told them she was pregnant with Anna, but constantly concerned and fretting over her when she was on occasional bed rest. If Tommi couldn’t be with her, it was one of them coming over to help take care of her and Miikka. Marja’s health showed the caring side of the sisterhood of the BC moms, how they are willing to take care of each other in sickness as well as celebrating the good times and defending each other from drama. Even months after Anna is born, they still come over from time to time to see if there’s any way they can help.

Aleksi - Laila Pekkanen (later on, marries Hanna Kaunisvesi) - So this one is a bit complicated. For about three years, Aleksi was in a high-profile relationship with Laila Pekkanen, a producer who worked with him on a solo single before joining BC. They meet again a couple years later and begin a relationship that last for about three years. But it was far from loving, as they were just in general not good for each other. A few weeks after their break-up, Laila calls Aleksi while he’s in the studio to break the news to him that she’s pregnant, which sends Aleksi into total emotional turmoil because he thought they were being careful. Of all the guys, he’s the most careful with avoiding this kind of thing, but it was her who missed one too many days of her birth control. They’re barely on speaking terms, but they agree to try to stay cordial until Aleksi can take full custody of the child himself. She admits to having no maternal instinct and wants nothing to do with the baby.

Here’s where it gets messy. Aleksi finally decides to break his silence on the matter and announces via Instagram that he will be a father and raise his son on his own. He does his best to tell his side of the story without dragging Laila down. But she takes it personally and goes on the radio to try to attack Aleksi, feeling like she’s being treated like a villain and a bad person for giving up her child. She feels like she’s being “exposed” in thinking that Aleksi publicly acknowledging their son’s existence would ruin her career, because she’d been trying everything possible to cover it up. It becomes a major feud between her and her team, and Aleksi and the BC team, but more industry people can back him up as a stand-up guy than they can come to her defense. She nearly ends up having Noah prematurely, and yet Aleksi still shows up in support, more so for their son than for her. When Noah is born months later, she refuses to hold him and immediately cuts off all contact with Aleksi.

Aleksi raises Noah alone and learns to support his son when he’s later diagnosed on the autism spectrum. Noah is semi-verbal and partially communicates with sign language. He uses sign in situations when he meets a stranger, and Aleksi respects his intuition when someone makes him uncomfortable. Noah has separation anxiety from losing his mom at a young age, so Aleksi refuses to date for years because he doesn’t want to bring a revolving door of strangers around him. But then he meets Hanna, who makes an almost instant connection with him. He’s hesitant to make a decision about a long-term relationship with her until he sees how well she works with Noah. She’s one of the first people he opens up to - mostly because of her experience as a child psychologist - but the moment that seals the deal is when Noah calls her “mom” for the first time (in sign to his cousins). Fans and people he works with can’t help but notice that Aleksi is so much happier with Hanna than Laila. And as much as he would like to have a baby with her, he’s happy having Noah and wants to invest his energy into ensuring his happiness. But Hanna understands, because she’s an angel and only wants the best for her family.

#blind channel #dad!blind channel #no idea what else to tag this as lol #this is a lot more fun than making them all reader inserts #i love writing reader inserts but it'll be nice to see them interacting with each other

25 notes · View notes

vagabonds-art · 3 years

Text

Lost

Summary: This is basically how I see Kebechet (my guardian) reacting to the start of the this season and the emotional fall out of that cutscene.

A/N: Major spoilers if you haven’t played up until the second cutscene, be warned! Also, I am aware of the Wolftone Draw lore tab but Kebe isn’t. So to her, Saint could be right.

Characters: Mara Sov, Osiris, Savathûn, Kebechet (OC Guardian), Demon (OC Ghost), a bunch of mentions like Saint, Ikora, Lakshmi

Word Count: 1,699

Warnings: Canon typical violence (its kinda there) and angst.

She should have known. From the very moment she found him wondering about the inner Hive structures on the moon, Kebechet should have known. Vaguely, she recalled telling herself that Osiris’s mannerisms and actions were unfamiliar because of his grief.

He had just lost Sagira. There was no way he could have been thinking clearly, anyone could understand and sympathize with that. More often than not sorrow and anger mixed together in volatile and self-destructive ways.

That was what she told herself. And now here Kebechet stood regretting it.

Saint’s screams of anger and sadness still echoed in her ears long after he had left. It’d been long enough that he probably made it back to the tower by now. Back to tell Ikora and Zavala everything that happened while it was fresh in his memory. Not that he would ever be able to forget.

Kebechet knew she wouldn’t.

That thing. That frozen construct hovered a few inches off the ground, trapped between two glowing triangle shapes created by Queen Mara was once Osiris. Though inanimate, the posture it had taken before being stopped made Kebechet feel as if it were mocking her. Locked in a position akin to something trying to rip itself free of an outer shell, head tilted upward toward the sky surrounded by wisps of swirling light. A constant reminder of what should have never happened.

“You may speak to it.”

Mara Sov’s authoritative tone snapped the Hunter out of her thoughts. Hazel eyes finally tore away from the barely open grated door off to the back of the room to meet luminescent blue ones.

“I’m not sure I want to…”

It was true. Kebechet wanted nothing more than to run and hide, to fall asleep and wake up from this horrible nightmare. If only that was all this was.

“I’ve told you before, your father still lives.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that? With everything we saw?”

Realizing her tone, Kebechet took a small step back and looked at the helm held in her hands for a moment. A small apology came on the back of a quiet sigh. Mara said nothing in return. Not that she needed to. Based on the subtle shifts of an otherwise stoic face, Kebechet knew she understood. Or at least, led on that she did.

“It… Can’t hurt me… right?”

“Not in its current state.”

With a small nod, Kebechet put her helm back on and turned, starting to walk toward the chamber that housed the construct. She was sure to give the Techeun in the center of the room a wide berth as she passed. She’d barely rescued the tech witch from the ascendent plane and trust was a little hard to give at the moment.

What was only a minute or two at most felt like hours the closer the Hunter got to the frozen statue. When her footfalls fell silent was when it started speaking to her.

“I am at your mercy, Guardian.”

Just like before, Savathûn’s voice was nothing like what Kebechet had expected. Not that she really knew what to expect other than low guttural growls or ear-piercing shrieks. Instead the Witch Queen’s vocals were gentle, almost welcoming in tone.

“This construct protects me, from those who wish me harm. From my worm’s hunger. But it is a prison too. Quite elegant… Don’t you think?”

It took a moment for Kebechet to register the familiar taste of copper on her tongue before a stab of pain pulsed from where she had bitten through her right cheek. From that point on, she focused solely on that as a means of distracting herself. Distracting the growing rage and want to destroy the construct.

For the most part, it had worked. A little too well. Savathûn was going on about her regrets, being called a liar and having skepticism. Kebechet had missed most of the one-sided conversation until she heard something about interpreting truth.

That was when the Hunter noticed everything around her starting to blur. At first, she thought it was just the visor of her helm acting up until visions of scenes past flashed before her eyes.

Savathûn’s voice acted as a narrator of sorts as she explained who she was and what she had been doing all this time. She claimed to be a friend, acting as a sort of protector when it came to the pyramid ships. The Black Fleet as she called them. When that didn’t work to her liking she took to finding a form that allowed her to gain trust among the Guardians.

To Kebechet, it all made sense now.

Osiris was the optimal target. He was the former Vanguard Commander, one of the heroes of the city. The means to Saint-14 being alive today. If those facts alone didn’t win over guardians and citizens alike then surely his ties to Ikora and Kebechet would. And they did.

The current Warlock Vanguard had no issue trusting her former mentor, especially after the loss of his light. She was only trying to look out for his best interest and keep him safe within the city’s walls. And the Young Wolf? Not only was Kebechet the guardian, she was also the only one Osiris trusted to send back in time and bring Saint back alive. Being his kid must have been an added bonus when the Witch Queen found out.

As if Kebechet needed even more reason to feel absolutely horrible, Savathûn continued.

She mentioned how it was her who brought Crow to the city for his own redemption. How she was the one to look out for Zavala when Caiatl was a threat. It even seemed as if she was bragging when she stated she was the reason House Light sought out aid from Ikora and the guardians. She was the reason for discovering Lakshmi-2’s betrayal and causing her death.

“You may disagree with my methods,” Savathûn said with a smile evident in her tone, “but you can’t argue with results.”

Now was when Kebechet really wanted to tear away from the visions.

Seeing the way the Witch Queen carelessly and effortlessly carried out her plan all while masquerading as Osiris was bad enough. But now the Hunter was being forced to see her father dead on the ground with the lower half of his face rapidly decaying while dozens and dozens of ink colored moths flew out of his mouth.

“I am no villain,” Savathûn declared as the vision mercifully shifted upward, “and you are no hero.”

The imagery ended with Kebechet looking up at the Traveler being surrounded by clouds that strongly resembled a Worm God.

“We are paracausal.”

There was a gasp that wanted to jerk out of the Hunter’s chest when her vision finally returned to normal. It took every ounce of restraint not to open fire on the construct with her auto rifle. But she did it, even managed to turn and start walking away.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Kebechet exited the chamber with as much poise as she could muster.

She’d barely gotten a few feet away from the door before bringing Demon out of his pocket to sit in the palm of her hand. “Please…” she whispered lowly, desperately avoiding Mara’s expectant stare, “get us out of here.”

Gladly, the Ghost did so, transmitting the pair back to the ship they came in on. Once safely inside and settled, Kebechet ripped off her helm and chucked it toward the back of the cockpit.

Demon could only watch as she fidgeted in her seat, staring at the console as if to decide what the hell to do next. Gathering his own courage, he hesitantly floated in front of her face.

“I got a couple messages while you were dealing with… that.”

When the Hunter said nothing he continued, “One’s from Saint, the oth--”

“Play it.”

With a twist of his shell, Demon let a ball of light expand from his core.

“My little bird, do not blame yourself for what has happened today. That thing is known as Queen of Lies for a reason. I do not trust that it ever had Osiris to begin with and neither should you. I will find the real Osiris and bring him home, this I promise you as a Titan and your second Father. Stay strong, Kebechet and remind Ikora of the same.”

The planes of Demon’s shall retracted back to his core as the message ended. His optic was downcast as he spoke, “The other was from Ikora, she just wants to talk.”

As if realizing what he had said with the fragile nature of his guardian’s current emotions, Demon’s optic shot up to look her in the eye, “Like a Warlock and not a Titan!”

That managed to get a small scoff of a laugh from Kebechet. Already Demon could feel himself relax until she sniffled a moment later. Not even a second after that was when the water works started.

Her chest jumped with sobs as she tried in vain to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“De--Demon… How-- What’re we gonna do? How can we-- Is th--there any… Can we even fi--fix this?”

“I… Kebe, I don’t know…”

Demon knew that wouldn’t help, even saw it when Kebechet’s face contorted with distress. Her head thumped softly against the back of her chair before she started to curl in on herself. The heels of her boots planted firmly on the seat of the chair as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

Wordlessly, Demon set the flight path back to the Tower before managing to squeeze his way under his guardian’s chin in an attempt to comfort her. When she shifted he worried he’d upset her further. His concern was put to rest when she grabbed the scarf Osiris gifted to her years ago and took it off to wrap around his small drone-like body. Then her whole form shifted.

Now sitting sideways in her chair, Kebechet tucked Demon between her shoulder and neck. Her hands cocooned around him and the scarf like she was trying to protect one of the few things she had left.

Because she was.

#vagabond writes #destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #destiny osiris #saint-14 #mara sov #my guardians #original character

10 notes · View notes

ladykissingfish · 4 years

Text

the Akatsuki's reaction to giving/receiving gifts on Valentine's Day (w romantic partner)

Deidara Is beyond flabbergasted to get a present. Never expected anything, didn’t even expect partner to know what this day WAS. If it’s candy or something edible, will open package and scarf down entire thing in one go, smiling proudly when finished. If non-edible, will wear or display or brag about so obnoxiously that the other Akatsuki vow to strangle him (and the person who gave it to him) if they have to hear about it one more damn time. Will also “remember” much later in the day that THEY have a gift for partner, as well. Partner will brace themselves for something explosive, but will instead be pleasantly surprised with a bouquet of rare and beautiful flowers, ones that Deidara would have had to go pretty far out of his way to find. Also attempts to make dinner for partner, which turns out in a fiery, explosive horror (and makes partner question whether Deidara did this on purpose). Obito Serial hugger. Will hug partner before they give the gift, as they’re explaining what the gift is, and long after they eat/put on/whatever- the gift. If none of the others are around, will remove mask and treat partner to seeing his beautiful face for much of the day. Had struggled for a long time on what to get as a gift for partner; didn’t want to do the cliche of flowers or candy. Eventually settled on an absolutely lovely hand-crafted necklace, with lots of different-colored stones, all of which with the Uchiha symbol carved into them. Partner will be awed and honored by Obito giving this to them, and will wear it secretly underneath clothes every single day. Hidan Very loud and entirely graceless. “What the fuck is this shit?!” Won’t accept the gift because “Lord Jashin doesn’t celebrate fucking Valentine’s Day! Are you trying to get me damned to hell?!” Also, upon hearing that the day is named after a Saint, Hidan’s rage will increase tenfold. “Saint?! Saint of what; ass-grabbing?? You want me to celebrate a fake Saint from a fake religion?? Here; I want you to read these Jashinist scrolls and then tell me you still believe in this bullshit.” However, partner is used to this kind of reaction from Hidan, and therefore doesn’t take too much offense to it; will eat or use gift themselves. Later that night Hidan, feeling guilty about earlier, will come up to partner and inform them that they sacrificed “(Whatever partner’s favorite number is)-people to Jashin today, in your honor.” Partner will sigh and nod. Holidays with Hidan are never easy, but they’re certainly interesting. Zetsu The plant-man isn’t really one for giving, receiving, or even understanding romantic gestures or holidays. His partner will be somebody who understands and accepts this about him, therefore the day won’t even be brought up. At the very most, he will observe other Akatsuki members giving their partners gifts or affection, and defuse that the day is special, somehow; might decide to “gift” partner some fresh entrails from their latest victim. Partner tells Zetsu they appreciate the thought, but, no thanks. Itachi Itachi will start off the day feeling a bit morose. Valentine’s Day puts his mind back at the Academy in the Hidden Leaf, and how, every Valentine’s day, his desk would be covered with boxes of homemade chocolates from all the girls. He doesn’t miss the sweets themselves, or even the attention, so much as the feeling; the feeling of being a normal kid in a normal world. A simpler time, a happier time. Before all of this pain and heartache that led him to where he is today. Partner knows that Itachi has days where his mood can’t be salvaged, and will leave Itachi alone on Valentine’s. Will come up to him the next day with a box of dango and some new flavors of tea for him to try. Itachi will put his arms around partner for a long time, ending with a soft kiss on the cheek. Then he’ll make himself and partner a pot of the tea, and the two will eat the dango together and tell each other about their days. It’s the kind of domestic atmosphere that his mother and father shared with one another, and knowing this keeps a smile on Itachi’s

face.

Konan

Konan isn’t one for gift-giving, and neither is her partner. However the two will recognize the sentimentality of the day, as well as the importance of making time for one another (Konan’s Akatsuki missions and partners own busy life don’t leave them a lot of time to spend together) so they both take a day off from their respective missions to be with each other. Nothing very fancy; likely just a low-key day of relaxing, napping, maybe taking a nice walk or having a swim together.

Sasori

Sasori thinks Valentine’s Day, as well as all holidays, are a pointless waste of time. His partner knows this, but will still feel bad if they didn’t get him anything. So they casually walk into Sasori’s workshop while he’s putting together a new puppet, and leave a container of rare oil, one that Sasori has been trying to find for months, at the puppet master’s elbow. Sasori doesn’t respond to or acknowledge this, which partner had expected. What they DON’T expect is, later in the day, they walk into their room and find a small box on their pillow. They open it, and inside is a miniature puppet, small enough to fit in their hand, that is a near-perfect replica of themselves. Eyes, nose, lips; even the light scatter of freckles across the cheeks. A tiny card is also in the box; no words, just a neatly-drawn heart with an S in the middle. Partner will see Sasori later in the day, but, knowing Sasori isn’t one for physical affection, will simply nod at them and smile. Sasori will reward partner with one of their rare tooth-bearing smiles, and the two will spend the rest of the day in sweet contentment.

Kakuzu

If Kakuzu’s partner is waiting on the cantankerous old grump to buy THEM a gift, then they’re out of luck. This is the same guy who once cut off his own frost-bitten toe with a dull kitchen knife rather than spend money on going to the hospital and getting a proper amputation; so partner sure isn’t waiting on flowers or candy. However, Kakuzu is not as mean as he presents himself; at least not to his partner. Partner will remember all of the nice things Kakuzu has done for them in their relationship, and, even though the probability of them receiving a return gift is very slim, will still give him something. Nothing flashy or fancy; they will most likely knit Kakuzu a new sweater or a warm pair of socks, something practical that didn’t cost much to prepare. Kakuzu will act gruff at first ... but it’s guaranteed he will wear that sweater or those socks until they fall off his body. In return, Kakuzu will prepare a meal for his partner (with food that was already in the house, of course) and the two will have a quiet, pleasant evening with one another.

Kisame

Never expected to even HAVE a partner, let alone have the need to remember what he’s told is a romantic holiday. Would have just let the day go by if not for Itachi repeatedly reminding him about it. Knows that partner has a fondness for cats, so, even though Kisame is somewhat afraid of felines himself ((he IS a fish, after all) will procure a cute little kitten for his partner, as well as (again thanks to Itachi’s practical reminders) food and toys for it. Partner is overjoyed and spends much of the day hugging and kissing Kisame, as well as coaxing him to make friends with the animal (who partner names Kisame Jr.) Will make Kisame a delicious shrimp and crab gumbo, which he (and Kisame Jr) will chow down on together.

Pein (Nagato)

Valentine’s Day? Ah, another trivial mortal holiday. No time to waste on — but wait. Nagato’s partner is a mortal, and as silly as the day is, their partner has sacrificed a lot for them, so they deserve something. Gift exchange will likely come on the form of rare-gem jewelry, with Pein gifting a bracelet, and partner, a new necklace. Partner will travel to see the actual Nagato, something which is a very rare event, and the two will spend an afternoon with each other.

#the akatsuki #valentine’s day #sasori #deidara #obito uchiha #kisame hoshigaki #itachi uchiha #zetsu #hidan #kakuzu #konan #nagato

48 notes · View notes

chocolate1721 · 4 years

Text

WARNING: if you don’t like Dad/Joker don’t read.

So Harley was out one night and came across a little girl, Marinette. Her parents were killed in a mugging and she was left behind, so Harley takes Mari with her and adopts her. When Harley returns to Joker’s hideout she tells them they have a baby.

Joker honestly doesn’t care until he sees what she looks like. Then he starts laughing because she looks like one of the Wayne’s kids. Joker tries to teach her how to be evil, but Mari refuses.

Marinette likes to take apart Joker’s gadgets, that are filled with laughing gas, and replace them with either water or old perfume. She takes everything that the Joker teaches her and makes it into a safe and really funny comedy bit. She likes to sometimes put on a show for her Papa and Mama. Joker laughs at her shows, even when he doesn’t think she is funny.

It’s a few years later and Joker decided it was “take your kid to work day”. He takes Mari with him to terrorize Gotham. When the Batfam show up Joker shoves Mari in Batman’s face.

“Looky here Batsy. I got one to.”

Marinette, being the adorable sweetheart she is, says “Hello Mr. Bat. Would you like to smell my flower?”

The Joker looks sadly disappointed at Mari and says “Maribear, that’s not part of the script that we rehearsed.”

