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smolvenger · 1 month

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The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter Two

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Word Count: 6441 (have your tea and biscuits ready)

Chapter warnings: Grammer and spelling mistakes that missed my radar. Hints of past child abuse and a brief mention of sex, but nothing explicitly discussed, my performing arts side rears its head. I do my best to portray the period as accurately as I can and Thomas as accurately as I can. Some angst and something of a small anxiety attack/meltdown if you can call it. But fluff! Lots of fluff!

If I miss something and you see something in my work that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and warnings so affected parties are protected.

A/N: Missed it? It's back, baby! I had some BAD writer's block with this miniseries, but I figured it out. Thanks to your help!Without it, part 2 wouldn't see the light of day. So enjoy!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5

@muddyorbsblr @goddessgirl43

The Baronet Seeks A Wife Taglist: @stainlessciel @mjsthrillernp @thegodofnotknowing @magicalmichelle96 @princessdragon23 @heavyymetalchick @xalphafox (if anyone wants to join a general taglist of my work or just be on this specific one, let me know!)

The sun beat down on you for the opening day of Ascot and your little lace parasol and hat could only shield so much. You were in light-colored laces and full trim. Your dress was a light pink. You needed a lighter color to not attract heat

Plenty of other ladies would be in lighter fabrics for the June weather. But their eyes would flicker to you and whisper. You held up your open parasol and hid beneath it. Wishing it would block more than the sun. You scurried behind your mother.

The men, that is, papa and Sir Sharpe were with one servant picking a spot for the picnic before the horses could be released.

It would be your first outing as the betrothed of Lady Sharpe in the public eye. Your schedule had already been booked for a one breakfast party, a reception, and a ballet next week. The last one you were particularly excited for as they were doing Tchikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty and scrambled to get tickets. But ballet or horses or breakfasts could not hide the fact that you would be a figure of attention, weather you wanted it or not.

You closed your parasol and set it on the ground. Walking with it like a cane.

The stretch of grass continued like the sea beneath you. How big the Ascot grounds were! And people were crowding everywhere all over the grass. Plenty of picnic blankets were already stretched out, a healthy distance away from the stands and the dusty tracks. There were people all around, standing and chatting.

Eventually, you noticed two men. Two familiar voices, though one a little less familiar than the other.

“Here, let’s put the marmalade right here- and I think we’re ready,” you heard Sir Sharpe advise a servant. He nodded as the fellow got out jars from a picnic basket and put it on the red blanket.

His voice. There was something about it that made you falter. It was a rich, creamy baritone that made something inside you shiver. And all he did was talk about food!

Yet, even as attractive as he was, the Baronet was a stranger. You knew very little about him and you were about to enter his title, his house, and his bed-

No, now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

Taking a deep breath, you walked forward, meeting your mother’s brisk pace to greet the men.

Your father perked up as did Thomas, in their typical dark suits and their top hats. Sir Sharpe even lowered his hat and smiled at you in greeting.

“Why, ladies, it is good you both made it in time,” he wished.

All of you sat down, obediently sitting next to your fiancee. Nibbling on sandwiches and fish and fruit. Waving away flies that dared disrupt finery. For that was the true purpose of the race, far more than the horses- to be part of a walking parade of who was the most elegant in London.

“Now, Thomas, how has the clay mining been coming along?” your father asked.

You were sat down next to him. He grinned at your father, his posture relaxing.

“Very excellent, sir. The warmer seasons meant the mining has been smoother,” he reported.

“Hmph, well- that is all good. But, speaking of seasons, where the devil is old Mr and Mrs. Barnes? They never miss as Ascot and I’ve yet to see them!” your father teased.

Turning around, you noticed people turning their heads to watch you. They would pause. Then turn to their neighbor and whisper something in their ear. Men and women, the young and the old. Studying you. Looking at every last speck of marmalade you spread on bread and every crumb you ate.

Suddenly, your stomach was too turned to have cake.

Thomas looked over at you.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

You leaned closer to him, your shoulders hunching up. You got closer to his ears.

“Everyone- they’re looking at us. Talking about us,” you hissed.

He followed your eyes, scanning and seeing the invisible court displaying their silent judgment. He turned to you.

“I notice them too,” he whispered.

“I’m glad. I’m not going mad and seeing things.” you confided.

“Then, let’s give them something to talk about,” he replied.

He offered his hand outstretched. You accepted it, your bare hand meeting his as he helped you up. He pulled you up as easily as you were air. He then positioned your arm to be wrapped around his.

“I would like to walk with my fiancee, if you don’t mind,” Thomas announced.

“Oh, of course!” your mother replied.

With his top hat on, you retrieved your parasol and opened it for shade. Then you walked on.

Faces turned and a few heads bowed, you returned the gesture.

But you noticed Thomas. His head was high and his chest up. He smiled with a pride not even the most wily gossip could deter. Thomas would look at you and smile, and you would smile back.

He was happy with you, or at least acting like it. And you could not resist a smile with him. And anyone who came up to Thomas, he introduced you as “my charming fiancee, Miss Y/L/N.”

The message was then received. No figure of pity was Miss Y/F/N.

Let them look. Let them see. You would not let the murmurings of strangers make you fret. Thomas seemed perfectly fine and happy with you and you would appear perfectly fine and happy with him. Strolling with him on the grass beneath a sunny day felt natural. Something any ordinary couple would do.

Reaching near the stands, it seemed as people were less interested in the two of you. Crowds more intrigued as to who would win and watching for jockeys and steeds than scandal.

You had to learn more about him. A little by little. You turned over to Sir Sharpe.

“I never hear about your own family. You know everything about mine, but I know nothing of yours. What were they like? Your mother and father?” You asked.

Thomas kept walking forward, you passed the stand for lemonade but you brought no cash to pay for some. Thomas kept his eyes forward as you strolled on past everything.

“My father- his name was James and his wife was Beatrice. He was…an intimidating man. He He wanted me to be like him- taking me with him to work or on hunting trips. He ran a clay mining buisness, but he lost it in an accident. There was…a disaster occured, costing him the mining lives and much of his fortune. We lived over in the countryside, near a small town. I grew up in a large manor house with my sister.”

“What was her name?”

He hesitated.

“Lucille. Lucille Sharpe,” he answered.

“Was she older or younger?”

“Older. We…we lost both of my parents. First my father, and then my mother when I was young. I was sent to boarding school and then reunited with my sister. She fell ill. And never got better. So since then, I have no close family and only distant relations.”

“Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry!” you cired.

His face turned a little white when you turned to face him. He looked down. “I think of them. Lucille, especially. She in many ways was an astounding woman. Intelligent, careful, brave, hard-working...she cared for me. She loved me, in some way, and did so much to help me. And she suffered quite a lot. Especially in her sickness. I could at least make sure her passing was peaceful.”

“Would she have liked me?” you asked.

He paused in his steeps. It was so abrupt, you felt a small jolt.

“No, she wouldn’t have.”

You tilted your head.

“Why?”

He again hesitated.

“She was more…cynical of the world. Life had been hard for her. And for mother. And for me.”

You blinked. He kept his eyes lowered, and began to blink rapidly. At one point, he just squeezed them shut. Part of you felt guilty for pressing it.

“I…I do not wish to discuss it now. Please,” he replied.

You took a step back, releasing from his arm.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Sharpe. I didn’t know it would be-”

“Don’t be,” he replied

His eyes were back open. A small, cold shiver ran down you despite the heat. Then you closed the gap, placing a hesitant hand on his arm in comfort.

“A sibling is like having your closest friend always with you. I was inseparable from Charlotte. And then when she ran away out of nowhere, with no warning…it was like she died. I grieve her still. I cannot imagine what it is like for you.”

He looked up at you. It was as if the crowds never mattered and it was only you both alone around the tracks.

“We have something in common, then. We have both lost sisters,” he pointed.

“We’ll grieve them. But we don’t have to greive them alone. Not anymore,” you assured him.

There was a sudden excitement among people as they scurried over to their seats. You had jumped. How much time had passed?

‘I think it’s best we get our seats, the race is about to begin.” he advised.

It wasn’t long before you found your parents and joined your seats for the races.

But your mind was elsewhere.

You remembered Sir Sharpe’s words. You knew a little bit more about him. He seemed less a stranger and more an acquaintance now. Yet- what happened to make him turn so pale? To not wish to speak? If that made him act like that, then whatever happened with his family…it wasn’t good. At least Lucille seemed interesting…but whatever made her so cynical? To where she would have hated you if you met her alive?

Part of you knew the answer. And it made your heart break for him- he was hurt as a child. His parents were cruel to him and his sister. But he didn’t want to discuss it in such a public area.

You settled into your seats from your tickets with your family. You passed around small opera glasses. Watching and watching for the stampede to pass by. For the hooves and horses and rush of wind to bring you to the present, and not the past of a sad little boy in a big manor frightened of his father.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It seemed the week swirled by. Now as an engaged woman, there was less pity and gossip.

At least, negative gossip.

Sir Sharpe played the role of a good fiancee in public. Appearing to help escort you around gallatnly and smile at you warmly. Though he was a quiet man, observing everything. Sometimes a loud noise made him seem to want to shrink his tall frame.

You still put in your mind the bits and pieces about him. That he lost parents, the father mistreated him. He even lost a sister he was close to. That he ran a mining business harvesting clay. He was always polite at least and charming at most. You did feel your stomach flutter when he would smile at you.

But at the breakfast and garden parties women flocked to you like puppies. They bombarded you with questions about the wedding. What you would pack. Where you would hold it. If you have picked a dress yet. You had always replied with a demure “Well, I don’t know,” yet. Sometimes you threw in “I am only grateful that Sir Sharpe is a good man,” for good measure. That seemed to please them for now. They would offer their congratulations and hopes for an invitation for the marriage where you would become a lady.

Lady. You would be a capital L Lady. Steps below earls and viscounts, but still among them. You would outrank some of these very women. No wonder they flocked to you- it was good to be an ally to a baronet’s bride, not a foe.

Tonight was finally the ballet. No one would run to you to congratulate you or pepper you with questions you couldn’t answer yet. Not for long. Instead of socializing, you could sit back and watch something long for once.

You were dressed in a lovely gown. It was satin, a deeper, more womanly color of rich, dark blue than the fluff at Ascot. You had long matching gloves and the sleeves were small but showed off your shoulders. You had a train cut into scallops. A soft flounce of tulle extended to your shoulder. Jewels across your bodice tinkling as you moved, the satin touching the floor. None needed to doubt that soon you were going to be a baronet’s wife. You had to look the part one way or another. By far, it was the most expensive of your wardrobe this season and the most beautiful. Now was the time to unleash it.

Your father praised you as a vision as you descended the stairs. “Won’t your baronet be beside himself! Now, go enjoy, my dears,” he wished your mother and you.

You headed to the carriage. London was lovely at this dark hour. There were lights on to contrast with the night’s shadow. The opera house appeared like a temple above any house on the street.

Though there was a crowd of audience members, who should be out on the steps but Thomas Sharpe. He had an opera coat and his classic top hat. He was standing watching other go by.

The carriage stopped and the door on your side was opened.

Sir Sharpe paused and took you in. The coachmen helped you down and your mother after. You felt a little exposed in all this. Self conscious it was too much.

Sir Sharpe then went up to your hand.

“How are you?” you asked.

“I hardly know. I only know that you are radiance itself,” he replied. He took your hand and wrapped it around your arm.

You got warm all over from his voice saying that. Oh, blast him! Blast how he could make you feel so giddy and fighting the urge to giggle like a girl!

You walked up the stairs into the lobby of the theatre. Your shoes touched red carpet and you passed the creamy insides- all marble with vases of flowers and paintings and electric light. Some stared at the Baronet and his Lady, and you let them. Giving them a show as good as any dancer could.

You had your tickets approved and were escorted to your seats. You had a certain box where the three of you had some privacy to sit amongst each other. As you sat on red velvet plush, you rested your gloved hands on the high railing and looked at Thomas. In his tuxedo, his dark curls combed back, he still seemed like every bit of a ladies’ dream.

“Have you ever been to a ballet by Tchaikovsky?” you asked him.

“Oh, no I haven’t. Only concerts of his music,” he replied. But then he smiled. “They’re such lovely pieces, though.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. When there are dancers added to tell the story, it becomes something very special. I saw The Nutcracker two Christmases ago and adored it. Lottie only liked it when the little girl in the ballet hurled a shoe at the mouse king,” you reported.

He let out a light chuckle

“I’m not surprised,” he said.

You sat down with the pamphlet, re-reading the title and the cast list. Your mother was using her opera glass to watch the audience below. You returned to your fiancee.

“The Sleeping Beauty- did you ever like fairy tales when you were little?” you had to ask questions, know a bit more of him.

“Oh, yes, I did,” he replied. “I enjoyed many of them. But I don’t remember them too vividly.”

“What kind of stories did you hear?” you asked.

