#and i hope he's lively and not like a refined young gentleman (we already have that and he's named xing.qiu) or a tsundere KFJDSKFJDSK

[welcometoteyvat]

[leaks] kaeya’s skin is looking good but I’m also eyeing the supposed lion dancer boy

[cherienymphe]

Rapture (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity

!!! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !!!

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics​ }

summary: taking on the case of the disappearance of your father, Sherlock Holmes finds himself drawn to you, the daughter who holds more mystery than any riddle he’s ever encountered

~

“Y/N, keep your chin up, dear.”

Swallowing down your ire, you listened to your mother and did just that, raising your chin and pushing your shoulders back. A soft breeze ruffled the skirt of your dress, and goosebumps erupted over your arms underneath your sleeves. You could hear your mother fussing over your sister, lightly scolding her for the dress she’d picked out, something about the color.

“We want to look our best for when Mr. Holmes arrives,” you heard her say.

You heard your sister let out a soft huff, having no desire to hide her annoyance. Those classes your mother made her attend weren’t doing much for her character, but she was young. No longer a child but not yet a woman, instead stuck in that place in between. You did not yearn for those days…

You did once, longed for the innocence and ignorance that clouded your childhood, but adulthood had long taught you that ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance kept people blind from the truth, and some truths needed to be known.

Your mother’s change in tone alerted you to the carriage that was being pulled into the yard. A soft sigh escaped you as it drew near, a far cry from your sister’s intrigue, eyes wide and neck strained in order to get a better look. The three of you were poised on the steps in front of the grand house, having been patiently waiting for Mr. Holmes’ arrival.

Sherlock Holmes.

The detective whose name was known far and wide was arriving to help none other than your family. Out of all of the possibilities that had taken up residence in your mind, the infamous Sherlock Holmes taking on the case of your missing father had never been one of them. You supposed that you shouldn’t be shocked that the mysterious disappearance of the wealthy patriarch had caught the man’s attention. It was all anyone could seem to talk about these days…

All three of you watched the mountain of a man step out of the carriage, but for three very different reasons. Your sister was curious, intrigued by this new person, a new puzzle to figure out, a thing to study and observe. Outside of father, your sister had never interacted with many males in her life. Your mother looked at the dark-haired gentleman like a beacon of hope, a savior to bring her peace in some form or another. You, on the other hand, you watched him like a snake would a hawk.

If you didn’t keep an eye on him, he could very well eat you alive.

“Mr. Holmes,” your mother rushed to greet him, and the contents of your stomach tossed at the relief you heard in her voice.

In her mind, he had already solved the case and returned your missing father to you. She was comforted by the detective’s mere presence, and you grimaced.

“It is an honor to have you here. Truly. You do not know what it means to me and my girls,” she told him, voice already shaking.

“It is no great deal to me, madam. I wish to find your husband just as much as you do, to bring peace and relief back to your household.”

You shifted on your feet, hands clasped in front of you as the low timber of his voice reached your ears. It was smooth, soft even, but no means wavering. His steady diction exhibited his refined background that you’d heard so much about, and you warily eyed him.

He towered over your mother, making the strong woman look so incredibly fragile to the point that it scared you. You suddenly had the urge to push him away. As your mother conversed with him, your sister tiptoed to your side, admiration in her voice as her lips brushed your ear.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she said, surprising you.

She had never expressed any interest in boys, but Mr. Holmes clearly struck something in her that even she could not ignore. As you ran your eyes over him, you found you were unable to deny the truth in her words. His features were indeed striking, the kind of face that artists begged to paint. His dark brows and hair complimented his eyes, strong jawline and pink lips moving fluidly as he talked to your mother. His curls gave a boyish quality to his otherwise manly countenance, and you had the brief thought of touching them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

“…and these are my daughters,” your mother’s voice reached you as she neared, the imposing man a step behind her.

Both you and your sister greeted him properly, your sister’s name falling from his lips as your mother honed in on her. You sent him a small smile when your mother gestured to you, and he returned it, eyes alight as she introduced you.

“This is my oldest, Y/N. My pride and joy,” she praised.

Your sister squirmed beside you, and you frowned.

“Mother,” you quietly admonished to which she quickly brushed off.

“Oh, hush. She will bring greatness to our name just as her father did. Rest assured, she will be a great help to you,” she told him.

He eyed you with something unknown as your mother continued to speak praises to your name, and you looked away, gaze landing on your sister instead as you took her hand. She had begun to shrink in on herself, and you swallowed down a sigh.

Your mother wanted her youngest to be something she was not. She wanted her to be you, but the young girl couldn’t ever be anyone but herself. And you didn’t understand why mother would want her to. It was a great source of insecurity and frustration for your sister, to constantly be compared to yourself, and it hurt you to see the adventurous girl make herself small.

“Do come in,” your mother ushered him inside.

Mr. Holmes followed her, and you and your sister him, your eyes never straying from his broad form. You’d heard of his skills, his observation, but of course you had never seen the man in action before. At first glance, it seemed like an innocent perusal, as if he were simply taking in the new scenery, admiring it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that he was taking note of every detail. Every plant, every painting that was askew, even the liquor cabinet, eyeing which liquors were consumed the most.

Your mother was prattling on about nonsense, and Mr. Holmes had already begun to work.

“Tell me, when did Mr. Y/L/N disappear?” he suddenly murmured, fingering a plant on a nearby table.

“Tomorrow will make it…what is it? Three weeks without him?”

She looked to the two of you, and you both nodded.

“Three weeks,” she confirmed. “We only noticed his absence the next morning, so it had to have been that Wednesday night. At the very latest, the early hours of Thursday morning.”

“…and you are sure it was a Wednesday?”

She thought for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sure of it. It rained all day the next day, finally making the ground soft enough for my dear Y/N to start her garden. She adores plants,” she told him with a smile.

Your heart sank to your stomach, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you realized what was happening here. Leave it to your mother to prioritize finding you a husband while investigating your father’s disappearance. Mr. Holmes’ gaze met yours, and you held it until he was forced to look away. At least she thought highly enough of you to think you worthy of someone like Sherlock Holmes.

All three of you watched him pace around the living room, a soft hum leaving his lips here and there. Again, he returned to that plant that he’d been fingering, eyeing the carpet beneath the table before finally looking to your mother.

“I’d like to take a look at the rest of the house.”

With a wide smile, she was all too happy to oblige. Your sister bid him goodbye with a soft smile, and you did the same when his eyes met yours, face falling as soon as he turned his back to you.

“Do you think he will find father?”

You glanced up from your breakfast to gaze at your sister, her anxious eyes already on you. You swallowed, wiping your mouth before offering her a shrug.

“Who is to say…”

“He must! He’s the best detective there is. He’s only been here for two days, and already he seems far more diligent than the others,” she quietly argued.

“I cannot argue with that,” you admitted.

You were unnerved by the unfamiliar man. He was indeed great at his job, and his acceptance of your mother’s offer to stay in one of the many rooms here only gave him more time and free reign to gather clues as to where your father could have gone. He spent the first day with your mother, having her recount everything she could remember, anything that could help. The next day was your sister, so you knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded your time and attention as well.

You didn’t like the thought of being alone with the man. His piercing eyes were scarily perceptive, taking note of much more than you could possibly give him credit for. They were ever watchful, and that unnerved you to no end. True to your suspicions, he entered the dining room just as you were finishing up, heavy gaze finding yours, and you bid your sister adieu.

“Your mother said that you went to bed early Wednesday night,” was the first thing he said as soon as you sat down across from him in the dimly lit living room.

The dark curtains allowed for little sunlight to peak through, and shadows casted over his aristocratic features.

“I did.”

He hummed, a faint smile on his lips, so small you could miss it if you blinked.

“Tired?”

“Extremely. I don’t sleep very well,” you honestly told him. “…and so I figured the earlier I rested my head, the earlier my eyes would follow suit.”

He nodded at that, eyes trailing over the room.

“Does gardening help with that?”

“…sometimes,” you answered.

“Does your mother or sister help out with that? Or is it just you?”

“It’s just me.”

His eyes were on yours again, gaze inquiring, yet guarded. He was probing for something, and you knew it was his job, but it filled your mouth with distaste.

“…so you are the only one who attends to the plants in the house?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you for a moment before releasing a small sigh. He stood, and you did as well, eyeing him as he paused at your movement before slowly beginning to pace about the room.

“I am here to help…Ms. Y/L/N.”

His voice reeked of well-hidden frustration, and you sighed as well.

“I know that,” you responded, briefly closing your eyes. “…and I am cooperating, am I not?”

He paused, and his eyes met yours again, flickering between your irises before humming.

“Indeed, you are, but I want you to cooperate because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to. I am merely here to help, to find your father’s whereabouts, so I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I am,” you lied.

He knew that you were lying, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, but he let it go.

“Your mother and sister said that you all searched the grounds for him all day. Enlisting the help of the police for the next week and a half before the search was eventually called off,” he suddenly said, moving on.

“Yes. No stone was left unturned. My mother felt it was best to leave this in the hands of detectives, but the lot of them were…incompetent at best.”

Disdain and disgust coated your words, and Mr. Holmes eyed you.

“…and at worst?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pursing your lips.

“Greedy perverts trying to get their hands on our money,” you admitted.

You threw him a humorless smile, and the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest as he turned away.

“None of them sparked your fancy?”

He was teasing, and you fought back a smile.

“No. I don’t daydream about marriage, Mr. Holmes. Of course, it is what my mother wishes for me, and I know that I am to settle down eventually for it is the way of the world, but I am certainly in no rush. Marriage does not appeal to me in the slightest.”

It was the one wedge in you and your mother’s relationship: your lack of prospects. However, no amount of snide comments from your mother about your age would sway you.

“Surely, your parents’ marriage must have softened your heart just a little…”

When you looked up, his eyes were once again on you, something in them that you could not name, and you held his gaze, a fond smile on your lips.

“Their marriage was like any other, I suppose. Of course, they had the occasional spat over the most trivial of things like all married couples do, but they were happy,” you replied.

He simply nodded, gaze lingering before pulling his eyes away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say reluctantly so. His casual interrogation that wasn’t really an interrogation didn’t last for much longer, and somehow, you felt more nervous leaving the room than you did when you entered it.

Your mother and sister did not seem to share your sentiments. Indeed, they were ever comfortable around the dark-haired man. Part of you wondered if the holes in their heart that were left by father were temporarily being filled by Mr. Holmes. Having a man around the house again surely brought some mild comfort to them, even if they knew it was only momentary.

They happily invited him to eat with you all, participate in small talk, even showing him your garden. You felt that it was all unnecessary, distracting even. Mr. Holmes had a job to do, and the sooner he left, the better. You didn’t know how much more of his analyzing gaze you could take.

It didn’t matter that he would be engaged in conversation with your sister or mother for his eyes always found their way back to you somehow. He wasn’t a man of many words, but it seemed that you were an exception. Your mother did not miss how he always attempted to draw you into conversation, get you to talk more. It was becoming rather tiresome to explain to her that the man was simply doing his job.

Hell, it was becoming tiresome to remind yourself of that. It was his job to pry, to observe, to snoop even. The day that you’d found him in your chambers, standing by your bed, gazing around with his hands folded behind his back, you’d almost suffered a heart attack. It took the will of God to remind you that he was a detective, and that he was simply doing his job.

Sherlock Holmes was doing what he was hired to do.

And that was the problem.

You could hear footsteps approaching from below, and you paused on your reading, sticking a finger in the page before closing your book. The branch that you’d chosen to lounge on was higher than the usual, and you craned your head ever so slightly to look down below.

Mr. Holmes decided to make himself at home beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk. His suit jacket was gone, one knee bent, and you watched as the autumn breeze ruffled his soft curls. You blinked, wondering to yourself how he managed to look both intimidating and vulnerable at the same time?

“No one in town seems to have any legitimate idea of where your father could have gone.”

His voice traveled to you from below, and you chuckled before you could stop yourself.

“No, I would imagine not. Despite what they may think, none of the townspeople know my father, at all,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you descended, and you brushed your dress off when you finally made it to the ground. He looked up at you with such intrigue, brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. You cleared your throat.

“You’re staring, Mr. Holmes.”

He slowly blinked at you.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, rising to join you. “I do apologize. I was having a rather strong sense of déjà vu.”

Now it was your turn to frown in confusion, and he continued.

“My sister…she loves to hide away in a tree with a good book just as well as you.”

He ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in, and the hair on your arms stood on end.

“…you remind me of her in some ways,” he murmured.

“Well, she sounds like a remarkable young woman then,” you complimented.

“She is getting there,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Although, just like her, so much of you remains a mystery to me.”

You squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze, looking away from his narrowed eyes to walk towards your garden. You could both feel and hear him behind you, and you felt your face grow hot as the weight of his stare pressed down on you.

“You have a rather impressive garden,” he praised.

You looked to him, a small smile slow to spread along your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Crown Imperials,” he noted, and your smile fell. “They seem to be a favorite of yours.”

“They are. The bright blooms are so pretty to me,” you truthfully replied.

“You spend a great deal of time out here,” he hummed.

You bent down to finger a petal, a genuine smile on your face now.

“I find comfort out here. Looking at this garden, basking in its presence, puts me at ease. Flowers that bloom in the colder months, when all the leaves have fallen and the animals have scurried away to hibernate, symbolize rebirth to me. New beginnings,” you whispered, eyes unfocused as you let your hand fall.

You slowly stood, stomach flipping when your eyes met his as you turned around. His hands were at his side, broad form much closer than you remembered, and your eyes zeroed in on the way he flexed his fingers. Mr. Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him.

“I should get back inside to assist my sister with her studies,” you told him.

You bid him goodbye and scurried past him before he could utter a word.

The next night, you made your way downstairs in the darkness as you did every night. Your mother and sister were fast asleep in their rooms, Mr. Holmes having long gone to bed as well. With a soft sigh, you approached the front door, locking it with a resounding click. You pressed your hand against the wood, heart aching for your mother, pitying her even, before you turned around.

“Why do you lock the door every night?”

A scream threatened to escape your throat, but you swallowed it down as light flooded the foyer. You pressed your hand to your chest, glaring at the detective as he stood across from you…dressed for bed. You blinked at the sight of his bare chest, and you quickly looked away, face heating up.

“Mr. Holmes,” you slowly began, forcing your heart to slow. “…you frightened me.”

“You did not answer my question,” was his only response, and you frowned at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

He took a step towards you, and you resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Mrs. Y/L/N leaves it unlocked every night in hopes that her husband, your father, will return. She told me so, and you come down every night to lock it. Why?”

You heaved a sigh, guilt flooding you.

“…because it is sad. I hope for his return just as much as my mother, but I will not be so foolish as to leave me and my family completely vulnerable while we sleep.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“My father, her husband, is God knows where, and I understand that she is worried, but she is beginning to lose all sense of reason ever since his disappearance. Someone must keep this house together,” you complained.

He eventually nodded at that, seeming to accept this, and your eyes fell to the floor, uncomfortable with his close proximity and inappropriate state of dress. Your eyes caught the end of your nightgown, and you realized with a start that you both were inappropriately dressed for this conversation. Especially one so late at night. You shuddered to imagine what your mother would think if she came downstairs this very moment.

You looked up, startled, when he stepped closer, and your throat felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. Your sister’s words that first day came back to you, and you thought to yourself that Sherlock Holmes was much more handsome than she knew. You took a step back, back grazing the door as you eyed his face, him doing the same.

“You brew medicine for your mother, making salves as well,” he suddenly murmured, and you frowned. “I saw them in her room. The herbs used to make them I found in the kitchen.”

Your frown deepened, unsure of how this was relevant to anything.

“I did not know she was unwell,” he probed.

You cleared your throat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“She isn’t…unwell, I mean. At least…not really. As she said, it rained that Thursday after my father’s disappearance. She was worried and distraught and did not take note of the slippery steps. She fell, and the salve and medicine are simply to help with the bruising and the pain,” you explained.

He only hummed at that, and you made to move around him, a bidding of goodnight on your lips, but he blocked your path. You looked to him with wide eyes, heart beginning to race again, although you didn’t know why.

Even in the thin and exposing nightgown, you felt your body heat up under his heavy gaze, his eyes running over your frame in a way that you were familiar with. However, the disgust that normally coursed through you at such an action was nowhere to be found. Instead, something unfamiliar swirled in the pit of your stomach, and this scared you.

It must have been written on your face, that fear, or at the very least visible in your eyes for Mr. Holmes took a step back. You noticed that his jaw was clenched, face pinched in a pensive manner that was becoming all too familiar to you. He suddenly wished you a goodnight, and you did the same, feeling his heated gaze searing into your back as you ascended the stairs.

Sleep did not come easy to you. In fact, it smoothly evaded you for days, and the already dark circles beneath your eyes became even more prominent. Your mother and sister were used to your inconsistent sleep schedule, accustomed to the haggard appearance your face would take sometimes. If Mr. Holmes noticed, however, he did not mention it. Of course, that was a silly thing to think. He noticed everything, and it was no surprise to you to find him in the lounge room late one night.

The flames licked at the inside of the fireplace, casting a low light over the room. His daunting form was seated in your father’s chair, and neither one of you greeted each other as you made your way into the room. Sometimes on particularly trying nights, you liked to curl up with a book by the fireplace in hopes that it would lull you to sleep. You had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Holmes knew this, hence his presence, and you sighed.

You didn’t wish to be alone with him, and you had every intention of making your way back to bed, but some part of you scolded yourself for your treatment of the detective. He was only doing his job, after all. You knew that your wariness of him was no fault of his, and you guiltily made your way to your father’s bar.

“Would you like a drink before I head back to bed?” you asked him, already reaching for a glass.

He didn’t respond, and you glanced up to find his gaze still on the roaring flames, a hand resting against his mouth, eyes thoughtful. You reached for one of your father’s more expensive selections just as Mr. Holmes spoke.

“He’s beneath the garden…isn’t he?”

You did not falter in your movements, but you could not stop the way your stomach churned, threatening to expel everything you’d eaten that day. You set the bottle down, and your hand shook around it. Your lips parted, but no words came out, and you snapped them shut, swallowing.

“I beg your pardon?” you eventually responded.

“I took on this case to pass some time really. It seemed simple enough to me. Your father had been murdered…that much was clear,” he quietly said.

Your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden, and your heart clenched in your chest, painfully so.

“However, it was only a matter of who.”

You felt tears spring forth, but they held off, collecting in your eyes as he continued.

“Your mother seemed the obvious choice, too obvious even, and I was proven right when I met her. She loved your father dearly, and I’d be a fool to think she could ever bring harm to him. I considered your sister next. Naturally. She is impulsive and wild, but that is precisely why she was ruled out. She’s not, how would my brother say it, refined?”

You briefly closed your eyes in defeat.

“No. Not like you…”

He stood to face you, and the tears finally spilled over when his troubled gaze met yours in the low lighting.

“She has not mastered the skills to truly be a lady. She has not learned to hold her tongue or hide her thoughts or school her features so that they are the picture-perfect vision of decorum and poise…to show the world only what you wish for them to see.”

His smooth voice did not bring you comfort, and you fought to hold his gaze as he neared you.

“…but you have. You’ve mastered it quite well, in fact.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale.

“Many people in town mentioned your mother’s clumsiness. Her constant aches and faint bruises…bruises you’ve been tending to for a while…”

He stopped before you, eyes somber.

“He was hitting her. Probably much more than that. When did you first discover it?”

Again, words failed you, and he shook his head, a dark curl brushing his forehead.

“That tidbit is not relevant, so don’t bother to answer that.”

“Mr. Holmes-.”

“You referred to their marriage in the past tense. You lock the door at night because you know that he is never coming home.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Crown imperial is an interesting flower to plant, most people avoiding them because of the putrid smell. Of course, a flower like that would cover up the smell of decaying flesh rather nicely,” he mused. “I know it happened in the living room.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“That plant on the table…there’s hardly any soil in it at all, the only one in the entire house like it. That and the pinches of soil on the carpet beneath it tells me that it had been knocked over. It matches the few grains found in your sheets,” he explained.

You blinked at him.

“You were evidently in a hurry to clean it up and get back into bed. After all, it must have been rather early in the morning at that point… This was after you buried him correct?”

Reluctantly, you gave a shaky nod, confirming his accusations for the first time. He pressed his hand to his mouth again, the other on his hip as he paced, brows furrowed.

“The only thing I cannot seem to figure out is how you did it…”

“…belladonna,” you softly said, speaking for the first time that evening.

He looked at you, and you held his gaze, tears at bay for the moment.

“My father never misses a nightcap,” you told him with a shrug. “Large doses of belladonna can be-.”

“Fatal,” he finished for you, and you looked away.

“So…what happens now? Surely you mean to turn me in…hand me over to the police to answer for my crime,” you tearfully said.

He didn’t say anything, and the only noise in the room for a while was that of the crackling fireplace. Eventually, you heard him approach you again, and you flinched when his hands landed on your arms. Reluctantly, you looked at him, and his eyes flitted over your face, unsure of what to settle on. His thumbs brushed along your bare skin, and your throat bobbed.

“I should,” he whispered to himself, brows drawn together as he studied you. “I should turn you in immediately.”

He stepped closer, and you could feel his body heat, practically feel his heartbeat beneath his chest. His hands tightened on you for a brief moment before loosening his hold.

“…but I can’t,” he confessed through clenched teeth.

Confusion filled you, and your lips parted in shock. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the action, gaze lingering on your mouth for far too long.

“I…I don’t understand…”

He drank you in, gaze vexed, like you confounded him. One of his hands slid to your neck, fingers brushing your jaw, and you sharply inhaled, lips trembling.

“Even now…I still cannot figure you out,” he murmured to himself.

Your confusion grew, frown deepening, and you watched as he suddenly blinked, taking a step back. It took longer for him to finally let you go, and his face appeared strained, movements stiff as if it took everything in him to do so. He took a few more steps back, getting as far away from you as possible before he spoke again.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you very well could kill me in my sleep, but I trust that you won’t.”

Your eyes widened when he made to leave, and you called to him. He paused in the doorway, fists clenched at his side as he refused to look at you.

“W-what…what will you tell them? What will you tell my mother?”

Your voice was but a whisper, disbelief coursing through you at this turn of events. His shoulders heaved as he sighed.

“…nothing for you to worry about…Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of your name falling from his lips, and before you could process what he had said, he was gone.

“He…he’s simply run off?”

You leaned your head against the wall as you listened in on the conversation taking place in the dining room, and your heart constricted as her soft sobs reached your ears. You couldn’t imagine the feeling of fretting over someone for weeks, fearful for their wellbeing only to discover that they weren’t hurt at all. The opposite, in fact.

Only, it was a lie.

As you listened to Mr. Holmes spin the believable tale of your father running off with some mistress, you thought to yourself that the truth would have been better. Your mother could move past the truth. She could heal from the truth. How was she meant to heal from this?

You quietly pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way past the doorway. As you passed, your eyes caught those of Mr. Holmes, his heavy stare boring into you, and guilt tore through you as you caught sight of your mother’s distraught form.

No, the truth would have been far better. Your mother, the loving and strong woman that she was, deserved to know the truth, and you intended to give it to her.

Hours later when darkness fell, you found yourself outside, yanking out flower and vegetable roots. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, and a light sprinkle of rain dampened your hair and dress. Tears soaked your cheeks as you dug through the dirt, sobs wracking your frame. You had buried him deep, and now that had come back to haunt you.

Or so you thought.

A startled gasp left your lips as firm hands yanked you to your feet from behind, and your eyes were wide as you were spun around to face none other than Sherlock Holmes. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his angry features, and you shrank in on yourself underneath his harsh gaze.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?”

More tears fell, and you shook your head.

“I cannot do this! I cannot go along with this lie any longer,” you told him.

His eyes softened, but his jaw ticked at your words.

“Y/N,” he sighed your name.

“Thank you for what you’ve done, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot bear to see my mother hurting like this over a lie. The truth…the truth will be much easier for her heart to bear,” you gasped.

You fought to get out of his hold, but he proved to be as strong as he looked.

“I cannot allow you to do this-.”

“Why not? You’ve solved the case! The great Sherlock Holmes figured it out, and soon my name and face will be plastered on papers everywhere as everyone learns what I did,” you cried.

“You were protecting your mother,” he argued.

“In the eyes of the law, I am still a murderess. I have reason to believe that you would agree with them,” you scoffed. “…why are you protecting me?”

He didn’t respond, and you huffed, jerking in his hold again, but he wouldn’t budge. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and your vision was blurry from both the weather and your tears. Your knees started to buckle as your movements slowed, and you would have collapsed to the ground if Mr. Holmes hadn’t been holding you.

He leaned you against your tree, and your fingers twisted into his rain-soaked shirt as tears skipped down your cheeks. He still hadn’t answered your question, and your eyes reluctantly met his. He looked at you like he had been looking at you for weeks, and that unfamiliar feeling returned…as well as the fear.

“You are not nearly as fragile as I initially thought you to be,” he quietly said, puzzling you.

He continued before you could voice your confusion.

“…but you are not nearly as tough as I thought you to be either.”

He reached up to brush his thumb over your lip, and you jerked, eyes widening at the action. Your heart felt like it was threatening to leap from your chest, and a thought suddenly occurred to you that had never occurred to you before.

“You have plagued my thoughts for weeks,” he confessed, making you freeze. “…entering my dreams the very moment I first had my suspicions.”

“Mr. Holmes…”

“Who would think that someone like you would be capable of such a thing,” he mused, genuine bewilderment on his features. “…and yet…I still want you so.”

Dread began to fester in your gut, and you pushed against his chest, but it proved to be useless. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes boring into your own.

“Sh-Sherlock,” you said, hoping that hearing his name from your lips would snap him out of it, knock some clarity into him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

His fingers tightened, enough to make you wince, and his eyes fluttered close, a long exhale leaving him.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name like it was a prayer. “How do you manage…to be half heaven…and half hell?”

The words had barely left his lips before he fiercely pressed them against yours, startling you. A horrified gasp left you, and he clutched you to him, breathing you in as he moved his mouth over yours. He only seemed to take note of his actions when your palm met his cheek.

You stumbled back, hands grasping along your tree as he took a step back. His lips were swollen, hair damp and eyes troubled as he blinked at you. You pressed one hand into the tree behind you, the other to your chest as you stared at him in fear. Your chest was heaving just as much as his.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

He swallowed, at least having the gall to look ashamed. You stared at one another for a painfully long time, ruminating on what he’d done, the line that he’d crossed. You didn’t move, too afraid to, and Sherlock’s jaw clenched as he eyed you.

His hands curled into fists at his side, features twisted with a myriad of emotions that you couldn’t place. There seemed to be a struggle going on, and your lip trembled as he dragged his eyes over your wet frame, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His dark hair was damp from the rain, the strands curling around his ears and kissing his forehead.

His lips parted ever so slightly, and he straightened as his eyes finally met yours again. You watched the way his nostrils flared, a carnal hunger in his eyes that terrified you to the bone.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again, apologizing for something that he hadn’t done, but was instead about to do.

You turned and ran past your tree, but he was already upon you before you could even get in three steps. His muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you to him as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lips trailing kisses over your damp skin.

You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you, but he only groaned against your skin. Fresh tears escaped, and you shuddered as he pressed himself against you, hard and threatening against your dress.

Your back met your tree, and Sherlock was quick in pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, noises of protest escaping your lips as you pushed against him. You were sobbing when he finally broke the kiss, and you shook your head, pleas falling from your lips.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, knowing you were no match for him and accepting that pleading was your only chance. “Please, don’t- you’ll ruin me.”

