#i cannot allow myself to be concerned with the words i can string together that make meaning about these shows. that yalls problem | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minisoysquares · 4 years ago

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As fun as the events and ideas you posted about 19days would be, wouldn’t it also just bring in more negative stuff - like fandom in general has become a field of land mines and I fear that something that’s supposed to fun will turn into some sort of battle. Like how some people get extremely heated over any other ships outside of their fave ship and they cannot possibly have other ships except theirs, etc. The last thing anyone wants is for content creators to be targeted simply for making something they thought would be fun

(This ask and answer is about this post.)

First of all thank you so much for addressing such a big and valid concern. I agree that that has indeed happened in certain fandoms - I can say I've been in the thick of it and witnessed quite the warfare - but in others it has also brought fans and readers and content creators together even closer and tighter in a wonderful thriving community.

I have the feeling this'll get quite long so please proceed under the cut with that in mind.

I believe all things are potential harbingers of both discord and harmony. There will always be people who feel entitled and who want - even demand! the audacity! - authors and artists to create for their ships and their ships alone. And there will also always be people who can appreciate the writing and the art without judgemental treatment regarding the pairings/characters depicted, no matter their preferences.

All of that happens and will continue to happen, whether we go forward with these events or not. And yet authors will still write what they want to write, artists will still draw what they want to draw, graphic designers will still make the edits they want to make as well. What we could do, in this small and close knit fandom, is take in our hands this powerful rich opportunity and try our best to make a model of positivity out of it.

In these events, there would be no bashing or shaming allowed. The content created would be to be enjoyed by those who are attracted to it, and those who do not have a taste for that fanwork in particular would be asked to remain respectful. (As it should always be.) There would be no ship wars in these spaces. Discourse, hate-speech or anti-behaviour would not be tolerated by the moderators of the event.

Creators who indulged in it would be immediately disqualified. Any unnecessary commentary or complaints from the audience would be deleted and reported as spam. Anyone instigating conflict would be only painting a target on their back, really. Because most of us - I dare say - are only here to appreciate the brilliant artwork and fanfiction woven and crafted by the talented people who share it with us.

If it came to it and it escalated, this hellsite has several tools that can be put to use to that regard. Accounts could be blocked and/or even reported. They wouldn't be able to interact with the blogs created to run these events from then on. We would be able to create a black list and post it publicly so everyone else who wished to could simply block those unruly pesky accounts and remain at peace and free to enjoy themselves to their utmost.

Let us not forget that this is all fiction and it's all for fun. Everyone's allowed to have their own opinion, likes and dislikes. There simply is no need to step on anyone else and their interests to elevate them.

Let's exemplify, for the sake of clarity:

Do I personally ship A with B? Imagine I do not. I do not search for it. If I come across it? I scroll past it. Once or twice, I may even like - and even reblog - if it happens to catch my attention and it's well written/drawn! (I have tags along the lines of 'I don't ship it but' and 'look at this beautiful art' or 'drown in the power of these words.')

It's so easy to interact amongst ourselves without coming with pitchforks at one another. Know what actually needs effort? Being a meanie and a party popper! Who in their right mind wastes their time on things they don't care for? Dum dums, that's who! Of course, we're all dummies at times... and that's okay! Let's just not harass people or crash their fun while we're at it!

If nothing else: you wouldn't like if others did this or that to you, therefore don't do it to others. It's a simple concept to grasp.

Very important: in these events, every single piece would be explicitly and properly tagged and warned for right at the very top of each post, so there would be absolutely no excuses for anyone being nasty.

We would just have to be open to the experience. Enjoy our ships and let other enjoy theirs. We do not have to all like the same thing. That would be just boring. But we can cohabitate devoid of trouble in fandom. Each one of us just has to be respectful. No need to even be nice. No one has to compliment something they don't like. They also don't have to step on what others do.

Don't like a ship/character/theme? Don't read stories focused on it. Don't put down authors who write it or readers who enjoy it. Same for art. No need to shout about how awful it is just for the simple reason that it does not fit into your personal shipping preferences. It can still be still be a tasty and wonderfully baked cake, it's just that you're not fond of vanilla or strawberries. It's okay. There are all kinds of cake for everyone's tastes!

Further examples: If a ship happens to be a NOTP for me or I don't care for the character(s)? I filter the tags. All of them. Any and every tag I can think of. It's very easy to protect ourselves on Tumblr from content we do not wish to see. (My own list is huge and just as effective.) Filtering is incredibly important.

So go ahead and filter out the ships you can do without! Filter out porte-manteaux like Tianshan, Zhanyi, Qiucheng, Tianxi, Tianyi, Lishan, Litian, Liyi, Shantou, Polydays, (...) Filter out any ship tag that doesn't strike your fancy like Q x MGS, HC x JY's mom, (...) Filter out characters that aren't your cuppa tea like HT, HT's dad, SL, JY's mom, XH, (...)

Make it safe for yourself and for others. That way you won't rage at the sight of your NOTP, won't feel the compulsive need to trash the people who ship it, no one is hurt and everyone is happy!

There are many steps we could follow to prevent rotten eggs in our coop. And many more actions we could take to throw them out if need be. I firmly believe, however, that if we're all of the same mind everything would go well and with very few bumps along the way.

If we only ever feared the possible negative consequences of our actions, never taking the risk for the possible positive ones, we'd never get anything done. I say let's not let our beloved fandom stagnate or dry out. Let's incentivate and motivate and inspire! Let's share! Let's have fun!

Think of it in these terms: it wouldn't be a competition at all but rather a charity event. Performers and spectators coming together for a common good, raising content and spreading joy! There would be no winners or losers or prizes. What would matter would be good old-fashioned participation, both by providing content and/or consuming it.

It could also a good way to get people to express themselves more. Many content consumers tend to lurk or keep to themselves even if they like the content posts. (I used to be one myself and only a couple months ago started to come out of my shell.) I myself advocate for reblogging instead of liking - if you have to choose one or the other, I mean, why not do both? - and leaving a word on every single post I like and/or reblog. Sometimes I go nuts commenting, sometimes I leave a small note in the tags.

It doesn't matter how. Even if you're shy or introverted (*raises hand*) or don't know what to say I guarantee a single emoticon or a string of disordered letters symbolising incoherence will make the creator's day all the same. Getting feedback is so important and motivational for creators and also a great way for fandom members to keep in touch and support each other.

Additionally, if a person would like more of a certain type of content here are some healthy actions they could take: a) commission a creator and pay for it if they can; b) politely make a suggestion to a creator with an open ask box; c) post a prompt publicly for possible interested creators to use; d) do it yourself and share it with others!

This turned out into more of a "behavioural guidelines" thing than I'd have liked. I am not in any way whatsoever telling anyone what to do. This is what I do, and it works wonders for me. I stay completely out of toxic arguments and in on all the goodies. I'm able to fully enjoy my fandoms. And isn't that what we all want?

Thank you again for sharing your thoughts with me. And I apologise for the long rant!

Of course, this is only my personal stance on the issue. I did go for a survey first exactly for this end, to get their opinions on the subject and see if it would be worth a shot. I shall hope many other people will think as I do, but I will wholly respect those who don't.

#answered asks #19 tian #19天 #19 days #old先 #old xian #zhanyi #qiucheng #tianshan #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #he cheng #qiu #brother qiu #he tian #mo guan shan #she li #cun tou #xiao hui

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themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

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Abandoned (9)