Thomas leaned forward. His voice quiet.

“Well…ghost stories.” he explained.

You squinted, surprised at his reply.

“Ghost stories!? Isn’t that much for a little child?” you asked.

“Perhaps it was. But that was what was told,” he answered.

One could hear the orchestra warming up. You put a gloved hand on his arm. Thomas didn’t say a peep and the crowd could only mutter. Besides, that always felt a little rude to you. When people lounged about during performances like it was a party and chatted loudly, unappreciative of the artists at work before them!

The conductor arrived to applause and bowed. Then he turned around, lifted his baton, and began the ballet as he lowered it like a magic wand. A spirited introduction blasted, almost making you jump.

The stage curtains parted and dancers entered as the music slowed down with a harp and sweet flutes as the king and queen entered, holding a bundle in their arms.

For those three hours, you were not an adult. You were a child again who could believe in such things. A child who believed fairy tales was what life was like. Complete with pink ribbons, lace, and magic, fairy’s wings, and princess’s crowns. Where flutes and strings surrounded you. Where dancers smiled as they stood up on their toes and leaped like it was as simple as sleeping.

You glanced at Sir Sharpe once when the Lilac Fairy entered. He didn’t whisper to you. You only met his eyes to see he was already looking at you. Something warm crawled up you. You didn’t know if you wanted to touch him or to not be touched by him. Then hearing the sound of feet hit the ground on a leap, you turned back to the stage, hypnotized by what you saw.

It was a world where the politics of society didn’t matter. Scandals were trifles, and sisters didn’t disappear. Where fairies could be met at parties. Where magic would prevent a couple from losing their daughter. A princess may be smiling and full of life- but even when she pricked her finger, she would not have had her life cut short because of forces beyond her control. It was where a cursed princess would be kept safe in a deep slumber. Soft and cozy on her beautiful bed. A world where a prince and a fairy could overcome evil.

When the prince awoke the princess, they knew they were meant for each other. That the one person they waited their entire lives for was right before them. They could marry and not be afraid the choice was wrong. The wedding would be blessed and celebrated with everyone smiling and dancing to sumptuous music.

As it got close to the end, no one wondered if the prince and princess would be miserable in their union or if another wicked fairy would arrive to hurt them or their families or their people. Everyone would be alive, safe, and happy.

If only things were that simple in real life.

You had to remember yourself after the applause. Blinking rapidly, you then squinted your eyes as the house lights came on. You re-emerged from the darkness like Orpheus returning from the Underworld, transformed by what you saw and returned. You then rose to your feet and applauded. You were watching with a heavy heart as the curtains closed and people left their seats. You had to remember that you were you and this was the real world. No magic. No fairies. No princes. Just baronets.

“Here, let me walk you to the carriage.” Thomas offered, giving you his arm.

You held onto him, leaning tight. How easily he was able to pull you through! Despite his leanness, he did have strength!

As you walked down the hall, you clung to your program, making sure you would always have a reminder of tonight.

“What did you think?” your mother asked as she scurried up to you.

“It was…it was incredible,” you replied, your voice suddenly breathy from wonder.

“Well, I was fighting the urge to sleep!” your mother replied.

She stopped both of you in your tracks before you could proceed a step.

“Now, my dear Y/N, we have a wedding to discuss and plan. So I hope you sleep well, ready for some discussion the next morning, won’t you?” she asked.

“I shall.”

But when you went to bed, your mind was torn. Imagining yourself in stories was a way to help you go to sleep, you found. As music from the ballet kept playing in your head, you found yourself split into two characters.

One was a stoic, obedient bride of a wedding out of convenience who would not cause one toe to step in the wrong place or else ruin everything. The other a fairy tale princess protected by fairies who would survive her curse and find true love.

But only one of those was real.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The next morning, as soon as you woke up and went down for breakfast, your mother stormed you with books. They were journals and catalogues, listing courses and decorations, and options of churches.

All of your parents wanted you all of the time.

“I like these colors,” you pointed out, seeing samples of cloth.

“But no! It’s not in fashion!” your mother cried.

There were invitations to pick. And then trying to decide who to send them to. You had to include family members, sure, as well as the few people Thomas was related to. But there were also father’s business partners, with whom he wanted to share cigars and brandy and business. Then you had to pick who to invite and if they would gossip or appreciate the triumph. But you had to think of Miss So and So or Mrs. So and So who was rumored to do this and that and wouldn’t it be unbecoming if she so much as turned up on the steps of the church and-

A heaviness grew on you. How much did you actually sleep last night?

But then deciding on family members meant your mother got out her boxes of photographs. She had a hobby of familial history and photographs and would lovingly tell you all about them. For one hour. Then two. You were itching to get up, do something productive, but stuck with your mother in her distracted cycle.

The next days passed and you had to select wedding cakes. You wished for a certain cake, but you felt ashamed choosing it since you knew it might not be what everyone wanted. Aunt Jacqueline coudln’t eat it because of her indigestion. That would be rude. But Mr. Linnet, Papa’s buisness partner, had a particular hatred of almond cake. Any and every flavor was wrong. You had to plan a wedding they would not scoff at or think otherwise.

You were running between shops, spending more on ribbon samples than actual ribbons and there was no color everyone was happy with.

As for the wedding gowns, you had visited one boutique and you had tried on so many dresses that it seemed you were going to hallucinate looking at so much white. And no one would all agree on what gown would be the best one. One wasn’t even decided on and you all ate lunch in sour moods.

And that was on top of callers and people coming in and out from the season and trying to keep up with events.

The week was going by in a flurry. Your business tripled. You were certain at every meal and when you sat down, your mother brought out photographs because the invitations made her sentimental and by the second week, you were certain you were hearing her recall the same stories over and over again until you could even predict the cadence of her voice.

The gatherings only tripled. Your parents were always asking you to change this or that, or what do you think of this flower or this color or this ribbon or this food, or here is a picture of this great aunt you barely remember but you must care about, and oh- you have to select what flowers you want for the bouquet and which ones on the reception table and to please start planning your trousseau, Y/N, because you must decide which things you wish to take with you when you move into Sir Sharpe’s home, you must consider what to bring, you really ought to-

The few hours you had to yourself, you wanted to relax. Sew something or read a book or anything…but your mind would not focus, would not settle. And those were the hours when no one called for your presence, word, or help. You felt exhausted, and yet at night sometimes you struggled to go to sleep from how wound up you were.

Your head was spinning one afternoon a week later. At luncheon all everyone would talk about was the wedding as they flittered around with vases of flower examples and ribbons and pictures of cakes and dresses from advertisements. As your mother got out her photograph box. But you could only sit there, drained and silent, and feeling like you were staring into nothing.

You were trying so hard to be everything to them. The good daughter. The virtuous bride. The one who could make everyone happy. One who could have her entire life change at once and endure it with only a stoic smile.The one so glad to help and listen and who knew everything.

As your mother got out a second pile of photographs and began to tell you for the fourth time all about your great grandfather Kenneth and his wife, Bertha, going on a camping trip in nature and getting lost, you had a sudden urge to scream “I’ve already heard this stupid story enough! I don’t care about them!” and rip up the photos before you.

But you swallowed it down, your face hot. Your chest was tight. Ashamed you would even consider wrecking something that made your mother happy? Priceless momentums of your history destroyed in a flash of weakness? Of losing your temper in front of everyone?

Everything got tight, tight and you were getting warmer and warmer. People began to crowd around you. Their chatter swirling around you like the sea and you could not breathe for air.

“Miss Y/L/N-”

��St. Joseph is a lovely church-”

“What about blue for the-”

“There should be duck with wine sauce and-”

At once you pushed away your seat from everyone. The lump in your throat growing. A dull, heavy ache all over your body. A weight in your head and your mind about to break.

“I-I-I..” you began as they gaped.

You tried to calm yourself. To put the feelings in a box and push it away for a little bit. But still it rumbled on.

“I need a moment!” you claimed. You then turned around, starting to make a brisk walk out of the door.

In walked one maid.

“Oh, we have a visitor!” she announced.

You made no reply and went past her, down the hall, hurrying for your room. Once inside, you locked the door.

Legs trembling, you tried to make it to the bed.

Instead, you collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Finally, alone, you did not have to pretend. Crumpling up into a near fetal position despite your dress, the long-suppressed tears coming out. There was no dignity, no strength. Just the washing of your tears as it ebbed and flowed out of you.

It didn’t make sense. You had a wedding to look forward to, and so much you took for granted. Your future was secured. Your family’s reputation was revived. You had no reason to curl up and sob. Someone would look at you and say you were acting immature, that you were too old for your age to be lying down and crying.

‘That’s what I am. An immature, ungrateful fool,’ you thought.

It made no rational sense. Emotions never made any rational sense.

Despite all this, here you were sobbing. Crying out the exhaustion, the overwhelm. Hot tears sprang out and went to the floor. At this rate, you’d ruin the carpet. Your throat scratchy and your body shaking as each new cry heaved out.

There were footsteps. Then three knocks.

Your mind spun on in its cycle of misery. ‘I even ran away when we had callers. I am the worst. I waste my time. I’m foolish and wasteful. I don’t deserve anything good, I’m so miserable and scared and I hate myself and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and I hate who I am and I wish I could change that, but I can’t and I-’

The knocks returned.

But you got up and turned. You reminded yourself of how hard it felt. To be back in your body, and not in your head. You turned around.

“Come in,” you croaked out.

Outside was Anne. Your lady’s maid curtsied.

“Sir Sharpe is here. And he wishes to speak to you in private in the parlor and your father consented.”

She reached a hand and helped you up. You wiped off any remaining tears from your eyes.

“Tell him I shall join him soon,” you replied.

Anne nodded and hurried out. You made sure to fix yourself. Your eyes looked a little tired and you dried off any tracks of tears from your cheeks. After checking that your appearance was decent, you followed out to the parlor.

Your parlor had green and white patterned wallpaper and portraits watched your every move as you got inside. Thomas stood. Dressed in his usual black coat, his hat to his side. He looked odd amongst hte ostentatious furniture of red velvet couches. But he bowed to you nonetheless.

No chaperone. No eyes. Only the two of you. One of the blessings of being an engaged couple.

“Would you like me to ring for some tea?” you asked, eyeing the long chord from the ceiling on one corner of the room.

Thomas stepped closer.

“Miss Y/L/N…you’re distraught,” he observed.

Your lips parted but did not make a sound. Then a small string of them came out.

“I…I…I shall be fine, sir-”

“Miss, you do not speak as a content woman. Tell me- what is it?” he asked.

He gestured to the couch to sit next to him. You joined next to him, your hands folded and nervously fidgeting. You noticed you were close to him. His warmth from the dark colors and the smell of his light cologne. You felt your chest heave a little, the words so heavy on your tongue. Eager to come out.

“I’m so sorry…it’s just..everything is changing…” you began.

You looked down at your hands. How close his thighs were next to your skirt. Then you looked up at him. There was a…a gentleness in his face, in his eyes. A softness. He was not judgemental. And if he was, he wasn’t saying anything.

“It’s changing so fast. My sister is gone. I’m going to live in a different house and not see my parents. I’m going to be Lady Sharpe and I don’t know what's going to happen to me after we’re married. I- I want to be married, I always have. Now it’s finally happening.”

Your breath was shallower. The emotions burst up. But Thomas made no change in his gentle expression.

“But it means I have to plan a wedding in a month. And all of the time that I have is taken up on this wedding. No one can agree on anything. I can’t find the right decorations, food, or dress. And everyone asks for me and needs me. They need me to listen to them babble on. And I’m trying so hard to be good, to make everyone happy, and get everything done but I…I…”

The lump in your throat returned. Your eyes felt heavy with tears again. They began to well up in your eyes despite yourself. Right when you thought you were done, that there would be no more, they came again.

“I am just…I… there’s so much to do, I don’t even know where to start. And I…I want to shut it all off, but I can’t. And I’m scared. I’m scared I’ve already ruined everything. Or I’m about to…” you babbled on.

He offered his handkerchief. It was a plain cream with lining.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe,” you said.

“Thomas, please.” he insisted.

You took it in your hand.

“Thank you, Thomas,” you said.

His lips curled up as he heard your name.

“You can say it. I’m making a big fuss of nothing. That I’m a fool,” you replied.

Thomas shook his head.

“ I’ve met foolish people. You are not one of them,” he answered.

He leaned closer.

“And have you considered that it takes months to plan a wedding? And you are doing it in one. That is Herculean, don’t you think?”

His voice was a whisper.

“If there are any fools, it is your parents,” he teased.

You wiped your face with the handkerchief again. A small smile grew on your face.

“I…I…I suppose”

He offered you his hand and you took it. It was comforting- warm and large and beautiful. You liked it when he offered his hand, you liked touching it, touching him. Something about it always comforted you.

“We will have a wedding. I don’t think it should matter if it is a spectacle or not. What does matter is…is that…”

He began to hesitate. Then he looked up.