Your eyes searched his.

“I’ll never be able to find a husband, to give my mother some form of happiness again after what I did. Let me make her happy,” you shakily whispered.

His brows were furrowed as he gazed at you, and his hands felt incredibly hot on your waist. The light rain had passed now, leaving only a partly cloudy sky and a bright moon to shine down on you. Sherlock closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours, thumbs tracing patterns into your waist.

“…I suppose I will be your husband then.”

He gently shushed you as you cried, softly pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t budge no matter how hard you pushed against him, and you shook as he hooked one of your legs onto his waist. One of his hands pressed into the back of your head while the other tore at the skirt of your dress, all the while he kept you pinned between him and the tree.

It suddenly occurred to you that this was your punishment. This was your comeuppance for what you’d done. It didn’t matter that your father hurt your mother on a regular basis, murder was wrong, and you were being punished for it.

You cried harder when you both felt and heard him releasing himself, and the cool air you felt against your core told you that Sherlock had ripped away every barrier between you two. His lips were gentle on yours, and his entry did not differ from that.

He was slow in pushing inside of you, and you hit against his shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream as he stretched you. Your nails dug into him when he could go no further, and a long moan lowly left his lips, satisfaction dripping from every note. You blinked back tears as he pressed his hands into the bottom of your thighs, keeping them at his waist as he held you to him.

He slowly moved within you, and one hand held onto him to keep from falling while the other dug into the bark of the tree behind you. He kissed you again, and you turned your head away. He let out a soft growl of frustration before pulling away from the tree.

You yelped and shuddered when your back met the cold damp ground, but your yelp turned into a gasp when he firmly thrust into you. It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever known, and you squeezed your eyes shut, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other did the same to the grass.

You felt full, but it was an uneasy feeling, like you shouldn’t be full. Every drag of his member pulled a whimper from you, and your face crumbled when he pressed kisses to it, trying to bring some comfort to you while he had his way with you.

“You feel exactly as I dreamed you would,” he whispered.

You sniffed beneath him, core protesting his assault, no matter how gentle it was. You pushed against him again, but he gripped your hand, bringing it to his mouth, and a shiver traveled down your spine as he brushed his lips over the inside of your wrist. He held your gaze as he held your wrist to his lips, and the intensity behind his eyes scared you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I have every intention of marrying you.”

Somehow, the fact that he was telling the truth scared you more than the thought of him abandoning you. He was going to take you away from your mother and sister, and then who would look out for them? A shaky sob escaped your lips, and he shushed you again, hips curving into yours over and over.

“No one will ever discover what you did. I’ll see to it,” he told you, kissing you again. “…and I’ll make sure your family is well cared for.”

His breath hitched, pace changing, and your toes curled on their own accord.

“Why?” you tearfully gasped as he nipped at your neck. “Why…?”

He paused his movements, holding himself inside of you as he looked down at you. You felt defeated, and the only thing left was confusion, bafflement at why you. He brushed his fingers over your tear-stained cheek, eventually ghosting them over your swollen lips. Sherlock looked at you like you were the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen, and your stomach turned.

“…so much of you is still a mystery to me, and even if I never figure you out…”

He brushed his soft lips against yours.

“…at least you are mine.”

  ~

tags:  @darkficreposter​​ @xoxabs88xox​​ @harryspet​​ @readermia​​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @nickyl316h​​ @captainchrisstan​​ @sebabestianstan101​​ @villanellevi​​ @lokislastlove​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​ @coconutqueen21​​ @hurricanerin​ @trinittyy​ @hyoyeoniie​ @kellyn1604​ @sherrybaby14​ @jtargaryen18​

[demonologistfucker]

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable. 

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.”  just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark. 

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues. 

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket  with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug. 

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury. 

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet. 

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps. 

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms. 

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up. 

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly. 

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls. 

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched. 

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away. 

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free. 

“You know who I am,” 

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it. 

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun. 

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes. 

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps. 

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child. 

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.” 

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks. 

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel. 

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face. 

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.” 

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling. 

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear. 

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles. 

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks! 

---------------------------------

Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once,  MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.” 

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

                    ----------------------

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view. 

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles. 

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.” 

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten. 

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand. 

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in. 

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task. 

“Indeed.  MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away. 

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave. 

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem. 

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth. 

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom. 

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace. 

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.” 

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes. 

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin. 

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer. 

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look. 

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

[jojoimaginestories]

My Dear (Dio Brando)

My Dear

Paring: Dio Brando (Part 1) x Fem!Reader Words: 6016 Warning: HELLA LONG FIC!!! Dio is nice I guess, He’s super nice to the reader, again, super long (I’m sorry), some language, a little bit yandere (not sure) Requested By: No one Synopsis: Dio has a friend he’s known since his younger days in London and sees her a few years later, romance ensues...

(A/n: I rewatched Part 1 recently and spent a couple days on this, but I just HAD to write it)

**Gif is not mine**

Your eyes bored into the tavern as you entered, wanting to grab a drink and food before returning home for the evening. You saw a blonde boy cleaning food off of his face and grinned.

“Dio,” You waved and approached him.

He looked up to see you and sighed. “(Y/n),” He muttered. “You’re dirty. Did you just come from working?”

You sat next to him. “Well yes! Chimneys don’t clean themselves!” You reached and wiped some mashed potato from his eyebrow. “You look like you got into another scuffle. Did ya win?”

He tilted his head. “You shouldn’t work so hard. You’ll end up handless, I’m sure. You’re clumsy.”

You frowned. “Never mind. Why even bother trying to get a response to my question? You’re going to say yes.”

He sighed again. “(Y/n), you cannot ignore this. I worry for you.”

You smiled. “Well, I just need to help my Papa get rich, and then I don’t have to work anymore.” You held up two fingers as a peace sign. “For now, I’ll clean chimneys.” He grabbed a handkerchief and wiped your cheek. You blinked as you saw black soot on it. You nodded slowly. “Oh! Right. Those nasty Thompsons never clean their chimneys on time.” You waved your hand around with a frown. “They’re bloody bastards that like making my work harder.”

“You need to watch your language, my dear.” He wiped your nose. “Or no man will want you. You’re a foul-mouthed girl.”

You shrugged. “I only need a man to give me what I ask for. When I’m rich Dio, I swear, I’ll buy a mansion and live there for eternity. No one will bother me.” You smirked. “Isn’t that what you also want? You want to be rich so you can stand at the top of the world?” You nodded. “Then you can do it. For me, I actually have to work hard to achieve that. You practically might have a chance after your father croaks.”

“Don’t speak of that bastard in front of me, (Y/n),” He hissed.

You retracted, turning your head to frown. “Apologies, Dio. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“…” He wiped your cheek again. “I’m just waiting for when he does die. You might jinx it.”

“Apologies, again.”

“Stop apologizing.” He tilted your head and made you face him. “You’re not wrong, are you? I didn’t deny your words.”

You slowly nodded. Your cheeks felt a bit warm. “You are correct in that matter, yes.”

He huffed. “Such a weird tone of words you use.” He pulled away. Your eyes darted away. “If I finally get out of here, you better change it by the time I visit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You wave your hand around.

He grabbed the gold coins in the table and got up. “I better go.” He fixed his shirt. He looked at you. He opened one of your hands and placed two gold coins inside. “Get yourself something to eat. You look thin.”

“I’m fine, Dio,” You gave him a smile.

He fought a blush on his cheeks. “Eat.” He walked out, causing you to watch his movements until he left through the doors.

--

8 years later, Dio was finishing up studies at school when he was leaving to return home for the day. Jonathan was waiting for him patiently. Him and Dio were about to exit when they heard loud voices around the corner.

“Give that back,” A feminine voice yelled.

“What’re you gonna do? Cry and beg?” “Look, she’s going to start crying!” “Go ahead and cry, Crybaby!”

They both looked over to see a woman in a (f/c) gown jumping up to reach a book in a much taller gentleman’s hand while his friends laugh behind him. The young woman was growing frustrated.

“Ugh! You lot are just a couple of piss monkeys!”

Dio blinked at the familiar term.

“Couple of piss monkeys they are,” (Y/n) frowned next to him as they walked on the street. “Teasing a lady. She just wants to live her life.”

“You need to watch your foul mouth. No man will marry you if you talk like that,” He muttered to her.

“I don’t need anyone! I just need to support my father!”

He walked over. “Dio,” Jonathan mumbled in confusion.

Dio stood behind the woman with a tired look. “I believe you gentlemen stole this woman’s book,” He asked.

They looked at him in fright. “D-D-D-D-!” “I-It’s…!” “It’s h-him!!” They dropped the book and ran away.

Dio sighed and grabbed the book. “Well, it most certainly is torn and messy. You will need a new one.” He placed the book in the woman’s hands.

She looked at it with a frown. “Thank you,” She mumbled.

“I think you called them ‘Piss monkeys’?”

She looked at him a glare. “Because they are.”

“I don’t think any man would want to marry a woman with a foul mouth.”

She scoffed and turned. She stuck her nose up, closing her eyes. “I can take care of myself! All I need to do is-.”

“Take care of your father and live in a mansion where you can live quietly? With no one bothering you?”

She blinked in confusion. She looked at him. “…” She stared at his features. Her eyes widened at the familiar birthmark on his ear. “Dio?”

He chuckled. “My dear, did you already forget about me?”

Your heart fluttered. You started to tear up. “Dio!” You hugged him, pressing your face into his chest.

“Still overly affectionate, aren’t you (Y/n)?”

You looked at him with a grin. “Still smart, aren’t you Dio?” You fought the heat on your cheeks as you blushed.

He rolled his eyes. “You certainly didn’t improve your grammar like I told you do.”

“I have so.” You pulled back. “I am more refined, indeed.” You pointed a finger up. “It’s only when I am upset that my tongue slips.”

“You’re ever hardly upset, if I recall?”

You nodded. “Yes.” You winked at him. “It seems you remember my little quips, Sir Brando.”

“Dio,” A call was made. You both looked to see Jonathan jogging over. “Are you alright, ma’am?” He looked over at you.

You grinned with a nod. “Yes, I am. Thank you for asking. I was saved, thankfully.”

“Don’t I always save you, my dear,” Dio asked you.

You pouted. “Not always, Dio. I can protect myself.”

“Mere words don’t settle in men. They would’ve pounced you if I hadn’t stepped in.”

You held up a finger. “My running strategy would’ve worked! I’ve practiced it in dresses!”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to get into trouble. Wouldn’t your father be upset?”

You looked at the ground. “…You are right. He would. And he already has a company to manage.”

“Is that how me made his fortune?”

You nodded. “Yes! After you left London, my father started making more money! We like a bit from here, but it is a vast land with a sea side to accompany it. Beautiful indeed.” You gave a sad look as you looked at the torn book in your hands. “It will be hard to explain to him how this book was torn from teasing men wanting to entice a reaction out of me… But that is a price I’m willing to take.” You looked at him. “Thank you again, Dio. I appreciate your help.”

“Is this a friend of yours, Dio,” Jonathan asked Dio.

“This is (Y/n) (L/n). My dear, this is Jonathan Joestar,” Dio hummed towards you.

You bowed your head in greeting. “It is nice to meet you,” You smiled. You looked at Dio. “I do hope to see you again, Dio. Maybe for lunch?”

He nodded his head and bowed. “Of course, Lady (L/n).”

You curtsied. “Thank you, Sir Brando.” You giggled, standing up straight. “I knew you would always grow into a smart individual. You are as cunning as you are charming.”

He stood up straight, fighting a blush on his cheeks. “…(Y/n), I’m curious. You’ve never been one to read, so what were you reading in that book of yours?”

“Oh?” You looked at the torn book again. “Romeo and Juliet, by Shakespeare. I love reading his plays. A Midsummer Night’s Dream was adorable, and I loved Much Ado About Nothing. I’ve even read his tragedies of Julius Caesar and Macbeth. I personally loved Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I see. Well, you should best get on home. And don’t cause trouble for yourself.”

You waved your hand around. “I will not! I am a good honest woman, Dio. I wish to not make any more disturbances of the day.” You smiled at him. “I’ll see you another time?”

“Of course.”

--

You were sitting in your mansion’s reading room with the fresh play of Hamlet in your hands when a servant approached you quietly.

“Miss (Y/n). There is a visitor. Your father has instructed me to take you downstairs at once.”

You closed Hamlet and stood. “Thank you,” You bowed your head and followed after. You walked downstairs to look at the front entrance and see your father talking to a tall gentleman who you recognized to be Dio. Your heart fluttered. “Father,” You called.

He looked at you. “Ah! My sweet (Y/n),” He smiled.

You walked towards him. “You asked for me?”

“Yes, this young lad would like to take you out,” He motioned towards Dio. “Although he is familiar to me.”

“Father! This is Dio Brando!”

“Dio Brando?” He looked at him. “Goodness, my boy! You’ve grown! Now, I am at ease. Please, keep (Y/n) out of trouble for me, would you?”

“Of course, Mr. (L/n),” Dio nodded. He turned to you. “You mentioned lunch?”

You nodded. “Of course!” A servant handed you a light coat and your purse. “Thank you.”

Dio offered his hand to you as you two left your home. You walked next to him with the bright sun warming onto the both of you.

“Dio, where are you taking me?” You looked up at him with a smile.

“That is a secret my dear,” He hummed. I saw a bench with a basket on it. “I believe it’s called a ‘picnic’.”

“A picnic. You were never one for nature, Dio. I believe you had a clear disliking of it.”

“Yes, but it’s actually nice out here for once. And clearly, we need to catch up.” My eyes lit up as I sat next to him. “So, my dear, how did your father acquire fortune?”

The rest of the day with Dio was more pleasant than other days you’ve had. You laughed, you talked, you gazed towards the fields in front of you, like time forever had stopped while you two sat next to each other. But, before long, you were required to return home. You looked at Dio with a smile as you stood in front of your mansion’s door.

“I had so much fun today, Dio,” You told him.

“Of course, you would. I’m here.”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Don’t get cocky there. It’s good to be modest, you know?”

“Like you?”

“I’d like to think I’m fairly modest, my dear Dio. You should be too.”

He chuckled before he reached behind him and handed something to you. “Open it.”

You blinked in confusion as you tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a brand-new Romeo and Juliet book. Your eyes widened. You looked at him. “Dio…”

“You never were a reader, so I knew it was precious to you. I believe you do not know the ending?”

You shook your head. “I’m almost done with it, though.”

“Good.” He waved a finger around. “I’m a personal fan of Othello, if I do say so myself. So, reading Romeo and Juliet was not that unfamiliar, but it certainly is an interesting read.”

Your eyes lit up as you hugged the book to your chest. “Thank you!”

He smiled softly. “Just read it. You can tell me about it the next time I see you.”

You nodded eagerly. “Of course. Thank you so much.” You smiled, despite the blush you had on. You entered your home and closed the door after bidding Dio a farewell.

Is it me… or is Dio more charming than I remember? You thought quietly. He seems to have grown in his looks. He’s devilishly handsome… You scoffed. As if he would fall for some shroo like me.

You placed a hand on your cheek, holding the book close to your chest. “Certainly, there is something about you, Dio Brando, that is absolutely devilishly charming. Maybe it’s your cunning wits, and possibly your crafty words. Regardless, I, (Y/n) (L/n), am no match for your charms. You surely have bigger plans in life that I am no longer a part of. Maybe I was never a part of it to begin with. That, however, is fine with me.”

--

You were reading quietly on a bench outside since it felt like a nice day. You were growing quite tired from the events that had happened earlier today and the day before with your father, thus you resulted in finding yourself “me” time. You felt a tap on your shoulder. You tilted my head to look and see no one. You frowned.

“Nothing’s here. Maybe a leaf brushed against my shoulder,” You mumbled and returned to your book.

“On the contrary dear,” You heard next to you, causing you to jump and flinch.

You snapped your head to see Dio giving you an amused look. You sighed with relief. “You scared me,” You nudged him.

He chuckled. “Did you forget my voice for a second there?”

“I did, yes.” You closed your book. “I’ve been preoccupied as of late.” You looked forward.

“I can see it on your face. You look fatigued.”

You tiredly nodded. “I had met with a lot of suitors today. My father wants me to get married,” You hummed.

“Well, that certainly won’t do with my plans.”

“Plans?” You gave him a confused look. “You have plans for me?” You gave him an amused look as your heart fluttered. A blush crept onto your cheeks.

“Well yes. Naturally.” He looked forward. “I care about you a great deal, (Y/n). Or have you forgotten that?”

You slowly shook your head. You looked at the sky. “No, but you certainly have different plans set from me. Bigger plans larger than life itself, and I am no piece of it.” You shut your eyes. “That much, I understand. You want to be at the top of the world. And I do not blame you for that. But certainly, you cannot falter your plans just because of one person.” You paused. You sighed. “In fact, you better not falter your plans because of one person. You have your goals, and you better accomplish them.” You opened your eyes.

He didn’t say anything. He stood and looked at you. “I just remembered I had something to do.”

You nodded. Your heart dropped. “Alright. I best be seeing you then.” You stood. “I have more suitors to see, and more than likely all of them to decline.” You clenched your book in your hands. “…I’ll see you Dio.” You walked away from him. You felt tears sting your eyes and sighed. “…Oh, you pathetic soul (Y/n).”

How can you tell Dio you love him when clearly you have just reentered his life? He has more important plans than being with you. You thought harshly.

--

You sipped on your tea while enjoying the soft breeze outside while you sat under an umbrella at a table in the gardens your mansion had out back. You crossed your legs under your chair, staring at the floral book you had in front of you. You heard the crunch of feet hitting the grass approaching you as you looked up.

“My lady, your father requests you. A new suitor and his father have arrived,” A servant bowed to you. “They will be waiting in the den.”

You sighed and set your tea down. “I assume I will have to get this over with,” You murmured, standing up.

“I believe this will be a good one, ma’am.” She looked at you.

You shot her a look. “Doubtful. One was too crude, one was boring, one was too annoying. The list goes on and on. I believe this is number… 15?”

“16 ma’am.”

“Thank you.” You held up your book. “May you please return this to our library?”

“Of course.” She took the book from your hands. “And your tea, ma’am?”

“Yes, this as well. Thank you again,” You nodded.

“Believe me ma’am. The Master said that this will be a good one you will like.”

You shook your head. “And he tends to be wrong sometimes.” You sighed. “But we will see. I am also wrong sometimes as well. Too doubtful in situations.” You waved your hand around. “Ah, I’m rambling. Do not mind me. You are dismissed.”

You walked away and headed inside. You walked towards the den slowly before pausing and shutting your eyes.

It is only a few hours, (Y/n), then you can return to reading. That’s all you have to do. You thought to yourself. You took a deep breath, reopened your eyes, and walked towards the den. You entered quietly.

“I’m here Father,” You hummed.

“Ah! My sweet (Y/n)! Please sit,” Your Father motioned over. “Actually, wait! Close your eyes.”

You paused and did as you were told. You sighed at the childish antic your father put up. “We are in front of guests father. I highly doubt your surprises are appropriate.”

“These guests are familiar with me, I assure you.” That didn’t sound good to you. He grabbed your arm gently and guided you to sit down on one of the couches. You shifted slightly. “What were you doing dear while I have been talking?”

“Reading in the garden, Father. I was reading the book on flowers from the library. It was actually quite magnificent and informational, believe it or not. It was very descriptive, even had examples that I could identify.”

“Good! Good, good. I’m glad you enjoy reading.” He was speaking across from you. “She loves reading the books in the library. She’s a knowledgeable individual.”

“May I open my eyes now Father?”

“Of course, my dear! And do be mindful of our guests. I’m sure they will have questions.” You opened your eyes and blinked at the lighting. You saw a blue haired older gentleman sitting next to your father. “Also, remember to greet yourself my sweet!”

You bowed your head. “Nice to meet you, sir. My name is (Y/n) (L/n).”

The man chuckled. “I’m quite aware. I’ve heard of you often,” He hummed.

You blinked. “You have?”

“Yes. My name is George Joestar. My son talks about you often.”

You turned your head slightly to the individual next to you, shocked to see Dio in your presence. You blinked. “He does, does he?” You narrowed your eyes. “Good things I hope?”

“Why would I say anything bad about you,” Dio asked.

You gave him a look. “Because you like to tease me.”

He chuckled. “You are easy to tease, my dear.”

Why is Dio here? What business does he have with-? Could it be? You thought with shock. “I am not. You catch me off guard.”

“I’m more interested in this book you were reading.”

“Ah, yes! I was interested in the flowers and bushes in our garden, so I grabbed a simple floral book that described flowers and little quips they each had. Interesting really, although I wouldn’t necessarily commit to botany, it is just useful knowledge to know.”

“Of course, I understand.” He chuckled. “It’s hard to believe you would like flowers. I believe you regarded them as, let’s say, frilly?”

You pouted. “Well, they are. I am more interested in cooking and decor than floral arrangements. As you can tell with the rest of our home, I’ve chosen some quite good pieces.”

“That I can see. Your father has… particular tastes.”

“Indeed, he does.” You didn’t notice your father and Mr. Joestar take their exit as you continued talking. “I tried to arrange this room, but he wouldn’t let me. At least he doesn’t pick terrible flowers.”

Dio leaned on his hand as he stared at you. “I’m sure you have a professional’s opinion.”

You scoffed. “Please, I just pay attention to the issues released of home décor. Descriptors and images of the pieces are good for me to identify what is alright and what needs work. There is a style you must go for in a home.” You felt so comfortable. You felt like you could talk for hours.

“I wouldn’t know my dear. I have other studies that I am pursuing.”

You tilted your head. “…I thought you had other plans?”

“You are a part of my plans, my dear.”

You tilted your head. “You now included me in them?”

“You were there to begin with.” You stared in shock. He sat up straight. “Oh, from the moment we met, you were someone I would never get tired of, like the others. You were less of an eyesore. And I will admit it again, I do care a great deal about you.” He tilted his head. “If another man got ahold of you, that would split my focus. It’s better to have you in my sight than out of it.”

“So, you want to watch over me?”

“I believe this is what we call… ‘being protective’?” He leaned towards you. “If another man had his way with you, I might’ve torn him limb from limb.” He was very close.

“That sounds more like jealousy, Dio.”

“I call it being protective.” He tilted your chin up. “As long as I am around, not a finger shall be placed on your head.”

“You are placing a finger on my head right now. On my chin actually.”

He huffed. “No one but me shall be allowed to touch you.”

“Oh? So, you are my suitor?”

He gave me a look. “From the moment I walked in here, I knew you wouldn’t refuse. I’ve caught your glances my dear. I’m not that thoughtless.” Your cheeks felt warm as you froze. “You thought I didn’t notice? Your blushes and gazes, your breaths. I bet your heart flutters too.”

“You are very observant,” You mumbled breathlessly.

“No, I just know you.” He kissed your head gently. “And as long as I know that, my plans will never faulter.” Your heart fluttered. You leaned towards him and rested your head on his chest. “…You are the reason I imagine my perfect life the way I do, you know?”

“I am?” Your voice was quiet, almost unheard, but you were close to Dio for him to tell.

He twirled some of your hair with his finger. “Why yes. Although, your brash tone of voice was one thing to handle, you clearly don’t do anything to outwardly annoy me. In fact, you do everything in your power to make me comfortable. And that is something no one else can give me.” He tucked some hair behind your ear. “That is why no one will marry you. Because I will.”

You smiled. “So, you said those words many times to throw me off guard?”

“Oh yes. You are mine. And no one else’s.”

--

You tilted your head as your father held up two dresses with a grin. You made a face. “For a marketer, you have no fashion sense either,” You hummed.

He pouted. “I just wanted to do something for you! You’re so independent,” He pouted.

You tilted your head. “That’s because I always have been. From an early age to now. I’ve always been an independent child.” You smiled. “I cleaned chimneys. I’m used to doing everything by myself. Cleaning, cooking, eating.” You giggled. “You forgot that, didn’t you?”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you grew up before my very eyes. And now you’re getting married!” He had flowers and sparkles surrounding him as he swayed. “My baby girl is getting married~!!”

You sweat dropped. “F-Father… It shouldn’t be this big of a deal…” You waved your hand. “I think this was to be expected? Since you’ve been signing suitors to me nonstop.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, that? I wanted you to have that idea!” You blinked. “Although, this was very quick. I expected there to be hundreds of suitors! But as soon as you told Dio, he just came and that was that.” He waved a finger around. “I always knew that boy had caught your eye! Something about him told me that.”

You blushed. “Oh Father…” You looked at your hands. “I’m still surprised he even considered me in that way.”

“How so?”

You giggled. “Father, every man you have introduced me to has not known one fact about me that Dio does.” You tilted your head slightly. “We used to be poor. We almost lost our home in London, and I worked on chimneys.” You smiled. “Dio knew that. He knew that fact, and it’s embarrassing to admit to people I know what hard work is, but Dio? No. He doesn’t care.” You looked at him. “He’s looked past that, and I’m sure most men would be stuck at the door if they heard that.”

He smiled. “…That’s love, dearie. That is love.”

--

You blinked in shock as a policeman approached you and explained the events of a few nights before. He held up a burned pocket watch to you, which was very familiar. Tears stung in your eyes while you held the pocket watch to your chest. Your father had burned along with others in the Joestar mansion, and your husband was nowhere to be found. Your brother-in-law survived with a countless number of wounds, and you sent word to him to wish him well.

It was late at night. You now sat in your large mansion alone, staring at the pocket watch that rested on the table while you covered yourself in a blanket your father had picked for you. It was ugly, yes, but he wanted to give you something for your new home. You sniffled, holding tears back whereas you recounted memories of the past. You heard the doors open from the front of the mansion, echoing its sounds through the quiet corridors. Your eyes widen as you grabbed a spear used for the fireplace you sat in front of.

You hesitantly inch into the halls, slowly creeping onto the intruder that would dare break into your house while you grieve. You felt a presence behind you as you snapped around to swing. Your actions were stopped. Your eyes widen even more and you shook violently. You looked up to see flaming orange eyes stare at you.

“My dear, why are you awake at this hour,” A cool voice asked, welcoming and warming to you. You could feel your tears return. The moon light outside revealed Dio while he stood before you. He stared at your crumbled figure as you let the spike go into his hand.

“D-Dio,” You sniffled. “M-My father… My father,” Your voice cracked.

“I heard as I was on my way back. I was delayed, and for that, I’m sorry.” You sobbed into your hands, wiping your tears violently. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“I was sitting in front of the fire. They recovered his pocket watch, and I was…” You wiped your eyes again. “I’m so emotional, I’m-.”

“It’s okay… Why don’t you grab it and head onto bed, my dear? I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” He tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

As you laid in bed, Dio recounted the event that happened a few nights ago when he discarded his humanity.

“You bastard,” Your father hissed next to Mr. Joestar and Jonathan. “You used my daughter, didn’t you?! To make you less suspicious.”

Dio gave him a hard glare. “Don’t bring her into this,” He muttered.

“You’re using her! For what? What are you using my daughter for?! Because we know she means nothing to you-!”

“She means EVERYTHING to me,” Dio snapped. The party froze in shock. “Your daughter is an angel by my eyes. A saint sent from the heavens. She is my guide for my vision, my plans for my future. She has nothing to do with what goes on here. I will protect her until my dying breath, unlike you, old man.” He pointed towards him and narrowed his eyes. “No one will harm a hair on her head. And if they do, they’ll see the might of my hand.”