“But papa, I don’t wanna be mean. I just want him to smell my flower.” She tells him sadly.

The Batfam are confused, panicked, and other emotions.

“Maribear, I’m the Clown Prince it Crime. That makes you the Clown Princess of Crime got it.”

“But I wanna be a designer papa. I even have some ideas for you.”

“WHAT?! Do you think that there’s something wrong with how I look!?”

“Papa, you’ve had this look since forever. Plus I think the Riddler wears the same shade of green as you.”

“NO WAY AM I SHARING COLORS WITH THAT TWO BIT WANNABE FUNNY MAN! Let’s go Maribear we have fabric to shop for. This will have to wait batsy, I have pressing matters to deal with.”

Joker picks Marinette up and walks away. The Batfam are now thoroughly puzzled and extremely concerned. Half of the team follow the Joker and the other half goes to look for Harley.

Marinette refuses to use stolen fabrics so the Joker either pays for them or the clerks just give them away out of fear. Marinette also gets some sketch pads and colored pencils.

Back at the hideout: Harley is cooking a meal for her family when some of the bats burst thru a window. “WHEN THE F*CK WERE YOU PREGNANT?!”

She tells them that she was never pregnant and that she adopted Mari after her parents were killed in a mugging.

When Joker, Mari, and the rest of the bats return; Mari takes her stuff and neatly puts it away. She then comes out and starts designing clothes for her papa. (For a little kid she is really good, she is making detailed notes off to the side).

Batman watches Marinette intensely. Before Harley gets in between him and her daughter. “Back off Batsy! She’s our baby!”

Batman: *thinks* not for long

Harley explains to him how she found Mari.

Marinette and Damian are a few years apart.

As Marinette grows up the Batfam keep an eye on her. (To see if she will turn evil or crazy) but despite Jokers efforts she is a law abiding citizen. She is a freaking saint. She makes treats and leaves them for the vigilantes, she volunteers at animal shelters, she goes to orphanages and makes clothes for them and the street kids (she doesn’t give the kids the reject clothes. She will remake an outfit over and over until it meets her standards. She puts everything into making sturdy, durable, and warm clothes for these kids), makes treats for the Arkham inmates.

When Damian comes to live with Bruce, he goes to the same school as Marinette. They become friends, then they fall in love, then they start dating, then Damian finds out she is the Joker’s daughter. That shocks him, and he starts pulling away from her. This goes on for about a year.

This can go two ways:

The Joker is pissed that his daughter got her heart broken and kidnaps Damian. He threatens him and is basically about to kill Damian. When Marinette suddenly breaks down the door and tells the Joker that “getting my heart broken is apart of growing up. This needs to happen for me to grow and learn what I want in a relationship. You can’t kill every person who hurts me, papa. This will happen again and again. I will break other people’s hearts but no one will kill me for it.” The Joker lets Damian go and now Marinette’s relationship with him is rocky.

Before Damian can figure out how he feels about Marinette. . . . She is kidnapped and sold to a crooked orphanage in France. Marinette gets amnesia and doesn’t remember her past before the orphanage. She is then adopted to Tom and Sabine. Meanwhile Gotham is in hell. The Joker and Harley are furiously looking for their daughter. The Batfam are trying to stop them but it was no use. They finally found the kidnappers, but they cover the kid’s heads and make them wear the same clothes. They don’t know where they sent her. Gotham morns the loss of their sunshine. Joker and Harley separate, Harley and Ivy get together. Marinette still becomes ladybug, Lila is tormenting her. Marinette sends an essay entry in for a contest held by Wayne Enterprise. Bruce looks over her application and recognizes her. While in Gotham, Bustier leaves Marinette behind. She is found by Ivy and Harley. Harley breaks down and holds Marinette close. Harley is crying tears of joy, but Marinette doesn’t remember her. Harley and Ivy take her back to her hotel. Then Harley storms off to look for a cure to amnesia, while Ivy looks for Batman. Damian sees Mari when she and her class are touring his school but he doesn’t recognize her until he hears her name. He then goes and holds her face, just gazing into her eyes and he cries. His classmates are shocked that the ICE PRINCE IS SHOWING EMOTION. Mari gives him an “I know you, but I don’t know you” look. This breaks Damian’s heart. Gordon, Harley, and Batman pull several strings to get Joker out of Arkham and they escort him to the airport, telling him that Mari will probably not remember him due to her amnesia, before the class leaves to go back to Paris. They make it. Damian shouts her name and Marinette turns to see everyone who she loves standing their. (This is the order I see them standing in) Gordon, Harley, Joker, Batman, Ivy, Dick, Jason, Tim, Alfred, and Damian. She looks at them and remembers! She remembers everything. She runs to Harley and Joker and cries in their arms, crying about how she was sorry she forgot about them. She hugs everyone and by the time they calm down they realize something. HER CLASS LEFT HER BEHIND! Gordon rushes up to the radio station and demands to talk to the pilot going to France. It’s too late for the plane to turn around, so Gordon tells the pilot that the class left a student behind and once they land in France they must go straight to the police and tell them of the negligence of Bustier. By the time Marinette returns to Paris the school is already under investigation.

Here you go my lovelies

#maribat prompt #dad joker #mom harley #bustier salt #adrien salt #lila salt #alya salt #class salt

533 notes · View notes

sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

My Little Secret part 12

Summary: With your finals behind you, Arthur says it’s time to meet the others. Before you do however, you get to meet someone from Arthur’s past...

Warnings: None this time, just some fluff.

Finals week arrived before you knew it. As much as you longed for summer vacation, you wished time moved slower. You studied every night, keeping yourself to your apartment and avoiding any distractions. You even postponed your dates with Arthur, reserving moments with him on breaks from work or just texting. Even with all the preparation in the world, finals were still as nerve wracking as they were back in high school.

Regardless you paced yourself and pushed through each and every one with focus and determination. The material was just as complex as it was at the beginning of the semester, and to walk out of the classrooms for that final time was such a relief off your shoulders.

Friday evening you were relaxing at home, enjoying a restful night after stressing for the past month. Sam invited you to come out for drinks with her, but you declined, not wanting to celebrate prematurely. Changing from your day clothes into a tank top and shorts, you settled onto the couch to watch TV.

Roughly an hour after sunset, your doorbell rang. While you weren’t expecting anyone, you had a feeling you already knew who it was. You strode across the living room, opening your door to be greeted by the sight of Arthur himself.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.” You said to him with a smile, stepping forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

He matched your smile and held your waist one-handed, greeting you with a sweet kiss. “Thought a congratulations in person sounded better than in a text.” he replied.

You released him, your eyes flicking to his other hand. He was holding a plastic bag with what looked like a container inside. A delicious smell hit your nose next, and you shifted your eyes back to him. “I only finished the finals, I don’t know if I passed them yet.” You reminded him.

“Knowin’ you, ya probably passed with flyin’ colors,” Arthur said. “’Sides, I needed an excuse to bring ya this.” He lifted the bag into your field of view.

“You could be here with nothing and I’d still be happy,” you giggled, and gestured for him to come in. “But I won’t turn down good food.”

He chuckled and stepped into your apartment. He set the bag on a table and upon inspection you found he brought you a quesadilla from the little restaurant you had your first date at. Oh the irony in that. You thanked him and settled back on the couch with him next to you and a heaping helping of the delightful dish. His arm wrapped around you and you snuggled into him, despite his cool temperature you were very comfortable in his embrace.

It remained quiet in between the two of you while you ate and watched a random TV movie . Once you were full and content, Arthur broke the silence.

“Don’t wanna ruin the good mood here, but I did wanna discuss somethin’ with ya.”

You were relaxing against him, and you moved your head to rest your chin on his chest to peer up at him. “What is it?”

“Wanted to wait a lil’ bit after your exams, but they’ve been impatient,” he sighed. “They wanna meet ya tomorrow.”

They. You know exactly who he was talking about. The other vampires that Arthur was employed by. He only mentioned it once or twice since the initial reveal, and you hadn’t expected to hear this news. Your heart immediately raced with anxiety, although you kept your face even. “Tomorrow?” you repeated. “Why?”

“Their rules,” he grumbled. “I tried to argue with ‘em, ‘least give ya a couple more days, but they won’t have it.”

You frowned at this, bringing your prior concerns to the forefront. “They’re…pushy…”

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he gave you an apologetic look. “I promise they ain’t as intimidatin’ as they sound.”

“I’m about to be introduced to a bunch of vampires when I’ve only had experience with two, and one tried to kill me.” You stated flatly.

Arthur winced at your reminder. “I know, but the reason why they exist is to prevent stuff like that from happenin’ on a daily basis. It’s why only some humans know of our existence, but they wanna keep tabs on those who do know.”

“Keep tabs?” you repeated. “Like…stalking?”

He shook his head immediately, frowning with realization as to how that sounded. “No, ain’t like that at all. It’s jus’ a way to make sure our secret don’t get passed along. They won’t hurt ya or nothin’.”

Despite Arthur’s assurance, you still felt a bubble of anxiety balloon in your stomach. After all, you were to face what you once thought was movie monsters. Strong beings that could and would have you for lunch in a heartbeat. You took a deep breath and said, “Promise?”

Arthur reached for your hand and held it, meeting your gaze with a smile. “I promise.”

You studied his face, noting the sincerity in his eyes. Hell, how could you not trust his sweet smile? It was enough to quell the roiling worry in the pit of your gut, at least for now. You scooted even closer, pulling yourself halfway into his lap and laid your lips softly against his. He responded almost instantly, his arms shifting to hold you better. It was a sweet and peaceful kiss, lasting for a short moment before he pulled away to lean back against the couch. His hands found yours and intertwined your fingers together. Bringing one up to his face, he placed a small peck on the inside of your wrist. It lurched your heart involuntarily, partly from excitement and partly from fear knowing what he was.

“I can hear your heart racin’.” he murmured.

You giggled in an attempt to calm yourself again. “It’s what you do to me.”

“Do I scare you?” He quietly asked.

“Sometimes,” you answered truthfully. “But that’s what makes it exciting.”

He gave a dejected snort, his expression turning solemn. “I know you’re nervous about this. You don’t have to be with me if it bothers ya that much.”

Confusion settled in. Your brow furrowed, staring at him with bewilderment. “Isn’t the entire point of this meeting to make sure I’m trustworthy?” You pointed out. “Think I have to commit.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he responded. “I wish our relationship could be simple, but it ain’t. I don’t wanna push you into this if you don’t wanna be with me.”

“Arthur,” you spoke, pulling your hands from his to wrap your arms around his neck. “I want to be with you, therefore I have to do this. And you’re right, I’m nervous. Almost scared to death, but it’s like…meeting your significant other’s parents, don’t you think? Especially since one of them is your Maker.”

Arthur’s serious face broke as he snickered at your comparison. With a light shake of his head he replied with, “That’s one way to describe it.”

It was really your own effort into talking yourself down from being a trainwreck of anxiety come tomorrow night. However, your words seemed to shift Arthur’s perspective a little as well. His eyes seemed brighter, and the look of doubting seemed to disappear from his handsome face. You pulled yourself completely onto his lap to straddle him, and held his face between your hands.

“I’m determined to keep my vampire boyfriend,” You said sincerely, though you couldn’t keep your lip twitching in amusement from your own words. “So don’t try to scare me away.”

His own lips cracked into a content smile. “Then I won’t.”

---

Saturday arrived and passed too quickly for your liking.

Even when you tried to tell yourself not to overthink it, the majority of the day was spent with your mind buzzing. Arthur said the worst case scenario was that you’d be glamored to forget their existence entirely – but that also meant forgetting him. As much as you tried to push that intruding thought away, the thought of having your memory erased and continuing life without Arthur seemed daunting.

He mentioned he’d pick you up by 10, and wasn’t specific on where you were going. You spent the next few hours fretting over how you should present yourself. What outfit to wear, to be confident or quiet?

You decided on a casual outfit. You rehearsed in your head how to introduce yourself, how your tone will sound to them. How capable are they to hold a conversation with a regular human?

You stopped yourself then. Arthur still had many human qualities. You had to believe they were the same and not like that…what was it? Fledgling you encountered that one night.

By 10 pm on the dot, your phone chimed with his message of arrival. You left your apartment and found him waiting on the curb with his motorcycle parked. He greeted you with an embrace and kiss on the lips. Upon pulling back he stared into your eyes, his own glistening with the yellow light of the building.

“Last chance to turn back.” He said lowly.

You steeled your own gaze and took a deep breath. “Not gonna happen.” You answered confidently, despite the raging storm of nerves in your stomach and chest.

Arthur nodded once, half-smiling at your determination. “Alright.” He replied, handing you your helmet.

With a moment of adjusting and climbing onto the bike, you wrapped your arms around him and got comfortable. As he started the engine, a question appeared in your mind. “Where are we going exactly?” you asked, nearly shouting over the roar.

“Saint Denis, sorry,” he answered, apologizing knowing how you felt about it. “Believe me I ain’t fond of the location either.”

“Of course…” you grumbled, sighing heavily and resting your head on his back.

“This’ll be a safe trip, I promise.” He added, revving the engine before pulling into the street. You had completely trusted him on that, knowing nothing would happen in his presence. Still, you would be meeting vampires older than him.

You took a deep breath, mentally shoving aside a small rise of anxiety to enjoy the ride.

---

Besides the growl of the engine, most of the ride there was quiet.

Up ahead you could see the hazy golden skyline of Saint Denis, bright like a blotch of paint against a dark canvas. Arthur headed further south than you were used to, opting to head into the more industrial part of the city. Old factories turned into nightclubs and breweries lined the docks. It was a lively section of Saint Denis for sure, although one you tended to avoid due to the shady regulars and heavy amount of drugs that passed through unnoticed.

After a few minutes of rolling down the busy streets, Arthur turned his bike from the main street into a dimly lit alley. The towering closeness of the walls surrounded the both of you, and you involuntarily squeezed his midsection, remembering the night with the fledgling.

“It’s alright,” he said to you. “Nothin’s gonna happen.”

You breathed and nodded once, turning your attention to the sights around you. The alley opened up to a large, factory-like building. Even over the rumble of the motorcycle, you could hear the beats of heavy bass. The nearly opaque windows had hints of brightly colored lights flashing from within. The gray walls were adorned with graffiti, and a hint of aged paint as a small reminder of its original intention.

There were a couple of people dressed in club outfits waiting outside a large door, a burly bouncer checking their IDs before sending them in one at a time. Arthur pulled into a spot off to the side. He killed the engine and waited for you to stand.

You did so albeit hesitantly, taking the helmet off. “Er…are we in the right place?” you asked with confusion.

Arthur turned and smiled at you, gesturing for you to follow him. You did, keeping close as he sauntered up to the bouncer, not even acknowledging the small line. The two men made eye contact, and then the bouncer’s beady eyes turned to you. You froze under his hard gaze, averting your own eyes. You heard Arthur murmur something and you looked up, watching as the bouncer stepped aside and opened the door, gesturing both of you in. Arthur nodded and stepped in, and you followed suit.

As soon as you passed the threshold, you were enveloped with a fast beat of loud dubstep. Your nose was greeted with the scent of metal and sweat, and the concrete floor was lit up with a myriad of party lights. People were dancing around you, most of the women in skin-tight dresses and jumpsuits. You were used to seeing such clothes, but you suddenly felt out of place in your sweater, jeans and sneakers.

A large, neon-lit bar off to the side caught your attention, as well as meeting the eye of one of the patrons. She smiled at you politely, and her elongated canines gleamed in the bright green glow. You blinked and jumped slightly in surprise.

A cool hand appeared at your side. Arthur drew you in close to his side. You quickly looked up at him and he silently gestured for you to keep walking forward. You walked in step with him, keeping your eyes forward and away from anyone in particular. He seemed to be leading you to the other side of the colossal room.

You’d managed to flow through the crowd without an issue, and Arthur stopped at another closed door. There was a small glass window upon it, dark on the other side. He knocked on it thrice and with a heavy, creaking sound, it opened to reveal a dimly lit stairwell.

He gestured you in and stepped in behind you, and the door swung shut. You peered up the stairwell with apprehension, feeling as if you were suddenly placed in a horror movie.

Hesitation overcame you, and you turned to look at him. “I always pictured vampire lairs to be old, haunted mansions.” You joked to try and calm yourself down.

Arthur smiled in amusement. “Runnin’ a nightclub keeps us inconspicuous,” he explained. “Easy for us to do what we need to do without drawin’ unwanted attention.”

Huh, you guessed that made sense. It wasn’t something you expected to learn, then again you weren’t sure what to expect entirely from tonight at all. What was next? “Never expected you as that type of person.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, he replied with, “Weren’t my idea, ain’t too fond of it either,” he stepped closer to you, pressing his hand gently against the small of your back. “C’mon, we shouldn’t keep ‘em waitin’.”

With a short nod and a deep breath, you began to walk forward. You took the steps with slight hesitation, Arthur’s hand never leaving you as a silent and gentle offer of comfort. You eventually reached the top of the staircase to face a short hallway with a few doors on each side, and one at the very end. Your feet echoed across the floor eerily and you stopped, looking back at Arthur for further instruction.

Before either of you could do anything, one of the doors creaked and thudded. Your attention fixated on that, your heart suddenly leaping to your throat to see the door closest to you was the one opening. Out stepped a man with long, raven-colored hair. A thick stature similar to Arthur’s, dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans with light colors, a large contrast from his cacao skin. His dark eyes darted to Arthur, and a smile crossed his face.

“Evenin’, Charles.” You heard Arthur say in a chipper tone as he took your side.

“Hello Arthur,” the man greeted before pulling Arthur into a hug. You watched as they embraced one another in an almost intimate fashion, lasting a little longer than just a brief second. As they broke from one another, Charles’ eyes settled to you. “You must be Y/N.”

Caught off guard and blinking, you smiled awkwardly. “Y-yes, I am.” You confirmed. Taking a better look at him, he seemed almost familiar to you.

You watched as a warm smile crossed Charles’ lips, and he stuck his hand out to you. When you took it, you were almost surprised to find it cold. “Arthur’s told me a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet you.”

You glanced at Arthur, who was smiling as well. “Charles n’ I go way back. Been there for me more times than I can count.”

Between Charles’ friendly demeanor and Arthur’s reaction, you assumed you were in the company of a friend. The tension you held released just a bit. Charles released your hand and looked at Arthur again.

“They’re discussing some important matters at the moment, but I can announce your arrival.” He spoke.

Arthur shook his head. “That’s alright, I’ll go on in. Might as well talk to ‘em beforehand,” he moved past you and Charles before turning around to look at the both of you. “Sweetheart, you can stay with him for a bit. I’ll come back when they’re ready to meet ya.”

You glanced at Charles, and back at Arthur. “Wait – ”

“Won’t be too long,” Arthur assured you. “N’ Charles is good company.”

You couldn’t really come up with anything else to say than to utter an “okay” to him. Arthur gave you a small smile and spun on his heel to face the length of the hallway again. He strode toward the furthest door, opening it and disappearing in a flash.

It was quiet now, and you turned your attention to Charles. He gestured to the open door beside you, and you walked in. It was a fairly small room reminiscent of a break room at a workplace. A small table sat in the center. A couple of couches and chairs lined the wall, as well as a few countertops and a refrigerator. Charles walked to the table and pulled a chair out for you.

Smiling politely at him, you took a seat. As you got comfortable, he turned to retrieve something from the fridge. He swiveled back to face you, producing a bottle of water.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poison.” Charles chuckled when you hesitated.

That was the furthest thing to cross your mind. Instead you were surprised by the hospitality of this man…vampire you just met. Then again if he was good friends with Arthur, you couldn’t be caught completely off-guard. You took the bottle and thanked him before sipping it. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were.

