#and back at home he's close with the household staff too

[dkmbookworm]

You know while we talk about how Odysseus’s experience in getting home changes him. I wonder if what Penelope went through in holding off the suitors would have an impact on her too.

Imagine Penelope having her own “keep your friends closer” moment back on ithica while she’s working on her scheme with weaving and unweaving the shroud.

One of their servants happens upon her and informs the suitors of this plot. And they catch her in the acts nights upon nights of restless work keeping them at bay only for someone in her household to betray her.

It could add to the idea that maybe she also had to become more ruthless just to protect herself and her home and her family over time.

Similar to the crew members who are restless after the death of their members and waning trust. You could have the castle staff who are sick of Penelope holding out hope he’s alive. Keeping the suitors around as guests when she could pick one and move on with it. All the toll that would take on them having to serve so many rowdy guests and the financial costs they’d be facing.

The financial aspect to how Ithaca is fairing would be such a point of stress as is. Because they’re just coming off of a 10 year long war which takes so much in terms of supplies and weaponry. And any treasure that was looted in the sacking of Troy would be lost on those ships. On top of keeping all of these suitors fed and housed within the palace.

You could understand why people would be going “By the gods, woman, just move on so we can get on with our lives!”

(Credit to person on epic discord server)

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer

Never really know who you can trust

Now they wanna get the door open so they can get closer

Sometimes violence is a must

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Diluc Ragnvindr's significant other.

Imagine being left with nothing but a letter letting you know about his departure as he suddenly left the Mondstadt City one day.

Imagine the pain of longing, change, adjustment of the things that was once there was now gone and missing.

Imagine being the one to be in charge of the things your lover has left behind, having no reason to refuse, hoping this was one of the few things you could do while your lover, the one was now the head of the household was gone of to somewhere you do not know.

Imagine as years went by, the more you grew accustomed to the works around the winery and business. Once in awhile, Adelinde would receive a letter coming from your lover, it was nothing but a note that says he's alive and well. Doesn't really ease the pain and longing you felt for him.

Imagine one night after a very eventful day at the tavern, having a talk with Kaeya and Sister Rosaria the night before, having the two encouraging you to drink your fill for the night, but you didn't. You had too much more waiting for you at home waiting to be done.

Imagine the going to sleep and waking up with the sound of your name being called, a very familiar yet unfamiliar voice calling. You did not mind it at all, just groaning and shifting, wanting to sleep more. Then you heard a chuckle, the feeling of someone stroking your hair, making you snooze into sleep.

"I had a really good sleep today." You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you navigate your way downstairs from the manor, all on your nightgown and when you finally reached the end of the stairs, you stopped.

Imagine the way your (eye color) iris widen upon seeing your lover, unlike the way he was before, his hair has grown, he looked buff and mature as ever, if it wasn't for his hair you wouldn't have recognized him. He was talking to the butler and maids at the moment, then his eyes fell upon you.

Imagine the way words were stuck on your throat, the feeling of wanting to say something but can't really do so. You just stood their, both of you staring at each other. Then he looked away, continuing the conversation between him and the staffs of the manor. For the first time, you felt the distance of time between the two of you.

Imagine the dinner with the two of you that night, the silence slowly eating away your appetite as you silently glance at your lover across the dining table. It was suffocating. The silence between the two of you were just.. Awkward. Not like those years were everything seems alright and joyful. This atmosphere makes you want to cry but you try to relax, clearing your throat as you set down your utensils.

"So.. uhmm.. How was your journey.. Lu- Diluc?" You called him out like you did before but it doesn't feel just right. The distance between the two of you seems further right now to call him out like that.

Imagine the way he too puts down his utensils, picking up the cloth and bring it close to his lips to wipe it. Then he stood gently stood up, at the same time you felt your heart dropped. "Why don't we take a rest for the night? (First name)" "Huh? Ah. Right.. Yes.. Let's do that, you must be tired after all."

Imagine the uneasiness building up inside you as days have gone by as the distance between you and you lover had had grown bigger. You knew he wasn't the same as he was before, he was rather aloof than the person he was before, even the way he started treating others had change. That being said you really aren't sure on what to feel knowing he hasn't just changed on you but to everyone around him.

Imagine as you cried silently, or at least what you thought. Diluc as just listening outside, one hand holding the doorknob, the other holding a tray of your favorite beverage that will help you sleep at night, but then he stopped, at your door step he stopped upon hearing your painful cries. Knowing he could be the cost of it, he took a deep breath.

Imagine his mind going back in his near death encounter. The moment he was about to lost his consciousness, the flash of your face was the first thing that came into mind. Until the very end, you were the first and last person who came into as everything went black, your were the name he called out.

Imagine upon waking up in fatal injuries and bandage, you were the first person once again who came in his mind. The thought of not being with you as he took his last breath seems to hunt him. For the first time in years of seeking revenge and wandering around. He thought that it was finally time to come back home, to come back to you.

Imagine upon coming home, the first thing or person he seeked for was you, he had been receiving letter for Adelinde for years about you after all. Going inside your room the first thing he saw was your sleeping figure on the bed.

Imagine the feeling of relief and longing as he gently and silently made his way towards you. Unconsciously calling out your name, he stroke your (hair color) hair, a chuckle leaving his lips upon seeing you stirring on your sleep. And then he pull out his hand.

Imagine for a moment he stare at his hand, the image of it so bloody came into mind, making him unconsciously step back, looking at your hair only to find no traces of blood in it, just you peacefully sleeping still.

Imagine as he stood there in bedroom door. All those memories came into mind. Once again he snapped back into reality upon hearing your cries. The hand that was holding the doorknob slowly tighten his hold as his heart throb in pain. Soon enough, he walked away.

"Where are you going?" "Huh? Uhmm. I'll be staying in the city for awhile.." "Why?" He looked confused when he asked that you almost take back what you just said, but then you took a deep breath.

"Uhmm. You're uncomfortable being with me right now, right? To be honest.. Uhm.. Luc.. Diluc you've barely interact with me ever since you came back. I know somethings have changed, not only you but me too of course, we're not the same person as we were years ago when we were eighteen but I.. I tried okay? I know I'm not the best but we can't stay like this Diluc.. I want to get to know you more.. this version of the new you ever since you came back.. but everytime I made a move you just ignore nor try to change the subject. In order for this relationship to continue we just both make a move. I think.. I think we should take a break, Diluc." You spoke, brushing off the tears that went down your cheeks by the end of your words.

Imagine the look on his face upon hearing your words, the way you can't seem to face him as you wipe of the tears on your cheek. His heart painfully throbbing on his chest upon realizing how much he have been hurting you all this time ever since he came back.

Imagine turning your back at him, bag already in hand as you were about to take a step forward. But then a strong pair of arms warp itself around your waist and shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said and so you cried.

"I'm sorry for making you feel unease, I never meant to hurt you." He added, keeping you still in his arms. "I.. I was never the same guy as I was back then years ago, I admit. I.. I have do somethings when I was out on a journey. I got blood on my hand now, my love." "I thought I was taking things slow, turns out I was just hurting you. I'm so sorry, I really am. But believe me my love. My feelings for you were still the same, in fact much even stronger than it was before, you're my only home now my love." His hold on your tighten.

Imagine, wiggling out of his embrace that almost breaks his heart, almost fearing you may not accept nor forgive him when you end up facing him and hugging him back, bags no longer in hand as you cried in his chest. For the first time ever since he came back, he felt like the man you loved.

Imagine as the two of you hugged in silence as he let you calm down crying in his arms. Running his hand up and down your back, his chin resting on your head as he once in awhile would kiss the crown of your head. Damn he missed this. And then he heard you sniff, gently pulling away from him as you look up to him. You look cute with fluffy red eyes and red nose to him, making him smile, making you smile.

"Stay?" "Only if you stop ignoring me." You pout, making him lean down to steal you a kiss. "I love you." "I love you too, Luc"

He loves it when you call him like that.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2022°

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count: 5616

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, go to the story's masterlist

18. A Settling In

This Chapter: “Give me time, Beta. One way or another, I’m going to change the way you see things, I promise. I’m going to show you just what you are to me.”

Returning to New York is a relief. Ever since being thrown into this marriage with Steve, the two of them have been constantly traveling, first overseas and then back again. Being back on the familiar streets of New York City feels to Bucky like the first time he’s had his feet on solid ground since the cruise liner departed for England nearly a month ago. Finally, he might be able to gain his bearings. Or at least begin to.

“This is it,” Steve says, while he’s got a hand at the small of Bucky’s back and is guiding him up the front steps of the brownstone. “Home sweet home.” There’s an air of eagerness to him, as if he’s anxious for Bucky to approve of the place they’ll be living together.

Bucky lets himself be led inside, too busy taking it all in to bother saying anything about being led around like some dimwit housewife. The house’s air is a warm relief as they enter the front foyer with Sharon and Pietro at their backs, the latter shutting out the fall weather and the former setting down only some of their considerable amount of luggage. The rest will have to be brought in from the car in subsequent trips.

Steve thanks the butler who appears to take their jackets, and Bucky mutters a quiet thanks as well. He glances to Steve, looking for direction. There are more than a few other servants gathered down the hall, back by the kitchen. Bucky catches sight of a couple of them peeking around the door. He feels a blush creep up his neck at the obvious way they’re all staring at him, some even whispering excitedly. “Steve?” he asks.

“I’ll get them sorted,” Steve says, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you look around, huh? Get comfortable. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Bucky watches him go. A man like Steve will of course have a Household staff of no less than a dozen. He watches Steve’s back disappear into the kitchen, the uniforms of the servants moving out of sight as the few that were peeking out at Bucky go back to assemble for Steve’s instructions. Someone unseen swings the kitchen door closed from the other side. Bucky turns away, heading for the main parlor.

Left to explore on his own, he pokes around the first floor, learning the house like a new acquaintance. Dark wood, fine carpets, hearths in every room. The fires aren’t lit, but he can see how this place has the potential for warmth. This is likely where they’re going to live for the rest of their marriage, Bucky realizes. Egging Steve into a divorce seems less and less a realistic possibility these days, and the more Bucky tours the house and realizes what a home it really is—and how much more it could be, if he lets Steve make a life with him here—the more he starts to imagine himself maybe finding some sort of … contentment, in that life.

On the second level of the house, the master bedroom and two additional spousal bedrooms are all immaculately furnished, but Steve’s bed is the only one that’s been made up, the other two mattresses left naked. Bucky wonders if Steve left that direction for the servants. Does his husband expect them to sleep together every night?

The thought makes Bucky feel warm despite himself. Most spouses of Society use separate bedrooms. Sharing a room is really something more common among, well, commoners. Or love matches.

Steve had said he loved him the other night. Twice.

Biting his lip, Bucky trails up the stairs to the third floor, finding guest quarters and what he knows would most likely be utilized as a nursery, once such a space was needed. Not ready to think about a house full of children, he closes the nursery door and bypasses the chance to examine the servants’ quarters on the attic level. He goes back downstairs and finds Steve in the kitchen, the staff having just been dismissed. Jarvis affords a polite greeting as he passes, and Bucky is glad to see a familiar face. “Hi, Jarvis,” he says.

“Sir.” Somehow, the driver seems to smile without really moving his mouth much. “Off to park the car.”

Steve turns to Bucky once they’re alone. “So? What do you think of the place?”

“I can see why it’s your favorite residence,” Bucky says. He looks about the kitchen. Even this room is nice. Finely appointed, but still homey. The kitchen is arranged around a long central work table, with a thick wooden top that looks like it’s been in such service for a century. The house’s original cooking hearth is still there, side by side with the modern ovens. Windows above the sinks let in light from the street level, and somewhere along the line, someone has painted the icebox blue. “I like it,” Bucky says. “It’s very comfortable and homey. Not at all like your parents’—” he cuts himself off, realizing his mistake. “Oh—I mean…”

Steve chuckles. “It’s okay, you can say it: It’s not at all like my parents’ stuffy mansion, hm?”

Bucky nods, remembering the silk wallpaper and hard-stuffed settees from the small wedding reception Steve’s fathers had hosted; how the marble floors had gleamed and the crystal chandeliers had been without a speck of dust. “That’s not to say that their Household isn’t beautiful. It is,” he hedges, not wanting to insult Steve’s childhood home. Lord knows he’s probably attached to the place. But Steve only smiles at him.

“It’s a display of our status, I know. The requisite main residence with all the appropriate finishings.” He sighs and steps closer to Bucky, holding him at the waist and pecking a kiss to his forehead. “But certainly not my style. I bought this house after the war.”

“When you were still single?” Bucky asks. “That’s not a very common thing to do, buy a great big house when it’s just you.” 

He watches as something tightens in Steve’s expression. The alpha nods. “Yes, I know. Coming home was … hard. I just wanted to go back to normal life. Family life held more appeal than ever.” He twists his lips. “But then my mother died.”

“Oh.”

“So I figured I should take steps toward forming my own Household. I threw myself into searching for a property, curated a staff, started paying closer attention to the families of Society and their … inquiries.”

‘Inquiries’, Bucky knows, is Steve’s polite way of referencing other people’s romantic pursuits. “You had many?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant instead of jealous or overly interested.

Steve’s faint smile shows that he sees right through him. “Yes. I’m sure my parents had been fielding requests since before I even came of age.”

“I’m sure.” Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes. Logically, he’s always known that Steve was one of the nation’s most eligible bachelors. Before their marriage, he would’ve undoubtedly gotten dozens upon dozens of young men and women scrambling to secure a courtship with him. He’dve had his pick of some of the most beautiful, wealthy, and influential betas and omegas in American Society, plus standouts from the bourgeoisie and the elected, and perhaps even European nobility. All of them clamoring to make themselves the most attractive match for Captain Lord Steven Grant of House Rogers, Senator of New York. 

All that choice, and look what he’s settled for. Bucky can’t understand it. “So what made you pick me, then?” he asks, eyes diverted to somewhere down around the level of Steve’s tie. “My mother’s letters couldn’t have held more persuasion than the next person’s?”

Steve hooks a finger under his chin and uses it to tip his face up. He eyes Bucky kindly, if somewhat patronizingly. “Your situation was unique,” he says.

“Ah, yes.” Bucky purses his lips. “Our ‘situation’. You felt sorry for me.”

“Yes, but I certainly wouldn’t have married you just for that,” Steve says, surprising Bucky. He looks pleased with himself when Bucky gapes. “What?” he says. “Did you think you were merely a charity case?”

“Well then what else?” Bucky blurts. “I mean marrying me was the farthest thing from a shrewd political move, and my looks haven’t exactly stood the test of time.”

He regrets it as soon as the words are past his lips, because Steve’s entire countenance darkens. He presses even closer to Bucky, crowding him against the kitchen’s countertop. “Hey. I told you I don’t like to hear talk like that,” he scolds, tone displeased and hands firm on Bucky’s body.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “Sure.”

“I mean it Buck. Look at me.” Steve waits until he has Bucky’s attention before he continues. “It hurts me. A lot.”

“What? The truth?” Bucky’s pushing it, he knows he is. But he can’t help himself from turning up a defiant chin at Steve. “It is.”

“Not to me it isn’t. And you know I hate hearing you talk about yourself that way. Your body is scarred. That doesn’t make you ugly.”

“I’m crippled,” Bucky sneers. “It is ugly.”

Steve’s hand appears at his face, lightning fast, gripping his jaw. “You’re not to talk about yourself this way,” he says, voice full of authority, a Headship’s voice. “And since you can’t seem to heed my requests on the matter, I’m making it a new rule in our marriage.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I—”

“You will not talk disparagingly about your arm, or your scars, or your abilities. Understand?”

Steve is so stern and adamant, it's out of character for him. Bucky frowns, taken aback. “I can if I want to.”

But Steve shakes his head. “No. It’s an order, Bucky. From your Alpha. Your Headship. If you disobey me, I’ll discipline you.” His eyes are imploring as they search Bucky’s face. “Do you understand?”

Bucky gulps, feeling trapped. “How?”

“What?”

“How will you discipline me?”

Steve releases his face and takes a step back from him, looking as if he’s mulling it over, not having thought this far ahead. Bucky waits, honestly wanting to know. All he can think about is why the heck Steve seems so freakishly invested in his injuries and insisting they aren't as bad as they are. “I suppose it depends on how willful you are,” he finally says. "But for most things, I'd spank you."

Bucky's belly swoops at that, and he can't help but think of that night in the hotel room in Turkey. "With your hand, though," he checks. "Right?"

Steve softens and steps close again. "Yes, Buck. Usually just my hand."

Bucky nods, unwilling to argue about it. He feels oddly mollified by Steve’s threat of punishment, and he wishes that he hadn’t pushed the issue with him. "Kay," he says quietly.

"So you understand the rule?" Steve checks. "No more being disparaging about your injuries."

Bucky winces. “I ... can’t help how I feel about it."

"Bucky,"

"But I’ll try not to talk that way. Around you.”

Steve’s eyes get sad, but he doesn’t admonish him any further. “That’s all I ask,” he says, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Bucky tucks his lips in, shy. “Mhm.”

“Hey,” Steve thumbs his nose playfully. “You gonna be mad at me now?”

“No.”

“Good.” Outside on the street, a passing car horn blares loudly, and then several other horns sound, followed by colorful shouting. Steve’s eyebrows rise and Bucky snorts. The thin-paned windows over the kitchen sink face the city street. “Brooklyn,” Steve says. “Gotta love it.”

“How do your fathers feel about it?”

“Oh they were proud to see me starting off on my own. Sad to have me go, but that’s normal enough. I think my mother might have objected to the neighborhood and lack of grandeur, but she’d passed by then so …” he shrugs. “This is home.”

Bucky hums, thinking about that. He’s reminded all over again how young Steve was when he assumed the full responsibility of his position. “Well,” he says. “I do like it.”

“That’s good.” Steve kisses his hair, looking pleased. “I want you to be happy here. This is your house too, now.”

“Mm.” Bucky knows that’s not really true. Everything is Steve’s under the law. Even Bucky himself is now property of House Rogers. But he’s in a good enough mood to ignore that reality and tease Steve, “Does that mean I get to decorate however I want?”

"Oh dear. What are you planning for my house?" The corners of Steve’s eyes crinkle in that attractive way that forebodes future wrinkles. “Of course, Buck. However you like. I trust you."

"You do?"

He smiles. "Sure. You’re the Lady of the manor, as it were, until further notice.” Bucky scowls and pinches him, though they both know Steve only said it to push his buttons. “I’ve hardly spent time here at all since assuming the seat. It’ll be nice to settle in together.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Steve pecks a kiss to his forehead and steps away. “Don’t be grumpy at me now. You know I was just teasing. You’re Lord of the manor, same as me. We’ll leave all the frip and frill to whatever poor dame winds up getting stuck with us, yeah?” Bucky watches as Steve leaves the kitchen nonchalantly, calling back from out in the hall, “I’m going upstairs to put my clothes away. I’m too picky to let the servants do it.”

Bucky knows that’s an invitation for him to come up and do the same with his own belongings, but he lingers in the kitchen for a few moments longer, running Steve’s words through his head.

‘Dame,’ Steve had said. It isn’t the slang that’s caught Bucky’s attention. He’s just now realizing that Steve has never really expressed a preference for their future omega in any fashion, let alone one for what sex they might be.

Bucky pushes off the counter and sets off to follow after Steve—since in all honesty, he’d like to be the one to unpack his personal things as well. He enters the master bedroom and finds Steve taking hats out of their hat boxes and tucking them away. He brightens when he sees Bucky. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bucky goes over to start on his own things, but pauses, unable to keep from asking, “So, when you picture us with our Third …” He waits. Steve glances up in surprise. “Do you imagine a woman?” Bucky asks. “Or a man?”

Steve sets down the next hat he’d picked up, coming around to the same side of the bed as Bucky. He’s watching him carefully. “I’ve … avoided talking about this with you,” he says. “I didn’t think it was something you cared to think about right now.”

Bucky averts his eyes, embarrassed because Steve is right: he’s been incredibly hostile, if not downright immature, about the topic of bringing a third into their marriage. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not that I think it’s bad. I mean, everybody wants a complete marriage.”

Steve sighs. He pushes Bucky’s suitcase aside on the bed and sits down, reaching to pull Bucky forward by both wrists. Bucky steps into the vee of his legs, staring down at the tops of his thighs, rather than meet his gaze. “But you didn’t want this marriage at all,” Steve says, voicing what Bucky has told him in the past. Oddly, Bucky can barely bring himself to nod at Steve’s words. “Are your feelings changing at all, now?” Steve asks. His thumbs stroke gently over the backs of Bucky’s hands. “Hm?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says softly. “A little.”

Steve makes a noise of understanding. “And now here we are talking about our Third? About complete marriages?” He chuckles. “You move fast, husband.”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, peevish. “Just asking your preference,” he mutters. “No harm in that.”

The teasing slips from Steve’s eyes. “No,” he agrees. “No harm in that.” He pulls Bucky even closer, holding him by the middle and running his hands absently over the silk backing of his waistcoat. “Tell me then,” he says. “What did you imagine for yourself, when you were a little boy?”

Bucky falters. “W-what?”

Steve grins teasingly again, and damn him, but it’s a good look on him. “Come on, you know: when you were very small. Before you matured and let the world make you into such an ornery, uncrackable nut.” He knocks painlessly at Bucky’s temple, eliciting another scowl. “Did you play with dolls?”

“Dolls are for omegas.” It’s a statement, not a denial. Bucky grew up with three omega sisters and was often roped into their games. Steve has probably figured as much.

“What did you imagine?” he presses, not to be put off. He leans in and kisses Bucky’s cheek placatingly, one side and then the other. “Come on, tell me.” He kisses his temple, the spot just in front of his ear. “Were there two boy dolls in your triads, hm? Or were there three?” He kisses the other side of Bucky’s face, and Bucky, just because he’s getting so flustered from Steve’s light touches and even lighter words, throws out a breathy,

“What if I said there were two girl dolls? Huh?”

Steve sits back, eyebrow raised. “Well? Were there?”

The insinuation is, of course, that Bucky could’ve grown up imagining himself with a female omega and a female alpha. But he folds quickly under Steve’s attention, shaking his head and admitting, “No. I … I usually imagined three boy dolls, I guess.”

Steve hums. “Is that what you’d prefer, then? A young man joining our marriage one day?”

Bucky shrugs. “I dunno.”

“I’m not pressuring you Bucky. Just asking.”

“I know.” Bucky huffs, embarrassed at himself. He’s the one who brought this up, after all. He forces himself to meet Steve’s eyes once again. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you prefer?” Bucky knows that as Headship to their marriage, Steve will be the one to get the final say on who they bring in as their Third.

“I like both,” Steve says. “Though I suppose my imagination tends towards men, since I grew up with my father in that role.”

Bucky nods, remembering Steve’s more outgoing omega father, how kind and welcoming he’d been at their wedding reception. “I see.” He thinks back to that day on the ship when he caught Steve looking at a young omega man over breakfast. He’d been jealous at the time, but now he tries to imagine the omega here with them, a part of their marriage. He imagines Steve giving him his attention, imagines the three of them in bed together. He feels his face heat as he thinks of what it would be like, to get his chance with the omega.

“Buck?” Steve is smiling a little at him. “You like the idea?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admits. “But I also …” he trails off.

“What?” Steve pulls him closer. Bucky’s knees hit the bed and he has the urge to climb up on Steve’s lap. “Tell me,” Steve says. “But you also what?”

Bucky sighs and figures, why not just be honest? It isn’t like he hasn’t told Steve too much already. “I dunno. I guess maybe it makes me a little jealous, too.” He peeks at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh, Honey. No, it’s not.” Steve does pull him up on the bed, then, scooting back and pulling Bucky along with him until they’re both laid out on their sides facing each other. He holds Bucky close by the lower back, one leg hooking over his. “Why should you be jealous, huh?”

“I … it’s stupid, but I think about you having an omega and how maybe then … maybe then you wouldn’t want me or … or at least not need me as much.” Bucky pushes his face into the covers, trying to escape Steve’s scrutiny.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says solemnly. “You’re right.”

Bucky tenses up.

“That is stupid.” Steve’s fingers dig in harder at his sides, pulling him against his body. He slots a leg forward; firm, thick thigh muscle pressing against Bucky’s crotch possessively. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he Voices, no nonsense. “Stop avoiding me.”

Bucky opens his eyes, not having realized  that he’d shut them in the first place. Steve looks … determined. “M’sorry,” Bucky mumbles.

“Stop saying that,” Steve commands. “Bucky, I want to know where on earth you got these ideas put in your head that Betas are somehow inferior, or unimportant.”

Bucky squirms. “I dunno.”

“I mean your parents are an Alpha–Beta pair. They never took a third and they’ve had a long marriage, so what gives?”

Bucky frowns. “My father never stopped looking. I think he and my mother courted several engagements, but nothing ever came of them.”

“I see.”