He tucked some hair behind your ear. Even though your father wouldn’t have believed him, he meant every word. At first, when he met you, he didn’t expect to be attracted to you so quickly. In fact, he expected quite the opposite. Your language was quite vulgar, and your dirtied appearance rather made you repulsive in the eyes of many. You were poor, and that’s what was expected.

But, the more he saw you, he learned you actually were not as brainless as you looked. You were a hard worker, like he was, and you just wanted to live an easy life. Somehow, with that, he expected you to be someone close to him that he could confide in. That soon turned into him wanting you to be his right-hand. But he didn’t expect to grow feelings for you. From then on, he expected you to be his wife. He just had to have the pieces fall in place.

Now here you were. Him, now having discarded his humanity, and you, who he refused to impurify with his meticulous methods. He refused to let this known to you, at least not yet. He may never admit it to you. He can easily lie about his changes, he can lie about his followers, all he didn’t want to do was harm you.

--

You walked towards the hospital and knocked on the door to see Jonathan in his bed, resting nicely. “Jojo, how are you,” You smiled.

His eyes lit up as the blonde woman next to him turned to see you. “(Y/n),” He mumbled.

“I wanted to check on your injuries.” You looked at the woman. “Did you take care of him? I must thank you. I’m (Y/n) Brando, Jonathan’s sister-in-law.”

“(Y/n), are you well? After what’s happened…” Jonathan made a face.

You held up a hand. “I’m… managing. Dio has certainly helped quite a bit.”

His eyes grew dark. “Dio was the reason it happened!”

You blinked in shock. “What do you mean? He told me he was out on business.”

“Dio is evil, (Y/n)! And he won’t stop until he destroys everything he’s ever touched.” He stood and looked at you. “I worry for your safety. He’s a scheming man.”

You frowned and looked at the ground. You tucked some loose hair behind your ear. “I’ve known Dio for a long time, Jojo. I’m certain that if he was scheming, then he would have told me. He’s not evil.” You looked at him. You pursed your lips together before sighing. “I wish you a successful recovery.” You cleared your throat. “I have to go and plan my father’s funeral,” You lied. “Good day” You left without another word as you started thinking to yourself.

Dio… is evil? Why would he be evil? You thought. He certainly can’t be… No… I’ll ask him. I can just ask Dio and he won’t lie to me.

--

You stepped into Dio’s office in your home as he sat comfortably in a chair reading. He tilted his head to stare at you. It was starting to click in your mind that he started working more often in the night than in the day. He said it was because of business, but you were starting to think differently.

“My dear, where have you been? You left quite early this morning,” He hummed.

“I went to see Jonathan,” You quietly murmured and shut the door behind you. His face hardened at the sound of the pesky Joestar’s name. “He… was not happy with you.” He huffed, looking at the book in his hands. “…He said you were evil, that you were scheming. You wouldn’t stop until you destroy everything you touched.” He paused. His eyes snapped up. “But I thought that was a lie…” You looked at him. “And you’ve… changed,” You frowned. “You’ve been more awake in the night, you’ve been doing more things, you’ve talked to a lot of people. Different servants come in and out of here… What’s happening Dio? And you truly planning something evil without telling me?”

He froze. Finally, his plans were being seen in the light, and you were no dumb girl either. Another reason he fell for you was your smarts. You were not stupid and he saw right through that. He swallowed as he stood. “Why of course not! Why, I want to make sure we’re taken care of, YOU are taken care of, while I conduct business. It is quite important to me that you are taken care of.” He stalked over towards you and placed his hands on your shoulders. “You are my wife, and your happiness is mine.”

…He gets very wordy when he lies, You thought. You made a dissatisfied face.

“What’s wrong my dear?” He went to touch your cheek when you grabbed his hand, much to his surprise.

“…Why did you lie?” He blinked. “You get wordy when you lie. Especially just now… Why did you just lie to me?” He swallowed. You let his hand go. You turned around. “I’m leaving then.” You glared. “Don’t follow me.” You went to open the door when he used his hand to stop it from opening. Your eyes widened as you felt hot breath at your neck.

“I would never lie to you my dear,” Dio spoke smoothly, rubbing your shoulder. “You are my most important piece. My Queen. I do everything to insure you are happy. If I have left you unhappy, then you can kill me. Because a world without you is a world I would not want to live in.”

False, he thought. A world without you is a boring world. You light his eyes and ignite a fire. He refuses to part with that fire.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and look at the ground. “I highly disbelieve that. Why would my presence be important to your goals?”

He blinked. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to face him. His eyes stared into yours. “You are my drive to live. I have said this countless times to many people. You mean everything to me, and I mean everything.”

Your heart melted but your head thought differently. You looked away from him. “Stop lying to me.”

His hands ran down your arms as he pulled you to his chest. “I only lie to those who are worth lying to. Why would it be worthy to lie to the woman I cherish the most?” He kissed your head. “If someone tells you something different, then they can answer to me.” He turned you around and cupped your cheeks. “Never leave my side, (Y/n). You are my vision, my guide. I do not want to lose my guide on this dark path I have taken.” He tilted your head up a bit. “I only want to achieve our dreams. My perfect world for you and I. A perfect world where you can live in peace, and I can rise in my glory.”

You grabbed his hands. “Dio, not like this,” You shook your head. “Why can’t it be different?”

“Because it has to be done.” He kissed you softly. “I’m sorry.”

Tears laced your eyes. “Don’t let anyone take you from me.”

“…You have my word.”

But that word would be shattered as he would burn from Jonathan Joestar’s might, and you would die with a broken heart.

[statistical-improbabilities]

OCtober Day 2: Mercy

Thanks again to @oc-growth-and-development!

Ulla Teru is a siren with the power to conjure illusions to trick the five senses, but great power comes with a great price, and for Ulla this takes the form of headaches and hallucinations. She’s just recently taken over the siren kingdom and has made some interesting reforms as queen. She’s a charismatic leader, but a villain in the end, and well into an insanity arc that’s been pretty fun to write.

CW: emotional abuse, physical abuse (implied), hallucinations, fictional politics

Being a queen of a kingdom was a deceptively simple thing. It was being a queen of the people, Ulla had found, that was a challenge.

In an effort to convey her dedication to Kraseux to her citizens, one of her first measures enacted upon taking the throne was to hold open sessions for petitioners to come to the palace and air their grievances with the kingdom. The previous king had been absent frequently, and grossly out of touch with the people he dared call his, when in actuality, he had no clue what his subjects thought or demanded of him as a ruler.

Ulla would not rule like him. She would open her doors to her subjects, greet them from her throne with decorum and a charismatic smile as they knelt before her and poured out their hearts in hopes of some small mercy. And she would listen. She would promise nothing else, but she would listen, and often the illusion of a compassionate ear was enough, and they would go on their way feeling satisfied, approving of her methods and policy with unwavering loyalty. It was rather exhausting, but necessary.

The latest batch of petitioners were much like those from the day before, and every day before that: miserable, desperate, and forgettable. Each face blended into the next, an endless stream of flashing scales and tear-filled eyes as they begged for an extension on a loan payment, or an exemption from military service, or whatever else it was. Ulla listened attentively to each one, and had her attendants take note when it seemed appropriate. If she was feeling particularly generous, she might review the notes later that night before discarding them, but she wasn’t feeling generous often.

She called forward a Renegade who stood at the front of the line, noting the way he glanced back at the guards at the entrance to her throne room before kneeling. He looked as if he’d been turned shortly before becoming a grandfather, yet he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Ulla’s smile curled just a bit wider at that. She knew she looked young for a queen, even younger for a siren, but she commanded respect all the same. The illusion of maturity she wove over her true features only amplified it.

She let the silence hang in the air between them for a moment, then spoke in a soft tone, each word rippling with a smoothness like refined silk. “Rise, and state your business.”

The Renegade swallowed nervously, but drew himself up from his position. “Your Majesty, I’ve come to request compensation for an injury received while serving the kingdom. My superiors… they promised to file the request, but that was six months ago, and escalating the issue has done no good.”

Ulla raised a brow. “May I inquire as to the specifics of this… injury?” she questioned, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“The alignment in my tail is damaged,” he confessed, and indeed, Ulla could see where one fin lagged behind the other, even as he held himself in place. “I was hit by debris from the sinking of a human ship.”

A tense quiet persisted between them for a few moments, and Ulla tapped one finger against her chin in thought, flicking her own tail lazily. “Marianne,” she said, beckoning one of her attendants over, “please escort this gentleman to the proper offices in the military division to file his request and have it sent off.” The attendant hurried over and took the Renegade by the elbow, and Ulla’s demure smile briefly reappeared when he flinched. He was escorted away quickly, and she motioned for her scribe to record the details of their interaction before calling the next petitioner.

“Next.”

The black scales of a Deceptor came into view, and Ulla inclined her head ever so briefly as the woman knelt. She looked older than the Renegade before her, but no less respectful. The majority of Ulla’s own divining had been supportive of her reign since she was merely the Deceptor monarch, and they had reaped the rewards once she’d become queen. The days of Deceptors being reviled for their illusionary powers were soon coming to a close, and she was doing what she could to uplift their status as the superior divining of sirens. No longer would they be second-class citizens—not in Ulla’s Kraseux. “Rise,” she said.

“Your Majesty, I—I’ve noticed that more people in the capital are wearing Veritium jewelry,” the Deceptor woman began haltingly. Ulla sat up a little straighter, and conceded a small nod.

“Yes, I’ve noticed the same.” The cursed metal had fallen back into vogue when she’d assumed the role of queen, though Adonis had long since been a proponent of its illusion-breaking abilities. Not only did it stifle any Deceptor’s power who was too near to withstand it, it also bestowed adverse side effects that took any number of forms, depending on length and intensity of exposure. Ulla’s head began to ache just at the thought of it, even though her Deceptor guards strictly enforced her new policy forbidding the wearing of Veritium to these meetings.

The woman nodded vigorously. “I’ve heard tell that you plan on introducing legislation restricting the sale of Veritium in the capital. I came to request that you extend the boundary of that legislation to include the outskirts of the kingdom and the nearest colony as well. Some of my close friends find it hard to leave their homes without becoming ill. It’s harmful to our livelihoods. We can’t keep living like this, Your Majesty.”

“No,” Ulla mused, “you certainly can’t. Did you get that?” Her scribe paused to give her a short nod, then returned to writing frantically. Ulla smiled, watching the tension ease from the woman’s face as she received a tentative smile in return. “I’ll take that into consideration. You are dismissed.”

That woman’s obvious relief was quickly replaced as the next petitioner entered, an Auxilia man who appeared close to tears as he all but collapsed before her throne. Ulla’s smile vanished. “State your business.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” he begged, glancing fearfully at the guards, then back up to Ulla. He seemed quite intimidated. “The—the property taxes that you raised—I’ve been late on my rent for three months. If I can’t pay this time, I’ll get evicted—”

She held up one hand, and he fell silent. “Those taxes are necessary for repairing the infrastructure of our kingdom,” she said, exceedingly careful to keep her tone diplomatic and measured. “On the west end of the kingdom, correct? Your taxes have been raised to allow for maintenance of transportation currents in your area. Surely you knew this when you signed the contract for your lease?”

“I—I did, but… Your Majesty. It’s not just me. Other Auxilia in the area are struggling too, and—and Harmonia… we don’t need maintenance on transportation currents, we need to be able to live in our homes. I can’t make enough money to get by, there’s no jobs anywhere nearby because I don’t have the right qualifications. Please, Your Majesty—have mercy, or we’ll all be out on the streets, please have mercy…”

Ulla watched impassively as the Auxilia man worked in vain to conceal his desperation, his distress that was bringing him closer and closer to tears. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of a guard, and inclined her head, motioning them over. To the man, she murmured, “Your concerns are not unwarranted, but rest assured, I and my fellow monarchs will find a solution for not just a few Auxilia, but the betterment of the entire kingdom. Now, if you would kindly compose yourself, I’ll have you escorted out.” She left no room for argument. It would do her public image no good for him to dissolve into a sobbing mess in her throne room.

Who was he to demand mercy from his queen?

~

She’d only heard a few more petitioners before closing requests for the afternoon, instructing her attendants to say that she had a great deal of work to attend to if anyone asked. They would assume that she’d taken many sirens’ requests to heart and was already beginning to process them, and she would allow them to think that for as long as they desired.

Ulla held no trust in her attendants. Only enough to know they would convey the message she told them to, nothing more, which was why she told no one the reason she’d retired to her rooms after the sessions was that a pounding headache was beginning to return. They were becoming easier to stave off now that Veritium was forbidden from most instances where it might come in close contact with her, but it was never completely avoidable. Adonis had always been paranoid, and some of the petitioners had worn scale implants that could not be removed for a short meeting. If her hallucinations were to arrive, Ulla wanted them to stay private.

The kingdom would never approve of a queen gone insane, no matter how much expertise she had taken in weaving her mask.

When Ulla reached her chambers, she locked the door behind her so no attendants could trail in her wake, then removed the crown that had sat upon her head and set it aside. There were no mirrors in her rooms, as there never had been. Her illusions could trick a mirror, but if the hallucinations so commanded it, the illusions could fall just as easily.

She drifted over to a window and clasped her hands behind her back. The Auxilia man was not yet out of sight, swimming far slower than the sirens around him due to his lack of a true tail. After a moment, she turned away from the window, but she could still hear his voice in the back of her mind, growing louder and more desperate until it filled the room.

“Please, have mercy… have mercy, or we’ll all be out on the streets… please have mercy…”

At some point, his voice had become her own. She wasn’t sure when.

Her father stood over her, the room distorted and rippling around them. Mercy, Ulla? he murmured, saccharine and dangerous, and she shrank away. Her tail was made of lead with the iridescent glint of Veritium, and it pulled her to the ground.

“No, please… I didn’t mean to, Father,” she whispered as her leaden tail gave way to leaden legs, short and spindly and unable to support the weight of her pleas. “I don’t—I don’t know what I did…”

Why, you’ve killed that man, the hallucination said with a wicked, sharp-toothed grin, and Ulla shook her head violently.

“I didn’t, it’s not my fault!”

Oh, but it is, her father said. You’ve killed that man as sure as you’ve killed your own mother. She’d be disgusted if she saw you like this—but she can’t, because she’s not alive to see it. The hallucination stepped closer, and Ulla shrank away again. It was no use crying for her mother—she never came when her father did. She’d died minutes after Ulla was born. Ulla’s mind could only conjure the dead she had known, because to be known was to never truly die.

Do you really wish to test me, Ulla? You look like your mother did at that age, you know. It would be a shame if you were to force me to change that.

“No, please,” she begged, loathing every word that fell from her tongue and yet being powerless to stop them. “Have mercy, please have mercy…”

The hallucination raised its ghostly hand, and the fingers elongated into jagged talons. Shadows around the edge of the room pressed in closer, piling heavy onto her chest and wrapping around her legs and arms and mouth. Her father brought his talons down. Ulla closed her eyes and screamed.

 ~

When Ulla opened her eyes, she was the only one in the room. The side of her face stung, but when she raised a shaking finger to probe for injury, nothing was there. A stream of bubbles rose up towards the ceiling, but no figures stood looming over her where she lay crumpled on her side on the floor.

Slowly, she sat up. The pain was an illusion, and it would go away when she regained control. She’d lost control for far too long that time. Her hallucinogenic episodes were lasting longer and becoming more frequent, but nobody had witnessed it. No one had been around when she’d lost control of her mind and her powers, and it would stay that way.

The streetlamps outside her window were beginning to glow, betraying the time that had passed. They’d be expecting her for a state dinner soon. Carefully, Ulla began to weave her illusions over her face once more, and only when the painstaking process was finished did she allow herself to breathe.

No one knew what happened when Ulla’s illusions fell.

A queen did not beg for mercy.

No one would ever know.

[voyager-into-the-unknown]

An Evening at an Earth Mall

By truegryffindorforever2

(Part 2 of a series, beginning with “An Afternoon in the Garden”)

Summary: Sam is overprotective, Colleen is supportive, Hunk texts Lance when he’s shopping at the mall, and Lance nearly dies of second hand embarrassment when he realizes that Katie Holt, is in fact, not a girl, but a young woman.

After heading to the men’s locker room to change out of his Garrison uniform and into comfortable civilian clothing, Lance headed towards the base’s garage to meet up with Pidge and Colleen. As he approached Mrs. Holt’s car, he heard Sam’s voice from a distance.

“Boyfriend?! Since when?” Sam exclaimed angrily.

“Since today. But we have been really close for a long time, Dad. We were best friends for the last few years—“

“He’s too old for you!”

“He’s a year and eight months older than me. And besides, I’m eighteen years old, and that’s old enough to have a boyfriend.”

“Katie, I’ve watched The Voltron Show. Colleen, did you know that this boy’s nickname is Loverboy Lance?! How did he get a nickname like that, Katie?”

“Dad, that show was totally fake, and Coran gave him that ridiculous nickname. We all thought it was hilarious because Lance hasn’t ever really had a serious girlfriend before—“

“Your friends say that he’s the biggest flirt in the Galaxy. How do you know he won’t break your heart?”

“Dad, please. Lance is a great guy. He’s sweet and funny and honest and brave. And I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you right now if it weren’t for him. He’s saved my life quite a few times.”

Sam exhaled, then was silent, pondering all of this. Lance stood in shadow, behind a large armored vehicle that kept him hidden from view. His heart was hammering in his chest. He wanted the Holts to like him. What could he do to earn Sam’s trust?

“Colleen, what do you think of all this?”

“Well, he seems like a nice young man, and I trust our daughter’s judgement.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Also, he’s probably heading this way right now, so you had better be on your best behavior, Sam.”

“All right, but whether you are eighteen or eighty, Katie Holt, so long as you live under my roof, you will have a curfew when you go out at night with that young man. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lance knew he had to face Sam eventually, but at the moment he just wanted to stay hidden. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the light.

“There he is.” Pidge waved, smiling at him as she moved toward him.

Lance enveloped Pidge in his arms, and she squeezed him tightly, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek. He grinned at her.

“Hello everyone!��� He turned to Sam and snapped to attention to give a salute. “Commander Holt, sir.”

Sam saluted him in return. “Paladin.” Lance extended his right hand and Sam shook it cordially. “So, I hear you are escorting my daughter to the Garrison Ball.”

“Yes, sir.” Pidge took Lance’s left hand, giving it a little squeeze. He smiled at her, then turned back to Sam. “It’s a great honor sir. I think I must be the luckiest guy in the universe.” Pidge beamed at him, and they both blushed as pink as the sunset over the grand mesa just beyond the western gate.

Sam felt a wave of nostalgia, remembering how young he and Colleen were when they first started dating. For a moment, Lance reminded him of himself at that age. The genuine affection between the two of young people was apparent. He honestly couldn’t remember seeing his daughter so happy since she returned home from space, and for a moment he felt a pang of regret. He had missed so much of her growing up while he was a prisoner of the Galra. She matured into a brilliant, courageous young woman, one who had fought warlords and sentries, bounty hunters and space pirates, and who had helped save the universe from destruction alongside this awkwardly earnest, gangly young man who obviously wore his heart on his sleeve.

“You kids have a nice time at the mall. Matt and I are eating supper in the mess hall tonight, and then we’re finishing up a few things in the lab before the weekend.”

“Well, I’ve had a notion. I’m making my famous baked ziti with garlic knots for lunch on Saturday. Sam, wouldn’t it be nice if we invited Lance over tomorrow?”

“Indeed. How does 11:00 sound?”

“Sounds great, sir.”

Colleen smiled. “You know, Lance, Sam and I were quite the ballroom dancers back in our day. We could give you and Katie a few pointers if you’d like.”

“It’s true. Mom and dad gave me dancing lessons since I was little, whether I liked it or not.”

“She’s a natural,” Sam added.

“My parents taught me most of the traditional Latin American dances when I was just a kid, but I am really out of practice. This is going to be fun!” Lance said with enthusiasm.

“Well, we’re all set, then. We had better head out towards the mall,” Colleen said cheerfully. “We’ll be home around ten, dear.” She kissed her husband goodbye and got into the driver’s seat. Katie, to her mother’s surprise, didn’t want to sit in the front passenger’s seat as she usually did. She sat on the back seat with Lance, who couldn’t seem to wipe the dreamy smile off of his face if he tried. As they sped away across the desert Colleen was almost certain that he was holding her daughter’s hand.

The mall wasn’t too crowded, considering that it was a Friday night. Lance was impressed with how quickly the place had been remodeled in the aftermath of the invasion. So much had changed since they had been chosen as Paladins of Voltron, and it took some getting used to. They encountered nearly as many off-world species as humans among the vendors and shoppers, but somehow it was weirdly familiar.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were back at the Space Mall,” said Pidge, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Yeah. Hey, look, Pidge! It’s the guy from the Earth Store!” Lance pointed to the skinny grey-green alien wearing an Area 51 baseball cap. “I don’t think he’s giving away any free Kalteneckers today, though.”

“Kalteneckers?” asked Colleen.

“She’s our cow. It’s a long story, Mom.”

“Sam said something about you two having a cow in space, but I thought he was kidding, or delusional.”

“She was free with purchase. Pidge really wanted that Mercury Gameflux II with a vintage copy of Killbot Phantasm, but we were completely broke,” Lance explained.

“So we took off our shoes, rolled up our trouser legs and went wading in the mall’s wishing fountain to look for coins,” said Pidge.

“Katie Holt! You know I raised you better than that. My daughter, the criminal,” Colleen chided, in mock disapproval.

“Yeah, she’s a bad influence on me.” Lance grinned. “We nearly got arrested by the Mall Cop. But we escaped with Kaltenecker on a hover board.”

“The things a man will do for love,” Pidge teased. “Lance hit his head when we escaped and nearly gave himself a concussion.”

“Yeah, but you wanted to kiss it and make it all better, right?”

“No, I did not,” she said indignantly, “but I had to bandage you up after that fall because Hunk was riding shotgun with Coran, and Keith was ready to eject you into space.”

Colleen sighed. How had these kids managed to become saviors of the universe? Perhaps the Creator of the Cosmos had a sense of humor.

After a bit of window shopping, they found both the tuxedo shop and the dress shop they were searching for.

“Lance, when you are done trying on tuxedos, you can ask the saleswoman at the dress shop to show you to the lounging area in the back of the store. There are some comfortable armchairs for patient husbands, or in this case, boyfriends, who may have to wait a long time for their significant other to finish trying on dresses.”

Finding a tuxedo that fit him was relatively easy. Lance was tall and slim, and nearly any style looked great on him. He tried on the most classy one he could afford, and then made finger guns at himself as he admired his own reflection in the shop’s main mirror. “Razzle Dazzle, Baby!” He did a little dance, humming to himself as he strutted back and forth, and then he stopped himself, realizing that the other refined gentle beings in the shop were staring at him. “I had better stop that,” he thought. “Sam Holt definitely doesn’t want his daughter dating a goofball.”

After he was finished at the tuxedo shop, Lance headed back to the dress shop and found one of the comfortable armchairs that Colleen was talking about. There were magazines to browse through, but they were all about fashions for ladies, so he decided to check his phone when he sat down. He had a few missed calls. There was a text from Hunk that caught his attention as soon as he checked his messages.

Hunk: Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.

Lance: At the mall. I just picked out my tux for the Garrison Ball. 😎

Hunk: Wait a minute, the ball? Did you do it?!

Lance: Do what?

Hunk: Ask her out.

Lance: Ask who out?

Hunk: You’re denser than a neutron star. YOU KNOW WHO I’M TALKING ABOUT. Your best friend.

Lance: Sorry, Hunk, I can’t take you to the ball. My girlfriend would be jealous.

Hunk: Not me! Your other best friend! And since when do you have a girlfriend?!

Lance: Um, since this afternoon. Since we made out in her mom’s hydroponics lab. 😙💋😉

Hunk: No way!

Lance: Yes, way. 😎 *Razzle Dazzle!*

Hunk: I hope you were a gentleman. She’s a sweet, innocent girl, so you better keep that in mind, Loverboy. And she happens to be my best friend, too. So if you ever hurt her...

Lance: I’ll never hurt her. I love her.

Hunk: 😮😃😍

Lance: She loves me too. 🥰

Hunk: I’m crying rn. I’m so happy for you both.

Lance: I call dibs on the best man.

Hunk: What?

Lance: When we get married, I call dibs on you for the best man. Pidge will fight me for you, so I’m calling dibs.

Hunk: 😂 You haven’t even gone on your first date yet, you nut.

Lance: No, but we have already planned our second date, which is really happening before the first date, so maybe the second date really is the first date.

Hunk: You’re not making any sense.

Lance: Italian food and ballroom dancing tomorrow at the Holts.

Hunk: Smooth. They don’t call you Loverboy for nothing.

Lance: ✨😎✨

Hunk: Talk to you later, man.

Lance: Later, dude.

Lance checked a few other messages and put his phone away. Just when he was bored enough to pick up a magazine, he heard Pidge and her mother having a conversation in the dressing room closest to him.

“Let’s see the next one, darling.” There was the sound of a dressing room door opening. “Oh that color is beautiful on you. Turn around...let’s see it...Oh, I love it!”

“It’s my favorite so far, too,” said Pidge.

“But you can’t wear it with your bra straps showing like that. Try it on with the strapless bra.”

“I did. It doesn’t fit right.”

“Why not? Is it the right size?”

“I don’t have enough up top to hold it up. It keeps falling off me. I might as well not wear a bra at all.”

Lance’s eyes were as round as saucers and his face felt as if it were on fire. His imagination was now filled with naughty thoughts about his girlfriend wearing a bra, then wearing a strapless bra, and then wearing...

“Did you try the bustier with it?”

“You mean this white lacy thing that looks like a corset?”

“Yes, with the matching lace panties. Aren’t they adorable?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, then he covered his face with the magazine, hoping no one saw how he looked right now. Is this how spontaneous human combustion occurs? He might just burst into flames any moment now. Holy crow!

“Mom, this looks like bridal lingerie. And it’s expensive.”

“It is, dear. But it’s so worth it.”

“But why spend so much on underwear that no one will get to see except me?”

“Well, if everything goes well, maybe Lance will get to see you wearing it...someday.”

“Mother!”

“I meant on your wedding night, dear.”

“MOM! Can you be any more embarrassing?!”

Lance had sunk as deeply into the armchair as humanly possible. Maybe if he sat still long enough he could turn invisible. He hoped the armchair wasn’t flammable.

Several humiliating minutes (hours?) later, he heard Pidge and her mother come to an agreement about the dress (and the lacy unmentionables), and he decided that it would be best if he wasn’t there when they came out of the dressing room area. If Pidge saw his face she would know instantly what he had overheard, and then he actually might die of embarrassment, or worse, he might say something stupid like “Aw, that’s a cute little bustier,” and then she might turn her bayard on him and murder him on the spot.

Yes, now was definitely a good time to go use the men’s room. He would meet them in front of the store later.

The shoe store was next, and Pidge was apprehensive about wearing the sort of high heeled slippers that would have to be worn with her dress. She teetered back and forth awkwardly when she she tried to walk on such tiny heels, and once, she stumbled right into Lance’s arms. He caught her, and smiled his most charming smile at her. “I always knew you would fall for me,” he said in his huskiest voice. “I’m irresistible.”

“More like incorrigible. Mom, are you sure I can’t wear flats with this dress?”

Finally, after finding a pair of shoes with a wider (and lower) heel, they put all of their purchases in the trunk of the car, then went back into the mall for a late supper at the food court.