“I know you don’t know who I am. Or much about me. Or if you can trust me- but what does matter, Y/N. I will do my best to make sure you are provided for. That you are safe. Content, if not happy. We will make sure our wedding is a fine day. And if it is not, then It will only be one day and then it will be over.”

You felt his thumb trace over your hand. A small little back-and-forth movement, just grazing your skin.

“The wedding- how will I plan it?” you questioned.

“You will choose what you want. And forget them all. You are the bride. You should have a final say. And if anyone disagrees- you can bring them to your husband.”

Swallowing, you lowered your eyes briefly. Timidity overcoming you from all of this for a moment.

“We’re not married yet,” you reminded him.

A light laugh got out of Thomas in an exhale.

“Well…no…”

You looked back up at him.

“Thomas, will you- will you help me with all of this? Speak to them, perhaps? Reason with them? Try to- to help?” you asked.

“Oh, of course.”

You felt yourself breathe out a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad…and yet…Thomas, I confess, I’m scared.”

“I am too.”

He paused. You looked into him and saw fear in his eyes as well. It struck you that of course, he would be feeling the same as you regarding this. Marrying someone he knew partially out of convenience.

“Y/N…you…you do not hate me, do you? Because that is what I fear,” he asked.

You placed another hand over him, leaning closer.

“Oh no! Thomas, you have been nothing but a gentleman. I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiled.

“There. That’s better than a quarter of the marriages here already,” he replied.

Part of you laughed lightly. To think both tears and laughter could be shared in so short of a time with him. That you could release your sorrows and then have cause for sudden bursts of joy.

“ But…we will adjust to it. Everything won’t be horrible. We’ll just become acquainted with each other. Bit by bit. We could be friends,” you replied.

He took your hand and leaned down, pressing another kiss to it gallantly. He then released the hold and reached into his inner coat pocket.

“I have a gift for you. It was going to be a wedding gift, but I was wondering how you were feeling amidst all of this and thought it might cheer you up.”

Perhaps it was something sweet. Or a tiny book? What could be a small, but tasteful and not too expensive gift he could give?

Out came a small box- that is, if “box” could apply. It was a small circular item. Like a lady's powder or dusty blush container. But there was a knob on its side.

“Turn it,” Thomas instructed.

It struck you- it was a music box.

You turned the knob with a small “krrk” sound. The lid opened to reveal tiny, mechanical ballerina spinning on pointe. The chimes crinkled out a tune in three-quarter-time time. It was the Sleeping Beauty waltz.

You gasped. He placed it in your hand to cup it as the ballerina twirled to the music. You saw a crown on her head and a smile on her face, just like the prima from when you saw it.

“Do you like it?” he asked shyly. Something of a blush on his cheeks.

“Thomas! It’s exquisite! Where did you find this?” you asked.

“I made it,” he explained.

You turned around, careful not to drop it.

“You made this?” you asked.

“I did,” he confirmed.

Looking closely, it was so lovingly detailed and crafted, it had to be the work of a person. Not a common souvenir from the theatre.

“You…you make things?” you asked.

“Yes. I have since I was a child. And now I made a machine that harvests clay from all of the times I fiddled with gears. I find lately now I can come up with toys as well, Isn’t it silly?”

“No, not at all! It’s more business! And…you made the machine from the business! It’s- it’s incredible…” you rattled in your excitement.

His hand returned to yours, joining it as the lid of the music box closed.

“Y/N, I know there are concerns, and I may not have the affluence of your family, I promise, you won't be marrying a pauper.”

You looked

“With something like this, I may as well be the richest woman in all of England,” you said.

His smile returned, his posture relaxing.

“I’m glad of it. Should we return to them now?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You got up by his side. You were not afraid of the hordes of things to do and people to meet, not overwhelmed.

“Yes...I’m ready, Thomas.”

#crimson peak #crimson peak fanfiction #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x you #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x y/n #thomas sharpe x fem! reader #thomas sharpe x fem! y/n #tom hiddleston characters #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #tom my beloved #tom hiddleston #thomas sharpe imagine #crimson peak multi part #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak imagine #thomas sharpe x female!reader

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stormxpadme · 24 days

Note

There's a bit of fanfiction negativity in the tags :(. Looking for something to cheer me up, what's your personal scogan fanfic favorites?

Yeah, I saw that, both in the scogan and scogean tag, with posts even including the character name tags. Like. Not cool, people. Way to make authors feel shitty who have been guarding the ship lighthouse for the last 20 years. Claiming in the most popular tags, there's only like 1 good fic among more than 1500? Wow, okay. So I was very happy to receive your ask. Let's counter that negativity with some awesome scogan reads!

Damaged by scottxlogan

Can't do any scogan rec list without including the leading authority on the subject. @scottxlogan is the author who pulled me into this ship years ago, not to mention they're a great friend, unbelievably talented writer and artist, and they deserve all the love. Damaged is surely one of their most ambitious projects and deserves every single view, kudos and review out there. Set in the DOFP finale verse that is no doubt the author's specialty, the story comes with an alluring, intricated plot that leaves you on the edge of your seat along with all the feels.

Submission by scottxlogan

I'm also including a newer work by the same author in case you just want to get a feel for how wonderfully she writes these guys, not to mention the shameless steamy goodness that are the author's smut scenes. scottxlogan is an expert at reversing common fandom tropes believably, and this will leave you longing for more of these power exchanges easily.

he carries the reminders by Wolfsheart

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea is another great friend and author I would trust even with my biggest squicks (not that she writes those anyway :D). She's not only technically brillant and very well-versed in the lore which makes every pairing she writes a great read (check out her Tony/Emma, too!), but she'll also never fail to make you laugh or put those hearts in your eyes. And don't miss all those pop culture references that even put Peter Parker to shame! She also gives us scogan fans exactly what we need with stories like this one, combining our fav hurt/comfort tropes with a healthy dose of canon fix it.

I loved you since I knew you by strangenewwords

@strangenewwords is a fairly new and dearly beloved addition to our group at @scoganbingo events, but she's already made a huge impact with her delicious smut and angst stories that hit you right in the feels. Technically also brillant, the linked story is definitely one you don't want to get spoilered for beforehand because the ending will leave you in absolute awe and tears. The author doesn't shy away from including the darkest sides of Scott's past but handles every subject with the necessary care and respect, and as I said ... You don't want to miss out on all that delicious smut!

The Day Before the Soldiers Came by Cerylid

Cery is offering a much-needed fixit for the team dynamics between the X-Men and Logan before X2 with this story. It comes with a lot of humor but also far more feels than you expect. The texting is hilarious but it's the quiet tones that get to you.

*****

Speaking of fix-its, since that negativity in the tags kinda got to me, too, I might just throw in one of my own works here too since I also got lots of Scogan stuff out there.

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

is basically my go-to X3 fix-it. You look for something to make that movie right, you got it all right there. Along with a bit of horror (we are talking about resurrection, after all) comes a dramatic rescue mission in a mental limbo, and you get an Avenger and Emma Frost guest-starring. There's a couple of follow up chapters that explore both scogan and Tony/Emma a bit further, and we even get a Laura version in old movieverse along the line, and of course all the nasty nasty smut you guys are here for.

########

So, that's it from the top of my hat. All these accounts have even more great stories to check out, and there's lots of other scogan authors out there with great stories to enjoy. So don't let anyone tell you, there's no quality scogan stuff on AO3.

#sometimes stormy gets asked things #greyskulls #scogan #scott summers #wolverine #fic rec #fic recs #cyclops #scott x logan #cyclops x wolverine #if people are interested #i can look up some scogean too #i feel pretty much alone with my works in that section often #but there a few gems

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darsynia · 1 month

Note

Hey, I hope it's ok to reach out like this but I'm back on tumblr with a new account after being away and am very lost, and as I love your fics, I'd love any recommendations for blogs to follow (in addition to yours, of course)!

I'm looking for non-dark Steve x Reader or Steve x OFC content. Preferably the fluffy/romantic/happy kind, although the torture-the-cinnamon-roll-before-a-tooth-rottingly-happy-ending will always be my jam too. Smut is ok! Am also open for Bucky or Tony as the male lead!

So any recommendations you (or should you answer this publicly, your followers) might have would be super welcome.

I hope you're having a good week and again, if this is silly, feel free to discard!

Well this was such a lovely thing to find in my inbox, given how much I like yours! I predictably Darsy'd this, setting up a bunch of links so I could offer a 'must-follow' list as well as some masterlists to dive into. I agree with @steviebbboi that if someone else had asked, I'd stick you on here 100%!

We'll start with some authors and masterlists (some have a mix of dark and fluff), in no particular order (I'm making Bucky purple. He'll get over it. Or he won't, and that'll be fun too) EDIT: I forgot the blog names are blue for me. Steve, you're pink now, I don't make the rules:

@ronearoundblindly Steve Series | Steve Oneshots | Bucky

@anika-ann Steve | Bucky

@stargazingfangirl18 Steve | Bucky

@navybrat817 Steve | Bucky

@targaryenvampireslayer Steve | Bucky

@thezombieprostitute Steve | Bucky

@buckets-and-trees Steve | Bucky

@witchywithwhiskey Steve | Bucky

@nicoline1998enilocin Steve | Bucky | Tony

@holylulusworld Steve | Bucky | Tony

Next we have a list of folks who make this corner of Tumblr a delightful place to be! Authors whose fics aren't quite the fluff you're looking for, readers we can't live without, mutuals who light up my life; this venn diagram is a complete, lovely mess.

@krirebr @bigtreefest @biteofcherry @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @brandycranby

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @steviebbboi @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @buckymorelikefuckme @caplanbuckybarnes

@eralen @nekoannie-chan @nowandjenn @secretswiftymarvelfan @rogerswifesblog

@petite-madame @rogersideup @levans44 @jobean12-blog @heli0s-writes

@deliciousangelfestival @jesevans @mrsevans90 @jamneuromain @mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea

Full disclosure: Ro helped me with a few names here, and I just followed you *waves* so please don't be freaked out that I just followed and stuck you on a list! You come highly recommended!!

Thanks for asking, it's an honor and a delight to have an excuse to boost up some truly great blogs on here!

Had to add this, too. Tumblr told on me:

Ps. that thing where you try to remember a really lovely person's username and you can't and you remember it a half freaking hour after you posted... (or a day later! Argh, I'm so sorry Jen! @late-to-the-party-81 absolutely deserves to be on this list. If it is any consolation I totally did the 'leaving out someone obvious' with wedding invitations and it never doesn't feel bad!)

#darsy twirls the fic #darsy twirls the moots #readers and writers and delight-ers

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sunshine-singer · 9 months

Text

Lost and Found | Mishanks x Reader

Characters: Mihawk, Shanks, Reader, and a brief mention of the Red Hair Pirates Warnings: Brief mentions of trauma but nothing in detail, fear of the ocean and ships are also briefly mentioned, reader can be gender neutral but 'sweetheart' and 'darling' are used as terms of endearment (if I've missed anything please let me know) Word count: 2.1k

You were shivering. It still felt like you were underwater, pushed by harsh hands and left to drown. How could they do that to you? Your mind is frantic with panic. You can't breathe.

You feel a hand on the side of your face, except this hand is gentle. You furrow your brow as your mind refuses to register the fact you're in different surroundings now. The hand brushes your hair away from your forehead. A gentle voice makes a shushing sound and you hear a door being opened in the background. The hand leaves your face and you barely make out the silhouette of a man getting up to leave. You grab his arm.

"Please, don't do this to me. I'm begging you. Just don't do this." You plead, voice panicked.

You still can't make out his face, the only thing that registers in your mind is a flash of red. You then fall back into exhaustion, eyes finally closing and mind at rest.

You wake again to a cold compress being placed on your forehead. It is calmer this time, and while the clutches of ill health are still nipping at your heels, it is nowhere near the panicked delirium of what was before. You register your surroundings more this time. You're on a bed, in a room with a fireplace that is currently blazing away, and old, stone walls that give a hint of the grandeur of the room. You feel the presence of a man beside you as you become more conscious of your surroundings.

You startle a little as you make eye contact with yellow eyes. They seem to stare as if dissecting you but carry an air of indifference at the same time. You wonder how the man before you pulls it off.

"What do you remember?" He asks you, tone flat and straightforward.

You're taken aback at the question. He offered you nothing to begin with. Not his name, or any information of your whereabouts. However, you seem to be in a decent position from the risk assessment you can pull together from such little knowledge of the situation.

You decide to answer truthfully.

"The sea…" You weakly respond, and then clear your throat, "I remember being in the sea and then I remember being here. There was a man with red hair, but I don't recall anything else."

He nods in acknowledgement of your words.

"As I suspected. You had a fever, which seems to have broken this morning. I advise you to rest for now, and know that you are safe here." He simply states, rising and going to leave the room.

"Wait! What's your name?" You ask, mind needing at least a small bit of information.