“What do you think of this place?” he asked as you recapped the bottle.

You placed the bottle down and looked at him. “Never expected a vampire lair to be a nightclub,” you admitted. “But Arthur explained the reason. Do humans and vampires just mingle here?”

“For the most part. We’re good at hiding our identities, but if they see our fangs, they’re usually drunk or high enough to think they’re accessories.”

You snorted at that. Hell, if you were that buzzed you’d probably think the same. It seemed so odd to you that they were so open about something that they were attempting to keep guarded. You however knew how easily swayed young, influenced minds could be. The image of the girl who flashed her fangs at you formed in your head. “Is this your type of scene?” You inquired.

“Not at all,” he leaned back and folded his arms. “I prefer the quiet mostly.”

“So what are you doing here? If that’s not too pressing.” You asked.

“Business,” he shrugged. “Most discussions happen here.”

You nodded in understanding. “Do, uh, other humans end up in my position often?”

Charles smiled slightly. “More often than you’d think. It may be under the radar, but vampire and human relationships are becoming quite common recently.”

Your eyebrows raised at this. “Really?” When Charles nodded, you continued, “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised…the way this place is,” you took a deep breath and drank again. “Guess that makes me feel a little better.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly.

“I’m a ball of anxiety,” you admitted, wincing as the cold water settled uncomfortably in your churning stomach. “I’ve only had one other interaction with a vampire besides Arthur, and I nearly lost my life.”

Charles nodded in understanding. “That would frighten anyone. Fledglings can be dangerous if not taught properly. Arthur told me what happened that night, you were very lucky he found you in time.”

A slight shiver shot up your spine at the memory. The fear that gripped your heart. The fight that ensued. The explosion of blood and guts painting the alleyway. You were lucky, stupidly lucky. “Guess that’s what I get for playing Good Samaritan for a random drunk.”

“That’s not your fault in the slightest. Most people are more selfish than not,” Charles pointed out. “That hasn’t changed in the last century at all.”

His latter statement caught your attention. “Are you as old as Arthur?” you asked curiously, observing his features closer. Beneath his dark skin held signs of age. Why did he look so familiar?

“Not quite,” he answered, meeting your gaze. “Arthur and I knew each other before. And I suspect you know why.”

Your brow furrowed and you tilted your head. Arthur was an outlaw and part of a large group. Those faces in the faded photos…you racked your brain to comb through each and every one of them until one stood out. “Wait, you were in the gang with him, right?”

Charles nodded and smiled. “Arthur did tell me you were interested in history, especially about his. I was a part of Dutch’s Boys, and Arthur was one of the few I truly trusted. When everything began to fall apart, he and I stuck through along with a few others.”

“It must’ve been a rough time,” you commented. “Arthur told me he was sick back then, were you one of the people he helped toward the end?”

“We helped each other,” Charles answered solemnly. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen those last few days. So much betrayal and bloodshed. I hadn’t witnessed the very end because I was helping a displaced tribe find a new home…” he sighed. “He went off to help the others. Caught wind of his final battle. I went searching for him, and couldn’t even find a body. I placed a memorial for him up in the mountains, hoping one day I’d truly find out what became of him.”

Your heart sank as Charles told the story. Learning it from the perspective of not one but two people who lived through such traumatic events really pulled at your emotions.

“Almost thirty years passed without an answer,” he continued. “I lived my life, watched as the world changed. And then I fell ill. My condition was far too advanced for any doctor or medicine man to treat. When I became terminal, Arthur showed up at my doorstep, looking the same as he did all those years ago. I couldn’t believe it.”

You raised your eyebrows at this. “So…did he Turn you?”

“No. He asked our Maker, Lucia, to Turn me. He could have just healed me, but he didn’t. He said I was too good of a man to let the world lose,” Charles chuckled. “Immortality was never a forethought. Arthur assured me, explained how his life changed since he Turned, and so I agreed.”

“That must’ve been such an adjustment for you, especially after years of thinking he was dead,” you said thoughtfully. “I couldn’t even imagine…”

“An adjustment is an understatement,” Charles agreed. “We were together again after so long. Lucia gave me a chance we both missed out on all those years ago…” he turned his head upward, and you noticed a haze clouding his eyes. “Decades together…”

The emotion touched in his voice, the way he spoke…you got the feeling this was more than just a rekindled friendship. Would it be too pressing to ask? “Were you…involved with him?” you quietly asked.

Charles’ attention turned back to you. “Yes, I was. We had some wonderful years together, but we’ve been apart for some time now.”

“I’m so sorry.” You automatically said, unsure how to respond to that. Was he jealous?

He shook his head. “Don’t be. As you can see, we’re still very close. And I know he’s happy with you. He’s a troubled man, and you sparked something in him.”

You hadn’t expected to hear that. You smiled a little shyly. “Guess I’m glad to be that spark then.”

The two of you conversed for another few minutes. You learned a little more about Charles’ background and what he and Arthur did. They traveled the world and enjoyed places they otherwise wouldn’t have the chance to have gone while alive. Charles also is a huge advocate for both African American and Native American rights, often attending rallies and protests at night to march. You’d never expect a vampire to be still into human affairs and politics, however it seemed you were learning something new every day now.

Speaking with him did allow some further ease of your anxiety. Like Arthur, he assured you the others weren’t as intimidating as they seemed. It seemed more like you were prepping for a job interview from the way he described it after he sat in for quite a few of them.

Not that a job interview was even less nerve-wracking. Mentally, you were envisioning yourself sitting across from a smartly-dressed vampire going over a resume while you kept yourself with an upright posture, running commonly used questions and answers through your mind.

Another few moments passed by before the door opened. You turned to see Arthur step through, first peering over at Charles before meeting your gaze. He greeted you with a small smile. “They’re ready for ya, sweetheart.”

A lump formed in your throat. Taking the last swing of your water bottle, you stood up and nodded. “And I’m ready too.”

“Good luck, Y/N.” Charles said from behind you.

Turning your head to shoot a grateful smile at him, you strode forward and back out into the hallway again. Arthur slid out in front of you, taking your hand and leading you toward the furthest door.

Your echoing footsteps pounded in your ears with each step closer. The harsh lights shone brightly like a hospital corridor. Arthur stopped just before the door, and turned to you.

“I can’t accompany you inside.” he said.

Alarm coursed through you. “Why?”

“So they know I’m not influencing you in any way, standard procedure,” he answered, closing the small space between you to place his hands on your upper arms, and leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “But I ain’t worried, as long as you’re truthful.”

“Do I have any reason to lie?” you asked, your heart fluttering from his soothing touch.

He shook his head. “Not one bit. Like I said, I ain’t worried…” he stepped back to clear the path between you and the door. “N’ I’ll be out here waitin’.”

Your eyes lingered on his for a second longer, before you turned to face it. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward and grabbed the knob.

#Arthur Morgan #arthur morgan x reader #vampire Arthur #vampire AU #Charles Smith

87 notes · View notes

helloprettybb · 4 years

Text

swindler’s trick

Here’s a periodical fic set in 1870, five years after the Civil War and takes place in England. Inspired by Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice, I tried to mimic the language but probably messed up. This is a Steve x stark!reader and Tony is Anthony because of the time period. Also, the reader is 20 and Steve is 31.

Summary: Steve Rogers needed to clear his head. Haunted from the war and his past relationship, Steve sets sail for England to reunite with an old friend and hopefully distract himself from his life in America. His distraction comes in the form of a beautiful young girl, who proves to be a worthy interest, but will she be enough to help Steve move on from his past?

Warning: poor attempt at victorian era vernacular, victorian standards, fake history, age gap

Word count- 10.6k

Stark’s manor is as ridiculous as the man himself. The large, four-story house resembles a castle with its multiple chimneys and towering peaks. The red roof is angled perfectly to deflect the normally gusty winds. Luckily for Steve, his arrival was met with a slight breeze and shining sun; a complete juxtaposition to the harshness of early Spring.

Nevertheless, Steve isn’t the least surprised as he steps into the extravagant manor. If Steve thought the stone exterior was showy, then the interior was just unnecessarily grand. There were two large staircases that each met on the beautiful marble floors. Steve looks up and sees an intricate chandelier with crystals placed to look like falling rain.

Steve was so taken aback by the architecture that he didn’t notice the man standing at the door. He looks to be in his mid to late 50′s, with gray, balding hair. He stands tall and Steve assumes he’s the butler.

“Hello, sir. My name is Steve Rogers. I sent a letter saying I’d...” Steve tries to explain, but the man cuts him off.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers. Anthony said he’d be expecting you. You can wait in the parlor.” the butler promptly says and walks away. Still caught off guard, Steve doesn’t notice the butler walk away until he’s at lease twelve paces away. Steve looks around confusedly, wondering where the hell the parlor is.

He wanders down a couple hallways and finally comes across what looks like a parlor. There are two single couches with a long, two-person couch in the middle. In the corner, there’s a grand piano that hardly looks touched. Above the stone fireplace, there’s a portrait of Anthony as a child and who Steve assumes are his parents. His father looks like a much sterner version of him and his mother holds a slight resemblance to him. Steve takes a seat in one of the chairs.

It feels like hours until Steve hears his name being called. He practically jumps to his feet and stands at attention. Then he looks and realizes it’s just Anthony. “At ease, soldier.” he jokes and Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Stark.” he replies and walks over to shake Anthony’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Anthony replies, a genuine smile gracing his face. He gestures to the chairs and says, “Let’s sit.” Anthony takes the seat closer to the entryway while Steve takes the other. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Steve responds.

“It’s good to see you, Steven.” Anthony starts. It’s hard to believe they started as tentative allies and are now the closest of friends. Throughout the war, they had their differences, especially since Steve was a captain and Anthony was his First Lieutenant. But when the Civil War was coming to a close and the Union began steadily beating the Confederacy, the two men began to see eye to eye and became the strongest of friends. It saddened Steve when Anthony returned to England, but at least he had Margaret, or so he thought.

Steve replies, “Likewise, Anthony. I see you’re getting on well.”

“My wife would have to disagree. I’ve been in the workroom so often, she’s threatened to board the door shut.” Anthony jokes.

“Well either way, you seem perfectly adjusted.” Steve comments.

“Perfection is relative, old friend. You’ll understand when you find it.” Anthony advises wisely and as if on cue, an angel walks through the doorway. Well, not literally, but you are the closest thing to a saint on earth.

With your smooth hands and polished nails, you don’t look like a servant, but for your status, you dressed rather simply. As opposed to a large, decorated dress, you donned a dark, modest gown. You dressed closer to a middle-class maiden than a noblewoman, yet Steve took note that no outfit could diminish your beauty. Instead of the intricate up-dos, he’s seen many high-class women wear, you have your hair down and pulled back.

Anthony notices your entrance and greets, “Y/n, dear!”

Steve knew Anthony favored beautiful women, but he did not expect for him to marry someone so young. Steve’s seen his fair share of older men and young partners, but he didn’t think Anthony would be that kind of man.

Strolling up to Anthony, you greet him lovingly by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Turning to Steve, you acknowledge politely, “Hello, sir. To what name shall I call you?” The moment you address him, Steve forgets every word in the English language. His mouth runs dry and he starts to regret denying Anthony’s tea offer.

Your stunning beauty and air of confidence fluster Steve and he manages to stutter out, “I- I am Captain America Rogers. I mean, Steve Rogers.” Attempting to recover, he clarifies, “I’m from America and I served as a Captain in the Army.”

You laugh lightly and Steve could have sworn an angel acquired its wings. “Well, Captain America. I appreciate the background information, but I figured from your accent that you were not from here.” you quip.

Anthony glares as you and gently scolds, “He is an old friend, y/n. Please be nice.”

You smile softly and tell him, “Oh papa, I hold no malice. It was a simple jest.” You turn to him and say, “But if any offense was taken, I do apologize. I’m aware that my tongue can be quite scathing.”

Steve realizes that Anthony is your father. He feels foolish and a little disgusted at his previous notion. But now that he knows, he can see the resemblance. Not particularly in appearance, but in attitude. You both carry yourselves in the same charming, self-assured way, like you’re the smartest people in the room.

“No need to apologize, miss. I can handle a sharp tongue,” Steve’s formal tone dropping relatively quickly. Your eyebrow quirks and a small smile plays at your lips.

If you were caught off guard, you didn’t show it as you quickly respond, “Good, but do not worry. I can soften my tongue if the situation requires it.” Anthony shoots you another look, but you pay no attention, keeping your eyes on the American. Steve feels your eyes bear into his, but he can not break your gaze. His heart flutters for the first time in what felt like forever.

Anthony clears his throat to break the growing tension. “Y/n, didn’t you say that Miss Natasha was taking you into town?” You turn to your father and smile.

“Why, thank you, father. If it weren’t for your keen memory, I would have gotten a lashing!” you kiss his cheek and walk over to Steve. “I apologize that our meeting had been cut short. I do hope we see each other again,” You kiss him on the cheek too and Steve prays that his face doesn’t burn on the spot.

His eyes follow you as you walk out of the parlor and out the door. “If you wish to court my daughter, all you have to do is ask,” Anthony states in an unamused tone.

Steve’s eyes snap back to the older man and he quickly explains, “Oh no, that is not my intent, Anthony. Besides, she’s your daughter.”

Anthony scoffs and replies, “She’s of marrying age and can do as she pleases. My only request is that you warn me.” Steve tries to counter him, but Anthony stands. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” He gestures to the man at the door and says, “Mr. Jarvis will show you to your room.” With that, Anthony leaves Steve alone with Mr. Jarvis.

Steve quickly learns the routine of Stark’s manor. Without Anthony’s wife, Pepper, and their daughter, Morgan, you and your father mostly kept to yourselves. Anthony stays in his workroom downstairs and would remain for hours on end, only appearing upstairs for meals.

You spend most of your time in the library and occasionally walk the grounds. Steve doesn’t know what restrains him from joining you on your walks, especially since you granted him an invitation during his first dinner.

Instead, he opted to observe you. He’s learned a great deal over the past few days. You chose to wear plain dresses and favored colors on the darker end of the spectrum. You and your father enjoyed battles of wit during meals with most occasions ending in a draw. You were very curious, or at least, toward Steve. You asked him a multitude of questions and even though Steve was happy to answer, Anthony shot your line of questioning down with a quick glare.

You read often, usually books on philosophy and tales of heroism over religion and spirituality. When you read, your lips would get caught between your teeth and you’d occasionally mouth some of the words. Steve could tell when you disagreed with a passage because your smooth forehead would slowly wrinkle as your eyebrows furrowed. Besides meals, the library was the only time Steve would spend with you. But unlike dinner, the two of you would sit in silence, just basking in each other’s company.

Nearly a week into his stay, Steve, out of stupidity or bravery, decides to join you on a walk. When you see him at the doorway, you remark, “Captain America! To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“I decided to take you up on your offer. I hope I am not too late being as it was last week,” he remarks cheekily.

You smile happily, “Oh, do not worry about that, sir. Besides, your invitation was set to expire tomorrow.”

“That’s good news, but I must ask, will that cursed nickname be going away any time soon?” he jokingly asked.

Smiling, you reply, “No, it will not.” Stepping out of the manor, you question, “Shall we go?” Steve nods steps out, moving to your left side.

You start your usual walk around the grounds. The sun beams down on your face making your skin almost glow. Steve’s never been this close and he can see every detail on your face. If he thought you were beautiful from afar, he doesn’t know what to think now.

“How long are you staying here?” you ask, turning to Steve for the first time.

He sighs and absentmindedly replies, “I don’t know, actually.” His answer causes your head to tilt and brow furrow slightly so he reassures, “Don’t fret. While Anthony has granted me an eternal stay, I shall leave before the year ends.”

You shake your head lightly and explain, “Oh, I don’t worry, Captain America. I’m just curious as to why you’re uncertain.” Steve averts his eyes, unable to meet your intense, innocent ones. You seem to read his nervous body language so you change the topic.

“We don’t get visitors very often,” you comment. Steve relaxes a little and you add, “All I know is that you’re an old friend of my father’s.”

He answers the unspoken question by saying, “He was my first lieutenant in the Civil War.”

“Ah, I remember him telling of his time in America,” you remark. Steve’s eyes return to yours. He can see the excitement and eagerness as you ask, “What is it like? America?”

Steve doesn’t know where to begin. From the bustling city life to the beautiful countryside, America is a diverse place. But then the memories come back and Steve hopes you can’t read the flash of sadness that spreads across his face.

“Well, it is very beautiful,” Steve says simply. He can tell by your excited expression that you crave more, so he adds, “In some places, there are hills as far as the eye can see. There are also forests so dense that you cannot get through without a map.”

You seem satisfied with his answer and dreamily add, “I wish I could visit, but father forbids me from going beyond the moors.”

Steve senses your disappointment and tries to cheer you up, “The moors aren’t too bad, Miss y/n.” He looks around at the scenery, searching for something to point out. He stops by the garden and hastily proposes, “The flowers are quite beautiful if you ask me.”

You let out a small laugh at his half-hearted attempt and concede, “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” You sigh a little sadly, remarking, “But it gets quite lonely up here.”

Steve couldn’t control his thought process and lost even more control of his mouth as he asks, “I hope I do not come across as rude when I ask why you have not wed yet.”

He already regrets his intrusion, but luckily, you don’t seem offended. “It isn’t rude, Captain America.” With that, he can see that you are in a joking mood. “Men want a woman with open ears and a closed mouth. Seeing as I have neither, men do not try and pursue me.”

You smile back at him, but unlike your usual smile, it doesn’t reach your eyes. Steve decides not to pry and comments, “While I do agree your mouth is rather liberal, I’d have to disagree about your ears.”

Your smile finally reaches your eyes again and you laugh, “Tell my father that.”

“Well, Anthony never was the most patient listener.” Steve states to which you clearly agree, if your loud and genuine laugh had anything to say about it.

Once your laughter dies down, you turn the subject to him, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Steve questions, raising an eyebrow.

“No wife? Surely a military man such as yourself would have a mistress at least,” you comment curiously. Looking down, Steve smiles and shakes his head.

“Women were mostly found in the tents of upper-class men,” Steve replies ambiguously. He feared that if he dug too deep, it’d only dredge up his past. Maybe he was imagining it, but your knowing look made Steve think you understood his vagueness.

The two of you continued your walk in peaceful silence. You broke the silence by asking, “You mentioned that women were reserved for upper-class men,” Steve nods in confirmation and you continue, “Am I to assume you are not of high status?”

Steve explains, “I was baseborn. In the Army, I quickly rose through the ranks which in turn, granted me a higher status.”

Steve fears your impending judgment, but instead, you go quiet and confess, “I was baseborn, too,” You avert your eyes as if it were a terrible secret.

“How so?” Steve questions, now completely intrigued. When you saw he only held curiosity, you returned to your relaxed state.

“My mother was a village girl. Father had an affair and when grandfather found out, he became furious. Father was forbidden from seeing my mother, but little did he know, that he impregnated her on their final tryst.” you tell, searching for any disgust in Steve’s eye.

Steve tilts his head curiously and asks, “Is that why Anthony came to America?”

You smile at his interest and reply, “Partially. He always wanted to leave, but the death of his parents pushed over them edge. He was only seventeen and didn’t think he could run the business himself. He would have stayed in America if it weren’t for Obadiah Stane.”

“Who?” Steve questions.

“He was the second in line for the company. My father didn’t just leave the house behind, but the business. Father secretly suspects Stane killed his parents, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Where’s Mr. Stane now?” Steve asks.

“He’s in prison for embezzling money.” you reply.