“Hey, look, they have a Vrepit Sal’s!” Lance exclaimed happily.

“Mom, you have to try this place. Their whole menu is based on Hunk’s original recipes. The food is amazing!”

*******

It was a clear night, the desert sky alit by thousands of distant stars, some with worlds they had visited, teeming with life. The drive home was a peaceful one, with Colleen at the wheel. Through her rear view mirror, she could see Lance and Pidge sitting behind her, quietly reminiscing about their many adventures in space, until Pidge yawned, snuggled closer to him, and finally fell asleep against Lance’s chest. Lance, who already had his arm around her, kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, smiling as one does when having a very, very pleasant dream.

[gisachi]

12 Games: Shinichi and Ran Game #3 – Old Maid Rating: T Summary: She hoped that once he made the call, her phone would ring. But it didn't. Of course not. There's no way that he'd dial her, right? After all, he's supposed to dial the person he likes. AU

(Read here or in FFN! Link provided.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

"I don't think this is a good idea, Sonoko."

"Oh c'mon. Don't be silly! You just told me the other day that you're bored to death. I'm not even surprised though. Your life only basically revolves around school and karate, Ran! Now thank me because I'm going to make your life a bit more interesting."

The cheerful, light ginger-haired lady did not even give her friend a moment to reply, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed her friend's arm and pulled her along with her out of their classroom and into the direction of the adjacent room.

"I will introduce you to Sonoko-sama's 'after-school 'club' activity'!"

For socialites like Sonoko, classroom hopping was a thing after school. That's how the likes of her garnered so many friends in campus. But this long-haired brunette friend of hers, Ran, was the opposite. Sure, she's pretty popular, being known as the karate queen in Teitan High because of her unmatched prowess in the said martial arts, but it was precisely because of that that most students in her school found her kind of intimidating and thus unapproachable. Which was sad because in reality she's very far from that. She's sweet and lovable and all kinds of good and Sonoko could certainly attest to it, having known her since they were kids.

Through the glass window from the corridor, Ran saw some students sitting in a messy circle near the teacher's desk inside that adjacent room. They looked rather – how should she put it – poised and rich. Not that she had any problem with that, but she hated small talks and if she had to deal with it later, she'd probably just rely on her friend Sonoko to keep her afloat in the boat. Her friend never ran out of topics, which made her such a valuable, life-of-the-party kind of person.

Sonoko slid the door open and casually barged in like it was her own classroom. "Yo, minna!"

"Hi, Sonoko-san. We were just talking about you." The girl with a long wine-red hair standing by the window greeted her. Her voice was high-pitched but not the annoying kind. Ran thought she was really pretty.

"And I see you brought a friend?" The student sitting by the desk near the pretty woman spoke this time. He looked like a serious gentleman. Though he spoke fluent Japanese, he didn't look like one. His blonde hair and light brown eyes screamed English. A foreign transferee, perhaps.

The dark-skinned guy sitting on the teacher's desk inspected her from head to toe.

"Wait a sec. Could this nee-chan be, Mouri Ran?" the guy inquired.

"You mean, the karate queen? A pleasure to meet you! I'm Ooka Momiji." Momiji extended her hand at her which she gladly accepted. As Ran shook her hand, she couldn't help but notice the curly-haired girl's incredibly huge front.

The dark-skinned guy spoke again. "I'm Hattori Heiji. That obnoxious looking dude right there is Hakuba, while the woman beside him is Akako. Both folks are from class 2-A."

"And this guy right here," he patted the back of the guy sitting on the teacher's chair next to him, "is Kudo Shinichi."

Ran’s eyes brightened at the guy who was just introduced. Either it was her unsureness or his impulse that the guy’s eyes glimmered as well in reaction to what she herself did.

“Oh, I know him!” Ran said.

“Right, everybody in this school knows about Kud—"

“He was a classmate in middle school.”

Everyone in that room stared at her as if she had said something off.

But Shinichi smiled kindly, effectively disrupting the problematic expression of the others.

“Oh—yeah. You’re right, Ran-san.”

Sonoko nudged Ran’s shoulders.

“Ran! That’s Kudo Shinichi, the great detective! He sometimes teams up with Hattori in solving cases, and the two of them are currently the heartthrobs in campus! You didn’t know that?”

“Stop Sonoko. That’s not really important, is it?” It wasn’t obvious that Shinichi was embarrassed, but from the likes of it, he seemed to have already gotten used to this treatment and had already mastered how to react when people introduce him as THE Kudo Shinichi.

“But that’s not a lie, nee-chan. Currently though I am number one and Kudo is number two.” The guy named Heiji butted in, ruffling the hair of his companion who was reading a Sherlock Holmes book on the side. She rather found the dynamics of the two cute.

“Really? That’s awesome.”

Of course she knew Kudo Shinichi to be a great detective. But she didn’t have to tell and she wondered why. Perhaps because she remembered him better when they were in middle school; they were paired up for a project and even if it was for a week she felt herself developing a small crush on him. Not because of his looks (though she did factor that in, how his face was so charming and almost too perfect, a wonderful product of a beautiful actress mom and a handsome novelist dad) nor his popularity (she didn’t even know he was that popular when they were still in middle school), but because in the short time that they’d worked together, she was captivated by  his strong principles and ideals. She remembered having a small conversation with him while they were doing the project. They were talking about aspirations in life, and when she learned that his father was a crime novelist, she asked if he wanted to be like him. His answer was a remarkable no. “I don’t want to write about detectives. I want to be one.” Unadulterated conviction reflected in his eyes. It astounded her how someone in the prime of his age had already decided on what he’d become and how he’d do it. And when he went on further on how he’d like to be the modern Sherlock Holmes, and how he would never let a culprit die even if they did wrongful acts because that would make him, the detective, no different from a murderer, or how reason and logic aren’t necessary to help a person regardless of what kind of life that person had lived, she couldn’t help but admire the way he viewed and understood things from his own perspective. She saw a young boy who was principled but kind; a boy that would seek the truth to its end but would make sure that lives wouldn’t be in danger along the way.

That short interaction stayed with her even after the project, after middle school, and even until now. Her simple crush wasn’t a big deal, she never talked about it with Sonoko. It was just a puppy-admiration thing, and it wasn’t like they’d meet and talk to each other again after that project, so she just let her puppy-crush feelings settle at the corner. That’s why to have the opportunity to sit with him in the same circle came as a surprise. She doubted he even remembered their interaction though because it was a long time ago and they just talked for a week, in person and through text for the sake of the project. Maybe it was a good thing to let him remember by bringing that up instead of acknowledging his grandiose status in school. He probably had enough of that already as introductions.

“This is Ran, Teitan’s karate champ and my best friend since forever!” Sonoko hugged Ran as she proudly introduced her to the others. Ran awkwardly smiled at them and waved. So this was what it felt like standing in front of a crowd of ‘elite’ individuals looking at you. She didn’t feel outcasted though, because they felt all welcoming and fun although it wasn’t apparent on their faces.

“Ran, now that you’ve been introduced to everyone in this room, you’ll have to participate in our ‘club activity’.” Sonoko led her to sit on one of the student chairs.

After Ran asked what kind of activity that would be, Sonoko revealed a pack of cards from her pocket and tossed it on the teacher’s table.

“Actually, nothing. We do nothing. Just random stuff, whatever we feel like. But as the initiator of this group, today I, Sonoko-sama, feel like playing cards.”

Cool, Ran had never played cards before. It’s nice to try something new.

“But if you may know, Ran-san, we don’t care much about the random stuff. We care more about its results.” Akako approached the girls and sat on a nearby chair.

“Because the one who loses gets a dare!” Sonoko added, grinning slyly at her now bemused friend.

“Last week Hakuba-kun had to sit on Heiji-kun’s lap until we finish all rounds and it was the loveliest moment I have ever seen,” Momiji reminisced and everyone laughed except for the two scoffing guys.

“And you know what? Today’s consequence is going to be more fun – the loser must call the person they like and confess!” Sonoko declared.

“Oh, juicy.” Akako commented. “I wonder who from this circle will call me.”

Turning his head slowly to face her, Hakuba stared her down with a straight face. “Akako-san, not everyone is in love with you.”

“That’s what you think, Hakuba-kun,” she contended, with a matching wink.

The tables were now rearranged so that all of them were facing each other like they were in a meeting. Presiding that ‘meeting’ was Sonoko, who had now dealt the cards and announced that they’d be playing Old Maid. She explained the mechanics and everyone got it right away.

“Right. So I just need to get pairs for all my cards.” Ran mentally noted. She looked around her and everyone was focused discarding paired cards from their hands.

Across her was Shinichi, who, with a disinterested face, nonetheless participated in the game.

She paused and admired how he looked. His appearance was different from the last time they were together – his face was much younger then, but now his hair was more refined, shoulders broader, jaw much angular. Yet his eyes still reflected that same old confident vibe. She silently wished that he would look at her direction so that she could admire his beautiful hazel eyes better. And surprisingly, he did. He must have noticed her staring at his direction for a while now that he had to look back at her and acknowledge it. But once their eyes met, she got startled and immediately looked away, embarrassed. She felt like a creep. Meanwhile, Shinichi just pulled a questioning look before returning his eyes to his own hand. Nobody saw, not even Ran, how the corner of his lips tilted slightly for a smile.

“Alright! Let’s start the first round!” Sonoko picked a card from the deck of Hakuba, the person to her left. Lucky for the woman, the first card she picked had a pair.

The game continued clockwise, with Hakuba getting from Ran and Ran getting from Momoji, who got from Akako, then Shinichi, then Heiji then back to Sonoko. Cards were discarded so quickly until finally there were only two people left.

Shinichi with two cards, and Ran with one.

The girls cheered at Ran. It was her turn now. There was a 50-50 chance that she’d be the Old Maid. If she got this one wrong, she’d have to reveal to Sonoko and to these new acquaintances her crush. And it’d be very awkward. Because that would be him. The guy right in front of her.

Closing her eyes in nervousness, she decided to pick the card on her left and on Shinichi’s right.

And she got it.

Ace of spades paired with the ace of hearts she held.

“Oh my gosh it’s Kudo-kun!” everyone in the room laughed.

“Nice one, Ran-san,” Hakuba winked at her. Judging from everyone’s reaction, it’s as if they had been waiting for this moment, for Shinichi to lose. And now that it happened, everyone was thanking her for doing the honor of defeating him.

Ran let out a sigh of relief. By sheer luck, she was saved from a sudden revelation of her hidden crush, who, unbeknownst to the people in the room, was in that same circle. Her contender, even. Glad of her narrow escape, she grinned widely like the rest of them.

“Now, who are ya gonna call Kudo?” Heiji basked at his friend, who just grunted in annoyance.

“I told you, there’s no one,” Shinichi grumbled.

“You’re a bad liar Kudo-kun. Your ears are turning red.” Akako  pompously flipped her hair to the side, watching the teenage detective glare at her with warm cheeks and red ears.

“I know who! It’s Uchida Asami-san, right? That pretty senior who gave you your favorite lemon pie during soccer practice?” Sonoko jested.

“Uchida-san? Oh, that senpai is rather pretty. A lot of guys swoon over her. Ya didn’t tell me you’re one of those guys, Kudo!”

“Go on, call her! What a lucky girl.” Momoji raved, looking at Shinichi endearingly.

Ran, who remained silent all throughout the scene, just watched each and every one of them make their guesses as to this mystery woman. For some reason, at that moment, she felt rather invisible. Not because of their doing or that she felt excluded or something. But she was hoping that maybe anyone, Sonoko perhaps, should mention, even in passing, her name. You know, just to suggest, even as a joke. But no one seemed to have noticed. Well, she wasn’t making it obvious to anyone either, even to her best friend. And with all the beautiful people in Teitan High, Shinichi certainly had many options and the odds that he would indeed have a crush on her were nil.

The detective just stared at all of them with half lidded eyes. It wasn’t in his personality to shun everyone, and he didn’t seem like the type who’d chicken out on the last minute. Taking a deep breath, he took out his phone and flipped it open.

“Fine. I will do it. But do me a favor and don’t make any silly reactions, got it?” Shinichi enunciated.

It was only for a split moment but Ran may have noticed him flick his eyes into her direction.

The group cheered when Shinichi started to dial the mystery person’s number. He then positioned the phone near his ear and waited for the call to connect.

She hoped that once he made the call, her phone would ring. But ten seconds in and her phone didn’t. He was already waiting for the person on the other end of the line to answer it, so of course that person couldn’t be her now. She pursed her lips and stared at the window, trying to mask her crestfallen expression.

Not a big deal.

Totally not a big deal.

A minute passed but the call didn’t connect and he was just directed to voice mail. Wondering what was up, he dialed the number for the second time and waited, but still to no avail.

For the third time, he dialed and his phone continued to ring, until finally the person he was trying to call, answered.

Everyone was staring at Shinichi but to their surprise he didn’t speak. Instead, his eyes were wide and he looked confused, and nervous. Ran couldn’t understand what was happening but she had a feeling that his surprised look was not because the call connected, but because the call did connect when he was perhaps expecting that it shouldn’t.

So Shinichi just sat there and everyone’s attention was on him. They could hear the voice on the other end but the words the person was saying were unintelligible.

“Yes. I-I’m sorry. I thought—” Shinichi spoke in a flustered manner.

The voice didn’t even let him finish. It just hang up.

For several seconds, Shinichi was left staring at his phone. His face was a bit flushed. Then he lifted his head and looked at Ran first, then at Sonoko, and then at the other people in the room, all of whose expressions were as confused as he was.

“But that’s a guy’s voice.” Heiji started.

Slowly and cautiously, Momiji went near him and placed one hand on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry Kudo-kun, we didn’t know you’re…”

Shocked at the result of what had just transpired and how the others were interpreting it – rather poorly, that is – Shinichi opened his mouth to explain.

“Barou! That person was –”

Before he could even comment, his phone rang.

“Oh, Megure-keibu. Yes. Yes. Got it. Right now? Okay. We’ll be there shortly.”

He closed his phone and grabbed his bag, motioning Heiji and Hakuba to tag along with him.

“Hattori, Hakuba, we’re leaving. Megure-keibu wants us to go to TMPD. They need our testimonies regarding that robbery case we solved last week.”

“Aww, you’re leaving already? That sucks. I guess that ends our club activity for today.” Sonoko mumbled.

“You got away this time, Kudo-kun! You owe us an explanation next week, okay?” Akako exclaimed loudly to the figures walking past her.

Shinichi shrugged, rolled his eyes, and left the room together with the other two guys.

-o-

After she bade farewell to Sonoko and the two girls, Ran walked home alone, lost in thought. She still couldn't make sense of what just occurred, for it all happened so fast. She was introduced to new people, met and interacted with her crush again, and had her heart break just a little for confirming that he already liked someone else. A guy or a girl, she didn't really care. All that stuck with her was the fact that during that time she might have hoped for a slim chance on him, only for that hope to be completely flushed down the drain.

Sigh. Life goes on, she thought, cheering herself up.

Not long after, she was already in front of her apartment.

“I’m home.”

Ran opened the door to the detective agency and was disappointed to see her father, with two beer cans on his working desk, watching a horse game live on television. He had been drinking again and it wasn’t even night yet.

“Geez! What will you do if a client steps in and sees you like this, otou-san?” She rambled, hands on her hips. But Kogoro didn’t seem to pay much attention as he was intently concentrating on that horse race while clutching on his race tickets tightly.

Seeing that it was no use reprimanding her inebriated father, she turned around and decided to go upstairs in order to prepare supper.

She was stopped by her drunk father scoffing behind her.

“Ran! Before you *hic* go upstairs can you please take your *hic* phone with you? It’s being annoying and disrupting me from the *hic* h-horse race!”

Surprised, she checked her uniform pockets and realized too late that she actually didn’t bring her phone to school today. She probably placed it on the center table of the agency when she took the trash out this morning and forgot to get it again before she left.

She rushed to the table and grabbed it before closing the door and ascending the stairs. Several notifications popped up on her home screen when she opened her phone, with unread messages from her dad and Sonoko. There were also a missed call from the laundry shop across the street. She could’ve stopped there and closed her phone again, but there were still unchecked notifications in her call history. She clicked on it.

Two (2) missed calls.

Kudo Shinichi - Cancelled call 16:30 Kudo Shinichi - Cancelled call 16:32 Kudo Shinichi - Incoming call 16:35 10 seconds.

Eyes widened like saucers, brain lagging for a considerable amount of time.

Kudo…Shinichi… called me?

She rushed to her room, closed the door, leaned against it and stilled her heart, allowing herself to process the name appearing on her cellphone screen. The number of ideas popping in her mind all at once was overwhelming her, and all those musings directed to a certain incredible realization – a realization she wanted so much to be true.

Just in case her eyes deceived her, she double checked the caller. She had already forgotten that she had saved his number, but this was still back in middle school. And now once again his name was right before her very eyes. For the many times she hit back and clicked her call history, the name didn’t disappear, confirming that this was the real deal.

Not that she was jumping into any ridiculous conclusion, but if she remembered correctly, Shinichi did call his crush thrice. The first two were a miss, and the last one, the recipient hang up. She remembered the recipient being a male.

Is it possible that the recipient who hang up was actually… Ran’s dad?

So does that mean that the person Shinichi meant to call…was her?

The call Shinichi made in school? At around 4pm? While they were playing that game? A call that was meant for his crush?

A call that was meant for her?

Mouth still agape, she covered it with her free hand but her eyes remained shocked. This has got to be just a coincidence. She clutched her phone with her other hand tightly, and without even realizing it, she accidentally clicked his name and the phone automatically dialed his number.

Before she could even react, the call had connected. Her phone was now ringing.

Crap.

Panic hit her like a speeding train but she had to pull herself together fast because after four rings a voice spoke on the other line.

“Hello?”

Her throat clenched upon hearing a handsome voice. Certainly, she couldn’t mistake that timbre for someone else.

“…Shinichi-san?”

A momentary pause, then the person on the other line dispelled air before speaking, in a much lower voice this time.

“Yes. And this is Ran-san, right? So you finally have your phone.”

Finally, implying that he somehow knew her phone wasn’t with her earlier.

She nodded her head, pretty stupidly in fact, because it wasn’t like he’d see that.

“You… c-called my phone?” She feebly asked.

“Yes, I did. A while ago.”

“Are you sure you called the right number?”

There was once again a short pause before he answered. She wasn’t sure but with his breathing patterns she thought she could hear him smile.

“Yes, I’m sure now. You witnessed me call, right? In school.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Wait.

Just. Wait.

Don’t tell me—?

“T-that’s ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry?” he spoke.

“That’s ridiculous! I mean, b-because… that means I’m-… I – Y-you have a… on me…”

The way she struggled to find the right words must have sounded so funny in the phone that the only response of the voice was to heave a light chuckle. She felt a bit awkward. Ran could definitely picture his expression at the other end of the line – probably a smirk that could make her so embarrassed but at the same time let her swoon for ages.

“Yes, I do.”

That short statement. He said it too confidently, too certainly, with the same amount of conviction she had heard from him a long while back.

No matter how hard she tried to speak, no words came out. She couldn’t even close her mouth. She just leaned there against the door, heart accelerating twice as fast as normal, her breathing clipped and producing short croaks that sounded like she was choking.

This time, it was he who tried to decipher her facial expressions. He could almost make sense of her disbelief through the silence in between them, the sound of nothing but static and her irregular breaths.

“Ran-san?”

No response. Feeling that the silence might probably take forever, he decided to speak again.

“You don’t have to say anything back, it’s okay. I hope I didn’t freak you out. I just want you to know, because it’s true. Up ‘til now I’m still thankful for that middle school project because through it I was able to meet and know you. I’m happy you still remembered that.”

Someone pinch her. He remembered!

“I—”

If only his friends didn’t arrive sooner, he would’ve stayed on the line longer.

“I’m sorry, I have to go, Ran-san. I hope to talk to you again soon!” Then he hang up.

Ran stood still, immovable, frozen like a statue, except that she wasn’t cold like marble. Warmth enveloped her whole senses, the source of warmth coming from her heart which she believed had just exploded. The only thing keeping her from thinking that this was a dream was this soothing warmth spreading on her cheeks and hands like fire. She felt her chest tighten.

That phone call really just happened. And there Shinichi manifested that he liked her.

He. Kudo Shinichi. Likes her. Mouri Ran.

The person she liked – no – likes, likes her back.

The next thing she knew, she had already slumped in her own bed, marveling again and again at that one name on her cell phone screen, unable to contain the giddiness she was feeling.

For sure, it would take a week or more before that smile disappeared from her face.

-o-

“Kudo! Who was that?”

Shinichi closed his phone quickly before Heiji and Hakuba, who had just stepped out from the police department, could see the caller’s name on the screen.

“Just – a call I had to attend to. None of your business.” He answered coolly before descending the front steps of the building.

His two friends looked at each other quizzically, then back at him. Expecting their pestering, Shinichi quickened his walk way ahead of them, not attempting to look back.

“Lemme guess, did your guy crush regret that he slammed the phone at THE Kudo Shinichi and called ya back to apologize?” Heiji shouted from behind him.

“Or maybe, it was Kudo-san who tried to call the guy again. He couldn’t move on from the fact that the guy ended the call so now he’s pretending he wasn’t affected.” Hakuba surmised. It was loud enough for Shinichi to hear, and because of that the latter had to face the two ungratefully but he didn’t stop walking. Through his narrowed eyes, he wanted to show to the two that he wasn’t laughing and make them understand that they were being pathetic friends.

“Idiots. Anyway I’m going home.” He walked ahead and waved his hand lazily, leaving the two behind.

The two guys stood there and watched him disappear from sight.

“Oy Hakuba. Are ya thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That our friend is gay and in love? Yes.”

But had they paid more attention to his face as he walked away, they would’ve seen that unique radiance in his eyes and that crimson shade on his cheeks. Those should’ve been noticeable because he had never worn that expression before.

And had they pressed him on further, they would’ve discovered about that short message he had just received. A message that easily caused him to curve his lips into a huge smile and made him thank the heavens for being more alive than ever.

From: Mouri Ran Subject: Thank you.

I’m happy you remembered it too, Shinichi-san. I thought it was just me. And now I’ll have something new to remember again. Thank you for making the calls.

-Ran

P.S. I like you too.

[tentwars2k21]

A Modest Proposal by Dr. Jonathan Swift

For preventing the children of poor people in Ireland, from being a burden on their parents or country, and for making them beneficial to the publick.

It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through this great town, or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads and cabbin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags, and importuning every passenger for an alms. These mothers instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in stroling to beg sustenance for their helpless infants who, as they grow up, either turn thieves for want of work, or leave their dear native country, to fight for the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable state of the kingdom, a very great additional grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair, cheap and easy method of making these children sound and useful members of the common-wealth, would deserve so well of the publick, as to have his statue set up for a preserver of the nation.

But my intention is very far from being confined to provide only for the children of professed beggars: it is of a much greater extent, and shall take in the whole number of infants at a certain age, who are born of parents in effect as little able to support them, as those who demand our charity in the streets.

As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years, upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of our projectors, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their computation. It is true, a child just dropt from its dam, may be supported by her milk, for a solar year, with little other nourishment: at most not above the value of two shillings, which the mother may certainly get, or the value in scraps, by her lawful occupation of begging; and it is exactly at one year old that I propose to provide for them in such a manner, as, instead of being a charge upon their parents, or the parish, or wanting food and raiment for the rest of their lives, they shall, on the contrary, contribute to the feeding, and partly to the cloathing of many thousands.

There is likewise another great advantage in my scheme, that it will prevent those voluntary abortions, and that horrid practice of women murdering their bastard children, alas! too frequent among us, sacrificing the poor innocent babes, I doubt, more to avoid the expence than the shame, which would move tears and pity in the most savage and inhuman breast.

The number of souls in this kingdom being usually reckoned one million and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two hundred thousand couple whose wives are breeders; from which number I subtract thirty thousand couple, who are able to maintain their own children, (although I apprehend there cannot be so many, under the present distresses of the kingdom) but this being granted, there will remain an hundred and seventy thousand breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand, for those women who miscarry, or whose children die by accident or disease within the year. There only remain an hundred and twenty thousand children of poor parents annually born. The question therefore is, How this number shall be reared, and provided for? which, as I have already said, under the present situation of affairs, is utterly impossible by all the methods hitherto proposed. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses, (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing till they arrive at six years old; except where they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier; during which time they can however be properly looked upon only as probationers: As I have been informed by a principal gentleman in the county of Cavan, who protested to me, that he never knew above one or two instances under the age of six, even in a part of the kingdom so renowned for the quickest proficiency in that art.

I am assured by our merchants, that a boy or a girl before twelve years old, is no saleable commodity, and even when they come to this age, they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half a crown at most, on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriments and rags having been at least four times that value.

I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricasie, or a ragoust.

I do therefore humbly offer it to publick consideration, that of the hundred and twenty thousand children, already computed, twenty thousand may be reserved for breed, whereof only one fourth part to be males; which is more than we allow to sheep, black cattle, or swine, and my reason is, that these children are seldom the fruits of marriage, a circumstance not much regarded by our savages, therefore, one male will be sufficient to serve four females. That the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in sale to the persons of quality and fortune, through the kingdom, always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump, and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt, will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter.

I have reckoned upon a medium, that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, encreaseth to 28 pounds.

I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children.

Infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year, but more plentiful in March, and a little before and after; for we are told by a grave author, an eminent French physician, that fish being a prolifick dyet, there are more children born in Roman Catholick countries about nine months after Lent, the markets will be more glutted than usual, because the number of Popish infants, is at least three to one in this kingdom, and therefore it will have one other collateral advantage, by lessening the number of Papists among us.

I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child (in which list I reckon all cottagers, labourers, and four-fifths of the farmers) to be about two shillings per annum, rags included; and I believe no gentleman would repine to give ten shillings for the carcass of a good fat child, which, as I have said, will make four dishes of excellent nutritive meat, when he hath only some particular friend, or his own family to dine with him. Thus the squire will learn to be a good landlord, and grow popular among his tenants, the mother will have eight shillings neat profit, and be fit for work till she produces another child.

Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require) may flea the carcass; the skin of which, artificially dressed, will make admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen.

As to our City of Dublin, shambles may be appointed for this purpose, in the most convenient parts of it, and butchers we may be assured will not be wanting; although I rather recommend buying the children alive, and dressing them hot from the knife, as we do roasting pigs.

A very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose virtues I highly esteem, was lately pleased, in discoursing on this matter, to offer a refinement upon my scheme. He said, that many gentlemen of this kingdom, having of late destroyed their deer, he conceived that the want of venison might be well supply'd by the bodies of young lads and maidens, not exceeding fourteen years of age, nor under twelve; so great a number of both sexes in every country being now ready to starve for want of work and service: And these to be disposed of by their parents if alive, or otherwise by their nearest relations. But with due deference to so excellent a friend, and so deserving a patriot, I cannot be altogether in his sentiments; for as to the males, my American acquaintance assured me from frequent experience, that their flesh was generally tough and lean, like that of our school-boys, by continual exercise, and their taste disagreeable, and to fatten them would not answer the charge. Then as to the females, it would, I think, with humble submission, be a loss to the publick, because they soon would become breeders themselves: And besides, it is not improbable that some scrupulous people might be apt to censure such a practice, (although indeed very unjustly) as a little bordering upon cruelty, which, I confess, hath always been with me the strongest objection against any project, how well soever intended.