“My father …” He hesitates. “Well he um, he kept other Households.” Bucky sees how Steve’s face sets to stone in understanding. He remembers how Steve had once told him over a heated game of chess, that he wasn’t the sort to take lovers on the side. “All with omegas,” he admits quietly. “Outside of Society, but even still. It was like once he found them, he didn’t want my mother anymore. They weren’t the same.”

“How old were you when this was going on?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Thirteen maybe? Or at least, that’s when I was old enough to notice.”

Steve sighs. He looks disappointed. “So right when you were hitting puberty then.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Bucky.” Steve looks at him meaningfully. “Right when you were maturing as a Beta? What kind of message do you think that sent you?” Bucky’s lips part, but he doesn’t answer. He’s never thought of this before, but Steve’s words make sense. Steve must see him mulling it over, because he huffs and turns them, rolling over top of Bucky and looking down at him from the new position. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But you’re wrong. Your feelings about what it means to be Beta are all wrong.” He kisses him once, softly, then pulls back. “I want to show you that. I … I need to show you that.”

Bucky feels his chest squeeze a little tighter at Steve’s earnestness. “How are you gonna do that?” he asks.

Steve lowers down to rest their foreheads together, sighing. On either side of Bucky, he finds his hands and twines their fingers together. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m going to.” He kisses him again, this time longer and deeper, a kiss with real intent. He doesn’t pull back until Bucky parts for him on a sigh. He skims their lips together, the barest touch, his breath warm against Bucky’s skin. “Give me time, Beta. One way or another, I’m going to change the way you see things, I promise. I’m going to show you just what you are to me.”

They christen their marriage bed that afternoon, and in Bucky’s opinion it’s a very good start.

Over the course of the next few weeks, life settles into a sort of normalcy. Steve is out and about the city for work most days, and Bucky is kept busy by the servants—namely Sharon, who is the housekeeper. She presents Bucky with a list of duties that, as Steve’s only spouse, now fall on him. There’s far more to do than Bucky would have expected, and plenty to keep his mind off of any real desire to leave the house himself. At least for a little while.

Steve’s brownstone is a fine, handsome house, but it hasn’t been furnished properly. Too many corners and drawers have been neglected and left empty. Bucky’s first task, Sharon informs him, is to select the silver and china that the Household will use. The expense is daunting, but once he brings it up to Steve on their third night in bed and the alpha laughs and gives him permission to buy whatever he finds suitable for their home, Bucky feels better about it.

Houses of Society need personalized stationery, Sharon says, so Bucky orders some. He approves menus from the head Household cook (Steve has four kitchen staff, imagine!). He touches base with the gardener and is told to think about what he might want planted in the back garden and the front platers in the spring. Furniture must be bought, and Bucky has a rushed education on all the sorts of tables there are—console and high tables, coffee and end, sofa and side, card, dining, banquet, bedside, occasional, atrium. Too many types.

One room in the house that is already furnished to completion is the house’s second drawing room. It’s smaller than the main one, tucked away in a less trafficked part of the house. Bucky can tell by the cramped, comfortable layout of the room that it is probably intended only for family use, not for receiving guests. He likes it instantly. There are no windows, making it feel even more like a private hideaway. There’s a silver parlor stove instead of a hearth, and a spinet piano tucked into one corner.

Bucky’s attention is drawn to the piano despite himself, the urge to play coming unbidden. It’s only an upright piano, nothing like the grand instrument Bucky used to practice on back home. He hasn’t sat at one in years …

Quickly glancing back at the room’s door, he thinks about how Steve is out of the house. And Sharon was the only domestic home earlier, but Bucky remembers she said she was leaving for the day. So he’s alone. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try, would it?

Scoffing at his own hesitance, he makes up his mind and strides over to the bench, seating himself and folding up the fall to reveal the keys. Bucky traces his hands over them, eyes the fingers of his right hand, and then his left. Relaxed like this, he can hardly see a difference. But he knows that if he tries to play, the fingers of his left hand won’t work properly. He frowns, tries to squeeze and flex that hand. It’s infuriating to watch the weak display, and he grunts in frustration. Suddenly, he feels very silly for sitting down at the piano. He dares to slide his fingers over the keys; not pressing, just ghosting over the tops. He imagines the opening notes to a song…

“I didn’t know you played.”

Bucky’s hands press down jarringly on the keys. He whips to the side in alarm at Steve’s voice, his heart lurching more than it should. “Shit,” he hisses.

Steve is wincing from the harsh clang of the keyboard. “Sorry,” he apologizes. "I didn't mean to startle you."

“It’s fine.” Bucky hurries to slide the fall back out to cover up the keys.

“Hey, no. Wait.” Steve is smiling, coming over and sitting on the bench next to Bucky. “My mother made me take lessons for a few years in primary school,” he says. He catches Bucky’s eye, wryness evident, and Bucky can't help but to guess,

“Didn’t like it?”

“Suffice it to say I wasn’t exactly a savant.”

“Mm.”

“How about you?” Steve asks. He uses one of the tiny knobs to lift the fall again. “Any good?”

Bucky grinds his teeth. “I was.”

“Play something for me.”

“I said I was. It’s been a long time.”

Steve chuckles quietly, scooting closer and pressing a kiss to Bucky’s neck. He seems oblivious to his mood. “Come on, it’s just me. Let me hear you play something.”

Bucky shrugs him off with an annoyed twitch. “No. I don’t play anymore. Not since the accident.” He can practically feel the change in his husband, at the admission and as Steve realizes that this isn’t simple bashfulness on his part. Bucky avoids his eyes as he says, “With my hand the way it is, my fingers ... I just can’t.”

“Oh. I see.” For a long moment Steve says nothing. “But have you tried?”

Bucky blows air through his teeth. “Of course I have. What? Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“Buck, come on.” 

Steve sounds hurt, and it makes Bucky feel bad despite himself. He shouldn’t be snapping at Steve when all the alpha is trying to do is help. “Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to get up from the bench. “Don’t know why I sat down here in the first place.”

“Wait.” Steve grabs him by the forearm, keeping him from getting up. “If you won’t play, I will.”

“What?”

Steve grins. “I’ll play something for you.” He shifts to the side, forcing Bucky to scoot down the bench several inches as he centers himself and orients his fingers to the keys.

Bucky scowls. “I thought you said you were crap?”

“Oh, I am.” Steve laughs, pressing out a hesitant chord. “But maybe you could teach me to be better, hm?” He moves his fingers, the next notes incorrectly placed.

Bucky winces and moves to stand up. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Hm, well I guess I’ll just have to grace you with my musical stylings until you change your mind," Steve says airily, moving into another indecent chord, and then a string of jarring notes.

Bucky thinks he halfway recognizes the child’s piece that Steve is attempting to produce. But it is so bad. Blushing, and more than a little consternated, he actually does shove up from the bench then. “I told you: my gimp hand can’t play,” he snaps, mad at Steve for pushing the point. “Hire a tutor if you want to learn.”

“Oh no,” Steve drawls, continuing on in his playing. “I think I’ve got it now. It’s coming back to me.”

Bucky scowls at his back, unable to keep from wincing every time Steve bangs out a too-strong chord, the keys tangling in wrong notes and out of time combinations. Jesus, it’s bad. Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides, his inner musician wanting to stop Steve from the abuse he’s inflicting on the poor instrument. Ugh.

“Oh, here we go, here we go,” Steve says excitedly. “You know, I think I actually remember some of the words to this one.” He opens his mouth to start singing almost as badly as he’s playing, and that’s when Bucky cracks.

“Wait, wait, stop! Just … stop. Stoppit.” He hurries back to Steve, physically removing his hands from the keys.

Steve looks up at him with twinkling eyes, damn him. “What?” he grins. “I was just getting the hang of it.”

“Someone’s going to call the police, you keep playing like that.”

“Sit down and teach me, then.” 

Even though he's obviously laughing about the situation, there’s still something so earnest in the way he asks for it, that Bucky finds himself giving in. “I hate you, you know that?”

Steve hums happily and repositions his hands over the keys, waiting. Bucky sighs loudly again and stands just behind and to the side of him, bending and placing his hands atop Steve’s own. This close, he can feel the warmth of Steve’s cheek near his, can smell the cologne that hasn’t yet faded from his skin. Resisting the urge to press his face closer, he focuses on readjusting the way Steve’s wrists are poised. “Hold ‘em like this,” he says, watching as Steve follows along. “Yeah, like that. You can’t play right if you don’t even know the basics of posture."

Steve turns his head just the tiniest bit, and Bucky knows he’s being side eyed. “I’ll bet you were a good student, huh? Bet you never got your knuckles rapped as much as I did.”

Bucky snorts, and Steve bumps their heads together, ending it by turning and pecking him on the cheek. The gesture is stupidly sweet and really shouldn’t make Bucky heat up as much as it does. “I—I really can’t, anymore,” he stutters. “I have tried, in the past. But the nerve damage is just ..." he cuts himself off with a sigh. "How can I teach you to play when I can’t even—”

“Come on,” Steve interrupts. “We can help each other, can’t we? Practice together?"

"It's a nice idea Steve, but I—”

"I want you to show me, Buck. Please. I want to learn this from you. … I want to learn this about you.”

It catches Bucky off guard, that last. He wants to shake his head, pull away, stammer excuses about how this isn’t him anymore, he can’t play. But something about Steve’s presence beside him, large and calm and honest, so obviously trying to forge a connection that Bucky just doesn’t understand, makes him unable to say no. So instead he huffs out a breath and forms his fingers more resolutely over Steve’s. “Alright,” he gripes. “If for nothing else than to spare the servants’ ears.”

“I want to learn Christmas carols for the holidays,” Steve proclaims cheerfully. 

Bucky groans. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

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[boldlyvoid]

1 with Steve on the obscure friends to lovers list

1) We’re having a movie night, just like we’ve always done. Your thigh is touching mine, and my thoughts won’t stop wandering. 

Warnings: friends to lovers, flirting, first kisses, love confessions

word count: 1.4k

“Movie night?” Robin knows all too well when Steve starts ringing out movies for himself at the end of the shift. 

He nods, “it is Thursday after all.” 

“What do you have this week?” She takes his pile off the desk and flicks through them. “rom-coms… these two have sex scenes in them and this is friends to lovers. Stephen Harrington, what are you insinuating here?” 

He blushes a deep red. “What?” 

“I mean, I know you’re madly in love with her, but I didn’t think you were a man of subtlety?” She teases. “Just tell her…” 

“I’m still trying to tell if she even likes me,” he admits. “That’s why I picked these… with what she’s been doing lately I think it could spark a conversation or something.” 

“What’s she been doing?” Robin leans in, loving the gossip that she got from his insane crush on his childhood friend. 

“She has a shower before I come over and she shaves her legs and wears shorts and she’s always like ‘feel how smooth I am’ and she sits so close to me so our legs touch and— and I like to rub her leg cause they are so soft and she doesn’t mind,” he explains. 

“She’s trying to get you to fuck her you idiot,” she laughs. “Oh my god, the smooth leg trick is the oldest in the book. It’s almost as old as you pretending not to be interested in her to drive her crazy. Just kiss her already.” 

“I thought so but I didn’t want to assume,” he panics. “God, the worst fucking thing I could do is be a whore with my best friend and lose her forever.” 

She clears her throat, “um, what am I?” 

“Will you accept sister?” 

She pretends to sigh, “I guess… but I better be best man at the wedding.” 

“If you lock up tonight you can be?” He raises a brow in the hopes she’ll take him up on it. 

“Only cause Nancy’s driving me home,” she agrees. “Go be with your girl, I want all the details tomorrow!” 

“You got it!” He grabs his VHS cases and hops over the counter on his way to the staff room for his coat and keys. “I’ll see you later!” 

He hears her call back something about wrapping it before he taps it but ignores her, he throws the tapes into his passenger seat and takes off quickly. 

He arrives just a few minutes early, which is fine. He doesn’t need to knock, he just kicks his shoes off and says hello to her parents in the living room like he did every week. They loved seeing him, hell, they’ve watched him grow up and he was now an honorary member of their household. Before he heads down to her room, he knocks on the basement door and calls down to insure she was decent. 

“You can come down!” She calls back. 

She has one leg hiked up on the bed as she rubs cream into her skin, her hair in a towel and a huge baggy shirt draped over her. “Hey, you’re early?” 

“Robin closed for me,” he tries to say even though he feels like he’s out of breath. “You smell good?” 

“Thanks,” she smiles, reaching out her hands so he can smell her new cream. “I got it at bath and body works the other day, you like it?” 

He loves it, “it smells so fresh and homey.” And very you.

“Thanks,” she looks so happy with her choice. “Whatcha got there?” 

“Our choices for tonight,” he holds up the movies. “You get the snacks?” 

She nods, “Of course, and I’m here too,” she teases. 

“Noted,” he smirks back, not stonewalling her from his emotions, per Robins advice. “But uh, I’ve got when harry met sally, dirty dancing and can’t buy me love.” 

“Oh my god,” she lights right up. “I think Patrick Dempsey is so cute, we have to watch that one.” 

“Okay,” he feels a little twinge of jealousy but it’s also fun seeing her get flustered by cute men on screen. 

So they get cozy, they open their snacks and cuddle up in her bed with the tiny tv on her dresser playing the tape just loud enough for them to hear over their chewing. 

“You know, he’s so cute and sweet I don’t get why it took her so long to see he’s perfect for her,” she commentates on the movie. “Like, what normal boy would work all summer cutting lawns trying to save up for a telescope and help some girl who’s mean to him most of the time? He’s a sweetheart.” 

“You want me to buy you a suede outfit?” Steve suggests on a leap of faith, “or a telescope, I don’t care.” 

“It’s not about buying something for another person, it’s the fact that he saw she needed someone on her side and helped,” she explains. “It’s a dickhead move to use her to be popular but I understand why he wouldn’t expect anything more from her, she’s never been nice to him.” 

“Was I that bad in high school?” He asks, earnestly. Brushing his leg against hers, she was so much softer than the suede outfit on the screen everyone raves about. “Is that why you won’t tell me if you like me back or not?” 

“Back?” Her eyes grow impossibly large. “Steve… since fucking when?” 

“Always?!”  

She laughs, “no, you’re always with other girls how the fuck was I supposed to clue in that you liked me?” 

“You never said you wanted me so I had to find love somewhere,” he admits. Confusing closeness with love. Using sex for intimacy. He thought about her with every girl and always felt bad. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me?” 

“I’ve been trying since grade 7, Steve!” She finally lets it out. “You’ve had girlfriend after girlfriend our whole friendship, at what point was I supposed to slip in oh by the way I’m in love with you, pick me please?” 

“I’m dumb,” he whispers, reminding her with a stupid smile on his face. “I’m like the biggest idiot, you have to smack me in the head to get something through it, I literally had no fucking clue you liked me, you treat me so differently from the girls I’m with?”

“Cause I love you, they like your reputation,” she explains. “I treat you like Steve and they treat you like a dollar store whore.” 

“Hey, I’m worth at least 5 bucks,” he teases to deflect. “I still wish you told me.” 

“I’ve been trying,” she admits. “You’ve been single longer than normal and I thought maybe if I slipped in some hints that you’d start crushing on me or something, I know it sounds stupid.” 

“No, no, cause it worked. I had no idea you even wanted me to touch you until you started doing the soft leg thing.” 

She smirks and rests her leg over his, “I am soft.” 

He runs his hands from her ankle up to the hem of her shorts, “the softest.” 

“You’re pretty soft too,” she whispers, wrapping her arm under his and resting her head against his shoulder. 

He spends a good 15 minutes feeling her up as she snuggles into his neck, kissing his skin softly as they bask in each other's touch. It’s so innocent and soft, she eventually straddles his hips and wraps herself around him like a koala.  

With her face still in the crook of his neck, he can feel her open her mouth to talk a few times but she keeps losing the battle to herself. He kisses the top of her head and rubs her back, quietly letting her know it’s okay. And then she says it. 

“I love you, Steve.” 

He takes her face in his hands so that he can look into her eyes when he says it, finally.

“I love you, so much.” 

She lunges for his lips, kissing him so deeply the wind is knocked from him once again. Holding each other's faces in place the kiss quickly becomes a hungry make session full of years and years of tension that continues to build inside of them. They weren’t going to be satisfied with just a few kisses and him leaving later… she wanted all of him, and he couldn’t wait to give it to her. 

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[wheels-of-despair]

Worth It | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

{<-Previous} [Are You Still With Me, Ralph?] {Next->}

Summary: Ralph is down with a cold, but his favorite nurse comes to take care of him. Words: 2.6k

It had been drizzling for days.

The kind of drizzle that was just enough to be a nuisance. Not quite fog, not quite rain. An annoying little mist that seemed to change course in mid-air and get your face wet out of spite.

But it would take more than a little unpleasant weather to stop you and Ralph from meeting in the park.

You'd assured your mother that you and your good friend Mary would spend the day in her mansion reading by the fire, or talking about India, or working on needlepoint. This was not weather fit for an outing. She'd suggested a cab, but you'd placated her with a heavy coat, a hat, and an umbrella.

You bundled up and set off to meet "Mary". The canopy of trees over the winding path would provide you with additional shelter on your journey, and your favorite bench was nestled beneath plenty of foliage. You'd stowed an extra blanket under your coat for you and Ralph to sit on - something you wish you'd thought of yesterday - and you both had umbrellas. The body heat would help too, you thought with a smirk.

You reached the path that led to your secret bench at the same time Ralph did. He smiled when he greeted you, but something was off.

His eyes were glassy, and his nose was red. He looked miserable.

"Ralph, you're sick!"

"Do, I'b dot."

"That wasn't a question. What are you doing here? You should be at home, in bed!"

"I bissed you."

"Ralph, it has been one day." He gives you a pleading look.

You gently grab his arm and turn him around. "You are not sitting out in this dreadful weather and getting sicker. You are going home." He protests, but you silence him with a "hush". You shake out your umbrella and close it, hooking it over your arm as you huddle under Ralph's much larger one. You wrap an arm around his waist, and escort him back the way he came.

When you reach his front door, you plan to leave him there, in the care of his household staff. You step inside to make sure he stays put, but it's frightfully quiet.

"Is there anyone else here?"

"Bother's at a retreat. Sister's with a boy."

"Where's your staff?"

"Bictoria got bad and fired eberyone agaid."

You'd never been inside Ralph's house before. Being here alone with him feels odd. You know it's improper, but he clearly needs to be taken care of. He sneezes and clutches his head with a whine, and your decision is made.

You take off your coat and hang it on the rack, then his. You stow your umbrellas and turn to Ralph, who is standing awkwardly like a child awaiting instruction.

"Where's your bedroom?" He walks toward the stairs, dragging his wet feet with every step. You hurry over and slide under the arm that won't be holding the railing, to give him support during his ascent. You'd carry him if you could. He makes a turn at the top of the steps, and leads you into a cozy room with surprisingly simple decor.

He steps toward the bed, but you reach out and stop him. "Warm, dry clothes first," you say gently, turning him in the direction of a dresser. He trudges over, opens a drawer, and pulls out a pair of pajamas.

"Do you want me to leave so you can get changed?" He shakes his head, murmurs "bathroob", and walks out. You turn down the covers on his bed so he can slide right in, then start searching for matches so you can combat the chill in the air with a fire. Ralph returns as the blaze reaches a respectable size, and comes to stand by it for a moment. He's freezing. You face him and rub your hands up and down his cold arms. He rests his head on your shoulder, content to just stand in front of the fireplace with you for as long as you let him.

"Okay, you big baby, let's get you into bed," you say with just an ounce of your usual teasing, guiding him onto the mattress and tucking in the covers around him.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"Ralphie, what are you sorry for?"

"Ruiding today."

"You didn't ruin anything. We'll pick up right where we left off, as soon as you're better."

"Probise?"

"Promise."

"Stay with be?"

"Of course."

This appears to satisfy him, because he stops fighting his heavy eyelids and lets them close. You sit next to him until you hear the downstairs door close, meaning someone else was finally there to look after him.

You scribble a note on a scrap of paper from your purse that reads, "Stay in bed. I'll come to you, usual time. Get well soon!" and sign it with a heart, placing it on his bedside table.

You stop to take one last look at your sleeping fiancé before going downstairs to secure him a night nurse, and can't help but notice how sweet and innocent he looks. You stare for a moment, wanting to memorize every crease in his forehead, then lean over to give it a kiss. You leave him with a whisper:

"I love you, Ralph."

The next day, you came back at the specified time. The butler, a strange old fellow by the name of Langley who'd promised to look after Ralph in the night, tried to send you away. You weren't having it. Ralph was expecting you, you'd informed the weird man who'd apparently missed the you're-fired notice, and he'd be sorry if his master knew you'd been turned away. He relented, and you raced up the stairs without even shedding your coat, before he could change his mind and physically remove you.

You knocked on the bedroom door lightly, heard a moan that you took as an invitation, and stepped into Ralph's own private boiler room. He looked even worse than yesterday.

His hair was plastered down with sweat, and probably the remains of the product he'd put in it the day before. His covers were on the floor, and he was sprawled out on the bed. The pajamas he'd changed into yesterday were soaked.

"Langley!" you yelled out the door, leaving it open. You ripped off your coat, threw it on a chair, and rushed to Ralph's side.

You swept his sticky hair out of his face and he whimpered, looking up at you weakly.

"Yes, miss?" the old man asks from the doorway.

"Why are you not taking care of him?!"

"I tried, miss."

"When's the last time he drank something?"

"I brought him juice this morning, miss." He gestures to an untouched glass by the bed.

"Should we call a doctor?"

"I think not, miss."

You huff, half-expecting steam to come out of your nose.

"And why not?

"I asked him if he'd like to see a physician last night, and the young master told me, and I quote, to 'piss off'."

"Go run him a lukewarm bath."

"Miss?"

"Go run him. A lukewarm bath. Not hot. Not cold. Lukewarm. Now."

"Yes, miss." You glare at his back as he leaves, then turn your attention back to Ralph.

"You poor thing," you coo. His tired eyes meet yours, and you've never seen such a miserable person in all your days. "I need you to sit up for me, love." He whines but does as he's told, letting his feet dangle off the bed. You reach for the glass of juice, and he turns his head away.

"Come on, Ralphie." He scrunches his nose. "Ralph. You need to drink." He gives you a puppy-like look that you wouldn't normally be able to resist, but this is for his own good. You don't budge. Finally, he reaches for the glass and begins to sip. And then gulp. And then he drains it. "Good job, Ralphie," you praise, and he responds with a weak smile as you place the empty glass back on the table. He looks a little more alive already. "Now, let's get this fever down." You reach for his hands, and he lets you pull him out of bed and lead him toward the bathroom.

The big claw-foot tub is half-full by the time you get there, the butler watching it carefully.

"I've got it from here. Why don't you go douse that fire, change Ralph's sheets, and get him something to eat?"

"Miss, is this appropriate?"

"Do I look like I care?"

Ralph is apparently feeling well enough to snicker as Langley exits.

"Liked that, did you?" you tease, beginning to unbutton his top. He watches your fingers work, and soon, you've taken his sweaty shirt off and thrown it aside. You reach for the waistband of his pajama pants, but hesitate. You had not thought this through. You look up at him with a somewhat panicked expression, and he gives you half a smile. He sheds the pants, and steps into the tub wearing just his undershorts. He sighs as he sinks into the water, leaning his back against the cool tub and closing his eyes.

"How does that feel?"

"Good," he mumbles. You kneel by the tub, crossing your arms and placing them on the side, then resting your chin on top. You watch him silently, making sure he doesn't fall asleep and go under.

"Can I have a cloth to wash with?" he asks quietly, jolting you from a daze you hadn't realized you were in.

"Ralph, you just need the cool, you don't need to scrub."

"M'sticky."

Nodding, you get up and head to the big wooden cabinet, picking a small cloth from the top of a pile and bringing it to him. He reaches for the cloth and grabs the soap, perking up immediately.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?" you ask after a moment

"You'd do that?"

"Of course. May I?" He nods, and you roll up your sleeves. "Scoot forward a little, then lean back." He listens, and you hold the back of his head with one hand as you lather up his sweaty hair with the other. He closes his eyes and moans happily.

"I should get sick more often."

"Don't you dare," you warn with a whisper, and he smiles.

"Lean back so I can rinse you?" you ask gently. He complies, trusting you not to dunk him. You get the last of the suds out and help him sit up. He turns to face you, and you reach over to wipe a water droplet from his eyebrow. His very wet hand comes up and traps yours against his face, leaning into it. He definitely feels cooler. He sighs happily, and you feel your heart swell with love for the sweet, soggy boy before you.

So of course, that's when Langley announces that he's changed the sheets and brought a tray of food.

It's nearly time for you to go anyway, so you leave Ralph in the tub with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to return tomorrow.

On the third day of Ralph's plague, you brought a gift.

Langley greeted you at the door, and even offered to take your coat this time. How butler-y of him. You went straight to Ralph's room and knocked, happy to hear him tell you to come in instead of just moaning this time. Today, he's sitting up in bed, looking bored but extremely happy to see you.

"You look better than yesterday," you observe as you sit on the side of the bed, feeling his forehead and determining the fever has broken.