*They’re making progress. Slowly but surely.”

~~~

I was confused when I woke up the next morning because I wasn’t on the beach in my little hut like I always was when I woke up. Then I remembered last night and how I had ended up in this treehouse. Peter was next to me. That wasn’t a big surprise but it eased my worries that he was still with me after yesterday.

A lot had been said last night. Secrets that we had both been harboring pulled into the light of day. I felt lighter now that I had shared with Peter the scars I carried. For so long I had been swimming with a cannonball strapped to my leg as I tried to paddle helplessly to shore. Now, it felt like that cannonball had come unshackled from my ankle and I could finally move forward. I wasn’t to shore yet but I had confidence that I wasn’t going to drown.

I wondered briefly if it felt the same for Peter. Obviously he’s been harboring this secret about his curse for a long time and has been trying to be brave in the face of his own death. This weight that he’s been carrying with him, literally watching his life tick away in a golden hourglass, that’s not something one can take lightly.

There was a small part of me that was kind of relieved to see Peter cry. I don’t like seeing him in tears but just knowing that this boy that I have looked at as indestructible and unflappable was capable of breaking down was a needed reminder that he was human. He may act like a demon but he is still a boy. He has emotions, whether he chooses to acknowledge them or not.

The time following that night in the treehouse stretched peacefully. Peter looked much more relieved to be free of the burden of bearing his secret alone. The only change he did show were the sad looks he passed to me any time we were alone together. I could blink and miss it with how quick they came and went but I still saw them all the same.

He looked at me as if his world was balancing on a frayed string. His hold on me got a little tighter and his words got softer. I figured it was his curse weighing on him but when he pulled away from me one night when things were getting frisky I saw that same sad look in his eyes and realized the truth.

It wasn’t his secret causing him this grief, it was mine. Before when Peter would sometimes allow the moment to heat up between us he doused almost as soon as it begun now. I know that he’s doing it so not to make me uncomfortable but it just made me feel unwanted at the end of the night. One such day we had gone out swimming together by this waterfall. We were having fun splashing around and exchanging a few kisses.

I teased him by sneaking up on him under the water and quickly poking him in the thigh or butt before swimming off. He was getting red in the face and cursed that I kept slipping away faster than he could grab me. Eventually he did catch me and held me tight to his chest to keep me from swimming away again. Laughter and squeals turned into deep kisses and happy giggles. I wrapped my legs around Peter’s waist to help keep myself in place while we made out.

While making out I felt something poke against me. For a few moments Peter was too grounded in his pleasure at the embrace he didn’t notice. Normally when he got an erection he immediately shied away from me and I was waiting for him to do it this time but he hadn’t. As subtly as I could I let myself grind against it a bit and felt a pleasurable jolt ripple up my spine. Peter must have felt it too cause he groaned against my mouth.

I was able to get away with going slowly for a while but when I started moving faster the lustful spell Peter was under broke and he finally fully realized what was going on. I had to keep my legs locked around him so he couldn’t shove me off.

“Peter,” I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me, “It is alright. I want to do this.”

“But--”

“I. Am. Enjoying. This.” I enunciated the words clearly. “You don’t have to be so worried about scaring me off.”

Peter sighed, “I’m sorry, swordfish. I just never wanted to overstep.”

“I’ll let you know if you do. But you need to stop keeping me at an arms distance.” I kissed his cheek, “You said that you would banish that bastard from my memory, right?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Well, how can you replace all the bad memories he created if you won’t let us create new better ones?”

“You really trust me that much?”

“I trust you even more.”

“I love…” his gaze searched my face, “I love...I love that you trust me so much, swordfish.”

My heart sank a little at his words. I guess I had been hoping he would say something else in that moment. Then again, I don’t know how capable Peter Pan is of something as scary and committed as love.

I shrugged off the moment of disappointment and rested my head on his shoulder. “I trust you with my life, Peter. I always will.”

Peter spent the night sleeping next to me that evening. I cannot say for sure when the word love became something I wished to hear Peter say. Nor do I remember when I started wanting to say it to him. It came upon so gradually that I hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. My heart belonged solely to Peter and it terrified me. I was in love with him and I wanted nothing more than for him to love me too.

Peter was the first to fall asleep. I wasn’t surprised. He said he slept better next to me. I stayed awake listening to him breathe until his snores got deeper and I knew he was fast asleep. “I dreamt that you called me your love the other night. It made me so happy.” I whispered, “I hope that it’s true cause I love you too, my Peter.” I kissed his cheek. It felt good to say it out loud even if he didn’t truly hear me. Maybe it would trickle into his ears and he’d hear it in his dreams. Maybe he would remember and in the morning he would say he loved me too.

I had a dream that night. I was in a town slumped against a wall naked and cold and scared. There was no sign of life. Not from the tavern behind me nor anywhere else in the town. I ran to the pier trying to find a ship to board but all the docks were empty. I searched the sky for the star that could lead me home but clouds covered it.

No way out. Nowhere to run. I wanted to yell for Peter but no words left my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. The world was too cold. Where had Peter gone? Why was I here? Why had I been abandoned again? A pair of arms grabbed me from behind and pulled me into the chest of someone. A gruff voice whispered in my ear, “Kitten…”

I woke with a jolt breathing hard and shaking. When I closed my eyes I was thrust back into the dream and it only made me cry.

“Precious, what’s wrong?” Peter’s groggy morning voice reached out to me like a tether through the darkness. I reached for him and found his waiting arms. He rubbed my back in smooth motions and whispered words of comfort in my ear.

“I was back there,” I cried, “I was back in that town and I couldn’t get out. He found me...he found me and I couldn’t--”

“Hush now,” Peter whispered, pressing reassuring kisses to my temple. “That bastard can’t touch you. You’re on Neverland with me. You’re safe. I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again, my pearl.”

My breathing evened out but I still clung onto Peter like a vice. Tears silently streamed down my face, unable to stop.

“Hey Lost Girl, are you awake yet? I have bananas if you want one.” A head ducked down to look inside my hut. Baelfire.

The three of us froze. I felt Peter tense next to me.

I could tell he wanted to jump up and grab Baelfire. This boy had been eluding him for so long and now he finally had him within his grasp. All he had to do was let me go. My grip on Peter slackened.

“Go away,” Peter muttered darkly.

I looked up confused. Peter stared daggers at Baelfire. “Don’t be stupid, Baelfire. Leave us.”

Baelfire turned and sprinted away. Peter sighed and pulled me closer. The question I wanted to ask sat waiting on my tongue but I was too stunned to say it. Peter looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Did you think I was gonna leave you, precious?”

I nodded dumbly.

“My pearl,” Peter rested his forehead against mine, “Don’t you know you’re more important than some stupid game?”

Fresh tears sprung to my eyes but they were of a different breed then they had been earlier. I was happy. Why was I crying if I was happy? Peter didn’t leave my side for the rest of the day. That night he felt the moment Baelfire escaped the island but didn’t say anything. He sighed and nuzzled his face more into my neck.

I didn’t ask him why he didn’t seem concerned that Baelfire had escaped considering how much he wanted to capture him in the first place. All I wanted to remember was that when Peter was faced with the choice of capturing Baelfire or staying by to comfort me he chose me. He told me I was more important.

Peter eventually did have to leave to go talk to the boys and tell them that Baelfire had managed to escape. He figured that it was news that would not go over well. He may not be able to see me until late tomorrow evening but if I needed him at all before then all I needed to do was call and he would be there.

It was lonely without Peter but I took the day away from him to go and talk to Tink. I hadn’t seen much of her since my relationship with Peter really started and I had missed talking to her. It would probably be healthy for me to talk to someone other than Peter. I could have pleasant enough chats with the Lost Boys and when Baelfire used to come around but they were all boys. Girls needed girls sometimes.

Tinkerbell was surprised to see but invited me in and talked to me all the same. We agreed we needed to spend more time together and I promised to come see her more often. Peter didn’t mind that I was hanging out with Tink more as my time with her gave him time to rally with the boys. The upside was that now that Peter and I were spending most of the day apart that meant that he almost always spent the night with me. Once evening fell Peter was all mine and I was all his. I preferred it that way.

It had been several weeks since Baelfire had escaped. Life on the island was as normal as it had ever been. Then one night Peter’s shadow returned. I hadn’t even noticed that the shadow was ferrying someone when I saw it shoot across the sky. The shadow was dark and the person it carried was pale. They almost looked like a shooting star streaking across the sky before they got closer and I was able to make out the shape of a human. It flew above me into the jungle before I could get a good look.

Peter also watched it go but shrugged it off saying he would make his greetings in the morning. Strangely enough though when morning came the boys had no news of a new boy in the island. No one had even seen the shadow drop someone off. Perhaps they were lost in the jungle. The boys scattered the island but came up with nothing. Whoever the shadow had brought they had disappeared into thin air.

This was more than alarming to Peter who didn’t like the idea that someone was loose on his island that he didn’t know. His days were spent with the boys as they combed the island again and again trying to find the escapee. I checked Baelfire’s old camp to see if the new guy had hunkered down there but it was as abandoned as the day Baelfire left it.

I went to visit Tink and told her about the strange happenings going on in the jungle.

“That is strange.” Tink shrugged, “And the boys have no idea where this person could be or even what they look like?”

“Not a clue. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” I asked.

“Can’t say I do. All the Lost Boys look alike to me so if there is a new one running around I couldn’t say that I could recognize them.”

“The boys are all in a tizzy about it. This boy is really good at hide and seek and it is starting to piss Peter off to no end that he can’t figure out where they’re hiding. Understandable since it is his island and all.”

I set my cup of tea down and paced around the treehouse. “I mean, they have checked every nook and cranny of this island. Where in the world could they be?”

I plunked down on top of Tink’s big treasure chest.

“Eep!”

“What was that?” I asked, looking around the treehouse. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Tink said.

“I swear I heard something. Almost sounded like a wounded bird or something.” I strained my ears to see if I could hear it again. Tink had frozen in her seat. Her eyes were cast down into her cup.

I narrowed my gaze at her. Why was she acting skittish? I stood up and noticed her gaze flicker to the chest I had been sitting on. Hm…

I turned to the chest and lightly kicked the side of it. “Hey Tink,” I spoke calmly, “What is it you keep in his old chest of yours?”

“Just a bunch of junk. Some blankets, extra set of clothes, a few useless odds and ends.” She shrugged. “Nothing of interest.”

“Uh huh,” I reached for the lid, “You wouldn’t mind if I snooped would you?”

“I would actually,” She said, her eyes met mine, “It may be junk but it is personal junk.”

“All the more reason I want to take a peek.” I pulled the lid up.

“Don’t!” Tink jumped to her feet.

“Oh Tinkerbell, Tinkerbell, Tinkerbell,” I ripped the blanket away to reveal our hidden guest nestled tightly at the bottom of the chest. “I thought we were better friends than this.”

“Listen,” Tink tried to pull me away, “You don’t have to do this. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s your opinion.” I reached into the chest and pulled the figure in her white nightgown up to standing. “Hello again, Wendy Darling. You shouldn’t have come back here.”

“I’m here to rescue Baelfire!” Wendy ripped her arms from my grasp. “And I am not leaving without him!”

“Oh, did Tink not tell you?” I laughed, “Oh you poor, pretty thing. Baelfire escaped the island weeks ago. He’s not here.”

“No…” Wendy breathed out in horror, “No! You’re lying!”

“I am? Fine. Then let’s ask someone else. Oh Tinkerbell, is Baelfire still on Neverland? Be honest now.”

Tink met Wendy’s eyes with regret. She nodded. “He isn’t on Neverland. He managed to escape a long time ago.”

“Oh god…” Wendy was shaking, “If Baelfire isn’t here then--”

“Then you walked back into the open jaws of a lion voluntarily, Darling.” I pinched her cheeks. “No use trying to run or hide now. So how about you come quietly? I’m sure Peter would love to see you again.”

“Please, just send me home, I know you don’t like me. You don’t want me here. Just send me away again.”

“No. That’s too easy. Besides, I have no reason to be jealous or angry at you anymore. You’re just a blemish on my life now. Annoying but tolerable if I can’t see you.” I shoved her towards the rope ladder. “Now move.”

I brought Wendy back to the camp. She was silent the entire time. Resigned to whatever fate awaited her. Easy enough to say, the boys were surprised when I walked in with her. Peter most of all. He had truly not expected to see Wendy Darling again after he sent her away the first time.

“What to do, what to do?” Peter circled her. “My Lost Girl was right about not sending you home. That’s what you want. I cannot have you roaming about as you did before though. Ideas?”

“Just stuff her in a cage and be over with it.” Felix said. “What else is there to think about?”

“Too easy.” Peter said, “We need something unique for this equally interesting happenstance.”

“I have an idea!” I bounced on my heels as an idea started to take root in my mind.

“Speak it, spitfire. I’m interested in what you have to say about this.” Peter grinned, pulling me close to him.

“Well, if she wants to go home so bad then I saw we give her the opportunity.” I said.

“This isn’t the same scenario you proposed I do with Baelfire is it?” Peter asked, disdain clear on his face.

“Oh no, nothing like that.” I pulled him aside so Wendy couldn’t hear. “She will be our very own Sisyphus.”

“What?”

“It’s an old tale I remember hearing about. Sisyphus was some man that was cursed in the afterlife to constantly push a boulder up a hill. He was told that if he could push the boulder to the top of the hill then he could go free. But no matter what, every time he gets near the top the boulder rolls back down dooming him for eternity. We could do something similar with Wendy.”

“Stars you are perfect.” Peter grabbed me and kissed me hungrily. “What impossible task were you thinking?”

“Something simple enough to give her hope but maddening enough that she’ll never accomplish it. Like a jigsaw puzzle.”

“A puzzle?”

“A puzzle with a million different pieces that never actually seem to fit together. Tell her that if she can solve the puzzle then she can go home. If she doesn’t complete the puzzle within the day though it will reset and she’ll be forced to start all over again. It’ll keep her busy and out of the way until you have need of her.”

“I love that devious little mind of yours.” Peter kissed me once more. We strolled back over to the bound Wendy as Peter explained his terms. A spark of hope flickered in Wendy’s eyes and she readily agreed. She was taken to the Echo Caves to stay and Peter conjured the puzzle. I nabbed a piece and stuffed it in my pocket. A personal assurance that even if she somehow did ever get close she would never have an actual chance of completing it.

---

(Previous) (Next)

#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

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witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

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If only the words could write themselves.

You stared at the blank parchment in front of you, the once sickening smell of long-dried ink now as familiar as the pain in your lower back from sitting in the stiff mahogany chair at the side desk of Diluc’s study. He’d moved the small table in here just for you, allowing you this small sanctuary to do your writing in peace while he trudged along his busy schedule. And alas, after hours of transmuting your thoughts onto the pages, your brain felt spent, the lukewarm tea at your side seemed more appealing than the thought of scribbling out another syllable.

“Come on, focus,” you huffed to yourself as your fingers released the quill and raked themselves through your hair. Deadlines needed to be met, commissions needed to be completed, and yet you felt nothing but sheer and utter fatigue. Sitting back, you looked at Diluc’s empty desk, neatly organized by you a few hours ago in an attempt to occupy yourself more while trying to cure your writer’s block.

And there it was, that pang of loneliness you’d been so accustomed to in his busiest season. Your palm met your cheek as you closed your eyes, imagining his presence around you once more.

“If only I possessed a quarter of his determination,” you sighed. “How does he manage to get so much done in so little time?”

“For starters,” a voice sounded, its suddenness making you sit up immediately. “I tend to use the office to complete assignments, not to rest against them.” Diluc leaned against the large doorway, arms folded, the fabric of his black shirt stretching against his muscles as a gentle smile played on his lips. His crimson eyes met yours after scanning the parchment, and even while regarding him in all his splendor, you still felt slightly embarrassed.

“I… got tired.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself,” he pushed himself off the doorway, coming to you in his elegant stride, another sign of his noble upbringing that peered through even the most basic of his mannerisms. “I was about to take a break myself. Would you care to join me?”

Yes please, a thousand times yes. Before the excitement could burst through your lips, you felt regret and guilt simmer in the pit of your stomach as you peered the paper before you. You had work to complete, and you were terribly behind. Even still, it was unlike Diluc to take a break, and it was even more unlikely for you both to take time during the day to sit, unwind together, to take each other in.

He saw the hesitation move through your face and reached his hand out to you, tucking a few strands behind your ear before cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. “I will not force you,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, “but you cannot work under such conditions. If not for yourself, please take these few moments to relax for my sake.”

And here, in the solitude of his study, his eyes gleaming down at you with such love and concern you could practically feel it in the air around you, how could you possibly deny him? With a gentle smile, you nodded in accordance, standing and stretching as you prepared to spend every fleeting moment with the love of your life that you could.

---

Good luck with the EBG youre doing great bestie !

- 🧸anon

🧸! Hey there, thank you for the well wishes as always that’s very kind of you -- it seems you’ve been attacked by the strange tumblr bug that’s been floating around. It’s strange because I can make out some of these words but they just don’t string together into anything legible

i wish I could read this, i’m sure youo put a lot of time into it T.T (dang it tumblr whyyyy - let me see my friends stuff plss)

#hazelmail #🧸 anon #hazels ebg #i hope your tumblr gets fixed soon --- at this point maybe it's me?

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royalstorm · 4 years ago

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better off * xiaoqing // ; xiao x keqing //

content warning : pda, negative thought patterns

Xiao's infatuation is not a slow boil. His heartbreak is.

It's a realization that had dawned on him months ago. He vowed to himself to keep it tucked away, on the backburner left to simmer. To worry about an uncertain future would be to neglect the demands of the present, is what he told himself. He had believed it. He had been pretty convincing back then.

Then, last week...November 20.

In the air that day was a hum of excitement, one that persisted in spite of his itching ears. The people amongst him, too—grinning, giggling, resonating on a frequency that he was tone deaf to.

Even the thrumming in his own chest was akin to a death march.

Her voice had been his only saving grace—the symphony stringing away con brio, above all the noise. And when he offered her his present — clumsily wrapped, barely held together with a ribbon — she graced him with a "thank you" that silenced the discontent in his mind — the darkness in his heart — if only for a moment.

But that same night, the realization Xiao had forced down all those months ago resurfaced, bubbling with a vengeance. How he wished he had just rested, instead of patrolling where he had not been needed. Maybe then, he wouldn't have had to stand testament to the tragedy he came upon on Mt. Tianheng. It was a simple tragedy, but a tragedy nevertheless.

Raining down on him, like a hailstorm, were three eagles — all skewered by a singular, steely arrow.

It was when they reached ground zero — nothing short of battered, bloody feathers at his feet — that it was he who'd taken a shot to the chest.

Memento mori.

"Remember you must die."

Remember she must die.

Flash forward to the adeptus' current state: a state of motion. Running. Practically flying. For the past thousand or so years, all he knew to do was stay still. Physically, he was and continues to be on the move. Evil never sleeps, after all.

But spiritually and emotionally, where it truly mattered, he had been complacent: to the shifting sands, to the rising tides, to the erosion of Liyue's many mountain ranges.

It's useless, he chides himself. A loud thwack! punctures the air as he descends, polearm first, from a rooftop to the cobblestone ground below. He rises from his squat form to better regard his surroundings.

To think that the esteemed Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing would willingly live somewhere ordinary...remote, even. Indeed, he's still roaming the streets of Liyue Harbor, but he would've been fooled quite easily had someone told him differently.

"I don't care to live lavish, even if it's something I am able to afford," is what she told him once, when they were discussing philosophy. "Once in a while, it does you no harm to treat yourself, but it feels ... unnecessary flaunting that which so many can’t have themselves, and—" She had chuckled here. "—Never mind. You get my point, don’t you?”

Xiao keeps that thought at the forefront of his mind as he nears the front door. Upon reaching it, he silently thanks the archons for her residence's ease of access: on the first floor and as one of the very first units of the complex.

Lifting a hand, he knocks once...twice...

The door handle on the opposite end almost immediately rattles in response.

"Xiao?"

Keqing's voice is a colorful blend of concerned and (pleasantly) surprised. She fidgets with what looked to be an empty rice bowl in her hands.

"Keqing," he acknowledges, amber eyes suddenly skittering to the ground. Ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks, he follows up with, "My apologies for the unexpected visit. I hope you don't mind."

From his periphery, Xiao can see that she's still fiddling with the bowl — shifting it, inclining it, turning it upside down and right back up. He isn't sure what it means.

"No, of course I don't mind," she reassures him. Even as his eyes avoid hers, he can tell she's being earnest. Something soft and warm to the touch permeates the fabric of his glove. Eyes darting to the side, he sees her hand clasping his — on the verge of tugging him her way.

The "come inside" catches in Keqing's breath as the adeptus simply allows himself to be ushered in. Bowl now nestled solely in her other hand, she shuts the door closed with a foot. His hand still in hers, she then leads him down the main corridor and into the kitchen, where she'd been enjoying a late night dinner.

They seat themselves in her dining room, chairs directly across one another's. He ignores the arrangement of food scattering the table in favor of examining the rest of her home. The walls are relatively bare, save for two swords displayed in their respective racks front and center. Most, if not all, of the furniture looks decent enough—nothing too gaudy or flashy, though nothing secondhand, either—but even their presence is minimal ... underwhelming for a common civilian, let alone an aristocrat.

"Sorry if you were expecting something more grand." Keqing's voice rustles him from his observations.

Xiao rekindles the will to look her in the eyes. He attempts to ignore the dark circles weighing them down. "There is no need for you to apologize. I quite like your home, actually." When she chances a dubious brow in his direction, he adds, "It seems comfortable."

Keqing exhales a breath that is half scoff, half laugh. “Great save.” She props herself up on the dinner table and begins adding contents from each dish into her bowl. Xiao watches her from his periphery, realizing that this may have been one of the first times he’d seen her eat.

“You are free to help yourself to whatever you please.”

This time, he visibly flinches — once again, roused by the Yuheng’s voice.

“I will have to politely decline.” And before she can protest, he follows up with, “Adepti do not require the same amount of nourishment needed by human beings.”

Keqing’s shoulders roll into a lazy shrug. The sound of chopsticks scraping porcelain rings in the air. “So be it. Just know that the offer is yours for the taking whenever.”

For the next few minutes, the pair sits in silence — one that is only curtailed by the occasional sound of Keqing’s chopsticks against her bowl. Silences between them have been comfortable, for the most part...perhaps not in the beginning — back when they could not yet see eye to eye, back when they found faults within each other, back when they could not acknowledge those same faults within themselves — but that tension came to pass the moment their fondness for each other began to bloom...as friends and then, eventually, as...more.

Tonight, the silence feels especially oppressive, perhaps even more so than it did when they first got acquainted with one another. And as it continues to crescendo, looming over them like gallows, Xiao can only assume that she feels similarly.

”Keqing–“

”Why have you come here tonight?”

Xiao freezes, stunned. Consider the image of a deer in the headlights — not only only the fear and the wide eyes, but the acceptance of a certain, untimely fate. In hindsight, it’s foolish for him to react so severely. Hadn’t he paid her this visit for a pressing reason?

Or perhaps he still didn’t want to accept that pressing reason himself?

He’s too quiet. He hesitates for too long. He is always too quiet and hesitating for too long. The sound of a bowl settling atop mahogany, chopsticks following suit, fills his ears. With bated breath, the adeptus feels her presence shift from the seat across his to standing right beside him.

It takes everything in him not to pivot.

“Xiao.” Keqing’s voice is firmer now...still gentle, but far more stalwart in intention. His eyes glaze over briefly, searching hers, finding in them the stubborn concern he’d grown to cherish so much.

When he still offers her no reply, she lifts a hand to his arm, fingers gently running over the exposed skin. “I know you aren’t just here for the sake of being here.” Keqing continues skimming his arm with that feather light touch, just barely cognizant of the slight bumps left in its wake. “After all, it’s a Thursday night. You know better than anyone that I like to spend these nights in solitude.” Her hand halts upon contacting his bird bone wrist.

The adeptus feels his mouth dry at the tenderness of it all, sucking in a breath once her fingertips stop at his wrist, a hair shy out of his reach. He wonders if intimacy would always feel this...strange. Exhilarating. Or was this merely her Vision’s power at work? She is an Electro user, after all...

“Please talk to me.” There’s a meek lilt in Keqing’s voice that coerces Xiao to not only look up, but to also maintain his hold on her gaze. How pathetic, the way he can stare at hell itself square in the eye but could barely muster the courage to expend even a glance her way.

“I–“ Pause. Falter. Swallowing thickly, Xiao rises from his seat. He slowly takes the hand adorning his wrist into his own — intertwining the fingers one by one, marveling at how perfectly they fit together.

Then, bowing his head and releasing a sigh, he finds the courage to speak his piece — to voice his pressing reason...

“You are better off without me.”

Xiao feels the hand in his go limp.

”What? What do you mean?” There’s an incredulity that leaks into the Yuheng’s tone that he isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t like it.

”I am not worthy of you, Keqing. What we have, it cannot be.” What vile things to say. What vile, disgusting things. The words lapping his tongue taste almost as bitter as the blood he’d once shed, so he does exactly what he did all those years ago.

He gulps it down.

”You deserve better. You deserve the world. I don’t say this with the intention of discrediting myself. But I–“ Xiao trembles in spite of himself. He feels her other hand cup the small of his back. “–I am not capable of offering you all that you deserve, or even half of that amount.”

He doesn’t quite know how he sounds at that moment, let alone how he looks, but as he feels Keqing’s arms adjust to wrap around his frame, he figures it can’t be good.