The stranger raises his eyebrow at you but replies nonetheless, "Dracule Mihawk."

You look over him once more and simply respond, "Thank you, Mihawk."

He nods in acknowledgement once again and takes his leave.

Turns out Mihawk was right. Your fever had gotten much better, and you were much more aware of your environment now. You currently had a mug of tea in hand, brought to you by the red-haired man who had made himself known as Shanks. He smiles warmly at you as he sits next to your bed. He's genuine, you can tell somehow. He has the sort of warmth that seems to light his whole soul. He's telling you a tale, and you're immediately taken in by his demeanour. In fact, you're genuinely humoured by the man.

"So then I told him, don't you ever threaten my friends… and then-" He tells you, cut off by a voice at the doorway.

"Yes I'm sure your stories of grandeur are impressive Red-Hair." Mihawk snarkily says, leant up against the doorway, with his arms crossed. Shanks shakes his head, albeit fondly.

"Oh come on Hawk-Eyes! You want to share some stories too?" He cheekily replies, his grin wide and eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mihawk rolls his eyes but then takes a seat next to Shanks. Shanks carries on in his cheeky manner, and gently nudges the other, head coming to settle on his shoulder. You realise then that both these men might be more. In fact, your eyes settle down to the matching rings on their respective fingers. Upon your silent revelation, Shanks' grin seems to grow impossibly wider.

"Best kept pirate secret sweetheart, don't feel like you're missing out." He tells you, giving you a wink in the process.

Your recovery was slow. It took a whole two weeks before you were well enough to leave the bed for more than a couple of hours at a time. The men you had met were nothing but patient and kind, and you had even started to warm to Mihawk's coldness. A coldness that was more stable than anything, finding comfort in the self-assured air he carried around him. No need to feel anxious when he was so upfront in his behaviour. You had spent a few evenings simply in his presence. He had left a book next to your bedside which you had finished quickly, and had then realised your bibliophile nature when you would indulge him in conversations about plot devices and character tropes. It’s in one of these sessions that your relationship with him develops into something more.

You immediately change and curl in on yourself. The air in the room changes and you can feel the infection of panic start to seep into your being. You do your best to remain calm.

"You're pirates." You simply announce, starting to shake slightly.

The pair share a look but Mihawk decides to act first.

"Yes we are," He confirms, "but I did not lie when I said you were safe here. I am a man of my word."

You feel sick. Sure, these men have shown you nothing but kindness, you couldn't deny that, but pirates? Pirates you were scared of, in fact, terrified of. You've hurt too much to let your guard down now.

"Sweetheart," Shanks starts, causing you to flinch, "it's okay."

He puts his arm up to show you he means no harm and keeps his eyes connected to yours. He carefully takes one of the blankets laid before you and adjusts it back around you.

"I… I don't trust pirates." You hesitantly tell them.

Shanks reacts with nothing but compassion.

"Then you're a smart girl." He replies, "Like good and bad men, there's good and bad pirates, and we're some of the better bunch. Sure, Mihawk here can be a little grouchy, but he's not that scary after all."

The man in question sighs a little but acquiesces nonetheless.

"You're in my home, surely that is trust enough? I could've left you there as you washed up on the shore of this island but I did not. Surely, it would be a waste to be unkind to you now?" Mihawk questions and Shanks gives him a dubious look.

You're quiet for a second, and while the shaking does not stop, you find the strength in you to reply.

"It would be, but I'm still scared." You meekly speak, and you can see in Shanks' face his heartstrings are being pulled.

"Let us help you, sweetheart." He bargains, "And we'll earn your complete trust… I'm sure of it."

You nod and the energy of the room fills with warmth once again.

Mihawk lets out another sigh, "Well Red-Hair, you do seem to collect your strays."

"Shut it Hawk Eyes." Shanks fondly responds.

You’re ranting again. Mihawk dutifully listens on while he sips from a glass of wine. A vintage no doubt, far too sophisticated for you to even fathom a guess at the year or location it was from. It’s at this random moment he smirks, and surprisingly lets out a sound that is akin to a small chuckle. You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face which seems to make his smirk a tad wider.

“What is it?” You ask, voice reaching a quiet tone as you take in his odd behaviour.

“You are a hopeless romantic darling.” He responds as he takes in your words about the latest romance novel he managed to procure for you.

You seem to gape like a fish out of water. That was the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth. You decide not to comment, unsure of how to gauge what has happened.

Instead, you ask another question, “Aren’t there parts of all of us that are?”

“Perhaps.” Mihawk cooly replies.

The next time he leaves you a new book, a single red rose sits on top of it.

With Shanks it was different. He felt like an old friend and had a familiarity to him that instantly made you comfortable. Well, that was until he put you in an uncomfortable situation.

“Shanks, I’m not sure I can do this.” You tell him, starting at the obstacle in front of you.

His crew, the Red-Hair pirates, had arrived on the island not too long ago. Both men had told you that they were coming, with Mihawk playing up his reluctance, so you had time to mentally prepare. However, much to Shanks’ disappointment, you had hidden away in your allocated room. He was not going to allow this to happen.

“It’s this or I take you to meet my crew sweetheart.” He announces, sternly with his arm wrapped around your waist.

He had taken you to the empty Red Force. The idea was to kill two birds with one stone. See if it triggered both your memories of how you had fallen into the sea, and start to curb your fear of pirates. You look up at him, and seeing his unwavering resolve in his face, you sigh. You carefully take the steps on board and immediately dart away from the railings, into the middle of the deck.

“Woah, okay. You’re okay.” Shanks offers reassurance, “How about we sit here, hm?”

You’re shaking again, and Shanks knows it isn’t from the cold. He carefully lowers himself and sits down on the wooden flooring. He gestures and you follow, glad he’s giving you simple instructions in order not to overwhelm you.

“It’s just a boat sweetheart. Close your eyes.” He instructs you, and you vehemently shake your head.

He leans back and closes his eyes.

“C’mon it’s nice. You can hear the birds, and the waves, and feel the last remains of the sun on your face.” He states, trying to convince you still.

You consider the situation. Has he really done enough to earn your trust in the short time that you’ve known him? Is this the type of man who’d throw you overboard like the people before? With all the anxiety in your stomach, you use the adrenaline to make your body shut your eyes before you can chicken out. Shanks gives it another minute but then peeks one of his eyes open to see you’ve done what he said. He smiles to himself. You were starting to trust them.

Another week goes by and you’ve dramatically improved. The Red-Hair pirate crew had gone without Shanks, with an agreement to come back in three weeks for their captain to join them once again. You’re with both of them this time. Mihawk cooks away while Shanks does his best to distract him with both affection and joking insults. Mihawk shoos him away but you can see he doesn’t really put any malice behind it. You realise in the domestic setting that you’ve come to care for them both.

“Penny for your thoughts sweetheart?” Shanks asks you when he gets bored of bothering his counterpart, coming to take a seat next to you.

“I suppose this is the right time for me to consider leaving or to establish a time frame.” You announce, trying your best to keep the sadness from entering your voice or demeanour.

The room goes silent and it’s Mihawk who breaks it.

“If that is what you wish then you may go…” He tells you, causing Shanks to let out a noise in protest, “but we’d like you to stay. Perhaps we can figure out how we all really feel about each other?”

Shanks settles beside you at those words. He looks at you expectantly, offering you a boisterous grin.

“I fear I have a lot to handle.” You meekly admit, curling in on yourself slightly.

“We’re asking for you as you are sweetheart.” Shanks declares.

You look at him, then to the other and see nothing but truth. You nod firmly and Shanks pulls you into his side, pressing a reassuring kiss to the top of your head.

“Plus, you’re terrified of boats and pirates sweetheart, how were you planning to get off this island?”

“Shut up, Shanks.”

Tag List: @bookandstar @bokutosbiceps

#mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #mihawk imagine #shanks imagine #mihawk x you #shanks x you #mishanks x you #mishanks x reader #mishanks imagine #one piece imagine

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five-miles-over · 1 year

Text

For All Time, It Was Always You

Chapter 2: Mrs. Laufeyson

A/N: Thank you everyone for all of your positive comments! I really appreciate it, and hope you'll like this little continuation from the suburbs AU inspired partly by Wandavision.

Summary: After Loki leaves for work, you explore your new house and try to fit in with this world that feels too perfect to be real.

Pairing: Loki x Wife!Reader

Warnings: None really. Talk about 'traditional' gender roles. A surprise cameo. And silliness.

You waved goodbye, standing at the doorway as a black Chevrolet Bel Air departed from the house with Loki in the driver's seat. And like the doting wife that he thought you were, you blew a kiss in his direction.

When the car disappeared from your line of sight, you meandered into the sea green kitchen and filled a steel kettle with water, letting it sit on the stove the way a hen sat on her eggs. While the kettle grew hot, you searched the cabinets for tea bags,…and anything else that might help you understand this new, suburban world. A world in which you were the newlywed wife of a TVA employee who shared a name with the Norse God of Mischief.

Next to a box of Earl Grey Tea was an entire section of the cabinet dedicated to biscuits of various brands and flavors: chocolate Hobnobs, Jaffa cakes, McVitie's digestive biscuits, shortbread, Bourbon cookies, and Oreos. At least three, unopened tubes of Oreo cookies. Were all of these sweet treats for you, or for your - you couldn't believe you were actually using this word - husband?

With a shrug, you grabbed a tube of the Oreo cookies, ripped it open and started eating them one by one. Holding the blue wrapper in one hand, you continued searching through the other kitchen cabinets.

You found nothing but flour, brown sugar, white sugar, spices, marmite, extra virgin olive oil…, and two jars of strawberry jam from the same brand for some reason. And then, something next to a box of spaghetti caught your eye. A cookbook, with various pages dog-eared, titled Delicious Recipes For All Time, Always.

You blinked, carefully taking the book from the shelf. For All Time, Always? That's a weird title to call a cookbook…, a vague title as well. Inside the cover was a handwritten note, scribbled in blue pen.

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Congratulations on the wedding, Mrs. Laufeyson! Loki's a lucky guy.

-Mobius M. Mobius

So that's who Loki was talking about at breakfast. He mentioned cancelling plans with someone named 'Mobius'. Someone who was making him watch tedious videos at work today.

Jumping to the dog-eared pages of the cookbook, you came across various recipes: poached eggs, blueberry pancakes, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti bolognese, green bean casserole, Cumberbatch pie, curried chickpeas in coconut milk, angel food cake with strawberries and cream, chocolate mayonnaise cake…

Whiiiiiiieeee!

You whipped your head over your shoulder and immediately silenced the kettle's whistle, turning off the stove. Damnit, you went looking for tea bags and found yourself exploring everything except tea bags. Shaking your head, you shoved an Oreo into your mouth and opened the box of Earl Grey tea bags.

Then, you opened a cabinet filled with plates, bowls, and cups, grabbing a white ceramic mug for your tea bag. On the top shelf of the cabinet was a pastel blue gift box. While the tea bag steeped in hot water, you reached for the box using a chair as a makeshift stepping stool. Inside the gift box were two mugs labeled 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' in gold calligraphy And like the cookbook, there was a handwritten note as well.

For all the mornings you'll have together. Congratulations to you both, Mr. and Mrs. Laufeyson! May the years ahead be filled with lasting love and happiness.

-Jeremy, Joyce, and Bill Hazeldine

With a gasp, you quickly closed the box and put it back on the shelf…only to open the box, taking another peek at the note. Mrs. Laufeyson...you underlined those words with your fingertip. Taking a deep breath, you put the box back on the shelf for good, promising to never use those mugs unless you were with Loki.

By this point, the tea was hot enough to be enjoyed but not scalding that it would burn your throat. You took a sip, relaxing in its warmth, holding the mug with both hands. "Mrs. Laufeyson", you repeated to yourself. You looked down at your left hand, the emerald ring still on your middle finger just the same way it was this morning.

After you finished drinking your tea and scarfing down the rest of the Oreo cookies in the container, you wandered into the living room. It was just across from the kitchen, a pastel yellow room with white bookshelves containing all kinds of hardcover and paper cover works. One would probably need an entire decade just to finish reading all the books kept inside the living room. You tilted your head and wondered which of the books were your husband's choice. But before you could sit down on one of the couches, you heard the doorbell ring.

"Who is it?" You asked, fixing your hair.

A light, female voice came from outside. "It's Joyce!" As you made your way to the front door, you caught a glimpse of yourself in mirror hanging in the hallway. Your hair was miraculously styled, and you were wearing a cute set of pajamas…It almost made you stand still for a moment just so you could admire how desirable you looked. No wonder your husband was so lovey-dovey this morning.

The doorbell rang again. Putting on your best smile, you dragged your feet towards the door and opened it.

Standing outside was a thin, middle-aged woman -presumably Joyce - with a bowl cut hairstyle, wearing a light blue shirt and straight-leg jeans. "Oh hello, dear. So good to see you again!" She gave you a warm smile and a hug, rocking you in her arms.