But in order to justify my friend, he confessed, that this expedient was put into his head by the famous Salmanaazor, a native of the island Formosa, who came from thence to London, above twenty years ago, and in conversation told my friend, that in his country, when any young person happened to be put to death, the executioner sold the carcass to persons of quality, as a prime dainty; and that, in his time, the body of a plump girl of fifteen, who was crucified for an attempt to poison the Emperor, was sold to his imperial majesty's prime minister of state, and other great mandarins of the court in joints from the gibbet, at four hundred crowns. Neither indeed can I deny, that if the same use were made of several plump young girls in this town, who without one single groat to their fortunes, cannot stir abroad without a chair, and appear at a play-house and assemblies in foreign fineries which they never will pay for; the kingdom would not be the worse.

Some persons of a desponding spirit are in great concern about that vast number of poor people, who are aged, diseased, or maimed; and I have been desired to employ my thoughts what course may be taken, to ease the nation of so grievous an incumbrance. But I am not in the least pain upon that matter, because it is very well known, that they are every day dying, and rotting, by cold and famine, and filth, and vermin, as fast as can be reasonably expected. And as to the young labourers, they are now in almost as hopeful a condition. They cannot get work, and consequently pine away from want of nourishment, to a degree, that if at any time they are accidentally hired to common labour, they have not strength to perform it, and thus the country and themselves are happily delivered from the evils to come.

I have too long digressed, and therefore shall return to my subject. I think the advantages by the proposal which I have made are obvious and many, as well as of the highest importance.

For first, as I have already observed, it would greatly lessen the number of Papists, with whom we are yearly over-run, being the principal breeders of the nation, as well as our most dangerous enemies, and who stay at home on purpose with a design to deliver the kingdom to the Pretender, hoping to take their advantage by the absence of so many good Protestants, who have chosen rather to leave their country, than stay at home and pay tithes against their conscience to an episcopal curate.

Secondly, The poorer tenants will have something valuable of their own, which by law may be made liable to a distress, and help to pay their landlord's rent, their corn and cattle being already seized, and money a thing unknown.

Thirdly, Whereas the maintainance of an hundred thousand children, from two years old, and upwards, cannot be computed at less than ten shillings a piece per annum, the nation's stock will be thereby encreased fifty thousand pounds per annum, besides the profit of a new dish, introduced to the tables of all gentlemen of fortune in the kingdom, who have any refinement in taste. And the money will circulate among our selves, the goods being entirely of our own growth and manufacture.

Fourthly, The constant breeders, besides the gain of eight shillings sterling per annum by the sale of their children, will be rid of the charge of maintaining them after the first year.

Fifthly, This food would likewise bring great custom to taverns, where the vintners will certainly be so prudent as to procure the best receipts for dressing it to perfection; and consequently have their houses frequented by all the fine gentlemen, who justly value themselves upon their knowledge in good eating; and a skilful cook, who understands how to oblige his guests, will contrive to make it as expensive as they please.

Sixthly, This would be a great inducement to marriage, which all wise nations have either encouraged by rewards, or enforced by laws and penalties. It would encrease the care and tenderness of mothers towards their children, when they were sure of a settlement for life to the poor babes, provided in some sort by the publick, to their annual profit instead of expence. We should soon see an honest emulation among the married women, which of them could bring the fattest child to the market. Men would become as fond of their wives, during the time of their pregnancy, as they are now of their mares in foal, their cows in calf, or sow when they are ready to farrow; nor offer to beat or kick them (as is too frequent a practice) for fear of a miscarriage.

Many other advantages might be enumerated. For instance, the addition of some thousand carcasses in our exportation of barrel'd beef: the propagation of swine's flesh, and improvement in the art of making good bacon, so much wanted among us by the great destruction of pigs, too frequent at our tables; which are no way comparable in taste or magnificence to a well grown, fat yearly child, which roasted whole will make a considerable figure at a Lord Mayor's feast, or any other publick entertainment. But this, and many others, I omit, being studious of brevity.

Supposing that one thousand families in this city, would be constant customers for infants flesh, besides others who might have it at merry meetings, particularly at weddings and christenings, I compute that Dublin would take off annually about twenty thousand carcasses; and the rest of the kingdom (where probably they will be sold somewhat cheaper) the remaining eighty thousand.

I can think of no one objection, that will possibly be raised against this proposal, unless it should be urged, that the number of people will be thereby much lessened in the kingdom. This I freely own, and 'twas indeed one principal design in offering it to the world. I desire the reader will observe, that I calculate my remedy for this one individual Kingdom of Ireland, and for no other that ever was, is, or, I think, ever can be upon Earth. Therefore let no man talk to me of other expedients: Of taxing our absentees at five shillings a pound: Of using neither cloaths, nor houshold furniture, except what is of our own growth and manufacture: Of utterly rejecting the materials and instruments that promote foreign luxury: Of curing the expensiveness of pride, vanity, idleness, and gaming in our women: Of introducing a vein of parsimony, prudence and temperance: Of learning to love our country, wherein we differ even from Laplanders, and the inhabitants of Topinamboo: Of quitting our animosities and factions, nor acting any longer like the Jews, who were murdering one another at the very moment their city was taken: Of being a little cautious not to sell our country and consciences for nothing: Of teaching landlords to have at least one degree of mercy towards their tenants. Lastly, of putting a spirit of honesty, industry, and skill into our shop-keepers, who, if a resolution could now be taken to buy only our native goods, would immediately unite to cheat and exact upon us in the price, the measure, and the goodness, nor could ever yet be brought to make one fair proposal of just dealing, though often and earnestly invited to it.

Therefore I repeat, let no man talk to me of these and the like expedients, 'till he hath at least some glympse of hope, that there will ever be some hearty and sincere attempt to put them into practice.

But, as to my self, having been wearied out for many years with offering vain, idle, visionary thoughts, and at length utterly despairing of success, I fortunately fell upon this proposal, which, as it is wholly new, so it hath something solid and real, of no expence and little trouble, full in our own power, and whereby we can incur no danger in disobliging England. For this kind of commodity will not bear exportation, and flesh being of too tender a consistence, to admit a long continuance in salt, although perhaps I could name a country, which would be glad to eat up our whole nation without it.

After all, I am not so violently bent upon my own opinion, as to reject any offer, proposed by wise men, which shall be found equally innocent, cheap, easy, and effectual. But before something of that kind shall be advanced in contradiction to my scheme, and offering a better, I desire the author or authors will be pleased maturely to consider two points. First, As things now stand, how they will be able to find food and raiment for a hundred thousand useless mouths and backs. And secondly, There being a round million of creatures in humane figure throughout this kingdom, whose whole subsistence put into a common stock, would leave them in debt two million of pounds sterling, adding those who are beggars by profession, to the bulk of farmers, cottagers and labourers, with their wives and children, who are beggars in effect; I desire those politicians who dislike my overture, and may perhaps be so bold to attempt an answer, that they will first ask the parents of these mortals, whether they would not at this day think it a great happiness to have been sold for food at a year old, in the manner I prescribe, and thereby have avoided such a perpetual scene of misfortunes, as they have since gone through, by the oppression of landlords, the impossibility of paying rent without money or trade, the want of common sustenance, with neither house nor cloaths to cover them from the inclemencies of the weather, and the most inevitable prospect of intailing the like, or greater miseries, upon their breed for ever.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the publick good of my country, by advancing our trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I have no children, by which I can propose to get a single penny; the youngest being nine years old, and my wife past child-bearing.

Absolute mad lad, thanks bro

-nell

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, niceworksherlock!

Today, we wish Happy Birthday to @niceworksherlock! We hope you had a wonderful day, and celebrated in style! To keep your party going a little while longer, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

FOR: @niceworksherlock

PROMPT: I would love something sweet, no angst, maybe a bit of arranged marriage?

A/N: Happy birthday, Niceworksherlock! I hope you have a wonderful day. I hope I did the prompt justice, I  took your prompt and added a little bit of one my favorite movie a White Christmas...hope you can spot the scene. Special thanks to my beta @booksrockmyface

Rated: G

Special Delivery

Katniss stood on the platform of the train station waiving to Annie. Taking a deep breath, she was next to leave. Miss Effie classified her as Special Delivery.  Katniss was to travel first class all the way to Ohio.

She was glad to be leaving the complicated city life for a chance to start over as a mail order bride. It didn't feel  real. Less than a year ago she and her family had migrated to the United States from a tiny province in Europe that was no more.

She'd experienced so much death and violence. They left their country of Panem because of civil war. They arrived New York and, almost immediately, her father became ill and died. Soon afterwards, her sister and mother succumbed.

Penniless,  she ended up working in a factory  ten hours a day, six days a week. Those first few weeks by herself were the hardest. She lived on the streets until she met Annie at the factory. Together they scrimped all of their money to pay for a room. It was Annie who first saw the ad in the papers for Miss Effie's School For Refinement of Young Ladies. The ad promised at the end of the course young women would be matched in marriage with an eligible well-to-do husband. At first Katniss wanted no part of it, but Annie begged and pleaded. On a  bright Sunday morning, their day off, they schlepped all the way  from the slums of Brooklyn to Hamilton Heights, in Manhattan. 221B Baker Street was an ornate elegant brownstone townhouse. Katniss wore her best dress and so did Annie.

Miss Effie was the most unique woman Katniss had ever met.  She dressed in the Regency style but her dresses were bright, loud concoctions; her hats were filled with birds, nests, twigs, and leaves to reflect the season. Miss Effie spoke English like no one else and she was a great stickler for manners. But she did provide Katniss and Annie a great education. Katniss learned how to read, write and do numbers. Miss Effie prepared them for marriage and everything in between, from how to cook outside to how to cook in the most expensive kitchens using the most expensive ingredients to the simplest. Three months later they  graduated, Miss Effie had kept her bargain. Annie was betrothed to a gentleman from the Bayou region. Katniss was going to Ohio. She watched the train leave with an Annie on it, before turning to find her own train.

Miss Effie gifted each one of her students a trunk full of clothing. Katniss only had two garments: her day-to-day garment that she wore  to work in and her best outfit she wore to Miss Effie’s school. Her garments were simple and well-worn since she had sold everything after her family's death to settle accounts and to provide them with proper burials. Miss Effie's gift was generous, it included a corset, two pairs of knit stockings and a pair of silk stocking, garters, green ribbon, two shifts, four petticoats, four aprons, three gowns, and a proper bonnet. She'd never had dresses before or one of the new corsets, she'd only had worn stays.

Katniss presented her ticket and was dashed away to a private compartment. Katniss had never seen such opulence. This was going to be her home for the next few days until she had to change trains again.

Sitting down, she took out the letter from her reticule. She hoped her husband was kind as the letter promised he would be.

His name was Peeta Mellark and Katniss hoped they would be compatible. She clutched the letter in her hand. She was married by proxy Peeta’s older brother, Degory, stood in Peeta’s stead since Peeta lived in a remote region of Ohio. Degory described his brother as average height and stocky. He said Peeta had the trademark blonde wavy hair and blue eyes of their family. He gave her a picture and he was in her eyes handsome. Katniss clutched the picture.  Hope bloomed in her heart. She wanted peace and the West offered it. She couldn't wait to meet her new husband in less than a fortnight's time.

Two Weeks Later:

“You what?” Peeta exclaimed. His partner Haymitch Abernathy didn't flinch at his outburst. The man calmly slid his hand into his pockets.

“We got you a bride and she'll be here on the next stagecoach. She's travelled all the way from New York...special delivery,” Haymitch reiterated. He sat back in his chair as if waiting for Peeta to explode.

Peeta shook his head, dumbfounded, “I'm sorry, you what?”

“Now don't be acting dumb boy you know perfectly well what I said,” Haymitch said, scraping back his chair. He unfolded from the chair slowly.

Peeta couldn't believe what he had just heard. It was too early in the day for this. He hadn't even had his tea. “When you mean we, who is we?”

“Degory and I.”

Peeta should have known that his meddling eldest brother would be involved somehow. If his brother was involved that meant his mother was involved as well. Looking at Haymitch dead straight in the eyes he said, “No.”

“I knew you would say something like that so here…” Haymitch slid the marriage license onto the table.

He was angry and his hands shook as he picked up the the paper. Her name was written on it, but he was so upset he couldn't read straight. “This is the most boneheaded...how could you have done this Haymitch? With my brother!” Peeta yelled. He wasn't one for yelling or screaming. Normally he had a temperate personality, but when he got mad he tended to lose it and, if necessary, he was known for throwing a few things.

“Son your brother and I did the best thing for you. A man out here shouldn't be alone.”

Peeta wasn't dead set against getting married. He hoped one day to be able to meet a girl, fall in love and eventually propose. What his brother and Haymitch did bothered him greatly, he had no say in the matter. He was married to a virtual stranger, a girl he knew nothing about.

“I know you you're mad, madder than a cat on bath day. But listen to me, you've been working like a dog ever since you left home. For the past four years you've done nothing but work, work, work, work. If Sunday wasn't a religious day I suppose you be working on a Sunday too. You're going to burn yourself out. You need a woman, someone who can work with you, someone who can help ease the burden, a partner.”

Everything Haymitch said was true. If Peeta had a partner, someone he had chosen, they could share the workload. It wasn't easy being in the middle of nowhere with just Haymitch to look at across the dinner table. The only company Haymitch kept, besides Peeta, was those damned geese.  They had one neighbor and it was a good half-Aday's ride. Town was another half-a-day's ride, if he rode his team at a brisk speed. Peeta didn't show the other man had a point. He grimaced, stood of akimbo, letting his muscles bulge to show he was upset.

“Listen, boy, your brother met the girl. He said she was hard-working, smart, quiet, quick, just the type of girls needed out here.”

“If she's so great, why don't you take her?”

Haymitch looked like he was ready to slap him upside his  head. “I'm an old man, ’sides she's already got a husband.”

“Well, you can buy her ticket back and get rid of her. I ain’t going with you.”

Haymitch only shook his head at Peeta, and Peeta felt a twinge of guilt for being so rough with Haymitch. The man had uprooted himself from his cozy life back in Philadelphia to come out here with him. It had been a rough four years, but the farm was starting to make a profit.

“I'm going to go outside to hitch the horses so that we can go meet your bride in town.”

Peeta took his hat and threw it on the table as he ran his hand through his blond hair. He left his mother's side because he could no longer take the abuse. Coming out to Ohio was a grand gamble for him. A day didn't pass by when he wanted to bury his hands in some dough and do something familiar. He was a baker at heart but he needed to do this to show that he was not under his mother's control. Getting this “bride,” undermined all the work he had done for the past several years.

He placed his hands on his hips and looked around at the cabin that he had painstakingly built. He built this house with a family in mind. It had two bedrooms and a loft where children could sleep comfortably. There was an expansive living area with a large fireplace, a pot belly stove, a sink with a pump from a well he made, and a pantry. He even had cold storage space built underneath the house so that they could store food in the winter.

This was his dream, to have a family of his own. His children would be loved and cherished. He wanted to share all of this with the woman he loved, the woman he chose.

He felt cheated. But even in the midst of his dilemma his mind went to the girl who was traveling all the way from New York to the wilds of Ohio. A girl who had hopes and dreams just as he did when he had hopped on the wagon trail from Philadelphia.

“Confound it, Haymitch,” Peeta said under his breath. He took the pitcher of water and rinsed his face and washed his hands, then put his hat back on. He didn't know what he was going to do with this girl under foot. There had to be a way to get rid of her, he just had to find it.

Haymitch had a darned grin when Peeta walked outside.

“Not a word, Haymitch,” Peeta warned as he hopped onto the wagon. He wanted no sass from Haymitch.

They were halfway to town when Peeta found his voice again. “How do you know if she's even a quality girl?”

“Well you know Gale Hawthorne?”

Peeta thought about his ornery neighbor to the east of him. The only time Gale smiled was when his wife Delly was around. They were the oddest couple. He was quiet and brooding and she was always smiling and talking. Delly was a sweet woman and fiercely devoted to Gale.

“Yeah.”

“Well his wife Delly came from the same agency as your bride.  I had no idea Delly was a mail order bride. Miss Effie trains young women to be good wives.”

Peeta had heard of Miss Effie's School For Refinement of Young Ladies from Delly. He had no idea the woman was a matchmaker. He reasoned his bride had to be a good woman, Delly was a testament. Though even with all his reasoning, the fact was he didn't want to be married to this poor girl who was coming here. And maybe, just maybe, he could get his marriage annulled. It wasn't a church marriage after all.

“How did you ever come up with the scheme in the first place?” Peeta asked. To say he was curious was an understatement. The only thing Haymitch knew besides geese and horses was the bottom of his whisky flask.

“I was at the Hawthorns' one day  complaining about how I didn't get a break from you  and  Delly said you needed to get married and have a family.”

Peeta raised an eyebrow the muscle in his chin twitched, he was frustrated.

“What Delly said got me thinking. If you got married and had a couple of youngins, say five. If you spent six minutes with each kid a day that would give me thirty minutes a day to myself. We work from sunup to sundown. You have me so busy I can't even think for myself and thirty minutes sounded like a holiday.”

Peeta had no idea Haymitch felt this way. He squirmed in his seat. There were times in the summer they worked well past nine at night. Haymitch was older than Peeta and Peeta supposed Haymitch needed time to rest.

“So I got the agency's name from Delly and wrote to Miss Effie on your behalf. When she arranged the marriage, I wrote to Degory to help me. Degory promised he would not involve your mother.  He wanted to make sure the girl was good enough, so he paid a visit to Miss Effie. Upon meeting her, your brother was convinced. He arranged to marry her by proxy.”

“How did you get my signature?” Peeta hoped they forged his signature or the paperwork. This would give him his out.

Haymitch cleared his throat, “Remember a while back you signed some papers.”

“You said those are for the purchase of some livestock?” Peeta nearly stopped the wagon.

“I snuck the contract in there.”

The situation really was quite funny if you look at it from an objective point of view. He would have laughed if this happened to someone else.

“Trust me, Peeta, you're going to love her.”

Peeta didn't think so.

They arrived in town and parked the wagon by the general store. The stagecoach had just pulled into town.

Haymitch jumped off the wagon Peeta didn't follow. “You coming, boy?”

Peeta shook his head. No. There was no way he was going to go see a girl he wasn't even interested in meeting. He pulled his hat over his head and leaned back in the bench to take a nap.

It wasn't a big town, so noise traveled even on a busy day like today. Peeta heard Haymitch coming toward him. Sighing deeply, Peeta sat up ready to crush the poor girls dreams.

“Peeta, this is Katniss Everdeen, I mean Mellark.” Haymitch introduced.

When Peeta saw her all the arguments he had mounted in his mind disappeared. She was as lovely as the sunset on a clear crisp evening. Her eyes were the color of lit embers of charcoal, they possessed a fire that stole his breath away. His heart thumped in his chest loudly and he became deaf and dumb from her beauty.

Katniss offered him a shy smile.

Peeta was a goner. He offered her his best smile as he jumped down from the wagon. He fumbled with taking off his hat. He was wrong and he would eat every single one of his words. He had found the girl he would share his life and home with and she'd come special delivery.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 DARKER SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT.7

Description:Daunted by the singular tastes and dark secrets of the beautiful, tormented young entrepreneur Kwon Ji Yong, Y/N Y/L/N has broken off their relationship to start a new career with a Seoul publishing house.But desire for Jiyong still dominates her every waking thought, and when he proposes a new arrangement,Y/N cannot resist. They rekindle their searing sensual affair, and Y/N learns more about the harrowing past of her damaged, driven and demanding Fifty Shades.While Jiyong wrestles with his inner demons, Jiyong must confront the anger and envy of the women who came before her, and make the most important decision of her life. (let me know what you think in the ask box!)

Genre:Smut/Angst/Fluff

Rated:NC-17

Pairing: G-Dragon x Reader

Wordcount:8,882

(remember this is and edit of the original book called fifty shades darker thanks!)

Masterlist

Holy shit, did I really just do that? It must be the alcohol. I’ve had champagne plus four glasses of four different wines. I glance up at Jiyong, who’s busy applauding. Crap, he’s going to be so angry, and we’ve been getting along so well. My subconscious has finally decided to make an appearance, and she’s wearing her Edvard Munch The Scream face. Jiyong leans over to me, a large, fake smile plastered across his face. He kisses my cheek and then moves closer to whisper in my ear in a very cold, controlled voice. “I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.” Oh, I know what I want right now. I gaze up at him, blinking through my mask. I just wish I could read what’s in his eyes. “I’ll take option two, please,” I whisper frantically as the applause dies down. His lips part as he inhales sharply. Oh, that chiseled mouth—I want it on me, now. I ache for him. He gives me a radiant sincere smile that leaves me breathless. “Suffering, are you? We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” he murmurs as he runs his fingers along my jaw. His touch resonates deep, deep inside where that ache has spawned and grown. I want to jump him right here, right now, but we sit back to watch the auction of the next lot. I can barely sit still. Jiyong drapes an arm around my shoulders, his thumb rhythmically stroking my back, sending delicious tingles down my spine. His free hand clasps mine, bringing it to his lips, then letting it rest on his lap. Slowly and surreptitiously, so I don’t realize his game until it’s too late, he eases my hand up his leg and against his erection. I gasp, and my eyes dart in panic around the table, but all eyes are fixed on the stage. Thank heavens for my mask. Taking full advantage, I slowly caress him, letting my fingers explore. Jiyong keeps his hand over mine, hiding my bold fingers, while his thumb skates softly over the nape of my neck. His mouth opens as he gasps softly, and it’s the only reaction I can see to my inexperienced touch. But it means so much. He wants me. Everything south of my navel contracts. This is becoming unbearable. A week by Lake Adriana in Montana is the final lot for auction. Of course Mr. and Dr.Kwon have a house in Montana, and the bidding escalates rapidly, but I am barely aware of it. I feel him growing beneath my fingers, and it makes me feel so powerful. “Sold, for one hundred ten thousand dollars!” the MC declares victoriously. The whole room bursts into applause, and reluctantly I follow as does Jiyong, ruining our fun. He turns to me and his lips twitch. “Ready?” he mouths over the rapturous cheering.