"Are you implying that I looked bad?" Much better, you note, since he's feeling well enough to play.

"Ralph, I found you drowning in a pool of your own sweat. I find that I'm generally attracted to men with more of a dry look." You wink, and he laughs. "Really, how are you feeling?"

"Better. The bath helped. I took another this morning."

"Have you been eating and drinking?"

"Two bowls of soup, three pieces of toast, and four glasses of juice since you left me yesterday."

"That's good! Would you like anything now?"

Ralph shakes his head and reaches for your hand, which you hold gladly.

"What would you like to do today?"

"Go to the park."

"Nice try, Mr. Penbury, but you and I both know you're not well enough for that just yet." He pouts. "I brought you something." He perks up at this, and you extract a leather-bound book from your bag with your free hand.

"It's a treasury of fairy tales. My father used to read it to me when I was sick. I thought maybe I could read to you? Or I could just leave it, and you could flip through it if you get bored."

"Read to me," he says without having to think about it, scooting over and patting the spot next to him. You remove your shoes and crawl onto the bed, settling in beside him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder as you open the book.

"Which story shall we start with?"

"Your favorite."

You smile, turn to a familiar page, and begin telling Ralph the story of Rapunzel.

Ralph quite liked fairy tales.

He liked them even more when you read them to him.

Each time you'd finish a story, you'd ask softly, without changing your tone: "Are you still with me, Ralph?" as if you were trying to catch him sleeping. He wanted desperately to close his eyes and fall asleep to the sound of your voice, but you were only able to spend a few hours with him, and he wouldn't dare sleep your time away. He'd answer, and you'd chuckle, and choose another story.

Ralph hadn't had anyone read him a story since he outgrew the nanny who raised him. It was a curious thing; such an innocent act making him feel so warm and loved and cared for. All you were doing was reading words on a page. But being this close, letting him rest his head on your shoulder, bringing him your personal favorite… it meant the world to him.

"Are you still with me, Ralph?"

"Yes!" he insists, eyes shooting open. You chuckle and twist away from him. He reaches for you, not willing to let you go yet.

"It's time, Ralph." Stupid, stupid Ralph, sleeping away your time together! But you were so warm! And your voice was so soothing!

"Ralph, you slept for about five minutes, please stop beating yourself up over it." He looks at you in shock, and you laugh. "Yes, I can read your mind. Yes, you should be concerned. And very well-behaved," you tease with a wink, causing a light blush to appear on his cheeks.

"It's Friday," you remind him. "I expect you'll be well enough to get out of bed by Monday." He nods, eager to get out of the house again. "I'll see you in the park, then? If you're not there within ten minutes of our usual time, I'll come to you. Don't try going out if you're not feeling up to it. Alright?"

"Alright," Ralph says a little sadly, not wanting you to go.

You lean over and kiss his forehead.

"I'll leave you the book. It got me through a great many sick days. It's good company."

"You're better," he grumbles.

"One day, my love," you say with another kiss to his head, "I'll never have to leave you again."

Ralph couldn't wait.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Ladies Whistledown - chapter twelve

Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 2593

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

Though Eloise’s visit ended, Penelope found continuous delight in their frequent letters. These provided a forum for many of the things they would never write in Whistledown—chiefly, the many annoying speeches and habits of their family members. Recounting their grievances in this manner kept them sane and (mostly) well-behaved as the weather turned cold and colder, putting a limit on the amount of time their mamas would allow them to spend out of doors. Eloise’s letters warmed Penelope’s days at least as much as did the fire she sat by while she read and reread them.

They also exchanged thoughts on Lady Whistledown’s ongoing barrage of sarcasm against Queen Charlotte. Penelope and Eloise buried biting turns of phrase between benign paragraphs of home life, and so constructed, bit by bit, each new issue on Her Majesty’s heir crisis. Penelope had instructed her friend on the great resource of household gossip, and though Eloise’s letters confessed that her efforts to extract information remained clumsy, they had both found their families’ staff only too eager to discuss Queen Charlotte’s large and disobedient family.

They heard the badly-kept secrets of bastard offspring strewn about the countryside, doubts that any legitimate child bred of King George’s line would be of sound health, and whispers of infertility. The wider consensus was that this could only be the daughters’ fault—the women—but maids and cooks told a different story. In her letters, Eloise fumed over the discrepancy, the absurdity that a lack of children would always be the result of a barren womb rather than a… well, whatever the male equivalent of a barren womb was. If the daughters were shamed and blamed for failure to produce neither bastards nor children of any kind, so should be the men! Best of all, Pen and El decided, no one should be blamed. Alas, the Queen demanded an heir.

Far away from palace turmoil, Colin was making his easy way across the continent. Penelope enjoyed his letters as well. They were welcome interruptions from her and Eloise’s business, and from the oppressive nosiness of her mother and sister; they never really cared about what she was doing, but they insisted on sticking their noses in to check on her anyway. Colin’s inquiries were much more pleasant. It was delightful that they were accompanied by descriptions of French farmers and Balearic coastlines. Whenever the real world was looking too brown and grey, Penelope would recall her correspondent’s beautifully captured aquamarine waters and yellow-green vineyards. They were yet another of her escapes.

Of course, Colin did not always speak of there, but also of here. He took particular care to ask after Eloise in his letters to Pen, as he knew his sister was much more faithful in some of her correspondences than others; Pen would have the latest information, while Eloise might get bored enough of her other occupations to finally write back to him after several weeks had gone by. Since Colin was not earnestly injured by Eloise’s neglect, Penelope found her best friend’s habit of selective response greatly amusing. She also found it rather pleasant to be teased about what a favourite she was with Eloise. Though this was hardly news, it interested Penelope to see how they were seen by others, and to confirm that they were just as close, their friendship just as important to one another, as an outside perspective assumed.

Naturally, Colin did not neglect to mention his intended. Marina appeared in his letters less than Eloise, and was treated without jest or flippancy or lightness of any sort. To Penelope, it was as though Colin strove to prove himself a good candidate for her cousin’s keeping. She required no such convincing. Still, he would write of Marina now and then, assuring Penelope that he kept that lady in his thoughts. He even went so far—just once—as to hint at the formal proposal he meant to make Marina, and to express his fond hope that he and Penelope would find themselves cousins thereafter.

Penelope, too, looked forward to the prospect of their families uniting, of Colin becoming a cousin to her as well as a good friend. Though she and the Bridgertons saw plenty of each other, both during the season and outside of it, she supposed the marriage would mean she saw more of Marina and the children too. That would be wonderful, she thought. Already, she was anticipating a large family gathering at Christmas, full of more cheer and genuine warmth than Christmases past.

While Penelope was still doing what her mama would scornfully call “daydreaming,” the present year’s celebrations came suddenly upon them. They attended church often, hosted dinners and were hosted in turn, and the atmosphere in their home was generally less callous and more festive than it was the rest of the year. At midwinter, Lady Danbury threw a grand ball, with a ballroom bedecked in gold and silver and a table of sweets shimmering with sugar cooked to be as glassy and sparkling as the coldest ice. Half-drunk on spiced wine, the Featheringtons, Finches, and Bridgertons met each other on the dance floor, clasping hands and spinning in family circles within the larger whirl of society faces.

Marina was also in attendance, though she remained out of the dancing. She was only three months into her mourning period. Regardless, she was not gloomy or solemn; Penelope watched her greet those who paid attention to her and ignore anyone thoughtless enough to gossip about what her circumstances had been before her marriage and effective break from society. Despite Marina’s seemingly effortless navigation of her return to society and the expectations of widowhood, Penelope worried she might be lonely. She went to her cousin while she caught her breath, warm-cheeked and smiling.

“What is it that occupies your thoughts?” Penelope inquired while they watched the dancers together.

“I was thinking how very short a time it will be before Amanda and Oliver take to the floor themselves.”

Penelope laughed.

“Quite a few years yet.”

“Yes, but they go so swiftly,” Marina said, her voice a curious blend of happy and sad. Abruptly, she turned to give Penelope her full attention. “I have had a letter from Colin.”

She confessed this quietly. Penelope gripped her arm to show her excitement.

“A good many letters, I should think,” she jested.

“He is very attentive. I know he also often writes to you.”

For a moment, Penelope did not know quite how to respond. Neither her correspondence nor her friendship with Colin was secret, but of course it would be different if he were to marry. It would not look right for a married gentleman to devote so much energy to maintaining a friendship with an unmarried young lady. Did Marina wish her to keep herself at more of a distance from Colin? The request would be entirely understandable. Looking at her cousin, wanting her happiness, regretting her actions as Lady Whistledown, Penelope knew she would bear it if it was what Marina asked.

But Marina gave her a teasing nudge and a smile and said, “Do not look so. I am glad of your friendship. I expect your counsel was what gave Colin the courage to visit me again after Sir Phillip’s passing. Am I wrong?”

“You are not,” Penelope admitted bashfully.

“Then I should tell you a part of the letter’s contents, as I know you will share in my joy.”

Penelope searched Marina’s face expectantly and saw genuine happiness there. How long, how very long it had been since last her cousin wore such an expression!

“He has made me an offer of marriage,” Marina said at last.

“Why, that is wonderful! But in a letter?”

They laughed together, and Marina explained, “He claimed he could not wait, though he tried. To be perfectly honest, Pen, I did wonder whether…” She looked down, shaking her head. “With his immediate departure, and so much time spent so far from home… I wondered whether Colin would forget me.”

“Impossible,” Penelope murmured consolingly. Marina glanced up and Pen gave her an encouraging nod. “Colin has cared for you a good long while. He is not the sort to be made inconstant by weeks or months or foreign shores.”

“It is more foreign ladies I feared might turn his head,” Marina corrected with a knowing smile.

“Not your Colin.”

“My Colin,” Marina repeated, clearly delighted. She appeared as young as Penelope had ever seen her. Love had unburdened her, not erasing her former strife, but allowing her a second opportunity to take a once-bypassed road.

“Have you told anyone else?” Penelope wondered.

“No. For the sake of propriety, it is best to wait. Selfishly, I also prefer to make any announcement of our impending marriage with Colin by my side. I dread facing naysayers alone.”

“There cannot be a one.”

“You are sweet to say so, cousin, but perhaps not quite realistic.” Marina squared her shoulders. “Colin loves me, and has told me so, but we have been engaged before. People will talk.”

“Well, your families will think it perfectly excellent.”

“Colin too.”

“Of course?” Penelope was confused.

“Oh,” Marina said with a laugh. “You might be finding out I have accepted his proposal before Colin has. My return letter may not yet have reached him.”

They clutched each other’s hands and laughed, ignoring the judgmental sidelong looks from other guests who passed near their position. A jolly widow, how awful. Nothing soured a pompous gentleman’s evening like the sight of a young woman enjoying herself. Had Eloise not been on the other side of the ballroom speaking with Benedict, Penelope knew she would have made some snide comment under her breath. How ridiculous it seemed to wish someone lesser joy. How affirming that love should arrive in such a surprising way, that it should bring such peace to a troubled heart.

Marina assured Penelope that she was quite content to divide her time in the ballroom between short conversations and thoughts of a happy future, and dismissed Pen to seek her own happiness. The encounter had already made Penelope happier than she usually was at a ball. She would not mind if she was not sought after for many dances, or if Cressida Cowper snubbed her when their eyes met across the drinks table. She had Marina and she had Eloise, rejoining the latter when Eloise waved her over with an eager hand.

"I have found him," Eloise revealed.

"Who, El?"

Penelope was proud to watch Eloise summon all the discretion she had taught her during their eavesdropping lessons. El positioned them close to a small group, subtly tilting her head to indicate their subject of study. Pen vaguely recognized two of the people—a couple whose good behaviour and perfectly regular family kept them out of the gossip sheets—but a third was a complete stranger.

During the season, the young man would have been a strange addition; apart from the odd foreign cousin or reclusive nobleman (like the Duke of Hastings), the members of the ton all knew each other, the same people meeting again and again at every event. However, a midwinter country ball was far from the streets of Mayfair and the competitive spring marriage mart. Guest lists were less strict, and the usual crowd were welcome to bring family connections of less illustrious background who might be visiting over Christmas. The man Eloise had brought to Penelope's attention was likely one of these.

Together, they listened and observed. "Dankworth," as Penelope heard one gentleman address him, was smiling and effusive in his praise of the room, the food, the company in which he found himself. Next to Mayfair manners, Penelope found the man pleasantly earnest, if slightly ridiculous. Though his circle grew and shrank over the course of a quarter hour, no lady stood particularly near to him or took his arm. He did not appear to have a female companion.

"A shame," Penelope remarked, after commenting on his unaccompanied state to Eloise. "He is eager in his compliments. All that is wanting is a human subject upon whom he might bestow them."

"Who do we know," Eloise began slyly, "who loves to hear herself praised, but whose confidence was recently trampled by a broken engagement?"

The fault was all Penelope's as she ruined their subtleness by gasping loudly. They were forced to take several steps away before she could hiss, "Prudence?"

"Do not you think he would be the perfect match for her?"

"Gosh. Perhaps too perfect."

"Is there such a thing, when it would be such a relief to you to have Prudence out of your home and into her own?"

Penelope gave Eloise a stern look.

"Of course, but I cannot think of myself ahead of Prudence in this."

"I would not ask you to." Eloise reflected. "I did not quite ask you to. Perhaps I implied it. Never mind! Your sister shall make up her own mind. Now, how shall we get them introduced?"

This required a bit of conniving on the girls' part. Seeing as neither of them knew the man (and as they were young ladies), they could not approach him themselves, nor could they simply shove Prudence in his direction and watch what happened. Whether or not he had a title, Prudence was a baron's daughter. Her behaviour had to be beyond reproach. As she outranked him, it would never be considered an advantageous match, but it could still be a good one. Any match that was a lady's second chance after her first had come to a scandalous conclusion would be considered an accomplishment. It was just not an accomplishment Penelope and Eloise would get any credit for.

Carefully, Penelope guided her mama towards the young man, until, at last, a member of his party turned and spotted Lady Featherington. Out of politeness, the young man had to be introduced. Eloise, who had hung back while Penelope moved her mother about like a chess piece, now stepped forward in an awkward manner that caused Prudence to have to change places with her, putting Prudence directly in the young man's eyeline. Finding her eldest daughter at her elbow, Lady Featherington herself facilitated the young people's meeting. The man paid a compliment, Prudence smiled, genuinely charmed, and it was all but done. Pen caught El's eye and they exchanged a self-congratulatory look.

As they moved off to the side, Eloise said, "What do we do now to celebrate our success?"

"Dance?" Penelope suggested, half joking.

But Eloise said, "Alright."

Penelope had not thought Eloise would agree, and had rather been preparing to find a place to sit and talk. Surprisingly, Penelope found she did have an appetite for dancing. When the musicians lifted their instruments to begin the next song, Penelope partnered Eloise. They were followed to the floor by Prudence and Dankworth, and their triumph was so sweet, the liveliness of the music so good, the evening so deliciously agreeable and full, that they fairly flew through the dance.

With skipping steps and heads tossed back in delighted laughter, Pen and El took turns ducking under each other's arms and whirling one another about. They had danced together often as children, but since Penelope's debut, the only Bridgerton to escort her onto the dance floor had been Colin. Now, Eloise's smiling face and the dark hair that tumbled from its careful arrangement were a pleasure to see each time they turned towards each other. Penelope grasped her friend's hands and did not think of Colin once.

[yizhou-time]

RENJUN’S BROKEN MELODY: REGULUS

NCT DREAM’S BROKEN MELODIES

Renjun taps his fingers on the oak wood table in front of him, nervous for what's to come. The minimal aesthetic and the openness of the café provided him some sort of comfort knowing that if this went well they could return once more and have another date and if it went poorly he could leave without any obstacles in his way with a clear path to the exit.

He carefully takes a sip of his hot drink to pass the time, after taking the sip he hold the cup in front of his lips before taking another one, making a mental note to order this drink again regardless of the outcome today.

The bell next to the door chimes much like it did when he came in, his eyes wander to the door and he sees a girl stumbling in. A dark blue satchel sat across her body, clearly stuffed with too many items, and a brown paper in her left hand, she had clearly been holding it for a while as it was creased and crumpled around the handle. A sage green long sleeve shirt was tucked into white denim shorts. Her style alone told Renjun this would go well.

Her eyes widened when she spotted him sat in the middle of the room, a smile makes its way to her face and his expression matches hers almost immediately. The smile doesn’t leave her face as she rushes to sit in front of him, she takes the satchel off and hangs it on the back of her chair before sitting down and placing the brown bag in her lap.

The girl reaches her hand out, "Hi! I'm Minji! I believe Chenle set us up?" The smile never leaving her face.

Renjun takes her hand and shakes it, "Hi, yes he did. I'm Renjun."

"Before we start, Chenle mentioned you liked art so I though I'd give you this. I'm not sure if you'll like it but I wanted to get it for you regardless." Minji hands Renjun the brown bag in her lap and he carefully takes it.

He reaches into the bag only to pull out a 9x12 canvas with a yellow tulip on in. Just by looking at it he could tell it was done with acrylic paint and modelling paste. It was zoomed in with the stem, leaves and bottom half of the petals being shown with barely any white left uncovered on the canvas. The detail was incredible, Renjun was unsure if he could replicate this himself. His fingers dragged over the painting, completely mesmerised by the painting. His eyes flicked to the corner of the painting for the artist however he found nothing.

Yellow was his favourite colour, tulips... you loved tulips. Yellow tulips became a statement piece in your household. Eventually you grew to love yellow, ditching orange a you favourite colour when Renjun began to call you his 'yellow'.

But that was long ago, he needed to let you go now, he wants to try again. He wants to try again with Minji.

"I got it at a market," she interjects softly "a teenage girl made it. She was selling her paintings to try and afford an easel." He listens closely and nods.

"I love it." He finally tears his eyes away from the painting and looks at Minji. "I'm going to hang this up when I go home." Renjun smiles genuinely and places the painting next to him, leaning it on the table leg.

"I didn't get you anything, I'm sorry. In return I'll pay for your drinks and food today." She hums in agreement and stands up, Renjun follows suit and picks up his wallet.

The pair walk up to the oak counter in silence. Minji's eyes scan the chalkboard hung on the back wall intently trying to pick a drink. She mumbles under her breath about wanting them all because they all sound good. Renjun catches wind of her comment and lets out a quiet laugh at her.

The barista walks up to the counter and waits expectantly. "Please could I have..." she drags out her words, still pondering "an iced macha green tea latte please?" The staff member replies with something about getting right to it as they push the order into the till and pushes the card reader to the pair. Renjun opens his wallet and gets out the change to pay. The barista takes the money and pulls back the card reader.

An iced macha green tea latte. Your order. Renjun never understood the appeal for green tea and making it a latte just doesn't sound the best either. You used to make an excuse for your constant consumption of them, saying that you need them to get through checking book drafts and that you wouldn't work without them so Renjun would give in and make you one.

They both stayed quiet as the drink was being made, once it was made Minji took it and the silence followed them as they sat back at their table.

"So... besides art what else are you into?" Minji sips her drink.

Renjun looks up and thinks. "I like museums and art galleries. I know it's art but I also like pottery classes. I enjoy music too, my friends say I have a pretty voice. Making jewellery is really fun too." He smiles. "What about you? I feel like I've only spoken about myself."

Minji immediately brightens up, "I like volunteering and crocheting, sewing too and I make my own clothes! I'm also big into reading!" Renjun nods, recalling Chenle telling him. "My favourite author is probably YUNGLUV! I have all their books, that's why my bag is fo full right now!" She beams.

His mind goes fuzzy at the mention of your writing name. Everything goes to quickly and he can vividly make out Minji taking out a book from her bag and reach it over the table to him and he takes it.

"This is their most recent, 'Warm tones'. I don't know what it's about yet but it sounds beautiful. Read the blurb, I think you'll enjoy it." She offers.

'It was sunrise when we fell in love. 6:18am. You took me out to a picnic spot on the hills, you said we should eat breakfast together because it would prepare you for the job interview you had that day. I said the sun on your face was pretty and you said I was pretty regardless.

A moment of silence followed before you confessed your love, I did the same before we sealed it with a kiss.

It was sunset when you told me you fell out of love. 9:24pm. We were eating dinner on the patio, I said we should eat together out there because you hadn't been home in the past few days. I said I love you and was sorry for being so busy and you said you couldn't lie to me and didn't love me.

A moment of silence followed before I said I know, you picked up our empty plates and went inside to leave me alone once again.'

"They don't usually write love stories, or ones written in first person so I thought I'd buy it." Minji tries to break the silence but she gets nothing back, his eyes trained onto the words. "You can keep that copy if you want. I got a few so I could get a signed copy, crazy I know."

Renjun gives a quick polite smile, giving the book one last look and then placing it next to the painting on the floor.

Renjun continuously presses the button outside of the elevator to call it to the ground floor, your book is gripped tightly in his left hand with his knuckles turning white.

"Oh Renjun!" He hears a familiar voice call. "It's been a whi-"

"Not now Hyeongsub." He sternly replies, not even sparing him a galnce.

Ding.

The familiar sound causes him to stop pushing the button and walk through the elevator door as soon as it opens. Hyeongsub followed suit and stood next to him.

Renjun doesn't even ask where he's going, already knowing it's the 12th floor seeing as he's your secretary. He punches the correct button and stands there angrily. He glares down at the book in his hand and your secretary sees this as a sign to keep his mouth shut.

The generic music in the background becomes increasingly infuriating for Renjun. His grip tightens on the book and he quickly turns to Hyeongsub.

"Why didn't you tell me? You would have known. You would have been there when it was written. Why didn't you tell me?" He says accusingly.

He takes a deep breath before responding, "You remain anonymous and it's nothing incriminating. The only people that could figure it out are you, your friend and f-"

"You should have told me the second you knew she was writing about us. You're my friend." He cuts him off.

"Yes, but I was her friend first." He replies bluntly as the doors open. "I'll let-"

"Don't." Renjun storms out of the elevator, past his once friend and heads straight to your office.

He knocks and enters without a second thought. You look up from the paper files in front of you, ready to greet whoever came in but he comes to your desk and drops the hard cover book before you can say anything.

"Explain." He stares you down.

"Why?" You fire back, matching his energy right away.

"I deserved to know you were writing this."

"You don't deserve shit Renjun."

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You left me, Renjun." You stand up to come face to face with him. "I didn't leave you, you left me. Why would I go out of my way to get a hold of you?"

"You can't just write about me like this, Y/N, what aren't you getting?" He tries to argue back, although he point doesn't stand strong he has to know.

You push aside the paper files and pick up the book he dropped. You put it against his chest, "Did you even read it? Hm, Renjun? Did you give the stupid book a read?" He hold the book against his chest and drop your hand. He shakes his head slowly and you let out a sarcastic breathy laugh.

"Get out." You command. "I'm not doing this with you, get out."

"If you're writing about our relationship or anything to do with me you need to tell me. I shouldn't be left in the dark about anything." He puts the book back down, this time with lead force but still feuled by anger.

You turn around and faced the large window behind your desk. "Get out, Renjun."

He walks around your desk and tails behind you. "You can't leave me out of decisions about us, not again."

"Leave it, Renjun. I've asked once, I'm not asking again." You walk to the other side of the window but he follows once again.

"I deserve to know, our relationship was two people, you and me so I should know when you're using our story-"

You turn around to face him "What else was I supposed to do?" You shout with tears in your eyes. "You were never there, Renjun. What was I supposed to do for days alone?"

He's taken back by your sudden tears but ignores them completely and putting it down to you being frustrated. The urge to comfort you was insane but he had to push it down before he said anything back to you.

"I was alone for days! I just wanted to relive what we had! Being lonely isn't a crime!" You shouted at him, being done his entitled behaviour.

Your eyes met, your intense gaze pierced through his now seemingly soft one. Sympathy seeping through his eyes.

“I, Renjun, had to stay home alone for days, by myself, I-I just wanted to relive what he had.” You say, wiping your tears. “You promised you would never make me feel like that but you did so I did the only think I knew how to do.”

He points to the book, "It was written out of hurt?" He looks back at the book and walks to the desk, picking it up. He analyses the cover and then flips it over to read the back much like he did earlier.

Renjun's fingers graze over the back before opening it and flicking to a random page. Page 148:

'June 17th 2021: We had our first fight, our first in three years actually. You said I shouldn't get so close to your friends and I said I couldn't help it.

"He likes you!" You shouted.

I pushed your hand off my wrist. "How do you know? Has he said that to you? No. So drop it, p-'

He slams the book shut and silently winces at the memory. Mark used to like you however he never made a move out of respect for both of you, yet once Renjun caught win of it through Jaemin he saw nothing but red and put his own insecurity on you.

"It's the story of us?" He looked up, tears now in his eyes.

"What else was I supposed to do?" You replied quietly. "I didn't know how to talk to you about it so I just let you fall out of love, I didn't know if I could convince you to stay so I let you go."

"You let me go?"

"Look, Renjun, you need to leave."