"Good to see you too, Joyce." You politely reciprocated her hug and let out a small laugh. "Thank you again for the mugs, they're lovely."

Joyce placed her hands on your arms for a moment, looking up at you. "I haven't seen you both since you came back from your honeymoon. Oh, look at you…" She marveled, "Married life seems to be treating you well."

"Thank you so much," you looked down, deciding to be as demure as possible, hoping they wouldn't ask too many questions about the honeymoon. "I…I couldn't be happier, Loki is so sweet to me." When your eyes met Joyce's, you touched the back of your neck. "I…He makes me feel like the luckiest lady in the world, Joyce."

Joyce quietly laughed with you. "You remember my son Bill, right?" Towering over Joyce was a lanky teenage boy with golden curls, blue eyes, and the face of an angel. He wore a grey t-shirt, worn-out jeans, and beat-up sneakers.

You reached out to shake his hand. "Of course I do," you lied. "Hi, Bill."

"Afternoon, Mrs. Laufeyson." Bill greeted you with a smile that could make London light up during a blackout. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you." You placed your left hand on your heart, showing off your wedding ring just a little. "How are you, Bill?"

"I'm alright, thank you." Bill nodded. "I've been working with the church, teaching Sunday school. Thought it'd be a nice way to spend my summer after my first year of college."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

"Thank you. I thought it would be good for my theology course to do something like that," Bill admitted before reaching into one of his jean pockets, procuring a small blue velvet box. "Actually, I have something for you, Mrs. Laufeyson."

You covered your mouth in disbelief. "Oh, Bill…"

"Please, take it." He extended the box to you. "I bought it for my former-girlfriend Jewel." Blinking, you gingerly accepted it, running your finger along the lid. "Former girlfriend…You broke up with her?"

Joyce intervened, "He had to do it, dear. She was nothing but trouble."

"I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Bill shook his head. "I bought it for her a long time ago, but I suppose it was never meant to last. But, I really want to give it to someone. Please, consider it a belated wedding gift, Mrs. Laufeyson."

You smiled, opening the box to find a sterling silver bracelet. Simple, yet elegant. "Thank you, Bill. I'll treasure it. If you ever want to talk, or just stop by for some tea, the door will always be open for you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Laufeyson," he graciously said. "And I hope Jewel finds someone else who'll make her happy."

The three of you stood quietly outside your house before you spoke up. "Joyce, would you and Bill like to come inside for some tea?"

"Not today, dear. I'm so sorry, Bill's coming with me to do some errands. And I'm sure you might need to catch up on some sleep after such a busy honeymoon." Joyce teased you a little with the last bit. "Might only be a matter of time before you and Loki get a visit from the stork."

You laughed, looking down again. You remembered how Loki hugged you from behind this morning and teased you with the idea of "finishing what you started on the honeymoon". Almost instinctively, your free hand rested on your stomach.

"We should have dinner sometime, Loki and I would love to have you over, we can catch up," you blurted. Joyce enthusiastically agreed and said she and her husband would love that.

"Tomorrow night," Joyce promised. "Would seven-thirty be alright?"

"Absolutely!" You nodded, already imagining how to tell Loki when he came home from work. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"See you tomorrow." Joyce and Bill waved goodbye as they climbed into their car and drove off.

Something ached inside you as you watched them drive off, maybe because it reminded you of the way that Loki drove off this morning while you stood at the doorway waving goodbye. As you closed the door once again, you pondered over going out tomorrow, even if it was just something as small as a mid-morning stroll while Loki was out. But for now, there were other things that needed to be done.

Tagging: @anukulee @smolvenger @pineappleandro @lotsoflokilove23 @talklokitome @rumin8ting @12-pm-510 @painedfever @iambetterthanbefore @princess-ofthe-pages @thenotoriouserg @lokischambermaid @lokiismineforever @lokidbadguy @lokisgoodgirl @lokisprettygirl22 @holdmytesseract @wheredafandomat @wolfsmom1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @evelyn-kingsley @muddyorbsblr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life @huntress-artemiss @itsdoni @gruftiela @ellooo0ooo @ireallyneedtherapy @jennyggggrrr @turniptitaness @lokiforever

#loki #marvel loki #loki god of mischief #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki of asgard #mcu loki #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader fic

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soulsocietyfanfiction · 3 days

Text

A Gojo Household Affair

Satoru Gojo taking care of his two children alone for the day

░▒▓██▓▒░░▒▓██▓▒░░▒▓██▓▒░░▒▓█

It was a typical hectic morning in the Gojo household. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when the symphony of chaos began. Satoru Gojo, the legendary Jujutsu Sorcerer and high school teacher, stumbled out of bed, his usually stoic eyes squinting against the sudden onslaught of light. His usually pristine white hair was a wild mess from the tossing and turning of the night before, a silent testament to his lack of rest.

Today was a special day. His wife, the ever so capable Y/N, had a mission that couldn't be postponed. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders, and she had left him with the equally daunting task of taking care of their two little bundles of joy: Gojo Touya and Gojo Hana.

Touya, their five year old son, was already dressed in his tiny jujutsu outfit, complete with a tiny blindfold and a stick, swinging it around like a miniature exorcist. "Daddy! Daddy! Let's train!" he exclaimed, his little feet barely touching the ground as he jumped up and down.

Hana, their three year old daughter, had other plans. She was busy pulling her mother's clothes out of the closet, creating a rainbow of fabric that threatened to swallow the room whole. "Mama's dress!" she giggled, holding up a dress twice her size.

Satoru rubbed his eyes, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, his voice still groggy with sleep. "Let's get breakfast started, shall we?"

The twins' eyes lit up at the mention of food. They both loved their mother's cooking, but today, they'd have to make do with Daddy's special cuisine: instant noodles. Satoru could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders as he faced the kitchen, a place he rarely ventured into.

The kitchen was a battleground. The counter was littered with half squeezed tubes of toothpaste and juice boxes that had seen better days. Satoru gulped, trying to remember the last time he had cooked anything more complex than tea. He managed to boil the water and prepare the noodles without burning the house down, which he considered a victory.

As he served the breakfast, Touya looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Daddy, can we have a bath after?"

Satoru nodded, his mind already racing through the day's schedule. He had to juggle his teaching responsibilities with the daycare duties. The idea of dealing with sugar high kindergarteners and a pint sized mischief maker was a horror movie plot in his mind.

The bath was a success, or so he thought. Touya had decided it was a good day to practice his water techniques, leaving the bathroom looking like a soggy battlefield. Hana, on the other hand, had discovered the joy of bubbles and was floating on a sea of them, her laughter echoing through the room.

Once they were all dressed and ready, it was time for the twins' favorite part of the day: playtime. Satoru looked around the living room, which had been transformed into a minefield of toys, and sighed. He had to keep an eye on them, but he also had a mountain of grading to do.

He tried to hide behind his work, but Touya had other ideas. "Daddy, look!" He pointed to a tower of blocks he had built. "It's the Colosseum!"

Satoru leaned in to inspect the tower, his mind racing with historical facts about the Roman amphitheater. Before he could say anything, the tower crumbled under Hana's curious touch.

"It's okay, Tou-kun," he said, patting his son's head. "We'll build it again later."

Hana looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. "I want to build it too!"

And so, Satoru found himself on the floor, surrounded by a sea of blocks, trying to construct an architectural masterpiece with two little helpers who had the attention span of goldfish.

Lunchtime was a blur of peanut butter sandwiches and spilled milk. Satoru was starting to feel the toll of the day. He had forgotten how much energy these little humans required. By the time he had them both napping, he was ready to collapse.

The afternoon was a mix of jujutsu training for Touya and storytime for Hana. Satoru read the same book five times in a row, his voice growing increasingly dramatic with each reading. He had to admit, he was enjoying the quiet moments with his kids.

As the sun began to set, Y/N walked through the door, looking as fresh as a daisy despite her long day. The twins squealed with joy, running into her arms. Satoru couldn't help but feel a bit of relief wash over him.

"How was your day?" she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Challenging," he replied, his eyes twinkling with humor. "But nothing I couldn't handle."

Y/N looked around the house, her gaze landing on the half eaten sandwiches and scattered toys. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she took over dinner prep, and the three of them sat down to eat as a family.

That night, as he tucked the twins into bed, Satoru felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Sure, the house wasn't spotless, and the laundry was piling up, but he had managed to keep them alive, fed, and mostly happy.

"Thank you, Daddy," Touya whispered sleepily.

"Thank you, Daddy," Hana echoed.

Satoru leaned down and kissed them both on the forehead. "You're welcome, little ones."

As he walked out of their room, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Who knew that taking care of two tiny humans could be more exhausting than fighting curses? He had a newfound respect for Y/N's superhuman ability to juggle everything.

But as he collapsed into bed, utterly drained, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he'd do it all again tomorrow. Because in the end, the chaos and the mess were just part of the charm of being a Gojo. And he wouldn't trade it for anything.

#fanfic #jjk #x y/n #x you #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime fanfic #fanfiction #anime and manga #anime

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jiubilant · 3 months

Text

ft. @zurin's character, casair

“It purports,” says the Headmaster of the Bards’ College, raising a classical brow, “to be the oldest teahouse in the City of Stone.”

“So does that one,” says the Archmage of Winterhold, nodding across the street. “And that one. And the, the one on Temple Way, remember, with all the trellises—”

“Please come in, messeri,” cries the girl sweeping the hearth, “or you’ll let out the cat—Pangur, no!”

They scramble to shut the door, of course. Then, of course, they have no choice but to let the girl take their cloaks hostage, to be ushered to the corner table with the charming brass lamp, and to murmur amused greetings at the house’s proprietor: a venerable gib-cat, puddled half-asleep by the fire, who blinks at them without moving a paw.

“Let out the cat,” mutters Viarmo when the girl—who knows her own cleverness, judging by her smile—has hurried out of earshot for their cups. He gestures with theatrical indignation to the hearth. “Beast didn’t even deign to roll over.”

He brushes his bright velvet doublet as if ridding it of fur. The Archmage smiles.

Whatever’s sprung up between them over the past month, he thinks, will likely end today. He’s leaving the City of Stone tomorrow—for his ice fortress, as Vjar’s put it. He’s missed it, his College: the blinding ice, the air that crystallizes in the lungs, the cold, clean vastness of the sea. The seals bawling at gulls. The gulls squalling at seals. His wonder-workers shuffling about with wind-flushed faces, blowing on their hands, stamping the snow from their boots in the entrance-hall.

But he’ll miss Markarth, too, against his better judgment—

“You won’t regret choosing the Juniper Tree,” chirps the girl, bustling back with teacups and tray. “They serve dishwater on Temple Way. Pilgrims can’t tell the difference, you know. Melze!”

She rattles out the teapot and an array of brimming bowls: honey, sugar-shavings, blackberries cooked in syrup. A silver ewer of warm milk. A carafe of cool water, and a carafe of hot. The Archmage watches with growing surprise and delight; Viarmo watches with amusement, rearranging the bowls when it looks as though the girl will run out of table.

“Melze?” he asks, catching a desperate teacup without turning a hair. The man is nine-tenths pomade.

“Tea in the dwarven style,” says the Archmage, smiling. A memory he’d thought lost returns to him: himself in a melzeruhn with his father and sister, holding his cup with both hands, sitting on two cushions in order to see over the table. “It was popular in Narsis when I was a scrib. You fix it up yourself. I didn’t know it ever crossed the Velothis—”

“This was a dwarven city, once,” says the girl with a dimpled smile. “It’s our house blend, messere, so it may surprise you.”

He suspects that it will. He hasn’t had melze in two hundred years.

“Let me,” he says when Viarmo reaches for the teapot to pour. Then, against his better judgment: “I ought to know by now what you like.”

Nothing ventured, he thinks a little desperately in the silence that follows. The big beringed hand pauses in the steam. Above it, Viarmo gives him a long, leonine look.

“Yes,” he concedes at last, nudging the teapot across the table. Their fingers almost brush. “Will I see you at that colloquium, come spring?”

* * *

The House of Dibella’s conservationist, after several minutes of scholarly rumination on her pen, rubs her face and looks up from her précis. The Juniper Tree is crowded this afternoon, she thinks with dry surprise; apart from herself, she counts two customers.

“Cottia,” she calls in the Reachling tongue of their mothers, reaching across the table for her cup: tart juniper tea, not the Nchuand brew that charms the lowlanders. “I’d like something else to chew on, please—”

“Bannuc!” her cousin announces, and drops a wedge of the hot, fluffy barley-cake on the conservationist’s notes. Then she drops herself into the adjacent chair, her eyes twinkling with the promise of some mischief. “Fresh from the stone. Do you think they’re rich, Casair?”

The glittering old gentlemen at the corner table, absorbed in a lively Haafing conversation about lausavísur, seem in no danger of understanding them. Casair counts their gleaming rings and raises her eyebrows. “Why?”