”I don’t understand you sometimes,” she whispers into the crook of his neck. “You say you don’t mean to sell yourself short, yet that’s exactly what it sounds like you are doing.” She squeezes him softly before leaning further into the embrace. “Besides, who are you to tell me what I do and do not deserve? Who is anyone to decide that? Shouldn’t that decision be mine and mine alone?”

Whenever she talks like that, Xiao finds it difficult to fathom her mortality...to grasp the idea that she would one day be nothing but ashes at his feet. Yet, as he holds her, and as she holds him, her breath, her small frame, and the bray of her human heart become all the more clear to him.

”I suppose you’re right. Forgive me. This is novel territory for someone such as myself.” The adeptus feels her form loosen as she chuckles. He rests his chin upon her shoulder. “But still, I can’t help but feel that the life you lead has far more meaning than mine.”

Xiao withdraws from their embrace, if only to get a full glimpse of her face. Noticing the hints of tears pooling at the corner of one eye, he takes a thumb and lightly brushes it away.

”But you are the protector of Liyue, handpicked by Rex Lapis himself.”

Classic Keqing. Always so quick to counter him. He begins trailing his thumb down her cheek — slowly, softly. Her eyes reflexively draw closed. “While that may be so, my time here knows no limits. I can afford to be complacent. But you–“ Xiao pauses again. At this point, his thumb is bordering the curve of her jaw and her bottom lip. “–Your time in this world is finite. As a result, you cannot afford to spend it with regrets.” Now, it’s his turn to shut his eyes. He bows his head again. “I fear that may come to pass if you continue to involve yourself with me.”

The Yuheng allows her eyes to flutter half-open. She too bows her head, if to just press her forehead to his. “You don’t know that for sure.” Lifting a hand, she rests it on top of his. She prods his thumb so that it rests on the flush red of her lip, right where it meets her skin. “Even knowing the fate of our bond, much of the future is still uncertain.”

Xiao‘s head dips lower. Their noses brush. He can feel her breath hitch. “I understand that better than most. Nothing in this world is completely certain. Even the word of our gods is something that, at times, must be taken with a grain of salt.” He almost smiles saying that. You taught me this yourself. His thumb begins gingerly grazing her bottom lip. “But wouldn’t you want to pursue that which would yield you the most certainty?” Xiao can sense his feelings going awry once more. He breathes deeply and prolongs the exhale that follows, as if to ground himself. “That includes entering a relationship with...another mortal. Someone who can provide for you. Someone who is always present. Someone...whose love will not be lost to the whims of time.” He sighs in spite of himself, consciously commanding that his voice stay as level as possible. “Is that not what you want?”

Not even a second elapses before Keqing scoffs. Whether it’s ironic or not is completely lost on the adeptus, but what he does know for sure is the feeling of his other hand being claimed by hers — of it being lifted to her face, of it cupping her cheek.

”Do you even hear yourself right now? I’m not sure whether to call you foolish or stubborn, but that doesn’t matter right now.” She releases a breath. “What matters is you knowing, with absolute certainty, that no, isn’t at all what I want.” Keqing’s face nears his even more so. Lips, parted. Eyes, half-lidded. Xiao’s thumb moves to frame the curve of her chin.

”What I want is you.” Their lips brush for a fraction of a second. Her breath is a strange comfort, hot in his mouth. “Xiao, I choose you. For better or for worse. I want to spend this lifetime with you ... and if not that, then at the very least, every second of the time we’ve been allotted with each other. Nothing can hope to alter those facts — nothing except how you decide to proceed with this information.”

He opts to respond by, at long last, closing the last bit of distance that separates them. Lips pressed against lips, body pressed against body, hands pressed against hands.

They need not talk even after they pull away from each other, the tingling in their lips and blush sweeping their cheeks speaking volumes for themselves. Moments later, they’re close again – practically insoluble as they envelope the other in their arms, as their heads settle warmly atop each other’s shoulder.

There, they stay for a while.

There, they reconcile with their comfortable silence.

#he/him pronouns bc this is reference to 'canon' xiao but i had audie in mind when i wrote this #i said i was gonna write xiaoqing so #have a refurbished fic i typed up last month #i hate how cheesy this is but whatever!!!!#pda //#xiaoqing //#* RE : GUARDIANYAKSHA / sometimes we cannot bear the thing that we crave .#* CHARA. STUDY / waiting ; seething ; blooming .#* WRITING / my wit ? as sharp as keqing's sword .

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cno-inbminor · 5 years ago

Text

adsentio - the masque

a/n: it’s royalty!au once again! i would recommend reading adsentio AND bonus letters for the full context. thank you to those who were waiting patiently! did i rewatch ‘ever after: a cinderella story’ for inspiration? of course.

genre: royalty!au ft. fem!reader, angst, fluff; warnings: terribly written sword fight, somewhat unedited.

summary: You’re starting to wonder if an impostor wrote those letters instead of Prince Akaashi, but the show must go on.

wc: ~7.4k

royalty!au: adsentio (pt. 1) | bonus letters (pt 1.5) | the masque (pt. 2)

“Are you sure everything is packed?”

“Yes, mother,” you reply, voice laced with exasperation.

“Is your dress for the ceremony there as well? We absolutely cannot leave without that gown!”

“Yes, mother, it’s in there,” you reassure, pointing to a trunk that’s already in the carriage. An audible sigh of relief leaves your mother’s lips. Even though your mother’s fretting was starting to grate at your last nerves, you still felt the excitement of going back to the Fukurodani Kingdom.

After all, Prince Akaashi is waiting for you.

Akaashi’s Christmas gift had come a month and a half before the holiday it was intended for. Soon after, the two of you agreed to refrain from sending any letters during the months of frost, wanting to lessen the burden on the delivery man. He needed to be home with his family when possible, and the journey could be treacherous during those times. As warmer weather rolled around in mid-March, his familiar face had arrived at your castle steps with a small bundle of letters tied with parcel string. They were all addressed to you in a handwriting that you had grown extremely fond of.

If it were up to you, you would be adorned in your most comfortable riding attire and charge full speed ahead. You would probably be able to cut the journey time by about a third, and though it wasn’t much, it would still mean that you would see Akaashi sooner. With how forward he was in his letters, you could only bubble with enthusiasm at how different this summer could be.

Nevertheless, time passes as it does, and you’re once again at the entrance of Fukurodani’s castle. As always, the king and queen stand side by side at the bottom of the steps, the prince standing politely by them. It seems that Prince Akaashi has only grown more handsome since last summer. If you had to guess, he would be more than a full head taller than you. Besides height, Akaashi’s face seems to have lost any remaining baby fat, leaving nothing but a pointed chin and a sharp jawline. Whether or not it be a result of your newfound attraction towards him, there’s no room to deny just how handsome he truly is, bordering on ethereal beauty.

His piercing blue orbs seem to sparkle in delight when you step out of the carriage. In fact, he’s quick to take place of their usual footman and hold out a hand for you to grasp, securely ensuring that you don’t lose your step. Your grip is tight, and you can only hope that he sees the joy reflected in your own eyes. With intention and purpose, he presses his lips to the back of your hand, needing no reminder from his mother this time, and never removes his gaze from yours. Your breath seems to have escaped your lungs, even more so when he straightens and takes one daring step closer to you. Both of your parents must be brimming with satisfaction at this interaction, but all of it is ignored and disregarded. Akaashi still keeps your hand in his as he slightly leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You look beautiful as always, Princess (y/n).”

Your title had always moderately annoyed you over the last 18 years, but you decide then and there that there would be no complaint if he addressed you as so for the rest of eternity. Furthermore, if it weren’t for your dignity and pride, you would kiss him right now in front of everyone. As he pulls away, you do your best to compose yourself. After all, two can play this game.

“Thank you, Your Highness. You’ve grown more handsome since I last saw you.”

“Have we returned to formalities again?”

“Please forgive my old habits, Prince Akaashi.”

“(Y/n),” he murmurs darkly, metallic blue eyes full of warning and mischief. “Need I remind you of my given name?”

You register the tightening of his grip. Don’t even dare, his eyes seem to caution, not when so much progress was made through paper and ink. But you know he will rise to a challenge for his desires when he sees one – it’s only in his nature.

“Perhaps I need a reason to address you as such,” you quip, watching his eyes flash with an emotion you are unable to pinpoint. Nevertheless, you remove your hand from his, ignoring the yearning for the warmth that he had provided. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must greet the king and queen or they’ll have my head.”

Akaashi only watches with longing as you trek away to curtsy before his parents. Could your birthday celebration come any sooner?

You’re beginning to think that someone other than Prince Akaashi wrote those letters to you, that someone else had just forged his handwriting to a tee and perfectly replicated his writing style. Since the little interaction between you two on the day of your arrival, Akaashi was acting as if this were any other summer. Very little was said to or done with you – even last summer, the two of you had often strolled through the gardens while discussing various topics. Yet now, it was five summers ago all over again: the two of you at opposite ends of the castle reading your desired books.

You only ever saw him during mealtimes or in passing – even then, he would simply nod in your direction or only speak to you when he had to. Your efforts to narrow the gap diminished significantly by the third day, and by the end of the first week, you decided to completely give up. The prince has constructed a wall between you two and you possessed no ability to strike it down.

On days you weren’t reading, out of boredom and the need to fill your mind with thoughts of anything other than Akaashi, you would help prepare for the ball and your coming-of-age celebration. A private, proper ceremony would be done in your own kingdom once you returned, but it had long been determined that the festivities would be held here. Invitations and RSVP’s had steadily increased over the months, indicating that this would be a grand occasion. All the lessons on design and party-arrangement were finally paying off in its fullest, but your mother could not ignore the lack of life in your eyes.

It’s two weeks before the ball – you’re currently sitting in your chambers, lounging in a chair on your balcony with a book in your lap. You’ve recently taken an interest in philosophy, first starting with the works of Aristotle and Plato. A faint rap of knuckles on your door breaks your focus. “Come in,” you call out loud enough for your visitor to hear. The door clicks open and shut, and you’re mildly surprised to see your mother turning the corner to search for you.

“Mother, what a surprise,” you express while standing. She pulls you in for a hug without a word, only confusing you in the process as you return the embrace. After removing herself, she guides you back inside until the two of you are sitting on the edge of your bed, still holding your hands.

“Something has been bothering you, my child. Is there something you wish to tell me?” Your mother doesn’t want to push – she knows of the letters, your developed affection for Akaashi, and the lack of interaction between the two of you this summer. It’s hard to miss the lack of your figure by his side when he’s wondering around the castle, the ever pensive, calculating look on his face never fading. It’s hard to miss the way you often pick at your food, even going as far to request smaller portions for all your meals.

But it’s even harder to ignore the worried look in the prince’s eyes that’s cast your way when you excuse yourself after every meal, leaving earlier than everyone else.

You can only sigh before your teeth begin to gently gnaw on your bottom lip. “Mother, how angry would you be if this engagement doesn’t proceed as you’ve planned?”

“To be quite honest,” she begins as a small smile forms on her face. “I wouldn’t be angry at all. Not if the cost of it was your happiness.”

“But what about the merger?”

“With all these years between our kingdoms, engagement or not, a merger of sorts would only be inevitable. We only hoped that naturally, you and the prince would be drawn towards each other. But to force the two of you together would be unfair – your father and mine, as well as his parents, main concern is the happiness of our children.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” your mother emphasizes, a hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. “In fact, if you would like…

“We don’t have to come here next summer.”

Your eyes widen. Your mother was giving you a choice in this?

“Are you...sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive, (y/n). I will not force you and neither will your father, especially if forcing you would only make your pain greater.”

“Very well then, mother. We shall see.”

“Keep your chin up, my dear. We must keep you in your best shape for the ball, and…” she pauses, her smile turning somewhat mischievous. “Perhaps remind the prince that he should be properly courting you by now.”

“Mother!”

“Is it proper for a princess to be sparring?”

“Bokuto, you’ve known me for so many years, yet you still ask me this question every time. Do you really think my father would allow me to marry without knowing how to defend myself?”

“I can’t really say, Princess. At least, not without possibly offending the king.”

Every summer, you make it tradition to leave time for sparring. When you turned fourteen, many of the younger guards in training had been terrified of practicing with you, fearing that they’d be punished for engaging in behavior that could possibly harm the princess. But after much coaxing and convincing (as well as written promise from King Akaashi), they finally felt comfortable in sparring with you. Back at home, you had a few designated training partners from the royal guard, but it would do no good if you didn’t keep up with your skills.

You’ve won your fair share, as well as lost a few handfuls. But you were never a sore loser and only thanked your partner for their time, even asking for pointers. On a few occasions, you would duel with Akaashi, though for times when you were at an advantage, you would purposely lose. The prince needed faith and trust from his men, and many would be dimwitted enough to let a few losses to a woman diminish their view of him. Akaashi was very well aware of your generosity, as well as Bokuto, which only caused him to tease the prince relentlessly in private.

For the sixth time this summer, just one week before the masque, you had pleaded with Bokuto for his time. At this point, you prefer to not ask for anything from Akaashi, especially when you’re so obviously kept at arm’s length. Bokuto is much more agreeable and doesn’t treat you like a glass figurine, thanks to the many years of roughhousing during your childhoods. He isn’t afraid to use his full force behind the strikes of his sword and you could always guarantee a few good rounds from him. Additionally, he always offers a lot of good advice after each duel. When you incorporate his teachings into your skill set, he recognizes it immediately and howls with pride, praising himself for being such a wonderful instructor.

“Why haven’t you asked Akaashi to spar with you yet?” Bokuto asks while tightening his gloves. The training grounds are empty at this time, though to be fair, it’s still quite early in the morning. You wanted to spar comfortably without the overbearing heat of the summer afternoon sun. A sigh leaves your lips – it’s not as if he doesn’t know already.

“I believe you’re well aware of why I haven’t, Bokuto. He’s barely spoken to me in these weeks. In fact, I’m sure he has better things to do than to indulge me.”

“He still cares for you.”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it,” you reply bitterly and draw out your sword. “Come on, no time to dawdle.”

Disobeying your words, Bokuto bides his time with some extra stretching. “I’m his closest friend, I would know.”

“Then he can tell me himself. Can we please start?”

“Very well then.”

His words have riled you up significantly, Bokuto notices. Your attacks are relentless and your senses seem sharper than ever, easily dodging and parrying with the footwork of an experienced soldier. In fact, your movement is breathtakingly graceful, almost as if you were dancing. The duel goes on for minutes until Bokuto accidentally hesitates and can only surrender when the tip of your sword is millimeters from his neck. He drops his sword and a big grin forms on his face.

You lower your weapon and step back as the both of you catch your breath. Behind you, Bokuto spots a familiar figure leaning over the edge of their balcony. They’re too far away to hear what you’re saying or what expressions you’re wearing, but that doesn’t stop Bokuto from coming up with a devious plan.

“(Y/n), don’t look behind you, but he’s watching.”

You freeze – you completely forgot that Akaashi’s room faces the direction of the training grounds. Naturally, he has his own balcony, but you didn’t think he’d be watching. Had he been observing all your other sparring rounds? And how was he awake now? He’s usually never up this early.

“I have an idea,” Bokuto continues. “But you have to play along, all right?”

“I’m not liking the sound of this…”

“You just need to follow my lead. Now, pretend you’re about to start another duel.”

With all the confusion displayed on your face, you warily adjust yourself into your preparatory stance. Bokuto steps closer to you while sheathing his sword, eyeing your position with his hands behind his back. He quickly checks to see if Akaashi is still paying attention, and after confirming so, he enters your bubble of personal space.

“If you begin to feel uncomfortable, tell me. If I’m right, it’ll only take a few minutes before he’s down here.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Shh,” Bokuto interrupts with a gloved finger on your lips. He smirks when he spots Akaashi suddenly straightening himself, his posture turning stiff and guarded. You watch as he reaches for the hand holding your sword, wrapping his own around your grip.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at him.

“Wait a few seconds…okay,” Bokuto removes himself from your personal space. You relax and put down your guard, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm.

“What ever was all that for?!”

“Look,” he replies, pointing in the direction of Akaashi’s balcony. “He’s gone. I guarantee he’ll be here in the next five minutes.”

“Bokuto—”

“Now, now, let’s have another round to pass the time.”

“But—”

You’re interrupted when Bokuto swings his sword towards you, your own blocking his instinctively. You could try to protest all you want, but he wasn’t going to let you have it. You would make sure that he regrets it. Much like the first round, you put your all into the sparring session, fury growing as Bokuto’s grin widens over time. He’s taunting you over and over, leaving you so focused that you’re completely oblivious to the third figure currently making their way towards the two of you. Once within earshot, Akaashi clears his throat and you whip towards him with horror in your eyes.

“Ah, Akaashi, excellent! So glad you could join us!” Bokuto yells, walking away from you to clap him on the shoulder. “In fact, would you mind taking over from here? I just remembered I needed to attend to something back inside the castle. Thank you, Akaashi!” And then Bokuto just…leaves.

A shroud of silence covers the two of you – your attention is directed at anything but the object of your affections, choosing to focus on the dew of the grass, the glint of the light on your sword, the light morning breeze blowing past your stray hairs, the loose threads at the waist of your pants—

“Shall we begin?” He asks, breaking the tranquility.

Akaashi is infuriating; infuriatingly handsome, infuriatingly good at stripping down your defenses, infuriatingly adept at raising your heartbeat to an alarming rate. It’s simply unfair, and it angers you.

You say nothing while taking a few steps backward, your feet adjusting yourself in the same position that Bokuto had you stand in just mere minutes ago. Akaashi observes and also readies himself, his stance very similar to yours. Only seconds pass before he’s charging towards you, and the fight begins.

The first round falls in his favor, his face showing little reaction throughout the whole clash. You demand another round, barely giving time for a break because you’re brimming with the need to have some semblance of a victory. Weeks of pent up furious confusion make themselves known in the way you fight – you no longer move with the grace seen earlier with Bokuto. Instead, traces of sloppiness are there in your footwork and Akaashi takes advantage of this, though he begins to worry. If this were a real duel, you would’ve long fallen victim to his sword.

The second round lasts much longer than the first due to your obstinate refusal to back down and give up. Your braid had long come undone and Akaashi can’t help but think about how beautiful you look, even with your hair seemingly flying wildly every time you spin to try to catch him off guard. His split focus costs him when your weapons meet in the middle, allowing you to push and twist his hand around to force him to lose his grip. The metal is flung towards the side and he’s met with the shimmer of your sword that’s dangerously close to his jugular vein. He slowly brings his hands up in surrender and you falter.

Both of your chests rapidly rise and fall, lungs desperate for oxygen. Akaashi struggles to remember the last time you had put so much effort into a duel, your desperation to win screaming itself into the air. He notices how much thinner your face has gotten, how your arm slightly trembles with exhaustion. You need to rest and eat more, Akaashi concludes with furrowed eyebrows. Your well-being is of utmost importance to him.

You feel yourself begin to quiver under Akaashi’s stare, yet long to know what could be going through his mind. Even though you’ve won this round, Akaashi still has your heart and the thought somewhat embarrasses you. You’ve always prided yourself in being level-headed, yet you just spent the last thirty to forty-five minutes taking out all your frustrations on him.

“Have you been getting enough sleep, (y/n)?”

Don’t say my name like that.

“I don’t see why it matters,” you sigh, moving away to pick up his fallen sword.

“You need to look after yourself,” Akaashi replies, following after her with a slight sense of urgency. You whip around too fast for him to react, only groaning from the impact when you practically shove his weapon to his chest. Nothing prepared you for this conversation – you aren’t ready to have it, and you’d rather not have it with swords nearby.

“I am looking after myself, your highness,” you bite through gritted teeth. Your feet carry you as fast as possible towards the entrance back into the castle, but a hand latches onto your wrist and demands your attention. You have no choice but to turn your body towards him, denying that his eyes are flashing nothing but concern and frustration.

“You’re eating less. You’re always awake at odd hours. Your corsets are too tight – they look as if they’ll squeeze the life out of you. You keep pushing yourself too hard during sparring sessions. It takes you longer than usual to finish books. You’re under the sun too much—”

“You have no right!” you accuse, attempting to wriggle your wrist from his grip. Why does he speak as if he’s been keeping a watchful eye on you when he can barely meet your own over the dinner table?

Akaashi refuses to relent, even pulling you closer to him under the shadows of the doorway. “Please (y/n), you must know how much I worry—”

“Then pray tell, why have you ignored me since I stepped foot into your castle?!” You cry out, tears of vexation beginning to form. “Why have you ignored my very existence, as if we are twelve again and trying to escape something seemingly inevitable?! How could—how could you build me up for months and months, only to tear me down without a second thought?”

Akaashi knows his reasoning is botched and full of fallacies – he’s beginning to understand the extent of how much his actions have affected you, but he can’t help but try to save some face. His cool, collected façade and wisdom had long taken a backseat towards matters concerning you, and he feels like a fool. A big, bumbling, inexplicably irrational fool in love.

“Princess—”

“I would have no qualms if you had just outright told me that you didn’t care for me,” you interrupt once more, though in a calmer tone. Your body is still shaking from the emotional downpour, tears streaking down your cheeks unattractively. You wish you could just take a horse from the stables and ride home, away from all this nonsense. “But you can’t write me those letters, the very ones that I’ve so deeply cherished this passing year, and treat me as if it were all some dream that my brain so desperately sprung together.”

“I have my deepest regrets – I’m so sorry, it’s just…with the way we greeted each other on the first day, I somehow convinced myself that you didn’t mean what you wrote—”

“Keiji,” you interrupt softly. How he wishes you were saying his name in a different context, in a tone that was full of love than disappointment. How he wishes there were no salty tears tracking down your cheeks. “You have known me for almost thirteen years. Thirteen long, playful, revealing years. Nothing ever escapes you, and you said so yourself; we are old friends. Therefore,” you pause, gulping.

“Shouldn’t you know that I would never pen those words to just anyone?”

And you disappear into the castle.

Akaashi feels that there’s nothing more appropriate than beating his head into the wall, cursing himself for being so stupid.

What have I done?

“I must say, in the most appropriate sense, you are truly, royally fucked.”

“I know, Bokuto. I know.”

Akaashi tries to make up for his mistakes in his classic fashion: silently, with small thoughtful gifts.

He has resumed leaving flowers from the garden in your chambers again: some days, you return to a peony. Other days, you return to the addition a single rose in the ardent shade of passionate love. They accumulate on your dresser, your room becoming filled with the floral scents. The lingering fragrance haunts your dreams, filled with flashes of childhood memories and anticipated encounters at the masque. You often wake up feeling as if there’s a lead weight on your chest, and even though you physically slept for eight hours, the fatigue in your eyes vehemently argue otherwise.

Akaashi becomes insistent on escorting you everywhere, always offering his arm for you to take. At first, you’re hesitant, but just a day later, it becomes second nature. Akaashi joins you again when reading – if he can, he’ll take a seat next to you. If not, he’ll be sure to be across from you, though he’s not reading most of these times. He often carries a journal with him, assistants always prepared to provide him with a writing utensil and ink, and scribbles away. Akaashi has never held back his admiration for the world’s literature, and four days before your birthday, you pause in your reading to feed the curiosity.

“What are you scribbling in there, if I may ask?”

“A…personal work of sorts.”

“Your Highness, an author? I must say, it suits you. Is it a work of fiction?”

“Not this time,” he says with the ghost of a demure, secretive smile on his face. “You could consider it a memoir.”

“If you say so.”

It had been decided some time ago that the ball would be held the night before your birthday, rather than the day of. These events were known to last well into the night, so at midnight, they would make an announcement in your honor and present you before everyone invited. With these change in plans, your original deadline for Akaashi to find you had to be moved ahead, and he was less than pleased to hear this the day before the ball, even though it was anticipated.

“Fifteen minutes is precious time, Princess,” Akaashi expresses with displeasure. “Could you permit me at least five ‘til midnight?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, milord. I must have enough time to prepare myself.”

“Have I only been upgraded to being called ��milord’?”

“How is it that your title irks you so?”

“Only when it’s coming from you, Princess. And I must say, you’re one to speak – don’t think I’m unaware of how much you greatly dislike it when you’re addressed as such. You’ve never bothered to correct me though. Why is that?”

“Perhaps…” you say, giving him a side glance full of mirth. “Perhaps you’re just an exception.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen a bit before crinkling with delight. You never cease to amaze him, reminding him at the most unexpected times that you are also invested in this growing relationship with him. He quickly looks around him before gently dragging you to the nearest empty bedroom, hoping that even though the walls have ears, they don’t have the eyes to witness this. Once the door is quietly shut behind him, Akaashi begins to take slow steps in your direction, towering over you and crowding you until your heels hit the wall. You struggle to maintain eye contact as well as keeping your breathing under control. Akaashi continues to pin you down with his piercing gaze, gradually bending down until he’s at eye level with you. Thoughts run amok in your brain as his face nears yours. Is he going to—

Your internal process ceases when he tenderly places a kiss at the corner of your lips, then moving until his breath is right by your ear. The sensation triggers a shiver down your spine, causing him to chuckle.

“To give you an idea of what I’d like my reward to be when I catch you tomorrow night, Princess,” he murmurs before moving away.