"I can't. Not after hearing this. I'll go back and read this and I don't want to because I'll see how much I hurt you." He shakes his head, still holding the novel.

"You've hurt me enough, you need to go."

"No!"

"Renjun, you left! You walked away! Quit playing the victim and get out!"

"I said I didn't love you anymore because I thought we were drifting apart but that hurt too much to admit." He reasoned.

"Quit making excuses and leave!" You walk to the desk opposite to Renjun and pulled the book out of his hand.

"I understand if-!

"Jun, you don't understand, you never understood me, you never tried to understand me! You said we used to have our little bubble and that the world was all about us but it wasn't it was about you! The whole time it was about you! What about me?" You broke down.

He reaches out to comfort you, placing his hand on your shoulder and stroking it with your thumb. He had nothing to say, he wasn't even sure what he could say to you either. He was the cause for all of this and yet here he was, being beyond pathetic. Renjun watched you sob into your hands as you shake off his hand.

"I was wrong. I know I was wrong. I apologise." He straightens himself up and backs away from your desk. "I shouldn't have come here."

"You shouldn't have." You wipe your tears once again. “You had no reason to.” You state, wiping your wet hands onto your blazer.

“I had no reason to be angry, I guess just you writing something so poorly about me hurt. I know I’m not like that but you saw me like that, you were supposed to love me.” He scrunched his nose in order to prevent himself from getting any sadder.

“And I did. It just wasn’t the same.”

Renjun looks back at the door before turning around. He balls his fists, not really sure why but he does it regardless.

His slow steps towards the exit are painful. Part of you wants to beg him to stay but the other wishes he was out of your life for good. Loving him wasn’t worth the heartbreak it caused you, you couldn’t do it all over again.

He grabbed the handle and waited for you to say something, nothing came so he pushed down the handle and opened the door. This was either going to be him walking out for good or both of you taking it as a sign to try again.

“We could relive what we had once more?” He offered, quietly.

“Would you love me the way you used to?” You questioned.

Silence.

“Everything reminds me of you yet… it hurts, not in a way where I miss you but in a way where I wish we closed it off better.” He thinks out loud.

You nod although he can’t see you, “There’s your answer then, Jun. It’s not worth the hassle.”

He pushes the handle down and quickly takes his exit, you can barely hear the door close when he shuts it.

You look down at the book resting on your desk and tears build up in your eyes. Sitting down you pick up the book and inspect it the way Renjun had done so earlier.

“You came here for what? Idiot.” You whisper and drop it into the small trash can below your desk. Quickly you begin organising the files and drafts on your desk, trying to pull yourself together.

Staring at the large phone situated on your desk you contemplate dialling Chenle’s number. You ponder a little longer before punching in his number.

Ring. Ring.

You slam the phone down onto the holder, hanging up before he gets the chance to pick up.

Maybe it’s best if you push him to move on, that way you can do so yourself.

Taglist (reply to masterlist post to join): @sukistrawberry @lovesuhng @shwizhies @niinjo @renjunoya @carelessshootanonymous @hyuckissed @funkygoose @fymine @asteriaskingdom @iscocohere @calssunflower

[apoptoses]

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

God this one is hard because it raises so many questions for me like- did Daniel live alone at the time he met Louis? Did he have roommates? He spent years in hotels, and then lived with Armand, and did he have any input on the decor when they were living together? Did he even care that much?

We know that he loved Night Island, that the mix of old and new there was gorgeous, that his room had renaissance paintings alongside modern decor. That he loved luxury. And to an extent I think that's still true, that he likes having nice, interesting things around and isn't like and HGTV trends guy lol

But part of me also thinks about Armand's collecting stuff phase and how he literally filled some apartments to the brim with his computers. How Daniel was probably too exhausted to clean up after their messes most of the time. And like how people who have lived in hoarding situations (or just messy spaces in general) come out preferring minimalism, as little clutter as possible on surfaces and few knick knacks.

And I think Daniel would be somewhere in the middle. All vampires have an attachment to the time they were turned, so he's got a retro-eclectic vibe going in his spaces with some 80s inspired pieces. He probably still leaves his shit laying around like his clothes and half-read books but Trinity Gate and Auvergne have cleaning staff to take care of that. For better or worse he grew up in the era of wall to wall carpet and still prefers that over a hardwood floor. And I see him as a physical media kind of guy- he's got a sick vinyl collection, he still gets VHS tapes and DVDs of movies he liked, his media is pretty organized and nicely displayed. Get a nice comfy chair in there and he's set.

His craft space is a fucking wreck though lol But that's okay because he can close that door and pretend that mess doesn't exist when he's not in there.

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

Oh lord in DM era it's one of three options:

Demand Daniel go to the hardware store with him so they can experiment with fixing it themselves (Daniel's least favorite option, there's bound to be cussing and at least three trips back to the store even though Armand can afford to buy literally every fucking possible thing needed in one trip)

Call a repair service and pay double for the middle of the night handyman work, while he sits and stares and creeps the guy out with his observation (Daniel's preferred option, he tips the workers extra for dealing with Armand's questions)

Say fuck it and rent a new place to live (inevitable, sometimes, when the DIY option goes very very wrong and they wind up with severe water damage that threatens the safety of the residents below them, oops)

Now at Trinity Gate? Unfortunately I think Benji's the mature adult in that household, he's got task rabbit loaded and ready to hire someone before the problem can get out of control. Because god knows Louis can't maintain a home, and frankly someone's gotta protect the peace and keep Daniel and Armand from bickering all night again about whose fault it is that the dish washer broke ("We don't even use fucking dishes, Armand, what did you put in there??" is NOT when he needs in the background he's trying to record a podcast tyvm)

[taomyou]

The Affections of an Architect - Chapter 4

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Status: ONGOING, inconsistent updates Summary: There’s a woman Levi sees every Friday on bus 143, and he thinks she’s really cute. It wouldn’t hurt to keep a paper star from her, would it? or, you and Levi take the same bus home from work every Friday, and he falls in love slowly, clumsily, and with all the time in the world to design the architecture of his dreams. Word Count: 7.5k Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, modern au, office au, fluff, romance, meet-cute, matchmaking, levi pov (A/N: this fic is available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead! The Affections of an Architect is a spin-off of The Romance of Reimbursements, but can be read as a standalone if preferred. They are the same story, but The Affections of an Architect is written entirely in Levi's POV. The Romance of Reimbursements is already completed, and The Affections of an Architect is currently a side-project that will be updated infrequently.) Chapter Navigation Accompanying Playlist

texts from a friend

Levi looks to the clock perched at the very back end of the lecture hall, and it’s now 2:30 PM.

“We’ve reached time. Remember that your proposals are due before next week, midnight. I’ll also remind you that if you’d like to request any additional office hours, you must email me at least 24 hours in advance. Any questions before we end?”

A student in the back row’s hand goes up. “Professor, do you accept late work?”

Levi recognizes him as the bastard who came during last week’s office hours to aggressively demand that Levi write him a letter of recommendation—two weeks into the course, mind you, and when Levi hadn’t ever talked to him prior to that interaction.

Needless to say, Levi didn’t think very highly of him.

Levi deadpans. “Yes, Forster, I’ve answered this already today. My late policy is also in the syllabus. Anyone else?”

When he’s met with silence, he closes his laptop and disconnects it from the projector. He unclips the small microphone attached to the collar of his usual white dress shirt, and he stores it in its designated drawer underneath the podium. He checks in with his teaching staff to make sure they’re faring alright with their grading workload, and after taking note to email Leonhart another copy of the grading rubric when he’s available, he’s off to go catch the bus.

“Can’t wait to get out of this fucking place,” he grumbles underneath his breath, hiking up his backpack as he goes to open the door and leave.

Why’s Levi so especially bitter today, you might ask?

Well, as it’d turn out, there were plenty of other things that he’s had to worry about over the workweek, and all his frustration has finally caught up to him as he takes the quick stroll from the lecture hall to the bus stop.

He’d gotten everything squared away with his lesson plans relatively quickly, but even though his lectures over the rest of the week went relatively smoothly, he still feels a cloud hanging overhead everywhere he goes. All the grading, all the assignment drafting, all the contracts he has to look over—none of it is particularly harder than it usually is, but Levi’s head is far too removed from the strenuous load after the brief winter break, and his work ethic hasn’t kicked in to where he needs it yet.

If nothing else, work is over now, and he already knows that tonight’s sleep will be especially dreamy. Might as well just toss aside all his problems until he has to deal with them later.

Un(fortunately), Hange texted the group chat on Wednesday to ask everyone (meaning only him and Erwin, seeing as Moblit and Mike are as busy as they always are) to come over tonight for what he presumes is dinner, so he’ll have to go to that, but other than that, he’s free to waste away in his living room and complain about the Frank winning Head of Household during the Big Brother reruns that Isabel puts on.

Ugh, still.

Even though it’s Friday, Levi can’t help feeling distressed. Just last week, he was breathing hot air into the cold winter sky to watch it float away before skipping off to see the unnamed stranger he came to look forward to seeing across the way on the bus, and now he’s caught stressing himself over paperwork and other pro forma bullshit. Even if he didn’t really anticipate any greater interaction than merely getting to hear her greet the bus driver when she’d gotten on at her stop, it was something he looked forward to every week, and he can only barely remember to be excited about it.

At least he’s too wound up in his head to be as anxious about it as he usually is.

No wondering about whether or not you’d think he was too quiet to be worth being acquainted with, no having to think about whether or not he’d have to force small talk to fill the surefire silence. This is certainly better than having to face any gnawing nervousness about seeing you after the awkward mess that was Monday’s lunch hour.

As he steadily approaches the bus stop, he sees that there’s a concerning amount of students waiting there. Why there’s so many of them, he has no idea, but when he’s finally stood in the makeshift line and practically forced to listen to their meaningless conversations, he overhears a group of friends talking about a concert for some artist downtown.

Well, so much for an easy ride home.

Firstly, all these people in an enclosed space? He’s going to have a fucking headache, having to spend the next however many minutes it is that it’s going to take for all these people to get off the bus. Besides, winter get-togethers are enough of a super-spreader event on their own, and even if he’s had to be okay with it, the bus isn’t exactly the cleanest place he could be. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t caught a cold yet, really.

That’s not even to mention the fact that there’s surely going to be traffic in the city, and all the bumps and stops aren’t going to make the inevitable pounding between his ears any more pleasant. The metal of his backpack’s zippers will clang at every abrupt stop, and he’s sure he’s going to want to jump out of the window every time. At any rate, he’s going to have to go directly to Hange’s apartment to make it there on time.

But, almost tauntingly, his subconscious nags at him to wonder… will he even get to see you with all these people there?

Levi’s fairly certain that your stop is before the city’s major stadium, and there’s sure to be other people coming onboard as the bus continues its way through the city. There’s no way that there’d be any seats left open by the time it reaches you. You’d be left holding onto the upper handles until the bulk of people left, but who knows how long that’ll be if the traffic is as bad as he thinks it’ll be?

The bus has now arrived, and even though he’s already making his way towards the opened doors, everyone else around him is scrambling to get their fare situated, and as he scans his own card, he looks back towards the end of the vehicle.

He knows he’ll manage to get a seat for himself, but saving one for you is something he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do.

Whether or not that’s because his conscience is screaming at him that keeping a seat preoccupied is rude, he doesn’t really care because he’s had enough of his logical mind telling him what to do this week, but would it be appropriate for him to extend the gesture of saving you a seat if he’s only just learned your name not even a week ago?

Nevermind that, would you even want to sit next to him if he’d save you a seat?

And for whatever fucking reason, his mind runs wild with all the ways this simple gesture could be interpreted wrong. 

You barely know anything about him, and he’s more than sure that he’s scared you off enough by being so fucking awkward when he came through your office—it wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility that you’d just rather never speak to him unless in a group setting.

And you always seem so tired after work, no matter how bright you still manage to somehow be—would he be taking advantage of that by leaving the only available seat to be the one next to him? Erwin had mentioned there were some issues at work when Levi had lunch with him on Monday, so he can only imagine what kind of hell you’re going through as another person impacted by whatever company bullshit was going on. You’re probably as stressed out of your mind as Levi himself is.

But at the same time, wouldn’t you appreciate him taking that into consideration and making sure that you had somewhere to sit? Would it be rude of him to not save you a seat at all?

Or, maybe he should save your usual seat, the one across from him?

That wouldn’t be so weird if it weren’t for the fact that it’d mean you’d know that he remembers where you sit. How could he not when he’s seen you there for the last 4 months? But Levi hardly has any intention of letting on that he even acknowledged your presence in the past, so he doesn’t know if he could do that.

Could he even save that seat? He could plant his backpack there as a placeholder, but he knows that it’d be entirely his own fault if it got stolen or pickpocketed or whatever else someone could do to a backpack.

God, he has no fucking idea.

Whether the universe is continuing to torture him or giving him a break, as he takes his usual seat facing the window, he’s not afforded the ability to make any decisions after someone takes their own seat next to him.

So much for expending whatever’s left of his rational mind.

You know what?

He could just give you his own seat. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Yeah…

Yeah, that’s certainly easier than anything else he could choose to do right now.

This could just be passed off as some sort of returned payment for the expressed generosity of giving him that canister of tea. No need to overcomplicate anything and make it seem like he wants to sit next to you.

This is just an act of… modern chivalry.

Yeah.

Levi sighs to himself as he sets his backpack on his lap and rests his chin over its top handle.

It’ll all be fine. It’ll only take a second for him to get up, offer you his seat, and he’ll be on his way to Hange’s apartment to get food poisoning from their cooking.

Now to just hope that you accept the gesture, and he can hold onto an upper handle and act like his nerves aren’t completely shot.

✰

For the rest of the ride, Levi spaces in and out of focus. The tire of working long hours this week is lulling him to a haphazard state of relaxation, and the only things keeping him awake are the harsh jolts he feels when the driver has to brake, and the fact that he has to be conscious of when you get on the bus so he can give you his seat.

Thankfully, there’s a certain four-eyed scientist across the city right now who needs to ask him for a huge favor.

Levi feels a buzz in his pocket, and, desperate for anything to keep his mind off the annoying bumps in the road, he takes it out to see a text from Hange.

Four Eyes - 3:05 PM

Heyyy still coming?? Not bailing on us are you >:(

Levi sighs.

Levi - 3:05 PM

Yes

Four Eyes - 3:07 PM

Ok perfect!!! Listen listen I need you to buy me like a FUCK ton of eggs I think the biggest pack they have at that one store on Rose blvd or road or whatever has 60 in a big pack And some butter :3

Levi - 3:07 PM

Why do you need so many eggs?

Four Eyes - 3:08 PM

Just trust me!!!!

Levi rolls his eyes.

Levi - 3:08 PM

Yeah no Get them yourself I’m in traffic rn

Four Eyes - 3:10 PM

Im still at the lab so i cant >:O How are you even in traffic, aren’t you on the bus? But whatvr!! Ill just ask Astraea to get them for me

Levi’s fingers freeze and his breath halts at seeing your mention over text.

What does that mean, Hange could ask you to get them? Why would they think to inconvenience you with grabbing fucking eggs in the first place?

Sure, you’re their best friend, but it’s not like Hange’s crass enough to just order you around and do their financial bidding. 

Unless… you’re coming to their apartment tonight too.

His fingers spark back to life, and they move faster across his phone’s keyboard than he can stop them.

Levi - 3:12 PM

Is she coming over?

Surely, that’s not it. You’re busy enough, Hange is probably just going to ask you to pick something up and drop it off since you’re neighbors. It's not like Hange's that-

Four Eyes - 3:12 PM

OOPS LOL DID I FORGET TO SAY

Hange most definitely did not forget to say. This is the same shit as what happened at dinner—them purposefully leaving out information like this.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose and hides his face in his hands.

God fucking dammit, Hange.

By now, it’s been a bit past a half-hour since the bus has left the Sina University campus, and as the bus stops to let people on and off, Levi realizes he’s already reached the stop where you get on. The person sitting to his right has now gotten up to leave, and while he was planning to give up his own seat for you, when he sees that there’s no one rushing to take the seat, he hastily moves to put his backpack there to save it for you. He looks around to make sure that there’s no one suspicious of him, or at least side-eyeing him for occupying extra space, but it seems that he’s the only one who’d think to care about that at all.

When he hears you give your routine thanks to the driver, he leans forward to see you, trying to trace the direction of his eyes to follow the walkway that leads to where you are. It’s not hard for him to find you, the silver buckles on your briefcase twinkling against the harsh afternoon sun as you turn to walk down the narrow lane to find somewhere to sit.

As your eyes scan for an empty space to occupy, he tries to make contact with you and offer you the seat next to him. He still has no idea whether or not you’d accept the offer or, even worse, be burdened by it, but the gentle tug of his heart is enough to make him want to try.

It’s only right to extend the offer of a bus seat to a friend acquaintance person he knows, is it not? Especially when he’s due to spend the later part of the eve with you and the rest of the group.

He feels a faint flame of embarrassment in his chest when he realizes your eyes haven’t found his, but as he watches you start to reach for an upper handle, he has no choice but to fan it even brighter.

He calls out your name, as firmly as he can without causing any unnecessary noise, and he starts to feel his stomach turn as he tries to catch your attention. Still, he watches as you seem to ignore him, though your hand halts in reaching upwards for a second, and he, again, has no choice but to try again, this time a bit louder. He calls out your name once more, and his heart just about stops when you turn to the sound of his voice and let a small smile find its way onto your face.

All too fast and all too slow, he watches as you rush past the other people on the cart to get him, apologizing as you pass them. The nip of the cold on your cheeks has turned them faintly pink, and you sigh happily as you nod to him in greeting.

Levi takes off the backpack from the seat next to him and puts it on his lap, and he looks up at you nervously. Your eyes were already on him, looking back and forth between him and the empty seat to his right, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

God, he can only hope that he doesn’t look as stupid as he thinks he does.

“Did you save a seat for me?” You ask, pointing at the space next to him.

He nods, unable to find any words to make himself seem sane enough.

You smile again in response, but before you can sit down, the bus starts moving again, and you’re taken off balance. “Woah!”

Thankfully, you already were turning to have your back against the seat and you weren’t going to bump into anyone, but Levi only has a second to decide what to do to lessen your fall back down.

He quickly slides his phone underneath his thigh to free his hand, and he positions himself to place his hand over the glass window behind you, thinking to lessen the impact on your head. He leaves a bit of space in between his hand and the window to make sure that his hand can fall back gently to allow for a softer landing, and he holds his breath as he watches you fall back into your seat. At the contact of his hand against your head, he lets his hand fall back and hit the glass and feels the blunt force of the window against his knuckles.

As soon as you’re comfortably sat, he pulls his hand away, and he looks back down to avoid your gaze as you quietly thank him for cushioning your head.

He nods in acknowledgement, and he dumbly watches as you put your briefcase onto your lap and take out your phone. He resigns himself to looking away to do the same, unlocking his phone to do quite literally anything he can to distract himself.

God, what the fuck even was that?

He didn’t even get to clarify that he didn’t inconvenience anyone by saving you your seat. Would you be upset with him if you’d made that assumption? 

Your shoulders are forced to touch, given the fact that there’s definitely way too many people on this bus in the first place, and even with his nerves totally shot, Levi can feel the heat coming off your body. The bus continues to have as many fast brakes and abrupt stops as it did for the last 30-or-so minutes, so he ends up getting pushed closer to you every time that happens. Neither of you try to make distance between the two of you, probably because it wouldn’t be worth the effort when it’s just going to be closed again, but Levi’s mind goes haywire anyway thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

Levi tries to ignore it, he really does, but he already knows that the red on his ears is going to be just the same, if not worse, than what he has to deal with on other ordinary, boring Fridays.

His eyes are laser-focused on his notification bar, hoping that someone, anyone, will text him and give him something to occupy himself. He mindlessly scrolls through the local news on his phone, waiting for the cherry red on his face to calm to anything but that.

As the minutes pass with nearly no movement in the road, he sees your phone held out to him. His eyes flicker up to your face to see that you’re looking away, only glancing back to look between him and your phone, so he takes the cue that you want him to see what’s on your screen.

He squints to see the small text, but as soon as he sees Hange’s name at the top of your screen, he knows exactly what it is that’s being conveyed here. He screams in his head that Hange’s done enough meddling, that you absolutely do not need to be dealing with their bullshit request of ordering nearly 8-squared eggs, but because you seem to want to start a conversation with him, he stretches out his hand slightly, asking to have permission to hold your phone.

He doesn’t know what demon it is that overtakes his body in this moment—whether it’s Lucifer, Beelzebub, or Satan himself—but when you pass him your phone, he forgoes reading the conversation to leave you your privacy, and he goes to add himself into your contacts. He’s apparently sane enough to not put anything stupid and self-demeaning as the contact name, but he types in his phone number before practically throwing your phone back at you.

The realization that, yes, he’s just given his phone number to the prettiest woman he’s ever laid eyes on, makes his brain short circuit for a second before he gets a text from an unknown number.

Okay, calm down, Levi, he’s only giving you his number out of convenience. He doesn’t want to interrupt the conversations around him by having one of his own, and giving you his phone number is the next-best option. He quickly adds you as “Astraea” and goes back to the conversation, trying to swat away any bubbling thoughts about you.

Astraea - 3:28 PM

hi

His fingers are nervous as they move across the screen.

Levi - 3:28 PM

Hello I don't think I'd be able to hear you over the people around us

Astraea - 3:28 PM

me neither

His heart relaxes a bit, now with the knowledge that you understand why he gave you his number.

Astraea - 3:29 PM

do you know why there's so many people on the bus today? it's normally never this crowded

Levi - 3:29 PM

There's a concert across town Did you want me to come with you to the store?

He watches you fidget around next to him, faintly biting at your lip as you type back a reply.

Astraea - 3:30 PM

you don't have to

Levi - 3:31 PM

I have to go to Hange's too, so might as well

Astraea - 3:31 PM

i wouldn't mind the company then

When the three dots don’t appear after that message, he figures that conversation’s over.

Though he remains unmoving, you position yourself further forward and rest your arms on top of your briefcase. With his shoulders no longer touching yours, he feels his heart rate slow just enough to let him know that he’s not on the verge of a heart attack anymore, and he’s able to relax a bit. His shoulders aren’t as stiff as they were this entire past week, the stress of everything seeming to fade as the number of people on this damned bus lessens with every stop, until, eventually, there’s no more than a handful of passengers left.

Now that the bus has made it out of down, it’s been moving much more quickly on its route. There’s no longer as many people on the bus, so Levi can see the scenery from the window across from him much more clearly. You’re usually sat on the other side, opposite of where you and Levi are currently, so Levi’s never been able to really see what the terrain on that side of the road looks like.

He hasn’t ever cared to really look before, especially when you’re not here, but it’s quite… calming, he decides. Watching as the colors of the breeze blend together as the bus passes by and blurs the shapes, though, he stills as he gets lost in everything.

Just barely within his peripheral, Levi sees the sign which shows they’ve just reached Rose, and he shuffles about to get his things together and get to the store. He still has no idea what to expect from this all, but you follow closely behind, and after you say a quick “thank you” to the driver, the two of you are off to go and… buy some eggs.

How exciting.

“Just the butter and eggs, right?” He asks, looking over at you now that you’re both safely off the bus. You nod, and Levi leads the way to the grocery store. He tries to match your pace, wanting to be considerate of your time, and he can only hope you’re not too uncomfortable with having to go and be Hange’s goons together.

You end up in front of the store relatively quickly, it not being too far from the bus stop at all. Levi goes to get a cart as you wait by the automatic doors, and though you look confused that he’s gotten one if you’re only to get two items, he puts his backpack in it to prompt you to do the same with your briefcase. When you do, he sees you breathe a gentle sigh of relief, and he gives himself a pat on the back for thinking to get a cart so you don’t have to lug that bag around the store.

Levi’s here quite often as the person in the house responsible for getting groceries, so he pushes the cart to guide the two of you through the store to get what Hange needs. Neither of you make any effort to talk, but Levi doesn’t quite feel awkward about it.

When the two of you reach the self-checkout area, you seem to want to fill the silence yourself. “Do you know what Hange has planned for us at their place?” You ask.

Levi glances over at you and shakes his head. "Not really, they just said it'd be us and Erwin. Moblit and Mike are busy."

You nod, and Levi screams to himself once more—this time, to tell himself off for being too awkward to know how to carry a conversation as simple as this. He might as well have just shut his mouth entirely and not said anything, seeing as he didn’t have any semblance of an answer for you.

You hand Levi the eggs and the box of butter, which he scans both of. Levi goes to his pocket to get his wallet, but as he’s taking out his card to pay, he looks over to see you doing the same.

Before he can say anything, you speak up. "Hange asked me to get it, so I'm paying."

He hesitates at that but puts his wallet away. "Fair enough."

Sure, Hange asked him to buy all of this stuff first, but he doesn’t want to cause any sort of scene here. Not that he thinks you’d be fussy about it, but he doesn’t want to be rude and fight over something as trivial as paying for some ingredients.