“They didn’t ask the price of the tea service.” Cottia grins like that cat. “Should I charge them double?”

#skyrim #microfic #viarmo #oc tag #ravi

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lixenn · 3 months

Note

BUSTING INTO UR ASKBOX WHILE READING THRU DAVE'S PROFILE!! Lix!! Dave and Yui's bdays are one day apart sjvfhsvfsvf this coincidence is so funny 🤣🤣

Since he likes sunsets, I wonder if he likes the sea too? The sunsets are very beautiful when viewing it from the beach (asked by someone who just got back from a trip to the beach)

Because he has a lot of piercings, I wonder if he's interested in getting tattoo too?

Not a question, but reading this --- Dave simply turned up at Varia’s front door with a cheerful: “Heard you were hiring?” --- made me laugh, because I remember the snippet that you wrote about how Dan met Dave and it still makes me laugh a lot 😆😆 (PLUS !!! “I can use this guy to avoid talking to people!” DAN IS SO REAL FOR THIS!!! HE'S SO BASED UR HONOR!!)

Is there any latest hot boiling tea that Davey-boy can share with us in the class right now?

Mammon knows a lot about people huh. I wonder what Dave's relationship with Mammon is like? How does Dave interact with Mammon, knowing (if he knows) that Mammon knows background info that he hides?

Would he dye his hair as rainbow-colored for Pride Month---

EIN! BELOVED! Thank you for visiting my humble abode, always lovely to have you here 💕✨

I have managed to get this ready for Dave's birthday!

Happy birthday Davey-boy! Hope you and everyone else likes some more Dave info hehehehe

Sunset and sea

As someone whose life has been grey and dull for a long time, Dave adors colours in all shape or form, so yes he loves the sea, loves how it can glitter and reflect. The different shades of blue also appeal to him. Just colours my friend. It's a small joy for him but a joy nonetheless.

Tattoos

Is Dave interested in tattoos? Yes. Does he trust anyone enough to actually give him one? Not really. Dave has done most of his piercings by himself (which Davey-boy... no...) but tattooing himself is certainly more difficult then simply stabbing a sanitised needle through his ear. He loves the idea of body art though and he keeps drawing tattoo ideas on his paperwork (much to Chief's chargin).

Also since we are at the topic of tattoos, I'm just going to sneakily mention this for the people who aren't in the discord or haven't read my Chief/Squalo sparring snippet:

Chief has tattoos! And he actually has a lot of ink. All of it is nature based and all of it is hidden under his clothing, so at the moment in the Varia only Luss (who is his doctor) and Mammon (because Mammon knows all) know about the tats. Dave is in for a surprise when he finds out hehe. (Dave already thinks that Chief is super cool, but now he has tattoos??? No fair~ He will need to increase his mischief factor by one hundred to balance it out.)

Dan the introvert

Dan knows what's up lol. While Dani-boy can talk to people when necessary he tries to avoid it as much as possible because it sucks his energy like nothing else and he already doesn't have much energy to begin with. Also Dan might be quite observant but he sometimes doesn't get subtext and takes sometimes a bit to literal, which can lead to much frustration and hilarity. So he prefers leaving the people thing to Dave who's a social butterfly and thrives under attention.

Mammon and Dave

Dave doesn't like Mammon, at all. Honestly, it's more fear than dislike that's bothering him, because Dave knows how much power information can hold, it's one of his specialites after all. So while Dave is aware that Mammon won't reveal anything about his past unless someone goes looking for it and is willing to pay an obscene amount of money for the info, he still treats Mammon with a healthy dose of respect. He actually tries his best to avoid dealing with him and Mammon is one of the few people he tries not to prank directly.

Rainbow hair

Dave would definitely dye his hair rainbow coloured for pride month. He would burst into Luss' room on the first of June (probably when the clock rings midnight lol) and demand that his hair needs to be taken care of now.

The Tea

Now, the tea is the reason why answering this took so long, because dear Ein, once again, I have written a snippet! Rejoice! (Thanks so much to @unwrathful @childe-of-saulot for helping me brainstorm and also thanks to my dear buddy @myrmyrtheorca for solving my naming problems 🫡💕✨)

---

Dave kicks Vlasta's door open with cheerful aplomb. "Have you heard?!"

His friend doesn’t even have the decency to look up from cleaning their knives at his fabulous entrance. "You violating my privacy? Sure did."

"Like you even know the definition of that word. You were literally fucking someone in bright daylight yesterday."

"It's the principle of the matter, D." They finally put away their collection of all things sharp and pointy just to grace him with a simple blink. “Now, what’s the tea and where the hell are the snacks?”

A grin creeps on his face as he presents the chocolate covered strawberries he stole from the kitchen like they are a tribute to the gods. “I came prepared.”

The offering is scrutinized for a moment before Vlasta nods in acceptance. “You pass, but you are on thin ice.”

Dave fully skips into their domain and is greeted with the full force of the tantalizing scent of plum and cherry hiding the metallic taint of blood that has etched itself into the foundation of the walls ever since Vlasta claimed this room as their own. He places the strawberries on the nightstand next to the candles and bones, then bounces onto the four-poster bed that wouldn’t have been out of place in a film set of a dark historical drama which features witches, blood sacrifices and ritual sex. The dark red satin sheets flow smooth and cool over his skin, a stark contrast from the humid summer heat.

Dave hums lazily. “You always had great taste in decor. Less so with your partners though.”

His words are met with a pointed kick to the ribs. “Fucking- OW! What was that for?” He quickly scoots out of kicking range, rubbing the sore spot on his side. “This is abuse! Mistreatment! Bullying!”

“Talk shit, get shot,” Vlasta smirks, plucking a strawberry from the container. “Count yourself lucky that I put my knives away or this could have ended in a bloodbath.”

“But you like bloodbaths!”

“Not on my good bedsheets, idiot.” Vlasta plops the fruit into their mouth and moans in a way that would turn a porn star green with envy. “Now spill the tea before the day’s over. Chop chop.”

Dave brightens. “Okay, so I was staking out make out closet, as one does.” Vlasta nods along like this is a reasonable way to spend one’s free time. There’s a reason why they are best friends. “And guess who walked out of there?

Vlasta indulges his theatrics. “Who?”

“Sofia!”

“Sofia Nardi?” His friend tilts their head like a curious bird. “Douchbag’s girlfriend Sofia? That Sofia?“

“Yup! And she wasn’t alone.” Dave waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ollie followed soon after.”

Vlasta perks up, finally gifting him the entire weight of their attention and he basks in it. Yes, he always has the best gossip, thank you very much.

Another strawberry disappears between black tainted lips. “Sofia and ol’ Ollie. They fucked?“

“Oh, totally.”

“Huh,” a slow blink, followed by a sadistic smile, “good for her. Does the Douchebag know?“

“Nope,” Dave answers, popping the p for maximum obnoxious effect. “Completely in the dark”

The smile turns into a full-blown smirk. “Excellent.”

Dave‘s expression mimics the grin on his best friend’s face, vindictiveness filling him by proxy. Sofia’s (ex?) boyfriend Alberico Ordelaffi commonly known as the Douchebag is what one could call a traditionalist. In short: he’s strictly religious, massively sexist and completely full of himself. The only time he stops sucking his own cock is when he’s bragging about his prestigious lineage or insulting your lack thereof. Vlasta with all their… Vlastaness is naturally offending Douchebag’s delicate sensibilities which results in a largely one-sided rivalry that involves a lot of holy water and failed exorcisms. So, any misfortune falling upon him needs to be fully savoured and sampled.

Speaking of savouring, Vlasta already decimated the strawberry offering during his retelling leaving nothing left for him which ... yeah, that tracks. But he still wanted a taste! His friend can be so stingy sometimes.

Well, there are other ways to be fed...

“Now,” Dave risks edging a tiny bit closer to them. “Since I delivered you both juicy strawberries and gossip, I deserve a reward, yes?”

Vlasta doesn’t even hesitate in shooting him down. “I’m not telling you what Chief and I discuss when we’re alone.”

“Oh c’mon! What more could you possibly want?”

The stare he is given runs shivers down his spine. Vlasta has a way of looking right into your soul, dissecting you with a simple gaze. People often fear them because of their appearance, their fondness of blood and flesh but Dave fears their ability to stand back and watch far more. They pick up the smallest of hints that let’s them solve humans like puzzles and the only reason why Dave ever let them close is because he can recognize his people, see the same cracks that plague him day in and day out. It doesn’t change the fact that he’d prefer not being perceived and now he gave them an opening.

“Well, my dear friend.” Their voice was raspy, a near seductive purr. “How about your name?”

Dave freezes. Nobody asks after his name. The scars are questioned more often than he could count. Same for his family and body count. But his name? Nobody bothers asking after names in the Varia. Not with how the organisation collects weirdos like the most fucked up circus. You might snoop behind somebody’s back, but you don’t talk about it in person. It just wasn’t done.

Leave it to Vlasta to not give a single fuck about etiquette and social norms.

Dave sighs. “I’d rather not.”

The predatory aura persists for one more second until his friend simply shrugs like they were asking after the weather rather than one of his close kept secrets. “Shame. Names hold a lot of power. But no name, no deal, Davey-boy. Them’s the rules.”

The mood brightens considerably at the nickname. Teasing and banter, he can do. Way better than digging up pieces of his past best left forgotten.

Time to turn the brattiness to the max.

“But I wanna knoooow.” Dave gives them his best rendition of a kicked puppy. “How can you just hoard the Chief insider info? The inhumanity! The cruelty!” He adds crocodile tears for dramatic effect. “Share the goods, V. I need all the dets. Well actually, I need to study Chief under a microscope, but I will accept second hand knowledge for now.”

Unsurprisingly, Vlasta isn’t moved by his act in the slightest, in fact they don’t budge an inch. "Your obsession with our boss is fascinating. Have you considered fucking him to get it out of your system?”

He pouts: "I offered! Well, Luss and I offered but he refused."

"Skill issue."

"Oh fuck off, how often did he reject you? Five times? Six?" He leans into Vlasta’s personal space, leering and teasingly poking their cheek. “Losing your touch V?”

“You’re about to lose a finger if you don’t remove it from my person, dickhead.” Their eyes gleam red and Dave immediately backs off.

Fuck. Pushed too much.

Touch and Vlasta can be ... tricky at times. Initiating contact always involves some risk. It's like a gamble where the odds change at a whim and clearly Dave lost this time around.

He scrambles off the bed, holding his hands up in surrender. He tries for a smile but it came out as an awkward grimace instead. "Sorry 'bout that."

The red in their eyes dims but doesn't disappear. Vlasta nods, accepting the apology but not stating forgiveness.

Yeah, this calls for a strategic retreat.

He tiptoes closer and closer to the door. "I'll see you around?" The confidence leaves him at the last minute turning his statement into a question.

Vlasta licks off the chocolate on one of their fingers, steadily holding eye contact because they are a fucking weirdo. "Until next time."

Oh, thank god. Friendship saved.

---

Ngl not totally satisfied with the ending but it will do >.< this got so long and surprisingly deep but I like how it protrays Dave's and Vlasta's realtionship.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #khr oc #ask answered #oc ask #khr dave #khr vlasta gast #khr daniele costa #the housekeeping au #writing

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ksiondzkanexkiii · 3 months

Text

MAYBE YOU'RE NOT A BAD PERSON

Found story on wattpad, neobook or tumblr

Next chapter (24)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD

John Price knew that there were many ways to go through grief, he never questioned how Jinx was going through her mourning however, he didn't like the fact that she had become more oppressive which he didn't like. And a lot, but he couldn't chastise her for going through grief he could only stand beside her in the most difficult moments and keep her spirits up.

He understood that she did not want to talk to him about the fire, she was experiencing it all quietly. However, when she did say something to him she was more abrasive than always he had a fear that she had returned to her old habits and her curiosity about the normal world and her desire to change was gone along with Eric and Ava.

He sat at the table, a mug of steaming tea standing in front of him as he stared dully at the sky outside the window. He hadn't entered Jinx's zone, hadn't gone into her room since he'd left his paints and canvas there. Garrick's advice he took to heart saw that it was probably the only way to get the teenager to open up to him without having to speak. But she wouldn't leave the room, and that's where a gigantic problem arose.

He didn't even know if she had drawn anything on the canvas, but he didn't go into her room. Or should he? He asked himself this question every morning, and his worried eyes glanced at the door of the teenager's room every time he left his bedroom. Even books no longer relaxed him, his thoughts kept drifting back to the teenager, who sat locked in her room twenty-four hours a day only coming out when she was hungry, thirsty or needed to take care of herself in the bathroom.

She didn't even wash herself, Price felt as if she had lost her purpose for wanting to socialize. And this bothered him, of course he had seen other soldiers survive the loss of a friend or even family however every time he saw these souls broken by the mortality of having their loved ones taken from them

It was tearing him apart

But he knew he couldn't change it, he regretted that he couldn't show the middle finger to death and laugh death right in the face. As long as death has a face...