“When Father received word that Stane’s business practices were less than humane, he had to come back. Being the sole heir, father was able to reclaim his title as lord of the house and owner of the company.”

“How did he find you?”

“With his father gone, he decided to reunite with his former love, but when he discovered her dead and me in her place...” You look off to the distance as if you’re trying to find the right wording, “He was surprised, to say the least.”

Lightening up, you add, “Luckily, he met Pepper shortly after and they wed quickly. Then, they had Morgan and they lived happily ever after,” you end a little sarcastically.

Steve hums in understanding and asks, “Surely, it was difficult for you to adjust to life here.”

“It still is. I’ve lived at the manor for nearly five years and I still forget frivolous things like which spoon is which.” Steve laughs heartily in agreement and you join in at a quieter tone.

“It is rather odd, isn’t it? A spoon is a spoon, what difference does it make!” he exclaims. This makes you burst into a very unladylike laugh, but you don’t care and neither does Steve. For once, it feels like you both met someone who understands you.

After the first walk around the moors, Steve has joined you on every other one since. Your topics ranged from philosophy to politics. Although he never cared about politics, Steve found himself captivated by your ideas. It saddens him a little that the world may never experience your brilliant mind.

To Anthony’s delight or dismay, you wordlessly invited Steve to your usual dinner banter. Although he is constantly left speechless and outwitted, Steve enjoys being talked into a corner. He loves the small smile and look in your eyes when you know that you have someone beat intellectually.

Tonight’s discussion had something to do with Descartes. Steve got lost the minute you brought up dualism and metaphysics. You’re in the middle of explaining how mental phenomena are non-physical when Anthony interrupts, “Mr. Rumlow will be joining us this Easter.” Your teasing smile drops and is replaced by a scarily sober expression.

Through gritted teeth, you ask, “Why?” Reading your body language, Steve can tell there’s something more beneath the surface.

“It’s business, dear.” Tony sighs exasperatedly. Steve can’t tell if he’s annoyed with you, the mysterious Mr. Rumlow, or both.

“And for how long?” You start cutting your food more aggressively than before.

“He failed to mention it, but I presume a quite long time,” Anthony responds and you scowl.

“May I be excused? I feel rather ill,” you announce but leave before waiting for a response. Steve feels an urge to follow you but is stopped in his place when his friend speaks.

“Do not mind her. She sees Rumlow as more of a fiend than a man,” Anthony says absentmindedly once you leave the room.

Trying to hold back any snark, Steve comments, “I could see that,” Anthony doesn’t reply, but from his small smirk, Steve knows that his sarcasm bled through.

They finish their dinner in silence. Once his plate is empty, Anthony gets up and leaves without saying a word. Steve glances at your mostly full plate and figures you must be hungry. Eating one last bite, he scoops up your plate and walks up the steps to your room.

After a few faint knocks, you open the door. You still hold the look of contempt that you had at dinner, but at the sight of Steve or the food, you brighten up. “Thank you, Steve. I am absolutely famished, but I did not want to face my father again.”

You move away from the doorway and subtly invite him in. He hands you the plate and you sit on the edge of your bed. Steve pulls the chair from under your desk and turns to face you. While you eat, he asks, “In fear of angering you more, may I ask why Rumlow’s name caused such trouble?”

You set your plate down and tell Steve sincerely, “Our families have been business partners for decades. I don’t think father is too fond of him either, but he has to keep acquaintance with him.”

Taking another bite, you continue, “His wife died years ago, and ever since, he’s looked for a wife in yours truly.”

“I take it he doesn’t handle rejection very well?” Steve suggests. For the first time since your sudden exit, you smile.

“No, he does not. Don’t get me wrong; rejection can be delightful, but it can only happen so many times before it becomes tedious,” you respond, lightening up even more. Steve gives a short laugh and gets up to leave so you can finish your meal. You ask quietly, “Can you stay?” Even adding, “Please?” Steve sits back down wordlessly and keeps you company.

“Y/n!” the little girl squealed as she ran from her mother and to you. Picking her up off her feet, you wrap Morgan into a hug.

“How was the visit to your grandmother’s?” you ask happily. Steve hasn’t seen you this genuinely happy and giddy. He can see that you care about Morgan deeply. Today, you chose a lighter-colored dress with more embellishments and a larger petticoat than usual. Steve assumed it was Morgan’s favorite color since your dress matched the ribbon in her hair.

When you see Pepper approaching, you set Morgan down and greet your step-mother. “Pepper! We have missed you.” you exclaim, hugging her more reservedly.

“Please tell me that Anthony spent most of his time outside the workroom,” Pepper jokingly begs, even though she probably knows the answer.

You laugh politely and reply, “I would, but you know I mustn't lie, step-mother.”

Pulling away from you, Pepper turns to Steve and asks, “You must be Captain Rogers. Anthony wrote that you were staying with us.” She plants two light kisses on each of Steve’s cheeks.

He’s about to tell her to call him by his first name when you speak up, “Please, step-mother, he goes by Captain America.” He looks at you and sees the mischief in your eyes.

Pepper glances at Steve curiously and he explains, “It is a wretched nickname she has given me.” Pepper nods understandingly, knowing her step-daughter’s quirks.

Morgan asks impulsively, “Are you courting my sister?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Y/n bursts out laughing, dropping any attempt at civility.

Pepper can’t decide who to scold first, so she chastises, “Morgan, dear! We do not ask people questions like that,” Pepper tells Steve, “I do apologize, Captain. She is not even five years old.”

“No need, Mrs. Stark.” Steve dismisses with a wave of his hand.

You speak up, “Besides,” Crouching down to Morgan’s level, you whisper something to her. Steve strains his ear to listen, but can’t make out a single word. Pepper gives you a look when you stand back up.

Instead of prying, Pepper decides, “Let’s get inside before you corrupt Morgan any further.”

“Oh, do not worry, dear step-mother. There will be plenty of time for that,” you say cheerily. Morgan and Pepper stroll inside while Jarvis brings their bags inside. When the door closes, you tell Steve, “I assume you want to know what I whispered in Morgan’s ear.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Steve jokes back. You smile and move toward him. Going on the tips of your toes to be near his height, you look like you’re about to spill.

Pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, you whisper, “It’s a secret between sisters, Captain.” Moving back to the bottoms of your feet, you turn toward the door, but not before giving him a cheeky wink. Oh no, Steve Rogers is falling in love.

Morgan and Pepper’s return seemed to lift your spirits enough to distract you from Rumlow’s impending arrival. You squeezed time with Morgan into your schedule, consequently lessening the time you and Steve spent alone. He didn’t mind, after all, she is your sister, but Steve couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

Luckily, Morgan has grown quite fond of him. She includes him with as often as she can. Today’s activity is a tea party.

“Miss y/n, will you pour the tea?” Morgan asks, imitating her mother’s posh accent and miserably failing. You smile and rise from your seat.

“Anything for you, duchess,” you respond. Picking up the teapot, you walk around the table.

Moving to fill Morgan’s teacup first, you begin to pour when she holds up a hand and commands, “Stop, please.” You and Steve struggle to contain your laughter as Morgan, with her pinkie in the air, lifts the cup to her mouth.

She holds back from making a face and announces, “Delicious!”

“Why thank you, duchess.” You walk over to Steve and pour tea into his cup. You’re so close that Steve catches a whiff of your perfume. The closeness makes it hard for him to concentrate. He knows you can feel him looking, but don’t say anything, sending him a small, cheeky smile.

You pour your own cup of tea and before you could raise your cup, the clock on the wall chimes loudly. Turning to your sister, you question, “Duchess Morgan, don’t you have studies to attend to?”

Morgan pouts and replies, “I don’t need them.” You laugh heartily and crouch next to her.

You reason with her, “Morgan, your studies are very important. You don’t want me to become smarter than you, do you?” She concedes and hops off her chair before running out of the room.

Watching her leave to make sure she doesn’t run back, you stand up and sit back in your chair. You take a sip of tea and notice Steve is looking at you dotingly. “What?” you ask, laughing into your cup.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re a really good sister.” Steve comments. You scoff lightly at his compliment.

“Thank you, Steve. But it’s not difficult when she’s such a good kid,” you reply and Steve nods in agreement. For some reason, Steve can’t help but imagine you as a mother. You’d probably read to them before bed and when you were done, you’d go to him. The two of you would share a bed like husband and wife and you’d never have to worry about pompous suitors or ridiculous social expectations. He’d hold you in his arms like he yearned to do the moment you met.

Steve’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears cursing at the other end of the table. He looks up and sees your skirt covered in tea. “Are you alright?” Steve asks.

You laugh out of embarrassment and reply, “Yes, I just spilled tea all over my skirt. Can you hand me the cloth over there?” You point to the towel near him and Steve grabs it. Instead of handing it to you, he squats in front of you and dabs your skirt clean. If you had any protests, you didn’t say them as you sat patiently and let him dab your lap.

Steve continues to clean in silence when you interrupt absentmindedly, “You know, Morgan is one of the few people who don’t look down on me.” Steve’s hand stops and he looks up at you. You’re looking away from him and you have a distant look on your face.

“Why is that?” Steve asks, causing you to laugh lightly.

“Well, how couldn’t they? I’m a peasant girl born out of wedlock.” you roll your eyes, but Steve could see some hurt behind them. He places the towel on the floor and moves his hand so it’s covering yours, which are resting on your abdomen. You don’t retreat, which surprises Steve.

The intimate moment is broken up by Mr. Jarvis walking into the room and announcing, “Miss Stark, your father requests your presence.”

It’s a fair, sunny day so after days of begging from Morgan, Anthony finally conceded and decided that the whole family will attend the Spring Awakening Fair. Stepping onto the grounds, you look ethereal in your light, flowy dress.

“Let’s go before father buys Morgan the whole fair,” you announce, grabbing Steve’s hand without any hesitation. Steve feels his heart do a flip before he follows you away from Pepper, Anthony, and Morgan. Strolling around, you light up when you see a medium’s booth.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve asks skeptically, “You believe in psychics?”

“Nope,” you reply happily and before Steve could process your answer, you pull Steve’s hand and half-drag Steve to the booth.

“Hello, miss. Would you and your betrothed like to have your auras read?” the medium asks. Before Steve could correct her, you interject.

“Yes, please.” You sit down and Steve follows suit.

“Hold each other’s hands and stare into each other’s eyes.” the medium instructs. Steve grabs your other hand and turns to face you. He’s never allowed himself to look at you for so long, but now that he’s technically supposed to, he gives himself a pass just this once. Steve takes in every detail of your face so that he can remember every feature when he goes to sleep. Maybe if he collects the perfect picture, you will invade his dreams more often.

“I’m sensing...” the medium starts and Steve could see you struggling to hold back laughter. Luckily, the woman’s eyes are closed as she continues, “You miss, have an indigo aura. Yes, yes. You are a kind and intuitive person, who values intelligence and love. You seek peace in your life and while you’re a little vulnerable, your partner can help with that.”

Steve didn’t believe in psychics, but that was a pretty accurate assertion. So that the psychic can’t hear, Steve mouths, “That was quite accurate, was it not?” You scrunch your nose and shake your head. Before you could mouth back, the medium continues.

“You sir, have a blue aura. I see...” the medium says, “Mostly royal blue, with hints of dark blue. You are open-minded and generous, but the hints of dark blue show that you are scared.” You tilt your head in confusion and Steve shrugs.

“Something has happened in your life to cause distrust and a need to control. Perhaps your partner could help clear the dark blue from your aura. You two have very compatible auras. Sometimes, you miss, will feel overwhelmed, but your partner’s calming aura shows that he will be able to soothe you. I expect the two of you to have a long and loving relationship.” the medium finishes and opens her eyes.

You notice that she opened her eyes so you nod enthusiastically and say, “Thank you! That was very eye-opening.” You drop a few coins into the jar and walk away from the booth.

Once you are out of ear-shot, Steve asks, “Do you believe it?”

“Hm?” you ask, initially confused, then you realize, “Oh, the medium? No, no.” you shake your head as if you’re trying to get rid of the notion itself. “The idea that auras follow us around is illogical.” Steve hummed in agreement, but if he squinted, he could almost see an indigo halo around your head.

“Is that y/n y/ln?” a voice says behind Steve. He turns and sees a young man. Steve wonders how he knows you but judging from the look on your face, you aren’t pleased to see him. The man approaches and you quickly don a fake smile.

“Aldrich Killian!” you announce overenthusiastically. “It’s been so long.” Aldrich pulls you into a hug that lingers too long in Steve’s opinion. He finally pulls away after what felt like hours.

“It really has. How are you?” the man asks. He’s small and fidgety like he’s scared of the mere existence of you.

“I am amazing. May I remind you my surname is Stark?” you ask teasingly, but Steve can see the tension beneath your eyes.

“Yes, how could I forget! You became your father’s charity case.” Killian replies, smile bright as before, but his words still cut sharply.

The insult doesn’t phase you as you match his tone, “Well I’d rather be his charity case than be stuck with the likes of you.”

Aldrich doesn’t respond and instead turns to Steve. He asks, “And who is this?”

“Captain Steven Rogers.” he introduces, maintaining his stoicism. Aldrich grabs Steve’s hand with both hands and shakes it aggressively.

“It is great to meet you, sir.” Aldrich states. After a few violent shakes, he finally releases Steve’s hand.

He apologizes, “I’m sorry for taking up your time, y/n.”

He starts to walk away and you call, “Hey, Killian!” He turns back around and you drop your smile. “Please give Steven’s watch and my necklace back.” Steve looks down at his wrist and realizes that his watch really is gone. Aldrich comes back and Steve watches as Aldrich’s sheepish act disappears and is replaced by contempt. You hold out your hand and Killian drops the jewelry into your palm.

“See you’ve taken on the family business,” you taunt, “How is your father, by the way?” Aldrich scowls and Steve assumes that whatever happened isn’t good. Your hand on Steve’s wrist snaps him back to attention. You hold his wrist up so you can put his watch back on.

“You’ve gotten better, Killian. But your hugs still linger too long and you shake men’s hands too fiercely.” you comment absentmindedly as you clasp Steve’s watch around his wrist.

“Oh, y/n. I only linger that long for you,” Aldrich comments creepily. Steve sees your smile falter slightly before returning, a little smaller.

“Whatever you thought we had simply didn’t exist.” You grab Steve’s arm tightly and tell Killian, “We better head back to the manor,” You turn around to leave Aldrich alone before he gets one final word in.

Killian yells behind your back, “You can put on a fancy dress and expensive jewelry, but you’ll always be one of us.”

You hand Steve your necklace and ask, “Can you put this on for me?” Steve nods and you turn your back to him. He finds it harder than it should be to clasp the necklace, but the intense smell of your perfume is slowly overwhelming his senses.

To ground himself, Steve asks, “How did you know he stole from us?”

“It’s a common swindler’s trick.” you state. You feel the chain drop onto your neck and you turn to face Steve. You continue, “You greet the person enthusiastically to give yourself time to steal. While you’re stealing, you distract them with flattery and small talk. They don’t even realize they were robbed and by the time they do, you’re far gone.”

Steve is stunned by your extensive knowledge and bluntly says, “You know a lot about that.”

You laugh and admit, “Let’s just say, I have some experience.” You, a thief? He could just imagine a younger you going around picking pockets, distracting people with your effortless charm.

Steve furrows his brows and asks, “Were you like him?”

“Oh, heavens no. At least, not that bad. I knew who to steal from who not to.”

“And who deserved theft?” Steve asks, not out of judgment but actual curiosity.

“The usual. Rich arseholes who treated anyone of a lower socioeconomic status like dirt.” you answer casually.

“So you were a Robin Hood?” Steve jokes.

“Sure, but only for a short while. When my grandmother found out, she was furious and banned me from meeting Killian. In hindsight, that was one of the best decisions she’s ever made, but at the time, I was heartbroken.” you explain.

“What made you change your mind about him?” Steve questions.

“I saw the vile ways he treated women he sought after.” you answer simply. There is probably more to that response, but Steve decides he shouldn’t pry.

Instead, he nods and holds his arm out. “Come on, let’s trick some more psychics.” You smile and grab his arm.

“Y/n, dear. Rumlow will be here any minute. Are you ready?” Anthony calls upstairs. Steve’s standing beside him at the bottom of the stairs. The days after the fair had been amazing. You and Steve spent incalculable amounts of time together. He was surprised that no one mentioned it since you aren’t officially courting. Your spirits were extremely high, until this morning when you remembered who was arriving.

“Yes, father. Be down soon.” you respond back. Anthony huffs exasperatedly and goes toward the parlor, leaving Steve alone at the base of the stairs. He hears shuffling and a couple thumps upstairs, before you yell, “Okay, I’m ready.” he turns and his breath is taken away.

Steve Rogers is a simple man. He’s straightforward, hard-working, and sharp. These traits helped him through school and shot him up the ranks in the Army. He became one of the youngest captains in the Union army. He battled Confederates, god damn it!

But... you’re so beautiful. Sauntering down the stairs, you look like an angel coming down from heaven. Steve takes in your appearance. Your dress is a deep green color that matches the jeweled choker around your neck. The large skirt is a stark contrast to your usual demure day dresses and Steve’ realized yet again that your beauty is ever-present. No matter your wardrobe, the essence of you shines through. Your hair is higher than normal, with elegant curls resting on your shoulders. The chandelier above your head only adds to the natural glow of your aura. He could hear the light tapping of your heels on the grand marble stairs until you took your final step before him.

“Hi,” you greet meekly as if you’re the one that’s intimidated.

Steve, in his rather plain-looking dress clothes, replies, “Hi,” Steve’s eyes linger a little longer than seems appropriate, but you don’t appear to mind, in fact, doing the same thing in return. Your silent exchange is broken by the sound of horses outside.

“Sir, Mr. Rumlow is here.” Jarvis calls, alerting your father who strolls in from the parlor. Steve catches a look of disgust grace your face before it quickly changes into a wide, fake smile when the door opens.

“Mr. Rumlow.” Antony greets, holding out his hand.

“Mr. Stark.” Rumlow shakes his hand in return. As they exchange pleasantries, Steve looks the man up and down. He looks to be about Steve’s age, maybe a tad older. He has harsh, dark features that only further Steve’s already tainted view of the man.

“And who must this be?” Rumlow asks, turning to Steve.

“Captain Steven Rogers,” he responds and Steve could’ve sworn he heard you chuckle quietly after using his rank. Maybe that was low of him, but he was still quite wary of Mr. Rumlow.

“Pleasure to meet you.” The exchange is short before the man turns to you. Almost like a wolf who’s spotted his prey, Rumlow’s eyes darken and his slightly genial smile resembles more of a snarl.

“Miss Stark. Why, you look more and more beautiful every time I see you.” Rumlow compliments. You give a quick curtsy, smile dropping ever so slightly. Steve’s hands ball into a fist quickly before he forces himself to relax his hand. “I am surprised a man hasn’t made a bride of you yet.” Steve had to will his feet to stay or else the dinner party would have ended embarrassingly quick.

“Well, a woman’s role isn’t just to marry, is it?” you reply, still holding that bright, wide smile. Rumlow laughs as if you said a joke, but Steve knows the sincerity behind your words. His disgusting laugh further cements Steve’s idea that Rumlow is not a good man.

Anthony, seeming to sense the burgeoning tension, announces, “Dinner will be ready shortly. Shall we?” Everyone follows him into the dining room, with Rumlow charging forward before anyone even had the chance to move.

Entering the dining room, Steve sees that Rumlow has already taken the spot beside Anthony. Steve sits across from Rumlow and you sit beside him. After the wine is poured, Steve grabs his chalice and takes a slow sip. He watches as Rumlow takes one long swig before requesting more. You and Steve share a look of both amusement and concern, knowing where the night is headed.