“Yes,” I mouth back. “Y/N!” Mia calls. “It’s time!” What? No. Not again! “Time for what?” “The First Dance Auction. Come on!” She stands and holds out her hand. I glance at Jiyong , who is, I think, scowling at Mia, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but it’s laughter that wins. I succumb to a cathartic bubble of schoolgirl giggles, as we are thwarted once more by the tall, pink powerhouse that is Mia Kwon. Jiyong peers at me, and after a beat, there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won’t be on the dance floor,” he murmurs lasciviously into my ear. My giggles subside as anticipation fans the flames of my need. Oh yes! My inner goddess performs a perfect triple Salchow in her ice skates. “I look forward to it.” I lean over and plant a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth. Glancing around, I realize that our fellow guests at the table are astonished. Of course, they’ve never seen Jiyong with a date before. He smiles broadly. And he looks … happy. “Come on, Y/N,” Mia nags. Taking her outstretched hand, I follow her onto the stage, where ten more young women have assembled, and I note with vague unease that Lily is one of them. “Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!” the MC booms over the babble of voices. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their first dance to the highest bidder!” Oh no. I blush from head to toe. I hadn’t realized what this meant. How humiliating! “It’s for a good cause,” Mia hisses at me, sensing my discomfort. “Besides, Jiyong will win.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t imagine him letting anyone outbid him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.” Yes, focus on the good cause, and Jiyong is bound to win. Let’s face it, he’s not short of a dime or two. But it means spending more money on you! my subconscious snarls at me. But I don’t want to dance with anyone else—I can’t dance with anyone else—and it’s not spending money on me, he’s donating it to the charity. Like the $24,000 he’s already spent? My subconscious narrows her eyes. Shit. I seem to have gotten away with my impulsive bid. Why am I arguing with myself? “Now, gentlemen, pray gather around, and take a good look at what could be yours for the first dance. Twelve comely and compliant wenches.” Jeez! I feel like I’m in a meat market. I watch, horrified, as at least twenty men make their way to the stage area, Jiyong included, moving with easy grace between the tables and pausing to say a few hellos on the way. Once the bidders are assembled, the MC begins. “Ladies and gentlemen, in the tradition of the masquerade we shall maintain the mystery behind the masks and stick to first names only. First up we have the lovely Jada.” Jada is giggling like a schoolgirl, too. Maybe I won’t be so out of place. She’s dressed head to foot in navy taffeta with a matching mask. Two young men step forward expectantly. Lucky Jada. “Jada speaks fluent Japanese, is a qualified fighter pilot, and an Olympic gymnast … hmm.” The MC winks. “Gentlemen, what am I bid?” Jada gapes, astounded at the MC; obviously, he’s talking complete garbage. She grins shyly back at the two contenders. “A thousand bucks!” one calls. Very quickly the bidding escalates to $5,000. “Going once … going twice … sold!” the MC declares loudly, “to the gentleman in the mask!” And of course, all the men are wearing masks so there are hoots of laughter, applause, and cheering. Jada beams at her purchaser and quickly exits the stage. “See? This is fun!” whispers Mia. “I hope Jiyong wins you, though … We don’t want a brawl,” she adds. “Brawl?” I answer horrified. “Oh yes. He was very hotheaded when he was younger.” She shudders. Jiyong brawling? Refined, sophisticated, likes-Tudor-choral-music Jiyong? I can’t see it. The MC distracts me with his next introduction—a young woman in red, with long jet-black hair. “Gentlemen, may I present the wonderful Mariah. What are we going to do about Mariah? She’s an experienced matador, plays the cello to concert standard, and she’s a champion pole-vaulter … how about that, gentlemen? What am I bid, please, for a dance with the delightful Mariah?” Mariah glares at the MC and someone yells, very loudly, “Three thousand dollars!” It’s a masked man with blond hair and beard. There is one counterbid, but Mariah sells for $4,000. Jiyong is watching me like a hawk. Brawler Trevelyan-Kwon—who would have known? “How long ago?” I ask Mia. She glances at me, nonplussed. “How long ago was Jiyong brawling?” “Early teens. Drove my parents crazy, coming home with cut lips and black eyes. He was expelled from two schools. He inflicted some serious damage on his opponents.” I gape at her. “Hasn’t he told you?” She sighs. “He got quite a bad rep among my friends. He was really persona non grata for a few years. But it stopped when he was about fifteen or sixteen.” She shrugs. Holy fuck. Another piece of the jigsaw falls into place. “So, what am I bid for the gorgeous Jill?” “Four thousand dollars,” a deep voice calls from the left side. Jill squeals in delight. I stop paying attention to the auction. So Jiyong was in that kind of trouble at school, fighting. I wonder why. I stare at him. Lily is watching us closely. “And now, allow me to introduce the beautiful Y/N.” Oh, shit, that’s me. I glance nervously at Mia, and she shoos me center stage. Fortunately I don’t fall over, but stand embarrassed as hell on display for everyone. When I look at Jiyong, he’s smirking at me. The bastard. “Beautiful Y/N plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga … well, gentlemen—” Before he can even finish his sentence Jiyong interrupts him, glaring at the MC through his mask. “Ten thousand dollars.” I hear Lily’s gasp of disbelief behind me. Oh, fuck. “Fifteen.” What? We all turn as one to a tall, impeccably dressed man standing to the left of the stage. I blink at Fifty. Shit, what will he make of this? But he’s scratching his chin and giving the stranger an ironic smile. It’s obvious Jiyong knows him. The stranger nods politely at Jiyong. “Well, gentlemen! We have high rollers in the house this evening.” The MC’s excitement emanates through his harlequin mask as he turns to beam at Jiyong. This is a great show, but it’s at my expense. I want to wail. “Twenty,” counters Jiyong quietly. The babble of the crowd has died. Everyone is staring at me, Jiyong, and Mr. Mysterious by the stage. “Twenty-five,” the stranger says. Could this be any more embarrassing? Jiyong stares at him impassively, but he’s amused. All eyes are on Jiyong. What’s he going to do? My heart is in my mouth. I feel sick. “One hundred thousand dollars,” he says, his voice ringing clear and loud through the tent. “What the fuck?” Lily hisses audibly behind me, and a general gasp of dismay and amusement ripples through the crowd. The stranger holds his hands up in defeat, laughing, and Jiyong smirks at him. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mia bouncing up and down with glee. “One hundred thousand dollars for the lovely Y/N! Going once … going twice …” The MC stares at the stranger, who shakes his head with mock regret and bows chivalrously. “Sold!” the MC cries out triumphantly. In a deafening round of applause and cheering, Jiyong steps forward to take my hand and help me from the stage. He gazes at me with an amused grin as I make my way down, kisses the back of my hand then tucks it into the crook of his arm, and leads me toward the tent’s exit. “Who was that?” I ask. He gazes down at me. “Someone you can meet later. Right now, I want to show you something. We have about thirty minutes until the First Dance Auction finishes. Then we have to be back on the dance floor so that I can enjoy that dance I’ve paid for.” “A very expensive dance,” I mutter disapprovingly. “I’m sure it’ll be worth every single cent.” He smiles down at me wickedly. Oh, he has a glorious smile, and the ache is back, blossoming in my body. We’re out on the lawn. I thought we would be heading to the boathouse, but disappointingly we seem to be heading for the dance floor where the big band is now setting up. There are at least twenty musicians, and a few guests are milling about, furtively smoking—but since most of the action is back in the tent, we don’t attract too much attention. Jiyong leads me to the rear of the house and opens a French window leading into a large comfortable sitting room that I’ve not seen before. He walks through the deserted hall toward the sweeping staircase with its elegant, polished wooden balustrade. Taking my hand from the crook of his arm, he leads me up to the second floor and up another flight of stairs to the third. Opening a white door, he ushers me into one of the bedrooms. “This was my room,” he says quietly, standing by the door and locking it behind him. It’s large, stark, and sparsely furnished. The walls are white, as is the furniture; a double bed, a desk and chair, shelves crammed with books and lined with various trophies for kickboxing, by the look of them. The walls are hung with movie posters: The Matrix, Fight Club, The Truman Show, and two framed posters featuring kickboxers. One is named Guiseppe DeNatale—I’ve never heard of him. But what catches my eye is the white bulletin board above the desk, studded with myriad photographs, Mariners pennants, and ticket stubs. It’s a slice of young Jiyong. My eyes come back to the magnificent man now standing in the center of the room. He looks at me darkly, brooding and sexy. “I’ve never brought a girl in here,” he murmurs. “Never?” I whisper. He shakes his head. I swallow convulsively, and the ache that has been bothering me for the last couple of hours is roaring now, raw and wanting. Seeing him standing there on the royal blue carpet in that mask … it’s beyond erotic. I want him. Now. Any way I can get him. I have to resist launching myself at him and ripping his clothes off. He waltzes over to me slowly. “We don’t have long, Y/N, and the way I’m feeling right this moment, we won’t need long. Turn around. Let me get you out of that dress.” I turn and stare at the door, grateful that he’s locked it. Bending down he whispers softly in my ear, “Keep the mask on.” I groan as my body clenches in response. He’s not even touched me yet. He grasps the top of my dress, his fingers sliding against my skin, and the touch reverberates through my body. In one swift move, he opens the zipper. Holding my dress, he helps me to step out of it, then turns and drapes it artfully over the back of a chair. Removing his jacket, he places it over my dress. He pauses, and stares at me for a moment, drinking me in. I’m in the basque and matching panties, and I revel in his sensuous gaze. “You know, Y/N,” he says softly as he stalks toward me, undoing his bow tie so it hangs from either side of his neck, then undoing the top three buttons of his shirt. “I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered.” He gazes down at me through his mask. “Why did you do that?” he whispers. “Volunteer? I don’t know. Frustration … too much alcohol … worthy cause,” I mutter meekly, shrugging. Maybe to get his attention? I needed him then. I need him more now. The ache is worse, and I know he can soothe it, calm this roaring, salivating beast in me with the beast in him. His mouth presses into a line, and he slowly licks his upper lip. I want that tongue on me. “I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me.” “Please,” I beg. “But then I realized you’re probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it’s not something you’re used to.” He smirks knowingly at me, arrogant bastard, but I don’t care because he’s absolutely right. “Yes,” I breathe. “So, there might be a certain … latitude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing.” “Anything.” “You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?” “Yes.” I’m panting. I want his hands on me. He swallows, then takes my hand, and moves toward the bed. Throwing the duvet aside, he sits down, grabs a pillow, and places it beside him. He gazes up at me standing beside him and suddenly tugs hard on my hand so that I fall across his lap. He shifts slightly so my body is resting on the bed, my chest on the pillow, my face to one side. Leaning over, he sweeps my hair over my shoulder and runs his fingers through the plume of feathers on my mask. “Put your hands behind your back,” he murmurs. Oh! He removes his bow tie and uses it to quickly bind my wrists so that my hands are tied behind me, resting in the small of my back. “You really want this, Y/N?” I close my eyes. This is the first time since I met him that I really want this. I need it. “Yes,” I whisper. “Why?” he asks softly as he caresses my behind with his palm. I groan as soon as his hand makes contact with my skin. I don’t know why … You tell me not to overthink. After a day like today—arguing about the money, Leila, Mrs. Robinson, the dossier on me, the road map, this lavish party, the masks, the alcohol, the silver balls, the auction … I want this. “Do I need a reason?” “No, baby, you don’t,” he says. “I’m just trying to understand you.” His left hand curls around my waist, holding me in place as his palm leaves my behind and lands hard, just above the junction of my thighs. The pain connects directly with the ache in my belly Oh, man … I moan loudly. He hits me again, in exactly the same place. I groan again. “Two,” he murmurs. “We’ll go with twelve.” Oh my! This feels different than the last time—so carnal, so … necessary. He caresses my behind with his long-fingered hands, and I’m helpless, trussed up and pressed into the mattress, at his mercy, and of my own free will. He hits me again, slightly to the side, and again, to the other side, then pauses as he slowly peels my panties down and pulls them off. He gently trails his palm across my behind again before continuing my spanking—each stinging smack taking the edge off my need—or fueling it—I don’t know. I surrender myself to the rhythm of blows, absorbing each one, savoring each one. “Twelve,” he murmurs his voice low and harsh. He caresses my behind again and trails his fingers down toward my sex and slowly sinks two fingers inside me, moving them in a circle, around and around and around, torturing me. I moan loudly as my body takes over, and I come and come, convulsing around his fingers. It’s so intense, unexpected, and quick. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs appreciatively. He unties my wrists, keeping his fingers inside me as I lie panting and spent over him. “I’ve not finished with you yet, Anastasia,” he says and shifts without removing his fingers. He eases my knees onto the floor so that now I’m leaning over the bed. He kneels on the floor behind me and undoes his zipper. He slides his fingers out of me, and I hear the familiar tear of a foil packet. “Open your legs,” he growls, and I comply. He strokes my behind and eases into me. “This is going to be quick, baby,” he murmurs and grabbing my hips, he eases out then slams into me. “Ah!” I cry out, but the fullness is heavenly. He’s hitting the bellyache square on, again and again, eradicating it with each sharp, sweet thrust. The feeling is mindblowing, just what I need. I push back to meet him, thrust for thrust. “Ana, no,” he grunts, trying to still me. But I want him too much, and I grind against him, matching him thrust for thrust. “Ana, shit,” he hisses as he comes, and the tortured sound sets me off again, spiraling into a healing orgasm that goes on and on and wrings me out and leaves me spent and breathless. Jiyong bends and kisses my shoulder, then pulls out of me. Placing his arms around me, he rests his head in the middle of my back, and we lie like this, both kneeling at the bedside, for what? Seconds? Minutes, even, as our breathing calms. My bellyache has disappeared, and all I feel is a soothing, satisfying serenity. Jiyong stirs and kisses my back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Y/L/N,” he murmurs. “Hmm,” I respond, savoring the absence of achiness and basking in the afterglow. He sits back on his heels and pulls me off the bed onto his lap. “We don’t have long. Come on.” He kisses my hair and forces me to stand. I grumble but sit back down on the bed and collect my panties from the floor and scoop them on. Lazily I walk to the chair to retrieve my dress. I note with dispassionate interest that I did not remove my shoes during our illicit tryst. Jiyong is tying his bow tie, having finished straightening himself and the bed. As I slip my dress back on, I check out the photographs on the bulletin board. Jiyong as a sullen teen was gorgeous even then: with Taeyang and Mia on the ski slopes; on his own in Paris, the Arc de Triomphe serving as a giveaway to his location; in London; New York; the Grand Canyon; Sydney Opera House; even the Great Wall of China. Master Kwon was well traveled at a young age. There are ticket stubs to various concerts: U2, Metallica, the Verve, Sheryl Crow, the New York Philharmonic performing Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet—what an eclectic mix! And in the corner, there’s a passport-sized photograph of a young woman. It’s in black and white. She looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place her. Not Mrs. Robinson, thank heavens. “Who’s this?” I ask. “No one of consequence,” he mutters as he slips on his jacket and straightens his bow tie. “Shall I zip you up?” “Please. Then why is she on your bulletin board?” “An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?” He raises his chin like a small boy, and I grin and straighten it for him. “Now it’s perfect.” “Like you,” he murmurs and grabs me, kissing me passionately. “Feeling better?” “Much, thank you, Mr. Kwon.” “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Y/L/N.” THE GUESTS ARE ASSEMBLING on the dance floor. Jiyong grins at me—we’ve made it just in time —and he leads me onto the checkered floor. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Kwon, are you ready?” Carrick nods in agreement, his arms around Gi-ran. “Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” We all nod in agreement. Mia is with someone I don’t recognize. I wonder what happened to Sean? “Then we shall begin. Take it away, Sam!” A young man strolls onto the stage amid warm applause, turns to the band behind him, and snaps his fingers. The familiar strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” fill the air. Jiyong smiles down at me, takes me in his arms, and starts to move. Oh, he dances so well, making it easy to follow. We grin at each other like idiots as he whirls me around the dance floor. “I love this song,” Jiyong murmurs, gazing down at me. “Seems very fitting.” He’s no longer grinning, but serious. “You’re under my skin, too,” I respond. “Or you were in your bedroom.” He purses his lips but he’s unable to hide his amusement. “Miss Y/L/N,” he admonishes me teasingly, “I had no idea you could be so crude.” “Mr. Kwon, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences. They’ve been an education.” “For both of us.” Jiyong is serious again, and it could just be the two of us and the band. We are in our own private bubble. As the song finishes we both applaud. Sam the singer bows graciously and introduces his band. “May I cut in?” I recognize the man who bid on me at the auction. Jiyong grudgingly lets me go, but he’s amused, too. “Be my guest. Y/N, this is John Flynn. John, Y/N.” Shit! Jiyong grins and wanders off to one side of the dance floor. “How do you do, Y/N?” Dr. Flynn says smoothly, and I realize he’s British. “Hello,” I stutter. The band strikes up another song, and Dr. Flynn pulls me into his arms. He’s much younger than I imagined, though I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a mask similar to Jiyong’s. He’s tall, but not as tall as Jiyong, and he doesn’t move with Christian’s easy grace. What do I say to him? Why is Jiyong so fucked-up? Why did he bid on me? It’s the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude. “I’m glad to finally meet you, Y/N. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks. “I was,” I whisper. “Oh. I hope I’m not responsible for your change of heart.” He gives me a brief, warm smile that puts me a little more at ease. “Dr. Flynn, you’re the shrink. You tell me.” He grins. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The shrink bit?” I giggle. “I’m worried what I might reveal, so I’m a little self-conscious and intimidated. And really I only want to ask you about Jiyong.” He smiles. “First, this is a party so I’m not on duty,” he whispers conspiratorially. “And second, I really can’t talk to you about Jiyong. Besides,” he teases, “we’d need until Christmas.��� I gasp in shock. “That’s a doctor’s joke, Y/N.” I flush, embarrassed, and then feel slightly resentful. He’s making a joke at Jiyong’s expense. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Jiyong … that you’re an expensive charlatan,” I admonish him. Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. “You could be on to something there.” “You’re British?” “Yes. Originally from London.” “How did you find yourself here?” “Happy circumstance.” “You don’t give much away, do you?” “There’s not much to give away. I’m really a very dull person.” “That’s very self-deprecating.” “It’s a British trait. Part of our national character.” “Oh.” “And I could accuse you of the same, Y/N .” “That I’m a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?” He snorts. “No, Y/N. That you don’t give much away.” “There’s not much to give away.” I smile. “I sincerely doubt that.” He unexpectedly frowns. I flush, but the music finishes and Jiyong is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases me. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gives me his warm smile again, and I feel that I’ve passed some kind of hidden test. “John.” Jiyong nods at him. “ Jiyong .” Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the crowd. Jiyong pulls me into his arms for the next dance. “He’s much younger than I expected,” I murmur to him. “And terribly indiscreet.” Jiyong cocks his head to one side. “Indiscreet?” “Oh yes, he told me everything,” I tease. Jiyong tenses. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me,” he says softly. I stop. “He didn’t tell me anything!” My voice fills with panic. Jiyong blinks before relief floods his face. He pulls me into his arms again. “Then let’s enjoy this dance.” He beams down at me, reassuring me, and then spins me around. Why would he think that I’d want to leave? It makes no sense. We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom. “I won’t be long.” As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the tent. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag. “ Y/N?” A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It’s stunning, with elaborate gold filigree. “I’m so glad you’re on your own,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all evening.” “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.” She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair. Shit! It’s Mrs. Robinson. “I’m sorry, I startled you.” I gape at her. Holy cow—what the fuck does this woman want? I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children. She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask. “I’ll be brief, Y/N. I know what you think of me … Jiyong’s told me.” I gaze at her impassively, giving nothing away, but I’m pleased that she knows. It saves me telling her, and she’s cutting to the chase. Part of me is beyond intrigued as to what she could have to say. She pauses, glancing over my shoulder. “Taylor’s watching us.” I peek around to see him scanning the tent by the doorway. Sawyer is with him. They are looking anywhere but at us. “Look, we don’t have long,” she says hurriedly. “It must be obvious to you that Jiyong is in love with you. I have never seen him like this, ever.” She emphasizes the last word. What? Loves me? No. Why is she telling me? To reassure me? I don’t understand. “He won’t tell you because he probably doesn’t realize it himself, notwithstanding what I’ve said to him, but that’s Jiyong. He’s not very attuned to any positive feelings and emotions he may have. He dwells far too much on the negative. But then, you’ve probably worked that out for yourself. He doesn’t think he’s worthy.” I am reeling. Jiyong loves me? He hasn’t said it, and this woman has told him that’s how he feels? How bizarre. A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad, the gliding, flying to see me, all his actions, his possessiveness, $100,000 for a dance. Is this love? And hearing it from this woman, having her confirm it for me is, frankly, unwelcome. I’d rather hear it from him. My heart constricts. He feels unworthy? Why? “I’ve never seen him so happy, and it’s obvious that you have feelings for him, too.” A brief smile flits across her lips. “That’s great, and I wish you both the best of everything. But what I wanted to say is if you hurt him again, I will find you, lady, and it won’t be pleasant when I do.” She stares at me, ice-cold blue eyes boring into my skull, trying to get under my mask. Her threat is so astonishing, so off the wall, that an involuntary, disbelieving giggle escapes me. Of all the things she could say to me, this is the least expected. “You think this is funny, Y/N?” she splutters in dismay. “You didn’t see him last Saturday.” My face falls and darkens. The thought of Jiyong unhappy is not a palatable one, and last Saturday I left him. He must have gone to her. The idea makes me queasy. Why am I sitting here, listening to this shit from her, of all people? I slowly rise, gazing at her intently. “I’m laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Jiyong and I have nothing to do with you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I’ll be waiting—don’t doubt it. And maybe I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old child you molested and probably fucked up even more than he already was.” Her mouth falls open. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste my time with you.” I turn on my heel, adrenaline and anger coursing through my body, and stalk toward the entrance of the tent where Taylor is standing just as Jiyong arrives, looking flustered and worried. “There you are,” he mutters, then frowns when he sees Chaerin. I stride past him, saying nothing, giving him the opportunity to choose—her or me. He makes the right choice. “ Y/N,” he calls. I stop and face him as he catches up with me. “What’s wrong?” He gazes down at me, concern etched on his face. “Why don’t you ask your ex?” I hiss acidly. His mouth twists and his eyes frost. “I’m asking you,” he says, his voice soft but with an undertone of something far more menacing. We glare at each other. Okay, I can see this will end in a fight if I don’t tell him. “She’s threatening to come after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” I snap at him. Relief flashes across his face, his mouth softening with humor. “Surely the irony of that isn’t lost on you?” he says, and I can tell he’s trying hard to stifle his amusement. “This isn’t funny, Jiyong!” “No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He adopts his serious face, though he’s still suppressing his amusement. “You will do no such thing.” I cross my arms, my anger spiking again. He blinks at me, surprised by my outburst. “Look, I know you’re tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but—” I stop. What am I asking him to do? Give her up? Stop seeing her? Can I do that? “I need the restroom.” I glare up at him, my mouth set in a grim line. He sighs and cocks his head to one side. Could he look any hotter? Is it the mask or just him? “Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” His tone is placating as if he’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb along my pouting bottom lip. “Don’t let Chaerin ruin our evening, please, Y/N. She’s really old news.” “Old” being the operative word, I think uncharitably, as he tips my chin up and gently grazes his lips against mine. I sigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens and takes my elbow. “I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.” He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions. “I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs. When I come out, my mood has moderated. I have decided not to let Mrs. Robinson blight my evening because that’s probably what she wants. Jiyong is on the phone some distance away and out of earshot of the few people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get closer, I can hear him. He’s very terse. “Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed. Well, leave her alone … This is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Chaerin.” He pauses, listening. “No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this. Glancing up, he sees me regarding him. “I have to go. Good night.” He presses the off button. I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him. Why is he phoning her? “How’s the old news?” “Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you like to go?” He glances at his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.” “I love fireworks.” “We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close. “Don’t let her come between us, please.” “She cares about you,” I mutter. “Yes, and I her … as a friend.” “I think it’s more than a friendship to her.” His brow furrows. “ Y/N, Chaerin and I … it’s complicated. We have a shared history. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend. That’s all. Please, forget about her.” He kisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining our evening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand. We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. The band is still in full swing. “ Y/N .” I turn to find Carrick standing behind us. “I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out to me. Jiyong shrugs and smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead me onto the dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into “Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his arm around my waist and gently whirls me into the throng. “I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution to our charity, Y/N.” From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way of asking whether I can afford it. “Mr. Kwon—” “Call me Carrick, please, Y/N .” “I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedly came into some money. I don’t need it. And it’s such a worthy cause.” He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity for some innocent inquiries. Carpe diem, my subconscious hisses from behind her hand. “ Jiyong told me a little about his past, so I think it’s appropriate to support your work,” I add, hoping that this might encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into the mystery that is his son. Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. You certainly have had a very positive effect on him, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so … buoyant.” I flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” “Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusual man,” I murmur. “He is,” Carrick agrees quietly. “ Jiyong ’s early childhood sounds hideously traumatic, from what he’s told me.” Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped the mark. “My wife was the doctor on duty when the police brought him in. He was skin and bones, and badly dehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again, lost in the awful memory, despite the up-tempo music surrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly two years. It was playing the piano that eventually brought him out of himself. Oh, and Mia’s arrival, of course.” He smiles down at me fondly. “He plays beautifully. And he’s accomplished so much, you must be very proud of him.” I sound distracted. Holy Shit. Didn’t speak for two years. “Immensely so. He’s a very determined, very capable, very bright young man. But between you and me, Y/N , it’s seeing him like he is this evening—carefree, acting his age—that’s the real thrill for his mother and me. We were both commenting on it today. I believe we have you to thank for that.” I think I blush to my roots. What am I supposed to say to this? “He’s always been such a loner. We never thought we’d see him with anyone. Whatever you’re doing, please don’t stop. We’d like to see him happy.” He stops suddenly, as if he’s overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I shake my head. “I’d like to see him happy, too,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say. “Well, I’m very glad you came this evening. It’s been a real pleasure seeing the two of you together.” As the final strains of “Come Fly with Me” fade away, Carrick releases me and bows, and I curtsy, mirroring his civility. “That’s enough dancing with old men.” Jiyong is at my side again. Carrick laughs. “Less of the ‘old,’ son. I’ve been known to have my moments.” Carrick winks at me playfully and saunters into the crowd. “I think my dad likes you,” Christian mutters as he watches his father mingle with the crowd. “What’s not to like?” I peek coquettishly up at him through my lashes. “Good point well made, Miss Y/L/N.” He pulls me into an embrace as the band starts to play “It Had to Be You.” “Dance with me,” he whispers seductively. “With pleasure, Mr. Kwon.” I smile in response, and he sweeps me across the dance floor once more. AT MIDNIGHT WE STROLL down toward the shore between the tent and the boathouse where the other partygoers are gathered to watch the fireworks. The MC, back in charge, has permitted the removal of masks, the better to see the display. Jiyong has his arm around me, but I’m aware that Taylor and Sawyer are close by, probably because we’re in the crowd now. They are looking anywhere but at the dockside where two technicians dressed in black are making their final preparations. Seeing Taylor reminds me of Leila. Perhaps she’s here. Shit. The thought chills my blood, and I huddle closer to Jiyong. He gazes down at me as he pulls me closer. “You okay, baby? Cold?” “I’m fine.” I glance quickly behind us and see the other two security guys, whose names I forget, standing close by. Moving me in front of him, Jiyong puts both his arms around me over my shoulders. Suddenly a stirring classical soundtrack booms over the dock and two rockets soar into the air, exploding with a deafening bang over the bay, lighting it all in a dazzling canopy of sparkling orange and white that’s reflected in a glittering shower over the still calm water of the bay. My jaw drops as several more rockets fire into the air and explode in a kaleidoscope of color. I can’t recall ever seeing a display this impressive, except perhaps on television, and it never looks this good on TV. It’s all in time to the music. Volley after volley, bang after bang, and light after light as the crowd answers with gasps and oohs and ahs. It is out of this world. On the pontoon in the bay several silver fountains of light shoot up twenty feet in the air, changing color through blue, red, orange, and back to silver—and yet more rockets explode as the music reaches its crescendo. My face is beginning to ache from the ridiculous grin of wonder plastered across it. I glance at Fifty, and he’s the same, marveling like a child at the sensational show. For the finale a volley of six rockets shoot into the dark and explode simultaneously, bathing us in a glorious golden light as the crowd erupts into frantic, enthusiastic applause. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC calls out as the cheers and whistles fade. “Just one note to add at the end of this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised a total of one million eight hundred and fifty-three thousand dollars!” Spontaneous applause erupts again, and out on the pontoon, a message lights up in silver streams of sparks forming the words “Thank You from Coping Together,” sparkling and shimmering over the water. “Oh, Jiyong … that was wonderful.” I grin up at him and he bends down to kiss me. “Time to go,” he murmurs, a broad smile on his beautiful face, and his words hold so much promise. Suddenly, I feel very tired. He glances up again, and Taylor is close, the crowd dispersing around us. They don’t speak but something passes between them. “Stay with me a moment. Taylor wants us to wait while the crowd disperses.” Oh. “I think that fireworks display probably aged him a hundred years,” he adds. “Doesn’t he like fireworks?” Jiyong gazes down at me fondly and shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate. “So, Aspen,” he says, and I know he’s trying to distract me from something. It works. “Oh … I haven’t paid for my bid,” I gasp. “You can send a check. I have the address.” “You were really mad.” “Yes, I was.” I grin. “I blame you and your toys.” “You were quite overcome, Miss Y/L/N. A most satisfactory outcome if I recall.” He smiles salaciously. “Incidentally, where are they?” “The silver balls? In my bag.” “I’d like them back. They are far too potent a device to be left in your innocent hands.” “Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe with somebody else?” His eyes glitter dangerously. “I hope that’s not going to happen,” he says, a cool edge to his voice. “But no, Y/N . I want all your pleasure.” Whoa. “Don’t you trust me?” “Implicitly. Now, can I have them back?” “I’ll think about it.” He narrows his eyes at me. There’s music once more from the dance floor but it’s a DJ playing a thumping dance number, the bass pounding out a relentless beat. “Do you want to dance?” “I’m really tired, Jiyong. I’d like to go, if that’s okay.” Jiyong glances at Taylor, who nods, and we set off toward the house, following a couple of drunken guests. I’m grateful when Jiyong takes my hand—my feet are aching from the dizzying height and tight confinement of my shoes. Mia comes bounding up to us. “You’re not going, are you? The real music’s just beginning. Come on, Y/N .” She grabs my hand. “Mia,” Jiyong admonishes her. “ Y/N’stired. We’re going home. Besides, we have a big day tomorrow.” We do? Mia pouts but surprisingly doesn’t push Jiyong. “You must come by sometime next week. Maybe we can hit the mall?” “Sure, Mia.” I grin, though in the back of my mind I’m wondering how since I have to work for a living. She gives me a quick kiss then hugs Jiyong fiercely, taking us both by surprise. More astoundingly still, she places her hands directly on the lapels of his jacket, and he just gazes down at her, indulgently. “I like seeing you this happy,” she says sweetly and kisses him on the cheek. “Bye. You guys have fun.” She skips off toward her waiting friends—among them Lily, who looks even more sour-faced without her mask. I wonder idly where Sean is. “We’ll say good night to my parents before we leave. Come.” Jiyong leads me through a gaggle of guests to Gi-ran and Carrick, who wish us fond and warm farewells. “Please do come again, Y/N, it’s been lovely having you here,” says Gi-ran kindly. I am a little overwhelmed by both her and Carrick’s reaction. Fortunately, Gi-ra’s parents have retired for the evening, so at least I am spared their enthusiasm. In a relaxed, weary silence, Jiyong and I walk hand in hand to the front of the house, where countless cars are lined up waiting to collect guests. I glance up at Fifty. He looks happy. It’s a real pleasure to see him this way, though I suspect it’s unusual after such an extraordinary day. “Are you warm enough?” he asks. “Yes, thank you.” I clasp my satin wrap. “I really enjoyed this evening, Y/N. Thank you.” “Me too, some parts more than others.” I grin. He grins and nods, then his brow creases. “Don’t bite your lip,” he warns in a way that makes my blood sing. “What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?” I ask to distract myself. “Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I have a surprise for you.” “Dr. Greene!” I halt. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I hate condoms,” he says quietly. His eyes glint in the soft light from the paper lanterns, gauging my reaction. “It’s my body,” I mutter, annoyed that he hasn’t asked me. “It’s mine, too,” he whispers. I gaze up at him as various guests pass by, ignoring us. He looks so earnest. Yes, my body is his … he knows it better than I do. I reach up, and he flinches ever so slightly but stays still. Grasping the corner of his bow tie, I pull so it unravels, revealing the top button of his shirt. Gently I undo it. “You look hot like this,” I whisper. Actually he looks hot all the time, but really hot like this. He smiles. “I need to get you home. Come.” At the car, Sawyer hands Jiyong an envelope. He frowns at it and glances at me as Taylor ushers me into the car. Taylor looks relieved for some reason. Jiyong climbs in and hands me the envelope, unopened, as Taylor and Sawyer take their seats in the front. “It’s addressed to you. One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another ensnared heart.” Jiyong’s mouth twists. It’s obvious this is an unpleasant concept to him. I stare at the note. Who is this from? Ripping it open, I read it quickly in the dim light. Holy shit, it’s from her! Why won’t she leave me alone? I may have misjudged you. And you have definitely misjudged me. Call me if you need to fill in any of the blanks—we could have lunch. Jiyong doesn’t want me talking to you, but I would be more than happy to help. Don’t get me wrong, I approve, believe me—but so help me, if you hurt him … He’s been hurt enough. Call me: (206) 279-6261 Mrs. Robinson Fuck, she’s signed it Mrs. Robinson! He told her. The bastard. “You told her?” “Told who, what?” “That I call her Mrs. Robinson,” I snap. “It’s from Chaerin?” Jiyong is shocked. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair, and I can tell he’s irritated. “I’ll deal with her tomorrow. Or Monday,” he mutters bitterly. And though I’m ashamed to admit it, a very small part of me is pleased. My subconscious nods sagely. Chaerin is pissing him off, and this can only be good—surely. I decide to say nothing for now but stash her note in my bag, and in a gesture guaranteed to lighten his mood, I hand him back the balls. “Until next time,” I murmur. He glances at me, and it’s hard to see his face in the dark, but I think he’s smirking. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I gaze out of the window into the darkness, reflecting on this long day. I’ve learned so much about him, gleaned many missing details—the salons, the road map, his childhood—but there’s still much more to discover. And what about Mrs. R? Yes, she cares for him, and deeply, it would appear. I can see that, and he cares for her—but not in the same way. I don’t know what to think anymore. All this information is making my head hurt. JIYONG WAKES ME JUST as we pull up outside Escala. “Do I need to carry you in?” he asks gently. I shake my head sleepily. No way. As we stand in the elevator, I lean against him, putting my head against his shoulder. Sawyer stands in front of us, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s been a long day, eh, Y/N?” I nod. “Tired?” I nod. “You’re not very talkative.” I nod and he grins. “Come. I’ll put you to bed.” He takes my hand as we exit the elevator, but we stop in the foyer when Sawyer holds up his hand. In that split second, I am instantly wide awake. Sawyer talks into his sleeve. I had no idea that he was wearing a radio. “Will do, T,” he says and turns to face us. “Mr. Kwon, the tires on Ms. Y/L/N’s Audi have been slashed and paint thrown all over it.” Holy shit. My car! Who would do that? And I know the answer as soon as the question materializes in my mind. Leila. I glance up at Jiyong , and he blanches. “Taylor is concerned that the perp may have entered the apartment and may still be there. He wants to make sure.” “I see,” Jiyong whispers. “What’s Taylor’s plan?” “He’s coming up in the service elevator with Ryan and Reynolds. They’ll do a sweep, then give us the all clear. I’m to wait with you, sir.” “Thank you, Sawyer.” Jiyong tightens his arm around me. “This day just gets better and better,” he sighs bitterly, nuzzling my hair. “Listen, I can’t stand here and wait. Sawyer, take care of Miss Y/L/N. Don’t let her in until you have the all clear. I am sure Taylor is overreacting. She can’t get into the apartment.” What? “No, Jiyong —you have to stay with me,” I plead. Jiyong releases me. “Do as you’re told, Y/N. Wait here.” No! “Sawyer?” Jiyong says. Sawyer opens the foyer door to let Jiyong enter the apartment then shuts the door behind him and stands in front of it, staring impassively down at me. Holy shit. Jiyong! All manner of horrific outcomes run through my mind, but all I can do is stand and wait.