You tap your card, press a few buttons to verify your payment, and grab your receipt once that's all sorted out. You put the eggs and butter back into the cart before wheeling out with Levi next to you.

"Do you know when the next bus comes?” You ask.

"I park here in the mornings before taking the bus, so you can come with me," he replies. "Let me take the cart."

"How do I know you aren't going to kidnap me?"

He looks over at you, completely deadpan. "And what am I going to do? Force you to draft a prenup for me?"

You giggle at that, your hearty laughter making faint clouds in the cold air. "Yeah, sure."

You let go of the handle, letting him guide it now, and he directs you to his car, parked in front of the floral shop Isabel’s parents own. "Could I take a look inside?" You ask, pointing over to the shop.

Levi reaches into his pocket for his keys, unlocks his car, and opens his trunk to put away the things you’d bought. He puts his backpack in too, and hands you your briefcase before starting to head towards somewhere he can return the cart.

"Sure."

You smile over at him before quickly making your way inside the small shop, and Levi wheels away the now-empty cart to one of the… whatever they’re called, where you return shopping carts, and he returns to his car.

First order of business: make sure it’s as clean as it always is. From his driver’s seat, he leans over to make sure that the glovebox and other areas are all free of clutter, and he quickly puts away an old birthday card he’d received from his uncle in the mail last week.

Fucker didn’t even bother writing anything nice. Just copied the message already printed on the card, word for word.

He looks behind him in the back row seats to see if there’s any miscellaneous items that need to be put away in the trunk, and when he doesn’t find anything, he breathes easy and goes to turn on his engine, wanting to make sure that the car is warm by the time you return from perusing the flower shop.

Levi takes out his phone as the heaters whir to life, and he grimaces when he sees yet another text from Hange.

Four Eyes - 4:13 PM

Soooooo how’s it going ;)

What the fuck is that winky face for?

Levi - 4:14 PM

What do you want?

Four Eyes - 4:14 PM

WOW OKAY Nvm Are you guys on the way? Im almost home

Levi - 4:14 PM

We just finished getting your stupid fucking eggs

Four Eyes - 4:15 PM

Cool! Take your time!! Haha

Levi - 4:15 PM

… Okay?

Taking that and the cozy warmth of his car as his cue to go fetch you, he puts his phone back into his pocket and goes over to Magnolia Floral Company. Might as well say hi to Isabel, seeing as she’s probably in today.

There’s that familiar jingle from the bell at the door as he opens it, and he sees you and Isabel talking at the further-away counter. The sound gets both your attention and Isabel’s, and the latter of whom grins when they make eye contact with him.

"Hey, Levi!" Isabel greets, frantically waving her arms at him. He stays at the front of the shop, but nods in her direction. He finds you quickly enough, tilting his head towards the door.

"Ready to leave?" He asks.

You nod, scurrying over to where he is before smiling and waving "goodbye" to the girl at the counter.

"It was nice meeting you! Come again soon!" Isabel shouts after you.

You and Levi wordlessly get into his car, and he waits for you to have yourself situated before getting ready to head out.

"Who was that, if you don't mind me asking?"

He puts his car into drive and puts his arm on the back of your seat, reversing out of the parking space. "Isabel's a childhood friend of mine."

"She's nice. Maybe I'll come back to get something for my intern's birthday next month."

The rest of the ride is in silence, apart from the rustling of paper that Levi can’t really understand, but by the time he reaches Hange’s apartment and he’s able to park and see what was going on, he gets his answer when you hold out 3 paper stars to him.

He sees faint black marks along the paper. Did you make this from the receipt you’d gotten at checkout?

He takes it that you want him to have them, so he takes them, silently reaching over you to put them in his glovebox before getting out of the car with you.

You carry the butter and your briefcase while Levi carries the eggs, and you both bump into Hange at the front of their apartment unit.

"Fancy seeing you here!" They jest.

Levi groans. "Can it, Four Eyes."

Laughing, they thrust their keys into your hand. Well, more like their keys were looped on their pinky finger while they carried a huge box, and they awkwardly shimmied their upper body to bring attention to their keys. "Please! My arms are killing me!" They beg. You laugh at them, "missing" the keyhole to prolong their suffering. You do eventually open the door, and Hange breathes a huge sigh of relief once they're inside and can put the box down next to the door. "Thank you!"

"So, what exactly did you need all these eggs for?" You ask Hange, holding open the door for Levi to come in with his arms full. He nods in thanks, but he doesn’t think you see him.

"Just wait!" They say, taking the butter and eggs from you and Levi to put on their counter. "Erwin is on his way!"

Almost as if on cue, Erwin walks straight in, your arm still keeping the door open. "I heard my name?"

Hange claps their hands together. "Perfect! Now we're all here!"

They motion you all over to the kitchen area, where they start setting up a bunch of miscellaneous ingredients. Flour, salt, baking soda—any general baking item you could think of was now on their counter. Levi doesn’t know all that much about baking in the first place, but Furlan’s forced him to watch his fair share of MasterChef.

"Are you finally going to tell us why the fuck you needed us to buy 60 eggs?" Levi quips.

They shush him, continuing to put random bowls and such out, before standing in a power pose in front of the three of you on the other side of their kitchen counter. "Well, since Astraea's offered to teach me to make random desserts before, I thought I'd return the favor! And I think you've all ordered egg tarts before at some point or another, so I'm gonna teach all of you how to make them!" They declare. "Also, I have a company potluck to attend tomorrow, and I thought it'd be fun for us to make these all together!"

Levi, you, and Erwin all look at one another, then at Hange.

"Do you know how to make an egg tart yourself, Hange?" Erwin asks.

"Nope!"

"Do tell, Four Eyes, how we're supposed to learn from you then?"

"I watched a YouTube video at work on Tuesday! I'm sure I got this figured out!"

✰

Hange very much did not have it figured out.

You, Levi, and Erwin followed along as well as you could with Hange, who very much does not know what they're doing. Earnestly, Levi has no idea why he’s even going along with all this in the first place, but something about Hange continuously trying to prove themselves as a well-experienced baker when they’d only watched a 30-second YouTube short at work is too entertaining to pass up.

That, and the fact that there was something strangely calming about watching you form your own tart shells from the corner of his eye.

After about an hour of intense bickering between Hange and any one of the rest of you three, Levi watched in horror as you gently pushed for Hange to let you teach the steps instead. He was sure that Hange would get on the defensive, as they’ve been very overprotective of their supposed “knowledge” in baking this one simple treat, but they surprisingly don’t put up any fight and happily took a seat next to Erwin.

Again, Levi knows fuck-all about baking, but it seems that you know more than enough to pick up where Hange left off. You helped all three of them (and especially Hange) with whatever they needed, whether it was with the pastry shell or the custard, and the tarts didn’t end up all that bad. You got them into the oven and baked well enough, and even though they’re pretty fucking ugly, they end up being fine to eat.

Of course, Levi forced Erwin and Hange to help him clean the kitchen, save for the small area you needed to keep making tarts to have enough for Hange to actually take with them to their party.

While Levi stayed back in the kitchen, Erwin and Hange talked just barely out of earshot, and you silently kept at your baking. Levi sat at the counter, keeping you silent company and cleaning up anything you asked him to, and even though he’d initially been nervous about having to spend the latter evening with you, it's... calming, to watch as you carefully handle dough and broken eggshells.

By the time that everyone’s social battery’s run out, Hange decides that only then is it time to be loud and brash as they always are.

Erwin insists that he doesn't need any to take egg tarts home, but Hange still shoves a decently large tupperware container into his hands and pushes him out the door before he can refuse the gesture.

"Take some for Furlan and Isabel! I'm out of tupperware, so Astraea can wrap them up for you!" Hange says, now pushing Levi and you out the door, him holding a tray of tarts you and him made and you holding your briefcase.

What’s he meant to do now?

You and Levi both look at each other before you start leading the way towards your apartment, Levi then following behind you. You reach into your pocket to get your keys and unlock your door. You step in and take off your shoes, and Levi does the same, closing the door behind him. You walk over to your general kitchen space, pulling out a chair at the dining table for Levi to sit at while he waits for you to wrap up his tarts.

He looks around your kitchen, seeing all sorts of baking appliances neatly lined up against the wall connecting to your countertops. He doesn’t see a tea area, but he assumes that you might just keep that in a cabinet somewhere out of sight.

"Sorry I was a bit quiet earlier," you say abruptly, reaching for something in one of your drawers. "It was probably awkward."

He hums. "It's okay. Figured you had a rough week." Though, you’re hardly to blame for the awkwardness in the first place. He’d be quicker to put that fault on himself.

"What made you think that?" You start digging through another drawer to find something else.

"Erwin complained about some management issue at your firm on Monday during lunch."

You bitterly smile and shake your head, and Levi watches as you move the tray of tarts to where your wrapping things are. Your hands work fast at getting them neatly packaged up, and you place the lot lot into a plastic bag, afterwards going over to Levi to give them to him.

He stares into the bag, and he sees way too many. Did you give him the ones you made?

Looking between you and the tarts, he hesitates. "Aren't these the ones you made too?"

You bring your hand up to nervously rub the back of your neck, looking away from him. "If they're for your friends, might as well gift them the nice ones too," you start. Seemingly embarrassed at your statement, you add on. "Not that yours weren't nice!"

Levi feels a tug at the side of his lips, and he lets out a small breath that’s close enough to a laugh.

“Thank you.”

Just like on Monday, the two of you don't bother saying "goodbye" to each other, only exchanging nods as you open the door for him to go. Before he's completely out the door, though, he feels a tap on his shoulder.

He looks over his shoulder to see you, your face turned away with a seemingly nervous half-smile. “Yeah?”

"Thanks for saving me a seat today. On the bus, I mean. I probably would've lost it if I had to stand."

And, all at once, he’s woken up again. His hands feel brazenly warm, his eyes search for something to catch hold onto, and his heart’s caught in his throat.

It really isn’t that serious. He didn’t even really save a seat for you—he was planning to just give you his own—and he already feels bad for leading on that he’s much more just than he really is.

So why’s he so flustered right now?

The answer is that he isn’t. It’s not like it’s anything new for him to want to disappear into the floor because of you, nor does he think this will be the last time.

This is normal. This means nothing. You’re just being nice.

So he’s going to excuse himself before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.

He clears his throat before replying. "Don't worry about it."

After a good night's rest after a stressful week at work, you stretch yourself upwards and yawn loudly, waking up and fishing for your phone from between the sheets. It's annoying that there's so much sunlight bleeding into your room, but you suppose that's just your punishment for sleeping until the late afternoon.

After rolling onto your stomach and unlocking your phone, you see a couple of texts. Not completely out of the ordinary, but you should answer them now before you forget.

Hange - 9:14 AM

Hey!! Good morninggg THANK YOU for coming over yesterday! These tarts are soooo good I think i'm just gonna buy cupcakes for the party bc i am NAWT giving these to my coworkers Slide me the recipe? ;P

You roll your eyes with a smile before getting yourself up out of bed and over to your bathroom to brush your teeth, typing a response with one hand while you brush with the other.

You - 1:12 PM

you know you're not ever going to make these on your own just come over when you want anything, you know i'll make it for you

You set your phone down on the sink counter as you finish brushing your teeth and flossing, watching your screen to see if Hange'll reply anytime soon, and they do as soon as you're finished with your bathroom business.

Hange - 1:17 PM

Youre the best ily! Omg but speaking of love... Did anything happen w you and levi yesterday o.O

You groan, picking up your phone and taking it with you to the kitchen to get some tea started for your "morning."

You - 1:19 PM

hange you know i'm not interested in ANYONE stop trying to set me up

Hange - 1:20 PM

Yeah yeah you say that now...

You sigh, putting down your phone on the counter and going to fill your kettle. You hear a few other beeps from your phone while you set up your teapot and get your kettle plugged into the outlet, but when you return to your phone, you ignore Hange for a second to reply to whoever else has texted you between now and last night. There's some miscellaneous texts from coworkers asking if you're free to hang out, but nothing really stands out.

That is, until you see a couple of texts from Levi.

That's... something.

You click to open the message as you go to grab the small basket of teas you keep in your kitchen cabinet. You read the message as you bring down the basket and set it down on the counter.

Levi - 10:53 AM

My roommates liked the sweets Thank you again, I appreciate it

It feels as if a small match has just been struck inside your chest, and you put your phone face-down on the counter and groan into your hands.

God, you probably couldn't have come off any more of an idiot yesterday, what with your aversion to looking at Levi in the eyes and just being so painfully awkward, and he's still nice enough to thank you again for some sweets you wrapped up for him?

It really isn't this serious. There's no reason for you to feel so embarrassed that he's texted you to say thank you. There's no reason for you to want to throw your phone down the sink and press the disposal button. There's no reason for your ears to turn hot cherry red at your grown age.

Why're you even so flustered right now?

The answer is that you aren't. It’s not like it’s anything new for you to want to hide behind your hands because of Levi, nor do you think this will be the last time.

This is normal. This means nothing. He's just being nice.

Unsure of what to say in response, you painstakingly look through your teas to find what blend you want to drink today. You settle on some random flowery citrus blend that's been collecting dust, and you put away the rest of your blends before going back to your kettle and teapot and getting everything situated.

Even after you've got your tea in hand and are sat in at your dining table, distantly thinking about what you should make for dinner today, you don't know what to text back, or if to at all.

So you're going to excuse yourself before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.

You clear your throat before you pick up your phone, type a response back to him, and leave it at the table, taking your tea with you to your room to find something else to distract you.

✰

You - 1:43 PM [to Levi]

don't worry about it

✰

Next Chapter

[darrowsrising]

Spring Fever:

Universe: Red Rising by Pierce Brown

Characters: Darrow of Lykos, Virginia au Augustus

Genre: (explicit!) Smut, Romance, Fluff

Timeline: circa 745 PCE in spring

Location: Silene Mansion, Sovereign's personal home office, Luna

Additional tags: Porn Without Plot,Reaper's Kiss (Darrow likes to eat his wife out A LOT), Virginia is impatient and she scratches, Mustang's Bitch is also Mustang's panty ripper, heavy abuse of jamFields because Darrow is OBSSESSED with his wife's voice, open defilement of Nero's desk, Virginia drives him mad with lust too, explicit smut, possibly OOC, idk;

Disclaimer: Red Rising and all things associated belong to Pierce Brown.

Intro: Luna is in full bloom and the world shines with lust for life. His first campaign after Octavia's fall was successful, but the Reaper still needs recovery. And while the staff is terrified and people gossip about how could the Reaper even stay put for so long, Darrow finds an occupation in between his wife's legs. But patience has never been the Sovereign's virtue...

Contains: Cunnilingus, Blow Job, Vaginal Sex;

💖

Spring bleeds on Luna in the Reaper’s 25th Earth year. The season has seeped into the soil and the very soul of the people. Hope abounds, as the liberated moon blooms as though it never did that before, as though it knows it almost turned to glass and now feels life more deeply.

While hope springs eternal, trust is delicate at the best of times. The war still rages, the chains still rattle, there is more to come. The new lancers of House Augutus know this well – no one sleeps on their laurels, least of all Primus Virginia au Augustus, the Sovereign of the Solar Republic. While Senators are permitted to speak back to their liege and not get killed in this new age, everyone that is not a moron, also knows that the Primus knows better.

So no one asks why the Sovereign’s Court is entirely Martian, why Daxo au Telemanus himself trains every Lionguard and every Optimate personally or why they all dine, in batches, with the Reaper himself every once in a while. They don’t even question the discussions that happen right in front of them in the privacy of their own mind. But they know. They have eyes, they can see how and most importantly, why this is all worth it. They are building a better future, they are building trust. Mars is home, Mars is the soul of everything.

No one questions what happens in the Sovereign’s office either. Especially not the Selene Office. But even the most loyal of household members cannot help worrying at the eerie silences that vibrate through the very walls whenever the Reaper was called for a one-on-one meeting – the stern man that enters makes everyone’s hair stand on ends, but the one that exits frightens.

___________________________________________

There is a symphony of moans and mewls he is coaxing out of her, but when it echoes off the jamField, it makes his blood tremble in his veins. Everything in him hurts and aches with pleasure as her hands grip his hair and her nails score his scalp. His cheeks and chin are coated with her slick, as his tongue teases and explores her clit and his fingers reach all of the right spots within her dripping cunt. He lives for all the sounds she makes.

As he kneels at one end of the oak and iron desk right between her legs, the sight seems to drive Virginia over the edge yet again. She tries to pry his head away in vain. She cannot help screaming his name. He holds steadfast, lifts himself upright, but keeps his hand moving within her. She is trembling and tense with pleasure, her eyes shut, her mouth gasping for air, her hands still holding unto him for dear life.

He hugs her close and kisses her forehead softly, waiting for her to come down. He feels sweat trickling down his back, soaking his shirt. He discards his black doublet then grabs her wrists gently from his hair, dragging his thumbs over her pulse in circles. She moans, her breathing raspy. She lifts up her chin and looks at him with honeyed eyes. The haze of pleasure flushed her skin and made her eyes shine.

Her slacks have been discarded somewhere under the desk. Her panties in pieces on the floor.

Her long tunic, masterfully undone just like her compression bra. And now, they are both parted and pushed to the sides of her. Her baby hairs are curled towards her face. Her chest rises and falls with her softening breathing. His kisses left marks upon it, her neck as well.

She looks absolutely edible, he could feast on her forever. But she does not want that at this moment. She positively pouts at him.

“ – Take your breeches off, ArchImperator.”, her tone suggests payback, but Darrow is not quite done yet.

“ – In a moment, my love”, he smirks as he shifts her wrists into one hand and pushes her unto her back over the smooth, simple surface of the desk. He places his knee between her thighs to brace himself. He is gentle when he undresses her, guiding her arms out of the tunic and the bra and kissing her lips. She moans into his mouth in protest.

“ – Are you perhaps miffed with me for not approving your active duty leave immediately after your last one?”, her worried gaze find his lustful eyes. The words fall on him like cold water. He draws back from her and rips his own shirt off. A few strands of his hair cling to his wet neck. He moves to straddle her:

“ – I am glad that is over for now.”, he breathes on a whisper. “ I thought I will never see you again and couldn’t think of a more miserable way to die.”, he caresses her face with the very hand that failed to react on time. He grabs her right hand and places it upon his broad chest.

A few inches to the left and he would have died. But he survived, he is safe, he is home and the resSkin has healed over the scars, his recuperation will resume. What he managed last campaign should keep until he is completely ready this time.

“ - I simply have need of you.”, his heart thunders under her palm. His thumb starts to trace circles on her inner wrists. He is blushing all the way to his ears as he moves her hand to his clothed cock. A soft moan escapes him when she cups and caresses him and he closes his eyes at the sensation.

She swallows at the sight and pounces. When he opens his eyes, he first registers that her hands are not on him anymore, then the feeling of being grabbed and thrown in her desk chair via an effective kravat move. Unlike the Morning Chair, this one is comfortable, orthopedic and plush. Not that he cares much, not when she rises from the top of what used to be Nero au Augustus’ desk – simply designed in oak and iron, now decorated with lions and pegasi carvings – in her glowing, naked glory. She is a sight to behold, all grace and ease with a sole purpose in mind. Sweet, hot retribution.

His cock throbs when she leans over him, her mouth closing in on his. Her hands work off his breeches, before he gets the chance to taste her lips again. She immediately kneels and places her hand at the base and traces her tongue along the vein. He curses and pleads as she starts pumping her hand slowly. Her teasing laugh echoes off the jamField as she takes him into her mouth. She finds an easy rhythm between her mouth and her hand. The wet sounds fill their little space and echo over and over. His nails are digging into the leather of her chair and he is not even breathing. She releases him with a soft pop, gazing at him worriedly. His eyes are closed, his head thrown back as though in prayer, his naked chest is flushed, the muscles of his torso rippling as he starts to let the air out of his lungs in a controlled hiss.

Before she can even ask, he stands and takes her with him in his arms; her legs wrap around his waist as he is kissing her hard to distract her. His hands caress her arse, the length of her right leg, the sensitive underside of her left breast. He places her back on the desk, breaking the kiss and touching her forehead to his.

“ – Please…”, his voice is reverent and raspy. He places a peck on her lips, eyes beseeching her understanding.

Her response is fast and savage. Exactly what he needs. Her heels dig into the small of his back, a hand finds purchase into the hair at the back of his neck, her mouth seeks his greedily.

He penetrates her slowly. As he establishes the rhythm they both need, his hand traces a deliberate path up her back until he finds purchase in her hair and drags it to tilt her head into the right position. Her nibbles softly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She moves her hips to meet his, traces his naked spine and she licks and sucks his earlobe into her mouth, making him groan and shudder. He flicks his thumb over her clit in response; adjacent to the movement of his hips, she comes on his cock so hard that she screams into his mouth.

Her fingernails draw blood as she drags them over his shoulder blades in bliss. His fist tightens into her hair heightening her pleasure.

He calls her name to capture her attention and tells her how he missed her, how he could not sleep without her voice in his ears, her every speech a soothing balm over his torn heart, a reminder of why he must fight. How he loves her – the most – how she feels around him - heavenly. He peppers her neck with kisses as he whispers into her pulse points, pleads for her to let go and feel him, as he tries to extend her every sensation. He starts to soothe her when she is ready.

He takes her with him carefully from the desk and sits back into the chair, still embedded within her spasming cunt. He kisses her forehead and groans out the pleasure he feels, He is sensitive to every movement she makes, even as she breathes raggedly from her high. Her palms use his shoulders as a leverage, she starts to move slowly and deliberately. She touches her forehead to his in a silent accord.

“ – Darrow, come for me…”, her plea has him engaging his core to move towards his own climax. She grabs him by the hair and he moans a yell into her mouth. His hand pushes her hip into him, as her nails dig into his pectorals. He comes into her and the sounds he makes resound around them; among all these sensations she is pleasured as well.

Her nails let go of his skin and her palm caresses his torso, slowly exploring the rise and fall of his ragged breathing through his muscles. His cheeks and ears are burning, his hair sticking to his face as he softens inside her, spent and tired. She arranges herself carefully and cuddles close to him to hear his heartbeat under her ear. As he regains his ability to speak in coherent sentences, he warms her body with caresses.

“ – Hope you cared about your father’s favourite rug less than you cared about his desk, my love,” his laugh is contagious, but she manages to hide it under a grin and a playful swat on his right pectoral.

“ – That is with the Conquerors exhibition. This one we will burn in the hearth as soon as possible, in the warmest spring day we had so far.” She kisses his lips sweetly and slowly, as if to appease the thoughts of what is to come. “We have profaned my father’s desk sufficiently without the blood of the emperor as witness”, the smell of him enveloped her – all woodsy and sepulchral – she kisses his jugular and traces a path towards his lips. “And, of course, we will continue to do so every chance we get”. His laugh eases her heart.

They will soon resume their duties. Will not take even hours. He will help her dress her for a meeting at the Citadel, where she will make a speech to all the leaders of the 14 parties, smelling like him through the entire thing. She will provide a new shirt for him from her secret stash of clothes for emergencies. He will savour the feel of his skin pulling as he moves from the wounds in his back. His body will ache sweetly all day.

He will also have time for their child. Pax will play and eat with him and he will be lulled to sleep by his father’s songs. She will come back when the last song is almost over, when their energetic toddler is fast asleep, when Darrow’s heart beats with utter joy and love. Her own heart will ache at the sight, for the love she bears Darrow and Pax and for having brought a child into these raging worlds. She knows Darrow’s heart will ache as well with all the promises he must delay.

As, he drapes her long tunic over her cooling, naked body and kisses her forehead, hugging her close to his chest, she thinks for a moment at their mutual decision for long-term contraceptives. Ironically enough they were at rogue war with the Society when they discussed and applied this. With the Republic established, the need for it seemed even more imperative, so they decided to keep it.

He caresses her face and moves her head to look into her eyes.

“ – I’ve missed you too.”, she smiles. She still has him for a little while longer. She will enjoy what she has, for it is enough. It is a world of their making, the only one they can love one another. The only one their child can exist.

“ – Did you rip my panties again, ArchImperator?”, her accusatory tone, her raised eyebrow, her jabbing forefinger bearing her father’s ring – he cannot help, but burst out laughing. She didn't seem to mind it the moment he did it, not one bit.

Later, changed into the new shirt, he glares at everyone in his path as he makes his way back to the Sovereign’s office from their stateroom. Under closed doors, he tries not to be smug about ripping through her emergency stash of underwear, but as she throws the scraps into burning desk rug with an annoyed expression, a chuckle escapes. She is only wearing her long tunic, her slacks laid on her desk.

“ – Anything to say for yourself, ArchImperator”, she is not amused one bit; her hand reaches out for the new pairs he is now retrieving from the breast pocket of his doublet, as a peace offering.

“ – Nothing, my liege, absolutely nothing.” She picks one that matches her compression bra and drags it up her legs and puts on her slack as well, glaring at him, not trusting him one bit to simply help her dress.

“ – Keep it up like this and the Sovereign's lingerie will come out of your pocket.”, she pouts a bit, but then concludes it will be a good idea. He is all for it as well, as he presses a soft kiss on her cheek.