Anthony and Rumlow start to talk business so to save yourself from boredom, you talk to Steve. “I wish Morgan were here.”

“Yes, if it weren’t for her cursed bedtime.” Steve replies jokingly to test what mood you are in. You roll your eyes, signaling to Steve that you’re at least somewhat yourself.

“I know Pepper isn’t much of an admirer of Rumlow either, but it’s a shame that she was granted an invitation out of this.” you admit a little glumly.

“Well fear not, Y/n. You still have me.” Steve encourages and you shoot a smile back. You and Steve continue to talk quietly until your conversation is intruded by plates being placed in front of the two of you.

Rumlow’s lack of table manners is extremely apparent as he gorges on the food. You stifle a laugh by lifting your napkin to your lips, but Steve catches you and bites his lip to contain his laughter. Dinner is fairly uneventful, while Anthony and Rumlow continue to talk and you and Steve share stories. It’s almost as if the two of you are alone on a date until you’re interrupted by your father.

“Y/n, after dessert, would you mind showing Mr. Rumlow around the manor?” Anthony tells, more of a command than a request.

Attempting to keep your tone light, you reply, “But father, hasn’t he been here before. I’m sure the manor hasn’t changed too drastically since he’s been here last.”

Before Anthony could respond, Rumlow interrupts, “Oh but Miss Y/n. I would love to refresh my mind on all the beauties this place has to offer.” Something about his wording and his intense gaze toward you angered Steve and he felt his grip tighten around his fork.

Pretending to give in and not still be utterly repulsed by the idea, you concede, “Well, okay. I look forward to it.” Rumlow nods and continues down to his dinner plate. Steve looks over at you, but your gaze is down. Steve decides to leave it alone when he feels a soft hand reach for his own. You still aren’t looking over at him, but your brow is furrowed slightly as you eat. Steve encompasses your hand in his and it appears to ease the tension slightly.

Steve doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of eating, opting to hold his silverware with his left hand instead. The other men don’t appear to notice, as Rumlow’s mind is only on the excursion he was promised. Sadly, after dessert is taken away, Steve has to release your hand as you and Rumlow leave the dining room.

Watching you leave, Steve gets an uneasy feeling and quietly excuses himself before walking out. He tries outside first and it doesn’t take long before he’s alerted of your presence.

“Get your hands off me you loathly poltroon!” Steve hears you yell. He turns the corner and sees Rumlow grasping your wrist tightly with no intent to let go. Without thinking, Steve runs toward you and shoves Rumlow away.

“You disgusting rapscallion! Is that how you treat a lady?” Steve bellows angrily and punches Rumlow in the face. Turning to you, he softens instantly and questions, “Are you okay, Y/n?”

You break your disgusted look at Rumlow and tell Steve, “Yes, let’s just please leave.” Steve ushers you away. You don’t say anything as you stomp towards the gazebo.

Steve could feel the anger emanating from your body. For the second time, he asks, “Are you sure you are okay? Because that man is-”

“Do you know why filthy men like Rumlow seek me out?” you interrupt angrily. Steve’s never seen you so mad, but now he knows to never cross you.

Continuing, you shout, “It’s not for my brains or my character, but my dowry. To them, I’m just a prize to be won! Did you know that my estate is worth a small country? But since I’m a woman, all of my fortune will be a man’s, and every single one I have come across thinks it will be them.”

Once you get that off your chest, you start to settle down. Sitting down on a bench, you hang your head a little and state, “All anyone sees is an inheritance with a pretty face.”

Not knowing what to say, Steve removes his jacket and sits beside you on the bench. Your once intricate up-do is falling around your face, which is good in Steve’s opinion since he never liked that hairstyle in the first place. The bottom of your skirt is muddy from walking through the grass. “I’m sorry.” Steve meekly apologizes while handing you his jacket. You thank him quietly and throw it around your shoulders.

Removing your shoes spitefully, you scoff, “It’s not your fault all upper-class men are greedy little pricks that only care about their appearances.” Steve lets out a noise, resembling a snort more than a laugh. He knew that far too well from his time in the Army. Even though the higher rank came with privileges, Steve occasionally wished he was still a private, realizing there were too many poncy majors and captains.

“If it’s any consolation, I think there’s a lot more to you than your money.” He hears you sniffle, but your eye line remains down.

“Thank you, Steve.” you reply, eyes still down and watery. Your head hangs down in dejection.

Sensing your sadness, Steve asks, “Would you like to hear why I actually came to England?” Your eyes move up to his and you sit up straight, nodding quietly. Steve sighs and begins his story, “During the war, I met a woman named Margaret Carter. We had a brief courtship and married quickly, but since I was mostly in battle, we hardly saw each other.”

Steve sees that you’re actively listening so he continues, “I thought I had met my soulmate, but I was young. A fool, really.” Steve looked down, finding it difficult to continue the story.

He clears his throat and tells, “Marriage would not be easy and I knew that. But I did not predict its difficulty until I truly experienced it.”

“Did you fight?” you ask quietly, breaking your silence.

“No, but that would have been preferable. War affects everyone differently, y/n. You have to understand that. I was withdrawn, avoidant and I- I just became a different man and...” Steve trails off, scared of your reaction.

You place your hand on his and assure, “I promise, Steven. Nothing you can say, could change the way I see you.” You’re listening intently, eyes wide with eagerness to hear his story.

“I was away very often. After the assassination of Lincoln, I was offered a position as head of security for the next president. She said it was okay, but...” Steve feels you hold his hand tighter, grounding him. “During my long bouts of absence, it was only natural that she found someone else. She continued her tryst for nearly two years before she informed me.”

“How did you react?” You ask quietly, your faint voice cutting through Steve’s foggy recollection.

“That’s the issue. I didn’t react much at all. I simply left and stayed with my close friend until the divorce settled. It was long and tiring, taking over two years. Nobody knew the true reason for the separation as we feared out tarnished reputations. Months later, I learned from an old friend that Peggy was to engaged to be married with that man. I knew I couldn’t be in the same place when they wed, so I left.” Steve stayed quiet and you followed suit for a couple moments.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize, like you were the problem. Sympathy etched onto your face and soft, delicate features turned down with sadness.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve reminded with a small smile to lighten the mood a bit. You bit your lip, drawing attention to them and reminding Steve just how much he yearns to kiss you.

“I know, but still. I don’t see how a man like you deserved such hardship.” you shed a tear and Steve is touched by your empathy toward him. Gently wiping the tear off your cheek, Steve boldly keeps his hand rested on your face. You don’t seem to mind, looking up at him through your slightly wet lashes.

“But if it weren’t for that trouble, I would have never met you.” As if the spirit of Cupid himself possessed Steve, he boldly confesses, “Darling, I would endure ten times the hardship if it meant I could meet you.” Steve felt a pang of fear, worried that he came on too strong and risked losing your friendship. But if the small gasp and softening of your eyes indicated anything, then you liked it. Now’s your chance, Steve. You look so sweet, so raw, so perfect.

Steve feels the atmosphere shift as he leans toward your face, his thumb softly brushing your lip. You mirror his body language and lean towards him too. As if the universe were pulling the two of you together, Steve could feel himself fall into your sweetness; your auras melding with each other. Steve is inches away from your lips when he hears the clanking of hooves in the distance and instantly, the magic dissipates.

The two of you break apart instantly as if nothing was about to happen. You smooth out your dress and clear your throat. Steve wants to stay. He really does, but he knows the kinds of rumors that could emerge if he’s alone with you any longer.

“We better go inside,” Steve suggests and you nod. Getting up, you leave the gazebo before him and he follows suit.

Much to Steve’s delight, Rumlow immediately left for home. After talking to an angry and frustrated Anthony, Steve walks up to his room. Walking up the stairs, he glances at your room and is almost tempted to go in, but he forces himself to turn the other way.

He can’t believe he almost kissed you. You were so close and your lips felt so smooth under his finger. Oh, how he wishes they were against his own. Steve wonders if he will ever have another chance or perhaps, you may try to forget it altogether. Steve feels like such a fool for letting himself fall so hard. But how couldn’t he when you’re just so... you.

Steve hears a knock on the door and answers, “Come in.” When he sees you step through, he stands to his feet. His jacket is slung around your right arm. You’ve changed into your nightdress which is covered by your robe to preserve your modesty. Still, Steve makes a point to keep his eyes on yours.

“Here’s your jacket.” you say meekly, still standing by the door. Steve walks over to grab it from you. His fingers brush against yours and he yearns to lace his in yours but refrains from doing so.

“You could have waited till morning to return it.” Steve states honestly, trying to not jump to conclusions as to why you came at such a late hour.

“I know,” you reply simply. Steve hangs the coat on the coat hanger beside you and closes the door, just in case anyone happens to walk by. You’re still standing as if you’re expecting something.

Steve stands before you, but you don’t retreat, instead, looking up at Steve. “Rumlow has left for town,” you inform him. He knows and you know that he does, but he assumes you only said that to break the palpable tension.

“Yes, I heard he sent for a carriage the moment he hit the ground,” Steve half-jokes. You let out a short laugh, one to show him you read the humor but it was enough to tell him you didn’t feel it. He can feel your uneasiness from the way your hands are fidgeting to the constant flickers of your gaze to the ground. Your usual confidence is replaced with insecurity and unsureness.

“Shall we talk about what was about to happen?” you question. Thank the heavens that you are the one who brought it up, for Steve doesn’t think he has the assuredness to do it himself.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Steve remarks. He’s about a foot away from you, but he could feel himself yearn to move closer. “I hope I did not bring you discomfort. I simply had to ease the weight on my soul,”

You shake your head and respond, “No, Steven, it was welcome really. I just wish we weren’t interrupted.” Your candidness startles him slightly. While you’ve never been mistrustful, he’s never seen you this open.

“Those damn horses,” Steve says, lightness entering his voice. You smile the widest he’s seen you smile since Rumlow arrived.

“Yes, if it weren’t for those wretched creatures...” you drift off as if there is a thought in your mind that you’re too reserved to say out loud. Steve takes a step towards you and brings your hands up to his. You gladly take them and Steve feels your delicate fingers slip into his perfectly like they were always meant to be there.

“May I do this?” Steve asks, almost like he’s asking himself. You nod, biting the corner of your lip lightly. You look like you’re having an inner battle of sorts and before Steve could decipher the turmoil, he feels your hands grip his shirt and pull him towards you. Steve realizes just in time as you capture his lips with yours.

The kiss is desperate and heated, but not devoid of love and yearning. Steve feels like his whole life has led up to this and in a way it had. He moves his hands down towards your waist and pulls you flush to his body. You let out a startled gasp, but continue to kiss him as passionately as before. Your hands are still gripping his shirt harshly, but he couldn’t care less. He never liked this shirt very much. You pull away a little to catch your breath. Your cheeks are flushed and lips are a little plumper and Steve can’t stop the pride from swelling in his chest at the thought that it’s his doing.

“I apologize. That wasn’t very lady like,” you tell him breathily, smoothing your hands over his shirt. He may or may not appreciate the way your hands linger over his chest for a few extra seconds.

Steve smiles and says, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t really care.” He reconnects your lips with the same vigor as when you initiated it.

The next morning, Steve wakes in his bed alone. He wanted to let you stay the night, but he knew the uproar that would be caused if your lady’s maid found an empty bed. Walking down to breakfast, Steve sees that you’ve made it down first and have already begun eating. Looking up from your eggs benedict, you give him a small, knowing smile which he returns. Luckily your father doesn’t notice anything as he continues to read the paper.

Steve takes his usual seat across you as a full plate is set in front of him. He starts to eat, occasionally sneaking glances toward you. He can’t get the image of your speckled pink cheeks and wet lips out of his mind and he hopes he never does.

With about two-thirds of his plate empty, Steve hears a sharp knock on the door, followed by the door opening. He can make out Jarvis ask, “Mr. Parker?” before he hears footsteps come toward them while Jarvis continues, “Sir, they are dining at the moment, if you would wait-” Before Jarvis could finish his statement, a young man enters the dining room. He looks to be about your age, maybe a bit younger. Judging by the instant joy on your face, you know him well.

You immediately stand up and exclaim, “Peter!” Your fork almost clattering on the ground in the process. You have no hesitation when you run over to the boy, whose arms are open and inviting. Steve watches as Peter wraps you in an embrace. Guiltily, he feels a pang of jealousy when he sees you in the young man’s arms, but forces the feeling away.

“Y/n, I’ve missed you!” Peter replies happily and releases you. Steve’s displeasure must be apparent because he catches Anthony smirking beside him.

“I’ve missed you, too. When did you come in? How is Cambridge?” you ask excitedly. Your giddiness is apparent as you fire questions at Peter, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too! I took the first train from Cambridge the moment break started,” Peter rambles happily, “As for school, it’s truly amazing, y/n. The classes are rigorous and I’ve met the smartest men.”

“None smarter than me, I hope.” you jest, and Peter laughs along. The two of you seem really close. Steve can’t help but wonder if there’s more beneath the surface. You said that no man was courting you, but maybe it’s because you were waiting.

“Of course not. I’ll never meet a person with more wit than you.” Peter compliments. Anthony clears his throat behind you and Peter turns to his mentor.

“Oh, except you, Mister Stark.” he tries to recover, but Anthony doesn’t buy it. Nonetheless, he hugs the boy reservedly, a stark contrast to your embrace. Steve, who only stood up out of courtesy, feels like a stranger witnessing a family reunion until the boy turns to him.

“Captain Rogers!” Peter exclaims, quickly walking over to Steve. He grasps his hand and gushes, “I am a huge admirer. Your siege of Fort Beauregard is simply inspiring.” He’s shaking Steve’s hand wildly and if it weren’t for the underlying feeling of jealousy, he’d find it endearing.

“Why, thank you.” Steve replies curtly, causing your eyes to flicker over to him. You raise an eyebrow, seemingly suspicious to Steve’s behavior, but Peter doesn’t appear to notice.

“So, where are you staying?” Anthony asks. Peter releases Steve’s hand and turns to his mentor.

The boy’s face goes red and he stammers, “I-I thought I could stay here. I apologize for not writing ahead. My excitement got the better of me and I figured that a surprise would be enjoyable, but I see how this could be abrupt and uncalled for and I understand if you wish to have me leave, but my aunt-” He’s caught off by Anthony’s laugh.

“I only jest, Peter. I forget about your testy nerves. Of course, you may stay.” Anthony assures as Peter’s chest falls in relief.

“Shall I show him to his room?” Jarvis asks, standing at the doorway.

“No need, I’m finished with breakfast. I will do it. Come, Peter.” Anthony beckons the boy, who immediately deserts his position in front of Steve and goes to the older man’s side in a matter of seconds. They leave and Jarvis follows behind them.

“You can stop clenching the tablecloth, Captain. Peter left.” you joke, turning your attention to Steve. He looks down at his hands and sees the white fabric bunched between his fingers.

“I wasn’t.” Steve responds meekly, sitting back down. Scraping his plate, he clears his throat and says, “So, um, Peter is a nice fellow.” You burst out laughing and walk over to Steve.

“Are you jealous?” you ask teasingly. Steve rolls his eyes to contain his annoyance at how right you are.

“No, I’m just curious about your relationship with him.” Steve says. It’s quite obvious that he’s full of it, but you have mercy on him and avoid further teasing.

“He was my best friend in the village. When father found me, I convinced him to help Peter with his education. He’s quite bright, but sometimes acts like a total dolt.” you explain. Steve eases a little at your explanation.

“So, you’ve never considered courting him?” Steve asks sheepishly and you laugh again.

“No, of course not! Besides, he’s engaged to Miss Jones.” you tell him. Steve fully relaxes into his seat. “Also...” you start, taking the seat next to Steve and turning to face him. “A different man has stolen my heart.”

“Oh, and who must that be?” Steve plays along.

“His name is Captain America,” you tell him and Steve gives you a pointed look, which you ignore. “He’s strong, smart, funny.”

“Is he handsome?” Steve turns slightly so that he can face you head-on.

“Devastatingly so,” you reply. Steve takes a quick glance around the room to see if you’re really alone before capturing your lips with his. The kiss is brief and sweet, unlike last night’s passionate affair, but it still affects his heart the same.

It’s a lazy day spent under the large oak tree. At mid-day, the weather has decided to give its mercy, holding back its usual treacherous winds and low temperatures that accompany spring.

Your head is resting on Steve’s lap as you read, your knees propped up and your book resting on your royal blue skirt. Steve strokes your hair gently, occasionally brushing over the loosely tied indigo ribbon. His navy jacket is discarded a few feet away from him and his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

The two of you have announced your courtship to the family last week, although it has felt it’s gone on since Steve first arrived. You’ve stolen his heart, whether you intended to or not. Steve never thought he could be so smitten with a person, but how could he not be. Your charm and beauty grow tenfold every time he’s with you. And now that he knows you share the feeling, he has no hesitations in the showing of his affections.

“Come to America with me.” Steve says, speaking for the first time in a half-hour.

“Pardon?” you ask as if you can’t believe the words he just uttered. You sit up and face Steve. Closing your book, you move your full attention to him.

“Come to America.” Steve repeats. “I have some business I have to attend to and you’ve always said you wanted to go.”

“Yes, but Steve. What would people say if an unmarried man and woman went away together?” you ask, not caring yourself but knowing the weight of everyone’s judgment would be too great to bear.

“But we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Y/n, I have loved you since the moment we met and it would be an honor if you made me your husband.” Your jaw looks like it’s about to approach the floor, so he continues.

“We could build a house on the plot of land down the road so you can still be by Morgan. It would not be as extravagant as this, but it would be enough.” Steve finishes hurriedly. You’re still silently gawking and Steve’s heart starts to rise anxiously. “My dear, please say something so I don’t think I’ve gone mad.”

“Oh Steve, I’d love to!” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against your body. With your face buried in his neck, you confess, “You have brought me more joy in these past months than in all my years.”

Steve moves away to face you. The smile on your face is unmatched and his heart soars at the idea that you will be his forever. “I love you, my dear.”

You lean closer so that your foreheads are touching. Whispering against his lips, you retort, “I love you the most.” Before Steve could protest, he feels you grab his neck lightly and press your lips against his. Steve cups your cheek gently as he kisses you back. The taste of herbal tea and the smell of your perfume invades his senses. He’ll never get sick of kissing you.

The two of you go inside and announce your engagement to the family. The celebration dominates the rest of the day and unbeknownst to Steve, his dark blue jacket still lays beneath the oak tree and it was never seen again.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction

65 notes · View notes

infinitelytheheartexpands · 4 years

Text

So a while back, @monotonous-minutia did a short yet comprehensive review of every production of Les contes d’Hoffmann they’d seen, and now, in much the same vein and because a) I think about this opera way too much for my own good and b) I’ve actually seen all ten available filmed productions of this opera (and several multiple times), here is my semi-replication but with Les Huguenots instead of Les contes d’Hoffmann.

And yes I am up at 5:30 on a Friday morning DON’T JUDGE ME

The Productions And The Unique Attributes That Come To Mind Immediately:

Sydney 1990: the OG for yours truly that was also Joan Sutherland’s farewell to staged opera so that’s cool

Montpellier 1990: the production that had strikingly-colored sets but gave pretty much everyone a form of one of three or so costumes

Berlin 1991: there is a wall. also it is in German. also pretty much the entire third act is cut for some reason.

Bilbao 1999: the production that had horrible lighting and that’s most of what I remember thinking tbh

Metz 2004: the one that had the monstrosity of a Black and White Checkered Floor and also fucked up the ending very badly and I’m still mad about it almost a year and a half later

Liège 2005: one of only two productions to follow the stage direction of Nevers sailing in on a boat at the end of Act III (the other was Bilbao). fittingly, Nevers looked like a pirate.