You’re blushing furiously no matter how much you fight it, barely registering when he lifts both of your hands to place a similarly gentle kiss on your touching knuckles. Part of you wants to protest when he steps towards the door and cracks it open, peeking out to see if anyone is lingering in the corridors. Akaashi keeps a hold on one of your hands, quickly leading you out and folding it into the crook of his other elbow. He fixes his gaze in front of him to bring on an air of normalcy, as if he didn’t just sneak you into a spare bedroom to do something that many would somewhat frown upon. Akaashi had yet to ask to formally court you, but he has full intentions to change that tomorrow night.

“Perhaps you’ll give me an insight on what you’ll be wearing tomorrow night?” He inquires cheekily and you send him your dirtiest glare.

“Only in your dreams, milord. Did you not read the part about making this harder on you so I could have some fun?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have fun with each other?”

“Do you mean to tempt me?” You tease, chuckling into the back of your free hand.

“There was no guarantee that you’d refuse – am I not allowed to grasp onto any remaining hope?”

“Whatever satisfies you, milord.”

“Then let me find you tomorrow night. I don’t believe I’ll stand for any of the other suitors attempting to whisk you away with baseless words and ill intentions.”

“What would you know of their intentions?” You ask curiously, looking up towards him. His eyes darken and harden with an emotion you’re not familiar with. It’s one that is never directed towards you, almost dangerous in a way.

“More than you should know, Princess,” he replies gravely.

Before you realize it, you’re sitting in front of your vanity, sitting as prettily and patiently as you can while your handmaiden, Yachi, does her best work on your hair. You observe your current features – a faint blush had been dusted on your cheeks and a deep rouge painted on your lips. Your mask would be similar to many those of the other attendees, one more thing to pull in your favor in this game of cat and mouse.

Your heart begins to beat faster as the seconds tick by – there’s no doubt that Akaashi is already by his parents’ side, carrying a princely aura and politely greeting all the guests. The ball began at 9PM and it was already thirty minutes after. You can hear the faint sounds of the musicians playing up a lively theme, imagining that the festivities will be in full swing soon. Soon, your handmaiden is patting you on the shoulder, notifying you that she was done. In the mirror, you turn your head left and right and nod appreciatively, thanking her for her hard work. Your fingers shakily pick up your mask and Yachi ties it securely behind your head and underneath your hair.

“Do you think he’ll recognize me?” You ask nervously, fiddling your fingers in your lap. Yachi knew almost everything about the ordeal and had even come up with some good ideas to make things harder on the prince.

“If he keeps in mind that you’ll be the most beautiful maiden at the ball, then I’m sure he will,” Yachi giggles, tucking in some stray hairs.

“You’re not here to lie to me,” you whine, pouting slightly. “In all seriousness…”

“I have no doubt, milady,” Yachi says, her eyes and tone softening. “If His Highness likes you as much as he says he does, then he will certainly find you.”

You let out a deep breath before standing from your chair, the nerves beginning to course through your system. In the reflection, you gaze upon the line of flower-filled vases on your dresser, their presence somehow bringing you some serenity. Yachi is right -- with how much he boasted in letters about studying every memory he has of you, there should be a reasonable level of certainty that he would catch you by your deadline.

But now was the time to be festive. After all, the guests were here in your honor (and to have a joyous time) and you’d be rude to not partake in the activities. Some of the maids are bustling around, ensuring that drinks and food are readily available, never running low. The sound of your heels clicking along the granite echoes against the walls, yet your heartbeat seems louder and louder as you near the ballroom. The castle beholds two specific large ballrooms with double doors towards the courtyard, allowing the cool summer air in. You take a quick detour and choose to enter the ballroom from the outside, much less likely to arouse suspicion.

At least everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, you think to yourself with a smile. It’s easy to spot Bokuto in the crowd with that hair of his, just as you predicted. The band just finishes a song when you sneak in, yet starts up a familiar tune not long after. The piece calls for a large group to dance together, and wanting to join in, you make your way to the center. Luckily, one more female was needed and you are welcomed, as well as gently shoved to a tall man who seemed to be lacking a partner. It’s not hard to guess who it is, however. Even with a mask, you could recognize that crooked grin from anywhere.

As per tradition, he bows to you and you curtsy, then routinely placing your hand in his. He draws you close to him by the waist, but his grip is light and barely holds any weight on your back. Taking a quick once-over at the group, he addresses you.

“Should I be counting my lucky stars to be dancing with the princess in honor?” He teases just loud enough for you to hear.

“I would advise against it, Prince Kuroo.”

A quiet laugh leaves his chest as he gives you a spin, flawlessly bring you back to him. “You can trust me, Princess. Bokuto has already informed me of the game in place, though I suppose it was more of a warning more than anything.”

“Oh, how so?”

“If I didn’t want to face the wrath of your dear prince, I should refrain from attempting to convince you that a merger between our kingdoms would be more ideal.”

“I must say, I’m a little surprised that Bokuto isn’t trying to stir up trouble.”

“I would advise against speaking too soon – he’s already on his third glass of mead.”

“Good gods,” you mutter in disbelief. Kuroo shakes with laughter.

“For my amusement, I’d like to see Akaashi be a clumsy fool in love. You have my word that I’ll keep this interaction secret for now,” he promises, rushing his words a little bit. Soon, the two of you will need to break apart and switch partners.

“But don’t forget to have a little fun. Happy birthday, Princess,” Kuroo says sincerely in your ear, sneaking in a quick kiss to the back of your hand before letting you go. You fall into the hands of another male, one you don’t recognize, and fall into silent routine until the dance is over. When the band comes to a stop, everybody bows to each other with a wide smile on their faces and cheeks tinted red from happiness. Momentarily, you had forgotten about your nerves and Akaashi, but now that there was nothing else to focus on, the shivers of being chased creep along your body.

In one sense, it’s almost thrilling. The thought has you questioning your own sanity, but perhaps it’s only because Akaashi is the one searching for you, finding the right time to pounce. As a result, you never stay in one place for too long, mingling into other crowds and making small talk. Very few have noticed who you were, and even Bokuto replaces his antics for a wink when he passes by you, knowing his usual behavior would give it all away.

The clock strikes eleven, each toll causing your heart to skip a beat. You grant yourself one more glance towards Akaashi.

Earlier during the dance, you had spotted him in the far corner of the ballroom staring in another direction. Now when you have the time to watch and appreciate, you can’t help but marvel at how beautiful this man is. Time boded well on him, his features and height resembling a strong, trustworthy young prince. He had the intellect and perceptive level worthy of being king, and even the atmosphere around him agreed. His head was fit to hold a crown, and any woman would fall at his feet in seconds. Tonight, he is donned in the kingdom’s colors, his own attire a regal show of ivory, ebony, and gold. The design is not overly ornate or flamboyant, yet regal enough to instantaneously remind others exactly who he is. Each hue makes him shine like a beacon of light in darkness.

Needing some fresh air, you slip out towards the courtyard and quietly make your way to the garden entrance. A couple of guards are standing watch but let you in once you untie the mask from your face. Your feet pad down a familiar path towards the rows of peonies and you’re thankful for the uninhibited rays of the full moon tonight. They’re cast in a soft glow of white and blue – you can’t help but tenderly touch petals of one half-open.

“I had an inkling that you would come here.”

The familiar tenor startles you out of your wits, your hand flying back up to your chest as you turn towards the perpetrator for your premature heart attack. None other than Prince Akaashi stands before you with his hands behind his back and a twinkle in his eyes. Then, the weight is lifted off your chest.

He had found you.

Once you catch your breath, you can only let out a suppressed laugh. There was nowhere to hide, not when your mask is grasped between the fingers of your other hand. He hadn’t even bothered to wear one, though you’ll scold him later for not participating in the festivities.

“I suppose you followed me here?”

“You could say that,” Akaashi replies with a smile, moving closer to stand right in front of you.

“It did take you over an hour and a half though.”

“(Y/n).”

“…yes, milord?”

“I noticed you the second you stepped into the ballroom.”

The statement baffles you and freezes you to the core. You find yourself unable to do anything when Akaashi grasps both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips much like he did yesterday.

“Then why did you not come to me then?” You question after finding your voice again. Akaashi says nothing at first, only rearranging your limbs to a familiar posture for a waltz. He begins to step and lead, your own feet naturally following him as if you’ve been practicing this for a long time together. His silence makes you grow more unsure of all this.

“I wanted to observe, reconfirm my suspicions that I was already fully convinced on. In addition, I wanted you to enjoy yourself. You and our mothers have spent so many months preparing this – it’s only right that you enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Then you saw me dance?”

“Yes, and you were the best of them all,” he instantly compliments, always honest and straightforward to the point, sending blood to your cheeks.

“Thank you, milord,” you reply sheepishly.

“You’re welcome, Princess. Though I must say,” Akaashi’s tone turns dangerous, leaning over to whisper in your ear. He notices how your hands tighten their grips on his, perhaps trying to ground yourself. “Why did Prince Kuroo of Nekoma speak to you like this, so intimately? I thought, perhaps, this would also be left as a privilege solely for me?”

“He was doing just as you had warned before,” you chuckle, silently apologizing for pulling the wool over Kuroo’s eyes. Judging by the sharp inhale, Akaashi was less than pleased at what you were insinuating. “He may or may not have been attempting to persuade me into forming a more personal alliance with his kingdom.”

“Was he now…” Akaashi murmurs. In an effort to contain the green jealousy rising within him (and gain a little leverage), his hands slowly release yours to gently grasp your waist. For a moment, he wishes they were holding you this way in a different situation, but that doesn’t stop him from daringly ghosting his lips over the column of your neck, his breath sending goosebumps along your skin. You keep as still as possible, completely unsure of what to do. But if there’s one thing that is certain, it’s that no man could ever have an effect on you like Akaashi does.

“I have known you since you were young,” he proceeds. “And though we didn’t want anything to do with each other, we eventually grew accustomed to each other. Before I even realized it, I was watching your every move, listening to every word you said. Even when we were twelve, I found myself wanting to be near you. I wanted you to take notice of me just as I did you. When we were fifteen and you sat against me by the fireplace…there was the most wonderful sense of belonging, as if you were supposed to be right there by my side.”

Your heart might fail you at this point, aching for the man who was now lifting his head away to face you. The back of one hand lifts to caress your cheek, and your eyes catch the ardent passion in his, even in the moonlight.

“I penned those words to you with every intention of properly courting you. I wished for you to understand the lengths I would go to ensure your happiness. It was never about this merger between our kingdoms and hasn’t been for a long time. I only want you to know that should you allow me to, it would be my honor to court you and perhaps…be your husband.”

Unshed tears of joy are brimming in your eyes. Akaashi has suffered enough, you believe. A tear must have escaped because he catches it with his thumb, softly wiping it away. You can’t help but let out a breathless laugh, and Akaashi knows it’s a good sign. The smile on his face grows wider as you collect yourself to give your response.

“You do, after all, deserve a reward for finding me.”

Akaashi smirks and tilts his head forward, his lips millimeters away from yours.

“And what would that be, Princess?” He purrs.

Your heart takes a leap and you press your lips to his. Instantly, Akaashi cradles your face, refusing to separate from you. The first kiss is innocent and unmoving, allowing the both of you to revel in the sensation. A thrilling streak of adrenaline courses through your veins and sets your soul on fire as he puts more force, conveying to you his neediness and years of pent-up desire. You return it ounce for ounce until you can’t breathe anymore, pulling back to breathe in some much-needed oxygen. Akaashi doesn’t stop, sensuously kissing every available surface of your cheeks until he’s tired of waiting to kiss your lips once more. You give in and let yourself fall until the point of no return – even if Akaashi was the devil incarnate, you would gladly hand over your soul for an eternity of his love.

“As much as I want to continue this,” he states over bated breath. “We have a ball to return to.”

You sigh and nod, brushing your nose against his before allowing some distance between the two of you. Akaashi offers to tie the mask before taking hold of your hand, folding it into the crook of his elbow as he has done many times before. The two of you bide your time as much as possible, giving each other knowing glances when the courtyard is within your view again. Some of the ladies (and men) throw you nasty looks for having had private time with the prince, but none of it matters as Akaashi asks for a dance, spending the rest of the minutes until midnight with you in his arms.

After midnight strikes and being presented to the crowd, Akaashi keeps a hold on you again, ignoring the jeering and teasing gestures from Bokuto and Prince Kuroo. Kuroo, the ever honest yet playful man he is, sends you a wink behind Akaashi’s back and you bury your face into his chest. Whatever the cause may be, Akaashi continues to envelop you in his arms with a light and comfortable conversation taking place. As a natural silence passes over, he whispers into your ear, “Happy birthday, Princess.”

“Thank you, Keiji.”

Ecstasy fills his soul -- there hasn’t been anything more gratifying or more satisfying than hearing his name from your lips again. Finally, from now until death...he feels absolutely complete.

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wayward-riana · 5 years ago

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The Lost Silhouette | Part Two | Thomas Shelby

Summary: After Grace’s death, Tommy had closed his heart off but when he marries the new female detective of the Crime Investigation Department of Birmingham only for protection from the law, his cold exterior starts melting.

Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Mentions of sadness. Brief cursing.

A/N: 'Gypsy' is a song by Fleetwood Mac. Let's pretend that it existed back in the 1920s. I just thought that it'd go so well with this chapter. I really hope you all genuinely enjoy this. I had a lot of fun writing this.

youtube

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Most nights Tommy likes to have Charlie beside him at night, while he's sleeping. Other nights, Charlie sleeps in his cot that is situated in his father's grand bedroom. Although, Y/N insisted that Charlie sleeps on her bed tonight, beside her. Tommy allowed it.

Now that he lays in his cold and lonely bed with a cigarette in his hand, he feels restless. Restless knowing that his boy isn't in the room with him. So, he throws on a loose shirt and marches towards Y/N's room.

As Tommy stands outside her door, he can hear a cry flowing out of the room. He slowly creaks the door open and relief washes through him when he sees Charlie.

Charlie clings onto Y/N's body as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Tommy sees Y/N is sat on the bed, while she holds Charlie very gently against her and soothingly rubs his back.

So I'm back to the velvet underground

Back to the floor that I love

To a room with some lace and paper flowers

Back to the gypsy that I was

To the gypsy that I was

Tommy is taken aback by the sweet melody that flows out of Y/N's mouth. He is surprised by how sweet her voice is. But her voice also has an endearing rasp to it. Only voice that ever sounded good to him was Grace's. He never expected to appreciate anyone's voice after her's, let alone Y/N's.

The words that Y/N sung had stitched themselves like a thread, into his heart. The words take him back to Small Heath. They remind him of a much simpler time. They remind him of the happiness that he knew of, before the war. They remind him of the man he was. A man who knew how to laugh. A man who knew how to love life.

And it all comes down to you

Well, you know that it does, well

Lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice

Oh and it lights up the night

And you see your gypsy

You see your gypsy

Did Thomas Shelby hope for a life without pain? Absolutely. But hope is not in his body, anymore. Hope is something he has thrown away, a long time ago. Pain has made him who he is and he doesn't know if it's for the best or not. Before all this, he had a God. A God that he said his prayers to but he lost that as well.

He lost everything. Fucking everything.

To the gypsy that remains

Her face says freedom, with a little fear

I have no fear

I have only love

And if I was a child

And the child was enough

Enough for me to love

Enough to love

If he gives Y/N a chance, will she end up dying too? If he loves her, will she be taken away from him too?

Doesn't matter. He won't let anyone in, anymore. He made that mistake once. Not again. Besides, he's content with what he has. Charlie.

Charlie is all he needs.

She is dancing away from you now

She was just a wish

And her memory is all that is left for you now

You see your gypsy, oh

You see your gypsy

The tears stream down Tommy's face like raindrops on a cold-blurry window. He doesn't even bother wiping them away. He puts the cigarette up to his lips and inhales the toxic smoke, that brings him peace.

And it all comes down to you

Lightning strikes

Maybe once, maybe twice

I still see your bright eyes, bright eyes

Y/N wipes her own eyes as she finishes the song. She looks down and sees Charlie sleeping, oh, so peacefully. She smiles and presses a gentle kiss on his head, before she slowly puts him down on the bed. She covers him with a blanket and delicately runs her finger across his cheek while staring down at him, lovingly.

Tommy watches Y/N's every single movement. He realises that she truly loves his son and genuinely cares for him. It makes him feel happ - no - satisfied with his choice to bring her in.

The overwhelming smell of smoke hits Y/N. A smell that isn't found in her room, ever. She snaps her head and looks at the doorway to see Tommy leaning against the doorframe. With a cigarette in his hand, of course.

Instead of calling out to him to ask if he needed anything, she climbs out of bed, not wanting to wake up the sleeping child. She slowly approaches Tommy and holds her dressing gown tightly against her body.

"Tommy, did you need someth -"

She stops mid-sentence when she notices his tear-stained face. She also notices tears in the corners of his eyes.

Y/N instinctively reaches out to wipe a tear droplet that slowly rolls down his temple. He watches her intently, as she does. His skin is soft beneath her gentle fingertips. She quickly realises what she's doing and regains her composure.

"What's wrong, Tommy?" Genuine concern is etched all over her face as she questions him. "Is everything all right?"

"The song...that you sang. Where is it from?" He croaks out.

Embarrassment dawns upon her as she realises he's heard her sing. She bites her lip and stares at the ground.

This is so unlike the two of them.

Tommy is always very emotionless and composed, but here he stands, broken and tearful.

Y/N is always incredibly confident and quick-witted, but now she found herself unable to speak properly and is a mess under Tommy's stare.

"I wrote it." She admits, slowly looking up from the ground. She gazes into his beautifully broken blue eyes. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, clearly impressed with her skill that he never knew she had.

"It's good." He compliments.

She blushes and nods at him, not being able to trust her voice to thank him.

Tommy sighs and stands up straight.

"You must be tired. I'll let you rest." Tommy states.

"I'm really not tired. You can come in and...talk,"

Y/N stares up at him, expectantly.

"If you'd like." She adds.

He barely shrugs, "All right."

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"What is the meaning behind the song?" Tommy asks as he lights up another cigarette. "I mean, what does it mean to you?"

"In London, where I grew up, there was an area where only the gypsies lived. No one went there, and by no one I mean, the elites. But my parents always did. Even though, they were part of the upper class, they didn't care about status. They always interacted with them, and most of my best friends were gypsies. I practically grew up with them. So I refer to myself as 'the gypsy that I was' because it makes me feel more grounded. It reminds me of the people that I've known and the people that I grew up with. Also, to remind myself that the people I love are gone, but I am not. I'm still here.

My best friend, James, died in the war. He was a gypsy, too. I'd known him my entire life. We were supposed to get married after he returned but that never happened due to the war. My father also died. I didn't know how to cope with the losses. So I put my heart and soul in this song. My grief is buried beneath these words.

The velvet underground stands for the velvet carpet in my father's bedroom. The lace and paper flowers were what James's family's house was decorated with. So yeah, little things like that makes the song so significant to me. That's what it means to me, I guess. Love and grief."

Y/N immediately shuts up as she realises she has rambled on for so long.

"Were you ever able to let go of that grief?"

She didn't expect Tommy to ask such emotional questions. She opens her mouth but is unable to string words together. She sighs and thinks about her answer before finally she speaks.

"Yes, I was. It took me some time to come to terms with it, but I did. I had to remind myself that none of it was under my control. Death isn't something anyone of us can control. You never know when one of us will be gone. Tomorrow is never promised. We're living on a borrowed time. I was unable to live my life. I was numb. I felt like everything was over. But then I realised you shouldn't be upset over things that you cannot control. Then, I eventually accepted it and moved on with my life. It's not like I've let go of Papa and James. I've let go of the grief. Their memories are still with me. They always will be."

Tommy judged Y/N very quickly, when he first met her. He would've never guessed that she has gone through so much.

"I know losing your wife must've been really difficult for you and I also know that you blame yourself for it but as I said before, you shouldn't be upset over things that you cannot control."

Her doe E/C eyes stare into Tommy's blue ones. The strong emotions in her eyes makes him uneasy. Uneasy because he can't afford to feel again.

The pair had talked all night long and before they knew it, the sun was up. Y/N reminded herself, it was nothing just a tough night for Tommy and he needed someone to talk to. That's it.

However, deep down inside her, she hoped that this was a start of something. Maybe 'Shelby' won't just be a legal name, anymore. Maybe, it'll be the name she shares with someone she loves and who loves her back. Maybe, she'll finally feel like she is Mrs. Y/N Shelby. Maybe, she'll finally feel like she's Thomas Shelby's other half. Maybe, he'll finally realise that she is more than just a spare.

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I hope you all enjoyed part two. Part three will be up real soon so stay tuned. I really hope you all enjoyed this. R, xxx.

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@sxperncturalimpala67 @lovemissyhoneybee

#thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine

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outroshooky · 5 years ago

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no halo | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (brief angst, fluff, smut) (exestolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader, bestfriend!min yoongi x reader

⇢ word count: 5.3k

⇢ audio: brockhampton’s ginger album

⇢ warnings: brief angst (it’s exes to lovers, what do you expect), a smoking mention, some varied cursing; implied and explicit smut (soft!! body worship). there’s a happy ending, i promise.

⇢ a/n: i sat down at my laptop today, turned on no halo by brockhampton, and started writing. six hours later, i cannot believe that i managed to smash a brutal writer’s block by churning this out in literally one day. i hope that this is a bit of bright light for you, dear reader, in a time where nothing seems to be going your way. you will make it through no matter how messy or uncertain life seems to be, and you will come out on the other side all the more stronger for having survived it.

Believe it or not, it’s the pair of battered red Converse slung over his shoulder that tips the whole thing over the edge.

It’s inexplicable. Perhaps it’s the memories attached to it, knotted and strung through metal rivets scuffed with night rides and hard asphalt. Tastes like cigarette smoke and ashen dreams wafting from the driver’s side window, but there’s something more bitter there. Heartbreak veins, like you’d expect them to pulse with anything but. They say love doesn’t last when it’s not built on something solid, but somehow, heady summer nights and network love aren’t enough to pass the time.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with those?” It bites, thickened with venom. Somewhere far-off is a headboard banging, curses of those stupidly thin walls of the motel complex.

“They’re mine,” Yoongi says. Which they are. Unfortunately. “I need them to like, go outside and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back.

“A ray of sunshine you are,” he remarks. “Any particular reason you feel like biting my head off in this shitty hotel room?”

The silence explains absolutely nothing. What he doesn’t know is that it’s not his fault. It’s right there in the middle of the dingy carpet, cracked and bleeding, privy to one and one alone. You’re too stubborn and he’s too good and here you find yourselves, locked at an impasse. He doesn’t know how good he is, how he’s patched your wounds up with wind in your hair and sand between your toes. He tries his best; it’s better than anything you would allow yourself, a luscious pleasure in such a stark world. So you settle for what you’ve got, and he shakes his head.

“You know you can come to me, right? About what’s on your mind?”

You finger the fraying tear in the bedspread, the cotton crumbling between your thumb and index.

“Look, I’m not good at this feelings thing and you know that. But you’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want to hear you out, okay? Whatever you’re thinking about. You’re not gonna hurt me; it’s not like I haven’t been through the ringer myself. You’re not so different, yeah?” Yoongi’s eyes search your own for acceptance. Defeat. Anything at all. “You’re not some kind of lost cause because one asshole in particular who shall not be named made you feel that way. Maybe it was two assholes. Whatever. Your worth isn’t dependent on their opinion of you.”

It feels like rambling but burns like an iron, sears through the darkness hovering over your consciousness, casting shadow. That thing twitches, bent and broken deep inside, staining down the bedsheets and spilling onto the beige carpet. He’s hit home, and Yoongi knows it when the defiance in your brow drains, floodwater evaporating against the creamy popcorn ceiling. He’ll forever hold that he doesn’t have a way with words; you’d kindly argue the opposite.

“I’m sorry, Yoon.” You look up at him for the first time since you’d woken up on opposite sides of the same bed. Something about childhood innocence preserves moments like those, in spite of years gone past since the last time you shared a bed like that. Nothing dirty about needing companionship in the form of a brother you’d had since you’d skipped stones down at the pond in grade school. He knows you intrinsically, like the scars that cross his knees and the freckles that dot his neck, no better and no less. “You deserve better than the way I’ve been treating you. Because you’re right, you know. But right now, it hurts.”

“Hurt doesn’t make you any less human. It’s a part of life. And it’s okay to hurt sometimes. Just don’t let it consume you till there’s nothing left.” He readjusts the shoes tied together by one string, sitting on the narrow angular of his shoulder. “Breakfast ends in an hour. I’ll grab you something and bring it back, and then we’ll figure out what to do next, yeah? I don’t have work till Tuesday, so we don’t have to be back for a few days more.” He pauses in the doorway. “Oh, and for the record, fuck Kim Taehyung. I’ll knock his teeth through his ass for the shit he put you through.”

The small smile you crack brings a toothy grin to his own visage. “Excellent advice.”

There’s a wry fondness dancing in the deep russet of his pupils, burning umber in the low light. “I try.”

Fuck Kim Taehyung. The exact advice you needed to hear, and the exact advice you decided to act upon, in exactly all of the wrong ways.

It’s the number that is stamped on your brain like a fifty-dollar tattoo— not necessarily the most tasteful, a pain in the ass to remove. Unfortunately, it is the tattoo that your thoughts like to trace with gentle fingers, rubbing at the lines, blurring the edges. Laser removal takes time and patience, but the contrary nestles in the form of stupid decisions and late-night mistakes. Like a dead battery on your Wrangler at 1am on the back streets, a useless cell phone, and three weeks of time to think.