[minteagalaxea]

Abyssal | Wang Ziyi

ziyi and xue

genre: a solid amount of angst, that one steamy bit

word count: 6.25k

inspiration: beach trips

after all, a siren always led a sailor to his death.

note: still trying to figure out formatting, but yeah. it’s messy as fuck.

He grew up in the palace, surrounded by political intrigue, perfection the only expectation of him, hence, freedom was a wish he could only yearn for. He smelled of leather, fresh parchment, crushed velvet, of musk, a culmination of odd, yet enticing scents. The young gentleman spoke with a gentle timbre, proses of literary classics pouring from his lips in a thoughtful, wistful fervor, the tunes of particular songs escaping his lips during a state of contentment; however, the naive genteel he possessed seemed almost a dream, for his true persona realized itself with specially sharpened canines, feral in an interestingly refined style.

She grew up a product of the unforgivable, the unrealized, the unfathomable. Raised with half of a mother, no father, and a brother that understood as much about the world as she did, she dreamed of belonging, in a place where such thoughts remained unacceptable. The scent of ocean water, bitter mint, and soft silk chiffon wafted from her figure, softer fragrances, though she held a vicious killer instinct, a fact she hid from everyone in her surroundings.

Lin Xue and Lin Yanjun were accepted by a kind Hamadryad, mentoring the siblings in the craft of woodsmithery, where the sister discovered a proclivity in creating beautiful paddleboards and surfboards, and the brother found solace in creating windchimes and other decorative pieces. Every evening, the siblings settled to drag their mentor-slash-caretaker-slash-secondary-parent with them to the ocean, each carrying paddleboards to the shore. Despite the adamant refusal of Yue Yue, their caretaker, their nightly tradition persisted—mainly because they agreed that Xue's smile was the prettiest, especially with the moonlight gracing her features, making her seem more ethereal, yet lethal, with her smart mouth and cruel teeth.

Prince Wang Ziyi recalled first meeting the siblings during the morning market, ironic for his particular species, hence the umbrella he carried with him to protect the sun from scorching him. He admired the intricate carvings on the paddleboards and windchimes organized neatly, each piece characteristic to its maker and their preferences. The young boy took an interest in an ebony racing paddleboard, the deck engraved with an uneven chevron pattern, alternating between an icy mint, pale grey, and white. The paddle itself was the same, certain parts of the shaft painted in a more equilateral chevron pattern, flowing into a part of the blade.

"How much to purchase this paddleboard?" he requested, secretly placing his compelling ability to use, presuming Yue Yue, the more talkative of the trio, would answer; however, a harsher voice responded, his power purportedly ineffective against her.

"It is not for purchase, sir."

Subsequently showing the underside of the paddleboard, her name—Lin Xue—painted with stunning calligraphy in the front of the board. She returned to her workspace, finishing the minuscule details on the all-around paddleboard requested of her, carving out the name of the purchaser, painting it black, before varnishing it with lacquer, allowing it to shine. The prince watched her perform her task, enthralled by her movement, intrigued by her brother's smile at a Naiad, who handled the transaction, though Ziyi didn't question it as the other male's flirtatious glance towards the customer had the desired effect, the girl turning into a blushing mess, while Xue elicited a giggle.

"Yanjun, might you stop attempting to compel Jingyi to allow you to court her?" Yue Yue questioned, despite the laughter.

"See if I ever help you with Bu Fan, then, if you continue to speak in that tone," Yanjun snapped, seemingly playfully, yet Ziyi recognized from the undertones of his quip, he wasn't entirely joking.

"Zhenyang is still utterly perplexed at why you even have romantic feelings for a literal man-child—actually, dog-child," Xue chimed, earning a pout from her mentor, before averting her attention back to the prince in front of her. Motioning him towards her, the girl began to write a compilation of details she understood he wanted, coming to a realization that the person in front of her didn't know the various classifications of paddleboard and surfboard, yet typed out the specifications he requested, telling him to come back the following morning to pay her and receive his board.

"Might you need my name?" Ziyi inquired.

"I assume I should already know the name of the future king?" Xue countered, bending over the table to meet him eye-to-eye with dizzying proximity, it seemed intoxicating to the prince. Pulling away, the girl delved into the register, before grabbing a faded peach sweater, almost to shroud something she didn't want others to see.

Xue meandered around the market, eyeing the artisanal pieces of jewelry and apothecary-esque goods that felt more of a luxury than a necessity, though, she resorted to purchasing various teas and a small parcel of herbs, occasionally haggling for a lower price for anything remotely expensive. "I thought your body hated the sunlight?" an inquiring voice wondered aloud, Xue turning her figure to see Zhenyang, a close friend, with a dopey grin plastered on his face.

"My body dislikes the sun; hence, I can stay out in the radiating sun without experiencing an irritating death, Oceanid," she retorted, a shadow of a smile crossing her face as soon as it came, doe-like eyes gentle, yet impish. Zhenyang's own doesn't fade into obscurity, in fact, widening as he strode towards her, modelesque in his style of a walk—Li Zhenyang was regarded as the most handsome Oceanid on the island, and he exploited that knowledge as he deemed it necessary, traditionally in conjunction with his friend's antics.

Xue groaned in mock-annoyance at the sight of her closest friend grabbing her belongings to carry back to her home, realizing the ulterior motive of the action. Simultaneously, the girl frowned with her friend, whose attention seemed more on her exposed skin rather than herself as a whole; Zhenyang being worried felt to be an understatement. "Lin Xue, remind me of the last time you dove into the ocean?" he inquired, the abrasiveness in his tone predominant, only succeeded by concern, "Your scales are showing even more than usual, Xue, and I don't think it's healthy for you to be so negligent of your health."

"Pain is weakness leaving the body: Yanjun always told me that and seeing as I still am standing, in what constitutes perfect condition, it should mean something, no?" she mused, her voice a hybrid of perpetual annoyance and insatiable exhaustion. Zhenyang settled to not speak further about the matter, in hopes of not angering her, while also to not remind her of the compilation of her near-death horrors, which occurred on one-too-many occasions that neither of them wanted to recall.

The evening sky scared the nymphs, most of whom inhabited the village Xue resided in, mostly due to their unabashed fear—or hatred, Xue conjectured the former—for the aristocracy of their society: vampires; brash, arrogant, and sadistic, a majority enjoyed humiliated their societal underlings. Though unlike a majority of her nymph-like counterparts, Xue chose to heed no mind towards the supposed superiors, understanding that if she managed to not attract attention from them, they would have no intention of disrupting her existence. The paddleboard incident, as Xue often referred to it, affected how she intended to live the rest of her immortal life on the island, lest she wasn't executed for whatever blasphemous crime she committed that evidently was made up to spite the working class.

Moonlight basked over the girl, her paddleboard close to her frame as her bare trekked across the warm sand, a gentle smile on her face as she heard her brother rush over towards her, claiming, "You are a terrible sister, Lin Xue," in mock offense.

"I know, Yanjun," she responded, a sense of insouciance in her tone as they began to paddle out to a cove some reasonable distance away from the island, neither of them speaking a word as they opted to find solace in the waves of the ocean and moonwake, the midnight shade shining from the light. The tenalach the siblings shared with the body of water appeared unique to them, characteristic to their nature—nymphs had their own genetic bond towards the sea, but they were different. Their relationship with the ocean seemed more turbulent, more connected to the water than their nymph counterparts, perhaps due to their peculiar bond.

Nestled snugly into the cove, their apparatuses slightly knocking into the rocks as the siblings sat on the paddleboards, staring at the glow of the glimmering sea with a wistful expression. "Do you ever wonder how our lives might occur if we were born normal?" Xue mused gently, her eyes forlorn as her legs gracefully swung in repetitive motion.

"We have no prophecy, my dearest sister, though, I believe our lives would, inevitably, be more mundane, yet perhaps more limitless; nothing would hinder us from having and retaining a sense of normalcy in our existences," he answered, sentimentality pervading the response.

"Do you ever believe that perhaps one day, our curse might be lifted?" Xue wondered aloud, eyes flitting from the pristine white moon to their legs, liltingly combatting with each other as they sloshed against the tide.

"I suppose we sinned in the life prior, which earned us an eternity of suffering," Yanjun explained, "Had we no immortality, this supposed punishment of ours might have ended now."

"Do you ever wish your trajectory could be different than this; imagine how vastly different our decisions would be if we were only one species?" the sister suggested, her figure sliding from her board and into the ocean, giggling as her brother proceeded to accompany her in the water as she adapted to her new terrain. Prodding and poking and kicking each other with tender affection, the siblings enjoyed the period of peace and insouciance, savoring it for the moment, until the various ringing of the village bell; the siblings rushed back to the cove, rapidly paddleboarding back to shore to avoid capturing attention. Unbeknownst to them, however, they had already earned scrutiny of a particular vampire.

The following day, Ziyi returned to the market, staring at the girl wrap up his board and accommodating paddle, before stating the price of the paddleboard: one hundred gold pieces, with no opportunity for the royal to compel her to discount the cost. Handing her the coins, she checked its worth, before placing it into the register; however, Ziyi observed the subtleties of her pain and the lack of her sibling, arousing suspicion, but chose to not interrogate her regarding her private affairs. Minghui sent the girl concerned glances, though she paid no heed towards them, averting her attention towards escaping the patronizing eyes of her second parent, grabbing her sweater and stumbling outside towards the market with withering posture. Ziyi proceeded to leave the market, returning to his palace and life of luxury, blissfully unaware of the events predestined to follow.

Wang Ziyi held a penchant for explorations, conducting interkingdom trade and forging relationships for the mutual benefits of both kingdoms—other instances, the prince had a passion for joyriding his ship, The Stellamaria. The young man stood on the bow, staring off into the distance, however, the sight of an individual he recognized to be Lin Xue staggering (crawling, really) up a cliff, tossing herself into the ocean.

Perhaps his curiosity overcame him, as he removed the heavier garments of his attire, leaping into the ocean, in a futile attempt to appease his curiosity; underwater, Xue thrashed violently, clawing at her skin, and a fretful Ziyi touched her shoulder, resulting in a series of catastrophic events.

The prince understood a reaction was imminent, but he expected a less...violence, let alone a screech that pierced the vampire's acute hearing—alongside the scream, Ziyi's face became marred with the girl's precisely sharp fingers, rendering him unconscious from the impact of her strikes. She was haunting, with a white tail graduating into an icy mint, two silk-like ribbons furling from the middle of her tail, the ends webbing together in similarity to a fae's wings; her usual silver eyes burned away into a crystalline mint, seeming colder in a way. It remained the final thing he saw before his vision into obscurity as she forcefully swam away.

Xue could only comprehend the concept of pain, the signs of dehydration prevalent the morning after her heart-to-heart conversation with her brother, who disappeared, though the sister knew his location. Exerting all of her energy to propel herself from her resting place, observing the evening sunset, as she felt the rays tingle against her skin in discomfort; draping a beige cardigan over her stature. Aligning her weight onto a wooden staff, the girl hobbled over towards the Cliff, as the inhabitants monikered it, given the rocky terrain of the coastal region, Makai, in comparison to Mauka, the palace region of Mahele—however, her wooden staff snapped from the force of her vice-like grip. Successfully reaching the Cliff, Xue tumbled into the ocean, a scream eliciting from her lips when the water reacted to her dehydrated state, her body beginning to destroy itself, realigning her bones, skin, and muscle to ensure her survival; it started with her fingers, her skin adapting for aquatic survival, followed by her spine, extruding fins. Xue's tail, the most painful part of her transformation, as the lower part of her body destroyed itself to guarantee her life.

She elicited a scream as her transition began, her body deforming, her skin feeling as if it had been set on fire, her eyes especially, as the striking silver tone incinerated into the trademark mint eyes most deepsea sirens held. Halfway through her metamorphosis, somebody touched her shoulder—instantaneously, Xue released a deafening screech, succeeded by various scratches with her newly formed claws, causing her to relieve her mind from the pain temporarily, only for it to return as her legs fused together, her bones and muscles reconfiguring to create her tail. Cruelly, she swam away, allowing the boy to die—in necessity—for her security.

Ziyi woke up, eyes flickering around to find a commonality of location; his bedroom was dimly lit, warm red lights and the scent of leather and smoke perfunctory to him. He observed the various salves and poultices littering his form, a bandage on his forehead the most notable of his sustained injuries. According to the doctor, the prince obtained a multitude of painful wounds, of which the doctor instructed rest and recuperation under the pretense of healing. Sending in an attendant, he requested Lord Zhou's presence in his chambers, impassive upon the noble's arrival, necessitating information on sirens ("for research and further understanding" as he worded it), acquiring the tale from the lord regarding his children.

"Sirens are sentient beings; however, modern conceptualizations state otherwise, but yes, they understand feelings, albeit their spectrum of emotions is limited to that of another species. Part of that spurns from their territorial nature, which does not vary by living terrain—most of my personal experiences came from a deepsea-arctic siren, a culmination of the most dangerous iterations of sirens, and are highly skilled in the art of skullduggery.

"I first met her when I explored the deep sea, which is quite cold in Makai with the various frozen zones of the island. She was hunting, and I heard her sing, and automatically, I fell for her. Perhaps part of me was selfish, as I compelled her to visit me on land, and she ended up bearing a son, followed by a daughter. However, I married Lady Guang and had Meiji, which perhaps hurt her—I suppose it was that reason she chose not to disclose the mater, and, consequently, my children, justifiably, despise me for what I did to their mother, who raised them, and I have never met them.

"I suggest you heed with caution if you ever encounter them, Your Highness, as their abilities are much more potent, a fusion of their precursor's unique powers, hence they will not hesitate to attack if, and when, provoked—I have no doubt they are beautiful, enchanting even, though they will kill for survival or entertainment, whichever they choose."

Bidding his farewell, Lord Zhou departed from the prince's chambers, allowing him to cogitate over his newfound information and the most effective means of utilizing it. Resolutely, Ziyi traipsed to the library, scavenging for anthologies and compilations of works regarding sirens, scarce in comparison to other literary pieces glorifying vampires. Through the Baroque-esque window, the prince caught sight of tidal waves crashing against the rocky coast of Makai, a luxury Mauka experienced without having to fear for potential property or physical damage. The natural violence enchanted Ziyi, finding solace in the sound as he pored over the proses of literature.

Two creatures fervently propelled against the water, predators in a sea bountiful of prey, as they hunted for, quote-unquote, dessert, spying on a small school of fish by the benthic region of the sea, their nimble fingers gripping onto a piece of fish, effectively decapitating its head from the rest of the body. Naturally, their bodies rushed back to their cove, dining on their meal absentmindedly, tails gradually increasing in speed in a jocular attempt of a race.

"Yanjun, heed with caution as you enter the cave," a motherly voice chided, the oceanic vernacular heavy in her speech and diction.

"Mother, despite his height, I assume my brother can majestically traipse into the cave without much effort," Xue noted smartly, her vocal tone similar to her mother's when speaking vernacular.

"Always a sarcast, Xue—you never let mother have her fun," Yanjun mocked jocularly, earning an equally playful snarl from his sister.

"You have no right to act high and mighty, Lin Yanjun, especially when I keep seeing you flirt with a mermaid." The brother glared at his sister, who could only send him a cruel smile as he proceeded to punch her arm out of annoyance; however, the sun rays pierced their near-indestructible skin, the siblings hissing in consequence to the reaction.

"Already, it has begun," their mother whispered forlornly, "Even though you are my children, you never belonged to me, have you?" Yanjun and Xue couldn't respond, only staring at the illecebrous ocean out of curiosity and wistfulness.

"Mother, fretting about it does no good," Xue murmured, a period of silence preceding the chosen words, "This is enough for us."

Perhaps a week later, Ziyi remained cautious, yet curious regarding the pair of peculiar siblings, as he hadn't caught sight of the brunette and blond; the prince noticed the brunette gazing at him with an outlandish expression. The prince, however, couldn't find the blond, though, he chose not to ask about her presence, wary of the answers he might receive, yet the impavid aspect of his character wished to inquire about the enigmatic paddleboard maker.

The royal dined with his family, attempting to avoid the prattle of his impending marriage—a ball was to be held the proceeding evening, with ladies from various kingdoms attending to become his betrothed. However, Ziyi prayed he could escape the dinner as soon as possible to watch the sunset low-tide. The Baroque window in the library provided him a stunning view of the brunette woodsmith conversing with a nymph before proceeding to paddle into the ocean with his hands, tentatively standing to crash onto the waves easily, deftly.

Trekking out to the beach at its midnight high tide, Wang Ziyi attempted to stealthily follow Yanjun, who exchanged his surfboard for a paddleboard, out into the seas, endeavoring to mimic the motions the elder initiated. Against the high tide, the elder sped up, movement remaining calm, yet containing undertones of a franticness as he strove to reach a particular location in a specific amount of time. The royal, with considerably less exposure to the water than the Makai native, struggled to maintain a strong following, as even his vampiric speed proved futile against the other's affinity for water and superior speed; eventually, the movement seemed routine. Reaching a cave a ways from Mahele, the prince heard a piercing screech, rushing to the source of the sound, appalled at the sight of a siren with light seafoam skin mutating, her figure contorting and the dissonant of bones breaking resonating in the cave.

Temporarily, Ziyi overlooked the warning Lord Zhou bestowed upon him, haplessly touching the siren (despite understanding the repercussions of his actions fully)—the siren opened his old wounds, reestablishing their bleeding and open scars, and producing fresh ones as her claws scratched various parts of his face, her tail-slash-legs pushing the young man off the ledge and into the deep. However, Ziyi returned to land rapidly, wincing as his accelerated healing entered, and from peripheral vision, noticed Yanjun rushing towards his sister with blinding speed after the transformation completed itself—Xue's frame shook, exhausted and lightheaded as she forced herself to dress into a bikini top and shorts.

"Zhenyang brought your paddleboard over," Yanjun informed, "Where is your staff?"

"My grip broke it when I was on The Cliff," Xue answered softly, "You understand remarkably well how our beautifully erroneous strength has its...idiosyncratic malfunctions." The girl slowly hobbled towards her paddleboard, stabilizing herself as she and Yanjun paddled the back towards Makai and Mahele, with Ziyi only to follow, interest overcoming him to remove his train of thought from the injuries.

As the sun began to set, Xue felt the accustomed burning tingling on her skin increase into a fiery sensation that overwhelmed her entire being with a precarious vigor. Weakly swimming to the cave, the siren hoisted herself up onto the rock, awaiting her transition back from siren to human (by technicality, not human), wincing as it already begun, her skin breaking to restore its more humanistic attributes—the fins and gills on her back retracted back, her spinal structure realigning itself to adapt to its new landscape. Reminiscent of the week prior, someone placed a hand on her shoulder, almost as if to still herself from flailing about, inciting wounds to reopen or form with her claws, and her tail, which wasn't entirely reverted back to legs, forcefully kicked her supposed attacker into the ocean.

Her tail revamped its formation, finally turning into her legs, compiled of her flukes condensing themselves as the soles of her feet, ribbons contracting into the skin that shielded her femur, fibula, and tibia, both of which reconfigured into individual structures. Finally, the pain ceased to a halt, an indication of her complete metamorphosis, allowing Xue to breathe a sigh of relief, smiling frailly as her brother handed her a swimsuit to dress into, considering her nude state. The girl forced her body to stand on its feet, maneuvering her stature to maintain balance on the paddleboard, strength increasing in correlation with the exhilaration Xue felt returning home against the tide.

Wang Ziyi wandered around the market the following morning, determination coursing through his system as he scoured for the paddleboarding siblings, smiling in relief upon locating their presence. As he approached them with a sense of confidence, the royal stopped in his tracks upon hearing a series of lyrics that seemed foreboding, though he heeded no mind.

"Breathe breathe me in, taste my words, let me blow your mind—I will take you far, far away," a voice sang, soft enough to be undetected, but at a loud enough frequency as to which Ziyi's enhanced hearing could process the melody. Unconsciously, his steps faltered as he neared the girl, seemingly at her mercy, to which he was, unbeknownst to him; Xue leaned up, whispering, "My friend Zhenyang heard about a ball tonight in your honor—is that affirmative?" Mutely, the nod confirmed her question, a twisted smile crossing her face as she resumed her deceptive attack, "Place my brother and me on the guest list for the evening, would you?" Another mute nod later, Xue fluttered a cold breath into his ear, allowing him to revert to reality, effectively breaking out his hazy trance, walking away with a perplexed demeanor.

"Lin Xue, what ephemeral movement did you grace the wretched soul with?" Minghui and Zhenyang inquired in unison, the blond sibling eliciting an inhumanly portentous hiss.

"Had I utilized compulsion upon him in the same fashion I potentially perform it on any creature in this vicinity, perhaps I might not live appropriately long enough to recant the tale," she snarled, administering fear amongst her brother, caretaker, and friend, perching herself delicately on her work table.

"The prince displays various gashes that had only recently healed—enough of a diversion to distract him from the horrific reality of his predicament, thus, placing in effect a deadly combination of a siren song and vampiric compulsion."

"Have I ever told you how much of a genius you are, my sister?" Yanjun asked, a sardonic smirk crossing his lips upon the realization (and subsequent weight) of her actions, to which she reciprocated with a smile of equivalent malice.

His suit was made of luscious red velvet and black leather, various gold embellishments lining the sleeves and other decorum of the jacket; the tailors spared no expense into making him appear sultry and enigmatic, after all, fitting perfectly on his stature. He radiated the scent of musk and smoke, illuminating the nature of his character: confident, charismatic, carnal, as he greeted the ludic partygoers with a gentle disposition, never faltering to conceal his trepidation of even holding such a party, to begin with, had his phantom mask not provided enough of a mystery for any young lady.

Her dress consisted of beige silk chiffon (correctly described as zinnwaldite, according to the merchant selling the textile), reaching the middle of her thighs, the sheer quality exposing the expanse of her arms, legs, neck, and shoulders; a brown mantle shrouded her from the brisk wind billowing towards her and Yanjun. They surveyed the various ships and carriages journeying into Mahele, past Makai, and into Mauka, the siblings trekking their own path up the rocky environment of the border between the two sects of the island. "However much longer, Xue?" Yanjun pardoned, the brother appearing dashing in his black attire, "I understand you want to see the terrain of Mauka as we arrive, yet, at this pace, we will not get far." His response was a blur of wind, spurring him on to rush after her, stopping as they arrived in front of the palace, rushing to don their masks as they stood, waiting to be greeted by the royal family.

Her mask was made of lace, rose gold, brandished from the seven seas' underground, and his own was identical in origin, though stylistically differing from the metalwork of his sister's. The guards interrogated them, to which a sly, "The prince invited us," sufficed for entering the lavishly themed social event. Handing her cloak to an attendant with perkiness at its extremities, the siblings scoured around, shrouding their visibility through brief interactions with others and the lack of familiarity between royals. Having to refuse various offers to dance from other people, Xue grabbed a glass of a substance she was curious about; the girl remained dubious regarding its contents, but after a sip, she came towards a conclusion.

"Is it blood, Xue, or is it wine?" Yanjun wondered, politely declining an offer to dance with an especially flirtatious fae, smiling at the confirmation of the beverage as a fusion of blood and wine, an attempt to satiate the vampires' thirst while accommodating other creatures in the estate.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice beckoned, the pair of siblings craning their necks to notice an older, unmasked gentleman of equal height to the boy, an aged woman perched on his arm, and another woman, brighter, more exuberant, eyed them with an inquiring fervor.  The warm eyes of the boy narrowed into slits, a snarl marring his face as he growled his greeting with a venomous sting—a warning to the ostensible members of the elite class.