Bard Summerscape 2009: the production where the director looked at the libretto and went “this opera isn’t dark and violent ENOUGH”

Budapest 2017: the one that looks like it was operated entirely with Baroque stage machines and also GIANT WORDS

Paris 2018: what if we set this opera in the future

Genève 2020: what if we set this opera in a movie studio but not consistently and then shipped pretty much everyone with everyone else

Further thoughts under the cut:

Sydney 1990: as mentioned, the first production I ever watched. a great way to hook first-timers. the production is rather heavily cut but in such a way that if you don’t know the opera well it seems to flow quite nicely, cutting about an hour of music. Urbain’s insert rondo is included but slightly cut, the ballet is cut in half, the ball scene is not included. the cast is one of the stronger ones out there: in addition to Sutherland, who still manages to be impressive, both of the other main ladies (Amanda Thane as Valentine and Suzanne Johnston as Urbain) are excellent. the guys are all good too; special mention to John Wegner, who is one of the few Saint-Brises who doesn’t disappoint me. production is traditional, occasionally a bit static, but it works well.

Montpellier 1990: despite my nagging about the costumes and the occasional standing around, probably my favorite overall production. the ball scene is included; neither Urbain’s rondo nor the ballet are. other cuts (remember, this is before the critical edition) are minimal. the most consistently strong leading septet; all of the principals are towards the top of my favorites for their respective roles. production is traditional erring towards minimalist; this works surprisingly well. unfortunately there are no subtitles and the video quality isn’t the greatest.

Berlin 1991: this production is just so confusing to me. cuts are...confusing to say the least. almost all of Act III is cut; all that remains are the first five or so minutes, the nightwatchman’s scene, and the finale, which are fused into an unrelated scene in which a Catholic/Huguenot game of tug-o’-war turns deadly. the ballet, the ball scene, and Urbain’s rondo are all cut. as earlier stated, it is in German, and the translation used has some odd differences (Marcel becomes Raoul’s brother in this staging for no specific reason). Richard Leech’s Raoul, Angela Denning’s Marguérite, and Camille Capasso’s Urbain are all excellent; the rest of the cast is decent but no more. setting seems to be Berlin in the 1960s but references to World War II are continually made through various production elements. the production handles the last two acts surprisingly well but messes with characterization some.

Bilbao 1999: it’s freaking DARK in here did the lighting designer later move to Vienna or something??? ball scene and ballet included; Urbain’s rondo no. one of the lesser-cut productions, actually: it’s in the ballpark of about thirty minutes. cast is mostly unmemorable (which is both a good and bad thing), with the exception of Marcello Giordani as a wonderful Raoul. production is traditional. would help if I could have SEEN MORE OF IT

Metz 2004: the production started off well enough and I had high hopes but things RAPIDLY went south in the final act. the amount of material cut wasn’t so much the issue as what they cut (more on that in a bit), as not much was actually cut. the ballet and Urbain’s rondo were cut; so was the aria portion of the ball scene but not the ballet, which meant (oh God how did I forget about this) we were treated (?) to what was presumably a group of Huguenot TAP DANCERS who were all eventually shot midroutine. total cuts are also around thirty minutes or so. cast once again mostly unmemorable, although Jean-Philippe Marlière is another of the very few who isn’t disappointing as Saint-Bris. speaking of which: the director completely fucked up the ending BY CUTTING THE PART WHERE SAINT-BRIS FINDS VALENTINE GODDAMMIT IT STILL MAKES ME SO ANGRY. production is traditional, except I certainly hope that hideous Black and White Checkered Floor didn’t exist in the 1570s

Liège 2005: pretty production although it also has some lighting issues. nowhere near as egregious as Bilbao, though. one of the more heavily-cut productions: Urbain’s rondo, the ballet, and the ball scene are all cut, as well as a whole lot else, shearing off about 75 minutes of music. cast mostly good: Philippe Rouillon may be my favorite Saint-Bris. I do apologize though for this but I gotta say it: the Raoul and Marcel are terrible. at any rate, the production is traditional. Saint-Bris shoots Valentine at the end, so there’s that.

Bard Summerscape 2009: what??? the??? ever-loving??? hell??? is??? this??? production??? it feels like an extremely violent fever dream. yes, this opera is violent. no, you do NOT need to hammer this into our heads through everything from a mixed martial arts match to onstage sexual violence to a dude getting stabbed with a processional cross. also the production aesthetic is WEIRD. one of the less-cut productions; Urbain’s rondo is not included. cast for the most part holds up admirably; Michael Spyres and Erin Morley are Babies but already great as Raoul and Marguérite. the Saint-Bris is a huge disappointment though (and the poor guy has to sport a hideous tiny beard). I don’t even know what time period this is supposed to take place in. I just don’t know.

Budapest 2017: very pretty production. also largely very boring. one of the more-cut productions, cutting a little over an hour (including the ballet and Urbain’s rondo) but almost paradoxically being one of only three productions to include the full ball scene (the Montpellier and Genève ones are the others) and the post-2011 production that uses the most critical edition material in Act III, including the only filmed production to include Marcel’s Act III aria. Catholics in white, Huguenots in black, the set consists largely of flats with 16th-century images that get raised and lowered; otherwise, the stagehands (and sometimes cast) move around big letters to form certain key words such as Bachus, Amor, the Hungarian word for mercy, etc. at various points in the score. cast is mostly decent. Gabor Bretz is an excellent Marcel. the main issue: there’s no life, no activity, no passion in this production. the Raoul and Valentine have zero chemistry. lot of standing around. it doesn’t feel compelling. in any rate it’s traditional.

Paris 2018: the concept is surprisingly sound albeit somewhat of a head-scratcher when considered on its own. production aesthetic is very minimalist, clean, and bright. about thirty or so minutes are cut, including both ballets (but not the aria in the ball scene) and Urbain’s rondo. one of the most solid overall principal casts. no one can top Lisette Oropesa’s Marguérite. Yosep Kang, particularly given the circumstances surrounding his participation in the production, is excellent and deserves better than what the Parisian public gives him. overall very good musically. the production is set in an imaginary France in the year 2063. it is very interesting.

Genève 2020: the least-cut production of the bunch; it mostly just cuts a bunch of critical-edition Act III material. as previously mentioned: it’s supposed to be set in a movie studio but this is largely pushed into the background for both better and worse. the cast, for the most part, is excellent (will give you one guess who disappointed me in this bunch). John Osborn and Rachel Willis-Sorensen are a phenomenal Raoul/Valentine duo, Michele Pertusi joins them for a thrilling final scene (having expertly navigated his other material), Léa Desandre is the world’s most adorable Urbain. production design is excellent. directorial choices are very interesting, to say the least. the directors apparently woke up and decided to try to establish as many romantic relationships as possible. I am not opposed to it in principle; in fact, I really like a lot of it. however, the directors completely ruined it by trying to put forth the idea that Marcel has a crush on Valentine??? that was just...extremely uncomfortable to watch (also it COMPLETELY missed the point of the duet) but yeah, the production, although weird and confusing in places, is mostly good. setting, specifically I’m not sure about the location but the time period is somewhere between interwar and WWII fashions. so yeah.

anyway, if you’re here now, thanks for reading this unsolicited article! ask me any questions you may have!

#opera #opera tag #Les Huguenots #reviews #productions #analysis #Meyerbeer #Giacomo Meyerbeer #the ravings of a tired 17-year-old brain

7 notes · View notes

yanderecandystore · 4 years

Text

TW/Tags: ai x reader // slight mentions of violence // missing/kidnapped // low-key I was so tired when I wrote this 😳- // manipulative h o e

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Reverse

A lovely girl was sitting on a bench on the train station, all by herself. She seemed distracted by her portable little game, and although she was alone and seemed to be lost in her own little world, people that walked past her would instantly get lost on her appearance.

She looked like the definition of a dream itself. Long pale pink hair, caramel skin tone and shiny, lilac colored eyes. Hell, most people past through her thinking she was cosplaying or wearing a costume of some kind, so they didn't pay mind to the odd details.

But those that were close to the girl were intrigued. Her eye color and hair color and length weren't anywhere near common, yet somehow, it looked natural on her. As if she was born with them. Her appearance was indeed, out of this world.

Like a pastel, sugar coated dream.

Her looks were enchanting, and it was easy to see why everyone would give her so much attention without her ever noticing or paying attention to them. She was eye-catching.

She was wearing long, baggy clothes, in multiple colors, all in pastel. Some people were so in awe by her looks that they asked her to take a picture with them.

"- Oh! I'm afraid I'm too busy for that." She would tell them, her voice was pure and sweet, but she wouldn't look at those people while talking to them. She would easily dismiss them and go back to her little game.

Smiling all the time, clearly enjoying her time.

Some of the people around thought that it was okay for her to deny strangers to take pictures of her, but some thought she was being extremely narcissistic.

' She came here looking like that and she can't even take a picture?'

' How rude!'

' She came here looking for attention, and now that she gets it, she acts like a saint.'

They would think. Until someone came into the picture and decided to speak up what was on their mind.

"- Unh, hey! You. What are you doing sitting here?" Asked a girl taller than the pink haired one. This tall girl had brown hair, white skin, and brown eyes.

The lovely lonely girl, however, didn't answer.

"- Hey! I'm talking with you!" The brunette said, getting angry at how dismissive this girl was being.

"- Oh, hi, I'm kinda busy right now-" She would give her usual response, waving an arm around to shoo off the frustrated girl, when the brunette grabbed her arm to take her attention away from the console.

"- You're just playing a stupid game, that is my seat! My stuff was right on top of this bench, have you seen it or not?" Said the brunette, giving the pastel girl one last glare as a warning and freeing her arm.

When she let go of the girl's arm, the brunette noticed a sudden, sinister change on the girl's cheerful attitude.

"- Stupid game? Camille, you're the one trying to pick up a fight over a seat. Besides, if you can't find your backpack it's probably your own fault, not mine." The pastel girl said, sounding a lot more serious and smugly while mentioning the other girl's name and items.

Camille was shocked.

"- How…. How did you-" Camille tried asking. Where could this strange girl have ever learned her name before? But before she could ask, she was interrupted.

"- Come on, there are plenty of seats for you to take, and maybe someone else has seen your tras- Stuff! you should be going now." The girl was loosing her patience. She knew Camille was terrible as a girlfriend and as a person, but she didn't think you would fall for such a bully.

"- … Maybe this is what you really like…" Whispered the pastel girl, presumably to herself. She was focused completely on her own game, and smirking at the various ideas going on her head.

While she was having fun, Camille was a furious. This girl not only disrespecting her, but she didn't answer where did she heard her name from! Also did she just hide Camille's backpack somewhere?? How else would she know that it was a backpack if she didn't see it!

Camille was supposed to meet up with a certain idiot right now, that dude hasn't even called yet to cancel their date, but since they didn't show up, and this chick is making her angrier and more scared by the second, she thought of a plan.

"- Wait, what-"

Camille took away the mysterious pastel girl's game. She wouldn't really steal it, she just needed the girls attention for a second.

"- Now tell me where have you learned my name, and where is my stuff you little-" Camille was interrupted by a sudden noise made by the game. The character that was on the screen had spoken, and the sound had put her off guard.

The character in the game looked oddly familiar although being really cartoon-ish, and their expression was of pure distress. Their message was clear, even if it was glitchy and disturbing.

...

…

"- What the- Argh!" Camille was about to try and take a better look, when the other girl punched her stomach with all the force she could and took her game away from her.

" > [Y/n L/n]:

Ḥ̴̇e̴̱͗ ̷̤͗L̸̨̈́p̸̲̄ ̵͓͒m̸̉͜E̴͈̚ ̷͈̈C̴̻͠a̶̟̿ ̴̻̔m̷͕̿Ị̸̄l̵͈̓ ̴̭̆L̴̥̂e̸̢̐!!!. , . "

"- Help! Help! This girl tried to rob me!" The girl cried wolf as she started running away. Was she acting, or was she genuinely concerned about her property? Who knows.

Camille was left all by herself to deal with the officers at the train station, as the girl with pink hair entered the train without hesitation. In the cameras it seemed clear that Camille was being aggressive, and that the pink girl only tried to defend herself.

The pain in her stomach and the headache from hearing her parents yell at her on the phone, weren't enough to make the feeling of dread go away. What she saw on that psycho's game was a image that would haunt her for the rest of the night, maybe her whole life if she didn't find answers quickly.

She needed to call you immediately and see if you were okay. She can't believe she blamed you for ditching her when- When...

On the other side of town, inside a train filled with tired people going back to their homes after a long day of work, there was a lovely pastel girl, playing on her portable console.

"- That was close, wasn't it?"

She asked the screen, or more accurately, the adorable character on the screen. She would poke their little cheeks and they would squirm to the player's touch.

They couldn't yet talk with her, as communicating from inside the game with text messages was pretty difficult to them.

Not that they wanted to talk with her. She took their live away from them, and trapped them here. In this pastel, virtual dream world.

"- I don't know what I would do without you, [Y/N]. How about we play a minigame to distract ourselves from what happened?"

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

I'm sorry if I haven't answered any asks and that I've been so slow with content. I feel like there is a lot in my mind. I'm going to start having online classes Monday, and I think I'm freaking out about it.

I was planning on showing this after I answered everyone's asks, but I feel like this is a better time to show this concept.

So, here it is a Yandere A.I.

You, my dear reader, found an cartridge containing an game about making friends and possibly even dating cute cartoon characters on a dollhouse-themed "life simulation".

You started to interact with a character with pastel aesthetic, that although being really sweet at first, they had a darker side to their motivations.

In this fanfiction, they're represented as a girl, but I made two appearances so you could choose each gender you like more.

They fall in deep love with you, and decide they can't let you keep interacting with anyone else, even your friends.

Camille is a girl who you started dating with, and although you love her, her tsundere tendencies and bully persona made you distance yourself from her. So you vent your problems to your favorite character, even if you thought deep down that they weren't listening.

Oh, but they heard. Loud and clear.

Your girlfriend needs to go.

This is them. Kinda. I don't have names yet.

I'm sorry, I'm just tired. :p

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere drawing #yandere oc drawing #yandere ai #yandere a.i #yandere female x nonbinary reader #yandere female #it's 2:30 am

67 notes · View notes

doomedandstoned · 3 years

Text

Italian Doomers BRETUS Tell Ghostly Tales on New LP, ‘Magharia’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by DamianaMerante

Hailing from the City of the Two Seas, Italian doomers BRETUS return with a new album of ghost stories. Longtimers know that Bretus and Doomed & Stoned practically grew up together. Though the band has been active since the turn of the century, our first exposure came with their debut full-length 'In Onirica' (2012) and subsequently we formed a friendship with the Catanzaro doomers that continues to this very day. It's hard to believe they're already over two decades old (okay, 20 years young, if you like). And what do they have to show for it? A handful of LPs, an EP, and a split with fellow Italianos Black Capricorn.

If you're as much a fan of vintage horror movies, H.P. Lovecraft lore, mysticism, and the occult as Zagarus (vox), Ghenes (guitar), Janos (bass), and Striges (drums), there's a whole world of story and sound awaiting your deep dive into the Bretus catalog. Adding to their already excellent discography, a fifth album now reveals itself: 'Magharia' (2021).

I won't spoil my interview with the band (see below) if I tell you that the album concerns, shall we say, several tales of the supernatural variety. An ominous gong is struck to the backdrop of monastic chant as Magharia opens in epic fashion "Celebration of Gloom," a song characterized by a chugging proto-trash tempo, trve metal stylings, and Gothic vocals appropriate to it's subject. It's a rather grim account of a certain sacrilegious priest and his daliences with young women of the church. As a preacher's kid, I've seen this kind of thing play out a hundred times and can assure you these sweeping romances between clergy and laity never end well. In this case, it winds up with a ghoulish rite and a victim's vengeance.

"In the sky lightning strikes...wicked laments rise from the ground." Welcome to "Cursed Island." True to the spirit of the lyrics, this track really let's it all hang out, with quasi operatic vocals that occasionally erupt in maniacal laughter (reminding me vintage Reagers-era Saint Vitus, with its lusty swagger). And why not? This is after all about the mystery that surrounds one of the most haunted islands on earth.

Thus far, the record's been sporting a pretty up-beat pulse, so surely you're ready for some good old fashion doom? "Moonchild's Scream" concerns a albino girl accused of being possessed by the devil for her appearance. One day, she disappears in the dungeons of a castle and legend has it that her cries can still be heard every five years during the Summer Solstice. Doesn't get more doom than that, folks!

After a brief interlude ("Necropass"), we arrive at my favorite track of Magharia. "Nuraghe" concerns the spirit of a woman judged and condemned for a crime she was innocent of still roams among the ancient stones. Boy, the ancients sure did have a hang-up with free-spirited, independent women, didn't they? The song itself is possessed by the spirit of Pentagram in its biting guitar work and rhythmic attack. Love the riffage on this one! Some of it could have been played out just a little more for my taste, like the all-too-brief Soundgardenesque motif at the two-minute mark. It returns a minute later, again in brief. C'mon Ghenes, let your inner Kim Thayil loose! Maybe we can convince them to improv at this point with a bitchin' guitar solo at their next festival appearance. Then again, perhaps this fits artistically with the song, which speaks of obscure "grim dancing bats" and a ghost that haunts through swift shadows passing over glimmers of light. Once again, Zagrus expressive song style comes through to distinguish this as a gem of the genre. I shall be revisiting it on my personal playlist often.

"Headless Ghost" strikes graceful Goatsnake groove as the yarn is spun about the restless and tormented soul of an ancient Roman warrior who has risen from his place of rest. All he wants is the skull that was looted from his place of burial. Give it back to him! "No one will be spared tonight," the lyrics warn, as the song shifts down to a dire doom dirge as the night unveils a strange moon and the wanderings of a cursed soul, seeking his head and not more. "He is living again in this hell."

"The Bridge of Damnation" is one of the creepiest of the record, said to be about "a bridge, a young boy, and his three torturers." The mood is quite dark, with esoteric atmosphere, reverberating vocalizations, guitar and bass trading off notes. Oh, and did I mention this tale from the crypt involves death and resurrection, as well? The riffmaking and drumming are absolutely on point, as is the singing -- which by now in the record I'm not only am accustomed to, but have grown to admire. Another keeper!

"Sinful Nun" winds and grinds as Zagarus croons about the inner torment of a Sister who has never gotten over her beloved, who died under such unspeakably tragic circumstances that she decided to consecrate herself to God in celibacy. However, her vows are in vain as she still pines for her long lost lover. The verses are sung to the accompaniment of a galloping tempo, which seems to represent the fevered anguish of a soul forever stricken by grief and the haunted memories of lost love. This is juxtaposed in the chorus by a cursed riff that seems to speak as the Hand of Fate itself. "Farewell to this life," are the Sinful Nun's final words.

At last, we reach the album's namesake and though "Magharia" is entirely instrumental, it would be a mistake to assume you know what it's going to do. Around the four-minute mark, I had to check and make sure I was listening to the same album, as dark synth busted out a metronomic rhythm, leading to a declamatory section of keyboards to accompany the math-like guitar play and an improvisation of almost creepy seventies-sounding prog, which after its playful fit dissipates suddenly in a bluesy collapse.