Grief gave way to rage gave way to kindling coals of sadness, burning low but bright enough to light your way. Gone were your attempts to fan them back into the roaring bonfire those motel walls once contained, but here were your best efforts to cradle them close, nurture them that they might die out on their own, and most of them had. Moving on tasted ginger-sweet and minty-bitter, the chill in the air as the leaves tumbled and crunched underfoot, ignited with reds and yellows and everything in between. A summertime flame left for the autumn rain.

Pour the rain did, leaking rivulets down the windshield as you sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard. In times like these you’d call Yoongi, but he didn’t get off work till the morning and an impossibly timed dead zone did nothing to help your wireless suffering. Nighttime meant comfort for souls like yours, an escape into the quiet of dusk when everyone else sought the dreamy confines of sleep. Unfortunately, it meant that everyone else sought sleep while you were cursedly awake and stuck in the downpour. No place to go, no one to find.

You let your head fall forward and hit the steering wheel with a thunk. Fuck.

Knock knock.

It’s a glance to the left, out the driver’s side window that reveals a silhouette framed in darkness, wrapped in a thick coat, peering through the glass. Hand raised to brow and you can’t help the involuntarily yelp that leaves your mouth from the sheer proximity of the stranger. The figure flinches back in response, and you can’t help the immediate pang of worry. You can’t afford to miss a chance for help, but you also can’t roll down the window, and thus you’re opening the door and squinting into the rain as it blusters through the open gap. “Hello, I’m sorry, my cell phone isn’t working, is it possible for me to borrow yours so I could call somebody to pick me up?”

“Wait, what?” The stranger hunches slightly, peering through the watery onslaught. “Is that who I think it is?”

Oh god.

Oh god no.

The sheer absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you, not like the way relief is wrapping that thick timbre around yourself like a familiar blanket. The irony of your car happening to die only a few blocks away from that little blue two-story, the coincidences of such a familiar stranger going out for a stroll in the middle of a fucking rainstorm. Of course he had to.

“Unfortunately,” you can’t help but grimace. “Taehyung, what the fuck are you doing out here in weather like this?”

You can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It almost aches. “Are you saying this isn’t ideal weather to take a walk and enjoy the fresh air?”

“No,” you reply bluntly. Infuriatingly positive he is, always has been. “Ideal weather isn’t a fucking thunderstorm.”

“Mm.” The momentary quiet, save the rainfall, hints at what goes unsaid. “So what are you doing out here?”

You bristle. How to formulate a response that would not warrant help, but also warrant help? “I was out taking a late-night drive and stopped to take a break. I was getting drowsy and I prefer to be a responsible driver, so I pulled over to make sure I was awake enough to drive home.”

“What a considerate person you are!” Taehyung trills, and you’re almost positive it is completely unironic. “How are you feeling then? Do you think you’ll be able to drive home?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be fine.” A tight smile. Polite. It takes every ounce of will to not study him deeper, all of the curves and edges hidden snugly in the darkness. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s raining really hard as well; you won’t be able to see well even if you aren’t feeling drowsy.” There’s genuine concern in his tone, warmth bubbling from his throat like liquid sunshine. Maddening. But he’s right; he’s shining a bright light through the flimsy veil of your lies and you’re pinned. Even more maddening.

“Taehyung, it’s—” you clamp your mouth shut because in a slip of the tongue, you were that close to letting anger seep into your tone. That close to losing your stance as the better man, but the line of who exactly is the better man is smudged beyond sight in the downpour. You take a deep breath. Start again. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Lightning flashes, jolting the clouds and cleaving them in two. The very world could be coming down in tatters around him and Taehyung wouldn’t think twice about being his everyday self, annoyingly cheery and maddeningly gentlemanly. You swear you see a flash of teeth, a boxy smile despite the water dripping from his umbrella, striking the pavement with an irregular heartbeat. Not your own, of course. “Nonsense! We can’t have you left out here to soak like this. Come on, you can drive us home!”

Oh my god, he certainly has not disappeared quicker than the very implication left his mouth. He is not shaking his head like a dog shedding wetness, nor opening the passenger’s side and hopping in, pausing to fold his umbrella in the gap before pulling the door neatly shut. You are not seated in your dead Wrangler with your ex-boyfriend at one-thirty in the morning in the middle of the very heavens coming apart with a religious fervor.

Taehyung brushes his wet hair out of his face, dribbling water down his cheeks. For all of your expectations, he looks no different than when you saw him last, standing on the curb with all the world’s joys flickering in his pretty almond eyes. The shadows cast his profile in a gaunter light, sweeping down the hollows of his jawline, his cheekbones; your fingers tighten around the door handle. Apparently, three weeks might not change much after all.

“Oh sorry, did I rush you?” He opts to ignore your blank-eyed stare of shock, reaching out to you before pausing, his hand outstretched to touch you. “I didn’t mean to rush you if you’re not ready to drive yet. We can sit here as long as you’d like! There’s no rush for me to be home. I just wanted to get out of the rain; it was starting to soak through my umbrella!”

For all of this, you can manage a brief: “Yeah.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go!” The optimism in his voice is painful.

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah!”

“I lied.”

You don’t need to look at him to know the way his forehead will furrow. “What?”

“Gah!” You can’t help pinching your brow between two fingers. “I can’t fucking believe this—”

“Believe what?” Blinking doe-eyes, long lashes wet and thick in the dimness.

“Taehyung, my car battery died three blocks from your house and my cell phone isn’t working, and now I’m sitting here with my ex-boyfriend in the passenger’s seat and I have no fucking idea how I ended up here.” You sigh. “Do you not see the irony in this?”

He blatantly ignores the gesture towards the massive elephant basically perched on the center console. “No wonder your car is off! We’ll walk then.”

“Taehyung, please just make it easier for the both of us and l—”

It’s no use. Dear god. How you had ever put up with him, shared a bed with him is currently escaping you, but regardless of this, he is already out of the car as the words punctuate empty air. Weighing options is impossible when you have none to choose from.

“-use my phone to call somebody to pick you up!” The driver’s side door opens and he’s there, right there, not across the console or the bar or whatever. Right there. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

“Kim Taehyung, for god’s sake, I am your ex-girlfriend!” The exclamatory stops him in his tracks. Finally. “Why are you helping me?”

The rain pours rivulets down his black slicker, drenching his hair and bunching along his shoulders and running down his arms. And yet, he brushes the water from his brow with a swipe of his thumb, peers at you, sneakered feet planted firmly in the asphalt. He raises a finger to the sky, smiles— not a half-smile, lopey and lop-sided, but a true grin, squared and gummy and full of wonder. “Ideal weather.”

“Kim Taehyung, you are absolutely ridiculous—”

“Ideal!”

“So let me get this straight,” Yoongi grits as you sit across from him, your frame molded into the plush of his second-hand loveseat. “Your car died on the back streets, coincidentally three blocks from Kim Taehyung’s house, who is— just to double check— the asshole who shredded your relationship, and he happened to be out for a walk in the rain and stumbled across you in your car, and offered to take you back to his house and let you stay there till morning until you could get me to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“What the actual fuck.”

You gesture at him with your free hand, the other occupying a mug of steaming tea. “Join the club.”

“Just to double check, we’re talking about the same Kim Taehyung. The dude who you officially dated for a solid four months but fucked around with long before that. That guy, right? That Taehyung?”

You release a deep breath; the steam rising from your mug winds away. “Yes, it’s the same Kim Taehyung.”

Yoongi looks like he is about to spit nails. “I hope you took the chance to kick him in the balls.”

“Yoongi!”

“Just saying.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse, actually.” Your companion raises an eyebrow. “He gave me his umbrella when we walked back.”

“Ah yes, because giving you his umbrella once undoes six months of emotional damage—”

“Yoongi, chill. I did what I had to do—”

“Which is good, because survival skills are important.” He searches your face for any hint of something other than stoicism. Forgiveness, maybe. “And it doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

“I didn’t say it was,” you affirm. “But even if I don’t like him, I owe him credit where it’s due.”

Yoongi frowns. He knows not to push, but curiosity pecks his bones, nips his intuition. “For the third time— why didn’t you call me last night when you got back to his house?”

You sip at your tea. Flaxen sweet, mild on your tongue. “You were at work and I didn’t want to bother. Paying rent is more important than saving my sorry stranded ass.”

“You’re neglecting to mention the Kim Taehyung part.”

He rubs a fine nerve, one push too far. “Yoongi, what are you so worried about?” You sit up, place your mug on the fold-out table. “It’s not like I’m suddenly pining over him just because he happened to be there when I needed help. It’s not like I had any other options; I can handle myself. Taehyung and I broke up a month and a half ago; I’m not as… broken as I was before.”

It’s written on Yoongi’s face that he doesn’t like it, but protectiveness wins out over stubbornness. It always does when it comes to you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You soften. “I know.”

The tension drains from his hunched figure. “I know you can handle yourself when it comes to people like him. But I also know how hard you cried over him in a shitty motel all those weeks ago.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t want you to feel like that again because of someone. Fool me twice, you know? You deserve better than that.”

Your eyes flick to his. Steady, warm, weighing justice by the tawny flecks that glint in the raven black of his irises. “I do. And I don’t doubt that. It won’t happen again.”

His own mug clacks as it meets the wooden tabletop. “You know, you never told me what exactly happened between you two that ended it. Like, I know the rough idea, but not play-by-play. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but…” He trails off, leaving the gap.

“Ah.” A remark, neutral in sheen but bitter in taste. Like biting into the shell of a crisp apple, only to find that it’s not as sweet as once hoped it to be. “Sure.”

So Yoongi listens.

It’s strange how someone so vivid in nightmares, so seemingly real as the pen between your fingers or the breath in your lungs, can fade away so quickly by daybreak. Before you ran into Taehyung again (for better or for worse? For worse), he loomed as some larger-than-life figure in the back of your consciousness, spewing traumas and terrors like a river gully. But there he was in the passenger’s seat, no larger or smaller than before. Just Taehyung. Terrifying in premise, in rationality, on the contrary.

With that in mind, it was hard to not wonder if you had, perhaps, not given him credit where it was due. The Taehyung you met in the pouring rain was the same Taehyung whose hair you brushed sand from and temple you kissed and sides you pinched to get him to squeak when he laughed. Memories you tried to stuff away, filter through a new lens with every flicker in your mind, like a crackling film reel. But there he was, and here you were, and you weren’t quite sure who you were running from anymore.

Is it easy to run from someone who your lips know the taste of, fingers know the feel of? Is it easier to run from yourself when you strip away the miscommunications, aches and pains?

Yoongi knew the full story now. Terrifying to admit your fault, any measure of it, because you never liked to show him what being broken looked like. Some measure of personal freedom exercised, but with the wrong heart in mind, because he would never judge anything you had to say and instead, simply listen. He was always an older soul than you ever tried to be and he knew it, rugged wisdom at its finest. But ultimately, he only knew what he was told or taught, and there you were, spilling the unmangled truth to him on a Wednesday morning over two cups of chamomile tea.

Coming to grasp with imperfections is part of the cursed struggle of being human, of embracing those little nicks and dashes that make us who we are. It does not mean we are loved any less, but loved because of them; none of us are angels. These messes are our measures, our faults and our pleasures. How terrifying it all is, being ourselves. Being raw and vulnerable and attacking those thoughts that weigh heavy on our consciousness, day after day.

And it is easy to wonder if you matter through all of this, through the chaos of that inner dialogue. It’s moments like these that put those perspectives into frame, click them like camera shutters pausing time to breathe and think. To look at the white-framed ink is to rewrite tangibility, printed blurry on those transparent rolls. Nothing is so unforgettable when it is angled just so.

In the evening, in the comforts of your apartment, you uncork a Polaroid from where it is hidden behind some cheery optimistic phrase you stole off of tumblr. Bullshit for the purpose it serves, painfully ironic for the task it demands. A picture of a boy with cherry-red hair and a boxy grin on his face, arms wrapped around you with all of the comforts and ease of home. There’s mirth in your eyes, sheer joy and laughter. No alcohol involved, just two people who found it easy to slip into each other’s company just-so. A jasper gem for you, polished to perfection and printed right underneath your fingertips.

Anxiety clenches at the base of your jaw, massages your throat with the cruelest intentions. You swallow it back.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Crackles to life.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Taehyung?”

His voice melts through the receiver like buttery chocolate, smooth and warm. “You still have my phone number! Hello! I thought I’d never hear from you.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?” You blink in confusion, then shake your head. “Never mind.”

“I thought I’d never hear from you. That guy who picked you up didn’t seem to say much, but I figured you’d call eventually to say that you made it home safe. So I guess you did! And I’m glad.” You can hear Taehyung smiling through the phone, easy inflections of speech.

“Yeah.” You fidget, playing with the edge of your sleeve. Now or never. “Taehyung, I owe you an apology.”

This is the first time he falters, hints at something deeper. “What for?”

You take a deep breath. “You were kind to me. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time, so I was a complete asshole to you. And I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was the least I could do! Nobody deserves to be stuck in the pouring rain—”

“I’m not talking about the rainstorm.”

He stutters. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Taehyung.”

He’s quiet. It is terrifying.

“Taehyung, both of us know what I mean.”

You momentarily wonder if the line has gone dead. Perhaps it has. A saving grace, and then that deep timbre crackles to life on the other side. You nearly miss what he says.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers.

“You were kind to me,” you stutter. “Kind to me; so, so kind. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was w-when you gave it to me. And I was a complete asshole to you. I’m sorry.” You wait for something, anything, but he gives no intention, and you continue. “Taehyung, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was so terrified that I stuffed it away into some far-off corner and tried to pretend that it wasn’t happening. I turned so much outward onto you that you didn’t deserve because I didn’t know how to be good enough for someone like you. I took you for granted, Taehyung, the exact opposite of everything I should have done. You glow like the literal fucking sun, and I’m a little cloud drifting through the sky. I should’ve let you shine through me, but instead, I just blocked you out. And I’m sorry,” you confess, the tension in your shoulders collapsing. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time in weeks you wish you could see him in front of you, gauge his reactions like barometric pressure, but instead he’s across town and you are here, feeling ever-so-small in spite of yourself. It was easy to read what he was thinking, painted across his face in swaths of joy and sadness and everything in between, but here, he gave away nothing.

Please say something, Taehyung. Please say anything.

“Ideal weather,” he murmurs.

“W-What?”

“A sun without clouds in the sky shines blindingly. Clouds temper all that light; certainly we don’t need all of it.” It sounds so cheesy, some Shakespearean verse he quotes from off the top of his head, but it is the closest thing he’ll phrase to acceptance, and you swallow down a relieved sob. He calls you by name then, lets it ring warm and sweet, the way he used to say it. With life, energy, everything it lacked simply because it rang from all the wrong mouths till then. “Everything happens for a reason. You did the best you could. It just didn’t work out at the time.”

“Taehyung, it’s okay to blame me. It’s okay to say that I was the one who fucked it all up, not you. For god’s sakes, you never did anything wrong. It was always my insecurity, my mistakes—”

“You’re only human. You did the best that you could, just as I did. Who could blame you for that?” Taehyung’s words seep heat into your bones, calm your trembling fingers. “I couldn’t. Nobody could. I certainly don’t think any less of you for it. None of us are angels; we did our best with what we had. And that’s alright.”

You can’t help but laugh, dry, monosyllabic. “You handled this so much remarkably better than I did, god.”

He’s breathy with amusement. “It took a little while.”

“I could imagine.”

He hums. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

Your index finger finds the edges of the instant photo. His smile catches in the light of your desk lap. “There’s another reason I called.”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, no.” You trace his shoulders, the planes of his chest. “I just wanted to say. I have a Polaroid of us from July, from that bonfire that Jeongguk had with like fifty people down at the beach. I kept it, selfishly. It’s been pinned up on my bulletin board behind another piece of paper. But I took it out today. And I think I might pin it up in front now.”

“Oh, the cherry red hair.” The fondness seeps through the receiver. “I loved that night.”

“Me too,” you admit. A beat of silence. “Goodnight, Taehyung. Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re hanging up already?”

“What?” You nearly sputter.

“I haven’t gotten to talk about the Polaroids I kept, too.”

There are two ways to fundamentally seduce Kim Taehyung: make his coffee exactly how he likes it, or play with his hair while he’s lying on your chest. Both of which you achieved, and both of which led to your current predicament.

But we’ll rewind a bit.

That phone call, the first of many, lasted into the early hours of the morning, that sacred time that you both hold dear. It tasted like nostalgia and fondness, feelings you corked and bottled out of fear of what might lie on the other side. But in this case, the other side was a friend and more, a living history book for all of the cracks in between. And he simply adored filling them in.

That lazy afternoon where you planned on having a date at the park, but it had poured rain nearly as intense as the day you reconnected with him. You danced in between the raindrops instead, bare feet on the gravely asphalt, wishing you could touch heaven and so you kissed the boy whose cheeks were between your palms. The spontaneous road trip you took to the next big city over, five hours away, simply because for the first time in so long, you had nowhere to be but with each other. Hands held between library shelves, firelight’s glow on faces untouched. Sharing a tuft of blue cotton candy with sticky fingers, talking about everything and nothing under the moonlit, cloudless sky. For every instant photo saved were memories tenfold that he plucked from that mind of his like stars placed in the breadth of the cosmos.

One phone call became two, became four. Became texting over a break at work, FaceTiming over dinner. Became meeting each other for a late breakfast, studying at the cafe for an early afternoon cup of espresso. Depth and understanding, and Taehyung is slotting into your life without a second thought, as easily as you’re slipping into his. You let him this time, so much smoother than before. You want him to.

Neither of you can deny what it is happening, but neither of you can find a complaint to lodge. So when he asks you out, fingers entwined over the metal arm of the park bench, a bouquet of sunflowers tucked next to you, he already knows what your answer will be.

Indeed, there are two fundamental ways to seduce Kim Taehyung, and as a master of both of them, it is only a matter of time before you find yourselves at the foot of your bed; he pulls you closer to press his lips to your own. He tastes like cappuccino and chocolate and you’re humming into the kiss, shuddering underneath him. He still knows your body, every divet, every edge. He never stopped loving it— never stopped loving you.

He worships the way he loves— selflessly, giving every ounce of himself without abandon or question. When he eases himself between your thighs, the look in his eyes is nothing short of sinful adoration, seeking out every secret to your pleasure. It’s ingrained in his memory, the way you gasp or grab his hair when his fingers dance along your skin; he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. It is worth every wince as your digits tug at his scalp; he swallows down everything you give him and begs for more, more, more.

And likewise you lavish him, devoting minutes to dot his heaving ribs with kisses, stroking comforting palms down his sinewy thighs. Taehyung is every work of art you have wanted to see in a museum, living, breathing, merely mortal but so much more. So vibrant, so raw.

And afterwards you lie together, unable to tell where he begins and you end. Breathing in the heat, piecing each other together in the silent din. Clothes are tossed about the room; you can’t find it in you to care. You turn to him, caress his cheek, run a thumb over his lips. “Stay here tonight. Please.”

He smiles and your thumb brushes his teeth, boxy and exposed through the gap of his grin. “Was the overnight bag not enough?”

“How did I not notice you packed an overnight bag?” You sit up, wrapping the blankets around your torso, scanning the room to spot his duffel.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, wraps himself around you like a human koala. “I’m very good at being sneaky.”

“Mm, I noticed.” There it is, against your dresser. Your heart swells, fit to burst.

“Come to bed,” Taehyung hums, gritty, a little seductive. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think it’s meant to. Your fingers find his own and knit together over his knuckles.

“I’m right here, sunshine.”

He kisses behind your ear, the gentlest of intentions. “I love you,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”

You squeeze over his hand. Everything left unsaid, in the space of a breath. Two. “I love you too,” you whisper. “And I will always be here, loving you, with everything I could possibly give you. Every ounce of my heart. I love you.”

He squeezes back, wraps the blanket around your frame, tucks you in tight. He kisses your shoulder with lips of silk, and you roll on your side to get comfortable, his arm draped over your waist.

Against the far wall, propped up on his duffel, lies a pair of Converse sneakers, as scuffed and beaten as they were saturated with rain, on the day you fell in love with Kim Taehyung all over again.

#btswritersnet #bts #bts fluff #bts smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #kpop fluff #kpop smut #exes to lovers au #outroshooky

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440mxs-wife · 4 years ago

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The Hunter’s Princess - Chapter 8: Communication Breakdown

Pairing: Dean x OFC Kira (eventual), Prince!Dean x OFC Lady Kira. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Prince!Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Gabriel, King!John, Queen!Mary, Lucifer and assorted minor characters.

Chapter 8 Word Count: 3600+

Warnings: This is going to be a bit angsty. Confrontations, Misunderstandings and Threats, oh my!

A/N: This is from some material that’s been rattling around in my head from another project that changed direction. Couldn’t let all this content go to waste, though, so here it is. It’s a work-in-progress, and I will try and update as regularly as I can. If you want to be tagged in this series, send me a message!

A/N2: I would like to thank everyone for your support and your comments so far. I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am having fun writing it.

Thank you and happy reading!

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"So let me get this straight....You cornered her and accused her of using some sort of trickery or magic to win the equestrian event. You were close enough to snap the locket off of her neck, but for some reason, I STILL DON'T HAVE IT?!?" Lucifer roared.

"It's not my fault! She ducked out of the way just in time, then her 'adoring fans' swarmed us in the courtyard. They jostled me around until I lost track of her," Lady Serena shot back.

"What is it with this woman?!?" Lucifer thundered. "Every time I think I have her cornered, she finds a loophole and gets out of trouble," he muttered as he paced the room.

"She and Prince Dean have been getting rather cozy lately," Lady Serena retorted. "Should I do something to break them up?" she asked.

"That particular issue is none of my concern at the moment, Serena. I have many more pressing issues that require my attention at the moment. Perhaps it's time I paid Lady Kira a visit myself. See if I can convince her to view things from my perspective," Lucifer replied ominously.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The evening meal consisted of roast beef, potatoes and other assorted vegetables. Since Kira took first place in both competitions, her place at the table was next to Prince Dean. At various times during the meal, their hands would meet briefly under the table. After dessert, Kira wandered out on the terrace for some fresh air.

She placed her hands on the balcony railing and gazed up at the stars. She felt warm hands on her nearly bare shoulders and turned to see it was Prince Dean. "Good evening, Lady Kira," he remarked.

"Good evening, Your Highness," Kira replied, with a slight curtsy. "Lovely, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, you are, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair.

Kira smiled and laughed softly. "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate the compliment, but we've talked about this. I need to go back to my world, and for that reason, I can't have any 'entanglements' while I'm here. Just friends, remember?"

"You are absolutely correct, and I apologize. Perhaps you'd like to join me in a moonlight stroll through the garden, Lady Kira? Just as friends?" Prince Dean asked.

"Thank you very kindly for your offer, but after today's excitement, I'm thinking of turning in early. I would, however, love to accept your invitation, should it be offered at another time," she answered.

"You have only to ask, Lady Kira. Until tomorrow, then," he kissed the back of her hand, then pulled her close and brushed her cheek in a chaste kiss.

"Until tomorrow," Kira whispered.

Kira could feel the blush rising in her cheeks as she made her way up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she leaned against the closed door, a thoughtful smile on her lips. The smile quickly faded when Kira saw Sarah standing against the wall, a look of sheer terror on her face. Kira also noticed that she had an unwanted guest in her room. "What exactly are you doing in here?" Kira demanded.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For Prince Dean, everything was falling into place. When his mother and father first announced this tournament to find him and Samuel a bride, Dean was skeptical that it would be successful. That was before he spent time with Lady Kira. Someone with her weapons skills and ability to handle a horse would be a definite asset to their hunting efforts.

But it was the woman herself that he found most interesting. Lady Kira was smart, kind and not afraid to speak her mind. She'd told him time and again that she didn't belong in this world, but that there is a Lady Kira that's stuck in her world. Prince Dean wondered how alike the two women were, if at all. He decided that once everything was made right again in the multiverse, he would do what was necessary to seek out his Lady Kira.

Strolling through the garden, Prince Dean noticed a yellow rose in perfect bloom on one of the bushes. Using his knife, he cut the stem and smiled to himself as he removed the thorns. He couldn't wait to see the look on Lady Kira's face when he presented her with this small token of his friendship for her. Prince Dean raced up the stairs to her room. He paused before knocking on the door because he heard another voice in her room, a male voice. The prince put his ear to the door and strained to hear their conversation.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Lucifer. What do you want?" Kira demanded.

"Relax, Lady Kira. I only want to talk. I understand you have a valuable piece of jewelry in your possession. A piece with tremendous power that could be dangerous in the wrong hands," Lucifer remarked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lucifer. The only jewelry I brought with me is one of sentimental value. I've been wearing it every day in honor of my mother," she explained.