The windows open, a stream of flowery air fills the room. Spring indeed bleeds over Luna.

[pearl-blue-musings]

I don’t think I’m ever gonna finish this piece for my long forgotten paramour collab. But here’s part of what I wrote for a piece I may or may not ever get back to

Pairing: Byakuya Togami x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, slight deviation from canon, non-despair

Byakuya Togami knew he was born and destined for greatness. After all, he is the former high school level affluent progeny, so success came easy. As well as money. The blond bespectacled man could have anything he wanted. He owned and ran a plethora of businesses, a couple houses in ideal locations, restaurants, bars, you name it. However, all this greatness comes at a price.

You had met the young heir when you were children, your mother being a maid in his household and you would follow her sometimes to work. To you, overly rich people angered you beyond all reason. While your family had to work hard every day to barely make a living wage, people like him had to only snap their fingers and get what you make in a year in a second. You hated him, so you did your best to avoid him. Fate, however, had other plans.

No one had thought or even considered Junko Enoshima to be a threat to not only his school but to humanity entirely. Byakuya was completely unaware of just how bad the situation had gotten before it was shut down by alumni of the school and national authority. But the damage done to his peers' families and precious loved ones had already begun. Byakuya had quickly rushed home, along with his classmates, when they discovered some of Junko’s plans; one of them being the motive video. The blond knew his parents wouldn’t be his most precious ones; maybe his butler, a maid perhaps? His heart dropped when he saw his home ransacked and quickly rushed inside. One to keep his composure, he runs through some of the rubble to see who is still there.

In the entryway, he sees the almost lifeless bodies of the entry staff, checking for a pulse before moving further into the house. He dashed upstairs to where his parents were, doing his best to stay calm. Pink blood trails toward the bathroom and he frantically calls out to them.

“Mother, father!”

The two adults carefully peek from behind the bathroom door and a sigh of relief overcomes them. They graciously hug, a shocking sight, before his father is first to speak. “These bears came in and began destroying everything! They almost killed us but suddenly moved from us and went to the servants quarters. We saw them on the cameras.”

Byakuya’s jaw drops before he gets up. “Stay here, make sure the rest of the staff is okay while I head to the servants quarters.”

“S-son, what is happening? What is going on? Is the despair real?”

“I’m headed to the servants quarters,” he continues without acknowledging his father’s questions. “She’s in danger.”

*****

2 years. It had been two years since you were taken from your home and forced to live in a random apartment. You were being fed three square meals a day from an unknown kidnapper and had a pretty decent living. Except for the fact that you had no access to the outside world, no windows, no tv, no internet, nothing. You were completely closed off from the world.

And somehow you knew that this was Byakuya Togami’s fault.

You had heard about some of the despair inducing incidents at his school and worried for his safety, despite trying to shove those feelings down. You hated him yes, but there was another feeling you never dared to reveal. The rich affluent lucky progeny was attracted to a girl like you, a maid’s daughter. You miss him, you miss his fleeting kisses more. Stolen moments in the courtyard late at night under the cloak of midnight. What a teenage love affair you two had. Now that you’ve surpassed that, and you know he has too wherever he is, you long for that simpler life when you two would sneak around and talk about running away with his earnings. You never thought he would consider leaving the conglomerate life, but what he felt for you was unparalleled. His parents didn’t approve obviously, and had prevented you from seeing him for a time. Once he moved to hopes peak you had made attempts to contact him but yours and his parents prevented it from happening.

Idk should I continue this??

@zorotits

[thetravelerwrites]

Ynhadin (Part 3)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Female Elf/Male Minotaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Husband Interspecies Romance, Reader Insert, Minotaur, Manhwa Tropes, Second Person Perspective Content Warnings: Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Kidnapping Words: 5781

The reader arrives back at her home with Elyngar, reuniting with her parents and people who knew and missed her, and she then learns who Elyngar is in relation to her. Please reblog and leave feedback!

Medieval Monsters: The Towns (Beyond Shelter Forest)

After leaving the shop, you sat in the carriage with Clara, jittering nervously, on your way to meet your parents for the first time in eighteen years. You were still struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that your parents, and by extension you, were members of the royal family. 

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Clara said reassuringly. “Regardless of their status, the Master and the Madam are very kind people. They’ve been waiting for this day for so long.” 

“I’m just nervous,” You said. “I’ve been waiting for this day, too, but now that it’s here, I think my heart is going to jump out of my chest.” 

“That’s only natural,” She said with a smile. “We’ll be there soon.”

In what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the carriage stopped in the front courtyard of a wide, sprawling manor. White marble, alabaster, gold, and silk was everywhere, and the mansion itself spread out as far as the eye could see. There were several detached buildings, just as beautiful and resplendent, laid out on the grounds strategically to convey a commanding, fortress-like presence around the main household. There were knights stationed at all the entrances as well as patrolling the estate, though they had stopped momentarily to stare at the arriving carriage.  It was… thoroughly intimidating. 

There was a large fountain right in the front that sprayed delicate waves of water, creating rainbows across the mists. At the top there was a baby sitting in a lotus flower, with tears dripping from her eyes into the base of the fountain, where two adults, a man and a woman, reached out to the baby at the top, unable to touch her.

Elyngar opened the door to the carriage and held out his hand to assist you in stepping down, and Clara exited after you, instructing the footman on where to take the luggage. 

Out in front was a line of butlers on the right and a line of maids on the left, leading into the mansion. On the right, an older gentleman in a more formal butler’s attire made up the head of the butler’s line, and an older woman in the typical outfit of a governess was in the lead of the maids. The servants in the two lines were a mix of humans and various non-humans, but the governess was the only one who was an elf.

“Welcome back, Young Master Elyngar,” Said the head butler, a faun like Clara, who glanced at Elyngar before focusing on you. “My word… is this…?” 

“She’ll be formally introduced to the staff later, Reice,” Elyngar said. “Are the Master and the Madam ready?” 

“Yes, Young Master,” Reice said, holding his gloved hand to his mouth in astonishment as he stepped aside. “They’re in the library office beyond the west reception room.” 

“Excellent,” Elyngar said, wrapping your hand around his arm. “Let’s go, my Lady.”

Taking a deep breath, you allowed him to escort you into the mansion. You couldn’t help but notice that the governess’s eyes followed you inside.

Inside the opulent foyer, there was a large staircase in the middle of the floor layout that led up to the higher levels of the mansion and wide walkways on either side leading deeper into the household. You were directed to a sitting room on the left of the staircase. It was opposite a closed office door. 

“Wait right here, my Lady,” Elyngar said, helping you to sit on a small sofa.

“Alright,” You said softly. 

He walked to the door and knocked on it, and a masculine voice from within said, “Enter.” 

Elyngar opened the door just wide enough to show himself and nothing else. 

“Mother,” He said. “Father. I’ve returned.” 

What? Were you going to be meeting his parents first before you met yours? How strange.

“Is she here?” You heard a feminine voice say shakily.

“Yes, Mother,” He said. “But I must remind you that she has… suffered, and is quite skittish and shy. You must be patient with her. She’s still very frightened.” 

“We understand, Son,” The male voice said. “Just… please…” 

“Very well,” Elyngar opened the doors more widely and returned to your side, offering his hand, and you took it while standing.  He escorted you into the office that had books lining the walls from floor to ceiling, and standing there in front of a wide reading desk were not minotaurs, but two elves: a tall, willowy man and woman, both fair skinned, though the man had white hair while the woman’s hair was raven black. They were dressed resplendently and held themselves with an air of dignity that is innate to a person and cannot be learned.

“My Lady, this is Larongar, Grand Duke of Leonidas, and Elythuin, Grand Duchess of Leonidas.” He turned to the couple. “Mother, Father, I present to you your daughter… Naraiath.” 

“Oh…” The woman, your mother, breathed, her hands to her mouth. Tears sparkled in her beetle-black eyes. “My baby…” She looked desperate to rush forward and embrace you, but it was Elyngar’s warning that held her back. 

“Her ears…” Larongar said, frowning. Elation and mistrust warred with each other on his face. “They’re round. Elyngar, are you sure…?” 

“Hush, Larongar!” Elythuin said reproachfully. “She’s the spitting image of you, look at her. Don’t you see it?” 

“I…” Larongar looked conflicted. “I don’t dispute that, it’s just…” 

“She bleeds blue,” Elyngar piped up. “Elves are the only race that does so. There may be another reason for her ears being round.” 

“Both of you, be quiet!” Elythuin said sharply. “Don’t either of you dare upset her.” She stepped forward slowly and took your hands. “You have been through so much, my darling, I just can’t imagine. You’ve done well, holding on for so long. I’m very proud of you.” 

You tried to speak, but your words caught in your throat. Tears gathered in your eyes and you struggled to keep your breathing even.

“I’m sorry,” You said, the tears spilling. 

“Oh, my darling, why are you apologizing to me?” Elythuin asked.

“I… I don’t know…” You said, looking down. “I just feel sorry.” 

“No. No, my love,” Elythuin said mournfully. “We are the ones who should be sorry. Forgive us for not protecting you better.” 

Unable to keep your emotions in check, your face fell and you hid it behind your hands, weeping. Elythuin was no longer able to restrain herself and threw her arms around you, holding you close. 

“Young lady,” Larongar said, addressing you directly for the first time, though unlike Elythuin, he kept his distance with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his knuckles white. “I… notice that you still have barely-healed wounds on your face and neck, and I assume you have more on your body that I am unable to see. We should have you examined and treated by the family’s physician, if it wouldn’t be too burdensome for you.” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

“Elyngar,” Larongar said, his voice wavering. “Call Dr. Reenav.” 

“Yes, Father,” Elyngar said, exiting quickly. 

Elythuin released you, but did not relinquish your hand.

“Don’t worry, Darling,” She said, leading you back into the reception room. “I’ll be with you the whole time. Come and sit with me.” 

She took you back to the sofa and sat with you. Larongar hovered stiffly nearby, looking anxious and uncomfortable.

“My… my name is Naraiath?” You asked Elythuin hesitantly.

“Yes, my love. Did you not know your own name?” Elythuin asked. 

You shook your head.

“What were you called, then?” 

You paused for a moment before saying, “Bitch.” 

Anger flashed in her eyes and her lips thinned. Elythuin exchanged an incensed look with Larongar, who, despite his misgivings, frowned in disquiet. 

“My lord, you called for–oh…” An older male tiefling, ash grey in color with gold-green eyes, arrived into the room, with Elyngar and Clara following close behind. He seemed anxious and flighty and perhaps a bit fussy, though his manner of dress was quite plain compared to his surroundings. His gaze fell on you and he covered his heart with his hand. “Is…?” 

“This young woman has sustained several wounds, Dr. Reenav,” Larongar said. “Would you be so kind as to ascertain her physical condition and administer treatment, if needed?” 

“Of course, my Lord,” Dr. Reenav said. He came close and drew up a footstool, sitting across from you. “Young lady, might I ask you to remove your head covering?” 

You cast your glance between the five of them furtively before slowly taking off the veil, revealing your shaven head, scars and all, though peach fuzz had been growing in the two weeks since being liberated. You imagined it would be black, like your mother’s, when it grew in. 

“Hmm,” Dr. Reenav said, carefully prodding your skull. “There appear to be several healed and semi-healed contusions and fractures, layered over each other. These were sustained over a long period of time. My goodness, who could inflict this kind of damage to another person?” 

“There are several more on her body,” Clara interjected fretfully. “We’ve treated them as best as we could and she was seen by the family’s healer when we stopped at the forest farm; you know the one. Several were infected, but none appeared to be life threatening.”

“I see,” Dr. Reenav said, scribbling something down on a pad of paper. Although Clara had started trying to teach you letters, you were no closer to reading than you had been two weeks before. “In that case, I’ll recommend some simple medicine to be taken at bedtime, as well as an ointment to be applied twice a day. I’ll also call my assistant to examine you more closely, assuming you'll be more comfortable being examined by a woman rather than a man.”

“It makes no difference,” You said softly, since it didn’t matter if a stranger was a man or a woman or both or neither, they were still a stranger.

“Dr. Reenav, is she, in fact, elven?” Larongar asked. 

“Oh yes, my Lord, I have no doubt,” Dr. Reenav said, pointing to a nearly-healed cut on your lip, which was dull blue rather than the usual reddish-pink of other red-blooded races. “It’s blue. Only elves bleed blue.”

“What about her ears?” 

Dr. Reenav squinted. “Oh. How unusual. Please forgive my discourtesy, young lady.” Dr. Reenav bent closely and manipulated your ear so that he could better see them. His expression went flat, as did his voice. “They’ve been clipped.”

“Clipped?” Larongar echoed. He sat down next to you and examined your ears himself. You struggled to sit still and not pull away. “By gods, how could they? Clipping an elf’s ears is an automatic death sentence. It’s nothing less than stripping a person of their cultural identity.” Larongar released your ear. “Could they be restored with magic?” 

“Perhaps, but that’s a question for your personal mage, not your personal physician.”

“So… Do you believe she is my daughter?”

“Well…” Dr. Reenav said slowly, adjusting the spectacles on his face. “In my opinion… the structure of her face in conjunction with the circumstances of her abduction and recovery… I would say there’s no room for doubt that she is, indeed, your child.” 

Larongar released his breath in a huff and raised a hand to his forehead, looking in your eyes for the first time. “You… I…” He covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for doubting you.” He straightened his back and tried to smile, though his lip quivered. “Welcome home, my child.” 

You fell against his chest, sobbing, and he threw his arms around your shoulders and his lips pressed against your forehead. He pulled Elythuin into his embrace as well, and the three of you sat there in each others’ arms for quite a while, during which time, Dr. Reenav, Clara, and Elyngar left the room.

After some time, you began to grow a little uncomfortable with the constant touching, so you started to squirm a bit. They took the hint and released you. 

“Oh!” Elythuin said, dabbing her tear-streaked face. “I want to show you your room!” She put your veil back on your head, fussing with it a little. “Are you up to seeing it? It’s a bit of a walk.” 

“Oh, yes,” You said, wiping your face. “I would like that.”

Your mother took your left hand, your father took your right, and they walked with you at a leisurely pace further into the mansion. They pointed out certain things, like the ballroom, the formal dining hall, the family’s private dining room, the library, the mage’s laboratory, the infirmary, and the doorway that led out to the knights’ training hall. 

“Here it is,” Elythuin said as the three of you stopped in front of a large pair of double doors. “We didn’t know what you liked, so it’s mostly plain. You can do anything you want to do with it now that you’re here.” She threw the doors open and guided you inside.

This is plain? You asked yourself in alarm as you looked around. The canopy bed was massive: wide enough for four fully grown people easily, with a down quilt and multiple fluffy pillows, surrounded by thick curtains that could be closed to block out the light. There was a night table on either side of the bed, a writing desk beyond it, and several shelves full to the brim with books, toys, and ornaments. There was a sitting area with two sofas and a wide, comfy armchair, and a coffee table in the center with a fine porcelain tea set resting in the middle, ready to be used. In front of a bay window was a small dining table with a single chair and a place setting, complete with an empty etched water glass and silverware on a napkin, as if someone would sit down at any moment to take a meal there. There was another set of smaller double doors that were open and revealed a large walk-in closet overflowing with clothing, jewelry, and accessories. All of the furniture, bed linens, and upholstery was white in color, embellished with gold, silver, and pearl accents.

You did have to admit that the walls themselves were rather bare compared to the rest of the house, as there was no wallpaper or art on the walls like there were everywhere else. The blinding white of the room made it feel sterile and impersonal, but it was no less opulent than any other room you’d seen. 

“We can paint it any color you like, and we can get artists to make as many decorations as you wish,” Your father said. “Do you have a color you prefer?” 

“Oh…” You said, thinking. “I’m not sure. There was a flower I saw once growing from a tree near the guildhouse, where they made me dig a grave. I liked that color a lot, but I don’t know what it’s called.”

Your parents grimaced a little, but Larongar said, “Elyngar will know, then. We’ll ask him.” 

“Come and see the closet,” Elythuin said, taking your hand. “We have every piece of clothing we ever bought for you. Your father buys new dresses every season. He wanted to be prepared for the day you came back, to be sure you had something beautiful to wear.” 

There were lines of clothes on racks, starting from sizes for very small children up to fully grown women. Each dress was presented in different waist and bust sizes, as if they weren’t sure what size you’d be so they just bought several sizes of the same dress just to be sure something would fit you. Unfortunately, even the smallest sizes looked too big.

“Oh,” You said, looking at the many, many gowns that lined the walls. “I’m afraid I may not fit them.” 

“That’s of no concern,” Your father said. “We have a family tailor, so that can be fixed quickly. And we can just throw away any that you don’t like.” 

“Throw them away?” You asked him. “Do you mean destroy them?” 

“Of course,” He said. “There’s no reason to keep something if it can’t be used.” 

“Why wouldn’t you just sell them? Destroying them would be a waste.” 

Elythuin and Larongar exchanged a glance. “A waste?” 

“Well… I used to have to make my own clothes, even though I was only given rags to work with, so I know how much work it is. Weaving the fabric takes such a long time, especially fabric like this,” You said, touching the soft, sumptuous silks and satins with elaborate patterns painted onto or woven directly into them. “It takes so long to sew the dress, not to mention the bows and decorations, and tatting the lace can take weeks. This is months of work done by several people. Destroying it without anyone ever wearing it… it would be like spitting on those people’s work and mocking them.” 

“Oh,” Elythuin said, touching her lips. “I… had never thought of it like that.” 

“Clara was mentioning in the tailor shop that she’d wanted to make a dress for me as a gift, but she wouldn’t have been able to afford the fabric to do so. I think that there are many women out there who would love to own something like this, but can’t afford to have it made or to even buy the fabric to make it themselves. If you sold these, they could get a nice dress they couldn’t afford otherwise and you could get back some of the money you had to waste on me.”

Elythuin clicked her tongue and came forward to hold your face in her hands. “It wasn’t a waste, my darling. But perhaps your idea has merit.” She turned to Larongar. “We could open a store in her name. It would be a good way to introduce her to merchant work.”

“Ah!” Larongar said brightly. “There’s a novel idea. But it’s a bit soon to be thinking of a business since she only just arrived. We’ll put that away for later when she’s more comfortable and let her decide.” 

“What are those?” You asked, pointing to a wall where there were a number of shadow boxes hung up with infant’s gowns, complete with booties and bonnets, that were folded neatly and displayed preciously. They had caught your eye almost as soon as you had entered the room.

“Those are the clothes you actually wore when you were still here,” Your mother said sadly. “They’re all we had left of you.”

You stared at one of the shadow boxes, stepping forward to examine it, reaching out as if to touch it but stopping short. Inside was a white cap and gown that resembled a baptismal gown, hand stitched and beautifully embroidered in silver, likely something you’d worn in your first month of life. This castle and everything in it was full of memories and reminders of you at every turn, and your parents’ love for you was evident in each minute detail. The obvious care and consideration for you, someone who had been gone for twenty years, made you struggle against becoming emotional.

“Are you alright, my darling?” Elythuin asked worriedly. 

You sighed uncertainly. “Marcus always told me my parents sold me for a tuppence,” You told them. “I had just accepted that my parents didn’t love me and weren’t interested in seeing me. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might have missed me and wanted me back, even after Yngan came for me. I… I’m sorry I gave up on you.”

“Oh, my child,” Your father said, taking your hands. “It’s not your fault you thought that. We should have done more to keep you safe.” 

You shrugged, but you didn’t respond to that. “Yngan said he was your friend,” You said to your father, remembering suddenly. “He said you grew up together.”

“Yes, that’s true,” You said, smiling. “His father was my father’s captain of the guard, so we trained and studied together as we grew up. I miss him very much.” 

Your face fell. “And I got him killed.” 

“No, sweetheart, not at all. When he became an adult, he decided to find his fortune elsewhere rather than to take over his father’s title, though we stayed in contact. He became a mercenary leader for an information guild. When he heard you were missing, he made it his life’s mission to find you. When we learned he had died, we found him and buried him with full honors. He was my very best friend. I was even the best man at his wedding.” 

“Oh, that was a lovely ceremony,” Elythuin said. “We were still courting then, though our marriage was already arranged.” 

“You had an arranged marriage?” You asked. 

“Oh yes,” Your mother said. “That’s fairly common among nobles. Your father and I decided we’d likely enjoy our married life more if we at least liked each other, so we decided to court properly before we were married. It’s our good fortune that we came to love each other so much, which is not quite so common among nobles.” 

You smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

“Are you hungry, my dear?” Larongar asked. “It’s nearly time for lunch. We’ve told the kitchen staff to pull out all the stops.” 

“Yes, thank you,” You said. “Can you tell me more about Yngan? I only knew him for a short time, but he was the first person who was ever kind to me. His memory helped me when I was locked in the dark.”

Your father smiled. “I’d be more than happy to.”

He took your hand, leading you and your mother out of the room. 

Lunch was a grand affair, with more food than you’d ever seen in your life. It was hard to resist the urge to load down your plate with meat and meat alone, but you supposed that your father had noticed you eyeing the roast duck, as he kept putting new pieces on your plate every time you finished one. Dessert consisted of things you’d never seen before, but it was all sweet, delicious, and made you want to cry.

You took the meal with your parents in the private dining room on a large round table with four place settings, one of which was always laid in place for you at every meal in the event you ever returned. Your mother had told you that you all used to eat in the formal dining hall with your father at the head of the long table, as was customary, but a few years after you disappeared, they decided to have a private family dining room set up for your return, assuming you’d find the large table intimidating.

You learned that the last of the four settings was for Elyngar, who hadn’t joined you for lunch. You were still unsure how he was related to you or why he referred to your parents as “mother and father,” but you were hesitant to bring it up while things were going so well. 

After lunch, Elyngar met the three of you near the stairs at the front inside the manor. He held out his hand to you, and you took it instinctively.

“I’ve gathered the household, Father,” Elyngar said. 

“Excellent, thank you, son,” Larongar said. “Come with me, sweetheart,” He said to you, taking your hand from Elyngar’s gently but almost possessively and wrapping it around his arm. “It’s time to introduce you to the household. It won’t take but a moment, alright? After that, why don’t we go for a walk and have tea in the garden?” 

“Alright,” You whispered, taking his hand. He led you out to the top of the staircase, at the foot of which every member of staff, at least forty people, were gathered. Gasps of surprise were quickly suppressed as your parents stood on either side of you, with Elyngar standing at your father’s right elbow.

“Attention,” Larongar said, not loudly but definitely commandingly. “I would like to introduce all of you to my daughter, Naraiath Leonidas. She will be living here in the estate from now on, and I expect the utmost courtesy and kindness toward her from each and every one of you. Her word is equal to that of my wife and I, and any slight against her is a slight against me and the duchy. Do I have your understanding?” 

“Yes, my lord!” Cried a chorus of voices in response. 

“You are dismissed,” Larongar said, and the crowd dispersed, glancing back at you frequently. He turned to the head butler, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Clara. “Reice, find Lady Laudmoor and join us in the garden.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Reice said. He smiled at you gently and trotted off. 

“I’ll have tea prepared and brought to the garden veranda, my lord,” Clara said. 

“Very good, Clara, thank you,” Your father replied, and Clara dashed away as well.

Your parents took you through a leisurely stroll through the sprawling garden, showing you places where you had played when you were a baby and the walking path where you had taken your first steps. Your father lamented that he had been busy with work when you were little and hadn’t spent as much time with you as he wished, something he deeply regretted after you were gone. 

Elyngar walked behind the three of you at a short distance, being present but not intruding. He had changed from his traveling attire, which is all you’d seen him wear up to that point, to a rich green suit jacket and breeches with jeweled buttons and a ruffled cravat. You felt reassured by his presence, since he was the person you’d spent the most time with after your rescue, second only to Clara, and his constant, quiet support was comforting. As kind and accommodating as your parents had been, it was the first day you had met them and you still felt quite anxious around them, worried that they would be disappointed with you and throw you away, since you didn’t look nor act like a noble young lady. 

Once you reached one of the several covered verandas in the garden, your father pulled out your chair and settled you in it before taking his own seat. According to Clara, etiquette dictated that the lord of the manor sat first and everyone followed suit after, but the duke had flagrantly disregarded this tradition for you.

Clara was already there with Reice, who were waiting to serve you after you sat down, and you couldn’t help but notice that Reice had a tear in his eye as he poured your tea. 

“Excuse me,” You said, addressing him. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh,” He said, wiping his eyes. “Yes, young miss. Forgive me. It’s just… I am one of the original staff that was present for your birth and abduction. I feel very privileged to have been here to witness your return. I can retire now with no regrets.” 

Elythuin laughed. “Come now, Reice, you’ll never retire. You would have done years ago, if that were the case.”

Reice laughed as well. “Perhaps that’s so, Madam.”

As the six of you were talking pleasantly, the governess arrived at the veranda. 

“You wished to see me, Your Grace?” She said. 