He knew when he needed to give someone space to express his emotions and he knew when to approach and support a person in a given crisis situation, but now? He didn't know, at the same time a part of him wanted to help the teenager and the other part of him was screaming in his ear to take the plunge and he began to further socialize the teenager hard, the sooner he finished and social services considered her , "safe" the better for him

Regain peace at home

The tea that stood in front of him had already cooled down, but his fingers were still tapping deafeningly against the porcelain of the mug. His thoughts drifted away and his blue eyes only told how far away he was on the sea of thoughts, but his attention did not escape the fact that the door of the teenage girl's room was opening. He had questions to ask her, although he did not think too much about them, but his head was cluttered with thoughts

He listened to the quiet footsteps of the teenager, who was heading toward the kitchen probably to brew herself another batch of tea, which apparently calmed her down and at the same time make herself something to eat. John swallowed his saliva hard as he tore his gaze away from the window to look at the teenager, who stood like a pillar of salt in the doorway from the kitchen, staring at him.

And she almost felt stupid, she disheveled and unwashed stood before him in dirty clothes the same ones she had four days ago. Her breath could have killed even a rodent. The blue shirt that accentuated her blue eyes, which were now without any sparkle, not even the faintest glint of mischief.

As if someone had erased that glint in the eye

Her skin was paler than usual due to the fact that she didn't get out of the house much, Price let her stay home he didn't want to send her to school when she hadn't gone through mourning yet and not sure how she would behave he feared some kind of fight caused by her not being able to keep her emotions in check. Her red plaid pajama pants covered her legs, which were crossed as if she was holding her urine to keep from peeing in her pants

And him, sitting there in fresh clothes and a freshly trimmed beard those two familiar mutton patches on the side of his cheeks connecting under his mouth and nose. That familiar beard almost made Jinx curse and dream at night, at the same time he was dreaming for her and behind every dream she called a nightmare she could find solace in his arms.

However, by no means will he admit that he needs help, the first rule of the street

No one cares about your feelings

Street rule number two

Don't trust anyone and they will leave you sooner or later anyway.

He sat there dressed in a navy blue short-sleeved shirt that hugged his muscles to show them off even more, he was wearing short shorts. His body glowed with sweat as if he had just returned from a workout

Did he go jogging without her?

They looked at each other quite awkwardly, she began to play with the hem of her shirt as she automatically began to make herself something to eat and put water on for tea. She did this automatically without even noticing how her muscles were tense, her spine was straightened like a taut rope, the air from her lungs escaping so fast that she couldn't keep up with taking in a new portion.

- Jinx? - called out quietly the captain watching her whether she liked it or not, he leaned in gently and crossed his arms on the table. He watched her carefully nothing escaped his watchful eye sometimes he felt like a falcon looking out for its prey, but he didn't want the teenager to feel like she was prey.

In a way she was, but he knew Jinx didn't want to be treated that way. Maybe he hadn't known her long and a few months... Well maybe it had been close to a year or so since he had arrived, he didn't even know when her birthday had been

Why did he think of her birthday now?

He had no clue, however, this question interested and slightly frightened him, because did he miss her birthday?

When the teenager did not respond and still made food he decided to use a louder tone - Jinx - he called out louder gently tilting his head hoping to see her face walker side profile, but nothing of that she stubbornly stood with her back to him. As he watched her a familiar smell of nicotine and smoke hit his nostrils, he now did not have a cigar within reach even in the morning he had not lit a cigar so it was not from him that the smoke stank

- Jinx - he called out even louder he saw the teenage girl's shoulder blades almost join together as she tensed up - Look at me - he commanded her, her hair was greasy and her curls were tousled more than usual even the messy bun at the base of her neck could not mask the fact that her hair was in a deplorable state

She did not obey his command - I told you something - he continued to order and she still ignored him even did not say anything back to him as she had been in the habit for the last few days, he gently sighed giving up trying to order her he adopted a different strategy - I want to help you Jinx and you push me away - he began to speak more calmly watching her

- I don't need your help Price," she almost hissed these words and her voice didn't even resemble a whisper, but it was all softly spoken, "I don't need anyone's help," she added finally looking over her shoulder at him

She sent him a brief meaningful look. She may have said that she didn't need help and pretended to be tough, but deep down she felt lost and alone, that all good things would one day end again, and she didn't want to let him closer to her so that he wouldn't have to die in agony. She brought bad luck and did not want to put this curse on him

So she went back to her cold walls that she had torn down at the time of meeting him, of course she had the desire to socialize especially after she met a group of friends however now that two of her five friends had died she no longer felt the need to socialize.

- Everyone needs help at some point," Price began to say and Jinx merely giggled humorlessly at his words

- Only the weak need help," she muttered under her breath, speaking more to herself than to him. The captain furrowed his eyebrows of course he heard her words he was not old enough not to understand her words

- Even the strongest needs -

- Support? -

- Yes -

- Then push this putty to everyone else and not to me - she growled throwing the knife on the countertop turning on her heel to look at him, the captain raised an eyebrow hearing her tone of voice. He didn't like it - I'm too old to hear it anymore," she added after a moment much quieter than before.

The captain was silent for a while his thoughts drifted away and the roles were reversed now Jinx was looking at his reaction however after a while she turned around to continue making herself food. She wanted to get it over with and hole up in her room again, she didn't realize that the captain was pondering whether Jinx smoked he could still smell the cigarettes.

After a while he moved his chair away from the table where he was sitting, raised his body Jinx did not pay attention to what the captain was doing she was too focused on slicing the cucumber. The captain simply leaned over her pulling his nose hard, it was from her that he smelled cigarettes and now he had confirmation that his nose was not deceiving

- You've been smoking - muttered the captain just above her ear, stated such an obvious fact that Jinx's face dropped, but she still guffawed that she didn't care and that she didn't know what he meant - Jinx. He smells cigarettes - stated again such an obvious fact that Jinx did not know what lie to come up with, she had to think fast

- Something is wrong with your nose," she muttered under her breath, "I didn't smoke and even if I did I don't have anything to smoke with," she sent him a bored look, not at all that when she went to set fire to Eric's hideout on the way she robbed the drunk people she saw along the way, Jinx seemed to have dreamed it however, when she woke up the next morning the guitar was still under the bed and in her pockets she had a lot of wallets and packs of cigarettes sometimes she came across a full pack sometimes a few cigarettes were missing.

- Jinx," growled the captain dangerously, his irritation boiling over, even the tips of his ears turned red as he tried to restrain his anger, "Don't make an idiot of me," he threatened her, standing behind her and looking down at her, an unpleasant cold shiver ran down Jinx's back as she felt his gaze on her.

The same assessing gaze she felt every time she opened the window and lit a new cigarette, she may have been alone in the room at the time however it felt like someone was watching her from the shadows. Somehow she didn't care about it however it wasn't one of the most pleasant, but for the unhealthy nicotine smoke she ignored it. As long as she delivered a new dose of harmful homes

- I'm not making an idiot out of you, I wouldn't even dream of it," she sneered, snorted under her breath without amusement setting cucumbers on the sandwich she had made for herself, she was already about to take the plate with the sandwiches when the captain's hand found itself on her forearm

- You're not going," he muttered, "We'll talk first," he added after a moment, he did not give her room for discussion brazenly snatched the plate with sandwiches from her hands to put them back on the counter and he led her over to the chair where he had been sitting moments earlier, "I don't hear you say the word , "No," he said as he himself sat down at the table opposite her

He leaned forward and crossed his arms again on the table top she sat across from him quite awkwardly, her hands were under the table her nails were effectively finding dry cuticles to pluck. Stupid nervous habit, she must quit it at some point.

- Then what do you want from me? - She sighed looking unhappy that she was put in this situation, she may have been more oppressive and snarky, but sometimes she didn't even have the strength to pretend to be , "strong" and , "brave" anymore if she had to be like that at all

- Talk," the captain raised an eyebrow, "That difficult? - He asked sarcastically at the same time rhetorically, the teenager only rolled her eyes. She raised her hands and rested them on the table top to push off and stand up

- Sit down - ordered her captain and the British accent became even more apparent than usual, this only showed how annoyed he already was. The teenager only looked at him with a raised eyebrow, however, she still stood, but did not make any move, not even a word was spoken - I ask for something - he added after a while John's blue eyes looked at her as if they were about to kill her

If sight could kill

She would be dead by now

- This request and so I will not listen to your request," she smiled innocently, when she finished her sentence, she was about to grab the plate of sandwiches again

- Jinx - Price hit the table with a song, causing the teenager to jump up, if that was the way things were going he was not afraid to use more drastic measures. Of course he wouldn't hurt her, he had no intention of doing so he only intended to scare her - Sit down - he growled again

Jinx pondered for a moment more, she could take a chance and play on his nose still not listening to him. As if she had earplugs in her ears, she looked into his eyes that could kill her with their sharpness she bit the inside of her cheek she was torn between the choice of listening to him and optionally not getting punished

Disobey it and have problems later

When she looked at the door she was considering the two options and the captain knew it well - If you don't listen," he began to say and she tore her gaze away from the door frame to send him a cold look

- If you already want to threaten me come up with something interesting," she shrugged her shoulders as if she didn't care, everything drains out of her so easily. She ignores everything - Something that will encourage me to stay and listen to your boring monologue - she added after a while again sending him an innocent smile and rabbit holes made on her freckled cheeks.

Her freckles were made more visible by the fact that she didn't get out in the sun as often, her skin also faded. The captain swallowed his saliva imperceptibly his fingers tangled against each other causing him to join his hands and press them together so hard that his knuckles turned white, he considered his every word he had to choose wisely so that she would listen to him

- He just wants to talk, I'm not asking for much Jinx," he began to speak in a tedious voice and Jinx looked up at him, standing over the table and critically assessing his every word

- Do you say that to every one of your soldiers? - she asked curiously and the Captain was slightly taken aback by this he expected any question, but not necessarily a question about the army - Because if so - Jinx dragged out her words muttering at the end, she really didn't care, she wanted to hear words that would be given only to her.

Words that only she could hear, she did not want to hear the words spoken to everyone.

- If you let me finish, you'll see," insisted the captain hiding his annoyance at being interrupted again, he hated being interrupted, he was used to being listened to and not asking unnecessary questions, after all he is a captain, but Jinx was never interested in his military rank for her he was just a crutch that caused the opening of a new path, which was called "normal life for a teenager".

The only thing she was grateful to him for was that he let her go to school even if Annalise annoyed him... and along the way she also annoyed Jinx, but she was grateful to them for giving her the chance to go to school and finally learn to write. Maybe it wasn't easy at first because she didn't know how to write so she copied the movements of her classmates or friends optionally the teacher if he happened to be writing on the board and not dictating into a notebook

She was grateful to the teachers who wrote on the blackboard what they were supposed to transcribe and not dictate, how many times it saved her skin until she finally learned to write reasonably. She didn't know how to write, because what use is it to anyone living on the street?

Living on the street, you worry about whether you will have food for the next day or whether you will die of hypothermia in the winter.

- Well, go ahead, I'm turning into a listener," she mocked, moving her left leg gently backwards with her right hand placed on her chest leaning forward as if she was bowing to him as if he were the highest aristocracy. She sent him a mocking smile at the same time the captain snorted seeing her behavior

- I don't know how you feel," he began to speak calmly, "But he wants to help you," at these words Jinx rolled her eyes, how many times she heard these words until she wanted to vomit when she heard these words, "I can't let you rot in this room, he wants to know what's going on," he said in a stern tone seeing her behavior

He was not blind or stupid, he saw the dangerous glint in her eye as if he was treading on a thin line to fully annoy her - Besides," he pointed his finger at her, a little rudely thought the teenager, "You stink of cigarettes, you pretend that you did not smoke them however, you smell of smoke," he accused her quietly sighing and shaking his head in disappointment

- You could have masked the stench of smoke better is first of all," he began to enumerate even lifting his finger up, after a while he added another finger, "Secondly, you don't leave the room, and when you do you go to the bathroom or the kitchen," he continued to enumerate and Jinx's muscles were getting stiff and ready to run away

She felt like a deer ready to run away - What are you getting at Captain? - she asked quietly, but dangerously, as if she wanted to bark out to him the most vulgar words she could get out of herself - What else do you want to reproach me with? - she almost growled at him and her blood was boiling

- He wants to help, I already said that," he sighed, "But I was waiting for you to give me a signal when to help you however you don't do that," he explained calmly pulling the cup towards him, with the tea he had left on the table earlier, the tea was already icy but still drinkable he took a small sip gently contorting his face as the cold drink invaded the inside of his cheeks

- She doesn't need it," she wanted to continue her statement but the captain raised his hand and silenced her

- Help? - he mocked - Yes you said it already - he teased her, looking at her briefly and then at the mug of tea he held in his hand, the quiet clink of the clatter of the porcelain against each other cut the momentary silence that had formed between them - If you want to lie, lie to someone else - he looked at her seriously

- But don't lie to me. Remember this - this time it was he who sent her an innocent smile in the shape of a "v" Jinx only twisted her lips in a grimace hearing the words of the captain and seeing his innocent smile - What is bothering you Jinx? - he asked straightforwardly, effectively making Jinx even more eager to leave the kitchen, but her muscles seemingly ready to escape did not even move an inch or a walker a millimeter

- Nothing is bothering me Captain," she muttered and her mixed accent was more audible to the captain, he knew she was lying. The purple bags under her eyes did not match her at the same time it was the sunken eyes that told him the whole story of what the teenager was going through

- Your mouth says something else, your body language says something else and your appearance says something else Jinx," he sighed looking down at her, "You can lie even to yourself thinking everything is fine," he leaned back and when his back met the back of the chair he crossed his arms over his chest

- Fuck," whispered the teenager her arguments were running out, as much as she wanted to end the conversation something told her that this was the last moment she could beg for help. She wondered whether to take advantage of this fact or not, she looked towards the window that was next to them opposite the door that only called her to run away like a frightened deer, she looked at the sky and the birds that flew in the clear sky.