"Oh come now, Lady Kira, let's not kid ourselves," Lucifer chided. "We both know that locket of yours has more than just 'sentimental value'. It can allow travel between dimensions across the multiverse. For instance, you don't belong to this dimension, do you?" he asked.

"So, what of it? You don't actually think I'll give it to you, do you? I've dealt with you before, and I know what you're capable of. There's no way I will do anything that will disrupt the balance of power," Kira retorted.

"That kind of power is too much for one person or even one archangel to hold," he acknowledged. "But....if you and I were to control it together....we could rule the multiverse! Just think of the possibilities, Lady Kira! Unlimited travel, untold adventure, endless discovery," he remarked.

"Yes, all of that may be true. However, when you get tired of sharing with me, you'll snap your fingers and I'll be blinked out of existence," she reminded him.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're a lovely woman, Lady Kira. Smart, sassy but with a good sense of humor. I find all that rather appealing," Lucifer said softly.

"The locket is one of the only ways I can get back to my world, something I am deeply committed to. I need to get back to Sam and Dean--" she started.

"Who, at this very moment, are being watched by my best demons. The minute things don't go my way in this dimension, they will strike. I truly cannot guarantee that Sam and Dean will come out alive," Lucifer threatened, his eyes glowing red.

"You wouldn't dare," Kira whispered, knowing full well he was serious. She took a deep breath and smoothed out her skirts. She sauntered over to Lucifer, stopping in front of him with very little space between them. Kira ran her hands up his chest and placed them on his shoulders. "I can see you're rather invested in making this work between us, Lucifer," Kira replied. She moved her hands to either side of his neck, teasing the hairs at the base.

Lucifer shuddered in response, telling Kira that what she was doing was having the desired effect. "I am, Lady Kira. With you ruling by my side, no one would be able to stop us," he grinned.

Prince Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. All the time they had spent getting to know each other, becoming close friends. She was so adamant about getting back to her home dimension without 'entanglements'. He could see now that she was just stringing him along, feeding him lies while someone else was already waiting in the wings. He dropped the rose at her doorstep in defeat and returned to his room.

"Mmm hmm. However, there's just....one problem, Lucifer." Raising her voice, "It'll be a cold day in that Hell you came from before I ever give up this locket," Kira snapped. "Now, get out of my room before I call for Castiel or one of his guards," she threatened.

Lucifer yanked open the door and turned back one last time. "You'll regret this, Lady Kira. Mark my words: one way or another, that locket will be mine," he retorted as he slammed the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as Lucifer left the room, Kira collapsed on her bed. She had just gone toe-to-toe with the Great Satan and lived to tell the tale. Sarah timidly stepped away from the wall and walked over to where I was sitting. "Can I get you anything, Miss? A glass of water, perhaps?" she asked.

Kira was in such a state of shock that all she could do is nod her head. As Sarah turned to leave, Kira took her hand. "Sarah, I am so very sorry that you had to go through this. You were very brave, though," Kira told her.

"Thank you, Miss. So were you," she replied, then left to get Kira a glass of water.

What was she going to do? Lucifer said he had his best demons watching Sam and Dean's every move, and could strike at any moment. Kira had to have faith that they could defend themselves against the demons. Kira knew she couldn't do the unthinkable, which was to hand over the locket to Lucifer. This is going to be a long few days, she thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Kira put on a pale yellow day dress and went looking for Prince Dean. She wanted to see if the offer for a tour of the gardens was still available. When she reached the stable area, she noticed Collins was saddling a horse, getting it ready for someone to ride.

"Good morning, Collins!" Kira called cheerfully. He removed his hat and bowed. "Good morning, Lady Kira. Brilliant riding yesterday, milady. I knew you would carry through to victory," he beamed at her.

Kira blushed at his compliment and thanked him. "Have you seen Prince Dean this morning? He mentioned something last night about a tour of the gardens, and...." her voice trailed off as she saw him with Lady Serena. She had her hand tucked under his arm, his head bent towards her as if sharing a secret. When he leaned back, she threw her head back in laughter.

Kira started to feel sick to her stomach at seeing the two of them together. She felt as if the time they'd spent together becoming close friends had meant nothing to him. Kira turned to leave, but not before Lady Serena called out, "Oh, good morning, Lady Kira!" She froze on the spot and waited for the prince and Lady Serena to catch up to her position. When Prince Dean caught Kira's eyes with his, they held none of the affection they once showed. "Good morning, Lady Kira. I trust you slept well," he said coldly.

She curtsied, "Good morning, Your Highness. Yes, thank you, I did sleep well," Kira responded, even though her sleep was anything but restful. "Please excuse me," she curtsied again and left before the first tear could fall. Kira heard her name being called behind her, but there was no way she was going to stop until she had reached her room.

Someone caught her hand and stopped her. Kira turned and found herself face-to-face with Prince Samuel. "Lady Kira, is everything all right?" he asked with concern.

"Yes, Your Highness. Everything is fine," Kira replied.

"I think we both know that it's not," Prince Samuel said as he guided her to a stone bench in the courtyard. "I can see that you're upset. Did something happen between you and my brother?" he asked. "One minute he's spending as much time as possible with you, and now he's turning to Lady Serena? What happened?" he asked again.

"I really don't know, Your Highness. I wish I did, because I can feel my heart breaking," Kira sniffled.

"Think back to last night. I saw the two of you at dinner, so I know something was going on between you two. Not that I mind, I want my brother to be happy, and it's been a very long time since I've seen him so," he remarked.

Kira thought back and relayed last night's events to Prince Samuel. Prince Dean asked her to take a midnight stroll in the garden just as friends. She said she wanted to turn in early, then she found Lucifer in her room. "We talked, he threatened me, I sassed him back, that's all I remember," Kira explained. "Wait a minute."

"What?" he asked.

"Well, Lucifer wants me to give up my locket. It's a 'charmed object' that would allow him free movement throughout the multiverse. When he was trying to convince me, he was sort of....flirting with me, complimenting me. At first I was repulsed, then he threatened my friends in my home world," she explained.

"Okay, then what?" Prince Samuel queried.

"Then I decided to pretend to flirt with him, make him think he was succeeding," Kira said. "It seemed to be working, but then I told him it would be a cold day in Hell before I would hand over my locket and kicked him out of my room. I remember looking down before I closed the door and saw....Oh my," she whispered.

"You saw....?" Prince Samuel prompted.

"A single yellow rose. Do you think that Prince Dean heard my conversation and thinks....oh no," Kira said in horror before bursting into tears. Prince Samuel took her into his arms to comfort her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lady Serena looked over and saw Prince Samuel with his arms around Lady Kira. "Some people have no consideration for others' feelings," she shook her head sadly.

"Why do you say that?" Prince Dean asked as he followed her gaze towards Prince Samuel and Lady Kira. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the woman he thought he could trust, wrapped up in his brother's arms. "How about we visit the marketplace, hmm?" he said tightly as he steered them both out of eyesight of his brother.

"As you wish, Your Highness," Lady Serena said smugly as she allowed herself to be led out of the courtyard.

Collins had been watching the entire scene very carefully. He knew of Prince Dean's deep friendship with Lady Kira. Even from a distance, he could tell that something wasn't right between them at the moment. He decided to keep an eye on them and to try and figure out what was going on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Prince Samuel knew there had to have been some sort of misunderstanding between his brother and Lady Kira. He saw how they were at dinner the previous night, and he could tell she brings Dean happiness. Something he hadn't seen in his brother for quite some time.

When Lady Kira told him about her conversation with Lucifer, he'd bet the crown jewels that Dean was listening at the door. He may have heard Lucifer flirting with her, but probably didn't hear her reject him and throw him out. Prince Samuel made up his mind to talk some sense into his brother.

Prince Samuel pulled back from embracing Lady Kira and bent down to look in her eyes. "Listen, I'm going to talk to him, see if I can straighten things out. I've seen the two of you, and you have a great thing going. I know you said you don't exactly belong here and need to get home. But I haven't seen him trust someone or be this happy around another woman except you," he explained.

"That's very sweet of you to say, Your Highness," Kira replied. "And I wish it were true. Looks like he's made his choice to end our friendship and shift his attention to someone else. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to my room. Good day, Prince Samuel," she remarked as she left. Prince Samuel stared after her, watching as she retreated to her room.

"Begging your pardon, Your Highness," Sam heard as he turned to see Collins standing next to him.

"Yes, Collins? What is it?" he asked.

"We've just received word that there's been an animal attack two towns over from here in the Eastern Province. A few hours' ride from here, maybe less. Shall I fetch Prince Dean and Castiel?" he inquired.

"Yes please, Collins. Tell them I'll meet them back here in 15 minutes," Sam told him. Collins nodded and ran off to tell Prince Dean and Castiel about the hunt.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kira came back from breakfast rather suddenly, and with red, puffy eyes. Rowena went to see her in her room and ask what had happened. Between sobs, Kira told Rowena what she saw with Prince Dean this morning. "Don't you worry, dearie. Auntie Rowena is going to get to the bottom of this, you'll see," she assured Kira.

"I hope so, Rowena, because I miss my friendship with Prince Dean, and I miss my Dean at home," she choked out.

Rowena came over and gathered Kira in an almost motherly embrace. "Och, sweet child, I know your heart must be achin' somethin' fierce. I'm sure there's a miracle right 'round the corner, a way to get home. We just have to be patient and find it, darlin'," she soothed in her lilting accent.

A whooshing of wings was heard and a familiar figure appeared before them. A playful smirk was on his lips and he had a twinkle in his honey-colored eyes. "Ta-da! Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy, for I have your Get-Out-of-Here-Soon card," he announced.

"Gabriel!" Kira stepped out of Rowena's embrace and nearly threw herself into Gabriel's arms.

"Whoa, whoa, what happened, Kitten? Everything okay?" he asked. His hand rubbed up and down Kira's back, trying to comfort her.

Kira was still so upset that she couldn't tell Gabriel what had transpired between her and Prince Dean. Rowena explained about the competition and how Kira had won the equestrian challenge. "She seemed to have won the attention of Prince Dean, and the two of them had been spending a lot of time together. Until today, that is," Rowena explained.

"Why? What happened to make today any different?" Gabriel wondered.

"One word. Lucifer," Kira spat out. "He knows about my locket and what it can do. He tried to convince me to be his partner, travel the universe across all the dimensions. Prince Dean was on the other side of my door and heard our conversation," she finished.

"Why should that matter? And what did you tell Lucifer?" Rowena asked.

"I started flirting with him to make him think I was going along. He wasn't giving up on the whole, 'rule the multiverse together' idea. Prince Dean must have heard and got the wrong idea," Kira surmised.

"To answer your other question, I told Lucifer no. I also informed him it would be a cold day in the Hell he came from before I would ever give up this locket. This proves to me more than ever that we have to put our plan in motion to use a decoy locket," Kira declared.

"I'll get right to work on it, don't you worry, dearie," Rowena promised.

"Oh, hey! I did have a message for you and some information about how to get home. Your royal twin, the Samsquatch and your Dean-o figured it out. They used the lore books in the library and some of the ones in those boxes with your parents' stuff," Gabriel mentioned.

"That's great! What do we need? How do we do this? Come on, Gabe, give me details!" Kira was chomping at the bit because she wanted to be home. Anything that put her closer to that goal was something she was going to jump on and make happen.

Gabriel gave Rowena a list of the materials she would need and a sketch of the symbol to be drawn on the altar. Kira was relieved to discover that the petite, red-haired beauty had all of the ingredients. "This has to be done during the height of the lunar eclipse, so a little over two days from now," Gabriel explained. Then he went back to showing Rowena how to draw the symbol on the altar.

"Hey, Gabriel?" Kira said softly. He hummed in her direction to indicate that she had his attention. "You said you have a message for me from Dean," she asked timidly.

With a soft smile, Gabriel relented and confirmed that he indeed had a message for Kira from Dean. Once he put his hand on Kira's shoulder, the rest of the world seemed to melt away, leaving only a hazy-looking Dean in front of her. "Tell her that I love her and that Sam and I won't stop until she's back, safe in my arms," he faded away when Gabriel took his hand from Kira's shoulder.

Tears of joy streamed down Kira's cheeks. "He loves me?" she whispered.

"It would seem so," Gabriel muttered playfully.

"Is there any way that I can get him a message, like telepathically or something?" Kira asked. Gabriel nodded and whispered the words to a spell that, in conjunction with some special ingredients, would project her into Dean's thoughts.

"But, SweetCheeks, it won't last long, a few minutes at most. AND, when it gives out, you will feel nearly drained of all your energy. Like squeezing all the juice out of the lemon," he warned.

"I understand, Gabe, I just need to see him. To tell him that I love him as well, and that I'll do whatever it takes to get home," Kira vowed.

Part 9 here!

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Tags: @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @babygurltt @flamencodiva @ejlovespie @deandreamernp

The Hunter’s Princess Series Tags: @supernatural-love14

#dean x ofc #dean winchester x ofc #au dean winchester x ofc #au dean winchester #au supernatural #spn #The Hunter's Princess Series

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darkmindsotome · 5 years ago

Text

Sun and Secrets

Fandom: Love365 Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: Kei Soejima x MC

Word count: 3,448

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #2 and 3: Applying sunscreen and Untying a bikini top.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Sun and Secrets

One of the best things about having a boyfriend who is friends with someone that owns resorts is the fantastic locations that suddenly become available for you to take last-minute vacations in. It was also one of the drawbacks as The Resort King has a penchant for asking for payment in strange ways.

Sighing to myself I look at the small camera Kazuomi had pushed into my hands after I asked him to help with suggesting somewhere to take Kei. It filled me with a nostalgic sensation as his voice in my head told me that he would help on the condition I be sure to take lots of pictures for him.

I really didn’t know how to respond to that as it felt one step too far into the whole voyeuristic scene than I was comfortable with and I knew full well my boyfriend would be against our time together being exposed, even if it was by one of his best friends.

“We are on vacation and you are already sighing like that?” A cute English accent came from behind me. I swear this guy materialises out of thin air sometimes. Casually dropping the camera back into my suitcase, I turned to see Kei looking at me. His face was a mask of concern but I didn’t miss the playfulness in his eyes. “We came all the way here, have a whole island to ourselves and you are still not happy.”

He shook his head in mock exasperation. His soft blonde hair rippled in the breeze from the open doors that had an unprecedented view of pure white sand and impossibly blue sea. The questions remained in my mind, how long had he been standing there and how much has he actually seen?

“I am happy, I am here with you after all I wasn’t sighing because I was upset.” I replied masking how startled he had made me.

Ever since we first met this man had proved he was observant, calculating and able to predict with accuracy what was on my mind. It made my job more of a challenge than I had ever experienced before and being his girlfriend now instead of the agent sent to spy on him didn’t change the game between us much. Our jobs still meant we had secrets from each other, but it was still unnerving how few I could keep from Kei.

“Oh? You know how I feel about lies.” He came close enough to me to hook one finger under my chin tilting my head so our eyes were locked.

His crystalline gaze had a bottomless depth that easily held me in place. Elegant alabaster fingers traced the contours of my body, his touch was so slight it sent goosebumps over my skin. His perfectly crafted movements led his free hand to my neck where it rested as my pulse grew louder in my ears with the exacting pressure of his grip.

My eyes fluttered shut with the familiar chill that was him. Even in a tropical climate, he maintained his own low body temperature, it really was like he lived in a bubble of his own protected atmosphere.

He traced the artery in my neck with a single finger, giving the choker he had given me a small tug. My heart jumped as I instinctively reacted to his every move. What I once found to be suffocating had become comforting, his particular slow poison had truly infected my system.

“… Kei.” His name comes out as a breathless whisper on my lips.

“Look at me.” Opening my eyes as commanded, his sweet exotic scent that was like religious incense filled my senses. Those amber glass eyes reflected only me as they drew closer and his lips connected with mine.

“Mhm!”

It was a kiss designed to silence me. One meant to remove all thoughts and ideas, turning my mind into a blissfully blank slate that could only be coloured by him. He wanted my full attention, commanded I gave it. In return I reciprocated his kiss, giving in to his desire with a silent prayer that this wouldn’t end. As it turns out it was a prayer that was to go unanswered after he removed himself from me drawing back slowly. He left just enough of a gap between us that I could still feel him without either of us actually touching. He was a masterful tease.

“Did you find your swimsuit?”

“What?” My senses were returning to me and I only just partly caught that he was even talking to me. He didn’t miss a beat in breaking out in that knowing smile of his that told me he was thoroughly enjoying the look of euphoric fog that was probably causing me to have a funny expression on my face.

“That’s what you were coming in to find, wasn’t it? Or were you up to something? I know how sneaky you are.” He leant close just to whisper that last part. His breath ghosting over my nape as his lips brushing against my ear lobe turned my goosebumps into a widespread tinkle all over my body. As turned on as I was, I was also more than aware of what would happen if he looked in the bag on the bed.

“No! I was just looking for it.” Before he could get a better look, I called on my experience as a spy and put on a performance of coltishness. I was banking on it helping to get him to give up looking for clues that would satisfy his own curiosity.

“Alright I’ll leave you to get changed then I was just making some iced tea anyway.” Kei shrugged and left the room. I breathed a sigh of relief aware that I still couldn’t really let my guard down as he seemed to have given up far too quickly.

Truth be told I had considered going with a one-piece that had a pattern exposing sections of skin and then discovered this cute bikini and given up on it. Kei always gave me dresses that were of course his preferred colour, black. They all, however, followed a very feminine and classically vintage pattern.

Running my fingers over the fabric of the bikini top, the black ruffles caught my fingers as I adjusted the strings and tied them behind my back and neck creating the halter top. The same ruffle design was on the bikini bottoms and I tied the strings in bows on my hips completing the look.

I marvelled at how well the simple design hugged my curves. It was one thing trying it on in a store and another thing to wear it on a trip. I left my sarong draped over the edge of the bed deciding against wearing it and checked my reflection in the mirror one last time hoping Kei would love this style as much as I did. *

Kei was lounging on one of the chairs outside when I found him. The shadow of the palm leaf umbrella casting shadows over him. He was wearing a pair of shorts with an open shirt and had a book in hand quietly reading. When he noticed my arrival, he placed it down next to him and gave me a heated stare.

“I thought you would have gone for a one-piece.” Kei said leaning back even more into the shadows. It was at times like this his Princely mask slipped allowing me to catch a glimpse of that Devil inside.

“You not like this? I thought it was cute.” I pretended not to notice, evading his charms by giving a small twirl on the spot.

“It is and very exposed. Come here I’ll help you put some of this on.” Kei reached out for a bottle of sunscreen he had placed next to the jug of iced tea on the small table by the chair. Standing up he held out his hand as if he were asking for a dance, my traitorous heart still fluttered every time he did that.

“Thank you.” Having no reason to refuse I placed my hand in his allowing myself to be guided by him to the chair.

As I sat down, he brought my hand to his mouth and set gentle kisses across my fingers all the while his upturned eyes never left me. I was caught between the icy chill of his touch and the lingering warmth of his body still present on the chair beneath me.

“Now then.” He hummed with pleasure, pulling my hand towards him as he placed his other arm over my shoulder.

As Kei brought his body slowly closer my own naturally tilted flat against the chair. Every reflex I had as an agent should have been telling me this was wrong, but when it was Kei his particular brand of dominance was more a declaration of how things were meant to be rather than a show of imposing force.

There was always a way out, an escape from his clutches. He did, however, have this way of making you feel like this was where he had always been. It lulled you into an inability to do anything but simply follow his orders. It was something I had come to crave about this man. He hovered over me unmoving, pinning me beneath him easily with no effort at all.

He popped the cap on the bottle in his hands and cold white cream dripped against my flushed skin. His hand began moving in circles against my stomach as he rubbed it in, spreading it with the same polite dedication he showed when removing my stockings.

“Er… Kei?” When he said he was going to help this was not what I thought at all. My question met a blank look of complete indifference as he responded to me.

“Mhm?”

“I can do that part myself.” I lightly protested.

Watching him as he silently tended to me made me feel shameful as if I were witnessing something completely innocent and I was the only one to have such lustful thoughts. Knowing Kei as I do now, I wouldn’t be surprised at all to discover that all of my inner turmoil was part of his devilish plan.

“You wish to take away one of my privileges as your boyfriend? How cruel.” His hands slipped under the bottom of the bikini top his fingers brushing over my breasts causing me to moan and wriggle at his touch.

“Mmm…”

“Lay still for me.” He pinched my nipples in unison, my back arched from the chair. As he continued on his path of fondling and simultaneously coated me in SPF I found myself unable to move. His command was a weighty desire I wished to fulfil. “I simply cannot tolerate your beautiful skin becoming damaged. I’ll have to be sure to be very thorough.”

As I focused on the one hand still reaching up to cup my breast I became lost in his eyes now tinted dark with lust. His temperature was rising I could smell his sweet scent stronger now, sandalwood, frankincense, myrrh it was taking my senses from me. Covering them, coating them in his poison. I completely missed his other hand as it found itself poised at the apex of my thighs. The heel of his hand pressed and rubbed against the fabric and his fingers traced the outline of my entrance so close yet so far from the desired interaction and friction I wanted.

“Ahhhh…”

“Are you going to tell me now?” His honeyed voice was in my ear making me tremble more as he continued his attack.

“Tell you?” My question was met with him pinching my nipple and rolling it between his fingers. His hot breath was like fire as it scorched my neck where he sighed against it.

“Such a bad girl. Did you think I would forget? You have been harbouring thoughts of someone else haven’t you?” He retracted his hands from me causing me to let out a mewl in protest.

I knew this was something to do with earlier, I knew he had given up and left the bedroom to quickly for something not to be bugging him. His head was cast down and away from me, the mood from second ago became lost in the tropical wind. I sat up and moved closer to him, chasing him. My pulse picked up this time in a panic as I chased his hands with my own, desperate to get him to see whatever he was thinking had a reasonable explanation.

“Someone else? Kei I wouldn’t – AH!” I found myself pushed back down this time face first as my wrists we held over my head. I could feel his legs resting either side of my hips straddling me. For someone who typically didn’t take an interest in keeping fit, he was fast and agile. I could have thrown him off but I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to hurt him.

“I told you I don’t care for lies. Your body is so honest perhaps it would be quicker asking it.” His voice had taken on a gravelly tone. I knew he was fighting between his devil and himself right now. Even if he was slowly learning, it still hurt that he felt the need to hold back with me.

Still pinning my hands over my head he trailed kisses down my spine hitting every node of vertebrae as he went. I moved under him as he ground his hips into my ass revealing exactly how turned on he was.

“Mmm, Mhm… oh, God!”

“Well?” He persisted in his questioning. I swear sometimes he can be so god damned single-minded on things.

“I wasn’t thinking of someone else there’s only you.” I protested as his mouth latched on to the choker giving it a tug causing my breath to hitch at the sudden restriction on my throat.

“Really? So a certain interfering friend didn’t say something to you before we left?” I was all too aware of his lips as they trailed along the length of precious metal around my neck. I felt a faint tug at my hips and knew he had untied the bottom half of my bikini. The fresh air catching me and my arousal caused me to blush. What I didn’t notice was my top had also been liberated, until he began to wind it around my wrists.

“How did you? Oh jeez!” I cried out as he yanked on the restraints.

“You were huddled together talking so closely it was all I could do to stop myself pulling you apart.” This was Kei emotional. A man who showed none usually and even less self-awareness. This was the man I loved struggling with what he had never felt before. I felt myself shudder under him the pleasure of knowing I was trapped in his web. A slave to his desire to control, possess, dominate completely.

“He’s your friend. Kazuomi wouldn’t –” I writhed as he blew trails of air over my skin unwilling to touch me for the time being.

“You don’t know him like I do I wouldn’t let my guard down around him so much if I were you.” Kei’s voice was firm. He didn’t normally raise his voice so this display shocked me.

“I don’t think it’s him I need to worry about right now.”

“You still have the ability to talk back? I really can’t be doing my job properly.” A hand snaked up under my arm and settled on my neck, encouraging me to expose it to him as he attacked me with blistering kisses, peppering them along the side of it. As he inched his other hand between my legs over my hip, the hand at my throat moved. His fingers filling me up from both ends at once.

“Mmph!”

“Tell me.” His voice sounded like a desperate plea as he worked his hands faster in different patterns expertly destroying me. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? So… tell me.”

He pulled his fingers from my mouth the moist tips tracing their outline. I relented the information I had if for no other reason other than to try to free him from whatever images his imagination had conjured.

“He just wanted some holiday photos.”

“Oh? Shall I take some now?” His weight was still pressed over me like a blanket while the fingers that were inside me produced a familiar small camera.

“What did you!?” My eyes blew wide with shock.

“It’s a stunning view. What do you say? Shall I snap a few pictures for him now?” Kei gave a dark chuckle playfully angling the camera in my direction. I felt completely exposed, more so with the lens pointed at me than I did laying in the open-air tied up beneath him.

“No!”

“No? Is that not what you had planned on doing anyway?” He was teasing me. He had to be. The refined English gentleman seemed a million miles away from the demon currently with me.

“No! I didn’t really want to. I don’t want him to see –” I moved my arms unable to loosen the tight bindings above me.