“Ah, yes, Lady Laudmoor, please sit,” Larongar said. “Darling, this is the family governess, Lady Laudmoor. She’s the sister of Marquis Laudmoor and has served the family for generations. She was my governess, and my father’s governess, and she also taught court etiquette to Elyngar when he came to our estate. Lady Laudmoor was responsible for your care when you were small.” 

You turned to her and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Laudmoor.” 

“Oh, yes, it’s wonderful to meet you again,” Lay Laudmoor said, taking your hands. You were uncomfortable with the touching, but you made yourself stay put. Looking at Lady Laudmoor’s face, she had an expression of sorrowful regret, but her eyes were a different story. While Reice’s eyes were warm with welcome, Lady Laudmoor’s eyes were bitingly cold. “I’m sorry for not being able to stop your abduction. It was all that damn nanny’s fault.” 

“Nanny?” You asked, turning to your parents. 

“Yes,” Your father said, his expression darkening. “Lady Laudmoor caught your nanny trying to flee with you.”

“She was handing you over to that wretched man,” Lady Laudmoor said, putting a hand to her face. “I did what I could to stop them, but I was terribly injured and knocked unconscious.” She pulled down the collar of her dress to show a scar across one side of her neck. “I just wish I had done more to stop them.” 

“You did all you could, Lady Laudmoor, you shouldn’t blame yourself,” Elythuin said, patting her shoulder. 

“I know, Your Grace,” She said, delicately dabbing her eyes. “It’s just so awful.” 

“Perhaps we might discuss this at a later time,” Elyngar said, noticing your discomfort. “The young miss has only just arrived. Let’s not mar the day with recounts of a painful moment.” 

“Well said, Son,” Larongar agreed. “Let us enjoy the afternoon.”

You couldn’t help but feel as though Lady Laudmoor was put out by not getting to say more, but she fell silent and sipped her tea. You could help but feel tense in her presence, but you couldn’t explain why. At some point, she excused herself, and you felt more at ease with her gone. 

A young butler arrived and notified your parents that a guest had arrived, apparently someone that they had been expecting, so they excused themselves reluctantly with a promise to meet back up with you at dinner. For the first time since the morning, you were left alone with Elyngar. 

“Are you alright, My Lady?” He asked as he walked with you slowly back to the main building. “I’m sure it’s been quite overwhelming.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” You said. “It’s been… a lot, but it’s also been very nice. The duke and duchess have been very kind.” You frowned then, recalling your discomfort with Lady Laudmoor. “Lord Elyngar, what is your opinion of Lady Laudmoor?”

“Hmm,” He said, thinking. “I’m not close with her, so I don’t know much about her. My own observation is that she is quite a closed-off, distant woman, not the type who has friends or close relationships with others, although that’s rather common among older noblewomen. She’s a strict teacher, and I got the impression quite a few times when I was learning etiquette that she disliked my acceptance into the family.”

“I wanted to ask about that,” You said, forgetting the governess momentarily. “How did you come to be a part of the ducal family?” 

“My apologies, my Lady. The duke and duchess have asked me to let them explain it to you,” He said. 

“I see,” You replied in confusion. 

“Don’t worry, My Lady,” He said, patting your hand soothingly. “Everything your parents do is for your benefit. This situation is no different.”

Unsure of how this was for your benefit, you stayed silent. 

After dinner, your parents came to your room with you and took after-dinner tea while talking and reminiscing. When you mentioned you felt tired, your father dismissed himself to allow your mother and Clara help you get ready for bed. Thankfully you had gotten used to sleeping in a bed over the course of the two weeks you’d been traveling, so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself by sleeping on the floor. 

As you got into the bed and settled under the covers, your mother dismissed Clara and sat next to you on the bed, patting your hands. 

“Clara has told me she’s been reading to you. Would you like me to do the same?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” You said softly. 

“It’s no imposition at all, darling,” She insisted, sliding off the bed and going to the bookshelf. “This story book was your favorite when you were a child,” She said, choosing one with a knight on the cover. “I suppose you’d find it juvenile now.” 

“No, not at all,” You said. “I like fairytales.” 

Your mother smiled and sat back down next to you on the bed, opening the book and reading. You listened intently as her voice made you feel drowsy. You had nearly dropped off to sleep when she closed the book, and you snapped back to awareness.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“No, it’s alright, I liked the story.” 

“Oh, good,” She said.

“Um… may I ask something, Duchess?” You asked shyly.

“Oh, my love, please call me Mother,” She said. “But of course, ask me anything.” 

“Elyngar keeps referring to you and the duke as if you’re his parents,” You started slowly. “Why is that?” 

“Oh,” She said, hesitating. “Well, we were going to talk about this when you were a bit more settled, but I suppose it’s normal for you to be curious about it.” 

“Did you adopt him?” 

“Yes,” She said. “After you left, there were several people pushing us to have another child to succeed us, but we were so heartbroken by your loss that we just couldn’t bring ourselves to create another life that could be taken away again. Elyngar isn’t high in the succession line of his own noble house, so we adopted Elyngar as a successor rather than birth a new heir.” She looked at you anxiously. “Does that upset you?” 

“No,” You said. “I’ve never had any other family, so it would be nice to have a brother.” 

“Ah… actually,” She said, even more hesitantly. “We adopted him as a son-in-law, not a son.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Well,” She said, wringing her hands nervously. “He’s not your brother. He’s your fiance.”

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The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[lesbianslovebts]

Negative vent post. Uplifting words welcomed.

My gramma had an open wound on her leg for a while that finally closed. But neither us nor the nurses who regularly came out to the house knew that staph had gotten into her blood. Then it got into her spine, so her back was killing her for several days at home. We had to help her out of bed one day, it was so bad. We got her into her wheelchair, and then she thought she could go to the bathroom by herself. Well, we were stupid to let her try. She fell between the toilet and the tub. 2 EMTs, a cop, and like 6 firefighters came to drag her out of the house and ambulance her down to the hospital. On top of the existing back pain, she had a compression fracture from the fall. We found out about all the other stuff then, too.

She was in the hospital for about 2 weeks getting serious IV antibiotics to clear out the infection in her blood. They put a PICC line in for her to continue receiving intravenous antibiotics for 6 more weeks to clear out the infection from her spine. My mom had to fight the staff on multiple occasions to keep them from sending her home. Finally, they sent her to a transitional care unit where she would continue getting the antibiotics and start physical therapy. Except the TCU fucked up her warfarin dosage and made her INR skyrocket to 12. (Her blood was dangerously thin.) She went back to the hospital according to protocol.

Then Sunday, she fell out of bed at the hospital while trying to sit up. The staff were there and apparently witnessed it. Since it was a "gentle" fall and they did an "assessment," they decided not to do imaging of her back. My mom spoke with several people, all but begging them to do imaging of her broken, infected back to see if more damage had been done. One nurse was an absolute bitch to my mom. So she had her brother call to see if they would listen to a Man's Voice. They agreed to it, but then my gramma refused because it hurts too much to lie flat on her back on the hard MRI table. We tried to talk her into it, saying they could give her extra pain meds before starting, but she refused.

So tomorrow, they're going to send her to another TCU to continue antibiotics and PT. But who the fuck knows what happened to her back! The PT will probably do more damage than help, and that's if she even agrees to do the PT. If she refuses, I'm sure they'll kick her out. But we can't take care of her at home with this level of serious injury. My mom and I both work full time to keep the bills paid. My brother is on disability. My gramma has no money. We'd have to send her to a hellhole of a home, and if that happens, she'll resent us to death. Literally, she will just stop caring and die. And I wouldn't blame her! I can't even imagine her pain right now! Mental and physical!

On top of that, our house is falling apart because we are all multiply disabled. I'm immunocompromised and suffering from a severe cold that I picked up from my nephew despite being masked around him at all times. With my immune system, I could get lucky and be better in 1-2 weeks, or it could be 6-8 weeks. I only have 1 day left of PTO, which I have to save for a True Emergency, as if none of this is an emergency. Thankfully, my PTO renews on June 1st, but I have to make it through 7 more days of work like this.

I can't even begin to get into the household dynamics right now, but my mom has ruined her own health and aged 10 years in the past 1.5 years since my brother moved in. She will do anything for him if he asks, no matter how it destroys her. But if I ask for something, she is no longer there for me like she used to be. She racked up credit card debt for my brother and his lawyer for the divorce. She lets his kid come over every weekend, never mind the migraines, meltdowns, and illnesses it has caused me, and she will continue to do so. Even though I no longer have meltdowns and have grown fond of the little guy, he is a danger to my health. (It's not his fault! He's gonna get sick like all kids do, and his mom is an anti-vaxxer.)

I can't move out. I can't afford it, and even though my mom isn't able to be there for me like she used to, she still helps me with some things. (I am autistic and need support.) I love my mom. I resent her for her choices. I fear losing her above all else. She's my best friend. I am angry that she won't take care of herself. I watch her age and decline in health and burst into tears. We've made it through so much together. And somehow, we'll get through this, too, but I am so scared and tired.

[lucacangettathisass]

I'LL FOLLOW YOU (INTO THE DARK)

SUMMARY: You grew up in the capital, kept far away from the dangers that lurked outside the walls. But after the fall of Shiganshina, you've been plagued by thoughts of titans and suffering and the blood of your fellow man.

So, you decided to do something about it.

Getting out of the city was the easy part. Proving yourself to everyone, including Shadis, is the hard part. But it looks like you've made a friend, the son of your former doctor; Eren Yeager.

He's driven, and possess a pull that's almost irresistible.

Or maybe that's just you.

FEATURING: It's My Fanfic So I Get To Decide What's Canon, my own thoughts on titans and additions to that aspect of the story (it's vague for a reason), references to Christian and Jewish thought/beliefs/philosophy (look I went to Catholic school and I've been considering converting so that shit has been Marinating), Grisha Yeager Is A Complicated Man, my pro snake agenda (THEY'RE JUST CURVY WIGGLY GUYS LEAVE THEM ALONE), awkward teens, class differences, shitty parents, loss of parents, Mothers, protective Mikasa (DON’T WORRY I'M NICE TO HER IN THIS), dorky eren (MY NUMBER ONE AGENDA), Problematic Relationships (further down the line, and it's more of a Tease than anything)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Death, illness, implied murder, implied abuse

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Who can spot all the references? What do you think they mean, if anything?

TAGLIST: @blckbrdlove

CHAPTER ONE

You had never truly thought of your home as any kind of friend or ally. At best, it was just another set of walls, separating you from everyone else in the city of Mitras. At worst, it was a casket, the final resting place of your beloved mother. The only source of comfort it offered you was the garden, which had been walled off, along with you and the rest of the east wing, from the rest of the estate ever since your mother's death all those years ago.

After all, your father's new wife shouldn't be forced to remember that someone else had been there first. That was also why you had been shunted off, abandoned and left in the care of the few members of staff who knew of your existence. Your father had a new wife who gave him not one, but two sons. What use did he have for you now?

On the bright side, this meant that fewer eyes were on you, so you were free to execute your plan. It was simple, pack some necessities, and use your natural abilities to be silent and light on your feet to slip out before anyone could notice.

"My lady, it's time for-"

You turned around, just as you were finishing up packing your bag, locking eyes with Rafael, your father's valet, and the head of the household staff.

The two of you stared at each other, and you watched his brow furrow, his dark eyes darting from you to your bag and back again. "My lady, what are you doing?"

You looked over Rafael, wondering just how much you should tell him. But lying had never been something you enjoyed, and you figured that if nothing else, Rafael deserved honesty. After all, he was the one that fulfilled the duties of a father when your own didn't want to.

"I'm leaving." You said. "I'm going to join the military. And I'm going to kill titans."

You had never been the best at reading people's faces, but even you could tell that Rafael was filled with despair. You supposed that you would be too, had he told you the same thing.

"Y/N are you insane?!" It was the first he had ever raised his voice at you, and the second that he called you by your name. "Why would you want to do that?! You're safe here!"

"And other people aren't." You replied, genuinely surprised at the level of emotion Rafael was showing. "How is it fair that other people suffer and lose everything while I get to live in safety?"

"I don't know, but that's just how the world is." Rafael said, as if you should be satisfied with that answer. He should know you better than that.

"Well I'm still going." You closed your bag and tried to leave your room, but Rafael refused to move, standing in front of the door, rooted to the ground.

"My lady, I'm not going to let you throw your life away!" Rafael grabbed your shoulders, gripping them tight. "I promised your mother I would watch over you and I intend to do so."

That gave you pause. You often wondered how Rafael felt about your mother. When she fell ill, the ones who were by her side the most were you and him. Whenever Dr Yeager came to see her, Rafael was the one who would take note of what he said and go off to get the medicine he had prescribed. The day she passed was the first time you had seen him cry.

Judging by his face now, today may bring the second.

"I'm sure she would understand." You said.

"You're safer here." Rafael insisted, sounding desperate.

"Am I?"

Your question was left hanging, the tension growing.

Rafael's left eye twitched, and his jaw clenched. He only ever did those things when he's trying to hide something. "What do you mean?"

"My mother was perfectly healthy." You said. "She got plenty of sunshine in the garden, almost everything she ate, she grew herself. She rode horses, she danced, she did everything. And then, one day, she's bedridden. Can barely move. How does that happen?"

The silence is heavy, and it seems to be doing Rafael no favours.

"Then, within a month of her dying, my father finds a new wife." You kept your gaze on Rafael, taking note of how he refuses to lift his gaze from the ground. "My father had the greatest access to my mother. They spent plenty of time together, just the two of them. Who knows what happened during those times."

"My lady, you shouldn't think such things." Rafael was trying to scold you, but his conviction was weak. "It isn't good."

"In what way?" You asked, genuinely wondering what he could mean. "Ever since his new wife arrived, I've been quarantined to this wing of the estate. How long until my father decides that doing so is too much work?"

You swallowed. It was something you had thought about a lot lately, but saying it out loud felt different. Like it was real.

The silence returned, and it looked like Rafael was desperate to break it, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"When I die, I want it to be on my own terms." You said finally. "If it's in the mouth of a titan, then so be it. Better that than at the whims of someone else."

There. You had said your piece. Now you just need to wait and see how Rafael will react.

"The way you're talking…" His voice was soft, but since it was just the two of you, it was easy to hear him. "It sounds like you want to join the survey corps…"

"That's right." You nodded. "They get to leave the walls. They see the titans before the rest of us. If I was with them, if they had more people, maybe what happened at Wall Maria and Shiganshina wouldn't happen again."

Rafael furrowed his brow, looking confused. "Shiganshina?"

"It was where Dr Yeager lived, remember?"

Realization dawned on Rafael. "I…I had forgotten." He sounded mournful, and almost guilty. "You were always fond of him."

It was true. Dr Yeager has always been kind to you. Even before your mother fell ill, he saw you frequently, and had tried to unravel the mystery that was your mind and how it functioned. Just about everyone else around you insisted that something had to be wrong with you, that the way you saw things, the way you acted, the way you thought, simply wasn't normal. That you were as strange and uncanny and abnormal as the titans. The only ones that didn't see you like that were, of course, your mother, and, to your surprise at the time, Dr Yeager. He had told you himself that there was nothing wrong with you, that while, yes, the way your brain worked was different from most people, it wasn't a bad thing. Adjustments may need to be made and techniques will need to be learned on your part to be able to cope in a world stacked against you, but that wasn't your fault. You weren't broken.

Your pillow had almost gotten soaked from the tears of joy you had wept into it that night.

After hearing about the fall of Maria, and the destruction of Shiganshina, you had held out hope that he and his family had survived somehow, had made it into Wall Rose as refugees. Perhaps even the interior, considering all the work he had done there. But when no word came, you gave up.

It felt like you had lost a family member.

That man had saved you and tried to save your mother. The least you could do was kill the things that killed him and his family and destroyed his home, or die trying.

"No one could've predicted what happened at Wall Maria." Rafael said gently. "The Armoured and Colossal Titans…we've never seen anything like them. No number of scouts could've stopped them."

"But they could've sent word. Warned others, giving people time to evacuate." Maybe if they had, the Yeager family would've lived.

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?" Rafael said it like a question, but both of you knew it was a statement of fact. He sighed heavily, and there was a look in his eyes that you couldn't recognize. That surprised you.

Slowly, he stepped aside, leaving the door free for you to reach. "I'll tell your father you ran away, but I won't tell him where." Rafael promised. "I just have one request."

"Anything." After everything he's done for you, he's more than earned whatever request he's about to make.

"In the military, use your mother's maiden name." Rafael looked and sounded serious, more serious than you had ever seen him, which was saying something. In fact, he sounded borderline desperate. "Please."

You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Usually this would make you reluctant to do what's asked of you, but since it's Rafael and you already promised, you nodded. "OK."

You picked up your bag, slinging it onto your back. "I'll find my way."

"I know you will, my lady." He opened the door for you, and when you walked past, he bowed, like it was any other day. "I've been truly blessed to watch you grow." He said, his voice cracking a little.

That gave you pause. Until that very moment, it never occurred to you just how much your departure would affect Rafael, or anyone else who still remained in your life. Would they all weep too?

"Thank you Rafael." And you put your hand on his shoulder. You couldn't think of anything else to do.

Even with a full backpack you moved through the halls and down the stairs like a ghost, like the wind through trees. Ever since you were a small child, you had a talent for remaining silent and unseen. Your every movement went unnoticed, like a snake in the tall grass.

You would make a game of it whenever you were bored, seeing how many times you could sneak up on others and scare them. You stopped counting after two hundred. It had stopped being fun by then.

But now it wasn't about fun, it was about necessity. While Rafael visited your wing of the estate the most, there were still a select few who were permitted entry into it, and if any of them caught you, it could complicate matters.

You kept an ear out for them, while keeping yourself to the shadows and corners, obscuring yourself as much as possible, before you made it to your destination.

The door to the garden.

Initially, when your father had walled it off, you thought it was part of his grieving process. You knew better now. On the plus side, you still had access to it, were one of the few to have access to it in fact. It had helped keep you sane during those lonelier days.

You had done your best to tend to it, to keep it as lush and thriving as it had been before. But while it had been your mother's passion project, she still had plenty of help. You had no such luxury, having only Rafael and two other maids to assist you, none of which shared your or your mother's penchant and passion for gardening, so some of it had naturally fallen into disrepair, despite your best efforts.

But the one thing that had retained the glory it enjoyed under your mother's care was the apple tree.

It stood tall and proud, creating enough shade for almost a third of the garden. The apples that came from it were true beauties, as green as the leaves, round as the sun, and juicier than anything you have ever experienced. When your mother died, your father had her buried beneath it, and you imagined that by now its roots had fully wrapped around her, in a never ending embrace. You had a lot of good memories of that tree, and that was probably why you stopped in front of it.

You gazed up into its canopy, wondering just how many leaves it boasted now, how many creatures called it home. You looked down at the large roots that peeked through the grass. You wondered which ones held your mother as you knelt before it, putting a hand on the biggest, most gnarled of the roots. It felt warm. Probably from the sun and heat, but you liked to imagine it was the flowing of your mother's blood and the force of her love.

"Dr Yeager did his best for you." You said softly, looking down at the hard, patterned wood. "Now I'll do my best for him."

Thump

You turned to your left and, to your surprise, saw an apple. You were sure you had gathered them all with Rafael the other day. But it seems this one had been hiding, waiting to ripen and reveal itself.

You picked it up, inspecting it. There were no signs of bruising, or that an insect had made it it's home. Carefully, you took a bite.

It was delicious.

You could feel the juice running down your chin, and you wiped it away.

You weren't usually one for signs, but this seemed like a good one.

Apple in hand, you left the garden.

-

Unfortunately the military recruiters had left by the time you got there, but you weren't about to let that stop you.

Using a gold embossed doorknob that you had taken from the estate, you were able to bribe a merchant leaving for Wall Rose to let you tag along. You had considered bribing the military police to get you out, but you were concerned that it would get back to the circles your father traveled in, so you avoided them. Plus, it would probably look bad for your future military career.

From that merchant you bribed another to get further out, and yet another to find out who supplies the training camp for the military, and then bribed them to take you out there.

By the time you finally got to the training grounds it was late evening, dinner time you suspected, and you had used up everything you had taken with you to use as bribery. Your apple was long gone too, but it had nourished you well enough, considering you left during lunch time.

It wasn't until the suppliers left that you realized that you didn't have a plan for this part. You had been running purely on adrenaline and passion and impulse, incredibly out of character for you.

But you had already made up your mind. You're going to join the scouts, no matter what.

You spotted the biggest building, saw that the lights were on and heard noise coming from it and figured that was as good a place as any to start. You approached it, electing to ignore the girl who seemed to be doing laps (judging by how exhausted she looked you doubted it was her choice to do so).

Without taking a second to think, you opened the door, being sure to make enough noise to be noticed, and were promptly met with silence.

You surveyed the hall, taking in the surprised expressions, when your eyes fell on one boy in particular. He appeared to be your age, and in many ways was unremarkable. He was lanky and awkwardly proportioned, most likely due to not reaching puberty just yet, with short dark brown hair. The only thing of note about him really were his eyes, which were a dark shade of green. It reminded you of the leaves of the rose bushes in the garden.

But when you looked into them…you couldn't explain it. You felt something inside you unfurl. It felt primal, a near magnetic draw to the boy that you knew for a fact you had never seen before in your life. And yet your blood felt fiery hot under your skin, your heart racing like a thoroughbred.

'Who is he?'

"By the Walls, who is this?"

You were pulled from your unexplainable trance by a voice behind you, and you turned to find a tall, older, bald man, who didn't look impressed. He glared down at you, his eyes as cold as your blood was hot.

"Well?" He snapped. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

You blinked, finally gathering yourself together and pulled out of your daze. "I take it you're in charge." You said. "I'm a recruit, sir."

He tsked. "A recruit? Why are you late then?"

"I missed the recruiter convoy." You said. "On account of being kept inside. I had to sneak out."

"Sneak out?" The man sounded incredulous, disbelieving. "Where are you from?"

"Mitras, sir."

That caused a stir. A wave of whispers came upon the crowd, too low for you to hear anything but you could guess the gist. You didn't imagine many born in the capital would willingly join the military.

That truly seemed to have caught the man off guard. "And how did you get here, exactly, if you missed the recruiters?"

"I bribed people to get past the walls."

More whispers. It seemed you were to be the main topic of conversation and gossip, at least for a while.

The man snorted, and he seemed almost angry, like he suspected you of tricking him. "You mean to tell me you smuggled yourself out of the capital, and made your own way here, just to join the military?"

"Yes sir. I'm not sure how else I'm supposed to explain it."

The whispers ceased, plunging you all into dead silence.

The man stared down at you, while you looked past him, at a spot on the wall next to his temple. A trick you learned to make it seem like you're holding eye contact.

"Why the military?" He asked finally. "Why leave your cozy little life for this?"

You furrowed your brow. Why did people keep asking questions with obvious answers?

"Because I want to join the survey corps and kill titans." You said simply. "I want to help prevent a disaster like what happened at Wall Maria and Shiganshina. I want to protect my fellow man, and I can't do that in Mitras."

The silence stayed, and the man kept trying to stare you down, but you kept your gaze on the wall. You remained calm. You had faced worse than him.

"Your name, recruit." He said, voice low. "What is it."

'Use your mother's maiden name. Please.'

"Y/N." You said. "Y/N Chava."

[pacificwaternymph]

Finn was worried.

It knew it shouldn’t be. There was no evidence to justify his concerns. Not one sign from anyone involved that they were heading down that path, or that they would head down that path any time in the future. It was being ridiculous.

Really, more than likely he was looking for a correlation that didn't exist. It was just projecting its long buried hurt onto someone else. But… Elliot was turning out to be so very much like himself, and it frightened him. 

The kid was on the more animalistic side, something he shared with Neb and Finn. They were subject to more weird looks and whispers behind their back in the streets because of it. But it went beyond that. 

Finn had been watching. It saw how Elliot reacted to the finer things in life, how he shied away from the expensive and decadent lifestyle his sister, father, and even to a lesser extent, mother adored. And though it would be many years before the factioning came around that would claim the children as official pirates of the isles, Finn could already make fair guesses where each would end up. 

He didn’t worry for Tabitha. If there were ever anyone born to be a Kestrel, it was her. Though only eight years old, she was a master con artist. She could swindle you out of your own pants and you wouldn’t even realize you’d gotten the bad end of the bargain until she’d already disappeared. She was also a master manipulator, able to convince someone to do anything for her with just a few sweetened words. She had half the island’s population wrapped around her tiny finger.

But Elliot… Elliot was unlike anyone else in his family. They was a natural born fighter, a brawler through and through, which was such a stark contrast from his parents and sister. And it was really trying not to, because this was so undeniably different, but when Finn looked at them, all it could see was a freshly minted Kite, scorned by its parents, disowned for a difference in ideals.

Logically he knew there was nothing to fear. Inigo wasn’t like that. He didn’t care for factions. Hell, he hadn’t even married within his own, and neither he nor Jo had ever given a rats ass about the factions of those they associated with. 