Heaven was supposed to help her make decisions however she still felt she could not choose

- Far from hens," muttered the captain shrugging his shoulders, the teenager had to suppress the urge to giggle, "Let yourself help Jinx, I understand that," he was about to continue his statement when Jinx interrupted him again

- You don't understand shit Price," she growled again and her irritation which moments ago had stopped bubbling like the worst storm in her blood suddenly returned with redoubled force. If ships swam in her veins she was sure that the waves of blood would have sunk every ship of peace she had inside her

- Then enlighten me," he leaned forward again looking at her defiantly, "Since you're already in a position to shout at me then you're in a position to tell me what's bothering you," he said in a quiet but threatening tone, if Jinx had been smaller surely her blood would have frozen and fear would have taken over her helm causing her to flee.

If sight really could kill she would be dead, she repeated over and over in her head, but that was the truth.

Even if she wanted to deny it, she couldn't

Into a big swamp I've gotten myself into, thought the teenager looking around looking for some support in the furniture her mind was working a hundred miles an hour and the answers with which she could answer the captain multiplied so much that she couldn't keep up to judge which ones were perfect to say

- You won't understand anyway," she muttered looking at the sandwiches that were still on the kitchen counter, she had even lost her appetite for them already, "No one ever understands so why do you ask," she asked this time and not the captain, John only sighed heavily

- Don't turn the cat on its head," he threatened her quietly, "You had the urge to shout at me, you did it so let this head of yours finally understand that I'm trying to help, but you won't let me," he continued to say quietly and threateningly until Jinx got goosebumps

- Maybe he does not want your help? - she raised an eyebrow and forced herself to bring out the most innocent voice, she sent him a brief smile - Not always everyone wants help, you are a captain haven't you learned this rule? - she raised her eyebrow looking down at him while standing

- Sit down and talk to me," he commanded her and his tone of voice didn't change Come on, the captain's blue irises expressed more than just worry for her, his eyes showed something more than a cold side, but she couldn't work out what the emotion behind the coldness was.

Jinx swallowed her saliva hard but listened to him slowly sat down on the chair again sitting opposite him. She sat stiffly still ready to run away, blinking frequently and quickly another sign that she was stressed her leg under the table jumped nervously

- How are you feeling? - he asked looking at her it was a question one of a million he wanted to ask her, but he wanted to start gently. Without arguing come on and that goal failed

- Excellent - Sarcasm flowed out of Jinx's mouth as easily as if she was spreading butter on a bread roll, but even that was coming her way reluctantly - That's not what you want to ask right? - She asked raising an eyebrow she wasn't stupid she knew the captain was going to ask something she didn't like, but he wanted to start slow

- What do you want to lead to Captain Price? - She asked wrinkling her eyebrows and leaning forward to get a better look at him, he raised his hand and scratched at his beard gently crooking his arm - Something interests you, but you are afraid to ask - she mocked

- He wants to know if this fire was not your fault," he said seriously, Jinx at first thought he was joking after all why would he ask here? But when she looked at him like that she saw that he was not joking and his question was serious

Small but clearly blue eyes watched her reactions, which were quick and did not hide her surprise at first her eyebrows furrowed just enough for the wrinkles to remain then she raised her eyebrows with a mocking smile, but when she realized she was not joking her face returned to a stony side

Expressionless

Emotionless

- The fire department says there was arson," he explained, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her at the same time she wanted to look serious on the other hand her muscles were tense enough that one wrong word or move and she would run away like a frightened reindeer

- The firefighters found you and the Rodriguez siblings in the kitchen you suffered the least - he continued this time looking at her injuries her left side of her body her arm, abdomen, hand was in a bandage to protect the burns from infection and environmental contamination - Why? -

Jinx was silent at first, she thought it was an unfunny joke or some silly dream. However, it wasn't, and that scared her, of course she had her share of petty crimes like theft or robbery... well that's all she did, but to set fire to her friends' house? And cause their deaths? She would never go to something like that

It was funny to watch how she could not get a word out of herself, how she was speechless - Jinx answer to the question - he spoke as calmly as he could however anxiety was bubbling in his veins, what if it was all true? However, her reaction did not indicate this.

- That what I'm asking? - She snorted still unable to believe what he was accusing her of - You want to tell me that it was my fault that the fire broke out? - she scoffed, still feeling as if she was dreaming she purposely pinched her arm to see if she was dreaming, but she was awake - You've got to be kidding me - she scoffed

- If so, this is extremely not funny," she indignantly looked at him her mind was darkened by grief at the same time she was annoyed that he accused her of such a thing.

- The fire department says otherwise," he leaned forward as he spoke these words, tilting his head to the side he raised his hand to scratch his beard, "Jinx, sooner or later they will get to who set fire to the Rodriguez house, but he wants to know," she did not let him finish

- Did I do it? - she mocked snorting under her breath, leaning back. She had stopped trusting him, if she ever trusted him at all - No, no, I think I'm asleep - this situation really felt like some kind of absurdity to her, something pulled out of the blue, something that shouldn't be.

- I'm serious Jinx," he almost growled at her feeling her mocking him, mocking him. He watched this as she almost threw herself on the chair like an offended five-year-old child could not find a comfortable position felt uncomfortable and wanted to run away

- And I'm serious that I didn't do it," she replied crossing her arms over her chest pretending that it was all draining out of her

That it doesn't move her

That it's all really about wanting to put her back in juvie

Her eyes widened at this thought, and if in fact this is the point? If in fact the captain doesn't want her here anymore and wants to get rid of her by the way driving her into a bigger corner of guilt. Her face dropped and her eyes darkened more she had no desire or strength to cry in front of the captain come on her mind wanted to cry to get it out of her she couldn't in front of John, her body was still tense to the point that her knuckles had turned white.

She clenched her jaw hard she could almost feel her tooth crumbling and the Captain could hear it, she swallowed her saliva hard, but the lump in her throat did not allow it. Her throat was dry just as her lips almost immediately demanded water

- You want to put me back in the reformatory," she stated matter-of-factly, Price let the air out through his mouth twisted in disbelief this conversation was making him more and more tired. And the teenager's conjecture sounded irrational to him at the same time he could not blame her for thinking so

He shook his head - No, but the fire department and the police are checking the clues," he warned her, "And supposedly you acted suspiciously," he argued and the teenager increasingly did not believe him they wanted to frame her for something she had not done. She had honor she would never burn alive her friends even her enemies

She would never kill a man

Of course coincidences walk on people, in an accident she may have inadvertently caused people could die, but setting fire to someone's house? Even if she was with the cartel, she didn't do it

She only looked at

- I behaved normally," she defended herself almost hissing at him like a snake, "I just sensed that something bad was going to happen," she looked at her hands, which rested on the table top and her fingers intertwined with each other, she had the right feeling. If only she had listened to that voice in her head Eric and Ava would probably be alive

- Who told you that? - She asked curiously tearing her gaze away from her injured hands, since the fire she had acquired the ugly habit of picking at her skin, her fingertips gently bleeding and made tender by the fact that they were not wearing protection and the unruly cuticles protruded just waiting for the teenager's teeth to try to pull them off.

- Mrs. Dorinson," he said truthfully, not missing the fact of how Jinx's hands look, "And you have a problem and he wants to help you," he continued and Jinx only rolled her eyes and groaned in displeasure

- I'm fine," she crossed her arms over her chest with her back hitting the back of the chair

- Your body says otherwise," he repeated himself, "You need help, accept it when someone offers it to you," he interrupted

He was silent for a long while watching her indignation, his face became stony of course he was expressing concern, but he was slowly getting tired of explaining it over and over again and eternally repeating himself

- Because then it will be easier? - She said what he wanted to say again, mocking him she shook her head with a dry and emotionless giggle - Forgive me Captain, but it doesn't work - she replied looking at the window and not at him

- If I let someone in then they leave me," she explained looking out the window at the birds flying by and merrily flying in the cloudless sky, "Then why do you want to? -

- Because it's my job," he defended himself with the same words as always and that and Jinx was getting bored

- Bullshit Captain - She almost shouted at him, leaning forward - We both know that - She said in a quieter almost whisper without taking her eyes off him, she was shaking emotions were bubbling in her just asking for a wrong move that will make her explode

- Say something else - she whispered - Something... that will make me consider your proposal - The captain looked at her quite annoyed, his patience was reaching its zenith and his desire to talk was subsiding. This is not how it was supposed to look - I did nothing, if there was arson by a third party it was not me - She defended herself already spoke normally not an ounce of sarcasm or derision could be found in her words

- I'll trust you on this," he muttered looking at the teenager's hands, "You're in pain," he stated matter-of-factly, the teenager at first didn't know what he meant seeing what she was looking at she hid her hands in the pockets of her pajama pants

- No," she burbled while correcting herself in the chair, she moved quite uncomfortably. The captain only smiled gently under his breath he knew that the teenager did not like to lie when she was sitting, because then she moved awkwardly.

- Be that as it may, but try not to do it again," he muttered looking into her eyes, they caught eye contact once again in this conversation she only swallowed hard

- Because what? - she asked almost with derision, but with curiosity

- Because later you will have calloused and rough fingers," he answered truthfully, but did he have confirmation of this? No. that's what his mother explained to him, so he wanted to pass it on, he always thought the woman was right

She only snorted under her breath while shaking her head - What are you acting like that for? - she raised an eyebrow, she wanted to detect a ruse in him that would herald that he wanted to extract information from her by being nice and caring to her.

She knew the trick and wasn't about to fall for it

- What kind of magic trick is this? - She went on, not paying attention to the fact that the captain's nostrils dilated and irritation began to appear in his eyes - Laswell taught you this or what? - she sent him her familiar smile, with which dimples appeared

- That's no trick Jinx," muttered the captain with a tired expression on his face, "It's called worry," he added after a moment

- How many cigarettes did you smoke? - he asked, but got no answer he could have guessed that he would get no answer only to be doused with urine

Jinx continued her tirade, but the captain was running out of patience and wanted the teenager to finally understand what he wanted to say and convey to her, apparently she was too dumbfounded to understand it

- Because if so," she interrupted her statement by a loud bang that rang out in the kitchen

- Because I'm worried about you! - shouted the annoyed captain slamming his hands on the table moving away from the table and the chair fell to the ground with sensation, when he rather aggressively got up from it, he was breathing hard as if these efforts cost him all his energy, when he looked at the teenager with a stern look after a while, however, he closed his eyes and rubbed his tired face with a heavy sigh

- Is it so hard to understand that I'm worried about you? - he added more quietly - And that he doesn't want them to lock you up for something you didn't do, if you didn't actually do it," he mumbled looking at his hands, but the teenager stood there frozen with fear, when he looked at her again he realized that the teenager had turned her back on him and with a quick step began to walk out of the kitchen leaving behind the sandwiches she had been so eager to eat earlier.

He watched her disappear behind the kitchen doorframe, heard her quick footsteps heading towards the room and then the door closing - Fuck Price - he whispered to himself - You fucked up - he stated matter-of-factly and began sipping the cold tea he had made for himself earlier

He will talk to her later

In the evening, when they had both cooled down from their emotions, if he moved after her now he would probably be met with more fire than he is now. And that was not what he wanted

He didn't have the strength for it, not even the desire to stand in front of the bigger fire that the teenager had lit however he knew she needed help. Even if she wouldn't admit it, too many times he had seen recruits call for help with their gestures rather than words.

They were closing in on themselves

They locked themselves in their barracks and didn't come out for days. As far as they could they only went out for training or to use the restroom

They ate and drank less

They often sat in their heads in the land of thoughts

And all these symptoms are now exhibited by a teenager who is more impetuous than a recruit in the army. He sighed heavily and took another big sip of cold tea

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