“What a coincidence because neither do I.” Kei tossed the small camera away towards the ocean before he began drawing patterns over my skin with his fingers. “Our time alone is our time. I truly hate it when another man is on your mind. First HIM and now my friend. Are you doing it on purpose to provoke me?”

“No! I told you there is only you. You are the only one on my mind Kei. When I’m not with you I’m always thinking of you.” I was relieved to finally be free of the burden of that little secret.

I knew he would probably never forgive Boss for before, but I didn't want him to start worrying about his friends too. I should have said what had happened sooner, clearly, Kei is not the only one still learning to adjust to this relationship. My training as a self-sufficient elite agent would be harder to shift than I first thought.

“How much more are you planning on making me suffer?” Kei asks as if he were in pain.

I tried to get a better look at him only to see him in the act of stripping away his own clothes. The sunlight glistened off of his gloriously white porcelain skin. The scars on his arms fell under the shadows cast by the umbrella above. In my temporary freedom while he removed his shorts I rolled on to my back. The sight of me still bound was reflected in Kei’s eyes as clearly as if they were mirrors.

Without waiting any longer he climbed back on top of me. His face buried into my heaving chest as he gave a few pumps to his own arousal with his own hand. He kissed and sucked on the skin between my breasts before bringing himself up and supplying a passionate biting kiss. As his tongue slipped past my lips he entered me, filling me up, finally joining us together.

I have no idea how long we spent making love. We alternated between a ferocious need to slow temptation and sensual desire. Our bodies rocking together in union finding our own harmony in chaos.

I felt blissfully happy and completely boneless like jelly afterwards. Kei was unwilling to let me leave and in a change of pace, that felt out of character, wrapped an arm around my shoulders locking me to his side on the chair.

“Did I go too hard on you?” He ran his hand through my hair. The soft sensation felt great after the pounding our bodies had just taken.

“No, I’m ok.” Turning my head I nuzzled into his palm, a move that brought a smile to his face. I really loved that look.

He had picked up his glass of iced tea that was now lacking in the ice department. I watched his tilted the glass and swallowed the chilled amber liquid. A faint smell of lemon from the tea mixed with our combined scent.

“Thirsty?” Kei enquired noticing my gaze on the glass. I nodded before I had a mind to do otherwise and saw the devilish smile of his a fraction too late. His lips covered mine and the refreshing tea that was in his mouth filled mine.

“Mhm…”

Something tells me this is going to be on hell of a vacation. Not that I was going to complain, as someone once told me the road to Paradise beings in Hell.

---

#summer of smut #summer of smut writing challenge

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drowningbydegrees · 5 years ago

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Once Written in the Stars Pt. 1

I think this might be the first fandom I’ve been in that really reads fic here, so I’m trying to be better about posting it. It’s also on AO3 It’s only when Geralt sheaths his sword that he realizes his medallion is still humming, perhaps even more than it was before. He squints through the trees, and sees nothing beyond the blanket of buttercups carpeting the forest floor. There’s a lark somewhere in the distance, but nothing near him moves. Buttercups. He circles back to that, to the bright spring flowers that stretch out into the forest as far as he can see. It’s the end of summer though, where the world goes brown and dry as it waits for relief from the heat to tumble into fall. There’s not something in the woods making the medallion vibrate against his skin Geralt realizes too late. It’s the woods themselves, and perhaps the keepers of it. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, hoping he hasn’t gone so far astray that there isn’t a way back.

So, Geralt walks back in the direction he’s certain he came from, searching for where the flowers fade back into the dirt and twigs he should be finding under his feet. The medallion only thrums more urgently, for so long that it’s eventually just a background sensation as Geralt tries to find his way.

He passes an old, moss covered tree for what he’s certain is the fourth time and makes himself stop, as if pausing will help him regain his bearings. It doesn’t of course, but somewhere nearby, someone is singing.

Somewhere in between the moss and the stone

The wind and the wood became my home

I layed myself down upon the green

when the ivy overgrew I could never leave

Something in the darkness pulled me deeper

Something in the madness eased my mind

Was I awake or was I dreaming

Cut the strings that bind me to mankind

Geralt bristles, starting to reach for his sword, but it’s a stuttered, aborted motion as the melody sinks in. The song is beautiful, he realizes, subtly easing the wariness with which he regards the woods. Perhaps he’ll just listen for a moment, because it’s ever so soothing. When his feet begin to carry him closer, Geralt doesn’t notice. Nothing good lives in a fae forest, something far away in him whispers. He grasps for the truth of that, because it might be important, but it’s so very far away from him now. The sentiment slips uselessly through his fingers like the pleasant spring breeze that ruffles his hair as it blows through the trees. Caution flits somewhere at the periphery, but he can’t pin it down and it’s… unnecessary. There’s no need for caution here, not when the calm sinks right down to his bones. It lulls him until the witcher wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in the music, the world beyond the woods be damned.

The trees pass by as Geralt ventures deeper into the woods, never catching sight of the mist that swathes him. If anything, it is a caress, an embrace, something that softens the sharp edges of him and blots out the things that keep him up at night. There is a peace here he never knew he wanted, but he yearns for it, to be allowed to keep this thing as he steps into a glade where the sunlight comes through in soft, slanted bars.

It is there that he sees it, though the creature is tangled up in the shadows where the trees begin again. The claws are the first thing to catch Geralt’s eye, razor sharp and curved like scythes. They’re lost as they fade into sinewy arms, rough and ashen like tree bark on something long since dead. Its limbs come together like twisted vines and branches, framing around its dessicated belly where the thin flesh that stretches across is sunken in.

This is the thing singing him lullabies, he realizes. The sense of danger claws its way closer to the forefront of his mind, but every inch is a struggle as he tries to remember why this should frighten anyone. Shaking something loose, he slowly cobbles together the sense to draw his sword.

“Silver? You can’t hurt me with that.” The music has stopped, but the voice is lyrical all the same, pulling Geralt’s gaze upward where the creature looms a bit over him. He hadn’t seen its face before, but it’s no more pleasant than the rest of it. Teeth like long daggers fill up its mouth, pulling it into a sort of rictus grin. Geralt can see patches of ashen skin underneath, crowded in by branches that fan out at grotesque angles, a mockery of antlers. A short ways beneath them, a pair of blue, blue eyes zero in on Geralt, unnaturally luminous. He’s never seen a damned thing like it.

“I don’t think it’ll tickle,” he grouses, adjusting his stance. It spoke to him though, clearly more than the beast it appears to be, so he doesn’t attack right away.

“You were lost.” It’s not a question, and Geralt isn’t sure if it’s that or the creature’s utter lack of concern about his weapon that puts him on edge.

“I wasn’t until you lured me here,” Geralt growls, because if this is going to end up in a fight, he’d just as soon get on with it.

The creature regards him with a wider smile, probably meant to convey mirth, but mostly only pulling it’s mouth into something more grotesque. It shakes its head, horns catching in the leaves overhead. Worse, the creature laughs. “I watched you all afternoon.”

Had it been so long? There is rumor that time moves differently in places like this, but surely it can’t have been hours he’s been here. For the first time, Geralt notices the sunlight has taken on the drippy gold sheen it wears just before dusk begins to settle in, and he curses under his breath.

“What do you want?” Geralt braces himself, sure he’s not going to like the answer.

At first, the creature is quiet, it’s expression so twisted that it’s impossible to glean any sense of intention. “No one is meant to survive this place, but....”

The response covers the obvious, Geralt thinks but does not say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“What? No, no, of course not. I want to help you.” Geralt had expected some sort of formality in conversation with the kinds of things that live in a forest like this, not unlike the way conversations go with nobles. The cadence this one keeps to is like an old friend though, casual, friendly even, and it’s all Geralt can do not to be swayed again despite what’s looking at him. Almost too late, Geralt realizes it’s making eye contact, but he cannot look away.

“Don’t do that,” he grits out, and perhaps he’s caught the creature in a good mood because the tug at his emotions and sense of reason dissipates until it has faded to nothing. All at once, Geralt is entirely his own again.

“Of course,” it agrees, stepping through the glade, strangely graceful. Where Geralt expects a lumbering gait, the creature moves like a dancer, eerie in the way it glides to where the witcher stands and then right on past him. “Come along then.”

“Just like that?” Geralt arches an eyebrow, recognizing following the creature through the woods for the terrible idea it is now that his mind is no longer clouded. Granted, there aren’t a great many options. Besides, it could have forced him or killed him or just left him in the woods, and it had done none of those things. Heaving a sigh and cursing under his breath, Geralt follows.

The creature leads the way, absently dragging its fingers along bark and branches. Geralt isn’t sure if it’s his imagination, but he swears everywhere it touches brightens, as if this monstrous thing is luring the foliage to flourish the way it lured Geralt to stand before it. It must be a fairy, he realizes, its distorted visage the truth that lurks beneath the pretty picture fae paint for men.

“Do you always hunt monsters? Is it exciting? Do you travel?” the questions come rapidfire, and for something dredged up from someone’s nightmare, it’s shockingly amiable. Chatty too, much to Geralt’s chagrin. The fairy doesn’t actually wait for an answer to any of the things it asks though, before sort of interrupting itself. “I’m being rude. I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

Fairies aren’t really monsters, and they mostly keep to themselves, so Geralt isn’t as well versed in their ways as might be useful, but this part he knows. There’s power in a name, and it’s not something he’s keen on handing over to any sort of fae, no matter how friendly it seems. There’s… something about being very careful not to be rude though, he thinks, so Geralt gives it something, a useless moniker as a standup. “You can call me witcher.”

“You really are a monster hunter, then.” If the fairy is put off by Geralt’s answer, it doesn’t show. Quite the contrary. Its mouth pulls wide into the unnatural, sharp edged smile that Geralt is starting to realize is just the fairy’s face and not some kind of threat. And then, perhaps because the name thing doesn’t work in reverse, or because Geralt has misremembered the lore entirely, it replies, “Well, hello then, witcher. I’m Dandelion.”

“Dandelion.” Geralt dubiously repeats, drawing the word out as his gaze sweeps over the fairy from head to toe. If said fairy recognizes that Dandelion is terribly incongruous with his nightmarish countenance, he gives no indication, instead chattering on about something else entirely. He pays little mind when Geralt mostly doesn’t answer, as if the witcher were just an accessory to the fairy’s one sided conversation.

Geralt feels the change before he sees it, when the muggy summer air begins crowding into the woods’ perpetual spring. By the time the treeline comes into view, the sun has nearly sunk below the horizon, the first stars peeking out where the sky has already gone dark. A tension Geralt hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally eases, as he reaches safety once more.

“Thank-” Geralt begins, but the look on Dandelion’s face stops him. His face is always somewhat twisted, but even still, there’s no mistaking the anger in the way the fairy’s eyes narrow at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” It comes out far more forcefully than Geralt can imagine there being any call for, and Dandelion punctuates each word with a sharp poke of one clawed finger against the armor in the center of his chest. “Have you no manners at all?”

Belatedly, Geralt thinks he might remember some such thing about thanking fae being rude. Maybe? He can’t really recall because it had never been important, but he holds up his hands placatingly. “I only wanted to convey that I appreciate your help.”

Dandelion lets out an affronted little hmph, but the fairy’s eyes soften around the edges. Geralt can’t help but think he’s narrowly sidestepped something awful. He’s never met another fairy, but he’s heard stories, and never got the impression they were easy to mollify.

“Why wouldn’t I help? Okay, maybe the others wouldn’t have, but that’s hardly the point. It’s not like you deserved to be stuck there,” Dandelion mutters, clawed hand falling loosely back to his side, leaving Geralt to wonder what metric the fairy was judging that by.

Eager to put some distance between himself and those cursed woods, Geralt chooses not to give the fairy an opportunity to drag him into further conversation. He offers up a hasty goodbye and turns on his heel to leave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dandelion moves so quietly, it’s only the continued thrum of his medallion that gives the fairy away. Bracing himself for what he assumes are going to be far too many words, he looks at Dandelion, “You’re following me. Why?”

“Oh! I can’t go back,” Dandelion says a little too brightly, waving a spindly arm at the meadow stretched out in front of them. “Seems like as good a direction as any.”

“Why can’t you go back?” Geralt hears himself ask, even though he really doesn’t want to know, even though he’s very aware that he’s going to feel obligated to do something once he does know.

Dandelion’s shoulders lift and fall in what Geralt can only assume is an approximation of a shrug. “You break the rules. You leave. Or you die. Really, it happens so rarely I don’t think anyone remembers one way or another, so probably best to decide for them and be on my way.”

Geralt stops then, because Dandelion appears pretty determined to follow and given how difficult a time he has with humans already, the fairy’s appearance would only make it worse. Dandelion's earlier assertion that no one was meant to survive the woods takes on an entirely different connotation now. It had never been the threat he’d assumed it to be at all. “Why did you help me, then?”

“You were lost.” Under other circumstances, the naive simplicity of that might be endearing. No qualifiers. No caveats. Either Dandelion is terribly manipulative or terribly kind-hearted, and Geralt has an incredibly irritating suspicion that it’s the latter.

“I’d have found my way.”

Dandelion’s features don’t change much, but the glow of his eyes shifts, taking on a softer cast. “You really wouldn’t have. No one does. That’s the point.”

Geralt wants to argue, but they probably both know better when it comes down to it. Resigning himself to having company at least for the trip into town, Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever even been out here?”

“Nope.” Dandelion’s tone is far too untroubled for someone who’s just tossed aside their entire life, but the fairy glances away, and for just a moment, Geralt spots the sorrow underneath, no more than one last longing look at the trees behind them.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters to himself, already knowing he’s not going to abandon Dandelion out here. Resigned, Geralt gestures at Dandelion’s looming form. “Well, you can’t walk into town like that.”

“Like what?” Dandelion’s head cocks to the side like a curious puppy. A very large, very nightmarish puppy.

“I’m not sure if you’ve if you’ve seen yourself, but-” That’s as far as Geralt gets before it becomes clear that Dandelion has grasped the issue. Geralt had been looking up at the fairy’s face, so the abrupt disappearance as Dandelion shifts into some hopefully less imposing form throws him off.

Geralt’s gaze drags downward until he catches the top of a mop of brown hair framing the high cheekbones and soft curves of a startlingly human face. Only Dandelion’s eyes give him away, and even then, only because Geralt knows the blue of them is a touch too vibrant to be normal. Dandelion’s newly human looking mouth turns up pleasantly, a far cry from the jagged teeth from before. Even his clothes are convincing in that they’re bright and eye catching and recognizably human. “Better?”

“...Better,” Geralt is forced to concede. Pretty, even, if he’s being honest. At least Dandelion hadn’t decided to model this new form after him. Where any of this came from is a revelation Geralt is very, very sure he doesn’t want to partake in.

“Wonderful!” Dandelion claps his very human looking hands together once and sets off in the direction Geralt had been walking.

And it’s fine, really. He’ll get Dandelion to civilization, where he’s sure the curious fairy will find something other than Geralt to occupy his time. That’ll be the end of it, Geralt decides. It has to be because there’s no place for a fairy at the side of a witcher.

While he might prod Dandelion for his thoughts on the matter, the fairy is already incessantly chattering about practically everything else. The stars are so bright without the trees in the way. The grass is scratchier out here. Do you ever wear anything other than black? It’s so warm. How does anyone stand it? What’s that, anyway?

The last in the barrage of commentary and questions is punctuated by slender fingers reaching out to brush over the medallion around Geralt’s neck. Instinctively, his hand shoots up to curl around Dandelion’s wrist and pull it away. “Do not.”

“Touchy,” Dandelion complains, rubbing at his wrist when Geralt releases it. The witcher might feel bad if he wasn’t quite certain that the only thing he could possibly have injured is Dandelion’s pride.

There are a few moments of blessed silence where Dandelion is either sufficiently chastised or maybe just grumpy enough not to keep talking. They’re almost to the road when Geralt realizes another issue and very, very reluctantly speaks up. “What are you going to call yourself?”

“I have a name.” Apparently all is forgiven, because Dandelion’s frown dissipates in favor of open curiosity.

“You can not go around calling yourself Dandelion if you’re trying to pass yourself off as human.” Before Dandelion can argue, Geralt adds, “And you are passing yourself off as human.”

“Fine.” A frown creases Dandelion’s lips again as he shuffles along beside Geralt. The fairy is blessedly quiet as they reach the road. The village is too far away to see in dark, even for Geralt, but it’s close enough to promise an end to all this nonsense. Geralt doesn’t see the way Dandelion abruptly brightens up, but he hears it. “Buttercup?”

Why did he think this was going to be anything other than thoroughly exasperating? Geralt glances over at Dandelion who, oddly enough, seems very invested in his approval. “That’s not better.”

“Daffodil? Oh, I don’t like that one. Maybe Peony?” And Dandelion is off again, prattling on about crocuses and tulips and bluebells and…

“Not a flower.” Geralt finally cuts in when he can’t tune Dandelion out any longer.

That quiets Dandelion for the space of a single breath before he’s pressing, “Why not?”

“Because humans would never name someone after most of those,” Geralt forces himself to explain very slowly and very calmly and very much not beginning to lose his temper. It’s only as he realizes Dandelion probably doesn’t have enough context that something like sympathy creeps in around the edges of his irritable mood. “Just pick something else.”

The fairy protests that if he’s giving up the last thing tying him to his old life, he should at least replace it with something good, and Geralt supposes there’s not much to argue with on that front. They go back and forth a great deal before Dandelion finally suggests something that isn’t a flower. “Jaskier?”

“Fine.” Geralt agrees with an exasperated sigh. He’s so grateful that the fairy has finally suggested something that isn’t completely ridiculous that he almost misses the toothy little smile Dandelion… Jaskier gives him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier sing songs, looking very much like he’s won some game Geralt didn’t even know they were playing. “Nothing at all.”

****

The further they get from the forest, the more aware Dandelion (Jaskier, he reminds himself) is of how horribly uncomfortable it is. The air is too warm and too thick, like tree sap where it sticks to his skin. How does anyone live out here?

He supposes he’s going to find out if he’s meant to make a life beyond the woods, which is fine, really. It’s… fine. It has to be. The only home he’s ever known is no great loss, with the promise of endless adventure stretched out in front of him. It’s what Jaskier tells himself, at least, and he refuses to look back lest the fragile belief crumble.

After all, if he’s going to follow the witcher, there’s a whole world out there to explore. The man doesn’t appear all that interested in having Jaskier’s company, but that’s not exactly a new experience for the fairy, odd by even fae standards. That will all change, he thinks, when the witcher sees how useful it is to have someone around with magic at their fingertips. Surely, there must be something the witcher wants, if Jaskier can just learn what it is.

So, he follows at the witcher’s heels, unsure he particularly likes the wide dirt path humans have cut through the wilderness around them. Grass and flowers sprawl as far as the eye can see to either side, but the ground underneath them is hard, even through the soles of his boots. There’s a reason for it, probably, but the sentiment remains all the same.

Losing interest in the road, Jaskier watches the witcher, silently walking just a bit ahead. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, Jaskier quickly discovers. The fairy tries valiantly, but it’s not until he asks about why the man carries two swords that Jaskier gets more than a vague grunt in response.

“Silver for monsters. Steel for men.” It’s abrupt and to the point, and then the witcher is silent.

That seems… extreme. Jaskier has never actually met a human, mind you, but he’s seen a couple from afar. They looked quite fragile in the grand scheme of things, but if someone like the witcher has a weapon dedicated to them, perhaps he’s miscalculated. “Are humans really so dangerous?”

“You can decide that for yourself.” The witcher gestures ahead as they top a hill. Beyond the crest of it lays what must be a human community of some sort. It’s a collection of buildings silhouetted in the dark, yellow light glowing from within some of them.

Jaskier had somehow expected something more grand. He thinks to ask if all the places humans live are like this, but there’s the slightest dip to the way the witcher carries himself. From everything else he’s seen, it strikes Jaskier that even this very slight show of vulnerability is more than the witcher has allowed, as if there’s just too much exhaustion at this point to hold it all in. So, Jaskier tries to keep his questions to a minimum after that, humming softly as they make their way towards the buildings.

It’s louder here, though not by much. Somewhere off to Jaskier’s right, there’s the din of a number of conversations happening at the same time, but the witcher keeps walking and so the fairy does too. The road is mostly empty, but there are a couple of people out and about. Jaskier does his best not to stare too openly, but he sees enough to decide none of them are individually that interesting. They’re quiet and plain. Even their clothes are muted.

By the time Jaskier stops trying to make sense of their surroundings and thinks to break his attempt at silence to ask where they’re going, the witcher has stopped in front of a door. It’s the grandest building Jaskier has seen yet, which really isn’t saying much. All that sets it apart from the rest is some pretty filigree carved around the doors and windows.

“Don’t say a word,” the witcher insists as he raps his knuckles against the door. Of course, that just brings more questions. Don’t talk to the witcher or to whoever is on the other side of that door? Is this knocking thing some tradition before you walk into a building? Before he can ask anything, the door swings open.

The man that greets them is nothing at all like the witcher. He’s unpleasant to look at with his beady eyes and beaked nose, and even before he speaks, Jaskier knows his voice will be equally unpleasant. It’s the way he looks at the witcher though, that gets the fairy’s hackles up. He doesn’t know humans, not really, but he knows disdain when he sees it, and that won’t do at all.

“Witcher,” the man greets, and the tone of it has sealed his fate as far as Jaskier is concerned. Oh sure, the witcher is gruff and not very friendly, but he’s good. Jaskier knows that much, even if it’s hard to explain why in words. He’s done nothing to deserve this man speaking to him like they’re less than equals, and yet the witcher wordlessly bears it.

Is it always like this? Jaskier wonders only briefly before deciding that if it is, it won’t be anymore. Maybe that is the thing he can do to sway the witcher into allowing him to keep following.

The door opens more widely, and the man hardly spares Jaskier a glance, clearly taking him at face value. That, or he’s too busy watching the witcher’s every move. As if he hasn’t even noticed, the witcher steps past the threshold into the building, Jaskier close behind him.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #fae!jaskier #my fic

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wittystarkk · 5 years ago

Text

Royal Predicament || Bucky Barnes || Part One

author: wittystarkk

words: 2k+

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader, side Steve Rogers/Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You thought that becoming Queen was never in your cards. Your elder brother, by a great deal of years, was the heir to the throne; and when his time came he wore the crown with dignity. He was a grand King and the people worshipped him. Until his health began to fail. He'd quickly come to the conclusion he needed to relinquish the crown; leaving it to you. With an exceptional catch: you had to be wed. Luckily he'd already found the perfect husband for you, a King from a near country. Hopefully he will be worthy of your hand.TLDR; Reader is thrown into an arranged marriage with a perfect stranger in order to obtain her crown. Aka: I am terrible at summaries.

A/N: See end.

Next Chapter

The kingdom was failing.

You were entirely too aware of the frailty that was your families reign. The once grand empire was becoming weakened. Their lynch around their land was loosening. Your brother, the king, had fallen ill. An unknown ailment that tightened his chest and shallowed his breathing. He was having to remove himself from the public eye. Had taken to weak favor with the court and the subjects. You feared that in time, your family would fall. Even worse, that another King would have your family overthrown.

You found yourself in your chambers, looking over a pile of parchments that had been delivered to your door earlier in the afternoon while you were having lunch in the grand dining room. Many were proposals from the subjects of your brothers rule; others were requests from females to join your inner circle, learn things from the Princess herself that they’d have no access to on their own. You would have your servant pull two or three requests from the pile and would allow them visitation with you for a few weeks where you would teach them to become proper and suitable for the prospect of marriage.

Another parchment unrolled and you read it quickly, sighing softly as you tossed it to the table before yourself. Another message you didn’t care for. You wondered how many times you could read the same thing from a stranger before you stopped accepting mail. Your chambermaid, Guliana, came to your side at the sign of distress. “Would you care for wine?” She wondered in her low, soft tone. You shook your head in response to her, frowning a bit.

She retreated back to where she’d been standing against the wall, watching with diligence over your room with her hands crossed in front of herself. You pushed down on the arms of your chair, lifting yourself from the cushion. “I think I would care for a bath,” you decided, heading for your bathroom. Guliana followed after you, busying herself with removing your cloak from around your shoulders. She delicately placed it over the bar which would hold all of your clothing, and turned to help you remove your over dress. She got the string at the top untied just as a knock sounded at the door to your receiving chamber.

“Mistress…” Guliana whispered, dropping her hand from the back of our dress.

“Answer the door, please. I can retrieve my cloak.”

She bowed her head and turned from you, retreating from the bathroom to the door of your receiving chamber. “Your Highness,” you heard her voice carry to you as you tied your cloak around your shoulders. “Please, come in. Your sister is redressing.”

You exited the bathroom, looking your brother over with impatience. “Anthony,” you greeted, wrapping your cloak tightly around yourself. “How are you feeling?”

Your brother stepped further into your chambers, taking a seat at the far end of the couch that was situated in front of the hearth. “Cold,” he managed finally, calling your maid over to add another piece of wood to the dwindling fire. She was quick in her movements but you could sense the stress in her shoulders. She didn’t like when your brother came to visit. You suspected any non-royal was made even a tad anxious by the King's presence.

“Would you like me to have Guliana retrieve a blanket for you?”

He shook his head, drawing the jacket he wore a little tighter around himself. “I would rather you take your seat. I’ve got something of a pressing matter to discuss with you actually.” He turned his attention from the fire to you, meeting your eyes. “Please, dear sister.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes to hide your annoyance. He wanted something, you were sure. You were also sure that it was something you weren’t looking to give him. “Dear brother,” you kept your tone even as to not convey your mockery. “I was asking for a bath to be drawn before you ventured to my wing. Would you not allow me to bathe and have this conversation in the morning?”