And it knew that Elliot didn’t receive the same kind of bullying it had, or at the very least not nearly to the extent that it had experienced. Not when the kid was known to kick and bite and scratch at anyone who came too close. And if that wasn’t enough to scare them off, Tabitha certainly was. 

But even knowing all of this… Finn felt scared. Scared that Elliot wouldn’t grow up to be the person their parents expected them to be. Scared that they would reject them for it. Scared that history was doomed to repeat itself, no matter how promising the start. 

And he hated himself for it, but some part of his mind whispered evidence. Little pieces used to justify its fear. Inigo prided himself on refinement and elegance. Jo detested all things violent. He hated to think these things of his friends, or that they meant anything about the future of their son. It wished it could just tell the thoughts to shut up. But every time he pushed them down, they came back louder.

So he found himself on the front door of Inigo’s truly ridiculously large mansion, hand hovering over the knocker on the large wooden doors.

It didn’t need to knock. The mansion was practically a second home to him by now. It spent just as many nights here as it did in its own house, and last it heard Lazuli had moved in full time. Jo had even offered to let him move in as well, but he had turned her down. 

But with what it had come to do, come to ask, it didn't feel right to barge into their home like that.

Taking a deep breath, he reached up and pounded on the door. A few agonizing minutes ticked by before it swung open. Finn had been expecting to be greeted by one of Inigo's household staff, but instead it found Jo on the other side of the door.

"Finn?" she said, a confused smile spreading across her face. He didn't blame her. It flinched, already thrown off balance. But this was good, he told himself. This way it could just get it over with. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk. To you," he stuttered. Jo's smile dropped, concern replacing it. She stepped aside and ushered him inside.

"Yeah, of course," she said gently. "Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

Fin shook its head. No, nothing had happened yet. That was the whole point.

"No- no. There's just something that's been... bothering me," it admitted. Jo thinned her lips, glancing around the room. Then the smile returned, and she gently took his hands.

"Of course. Let's go somewhere a bit more comfortable."

-

"It's about Elliot," Finn said. They were in the library, sitting next to a crackling fireplace. Jo had sent for some hot chocolate and was now sipping delicately from her mug. Finn's sat untouched on the corner table next to it.

Jo's eyes flickered with something unreadable, her brow creasing. She nodded at it to keep going.

Finn took a deep breath. "He's a great fighter, you know. And a very quick learner. I think Lazuli is running out of things to teach them."

The tension in Jo's shoulders lowered a bit. "That he is," she laughed. "You should see how quickly they can tire Inigo out. I swear he almost has too much energy."

Finn nodded. Okay, this was it. He steeled his nerves, nails digging into his palms for how hard he was clenching them.

“He’s shaping up to be a rather fine… kite,” it ground out, and braced itself for the reaction.

Jo gave him an odd look. Finn tried not to read into it. She seemed to ponder over his words, frowning.

“Well…" she began. "I think it’s still a bit early to tell for certain what faction either one of the children will want to be sorted into yet." She grinned at Finn. "I know you’re excited about being an Uncle, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

Jo laughed, and relaxed, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. Finn reached for its own mug, but still didn't drink from it. He stared down at the dark brown liquid, studying the way it rippled and sloshed minutely so that he wouldn't have to look at his friend. This was excruciating.

“What… what if he was a Kite, though?" Finn asked, glancing up at Jo. "Instead of a Kestrel or a Nightingale like you or Inigo? Would that be… okay?”

There, it said it. The words hung in the air ominously, too big to be taken back now. Jo continued to give him that unreadable expression, leaning forward.

“Well of course it would be. Why wouldn’t-“ she cut herself off, looking it up and down. Understanding dawned on her face. “Ah. Is this about… your factioning?”

Finneas flinched, but nodded all the same. Of course Jo would figure it out. She knew it better than anyone else. He should have expected this.

“I’m sorry," it said, hunching its shoulders. "I just can't stop thinking about it. I don’t want what happened to me to... happen to them..”

“Do you really think we would do that?” Finn risked a glance at his friend. She didn't look or sound angry. She looked... confused, still, and hurt.

“No!" it blurted. He couldn't stand her looking at him like that. "Of course not. I just… my mind keeps linking all these pieces together." It buried its face in its hands. "Every tiny similarity sets off warning bells in my head, Jo. Everything he does reminds me so much of me and I don’t know what I'd do if... if...”

Suddenly there were hands on top of his, gently prying his fingers away from his face. Jo brushed her thumbs along its palms.

“I understand," she said softly. "But I promise you, Finn. There is nothing Elliot could do that would make us love them less. They’re my son. And family will always be more important to me than something like a faction. Whatever faction he chooses, or even if he decides not to join one at all, we will accept and support him.”

Finn blew out a breath. It nodded, finally feeling some of its fear dissipate. He stood up, and squeezed Joanna's hands gratefully.

"Okay." Its voice wavered, but neither of them mentioned it.

"Thank you for coming to talk to me about this," Jo said quietly. "Is there anything I can do that would help convince you?"

Finn shook his head. "I knew you wouldn't do something like that. I just... needed to hear you say it." Its vision was starting to blur, and now it was talking around a lump in its throat. "I... I should go."

Joanna looked like she wanted to protest, but she still nodded and stepped back. "Do you remember how to get back to the front door from here?"

Finn opened his mouth, offended she even needed to ask, but realized... no, actually, he didn't remember.

It shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just crawl out the window or something." He laughed. Joanna snorted, shaking her head. She looked like she was about to insist on escorting it, so it quickly waved goodbye and headed for the door.

“You're family too," Jo called out just as he gripped the doorknob. It froze. "You know that, right?” He exhaled shakily.

It wasn't the first time it had heard her say that. Jo loved to proclaim everyone in their little group to be family. Lazuli embraced it wholeheartedly, and Neb followed along with whatever Lazuli did. But Finn... had always been more hesitant.

Maybe it was because of how casually she threw the word around. Like it meant nothing to her. It held none of the weight that it did for Finn, all the complicated emotions and drama and rejection. She'd never had a family before, so how was she to know all the implications of it?

But now... now...

"I know," it said, and it meant it. "Goodnight, Jo."

He pulled the door open.

"Goodnight Finn."

-

As always, Finneas belongs to @finnified

[supersaiyanjedi14]

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: MERCURY BLACK

“I'm sorry you didn't have a mommy that loved you, but I had a father who hated me! He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating. And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his! ‘This is a crutch!’ ‘This makes you weak!’ He told me I could have it back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back! I've had to work harder than anyone to get where I am. You may not like it here without Cinder, but I think I'm right where I'm supposed to be!”

PHYSICAL

Aged in his early 20s, Mercury Black is a human male hailing from the kingdom of Vale, the son of the noted assassin Marcus Black.  The young Mercury lived a life of violence and abuse, his early combat training colored by physical beatings and verbal beratement.  In the Black household, natural strength and personal achievement were all that mattered, with Marcus going so far as to strip his son of his Semblance to force him to develop the hard way.  Despite his utter failure as a parent, Marcus did succeed in crafting Mercury into a highly capable and ruthless combatant, making it only appropriate that he fought and killed his father roughly a year before the Fall of Beacon.  Immediately afterwards, Mercury was approached by Cinder Fall, who recruited him as one of her primary agents in service to Salem.  Though born as a typical human specimen, Mercury’s legs were amputated right above the knees at some point prior to the attack on Amber, necessitating a pair of cybernetic replacements.  The legs were strong enough to endure a sustained blast of fire from Amber’s staff and likely possessed superhuman striking strength, which his fighting style fully leveraged.  Given that he was able to attack Amber at range despite clearly not having his weapon attached, it is entirely possible that the legs were outfitted with wind Dust cannons, reinforcing his combat evasions.

Above the knees, Mercury was a baseline humanoid, standing at 6’2” and distinguished by his gray hair and eyes, pale skin, and slim athletic build.  An exceptional athlete, his primary physical attribute was his remarkable agility, leveraged through his dynamic fighting style and intense yet nimble acrobatic jumps and lunges.  He has dodged lighting strikes from Amber, evaded gunfire from Coco Adel, tagged Ruby Rose while she was using her Petal Burst (head-on I might add), and has casually kept pace with the likes of Pyrrha Nikos and Yang Xiao Long.  Though seemingly excessive and flashy, Mercury was nimble enough to perform intricate contortions and spins while balanced on his hands alongside his parkour amid his combat sequences, fighting as a bizarre mix of freerunner and breakdancer.  Though he favored kick-based martial arts, rarely employing punches, Mercury possessed sufficient dexterity and reflexes to leverage his hands for close-quarters defense, redirecting Yang’s punches during the Vytal Festival and holding off Emerald Sustrai in a fist fight.  The only time Mercury’s mobility failed him was when Tyrian Callows pounced on him in Salem’s castle, and even this example was because he was caught off-guard.  Mercury’s physical strength varied depending on which of his appendages he is hitting with.  With his legs, he has staggered even heavily armored opponents with the force of his kicks and was able to shatter the arena floor with a single strike during his battle with Yang.  With his arms, however, he had nothing to write home about, and in fact has been overpowered on several occasions, albeit only from dedicated heavyweights like Yatsuhashi Dachi and Yang.

Hardened by years of physical abuse, Mercury was all too familiar with pain and injury and knew better than most how to take a hit.  Despite his laid-back sarcastic attitude, he possessed the martial discipline to roll with the punches and would break before he ever bent.  Against Amber, he soaked up several elemental attacks that forced him to his knees, yet still maintained his composure and was still vital enough to escape from Qrow Branwen after the fight.  Though he was manhandled by Yatsuhashi during the Vytal Festival, Mercury recovered quickly and continued to fight with no visible drain on his performance, digging deep and managing to overcome Team CFVY’s juggernaut.  In his subsequent battle with Yang Xiao Long, Mercury had to be pounded into submission, taking the full brunt of Yang’s Burn-enhanced onslaught before going down.  Even after his Aura was broken, Mercury was able to regain his feet and trick Yang into seemingly attacking a defenseless opponent, enduring the pain of her point-blank Ember Celica into his right leg and only needing cosmetic repairs before getting back on his feet the following evening.  At Haven Academy, Mercury worked through a rematch with Yang and endured a headbutt from Ruby, and by the end of the lengthy battle was spry enough to retreat with only minor signs of fatigue.  At the end of the day, I think we can agree that there is a reason why Salem paired Mercury up with the only one of her lieutenants able to reliably overcome him quickly when she dispatched him and Tyrian to Vacuo.

As he operated primarily as an assassin and infiltrator, Mercury’s MO was to be inconspicuous rather than imposing, blending in and striking unexpectedly.  Accordingly, he favored simple clothing that minimized encumbrance and allowed for casual appearance. When he was dispatched to Vacuo with Tyrian Callows, he wore an orange trimmed blue shirt underneath a double-breasted gray leather jacket, accessorizing with gray vambraces with fingerless gloves, black cargo pants, and an orange keychain. Though they were typically concealed beneath his clothing, the durability of Mercury’s legs allowed them to function as built-in armor, providing a margin for error for his fancy feet.

RANKING: Tier 1.5, Partially Augmented Human

Mercury’s youthful athleticism is easily equal to or greater than the most capable human Huntsmen, and even though he only specializes in a single arena, he is still well-rounded enough to function in any role required of him, balancing forceful aggression with dynamic flexibility.  His capabilities are further augmented by his cybernetics, his legs providing extremely durable bludgeons in combat and functioning as natural armor.  Where Yang Xiao Long’s prosthetic was limited to only her right arm, Mercury’s paired set offers him greater protection and more leverageable options in combat. Though not enough to classify him as truly superhuman, he still has a literal leg up on your standard human.

MARTIAL

Mercury Black was armed with Talaria, a set of black metallic greaves outfitted with built-in firearms.  Approximately 15 inches long, each greave was equipped with a circular drum of ammunition, while the metal plating extended to about halfway between his ankles and knees. The weapons appeared to be based around similar technology to the Ember Celica wielded by his rival Yang Xiao Long, with the obvious difference being that the triggering and reload mechanism was built to accommodate kicks rather than punches.  By the time Salem’s forces arrived in Atlas, Mercury had added a set of sharpened metal wings to the heels, though whether these held combative purposes or were purely cosmetic is unconfirmed.

With every day of training being a beating in practice, Marcus Black taught his son how to be a fighter at a very early age, emphasizing physical conditioning and hand to hand combat.  Despite amounting to an alcoholic thug of a human being, Marcus’s reputation as a combatant was well-known, and Mercury clearly benefitted from his father’s training, demonstrated when he narrowly defeated him in the burning ruin of their house.  It was there that Cinder Fall found him, recruiting him as her primary enforcer and assassin in the leadup to the Fall of Beacon.  Mercury served Cinder faithfully during that year, where he cut his teeth against the Fall Maiden Amber, acquitted himself well in a sparring match with Pyrrha Nikos, and fought evenly with Yang Xiao Long during the Vytal Festival.  Despite his young age, Mercury was a hardened killer and utterly ruthless, his skill gaining the appreciation of his peers and even Salem herself.  Like his rival Yang, Mercury was an unarmed martial artist first and foremost, his weapons being a literal extension of his body.  His physical moveset was powerful yet fluid, alternating between an array of kicks and leg sweeps to trip up, stagger, and bludgeon the opponent. Highly mobile, Mercury often employed flying acrobatics to add power to his strikes, best seen when he slammed into Fulcrum at full force during his battle with Yatsuhashi Dachi and later an overhead scissor-kick when squaring off with Yang, in addition to nimble evasions to avoid injury.  Despite this brutal offensive stance, Mercury also utilized his flexibility for disorientation and defense. He favored breakdancing-like spins and gyrations to distract the opponent while he slipped in counters, executing his kicks with great precision when necessary.  When he adopted more grounded stances, Mercury used these same maneuvers in the form of sweeping roundhouse kicks, staggering the opponent and setting up for a powerful follow-up.  His control and finesse was further expressed in his marksmanship, turning his upright hammer kicks into projectile volleys that he has used for both focused takedowns and to create his Dust whirlwinds.  This sophisticated yet vicious style was reinforced with hand-based defensive parries, intercepting upper body attacks with deft deflections and light punches, setting up for counters while their attention was taken up.

“Raised” by a murderous assassin, Mercury Black had little regard for honorable conduct or the well-being of others, a callousness that was reflected in his tactics.  He favored ambush and surprise, catching the opponent with their pants down and hitting them where it hurt most. His use of psychological warfare was emphasized by his tendency to interrupt the opponent and kick them while they were down, messing with their concentration and preventing them from bringing their full might to bear.  In pitched combat, he used his erratic fighting style to blindside the enemy and keep them guessing while giving himself an opportunity to bypass their defenses.  When the situation allowed for hit, he employed verbal taunts to distract and provoke, keeping you off balance by being a sketchy asshole.  Subvert and overwhelm.  Though he was silent during the attack on Amber, Mercury still kept the Fall Maiden on her toes by rushing in to blitz her when she least expected it, forcing Amber to lean heavily on her Maiden powers to compensate.  When sparring with Pyrrha Nikos, Mercury’s stronger core technique allowed him to bully through her standard sword-and-board technique and disarm her, though Pyrrha turned the tables by leveraging her Semblance to deflect and repel him, prompting a forfeit after he took her measure.  During the Vytal Festival, he and Emerald Sustrai went up against Coco Adel and Yatsuhashi Dachi in the Doubles Round, and they proceeded to turn the battle into a guerrilla ambush.  They opened by slipping into the grasses and goading Coco into focusing on that while they slipped away.  They followed this up with Mercury blindsiding their opponents from the sky, expertly pinballing between the two in close quarters while leaving Coco vulnerable to Emerald’s BFR yank.  Though Yatsu managed to gain ground and nearly overpower him, Mercury recovered his momentum and squared off evenly with the giant before kicking him into an environmental hazard, leaving him open to a finishing kick.  Arguably Mercury’s greatest display of skill as a martial artist was his duel with Yang Xiao Long in the Singles, fighting evenly with RWBY’s heavyweight and overbearing her several times, only losing when she used her Semblance to brutalize him.  While it is true that Mercury threw the fight as part of Cinder’s plans, this does not change the fact that the two were clearly on equal footing and pressuring such a talented up-and-coming fighter is no mean feat.

Mercury was devious and tricky, but he was often afflicted by his own cocky attitude.  He tended to go too far with his taunts and get careless, which has given many of his opponents chances to rally from setbacks and fight back before he wised up. Though Yang’s Semblance may have granted her the win regardless, Mercury let his guard down immediately after kicking her to the ground, making their final bout a series of hits he didn’t need to take.  During their rematch at Haven Academy several months later, Mercury pressed his advantage, exploiting Yang’s shock of Weiss Schnee’s impalement, but his and Emerald’s attempt to encircle her was interrupted by Ruby Rose, who rushed in to defend her sister.  In the ensuing melee, Mercury managed to disarm Ruby, but chose the moment to mock her for her supposed helplessness, leaving him exposed to a retaliatory headbutt, a failing made even more egregious given Ruby’s middling unarmed combat skills.  While Mercury continued to acquit himself well, fighting through the eventually arrival of Blake Belladonna and escaping with the others, this incident demonstrated how careless Mercury could become when his success went to his head, especially against opponents ostensibly below his own level.  Furthermore, he himself was vulnerable to psychological taunting, especially when the comments were directed towards his deep-seeded issues regarding his father.  His brief exchange with Emerald saw him angrily berating her for her blind loyalty to Cinder, yet a few choice words from Tyrian Callows were enough to set him off and leave him flat on his back.  Mercury preferred to keep things close to the chest, preventing his opponents from digging their psychological hooks into him even as he tried to hook them himself.  In his fights with Yang, Mercury drew a fine line between messing with Yang’s head and actively provoking her, the anger he stoked in her putting him on the hot seat against a level of force he wasn’t prepared for.  Mercury was at his best when in his comfort zone, his fighting style and tactics allowing him to off-balance the opponent while dismantling their defenses.  If the opponent refuses to be provoked or can work through his interference, he can get in trouble very quickly, the leg Yang blasted at the Vytal Festival being an uncomfortable reminder of his oversights.

RANKING: Tier 3, Standard Mastery

Mercury’s training, technique, and feats speak to a highly skilled martial artist who is, at worst, still comparable to the great masters of his day.  His core fighting style balances out dynamic energy with deft flexibility, while his tactical outlook tempers his vicious aggression with ruthless pragmatism. Mercury Black’s priority is always to come out ahead, without a thought to being elegant or nice.  He will take you down however he has to and if he doesn’t have to fight fair, he won’t.  However, his success is predicated on his control, and if he is confronted by an opponent who he can’t overpower or undercut, he can get into trouble very quickly, while his arrogant posturing makes him prone to tactical blunders.  Though given his parity with the likes of Yang and Pyrrha, getting Merc into that kind of trouble will still be an uphill battle.

SPECIAL

The day his son unlocked his Semblance, Marcus Black used his own to steal it, telling the young Mercury that it was a crutch that interfered in the way of obtaining true strength.  Regardless of whether Marcus was expressing his personal philosophy or simply being a manipulative bastard, these words would be taken to their natural extreme when Mercury killed his father before he had a chance to restore his powers.  As a result, Mercury Black spent his entire career without a Semblance, a factor that made him extremely unique among his peers.  Though his lack of special abilities left him somewhat handicapped, Mercury was not helpless and had learned, or rather been forced to learn, to work within him limits.  Like his former associate Roman Torchwick, Mercury primarily compensated for his lack of a Semblance by dedicating himself wholly to his mastery of physical combat, to the point where he was able to contend with more powerful adepts by dominating them and preventing them from bringing their full power to bear.  Against Amber, he simply evaded her lightning strikes, powered through her flame burst, and endured the flurry of frozen leaves she threw.  Against more conventional Huntsmen, he dialed up his precision and control, aiming for critical strikes that would screw with their attempts to use their Semblances.  When confronted by Ruby Rose during the Vytal Festival, he intercepted her Petal Burst and kicked her back, delaying her long enough to allow Pyrrha and Penny Polendina’s duel to escalate.  Ruby only got around Mercury by dodging around and generating an exceptionally powerful burst of speed, but by then it was too late.

Though Mercury lacked a Semblance, he was not completely lacking in the supernatural plane.  Like many of his contemporaries, Mercury readily incorporated Dust into his primary loadout, using elemental gunpowder to weaponize nature itself.  In his case, steam Dust, crafted by mixing fire and water, was his weapon of choice, outfitted into Talaria to create instantaneous smokescreens with just a pump of his foot.  When choosing to resort to a more direct approach, his preferred tactic was to fire a volley of Dust projectiles into the air, often used in conjunction with grounded gymnastics, to create a whirlwind of area-effect power.  Furthermore, I believe that wind Dust was also a component in Mercury’s arsenal, enabling his fine control over his storms by directing the air currents.  This extended to being able to direct his shots to specific targets, a possibility glimpsed when two shots against Yatsu and Coco took on almost heat-seeking properties.  Also seen in the Doubles Round of the Vytal Festival, Mercury closed the distance by unleashing a contained tornado before condensing it into a dense fog, using the cover to ambush his targets and providing Emerald an opening to ensnare Coco.  Additionally, this Dust-augmented attack could be used for offensive purposes as well, concentrating the blasts into a steamy blitzkrieg.  During his fight with Yang, Mercury encompassed the brawler with his storm, distracting her and leaving her open to a surprise kick before immediately directing the bursts to target her once she hit the ground, briefly pummeling her into submission.  Otherwise, Mercury has been seen using his Dust for tactical support and improving his acrobatics, using the bursts to propel himself around the battlefield.  The best example of this was in his battle with Yang, where he used a burst of air to save himself from falling out of the ring, turning a flying takeoff into an acrobatic recovery.

Despite his limited special abilities, Mercury was intelligent enough to utilize what he had effectively, working around his lack of personal powers by overbearing the enemy in physical combat and blindsiding them with elemental force to enable his treacherous ambushes.  However, much like his general tactical outlook, Mercury was at his best when he had the element of surprise, and his tendency to let success go to his head had sometimes prevented him from utilizing his tools effectively.  Despite their distraction, Coco and Yatsu were still able to maintain their composure and intercept his follow up strike, and it was only Emerald’s sneak attack that properly separated them.  Furthermore, even though Dust is incredibly powerful, it does not always bring the exact power needed to overcome the enemy.  When Mercury threw that storm at Yang, she was briefly disabled but unimpeded, using the hits to power up her Semblance and pound Mercury into the mat.

RANKING: Tier 5, Limited Combat

Mercury Black’s special abilities are wholly tied to his use of Dust, his lack of a Semblance meaning that he has nothing to bring to the table in turn.  Like Roman Torchwick, Mercury owes his success to mundane countermeasures and external forces he can manipulate, though his regular Dust armament means that he has a step above the crime lord.  As visually spectacular as Mercury’s Dust storms are, they clearly aren’t powerful enough to decisively end the conflict, instead owing more to tactical support and just another way to shoot a gun.  Dust Ammunition is easily the most limited combative application of Dust, with Mercury’s success determined by his creative uses rather than his destructive might.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 4, EXPERT HUNTSMAN

Mercury Black’s final placement is determined by his exceptional performance levels as well as his practical shortcomings.  Mercury has all the trappings of a great master-level fighter, his combat feats and elevation within Salem’s inner circle speaking for themselves, but he is severely limited by what his father stole from him.  Physically, his cyborg legs put him a cut above most adversaries, but his athleticism can still be challenged by normal humans with similar training.  His martial skills are versatile and deadly, more than enough to contend with the best of the best, but his arrogance and pessimism have on occasion undercut his otherwise capable tactical skills and gotten him in over his head.  And with his Semblance stolen, all he is bringing to the table is Dust ammunition, an exhaustible resource with limited capabilities.  To be fair Mercury’s use of his Dust is very creative and flexible, making it a very valid tool in his arsenal, but its ability to decisively end the conflict is restricted.  Due to his Semblance being stripped away, Mercury��s success in combat is tied to his supremacy as a physical combatant and the mundane countermeasures he has adopted.  While he deserves a great deal of credit for what he has been able to accomplish despite his disability, he does have significant limits.

Despite his similarities to his rival Yang, I actually find Mercury’s more direct analogue to be his late contemporary, Roman Torchwick.  His cyborg legs provide him with a similar anatomical edge to Roman’s physical hardiness, both are high-performance and treacherous martial artists who can operate well in both general and single combat, and both get around their lack of ethereal powers by undercutting and countering the powers of others.  Even their tactical outlooks are superficially similar, teaching them that the best way to score a win is to fight dirty.  However, where Roman’s loftiness led to him growing complacent and simply being good enough, Mercury’s drive to prove himself and rise above what his father thrust upon him allowed him to stack the building blocks of greatness, coming into his own as one of Salem’s direct subordinates and even casually walking away from Cinder Fall’s direct orders.  Mercury Black has more than escaped from the shadow of Marcus Black as a warrior.  All that remains is to see if he can do the same for his soul.

*originally posted on RoosterTeeth Community page on 05-31-21*

*all images taken from RWBY Wiki *

RWBY Combat Analysis