Bretus have cooked up a remarkable horror soundtrack that, though it speaks of ancient lore, is very much a fitting backdrop to the unreality of our own times. Fitting somewhere on the stylistic spectrum between Candlemass and Paul Chain, Reverend Bizarre and Cardinals Folly, Margharia may be the band's finest effort to date. Certainly, it rewards repeated listens, and will haunt you for many years to come. Look for the record to drop this weekend (pre-order here), with multiple physical formats releasing via The Swamp Records (compact disc), Burning Coffin Records (cassette), and Overdrive Records (vinyl). Until then, you can stream it all, right now, right here!

Give ear...

Magharia by BRETUS

An Interview with Bretus

What is the concept behind the new album and what themes do you explore?

Musically the new record is most "in your face" than the previous album. Also our approach to the recording was different. We rehearsed and arranged together more than before. The result is an album more raw to us. It is a concept album born around different italian old ghost tales. Some of these is supposed to be legend or myth, who knows.

When did you write it? Was it during the pandemic lockdowns?

We had more ideas about new stuff long before the pandemia arrived. We spent this time working on the pre-production of the tracks.

Can you give us a track-by-track explanation of each song on the album?

For sure!

"Celebration of Gloom" is a strange song because there are many influences in it. Including a solo flute in the middle of the track. However is a very loud and gloomy song.

"Cursed Island" probably is the most rock 'n' roll song of the album. If you know what I mean. Rock in the attitude. Also the first video of the album.

"Moonchild's Scream" is 100% pure Doom with a heavy mid-section.

"Necropass" is like Caronte travelling the damned souls across the Stige River.

"Nuraghe" is a heavy oriented track with a very dark feeling.

"Headless Ghost" has a more stoner trend than the others and in the end there is a psycho riffing.

"The Bridge of Damnation" includes our '80s dark influences into our sound, probably the most haunted track of the album. The story is based upon an old weird story that happened in our native city, Catanzaro.

"Sinful Nun" is like an experiment and neither of us can explain really what it is... ah ah aha! For sure the most heavy track of all.

Finally "Magharia." You cannot believe it but the idea comes from a Who's album, Quadrophenia. Either of us wrote a part of the song. The result is a kind of horror soundtrack.

Magharia by BRETUS

How do you feel that your basic style or approach to song composition has changed since you first started writing songs in the early days?

You already know a lot of things about us, we know you from so long ago! Please don't ask how old we are. (laughs) Basically our approach is the same from the beginning. Of course we listen to a lot of new stuff during these years so every album brings different "colors."

Where are you most looking forward to playing live once pandemic restrictions are eased?

Everywhere! We are angry for live gigs or simply to drink beers with friends.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #D&S Interviews #D&S Reviews #Bretus #Catanzaro #Italy #doom #metal #doom metal #horror #occult #stoner rock #HeavyBest2021 #Doomed and Stoned

2 notes · View notes

poptod · 5 years

Text

Baisemain

Description: Your dead body is dressed up in ancient Mesopotamian clothing, and hidden in the Museum of Natural History. What your murderer doesn’t know is that you’re about to come to life, every night, for as long as your skeleton exists.

Notes: So this is just a quick blurb (and basically a shitpost) about this idea of a murder victim’s body being held in the Museum of Natural History. It’s not specifically Ahk x Reader but there’s a bit at the end that’s pretty flirty. I suppose I could write more, but I don’t know if I really wanna do that. I promise I’ll come up with something new and actually good soon!

Word Count: 1.9k

What comes in death is… nothing. There is no you, no consciousness going by your name, and there is no reality where you exist. Not anymore. You hold no anger towards the cause of your death, but only because you simply can’t, not when there’s no mind to store it in. If you were still alive, still holding a consciousness, you’d probably be rather annoyed - you’re not a cynical person but you’re not a saint, either.

So, there is a time on earth in which you are not a thought, not a tangible thing, and all sense of who you are is subject to the tide of the wind - the idea of you exists, in abstract form, only the image of what you are in other peoples minds. It’s rather blissful, nonexistence; quiet, but not lonely, and peaceful in every way existence cannot be. For one point in time it is blissfully quiet, blissfully dark and nothing, till a bright light sparks, and your consciousness comes back to being.

There’s a light shining in your face, fluorescent and painfully bright as your eyes barely open. Squinting, you try to see through the brightness, taking a minute or so to adjust. Around you is darkness - the only light in the room is the one directly above you, and you’re lying on top of a table that is suspiciously cold. With a groan you sit up, fully taking in where you are, and what in the hell could be happening.

A thousand different solutions, none of them right, ran through your head. Perhaps this is a hospital, you thought, incorrectly, followed by, no, this is too empty. Perhaps I am in a morgue of sorts, which was also wrong. There’s a distinct smell, not especially rancid but certainly not a nice smell, and the room is filled with it. Without word or grunt you slip off the table, and the clacking on your feet is odd - not right for being shoeless and not right for the sneakers you usually wear.

It’s only then that you notice you’re not wearing your normal clothes, or anything that could be considered normal. Long cloth drapes from your shoulders and hips, colorful and softer than anything you own - nothing that belongs to you, no wallet or keys or I.D. are in your pockets, which are sizable. A sort of shawl covers your chest, while a long skirt tied somewhere around your shoulders or waist (it’s all so tight and confusing) covers you from waist to ankle. If you had to guess, you’d place the origin of the style and cloth somewhere in the Middle East, which would be the one thought so far that was right.

The only appropriate course of action, you decide, is to explore, and try to piece together what exactly was happening. So, trying to keep your clothing up (which is an easier task than you think it is, it’s very well made and knotted), you leave the cold examination table, and wander through empty halls.

A good amount of time passes before you hear faint music coming from above you. Someone’s playing ABBA, you recognize that in the least, and you climb up several flights of stairs in hopes of finding some hint of life. As you get slowly closer, the thumping of hundreds of feet begins, then the shouts, and you realize that there’s not just one person playing ABBA, it’s an entire party.

Maybe someone’s having an office party, you think to yourself, back on the course of thinking wrong things. When you reach the final door, you’re only aware it’s the final door by the impossibly loud music, and the vibrating of the door handle when you grasp it. Anxiously you turn, your nerves flooding your hand till it tingled with excitement - well, that or fear, and you preferred to be excited. Though, if you knew exactly what you were getting excited for, you might’ve not been so excited in the first place.

In the center of the room is a very familiar globe, spinning and still glowing even though it’s clearly nighttime outside. Every exhibit you ever remember seeing is dancing, playing games, or talking with one another, and you can feel your breath leave your body - perhaps you weren’t really alive again, but you can still feel your heartbeat. In fact, your heartbeat is about the only thing you can still feel, and when a soccer ball comes hurtling towards your head you can almost feel yourself faint. Instead you duck, and the ball bounces off the wall and back to - Attila the hun, who is definitely not a wax statue anymore.

You’ve been here before, you know this place, and the fact that you’re here is terrifying you more than you ever thought it could. The Museum of Natural History in New York, which is funny, because you don’t live in New York.

Pretending as if everything you’re seeing is normal, you try to look for a night guard; you know they have one, and maybe they’ll know whats happening. At the top of the steps you find him, dressed in the usual dark blue garb, flashlight in hand. He’s talking to someone who’s definitely Egyptian, Ancient Egyptian, and if the crown meant anything, very likely royalty.

“Hi, uh, I’m sorry,” you say, tapping the night guard on the shoulder. “I… what’s happening here?”

He turns to you, and a smile of recognition crosses his face. Patting you on the shoulder, he says, “Oh! Yeah, you must be the, uh, new exhibit. From Mesopotamic or something?”

“Mesopotamia,” the Egyptian corrects him, with a surprisingly strong British accent. You look to him, then back at the night guard, still confused.

“What? No, I’m - I’m not from Mesopotamia, I’m from Colorado. What’s going on here?”

The two men look at each other, communicating in silent looks before turning back to you.

“Um… well, you’re in a museum. A magical tablet brings you to life every night, belongs to this guy,” the night guard says, pointing a finger back at the Egyptian behind him.

“I was dead. Like, really dead, did anyone solve - I was dead! Someone murdered me with a - a knife or something, and now I’m here?!” The reality of your situation begins to set in with you, and it’s not a pretty sight - your eyes go wide and you grip at your hair, wondering how in the hell this situation is in any way possible.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Are you sure you’re not from Mesopotamian?”

“Mesopotamia,” both you and the Egyptian say at the same time, glancing at each other before both turning back to the night guard.

“Right, whatever. You’re from Colorado?”

“Yeah, well… at least that’s where I was living. Wasn’t born there.”

“Makes sense,” the Egyptian says. “Most Mesopotamians don’t speak English.”

“Most Ancient Egyptians don’t speak English either,” the night guard points out. “You’re going to have to prove it to me.”

Internally you groan, ready to recite the events of the current age.

“It’s 1999, and -“

“Wrong. 2005,” the night guard interrupts helpfully.

“In that case, I must’ve been murdered a good long while ago.” An anger courses through you, and you begin to spit facts like you hate them, when you couldn’t feel less apathetic about it. “There’s fifty states in America, which was founded in 1776 by George Washington, John Adams, some guy named Richard I think, and the rest of the founding fathers. Umm… Nelson Mandela recently stepped down from his presidency, and the Sixth Sense came out, which I haven’t ever watched so don’t ask me about it.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment of contemplation. “That’s fair.”

“So you believe me?” You ask excitedly, smiling for probably the first time that night.

“Sure. But I don’t think I’ll be able to convince the other exhibits, they hardly speak English some of them… it’d probably be best just to say you’re Mespotamic.”

You and the Egyptian look at each other, too tired to correct him, and you both silently agree that he’s never going to get it right. At long last the two introduce themselves; the night guard’s name is Larry, and the Egyptian’s name is Ahkmenrah, and your previous deduction had been correct - he was royal, a king to be exact. Larry offers to look your murder up on the internet, but it’s safely assumed beforehand that it isn’t solved, considering your dead body is dressed up in Mesopotamian garb in a museum. No, someone is just a very smart killer.

“Like hiding a dead body in a graveyard,” Larry comments, to which you agree. After that fun excursion in which you are deeply unsettled by your Missing Persons poster, he decides to introduce you to the wide variety of characters inhabiting the museum.

By the fifth person you meet you’re a little numb to meeting famous historical people, and to the fact that everyone keeps calling you Mesopotamian. You don’t look the part, either in skin or facial features, and everyone’s immediate assumption is more than tiresome after the seventh person you meet. The only thing that jostles you by the time midnight strikes is the massive T-Rex, which, defying all logic of the tablet, does not have meat on its’ bones. You point this out to Ahkmenrah, who seems to be the leading expert on the tablet, and he just shrugs.

“Some things just happen some ways,” he says, leaving you more confused than you were before.

Your heart skips a beat when you notice a small child on top of the dinosaur, and begins to beat faster yet when Larry runs after him, leaving you alone with Ahkmenrah. He turns to you with a polite smile, a little too real to be only cursory.

“I never got to officially introduce myself,” he says, and you recall that it was, in fact, Larry who told you the King’s name. “I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king, and very pleased to meet you.” You hadn’t noticed he held your hand till it comes to his lips, a gentle, admiring kiss upon the back of it. Stuttering, you try to get a grasp on your words, blushing furiously from this single show of affection.

“I - I, uh… I’m (Y/N). I hold no title,” you finally get out, wondering if you should add your job in, before ultimately deciding that saying you’re a writer isn’t a great way to earn respect. “But it’s nice to meet you as well.”

He takes you on a tour of the different rooms just as Larry toured you around the people, telling you who each room belonged to, and a little history of the exhibit. He directs you by holding your hand, sending flutters into your heart every time he squeezes your hand when pulling you along to another room. You don’t have the heart to tell him you’ve actually visited the museum before, and whenever he smiles at you, you find you don’t want to tell him anyway - if only to get him to keep holding your hand.

To your quiet delight he keeps holding your hand throughout the night, tracing your veins as he explains exactly what to do when the night comes to a close.

Ultimately, it takes a good long while to adjust to what life is - it’s explain to you that you can’t leave the museum, and it takes you a much longer time to adjust to the fact that no one will ever solve your murder. As close as your friendship gets with the Pharaoh, it doesn’t fully fill the hole in your heart left by the fact that none of your friends or family know what happened to you. But, there are ups and downs to every story, and this story is pretty far-fetched anyway.

#ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #night at the museum #rami malek

126 notes · View notes

youremeimyou · 5 years

Text

Promise Me(pt.1)

Part 1 - Part 2

pairing: Park Jimin x reader (ft. Kim Taehyung) genre: Fluff, angst and just drama.. word count: 5k warnings: alcohol consumption

Description: Y/N is Jimin’s longest and best friend. Certain feelings are caught and meanwhile, Jimin accidentally sets Y/N up with his other best friend. But not before getting her to make him a promise.

A/N: Lately, The image of Jimin being all tipsy in his ‘Saint Laurent’ t-shirt in that bring the soul episode has been either leaving me sleepless or appearing in my dreams. Gosh, whatta man.. So that infired me to write this story:) I hope you enjoy! I’d be really glad to have your feedback. Here, bless your eyes with the image I’m talking about:

The boy’s dorm building was only across the road from the girl’s. And that wasn’t exactly a long walk for Y/N on a normal day. But this freezing winter night couldn’t be considered that normal. Plus, Y/N had to fight against the strong wind that nearly knocked her out of her feet more than once. All of the snow piled up on the ground wasn’t helping either. Again, on a normal day she would’ve loved walking on snow. But at that moment, she just wished to somehow activate her inner mutant so that she could teleport there or something.

If only she wasn’t too lazy to tidy up her room a little bit, it could be Jimin who was trying to make his way to her place right now. Maybe a bit of a selfish thought. But on the bright side, he would have the wind on his back, maybe even help him move faster as it blew from behind him.

It was then that Y/N felt a presence, swiftly moving towards her. Or rather, running up at her. She couldn’t see much through the huge scarf covering most of her face. So, assuming the presence would be a stranger, she engaged attack mode. As she was flopping her arms and legs without even managing to land them anywhere on the guy, the guy easily held her arms in place, not applying much force.

“Relax Y/N, it’s me.”

Ah.. the sweet, soothing voice of Park Jimin.. A little shakey probably from all the cold, a bit small and hard to hear through the blizzard. Nonetheless, it still made Y/N’s worries go away.

“Oh, sorry Chim. I couldn’t see it was you. Did I get you?”

Jimin laughed a high pitched laugh.

“Well, you hit me pretty hard but I guess I’ll live.” he teased her. Meanwhile, Y/N adjusted her scarf to be able to see him properly. His cheeks were all red and his lips almost went purple. Thankfully he had a big beanie with ear flaps to protect his sensetive little ears, Y/N thought. Although an ill and whiney Jimin was cute, exams week was closing up on them. Y/N made plans in her mind to prepare some of her mom’s magical power up soup for both of them, just in case.

“C’mon let’s go inside.”

With Jimin’s arms wrapped up around her, the wind didn’t stand a chance. They quickly went through the door and ran up the stairs to his room. As soon as they were inside, the warmness of the room welcomed them. Y/N loved and despised this room at the same time. Because it smelled way nicer, was way bigger and way warmer in the winter than her own. Well.. Jimin always was the lucky one of the duo. And Y/N had been taking advantage of that for over a decade.

“So, what were you doing outside in this blizzard?”

“I saw last minute that I had lots of booze and very few snacks. And I know better than to not give a certain snack monster what she craves. So I went out to quickly take care of that.” He sent a wink her way. Little action, but a power move.

Y/N saw him taking off his backpack and appreciated the apparent fullness of it. She couldn’t hold herself back from reaching it to grab a starter. Somewhere along the movements their hands came into contact with one another.

“Woah Y/N, you’re freezing! Come here.”

Jimin led the both of them to the couch where a blanket was already present. They wrapped it around themselves and Jimin took Y/N’s hands in his, rubbing them gently. Blowing his warm breath on them every now and then. Looking at her with the softest eyes. It was moments like this that reminded Y/N how she was a doomed, doomed girl. Jimin was maybe the biggest tease she knew. Used on others, it was flirtation. On her, it was the affection he had for his longest, most valued friend. Y/N knew the difference between the two situations. But that just didn’t help the way she felt.

“Booze’ll help us get warmer faster. Let’s get this party started already.” Y/N made an escape towards his mini fridge to get the drinks. “Did you pick a movie yet?”

“No.. I thought we could just chat tonight. We don’t really get the chance to have our customary deep conversations that much anymore. You know, just the two of us.”

“Oh? I thought it made you upset when the gang leaves you alone like this.”

It was true that Jimin didn’t like being alone the least bit. After their meet-ups with their friends when everybody would leave at some point, Jimin would whine and beg Y/N to stay more. “C’mon, a bit more.. let’s lay down.” he’d say. “Wait till I fall sleep?” And of course she would. Everytime.

“But I’m not alone, you’re here. Besides, Christmas Eve kinda became our thing by now, didn’t it?”

For the last two Christmases, both of their families were always either working or on vacation somewhere. There were no gatherings to celebrate the event. So, they didn’t go home for the holidays and spent it in the dorms. And since all of their close friends went back home, Y/N and Jimin were left on their own. They decided to have their own little celebrations where only themselves were invited. This year was also the same. It was starting to become tradition at this point.

That was actually how it all started for Y/N. The first Christmas Eve they spent alone, something happened. A wire in Y/N’s mind changed. And she was trying to deal with that ever since. Hoping tonight wouldn’t make everything worse.

Y/N was setting up the coffee table with the drinks and snacks. Jimin had already started with some champagne. He downed the first glass in one go. Then poured another one for himself. After that he opened up a bottle of soju for Y/N, as he knew she liked starting off with that. They could both hold their liquor but Jimin was drinking even faster than usual. And after a while that made him get very tipsy very soon. He was going all out tonight.

“Hey, I meant to tell you. I signed us up for the Spring Musical Project. Since we’ll be self producing most of the parts, I thought you’d want to know early on. Maybe you wanna get started on the scores.”

“Wow there, Chimmy! I thought we had to audition for that. And also why am I the one working on the scores may I ask?”

Jimin giggled when he noticed her glaring at him with squinted eyes.

“Hmph.. Not after I convinced Mrs. Bora we don’t. And I’ll try to help you out in anyway I can but music making’s your specialty, sweety. We’ve been partnering in crime for like 15 years. I thought you knew by now that I’m the charm and you’re the brains.”

Jimin reached forward to tweak her cheek. Because of Y/N’s sensetive skin, the spot immediately turned red.

“Did that hurt?”

“Nope, not a bit.”

Jimin smirked.

“Good. Let’s even out the colors, then.”

He slided down from the couch to the floor, next to where Y/N was sitting. He was now pinching both her cheeks, making cute incoherent sounds. Annoying the hell out of Y/N.

“Cut it out Chim, or else.”

“Or else what?” he teased her.

She countered the attack by tickling him. His tummy and waist were his week spots and she knew that. It turned into a playful scuff and after some time Y/N won by pinning Jimin lightly on the ground. With the help of her body on top of his, of course.

“Okay, okay hahah.. you win ah- just stop tickl-“ he hiccuped suddenly from all the laughing. “..tickling me.” That was when she spared him from the torture. And that hiccup had to be the cutest thing she ever heard. Plus, his eyes had dissappeared from laughing too hard and he looked so… Then she realized how she was on top of him, completely pressed against his body and it was all too much. She tried to get up but her balance was off because of the alcohol in her system. As she stumbled between falling and standing, Jimin managed to get a hold of her from where he was sitting.

“You’re about to face-plant on the floor, Y/N. C’mere.”

He pulled her back on the ground and sat her between his legs. Y/N was tipsy but Jimin was drunk. He put his chin on her shoulder as he backhugged her. His speech was sluggish by this point.

“No one else has this, do they?” His hands went to her arms, then down to her hands to link them with his own.