"Father." In conjecture, the expression of recognition grew apparent as the once amiable expression contorted into one of horror upon the discovery of the younger's identity.

"Are you aware that in the entirety of my existence, I have only encountered you once? You opted not to watch the growth of your children, instead placing your priority over a child with higher esteem, perhaps for the intention of living a life of luxury and commodity while the woman you corrupted suffers in consequence of your selfish intent—you are a pathetic, spineless, power-hungry monster that deserves all the karma the gods can deliver."

The ladies turned towards the smaller girl, beseeching her aid, to which Xue offered none, her face impassive, discounting the frozen bite of her eyes, meticulously practiced to camouflage into the gala. As the girl proceeded to vacate the unpleasant conversation, she whispered, "Spoiled brat," the cause of a wave of tears to crash down on the younger's face; however, the elder remained unaware, considering she left the vicinity immediately.

"Would you care to dance, milady?" a voice hummed into her ear, almost expecting a bristle in reaction, mildly surprised as her reflexes caught the hand around her to twirl herself around.

"I do not dance, Your Highness," Xue responded with radiating confidence, eyeing the prince with an indescribable expression, scrutinizing her pursuer's sense of fashion (which was rather impeccable, as it always was).

In conjunction with the girl's actions, the person pulled her close to him, his right hand's grip firm on her waist, forcing the masked girl to position her left set of fingers on his shoulder, allowing him to lead her in the waltz. "Had you not made Meiji cry," Ziyi reckoned, "I suppose you might have earned my respect."

"That, I presume, is her own doing—she has as much of a cowardly disposition as my father, to which it is none of your concern," Xue pointedly riposted. The prince mocked hurt at the sharp prick of his partner's fingernails, enough to inflict pain, a crooked smile playing on her lips; in turn, Ziyi intensified his grip against the small of her back, the exposure of her fangs revealing themselves.

"It is my concern because it has a connection with you," Ziyi scorned, wrapping her leg against his waist, Xue placing her other leg up, snaking around the back to hit his skull.

"Perhaps it is so, but since when has your kind placed value on your citizens, on other classifications of creatures that loathe at an equivalent, if not, higher, caliber than that of fear or respect?" As the song concluded, Xue whispered, "I appreciate the invitation, Your Highness, but I think whatever relations previously entailed themselves between us should conclude now, before they complicate even further." With her speed, she slipped away from his sights, the prince joining in her game of cat and mouse, darting through the crowds and other locations of the estate before he snatched her wrist, rushing to her a room and locking the door, leisurely sitting on the edge of his bed.

Ziyi's bedroom was dark, with cherry furnishings and bloodred bedsheets, and a chandelier perched above the center of his bed. In a way, Xue supposed, her assumptions were correct, as the fixtures were correct to her imagination, so, as such, the girl leaned herself against the wall, standing out due to the paler tint of her dress.

"I'm aware of what you and your brother are," Ziyi revealed, his response futile to the girl, whose perceptive abilities rendered that conclusion quicker than his expectations.

"Must I congratulate you on your poor deductive skills, Your Highness?" Xue mocked, "Because I believe everyone managed to place two and two together, especially if that onslaught of words didn't attract the attention of twenty creatures in the ballroom."

"I understand why you hate me, Xue, both you and Yanjun," the prince started, trepidation and numinousness overcoming him as her glare grew deadly, her irises darkening as she sped over to him, fingernails applying pressure to his carotid artery.

"You have five seconds to owe a decent explanation before I decide to slit your throat"—the proximity decreased as she leaned into him threateningly, satisfaction shrouded, but undeniably present as Xue felt the trembles of the prince's heart—"And I believe you are aware I would do it in a heartbeat."

"You think I'm identical to your father, like the rest of my breed of aristocrat vampires," he pursued, attempting to portray a confident persona to his potential murderer, despite her lack of amusement in the matter, "I'm in love with you, Lin Xue."

"Nonsense, Your Highness," Xue riposted, "Falling for someone you met twice, especially when they have nearly succeeded in killing you more than once, seems dangerous." Nevertheless, her claws retracted themselves from his neck; however, the distance between the two didn't dissipate, as his newfangled gaze bored into her soul, the recumbentibus allowing him to hoist the girl onto the bed, allowing her to straddle his lap. Pressing her fingers onto her shoulders as she rose to tower over him, Xue pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was rough, sultry, and frustrated—the vampire prince deducted he was her means of releasing frustration, with him willingly accepting it, reciprocating it even as his fingers skated vertically down her spine. Reactively, Xue whimpered, implementing the opportunity for Ziyi to suckle her bottom lip, the girl's fingers raking through his unbraided locks, untying the mask innately. His lips contained notes of rich wine, while she of fresh flowers and effervescent herbs. In conjecture, the young man performed the same task as he felt around for the silk ribbon that blended itself into her hair, successfully locating it to untie, revealing the blond's silver eyes. Forcefully shrugging his jacket off, Xue proceeded to unbutton his dress shirt as the boy latched his lips onto her neck, a hand coiling behind her neck to untie the bow at the collar of her dress.

"Then, should I prove you wrong?" Ziyi proposed in reply to the comment the girl made—Xue resumed unbuttoning his shirt, her lips leaned against his ear while her fingers roamed as they pleased.

"Prove it," she whispered, providing enough incentive for him to tumble her underneath him, wry, carnal, smiles etched on their faces as Ziyi kissed her once more.

Sunlight wafted through the dark, sheer curtains of the bedroom, the usually uncomfortable sensation tingling the prince's skin, who rose to shut them, only to establish that the blond girl of which he slept with, vanished. Frantically, he searched the boundaries of his sleeping chambers, seeing a case on the bench of his bed. Snatching the tube, he opened the wooden roll to unearth the parchment inside—unrolling its contents, Ziyi read the message intrinsically typed onto the scroll.

My apologies, but I do not repeat history.

Resolutely, he rushed to dress appropriately, determined to find Xue, when a guard entered his bedroom, reporting, "Your Highness, the girl has escaped the palace—Lord Zhou and your parents are working to apprehend her from escaping, and she will be brought in for inquisition alongside her accomplice."

"There will be no need, officer; I will settle this issue with the intruder myself," Ziyi responded, speeding down to Makai, in the hopes of reaching Xue before their parents apprehended the girl. Intuitively, the boy searched at her stand, finding her sanding down a piece of wood, flitting away within a blink, sparking a violent game of chase between the two, as Xue managed to evade his clutches barely, locating creative hiding areas, her small stature advantageous against the taller Ziyi.

As she reached the coastal rocks of Makai, her bare feet grazed one particularly sharp rock, an incision made into the sole of her foot, the line of blood serving as a quote-unquote breadcrumb trail for Ziyi to follow as he came across the path. Inspecting the print, the vampiric noble inhaled the minty, oceanic scent permeating the rock, the fragrance intoxicating him as he resolutely dove into the water, fretfully searching for the probable prisoner of Mauka.

"Xue, go!" Ziyi heard Yanjun's voice boom from the Cliff, Xue rapidly swam to their cove, praying for her safety as she innately sensed someone trailing her—settling for the only option that guaranteed survival, the siren-vampire hybrid dunked her head underwater, the addition of water hindering her speed as she sought to reach the abyssal region of the ocean. As if in conflict with her principles, Ziyi's hand snatched her wrist, pulling her towards him, stunned by the radiating seafoam hue of her irises; pulling her into him, his lips on hers, creating a cadence they understood, the royal bewildered as she parted from him, pressing her feet on his shoulders to propel herself upwards, away from him.

The high tidal waves carrying her back to shore; Yanjun retrieved her staff, a gift from Zhenyang and Minghui, Xue sustaining her weight against the stave, physically and mentally fatigued.

"Why?" the brother wondered with an ominous vigor—the sister recognized the sentiment in his tone, methodically formulating her explanation, tedious and menial of a task, yet imposing in nature.

"Perhaps, someday," the sister settled for the two impactful words, ambiguous in and of itself; however, the brother never inquired further as they traipsed back to Makai's beachfront, abyssal, broken, and alive.

Xue could only hope Ziyi found his freedom as she failed to find her acceptance—after all, a siren always led a sailor to his death.

[bespectacled-girl-blog]

Flying away: Chapter 3

Word count: 2578 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 

So, here’s the third chapter! I initially intended to tell more things, but it seems I can’t stop writing so everything is a little longer than I’d thought at first. I’ve also given a try at descriptions, both of landscapes and people, and it’s something I’m not used to, even in my mothertongue, so I hope it’ll be all right and not too boring. I included a bit of action at the end, and more bonding with the characters is coming the next chapter. Don’t hesitate to leave feedback, this is such a new exercise for me, I wan’t to hear your thoughts!

Tagging the ever inspiring @nifwrites, @themissimmortal, @cupnoodle-queen, @stunninglyignis, @blindbae, @atarostarling, @miss-scientia

When she woke up, Lyne felt totally rested. She wasn't used to that, but it made her hopeful. At first, she couldn't quite remember the reason for the joy she felt. Then, as she realised an arm was wrapped around her waist, it hit her: she'd left her world, it wasn't a dream. The joy she felt doubled at that thought. Anything was possible. She lifted her head to see who was sleeping next to her. She'd gone to bed early the previous night, the guys nearly fighting to let her use their camping equipment. She'd found herself sleeping on Ignis' mattress, with Prompto's pillow under her head, and wrapped in Gladio's blanket. Noctis had lent her a flashlight, just in case she needed to get up during the night. She'd been so touched by how nice they all were! But if she was going to stick around, she'd better find her own equipment. Taking advantage of people's kindness was not something she approved of.

The strong arm wrapped around her middle belonged to that bear of a man, Gladio. He was fast asleep next to her, and had probably not even realised what he was doing. Lyne took that opportunity to study his face. He looked much more gentle when sleeping. His brow was relaxed, and his slightly parted lips seemed to have been made to smile (a part of her thought “and so much more!” and she blushed at that: she had no idea where that had come from). He had a scar on the left side of his face, that went from his forehead to his cheek, but instead of making him look ugly, it brought out his fierce features. One of the guys next to Gladio sighed, and that took Lyne out of her reverie. She sat up, taking Gladio's arm in her small hands to put it away from her middle. At her touch, Gladio inhaled deeply and opened his eyes. 

“Mornin' sweety, slept well?” He said.

 Sweety? Nobody ever gave her cute names, apart from the man she used to share her life with, but that was to piss her off more often than not, as he was careful to chose names she hated. But in Gladio's mouth that sounded different. She was surprised at how much she liked it.

 “Perfect”, she muttered shyly. She had to admit that now he was awake, the guy still impressed her a tad bit. 

Wearing only a pair of boxers, Gladio got up and out of the tent. Lyne couldn't help but stare at his perfect body. She couldn't decide what was more sexy, between his perfect ass or his well defined abs. The bird tattooed on his back was fascinating (she wondered if it was an eagle, only to remind herself that in this world eagles probably didn't exist). She forced herself to stop staring, and closed her gaping mouth the moment he turned back toward her – she wasn't sure if he'd caught her, but chose not to dwell on that as she felt heat creeping on her cheeks. 

“Are you coming? Iggy's got breakfast ready.” 

She hadn't even noticed that Ignis was not in the tent. Now that Gladio mentioned it, if she strained her ears she could listen to the telltale sounds of someone cooking. 

“Sure”, she answered at once, forcing herself to leave the warmth of her borrowed bed. 

Outside, the sun was rising, shedding light on the landscape offered to her eyes. Their camp was set at the edge of a forest and in front of her vast grasslands stretched to both sides. To her right, she could see strange beasts halfway between a buffalo and a mammoth grazing. Farther away an enormous four-legged monster was half immersed in the lake it was drinking from. The horizon was blocked by mountains, but to her left she could see strange rock formations she had never seen the like of in her world, that arched over land as well as roads. The view was simply breathtaking. She turned towards Ignis, who was busy over breakfast and hadn't noticed her yet. He was already perfectly groomed, his dark blonde hair swept up at the front of his head. Lyne couldn't help wondering if he slept in a sitting position to keep it perfect or if he got up really early to style it. The sleeves of his dark purple shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and it gave him a more relaxed air that contrasted with his serious face. He had refined features that drew the eye. She wouldn't have called him handsome if she'd seen him on a picture only, but the way he moved, his regal attitude, his polite and formal manner, gave him another kind of beauty. He was charming, and while she was looking at him, unnoticed, Lyne wondered if he was aware of this. He turned his turquoise eyes towards her, and that time the young woman was sure she'd been caught staring. As her face turned red for the second time in less that two minutes, she forced herself to greet Ignis to dissipate the growing awkwardness.

“Good morning”, she said simply. 

“Good morning Lyne”, he answered amiably, giving no hint that he knew what she'd just been doing, for which she was thankful. He was definitely a gentleman. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her while pouring himself a cup of something that looked like coffee, but didn't smell quite the same. 

She never ate in the morning, since it was the most depressing moment of the day for her, having nothing worth waking up for. She had scarcely any appetite in the day, but in the morning she had none. That day though, she realised she was famished. She nodded, and asked him what it was that he was drinking. “That, my dear, is Ebony. Although my companions will tell you they find it disgusting, I, for one, think it is the most delectable beverage.” 

“Want me to settle the matter?” she replied with a smile. 

She wasn't usually so bold with people she'd just met, but she supposed that between basically saving the young men's lives and the fact that she'd slept with them in the same tent, she felt comfortable enough to be more friendly. 

“Certainly”, Ignis said, smiling too. 

He poured a small cup of Ebony, and handed it to her. She had never liked coffee in her world, but liked the smell well enough. She feared it would be the same with Ebony, but she wanted to give it a try. Inhaling the strong scent, she tried to find similarities with the things she was familiar with. It did smell like coffee, but there was another, undefined note underneath. She raised the cup to her lips, and sipped, aware that Ignis had not averted his gaze since he'd given her the cup. He was clearly expectant. 

“Well, I'm sorry Ignis, but I will have to side with them on that one. Frankly, It tastes awful.” 

The young man chuckled. That was a pleasant sound. 

“I feared you would say that. Well, on a positive note it means I won't have to share my provisions with anyone.” 

Lyne had feared he might be offended, but thankfully, Ignis was indeed quite the gentleman. He offered her tea instead, and she drank it with pleasure. During breakfast they were joined by Gladio, who'd probably gone to take a bath, given his wet hair. Lyne couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed that he'd found more clothes to put on, but she was so engrossed in her chat with Ignis that this time, she didn't even stare. 

 “So, where are we headed next?” Prompto asked. 

They had just arrived at Wiz Chocobo Post, to collect the bounty for the death of Deadeye. The guys had insisted that Lyne take all the money, since, as Gladio put it, she had “killed the beast all by herself”. Lyne was embarrassed, but ended up accepting, since she needed to buy a weapon and camping equipment. She'd found what she needed for camping at the shop near the chocobo stables, then they'd stopped to pet the chocobos, with which Lyne had instantly fallen in love, before heading towards the weapon-selling truck. 

“I think it would be an appropriate time for Noctis to heed the call of the Fulgurian”, Ignis suggested. 

The guys had explained to Lyne what the Astrals were the previous night, and she was mesmerized by the fact that in this world gods actually existed and you could meet them if you were bold enough (or stupid), although she would believe it when she saw it. They'd told her Noctis had received the power of Titan, and that he was now supposed to ask Ramuh, the storm god, for his help. 

“Let's get a weapon for Lyne first”, Noctis replied. 

That morning at camp, while Noctis and Prompto were getting ready after having been kicked awake by Ignis, Gladio had insisted she give a try at wielding their weapons, to see what she was more comfortable with. She hadn't even been able to lift Gladio's huge sword, so that one was out of the question. Being quite short, a polearm was not the best weapon for her either and it was quickly discarded. She'd liked Prompto's gun well enough, but she sucked at aiming. Noctis' one handed sword was fine, but Lyne lacked the strength to deal powerful blows, so in the end they all agreed that daggers were probably the best choice. She was to train with Ignis when they next made camp, much to her delight. She had to admit that he really was charming, and the prospect of spending time with him alone stirred something in her, emotions she'd thought long dead. Naturally, the young man had volunteered to help her choose the best daggers, and she soon walked away from the truck, a brand new pair of daggers in her bag. For the time being she was to use only curatives and watch the fights from a distance, but as soon as she could fight well enough they would come in handy. 

“So, hum, Noctis, will I be able to summon my weapons like you guys do?” 

Lyne was a bit awkward around the prince. She could see that the other guys treated him like an equal, but she didn't feel comfortable enough to do the same. After all, they weren't exactly close friends, and he was a prince. She tried very hard not to call him by his title. She'd done that a few times already that day, and Gladio had teased her every time about it. “Come on, you saved his life when none of us could, if anyone's entitled to call him Noct it's you”, he'd barked at Lyne with a smile, a hand on her shoulder. His touch had sent heat through all of the young woman's body, and it was all she could do not to flinch. It was not that she didn't like being touched, but she wasn't used to people being so tactile with her. Plus there was the fact that Gladio was incredibly sexy, and her natural shyness usually caused her to avoid being in contact with such people. 

“Yeah, the prince replied, you should be able to summon them once I've linked them to the king's magic. But learning to summon the weapons requires a whole training session, so we should probably wait till you've learned to fight.” 

The group decided to rent chocobos to travel to their next destination. The king's car had gone missing after they'd escaped Titan's lair, they'd explained to Lyne. Of course, she'd never ridden the big birds before, so Prompto was only too happy to show her. At first she was a bit tense, and they had to go slowly, but after a while she adjusted to the creature, and started to enjoy the trip. They were approaching the place where Noctis sensed the power of Ramuh, when she heard Gladio shout. 

“Noct, overhead!” 

She lifted her head to the sky, and sure enough, a kind of flying vehicle was hovering above them. She watched as the guys dismounted, and did the same. Comprehension hit her. The ship was not friendly, and she was going to go through her first fight. Well, second if you counted the behemoth, but since she'd had no idea what what happening at that time, it had felt entirely different. Ignis came to her in three long strides, as the airship's big door opened slowly. She could feel panic seizing her. 

“Remember, you watch the fight, and if you see one of us in any kind of difficulty, you are to throw a potion, an elixir or a remedy. If one of us is knocked out, you will have to use a phoenix down. Do not, under any circumstances, come close to the Imperials. If they come at you, run, or shout out, and one of us will come to your help.” 

She nodded, unable to find her voice. The young man looked her in the eye, and seeing the fear there, added reassuringly: “Everything will be all right Lyne, don't worry.” 

With that, he turned around, and ran to his friends, jumping in the fight. Watching it from a distance, Lyne was in awe of the guys' talent. Each of them was a master with their own weapon. Gladio handed powerful blows on the humanoid robots (Lyne remembered hearing Prompto use the word MT), nearly reaping them in half, while Prompto shot the things in all the right places. Ignis used his polearm with such dexterity, that it was almost impossible to follow his movements. She heard a cry, and her eyes darted to the place where Noctis was. He'd been hit by one of the MTs, and was limping a little bit. He was trying to put some distance between him and the enemy, and suddenly he vanished with a blue light, only to reappear half a heartbeat later, landing a blow on an MT that'd been trying to hit Gladio. Prompto shouted Lyne's name. She searched with her eyes in the melee, and then she saw him. A deep cut was covering his left arm with blood, and as he was trying to get closer to her, she noticed that he was heavily favouring his right leg. Prompto was in danger. That thought shook off her fear in the blink of an eye. She took one of the green bottles from her bag, and threw it at the blonde guy, who caught it, drank it, and went back to the fight as if nothing had happened. Lyne couldn't help feeling a surge of pride at that simple action. She'd done it, she'd been able to help! 

The fight in front of her was coming to an end. Ignis used his daggers to finish off the last MT still standing, and the young woman let out a sigh of relief. The strategist turned her way, a smile on his face, but suddenly his expression changed to an angry frown. Quick as a cat, he leapt towards Lyne and threw his dagger at her. Paralysed with surprise, she didn't even try to dodge, and only gasped with fear, preparing to die as the weapon got closer and closer. 

And as a bonus, here’s a picture of the landscape I tried to describe. With Gladio showing us in ass, of course 8D

Link to Chapter 4

[lumpmagazine]

Carla Vanessa was just 15 when she first met Mike Triay and Carlos Alberto DeYarza, later known as the ‘Bayside Boys’, and began recording radio jingles in Florida. Just a few years later she would go on to record the ‘Macarena’, one of the biggest hits of the 90′s. She travelled the world, and experienced both the best and the worst that the music industry has to offer. Following this intense roller-coaster, Carla forged a successful career across the Spanish speaking world with the Emilio Estefan produced ‘Miami Sound Machine’ along with acting and modelling. 

What was life like growing up in South Florida?

I loved growing up in South Florida because I love the ocean! It was also great because it was so culturally diverse. I had a wonderful childhood and my parents raised us within the Latin culture. Spanish was my first language and I grew up bilingual. I have a sister and a brother and we have always been a very close knit family. We are all musical. My sister and I always sang together. I joke that we harmonized before we knew what it meant. Our plan was to be a duo when we were young. We formed a couple groups before I did the Macarena. My brother could also sing but mainly played guitar. He was in a few bands growing up. Both my parents also sing and my mom plays a little guitar and piano. I also play a little of both so we definitely had a lot of jam sessions growing up. 

How did you become associated with the Bayside Boys? 

I was only 15 when I met them. My friend Ashley who was in Menudo at the time introduced me to them. I quickly began doing jingles for them. I also did voice overs for radio stations and demos of songs. 

What were the recording sessions for Macarena like? Was it a 'one take' affair or did it take time to refine and work on? 

The song was originally sang by another studio singer. She didn't want to be the face of the Macarena so I was asked to re record it and become part of the group.  The song is not a hard song to sing. It's all about becoming the character and having fun so it was quick.

At the height of the Macarena’s popularity you appeared on Oprah. How was that experience?

I was so young at the time and being on the Oprah show was huge! I was so excited! We only got to meet her very briefly and she was very nice. I remember how much fun we had teaching the audience how to dance the Macarena. 

Did you party much at that time? What was your life like in the middle of having a global no. 1 hit? 

There really was no time for partying. It was such a strict schedule all I did was try to sleep whenever I could. There was also not much time to enjoy the many places we visited. 

Was the touring and promotion schedule very gruelling and intense? Did it lead to any arguments or disputes?

It was pretty intense. I don't remember arguments but I remember forgetting simple things because of lack of sleep. I think we were too tired to argue. I was also so young and this was so new I didn't know what to expect. 

Did you ever experience burn out/exhaustion or any difficulties associated with success?

Yes but mainly while I was in MSM. Touring in Spain was even harder than the States. They didn't account for sleep time. It was like we were robots so we were always sick and lost our voices. I really took a toll on us. A typical day was wake up at 5 am to do our hair and makeup, eat a quick breakfast and arrive at our 1st radio interview by 7 am. Then usually about 5 more interviews with magazines or newspapers. A quick photo shoot or promo thing then a quick lunch. Back to Hotel to get ready for a gala or evening performance. Then dinner with label executives that lasted till about 1 am or 2 am and then 3 to 4 hours of sleep and we would start all over again. 

If you had the whole period to live over, would you do anything differently?

The only thing I would do differently is try to enjoy it more. Everything was so fast and I wish I could have slowed down a bit. There were so many amazing places we went to and sometimes all we saw was the hotel. I would tell myself to really take everything in. 

Were you disappointed not to be in the Bayside Boys Remix video directed by Vincent Calvet? How did that decision come about?

I really don't know much about that decision. It might have had something to do with timing. I am really not sure. Once the song got so big it was a little disappointing that it said "Bayside Boys" remix but we were not in the video. I was very young and a lot of things were kept from me. I was just happy to be traveling and performing.  

Did you encounter any of the typical financial problems encountered by artists and performers?

Of course... but luckily I lived with my parents at the time so I didn't have the typical bills. 

Did you experience any sexism or sexual harassment in the male dominated music industry? 

I'm sure there were many times I just ignored it or was so innocent I didn't notice. I do remember one time while in MSM I was in an elevator and a gentleman kept making inappropriate comments and asking me for my room number. I told the guy he was disgusting and to leave me alone. Five minutes later he is being introduced to me as one of the label executives that we are having dinner with. I just calmly said "we've already met"  He never said another word to me!

Did you feel that you were treated fairly from a business perspective with regards to the Macarena?

The truth is I was offered to become the face of the Macarena and offered an amount for performing. I took the deal and that's that. I don't know what everyone else was getting paid or if I was being taken advantage of but I agreed to what they offered. So from that stand point I can't complain. 

Did the Bayside Boys have any follow up plans for music, given the success of the Macarena Remix? There was one single ‘Caliente’ but was there anything else beyond this? Was it a collective decision to end the Bayside Boys after Caliente?

The Macarena sort of pummelled Caliente. The record label released Caliente when Macarena was reaching its peak and so it never went anywhere. The label dropped us after that and that was pretty much the end of the Bayside Boys. The Bayside Boys were Mike Triay and Carlos De Yarza and only Carlos performed with me. After we were let go from the label we tried to start a duo project but it never really took off. 

Nostalgia tours are very popular in the UK right now, with many 80′s and 90′s pop artists performing their hits. Have you and the remaining Bayside Boys considered these?

It would be Carlos and I and our 2 dancers from back then.... just like on the Oprah show. We have never talked about it but it would be a lot of fun! I'm always up for some traveling and performing!

How close were you with Mike Triay? Where were you when you heard he had passed?

By the time he passed we had not spoken in many years. We just grew apart and I was living in Colorado which is where I live now. Carlos was the one that told me. I was very sad. 

MSM have had huge success, what have been some of your greatest and worst moments performing/touring with MSM?

There were many cool moments  like meeting some of my musical idols but I would have to say the greatest moments for me were when I was on stage performing. Connecting with the crowd and feeling this indescribable rush! Seeing the Colombian flag in a sea of people and knowing it was for me.  That is what kept me going through the worst moments. The worst moments were losing my voice due to a gruelling schedule and having our tour cancelled at the last moment. There were also some horrible moments because of 9/11. I remember having a sense of fear and sadness. Then there were bombings on the same trains we took in Spain. It was a hard reality check for me. I wrote a poem called "Innocent Pieces" during that time. I wasn't so innocent anymore. 

What do you think of the current state of popular music? 

Pop music is always changing and I tend to go with the flow... I always find something I like. I really like Sia and Katy Perry, Ariana Grande and even some Justin Bieber. I feel like there is so much diversity that you can always find something you like. 

Can you describe your songwriting process?

I usually write on the guitar. I tend to play certain chords and start a melody and then lyrics. It can change depending on what inspires me first and if I co write then it can be completely different. 

When can we expect your next album?

I have been writing and recording for the past couple years but I have also expanded my family and just had my 2nd child so I have had to put some things on hold for a bit. I hope to have something released this year. 

Are your children musical? What would you say to them if they wanted to embark on a career in pop music?

I am married and have 2 children. A little girl that is almost 3 years old and a baby boy that is almost 4 months. My husband can carry a tune so it's going to be in my children's blood. My little girl is already showing signs of being musical. She sings on pitch and plays her little toy guitar. So sweet! I would totally support my kids if they chose a career in pop music. I would try to advise them the best I could and help them enjoy the little things. I would also help them understand that it's a lot of work and it's not all glamorous. At the end of the day you do it for the love of music and nothing else!

What are your plans for the future? 

My plan is to continue making music. Writing, recording, and performing. I hope to get back to doing it professionally again. I love being more involved in all of the creative aspects.  This is my passion and even if I never do it professionally again, it is what makes me happy.

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