“I am afraid that it cannot wait.”

You studied him for a few beats before you took your seat on the opposite end of the couch, drawing your dress around yourself. “What is so pressing?”

Anthony took a long breath through his nose. The way in which the shadows were playing across his face made it seem much longer than it actually was. The lights made him look older, as well. Tired. You knew he was of low health, but now he looked nearly fragile. “I am afraid I am going to have the process of removing myself from the throne officiated. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to lead people when I can no longer care for myself.”

Your breath was tight in your chest, “I beg your pardon?”

His eyes scanned your face slowly, watching your expression change from confusion to concern. “I fear you’ve heard me correctly, dear sister.”

“But I do not think that is the truth. I believe I have heard you say to me that you’re intending to relinquish the throne, dear brother.”

He nodded.

“And who, pray tell, are you intending to take over in your absence? You haven’t an heir. We know your wife, may she rest her soul, was dreadfully barren.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Which, would leave you, it would seem.”

Your brows furrowed deeply, your eyebrows drawn together tightly. “Pardon me, once more, for I fear I do not entirely understand what you are trying to convey.”

Anthony drew in another deep breath, releasing his grip on his jacket. “You are to be my successor. You are to take the throne once I forfeit the crown. I will take my leave from the castle, here, and find the rest of my days spent at Castle Iron, a half days carriage ride from here. I will take the servants I have grown accustomed to, and will visit should you send for me.”

“Are you not seeing the glaring mistake in this most ridiculous plan of yours?”

He smirked, and you found your stomach gave a lurch. You hated when your brother smirked at you. Ever since you can remember his smirk had only brought trouble to your life. He turned more to you on the couch, taking longer to speak than you appreciated. You began bouncing your foot in your slipper in your anxiety. “Brother,” you pleaded. “How am I to take the throne if you and I are both aware a Queen may not rule without having a King by her side. And as I am aware, I am not currently betrothed to anyone.”

His smirk faltered a little as he clasped his hands together in his lap. “I suppose that leads me into the second matter that I want to bring to your attention.”

“You haven’t,” you kept yourself from shrieking.

He nodded, “I have.” You watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “It’s been in the process for months. I haven’t made this decision lightly, dear sister. I have given it constant thoughts and planning for ages.”

“I have reached out to a neighboring country. Their King is yet to wed, and they’ve agreed to join our countries. To bond our forces with theirs. They’ve offered their assistance in all that has troubled us, has weakened us.” He sat forward, leaning against his elbow on his thigh. “This is everything we could have hoped for. Everything we have needed. Our country will know security again. They’ve offered assistance in farming. Trade. Your nuptials will bring forth something I could never have fathomed for our people. Do you not see how wonderful this shall be?”

You stared at him with your lips parted in shock, your brain working a mile a minute at trying to process everything your brother had just said to you. You were in a shocked state. You knew that you were to serve your country as you’d been bred to. To just accept and allow, but. The thought of having your entire life altered by a choice made without even the slightest hint to you was making your heart race. “No!” You shouted at him, pushing your body up from the couch where you’d just heard more than you ever wanted.

“I will not be sold off like a prized cow to a prince I have never met to simply advance your favor.”

He set his jaw, muscles clenched tightly. It looked almost painful. “I will not remind you of how little say in this matter you have in contrast to what you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you have. I am your king, and you will do well to remember that. I have chosen to foster this relationship, and you’ve no choice but to allow it.

“This is for the betterment of not only the people, but as well as your life. If I weren’t to have chosen this path for yourself and the kingdom, we would surely be overthrown within months if not weeks. And I do believe you value your head upon your shoulders rather than within the executioners basket.”

You opened your mouth to reply, to say something - anything. But all that your brain would allow was a few stammerings before you were brought back down to your seat, your hands fisted in your lap. There ws nothing that you could say that would be proper for a King to hear, even if it were from his sister. So you sat, with your mouth closed tightly, and your hands clenched. The two of you remained in silence together for what felt like hours. The fire crackling as the only sound behind yourself.

When Anthony finally spoke, you nearly jumped, your pulse thumping. “I did not do this to upset you, and I did not do this out of spite. I am only trying to help and provide a better future for both yourself and this kingdom. I have been told this King is most gracious and kind, by those who do not need to speak highly of him for fear of death.”

“You mustn’t lie to me now, brother.”

He sighed heavily, “I am not lying to you. I am doing this to help you. Your future is going to be secured. You will be Queen. Your kingdom will be large than mine or our father could have dreamed it would ever be. This is grand.”

You kept yourself composed, your attention on the fire. “I think that I would like to be alone. Have a moment allowed to process the news of my betrothal, and impending crown.”

Anthony nodded and took a moment before standing from the couch, fixing his jacket. “Have a good rest of your evening dear sister. I will see you in the morning.” He nodded to your maid who opened the door and gave him a courteous smile and a bow. He walked out of the room and was surrounded by his bodyguards immediately. Your maid shut the door and turned to you with a soft expression.

“Congratulations, Mistress.” She whispered, looking to the bathroom. “Would you like that bath now?”

You shook your head, “no. I think I would like to sleep.”

Guliana helped you ready for bed and you found yourself unable to sleep. You laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling as the fire began to once more die down. You had woken that morning, single and with no obligations. The crown was not looming over your head. It was hard to wrap your mind around the thought of a husband so suddenly. A husband, whom you realized, you’d never met. Your stomach lurched. You began to fear your brother had tied you to some oaf of a man. Perhaps one that was absurd in age.

Your mind started creating a picture of your unknown fiance. One that was making your sleep even harder to obtain.

You eventually gave up, choosing the couch and a bottle of wine.

A/N: Hi! This is like.. An out there story for me. I just got really into Tudors and Princess Diaries 2 and have thus decided that I wanted to write this slop... I really, really hope you enjoy it. Feedback would be rad as hell. If you’d like to be tagged please let me know. (-:

#sam writes #sam posts #sams post #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fan fic

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maddrmatt · 5 years ago

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Kairi’s Epic Journey: The Quest for Sora

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Chapter 7: An Old Enemy Gets Involved

Destiny Islands

After Kairi’s departure, the Play Island was silent. There was no trace that she and Pluto had even been there save for a few footprints in the sand that would eventually be blown away by the wind.

But their departure had not gone unseen.

Perched high in one of the palm trees was a black feathered raven. It was an unusual sight since ravens were not indigenous to the Destiny Islands. But this was no mere raven.

It was Diablo, faithful servant to the Mistress of All Evil herself.

From his perch, he stared down intently at the spot where Kairi and Pluto had vanished from. Then with a flap of his wings, he took off into the air and soared over the sea.

He had news for his mistress.

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Enchanted Dominion

In her castle on the Forbidden Mountain, Maleficent sat on her throne deep in thought. Her mind was trying to formulate a plan to acquire the Black Box from Xehanort’s former second-in-command and his companions in animal masks.

‘There must be a way to steal that Box. These Keyblade Wielders must have some kind of weakness I can exploit. My ambitions of conquest depend on it,’ she thought.

Suddenly, a loud caw was heard and Maleficent snapped out of her thoughts. She looked upward to see Diablo fly in from a window. He flew directly toward her and landed on the ball of her staff.

“Ah, my faithful pet. You have been away for quite some time. What news have you brought me?” she asked as she stroked Diablo’s feathers.

The raven began to caw. Maleficent listened closely for she could understand her pet as if he spoke actual words.

After Diablo finished his wordless tale, Maleficent’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you certain?” she asked to which Diablo let out a caw of affirmation.

“Then we must take action immediately. Pete!” she called out as she rose up from her throne.

Almost immediately, the roly-poly cat came running. He huffed and puffed as he stopped in front of her.

“You called, Maleficent? Did you finally find a way to get that Box from those animal-masked bozos? Boy, it’s hard to believe that old man Xehanort’s own right-hand man was pulling his strings the whole time. The only thing that would be more surprisin’ is if I were plottin’ behind your back. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?” he asked with a chuckle.

But seeing that Maleficent was in no mood for jokes, Pete immediately changed his tune. “Not that I would actually do such a thing. I mean, after all we’ve been through together, I wouldn’t dream of stabbin’ ya in the back like that.”

Then he noticed Diablo. “Hey, your flyin’ feather duster’s come back. Where’s he been all this time?”

Diablo cawed angrily in response to the insult while Maleficent scolded, “Kindly refrain from insulting Diablo, Pete. He has been away doing important surveillance for me.”

“Really? What might that be?” asked Pete

“He has been on the Destiny Islands keeping an eye on the Princess of Heart who lives there: Kairi.”

“What? Her? Oh, come on! She’s hardly worth the trouble. I mean, she went down pretty easy during all that fuss at the Keyblade Graveyard. Why even bother with her?”

“Because I learned that after the Heartless incarnation of Xehanort, the one who called himself Ansem, used the powers of the Princesses of Heart, the powers were passed onto other worthy maidens. All except Kairi who has held onto her power even after her temporary demise. There must be a reason for it and that is why I saw fit to have Diablo watch over her.”

“Well, I guess that’s a good enough reason. So why is he here now instead of watchin’ her?” asked Pete.

“According to Diablo, Kairi has left her home world with the aid of a magical talisman. Apparently, she believes that it is the key to bringing Sora back,” stated Maleficent.

Pete suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter. “Oh boy! Talk about chasin’ your wild geese! What is that girl thinkin’? Her boyfriend’s six feet under and gettin’ fitted for a halo! There ain’t no way he’s comin’ back!”

But then Pete noticed that Maleficent wasn’t laughing along with him. In fact, she looked very serious.

“Maleficent? He can’t come back, can he?” he asked.

“I cannot say for certain. But I do know that it is possible to revive the dead seeing as how I’ve done it myself before with Oogie Boogie,” said Maleficent.

“Oh, that’s right. But wasn’t he not right in the head after you brought him back?”

“Aside from that, it was an almost perfect revival. And he wasn’t the only one. Through some unknown means, Ursula returned from the dead to carry out her plans against Atlantica.”

“And weren’t you dead for a time after those pipsqueaks destroyed you?” asked Pete.

Maleficent glared daggers at her cohort. Pete cowered.

“Sorry about that. That’s probably not something you prefer to be reminded of.”

“What happened to me after that was…complicated. But my point remains that it is possible to come back from the dead. I also happen to know that miracles tend to happen for that boy especially when that girl is involved. Did you know that she was able to restore him when he was turned into a Heartless?” asked Maleficent.

“Really? Huh. Who’d a thunk she could do that?”

“Yes. If anyone could pull off such a feat and bring Sora back from the dead, it would be Kairi. And that is why we must, for the time being, put our plans for the Box aside and focus our efforts on stopping her.”

Pete was surprised. “B-but Maleficent, how are we going to do that? We don’t even know where she’s going.”

“That is no cause for concern at all, Pete. Diablo can find her,” said Maleficent as she walked toward a doorway leading to an outside balcony.

“Him? How can he do that?” asked Pete as he followed her.

“When I learned about Kairi’s retainment of her Princess of Heart status, I went to the Destiny Islands in secret and placed a spell on her,” said the evil fairy.

“You did? Hmm. Guess old habits die hard, huh?” asked Pete.

“The spell I placed on Kairi is nothing like the curse I placed on Princess Aurora in the past. It was small enough so it would go unnoticed. All it does is enable Diablo to find her no matter what world she goes to.”

Maleficent stepped out onto the balcony and gazed outward. From the distance, she could make out the castle where Princess Aurora, Prince Philip and their family were living their happily ever after.

As often as that sight disgusted Maleficent, she set it aside. She turned her attention to Diablo.

“Now, my pet, it is time for you to continue to watch over that girl. Find her and then report back to me on what world she is on. If we can discern a pattern to her travels, then we can prepare to act against her. Do you understand?”

Diablo responded with a bow. Maleficent smiled wickedly.

“Now go with a curse and serve me well.”

Diablo left his perch on Maleficent’s staff. The evil fairy watched as her faithful pet flew away while Pete came up to her side.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, Maleficent, why do we even need to bother with stoppin’ that Princess? Won’t nothin’ be able to stop us once we have that Box?”

Maleficent clutched her staff tightly. “Let me remind you, Pete, that Xehanort succeeded in acquiring the χ-blade and the power of Kingdom Hearts. He too, thought he was unstoppable. And yet, in the end, he still was defeated by the meddling boy and his companions. I will not make that same mistake and risk having my success ruined the same way!” she roared.

Pete was so startled by Maleficent’s outburst that he stumbled backward. He landed hard on his rear.

“Well, when you put it that way, then by all means we’ll stop her. We’ll hit her with everything we got!” exclaimed Pete as he picked himself up.

Maleficent continued to look out from the balcony as the thought of the possibility of Kairi causing Sora’s return plagued her mind. It caused her rage to grow immensely.

‘You should never have left your home, Kairi. If you think that I would allow you to bring your precious Sora back from the dead, you are sorely mistaken. I will do all in my power to stop you and in the end, he will have sacrificed himself for nothing.’

With the threat of Maleficent on the horizon, the quest was about to become even more dangerous for Kairi.

________________________________________________________________

Onto the next chapter!

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #sokai #diablo #maleficent #pete #maddrmatt

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widcwed-rasa · 5 years ago

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Note: this is part of Rasa’s now annual tradition to write her feelings out and “speak” to her deceased husband through letters she seals and hides away. Nobody knows about their existence. Read it at your discretion.

Khatanga - October 24th, 2120.

My dearest husband,

Two days have passed since the anniversary of your death, and this year has been turbulent, to say the least. After years of watching my parents giving me sideways glances and whispering things behind my back when they thought I was out of earshot, I decided it was finally time for me to go away. They've been pressuring me to come out of my shell for so long that I believed giving them what they wanted would mean I would get a break. I was wrong.

This Khatanga experiment seems fucked up if you ask me. I understand why our parents are concerned about our safety, but throwing us all in the same place didn't sound like the smartest idea. I wish you could be here with me. You would understand what I'm talking about, though I can't say there haven't been interesting moments. I won't get ahead of myself here. Let me try to recount things as chronologically as I can.

Ausra and I made our way here together. I suppose our parents either assumed the two of us together would make this transition easier on me, or they decided she was ready to be pushed into a marriage. Whichever scenario, the result will probably be the same. And since Daina has recently arrived here as well, I imagine we'll soon all be facing the same circumstance, but so far, it's just been me.

I guess one of the first few things that happened after we arrived was stumbling into Maggie one night. You remember her, right? She's been a little crestfallen over the idea of seeing Matthias around here more often than anyone would have wished to see their ex. It's understandable, and her feelings are valid, I just don't know why anyone would make her suffer. To make matters worse, I believe Matty might be oblivious to it, which kinda makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. They don't have a clue how lucky they are that things ended when they did. I keep telling people that love brings nothing but pain. Nobody believes me. No one ever seems to comprehend why I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I've just been trying to warn them. Nevertheless, I did for Maggie what any good friend should do. Actually, maybe I've done a bit more than that, but you know me. I cannot see a pretty girl upset without lending them a helping hand— or whatever else they might require. You'll be glad to hear that we have rekindled our estranged friendship, and now it's probably at the best point it's ever been.

I think it might have been at the end of May. Or was it the beginning of June?! I can't remember it too well. Anyway, it was just shortly after our arrival as well when I received a letter from mama with news that would change my life forever. Not right away, no, because I preferred to block it all out and pretend it had never happened. I thought if I could simply ignore it, therefore it couldn't be true. My world of fantasy crumbled just weeks later, and, as usual, it happened in the worst way possible.

When I agreed to come to Russia, I thought my parents would allow me a breathing moment without having to hear about my next marriage. It's still too weird to consider it, or the fact that it's really in motion. Overall, I'm surprised they managed to find a family that was willing to take me in as their daughter. Let's be honest, the past couple of years have been far from my most gracious times, and it's not as if I'm making any effort to change that. So why? Why would anyone want to associate their son with someone like me? My therapist would say I put myself down as self-sabotage. Well, I never saw her in any great rush to marry me and prove me wrong!

Anyway, my parents have been able to settle the terms of my betrothal with Eamon O'Rourke of Ireland. He's not the first in line for the throne— thank goodness for that! Can you imagine what it would be like if I were the queen of any place? —, he's younger than I am by a few years— his twin sister is one of Ausra's best friends. Maybe I should try to see if she's involved in this somehow —, and he has this shocking head of red hair that's pretty much the first thing you ever notice about him. It seems a little bit like Ausra's hair, but with a little more of an orange undertone, like the sky during sunset after a long period of drought. And... I slept with his older brother a few years ago, a piece of information he took surprisingly well, I might add.

As it habitually happens to me, when we met, or more accurately, when he snuck up on me, I made a fool out of myself. First impressions have never been my forte. You would find the entire thing hilarious, and the problem is: so did I. Not hilarious, or funny, but you know I have this proclivity for smiling or laughing when I get nervous, and I laughed for long minutes. It probably felt even longer for him. He deserves someone a tad more tactful. Instead, he got stuck with me. Eventually, we sorted that out. We seem to have a lot of dark things in common. The sort of things that would make most people run for the hills without ever looking back. If he hasn't found a deal-breaker in the past couple of days, there's a chance all this darkness in me isn't triggering to him, and this wedding might end up happening. I'm scared. And don't give me one of those bullshit speeches about facing our fears. I want to be able to chicken out like the good coward that I am.

Since our meeting was far from ideal, I thought it called for reparation. So I looked for him during the masquerade event so we might have more of a chance to talk and get to know one another. We drank and asked a bunch of questions. As it turns out, we both prefer to live in the country, and we might move to Italy after we're married, and his sister also is. Oh, and he's a cat person. Do you think I could have a cat...? Our drinking game went better than I thought it would. Maybe it could be our thing.

While here, I also had the chance to spend more time around Maggie's brother, Ivan. Nothing about our rendezvous was expected, and I must say it took a peculiar turn. Maggie invited me for tea one afternoon, but she didn't show. Instead, Ivan came around for the same reason: meeting his sister there. We quickly came to the conclusion it wasn't an accident that we were both there. Maggie had pulled those strings. I'm still not sure why. Perhaps Ivan got to the bottom of that situation, and I should ask him. The idea of spending my afternoon sipping tea with someone I barely knew wasn't among my favorite activities, and I doubt it figured among his as well. There were probably more interesting things a crown prince could be doing, but him producing a flask of whatever booze from a pocket helped with our bonding process. Immensely. With a snap of the fingers, we became acquainted with the other one's flirtatious sides, building up a tension I didn't even know existed between us. He instigated my curiosity, and I hate to admit that he had me hanging on every word just to see what would follow. I'd like to think stumbling into me also wasn't the most conventional thing that's ever occurred to him. There might be some other buttons to push or undo there. I don't know which ones yet, and I might be willing to go ahead and do that. Eventually. It's something that will come to me.

Now, let me circle back to the masquerade ball we had... So many things happened. I don't even know where to start. A few days before the party, we received letters telling us that the organization had picked out dates for everyone. f I already had my doubts about attending, giving me an obligation while I was at it wasn't how anyone would convince me I would have a nice time. My pair for the evening was Prince Callister from Greece. A very superman sort of man. Seriously, the guy looks like some artisan sculpted him in marble. As polite as polite could be. In fact, if politeness ever had a picture in the dictionary, he would be there with a smile upon his face. After fulfilling our mandatory duty, I didn't want to keep him for longer. Life's too short for us not to do what we want to do, and the man is clearly besotted with his fiancée. What a rookie mistake. Therefore, he wasn't my type.

After I freed Callister from his obligation, I sought for things I could do while I was still there, otherwise, the evening would have been a waste of my time and a beautiful dress— Oh my God, I sounded just like Day! Never tell her that! —although terrible shoes. It was how I came across the Devil. Or, well, that's how he first introduced himself, and it led to such a frustrating experience.

He invited me to dance. I could never turn down something like that. Especially not when it already felt like something I hadn't done in forever. So we danced, and we talked, and we teased enough to feel like maybe we should have been doing something other than just dancing. We kissed, and things heated up quickly. The way he was touching me made it clear he wanted more. I wanted more. Unfortunately, being too honest sometimes has its problems. I told him there was a lot about the past couple of years that I couldn't remember, and he decided to use that information against me so he could leave me wanting more. He told me that was the best way to make sure someone was memorable. Can you believe that?! He dared me to find him afterward, which would be a lot easier if we had exchanged names or anything like that. Now I'm stuck with a vague sense of recognition, a challenge, and curiosity. It's terrible!

You will be proud to hear that I've made a new friend. And, of course, that happened in the least predictable way possible. She drenched the hem of my skirts with champagne. She was mortified when it happened. I was more along the lines of amused. Sure, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have found it as endearing if she wasn't stunning. And those eyes... Those eyes, I tell you. They look like they're staring right into your soul. Sarika is a sweet woman, and she's also been through a lot. No wonder we seemed to attract each other. There might be a couple of things I could teach her as well, after all, I've been doing this mourning thing for eight years now. I've picked up some stuff here and there. If people want to give me those pity eyes, the least they should expect is for me to use that for something. This can't just be the kind of situation in which only I lose. Sometimes we need to try leveling that playfield, and it's something I know I can help her. We might be the only ones who are truly able to understand how the other feels. She was even willing to be here with me when I just wanted the whole world to be gone. I like her. I'm keeping her.

The masquerade had some intriguing twists and turns, but I suppose running into Valentin of Austria had a riveting turn out. Maybe I've read him completely wrong from our first few meetings. When we first crossed paths back in spring, he seemed like the sort of man who held back a lot. He always seemed to dodge and skirt around things he truly wanted to do, and I don't know why he'd have such reservations. Anyway, I convinced him to steal a bottle of booze for us to share. It didn't take a lot of persuading, which is probably what led me to believe there are things he wants to do, but he's reluctant. During the event, when I saw him, there were two things he wanted to do: go up on stage and sing and kiss me. I wasn't going to wait and see whether I win or lose a bet to kiss someone, so I did just that before he even had the chance to finish his proposition. Still, he went on stage anyway for his rendition of Britney Spears. I thought it was an odd choice, but it isn't my place to judge. My karaoke songs aren't what others would call conventional either. Maybe I was a little upset over the fact that he had already gotten the girl, but I had to cut my losses. When does life ever go the way I want it anyway?! He sang. We kissed. It was a win-win situation. Making out with him had unanticipated results, and he was far more willing to move past the boundaries of decency than I thought he'd be. Sure, he first freaked me out when he talked to me about love, but once we pushed past that obstacle, everything was great. He might turn into a friend with benefits. We'll see.

I saw Eamon again the other day. You know how I tend to shut myself in around this time of the year, and there are far more people here than I would have wanted to deal with when I'm in my right state of mind. When everything goes south, I push everyone away. I can be especially hard to handle during those episodes, and it was worse when I felt suffocated in a place where so many people seemed to have such easy access to me. So I bribed a maid to give me the location of a spot most people wouldn't think of looking for me: Eamon's room. Most people know how I feel about our contract betrothal. Ausra's still under the assumption our meeting went fabulously wrong— I'll tell her about it eventually —so no one would have reason to look for me there. I had already been there before a few times. He was never there. It was just a calm place for me to be when the world became too much. I don't generally touch anything, just sit or lie down in the most complete silence until my demons are appeased, and I feel like circling back to my room. But this time, he showed up while I was at it. I cannot begin to imagine how odd it must have been for him to open that door and find a woman he'd met like yesterday sobbing on his bed. It's hard to tell how he'll respond to what he encountered now that he's had the time to process everything, so I suppose I'll just have to wait to find out what the future has in store there.

I feel like this concludes my reports on the most impressive things that have happened to me lately, which means we're reaching the end of this.

I'll see you whenever I have more things to tell, well, you know how this goes.

Truthfully,

Rasa.

P.S.: I saw a man with his daughter the other day. She’s seven. That seems to have brought me way too many feelings I wasn’t prepared for. So, fuck you very much for putting the plans of having children inside my head all those years ago.

#{These things I'll never say || letters}#{How do I get closer to you when you keep it all on mute || Ausra}#tbt:Daina #tbt:Eamon #tbt:Ivan #tbt:Maggie #tbt:Matthias #tbt:Valentin #{For the record it's between you and I || Gio}#{But now we're rocking on the dance floor acting naughty || Sarika}#tbt:Callister #tbt:Theo

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