“This.. what we have, I mean.”

“Jimin, what-“

“Even couples don’t have.. this. I’ve never been this carefree with any of my girlfriends. I could never have this much of a good time without thinking about anything else. We become very aware of our actions and like.. what they could mean or something, in a romance based relationship. But I don’t even think with you. I just know you get me. I dunno- does that make sense?”

Y/N could feel the air around them getting thicker.

“Yeah, but why-“

He turned her head slightly so that he could look her in the eyes.

“Y/N. This is serious, okay?” When he didn’t continue, Y/N slowly nodded so that he would.

“Promise me you’ll never have this with anyone else.”

“Jimin, why-“

“Do you promise?”

It was suffocatingly silent. Y/N knew what her answer was instantly. But she had no clues as to why Jimin would ask that. Or why he was being like this tonight…

“Okay, I do.”

Jimin’s stiffened look slowly softened after that. He wasn’t staring at her dead in the eyes anymore, either. Instead he had averted his gaze to the wall across the room.

“Taehyung likes you.”

Y/N jumped up with shock. A few seconds later, she sat back in front of him. This time facing him with a look that screamed confused as fuck.

“Jimin, what are you talking about?”

“He’s liked you for a long time now. He’d murder me if he knew I told you. But I had to. He might be my best friend but you’re my- well, bestest friend. Just don’t say anything to him about it.”

Taehyung was Jimin’s other best friend. He came into Jimin and Y/N’s lives in highschool. And after the two boys moved in as roomates in freshman year of college, they had become like brothers. Their characters were weirdly compatible. Jimin liked to be teasing and flirty but he was actually just cute as hell. Taehyung was shy and giggly but unknowingly he was sexy as hell. And Y/N did have an undeniable crush on him during the end of highschool and the beginning of college. But ever since things changed for her on the Christmas Eve of freshman year, she had forgotten about that.

Christmas Eve, two years ago was a night just like this one with Jimin and Y/N drinking and alone. Except, the faint sound of Empire Strikes Back could be heard from the TV. They weren’t exactly paying attention to it, both had seen it billions of times.

Jimin was nearly falling asleep with his head on Y/N’s lap. And Y/N had her attention on his hair. Running her hand through it in hopes to help him relax. Because Jimin had broken up with his girlfriend, earlier that evening. When Y/N asked if he’d wanna talk about it, their conversation went a little something like this:

“What’s there to talk about?”

“I mean, you guys didn’t really look like you were having issues. And you never told me that something was wrong. I just don’t get why you’d call it quits.”

“I didn’t wanna reflect this on you. But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” He sighed and continued. “The fact that I have this close of a relationship with you had been bothering her for a while now. You know, because you’re a girl. And I’m tired of trying to explain it. Maybe no one but us can understand this.”

“So, you dumped her?!”

“No! I wouldn’t do that, you know me. I wanted to work it out but she.. asked me to choose her over you. And when I couldn’t, she just ended it.”

She wasn’t actually the first girl to ask that of Jimin. But it was the first time he talked to Y/N about it.

“Jimin.. I’m so sorry about that. Look, I’ll be more careful in the future. I’ll talk to her if you want-”

“No, Y/N. It’s okay. I already let her go.”

“But I thought you said you loved her.”

Jimin closed his eyes and turned away from Y/N before he said what he said next.

“I don’t love her as much as I love you.”

And that sentence made Y/N lose her shit. She was freaking out, trying not to take it the wrong way. And she knew that Jimin probably meant it in the most innocent way but her stupid heart wasn’t getting it. It didn’t make her think Jimin was in love with her. It just made her realize that maybe she wanted him to be. And so, her life had been very complicated after that night. Everything was the same except she now had feelings for her best friend. Perfect…

Tonight though, she just learned a brand new information and had no idea what to do with it. Also, she couldn’t make sense of the way Jimin delivered that information either.

“Jimin. If that’s true, then why are you telling me? And why now?”

“I guess the answer to both is because I’m drunk enough right now.”

Jimin got up, walked to his bed and plumped down on it.

“I wanted to say that- ugh I don’t wanna sound awkward.”

He just cared about her more than anyone. Because Y/N didn’t really find dating around easy or preferrable, there haven’t been any serious situations where he’d have to worry about her being hurt. But this time was different because he knew she had liked Taehyung in the past. The idea of things changing was stressful for Jimin. At least he got her to promise that they wouldn’t change.

“I guess I’ll be okay with it if you guys ever progress into anything.. more? Yeah.. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow’s Christmas!” And with that, he lied down, loudly yawning and getting ready to sleep.

Normally Y/N would lie down next to him and cuddle. Jimin was a natural hugger. And although Y/N made it look like she didn’t like skinship at first, there was no way Jimin would buy that. He always remembered a little girl who’d come to him for hugs when she was sad, not caring about seeming strong around him.

But tonight, Y/N went to sleep on the other bed instead. Because frankly, Jimin had annoyed her. He had just told her she was allowed date people, as long as she promised not to care about them more than Jimin himself. That was just selfish and inconsiderate in Y/N’s eyes. Cuz it wasn’t like he ever asked Y/N’s consent when he was the one dating people.

She decided to just sleep on everything that happened. So she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over herself. That was her first time falling asleep on Taehyung’s bed.

—–

The next morning –afternoon, really- she was being called back to consciousness by a deep but muffled voice with a tall figure hovering over her. But she didn’t wanna get up yet. That’s why she closed her eyes that were barely even opened in the first place and burried her head under the sheets. Only to be welcomed by the balmy fragrance belonging to the owner of the bed she was in. The scent could easily pull her back to dreamland but the deep voice just wouldn’t go away. Then a hand softly made contact with her shoulder, nudging it only a little.

“Yeah, what?”

“Y/N, wake up it’s me.” Y/N’s brain slowly started to decipher the deep voice. It sounded more and more familiar until it clicked. Taehyung.

She made a quick move to turn around and straigthen up on the bed. But since Taehyung was hovering over her and didn’t expect her to get up so suddenly she crashed into him. They bumped heads and it was both an embarrassing and a slightly painful experience.

“Sorry I- I’m so stupid-”

Taehyung couldn’t help but giggle.

“No, it’s okay. Are you okay?”

Y/N was also smiling. “Yeah..” Then she remembered who she was talking to and who’s bed she was in. Panic crept up to her brain in mere seconds. What was he gonna think about finding her in his bed, all messy and obviously hungover?

“Sorry I woke you. Your mom called. She couldn’t reach you. I guess Jimin was M.I.A for a while too, so she tried me. Lucky I came back early and found you. She sounded worried, maybe you should give her a call.”

Y/N’s mom had a habit of making a fuss when she couldn’t instantly reach Y/N. She searched for her phone, scanning through the bed with her hands. Until Taehyung reached over to the nightstand behind his bed. Doing this made his chest hover over Y/N once more, but this time at a much closer proximity cuz he was now sitting on the bed. He looked at Y/N and saw her stiffened posture because of that closeness, as he was pulling back.

“Oh, sorry.” His face was visibly getting redder. “Here.” He held out her phone. That’s right Y/N thought. She had put it there before going to sleep. As she was taking it from his hand, she saw how he was staring at the ground, timidly. He even scooted over to the other side of the bed to put the distance he unknowningly closed, between them again. And that summarized his sexy but shy character up perfectly, Y/N thought.

She decided to just text her mom instead of calling. It might’ve had something to do with being a little bitter about how her mom was always busy with other things on mostly every Christmas. Meanwhile she glanced over to Jimin’s bed and found it was empty. She thought about texting him. But then, her eyes landed on the coffee table and saw his phone was still there, where he left it last night. She found it to be strange. Why would he be in such a hurry that he’d forget his phone, on a free day like Christmas day?

What she didn’t know was Jimin had woken up in the middle of the night, feeling cold. When he realized the space next to him was empty, he looked around to find Y/N sleeping soundly on Taehyung’s bed. So that’s why he was cold. She had never slept anywhere but next to Jimin in all the times she stayed over. But as soon as he revealed Taehyung liked her, there she was, under the covers and all that. He hadn’t been able to sleep until the morning after that. So he had just up and left to clear his head.

“By the way, sorry for crashing on your bed. I uh- I know it looks weird-”

“Wha- No, it’s okay.” Taehyung could only appreciate the sight in front of him. “I knew you were gonna spend Christmas Eve with Jimin again, I knew you’d be here.” The twist was, he expected to find them curled up in Jimin’s bed as usual. But with him gone and with Y/N on this bed, he could sense something was up. He wasn’t gonna press about that, though. And Y/N appreciated it.

“So, why are you back so early?”

“Well, my parents planned a trip for three days including Christmas. But since we have exams coming right after the holiday, I thought I’d skip the whole thing. So we had a very early Christmas breakfast just before they left and I came here.”

“Oh. So you’ve joined the rest of us losers who get to spend the holiday here?” She joked around bitterly.

“Yeah. Kinda sucks how I spent 8 hours to go to and come back from home but I’ve only seen my parents for like 6.”

“At least you had breakfast with them. I haven’t had a proper breakfast since forever.”

It wasn’t like Y/N couldn’t cook or something. There just wasn’t much time for breakfast in their busy lives. With school, part time jobs and always getting up super early, days went by so fast. But today was a free day. And Taehyung had an idea.

“Well, we can actually make breakfast.. right now. Well, it’d be lunch but I’ve been grocery shopping before I came here.”

The offer put a smile on Y/N’s face, exactly as Taehyung wanted to achive.

“Can we make pancakes?”

They started off by searching for a recipe online.

“Got it. Pancakes for 2 persons-”

“We should probably double everything. Since we’re three with Jimin. Three with big appetites.” Y/N was proud of how much they all loved eating to be honest.

“Right, yup. Oh and by the way, do you know where he went off to?”

“Uh.. no.” She was starting to think Jimin left becuse he was upset with her for some reason. Her guess was close enough.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll show in a bit. And we’ll have breakfast ready for him.”

That cheered Y/N up a little. They were now trying to cook with two people in the very cramped up kitchen part of the room which only consisted of a stove, one counter and a mini fridge. It was a mess with Y/N bossing Taehyung around telling him what to do. Taehyung being mischevious and getting flour all over Y/N. Constantly bumping into each other and laughing like crazy. Total chaos but too much fun. And they were getting good looking pancakes as result.

All of this was helping Y/N remember why she had a crush on Taehyung and how it made her feel back then. Between all the giggling, they didn’t hear Jimin opening the door. They did hear the loud bang that came out when he shut it, though. Jimin was obviously not expecting such a view in front of him. He had a confused and somewhat hurt look on his face until he saw that the coffee table was set up for three people. He also saw his phone was there which was another relief for he had thought he dropped it somewhere.

“Taehyung, you’re already back?” He was talking to Taehyung but looking at Y/N.

“Yeah. No Christmas at home for me either this year. C'mon let’s dig in before the pancakes get cold.”

Only two types of conversation happened as they ate. Between Taehyung and Y/N. And between Taehyung and Jimin. Until Y/N decided to break it.

“Chim, where were you all morning?”

“I couldn’t really sleep from the cold all night. So I went to the coffee shop as soon as it was morning, to get warmer.” That was a figurative rock thrown at Y/N for not cuddling him, despite knowing how sensetive he was to cold. She rolled her eyes. But even though she had done it to kinda punish him last night, it still made her feel bad.

“Guys I should get going. Gotta take care of some school stuff.” Y/N said as she got up to walk to the door. “But tonight, I’m hosting Christmas dinner and you both have to come, no excuses.”

Jimin smiled sincerely -for the first time that day- at how she could easily get bossy and motherlike.

“You’ll also be required to have some of my mom’s magic soup I’ll make to protect us from the cruel winter, so be prepared.” And with that, she walked out. Jimin’s eyes watched her with adoration as she left. But his face dropped when he saw Taehyung had the same expression.

“Bro, I wish you were here this morning when I came in.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I kinda freaked out when I saw her all snuggled up on my bed. I hope she didn’t notice.”

“I think it went okay, Tae. You guys had alone time like you wanted.”

“True. I just get so nervous, man. But I think there was something there while we were cooking together. I hope I’m not being crazy.”

There was something, alright. And it was all thanks to Jimin and his big mouth. But why was it this hard to even think about these two people he cared deeply for, becoming closer?

It was nearly evening when Jimin saw Taehyung getting ready, trying extra hard to look good. While Jimin himself was relaxed on his bed.

“Dude, going somewhere fancy?”

The confident Taehyung posing stiriking looks at the mirror, instantly turned into a giggly kid at Jimin’s comment.

“Well, dinner time’s closing in. I thought I’d go over to Y/N’s a bit early and maybe help out?”

“Oh..” Jimin got up at once. He was quickly getting ready, putting some casual clothes on in a rush and talking at the same time.

“Uhh, actually I’m supposed to go earlier because we were gonna work on some moves for the Spring Musical thing. I should probably hurry over there.” Jimin moved at lightning speed towards the door.

“O- Okay.. I should let you guys focus then, I’ll be over later.”

He was thoughtful despite being dissappointed so Jimin turned back just as he was about to leave.

“Sorry, bro. Thanks.” he said and darted out.

When Y/N answered her impatiently knocked door, she didn’t expect to find Jimin, looking soft in his oversized hoodie but staring her up with a fierce demeanor. Curse and bless that duality.

“Hey, angel.” He let himself in. “Do you need any help with the dinner?”

“No, I already have everything ready. But you can set up the table, Chimmy.”

Y/N was glad they didn’t seem to be at odds anymore. Neither of them was good at staying mad at the other.

Jimin went over to the little cupboard where he knew the utensils were and brought two sets of everything to her little table. Y/N thought of it to be habit, as it was just the two of them mostly. So she grabbed and placed another serving on the table, herself.

“Hey we should call Tae over before dishes go cold.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Right, I’ll text him.”

“Can you check if the soup has enough salt?” Y/N was holding out a spoonful of it for Jimin to taste. He leaned in with his mouth wide open but Y/N stopped him suddenly.

“Wait! It’s hot you silly.” She blew on the spoon. “Now you can have it.”

Jimin looked at her fondly before tasting it.

“Mm~ it’s perfect.” He booped her nose and she scrunched it. But she actually loved it when he did that.

“Did you text Tae yet?”

“I’m about to, woman. What’s the rush? Sick of me that easily?” He was whining and complaining like a child, Y/N loved it when he did that, also.

“What’re you talking about? Meals are gonna get cold.”

Jimin did text him finally, but not without frowning.

“Did you and him talk about- you know..?”

“Wh- No! Why would I bring that up? You shouldn’t either. Ever.” Y/N felt flustered enough as it was. After finding out about Taehyung’s feelings, she had become confused about her own.

“Why? Don’t you like him as well?”

“Jimin- Can we drop the topic? He might walk through the door any second!”

“No, he’d knock first. Even I knock.”

And he did knock. Right at that second. Y/N ran to answer it, all the while sending Jimin implying looks to get him to keep his mouth shut about the subject.

“Am I late?”

“Nope. Actually right on time.” Right on time for Y/N to escape Jimin’s interrogation.

“I was surprised when Jimin texted this soon. Did you already decide on moves for the musical?”

Jimin’s eyes went wide with panic. Caught in a lie. Fortunately, Y/N caught on quickly and didn’t want any fuss.

“Uh.. well no, not yet. What Jimin came up with was no good.”

Hurtful.. But Jimin let it go because she did just saved his ass there. Although he was sure she’d question him about it later.

Dinner went great with everyone having fun. Then, they were about to move from the table to where the small, shit TV Y/N brought from her family’s old house was. As mentioned before, Y/N’s room was smaller than Jimin and Taehyung’s. So was her couch. If they were gonna watch Home Alone as planned, one of them had to sit on the floor cushion.

After losing rock-paper-scissors Jimin was stuck doing the dishes. Y/N went to the TV to put the movie on and Taehyung took a seat on the couch, waiting for her to join him when she was done. But Y/N sat on the cushion instead, trying to be polite to her guests. As Taehyung was contemplating on how to get her to come up to the couch, Jimin appeared and went straight to sit next to Y/N.

“Guys, isn’t it cold to sit on the ground? Maybe we can all squeeze here.”

“There?” Y/N looked up to him over her shoulder and joked bitterly. “You don’t even believe that.”

“Alright but at least one of you can come up here. Y/N?”

“Nah, I’ll warm us up. C’mere, panda.” Jimin pulled Y/N to him until there was no more space and trapped her in his embrace. Taehyung wasn’t supposed to get jealous. They’d always do that. Cling onto each other any chance they get, casually hold hands and even sleep next to each other. But the eyeing look Jimin occasionally gave him over his shoulder made it seem like all this wasn’t just bff stuff. Taehyung felt that maybe Jimin was trying to keep Y/N away or even, to himself.

After the movie was over, Taehyung excused himself, saying he felt exhausted. He was awake since before sunrise, after all. Actually, so was Jimin but he on the other hand didn’t plan on leaving any time soon. Y/N was seeing Taehyung out, with a smile on her face. Taehyung returned it shyly, eyes on the ground until he gathered the courage to look up at her through the fringe of his hair.

“Thanks for everything. Especially the soup. I had a bit of a sore throat but not anymore. You’re my hero.”

That last part came out with so much meaning, words dipped in his velvety voice. And it made Y/N beam at him.

“You wanna hang out tomorrow?”

Jimin stopped breathing. Of course he was listening in before, while pretending to be on his phone. But right now, they had his full, undivided attention.

It came as a bit of a shock to Y/N as well. It wouldn’t sound like a big deal -just hanging out, if it weren’t for the eager look on Taehyung’s face.

“Yeah..” The word just slipped out of Y/N’s mouth before she could even think.

It was Taehyung’s turn to beam. “Great.” With that, he bid his farewell and left, all the while grinning like a fool.

Y/N was also smiling while closing the door but that was only until she turned around and saw the we’re about to have a serious talk face Jimin had.

“You do know he meant that as a date, right?” Jimin had gotten up from his seat, panicked and jumpy.

“Why did you lie to him about coming here early?”

He scoffed at her attempt to change the subject.

“Because I wanted to talk to you alone, about all this. Would you rather I brought him along?” His voice was loud.

“What more is there to say? You’ve already told me you were okay with it!”

Jimin dropped all of his defenses at that. Because it was true. Why wouldn’t he be? Taehyung was maybe the only guy he could trust with Y/N. So he wasn’t really worried. What was the name of the feeling sitting heavily on his chest, then? He didn’t know.

“I know.” he said in a low voice that sounded like a whisper and sat back down on the couch. “And I want you to feel- I dunno.. happy. I see how you smile at him, too.” He was more mumbling than talking. Because it was hard saying all this, for reasons he didn’t understand. “You know I love your smile.”

Y/N blushed out of nowhere at his last comment. And the upset state of him softened her so she went over to him. Jimin continued:

“I just, I guess I don’t like sharing your smile.. or you.”

Y/N brought her hand on his chin to pull his head up and make him look at her.

“Chim Chim.. you’re worried about nothing.”

He tried to avert his gaze once more but Y/N held it in place.

“Hey, I mean it. Because it’s not even a big deal as you make it out to be and even if it was.. I already promised you, didn’t I?”

Jimin wanted to be relieved. And he pretended to be in that moment and said goodnight shortly after. But as he strolled outside in the cold he felt like there was more he wanted to say to her. He silently promised he would, as soon as he figures it out himself.

…

Author’s note: Hello:) That was long, sorry. I just can’t stop writing this one. Thank you so so much if you bared with me and read it, I hope you liked it. I’ve got more intense stuff planned for the story so this will have at least one more part for sure. What do you guys think? Who should Y/N end up with?

173 notes · View notes